L I B RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 cop.2> 
 
 ItL HIST. SURVHf 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://archive.org/details/logbookofyoungimOOIars 
 
The Log Book of 
 A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 By LAURENCE M. LABSON 
 
 NORWEGIAN-AMERICAN HISTORICAL ASSOCIATION 
 
 1939 
 
Copyright, 1939, by the 
 
 Norwegian-American Historical Association 
 
 North field, Minnesota 
 
I 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 This volume, true to the promise of its title, is the chronicle 
 of a voyage and a record of achievement. The voyage made 
 by Laurence Marcellus Larson, however, was not primarily 
 physical, though it included a migration from the west coast 
 of Norway to the prairies of the American Middle West. It was 
 the intellectual and spiritual migration of a human being from 
 the status of a young immigrant, living in dugout and cabin 
 and knowing at first hand the ordeal of prairie pioneering, to 
 that of a mature American scholar, rich in learning, broad in 
 outlook, skilled in the art of the spoken and written word. 
 
 The achievement recorded by Professor Larson is similarly 
 a matter of the human spirit. Distinguished honors and posi- 
 tions of high responsibility came to this adopted son of the 
 Middle Border, but they do not figure in his narrative. He 
 rose to the presidency of the American Historical Association, 
 but one will not learn this fact from his log book. Many of 
 the best fruits of his productive scholarship he ignores or barely 
 alludes to in this narrative. He is deeply interested, however, 
 in the impact of the " changing West " upon himself, the son of 
 "Norwegian immigrant pioneers, and he analyzes the thousand 
 and one influences that shaped the making of himself as an 
 American. 
 
 The log book is an intellectual autobiography, but it is more 
 than the story of one life. Professor Larson as a true historian 
 views his own growth and experience against the background 
 of section and nation, of race and tradition, of all the varied 
 forces and movements of the age in which he lived. And so 
 he tells of Norwegian traditions, the economy of a farm on the 
 shores of a fjord, motives for emigration, crossing the Atlantic 
 in a sailing vessel, frontier farming, the pioneer moral code, 
 
VI PREFACE 
 
 midwestern village mores, the menace of blizzards and prairie 
 fires, the beauty of prairie flowers, the customs of a Norwegian- 
 American home, the Haugean Lutheran tradition, the role of 
 Lutheran pastor and church, the relations between Norwegians 
 and Yankees and Irishmen, the nature of the country school, 
 the trend of politics, pioneer doctors and lawyers, the books 
 read by immigrants, a middle western college, the spirit of a 
 state university, researches under such great teachers as Freder- 
 ick J. Turner and Charles H. Haskins, a Norwegian-American 
 academy, and high-school teaching in a large city, all pictured 
 in their setting of time and place and ideas. 
 
 This book is the story of a young immigrant seen through 
 the eyes of the same man mellowed with the wisdom of years 
 and experience. The charm that clothes the narrative is the 
 charm of the man himself — his integrity, directness, simplicity; 
 his chuckling humor; his restless curiosity. about life, coupled 
 with a singular gift for observation and objective appraisal of 
 men and events; the abundance of his human experience and 
 of his historical knowledge; and his kindly, tolerant, and phil- 
 osophical habit of mind. 
 
 The Norwegian-American Historical Association, in which 
 Professor Larson took so deep an interest and active a part, 
 prizes the privilege of bringing out the Log Boo\ of a Young 
 Immigrant, and it extends its thanks to Mrs. Larson, who gra- 
 ciously made the manuscript available for publication. 
 
 Theodore C. Blegen 
 
 University of Minnesota 
 Minneapolis 
 
CONTENTS 
 The Log Boo\ 1 
 
 The Writings of Laurence Marcellus Larson 305 
 
 Index 311 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Laurence M. Larson Frontispiece 
 
 Laurence M. Larson in 1928 262 
 
 Vll 
 
THE LOG BOOK OF 
 A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
4 I J: 
 
 I 
 
 n September, 1925, my wife and I were in the old city of 
 Bergen. Bergen is a quaint and interesting town whose annals 
 go back into the eleventh century. In the twelfth and thir- 
 teenth centuries it was the principal residential city of the 
 Norwegian kings; later it was an important station of the great 
 Hansa, with merchants from Lubeck in control. For a student 
 of history the old city with its many medieval survivals, fast 
 disappearing in this ruthless age, would naturally have a great 
 attraction; but to me Bergen meant more than a medieval capi- 
 tal or a famous station of the Hanseatic League : it was impor- 
 tant in the history of my family, including my own self. 
 
 One raw morning (the mornings are often raw in Bergen) 
 Lillian and I left our hotel and, walking along the shore of the 
 bay, came to a wharf where a little steamer lay ready and wait- 
 ing to set forth on its regular cruise through the network of 
 fjords and inlets that lie to the northwest out toward the North 
 Sea. It was a journey that I had often made in imagination; 
 but I found, as we crawled forward from headland to head- 
 land, that even a carefully informed imagination may prove an 
 unreliable guide. To Lillian the entire scene was new ; she was 
 seeing for the first time what the west country could be like, 
 and her mental picture was no doubt clearer and sharper than 
 the one that came to me. 
 
 I had heard of ragged shores and narrow passages, of bare 
 hills and rocky heights, but my mind had never pictured any- 
 
 1 
 
Z THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 thing quite so austere as the reality proved to be. Far as the 
 eye could wander there seemed to be little to look upon but 
 water and rock. In trees the shore was almost entirely want- 
 ing. Cultivated plots were to be seen in considerable number; 
 but they were pitifully small, sometimes apparently not more 
 than a square rod in area. To one who came from the teeming 
 prairies of Illinois, it seemed incredible that the soil could yield 
 an increase in such a land. 
 
 But as we looked across the rocky expanses we saw home 
 after home and many of them looked as if they might be com- 
 fortable. Naturally the mind wandered back to the problem 
 of how the farmers were able to eke out a living, since the vis- 
 ible resources appeared to be so very slight. Then we saw nets, 
 large brown nets, stretched on rocks to dry in the sun. That 
 led to a new conclusion: the earth is always important, it pro- 
 vides places where homes can be built ; in. the west country it 
 also yields a little food, especially barley, oats, and potatoes. But 
 the wealth of the region lies in the sea. 
 
 As the morning passed the clouds that had hung so low in 
 Bergen gradually lifted. The sun came forth and the remain- 
 der of the day was warm and pleasant. We made slow prog- 
 ress but that did not disturb us; we had come out to see what 
 we might never see again and that day we were not interested 
 in speed. The boat stopped frequently, to deliver a bag of mail 
 here, to unload freight there, and to set a passenger on land at 
 some other point; for the farmers in this region cannot travel 
 by land to the city; the sea is the only possible highway. 
 
 By two o'clock we had rounded a considerable mass of land 
 called the Lindaas Peninsula. The prow turned northeastward, 
 and soon the boat was steaming eastward across the broad Fens 
 Fjord and into the narrower Mads Fjord. The boat stopped 
 at Riisnes farm near the mouth of this fjord. Riisnes was our 
 first objective. The owner and occupier of this farm was a 
 second cousin of mine and we spent most of the afternoon 
 with him and his family. 
 
 Erik Arnesen Riisnes proved to be a tall, well built man of 
 
IN WESTERN NORWAY 
 
 the blond type. His wife, too, had the blue eyes and the fair 
 hair of the typical Norwegian and their children showed the 
 same characteristics. Erik Riisnes held the office of lensmann 
 in his district, an office which resembles that of the English 
 sheriff. Of all the farmers that I saw in that part of Norway, 
 Lensmann Riisnes came nearest to my idea of what a Nor- 
 wegian country gentleman would have to be. Ten years later, 
 while still in the earlier years of middle life, he passed away 
 (1935). 
 
 As we looked south from Riisnes over the mighty Fens 
 Fjord, studded, as it was, with green and largely tree-clad is- 
 lands, green, red, yellow, and purple with changing foliage of 
 early autumn, I began to understand how beautiful even west- 
 ern Norway can be. Later in the afternoon my cousin took us 
 across the fjord in a motorboat. The tide was rolling in from 
 the North Sea with swelling power. Every now and then a 
 wave would leap across the little craft, and the journey across 
 was, to say the least, a most exhilarating experience. 
 
 After seven miles of restless water we came to a farm on the 
 other shore where a man was waiting for us in a Ford car. 
 The car took us three miles farther, across an isthmus. We 
 next boarded another motorboat which took us up the Lygre 
 Fjord to the little island of Spjut0y. 
 
 A young girl served as our guide across half a mile or more 
 of boggy surface until we came to that part of the island where 
 the farm buildings stood. These proved to be a group of re- 
 spectable proportions and most of them seemed to be in a fair 
 condition of repair. Near by was a stretch of arable soil where 
 the stubble told of a rich harvest; but most of the island did 
 not look as if it could add much to the husbandman's wealth. 
 However, the owner of the farm, a middle-aged widow with 
 a clear, intelligent face, assured us that it was " a good farm." 
 
 Out beyond the farmstead lay the fjord, blue and calm and 
 lovely in the autumn twilight. We looked and looked, until at 
 last Lillian remarked, " I can see that it might be hard to leave 
 a place like this." 
 
4 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 After fifty-five years I had come back to the little island 
 where I was born. 
 
 Norway is an old land. The rocks of which it is built are 
 ancient rocks, perhaps the most ancient in Europe. The inlets 
 that we call fjords were cut into the shores thousands of years 
 ago. As a home for men and women it is also old. No one 
 will be able to determine exactly when mankind began to find 
 its way into this interesting region; but scientists believe that 
 the Norwegian tribes have held the land in occupation for ten 
 thousand years or more. 
 
 As elsewhere in Norway, the coastal area north and south 
 of Bergen has its tall and sturdy men with blue eyes, blond 
 hair, long skulls, and often a rosy complexion. But in this 
 particular part of the country there are also many natives of a 
 different type: short-skulled men with dark hair and some- 
 times with brown eyes. As a rule, however, these, too, are 
 blue-eyed, and the broad head is often covered with light- 
 colored hair. 
 
 The difference between this type and that which is regarded 
 as normally Norwegian is not physical only: these darker men 
 seem to be of a more emotional temperament than their blond 
 neighbors, a characteristic which may find expression in a pie- 
 tistic form of religion, strong, fervid, and self-centered. Some 
 of my own ancestors must have been of this stock; there was 
 much dark hair in the family (in my own case it was nearly 
 black), and some of my relatives were distinctly of the short- 
 skulled type. 
 
 Traveling north from Bergen about a dozen miles one comes 
 to a rather sizable peninsula which again divides into smaller 
 peninsulas like fingers pointing in a northwesterly direction 
 toward the North Sea. The largest and the most distant of 
 these is the Lindaas Peninsula, which attains a length of about 
 twenty miles. This with a few outlying areas forms the eccle- 
 siastical district or living of Lindaas, a group of parishes in the 
 charge of a single priest. Seventy years ago the living included 
 
THE ISLAND OF SPJUT0Y 
 
 six parishes, one of which was Lygre. Lygre is an island about 
 five or six miles in length lying in the fjord of the same name. 
 Several smaller islands in Lygre Fjord belong to the same par- 
 ish. One of these is Spjut0y. 
 
 Spjut0y is not a large island but it had long been counted 
 sufficient for a good farm. My grandfather estimated its area 
 at about two hundred acres; but to me it looked as if it might 
 be larger than that. The size is, however, of little importance, 
 since the greater part could, so far as I could see, serve no vis- 
 ible purpose except as a pasture for goats. On the side nearest 
 the mainland the passage forms a narrow strait through which 
 the tide rushes in and out with great power. Here my grand- 
 father built a mill, using the current to turn the stones. The 
 venture was, however, only a moderate success ; in fact it might 
 almost be called a failure, for in the Lindaas country there was 
 never much grain to grind. 
 
 The island is thought to have received its name, "Spear 
 Isle," from the fact that its contour roughly resembles the head 
 of a spear. How it came to be named and when it was first 
 occupied I have never been able to learn; but the farm is prob- 
 ably of considerable age, for the waterways of the Lindaas 
 country were used more than a thousand years ago; there was 
 a royal estate on Lygre Island as early as the eleventh century. 
 The province of Hordaland, in which Lindaas lies, was promi- 
 nent in the Viking movement and was probably widely settled 
 when that movement began. 
 
 It was told in my family when I was a child that my great- 
 great-grandfather was not a native of the parish but had come 
 from somewhere on the shores of the great Sogn Fjord, which 
 opens into the North Sea some thirty miles to the north. Whether 
 he bought the farm or came into possession of it by marriage, 
 I have never learned. My grandmother, who had evidently 
 heard a great deal about him, though she probably never saw 
 him, could tell that he wore silver buttons on his holiday clothes 
 and shoes, and that he consequently acquired a reputation for 
 wealth which he probably did not deserve. 
 
O THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 On his death the farm passed to his son Mikkel (Michael), 
 who must have been born soon after 1790. Mikkel Spjut0y 
 died in early middle age. His widow, Kristi (or Kirsten), mar- 
 ried again, and it is said that the new husband was not kind to 
 his stepchildren. This fact was thought to be disturbing to the 
 peace of the deceased ; for there were those who claimed to have 
 seen him wandering about the island. Of course, it is always 
 interesting to have an active ghost in the family; moreover, 
 this ghost appeared in daytime as well as at night. 
 
 According to the laws of the time the land was the heritage 
 of the oldest son (of the first marriage in this case) and the 
 farm therefore passed to Lars, who became my grandfather. 
 Lars is a contraction of Lawrence. Just why the martyr of the 
 gridiron attained such a great popularity in the North, I cannot 
 explain; but it is quite evident from the wide and persistent 
 popularity of his name that Saint Lawrence was regarded as 
 one of the most potent saints in the calendar. 
 
 My grandfather was not in any respect an imposing man in 
 appearance. He was of medium height and of corresponding 
 build. In the later years of his life he was not in good health, 
 but in his younger days he was alert, agile, and strong. Like 
 most Norsemen of his generation he shaved his upper and lower 
 lips and the upper part of the chin; otherwise his beard was 
 allowed to grow freely except for an occasional clipping. Thus 
 it served as a frame for the picture of his face. 
 
 I do not believe that he was very successful as a farmer. It 
 is quite true that the resources of his homestead were not great, 
 but it evidently had possibilities which some of my ancestors 
 seemed unable to utilize to their full extent. Grandfather was 
 a man of considerable pride; and his undertakings were often 
 on a larger scale than his means would allow. Consequently 
 he would often suffer losses where he had reason to hope for 
 real gain. But what I know for sure about him is that he was 
 always kind to me when I was a boy. He seemed to feel that 
 he had a special duty in my case, for I was his oldest grandson 
 and I was named for him. 
 
4 " J= 
 
 o. 
 
 our pilgrimage to the ancestral homes we had paused a 
 few hours, as noted above, at Riisnes, the " cape of the bushes," 
 a farm which holds a significant place in the records of my 
 family. Riisnes is a large farm and has had many prominent 
 tenants. It appears in the national records as early as the fif- 
 teenth century, when it is listed among the landed possessions 
 of Hartvig Krummedike, a prominent nobleman of Danish 
 birth who had, chiefly by means of a well planned marriage, 
 acquired a large number of valuable estates in Norway. 
 
 Riisnes fronts on an inlet that leads into the Mads Fjord 
 and is a mile or two distant from the fjord itself. The history 
 of the family that occupies the farm begins with Erik Hogne- 
 sen, who was born in 1719 on the farm Haugsvaer at the inner 
 end of the fjord. At the age of twenty-three, Erik married 
 Gjertrud (Gertrude) Riisnes, a widow twenty-two years his 
 senior. One may conclude that there was but little romance 
 in this marriage ; but as partial compensation there was the sub- 
 stantial fact that the bride was one of the occupiers of the most 
 desirable and most extensive farm in the settlement. When 
 she died, seven years later, Erik continued in possession of Gjer- 
 trud's share. After a year my thrifty ancestor (who was now 
 thirty years old) married another widow, Sigrid Hope, 1 with 
 
 1 In Norwegian words the final e is usually not silent but is sounded very much 
 as in the English article " the " when used with a word beginning with a consonant, 
 e.g. the man. Such names as Arne, Drude, Hogne, Hope, and Lygre are therefore 
 to be pronounced in two syllables with the accent on the first syllable. 
 
8 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 whom he acquired certain land rights in a part of Hope, a farm 
 located at the inner end of Mads Fjord, some twenty-five or 
 thirty miles farther east. 
 
 Erik and Sigrid had two children, the younger of whom was 
 Hogne (born in 1757), who inherited his father's rights to 
 Riisnes. Hogne at the age of twenty married Martha Hope 
 (twenty-six years old), who bore him seven children, four sons 
 and three daughters. Shortly before his death the farm was 
 transferred to his son Arne, who was born in 1794. Arne Hog- 
 nesen Riisnes was a man of some prominence in his commu- 
 nity; he died comparatively young, forty-seven years old. 
 
 In 1816 Arne Riisnes married Drude Marie Kathrine Daae, 2 
 a forceful young woman endowed with a vivid personality. As 
 the title to a considerable part of Riisnes farm had for some 
 time rested with the bride's family, this marriage was also of 
 real importance in a material way, as it ultimately made Arne 
 Riisnes a freeholder with respect to at least one half of the 
 estate. 
 
 The Daae clan has been traced back to about 1680 and was 
 at one time believed to have had an earlier history in Denmark. 
 There was indeed in the Danish nobility a family which bore 
 the name Daae and it is quite possible that the Norwegian 
 Daaes are a branch of the Danish tree, but satisfactory proofs 
 are wanting. Originating in Trondheim, the Daae family has 
 sent its members forth into all parts of the land to serve the 
 state as clergymen, university professors, officers of the army, 
 and functionaries in the civil service. 
 
 Arne and Drude had seven children, four sons and three 
 daughters. The oldest child, born in 1817, was a daughter. 
 She was christened Karen Andrea, but was generally known 
 by her second name. Two years later a son was born, who re- 
 ceived the ancestral name Erik. According to the historian of 
 Mads Fjord, Erik Arnesen Riisnes was the most eminent man 
 that his district has produced. In addition to holding several 
 
 2 The Daae name is an exception to the rule stated above and is pronounced as 
 one syllable. The Norwegian aa has a value lying somewhere between long o and 
 aw. 
 
KAREN ANDREA RIISNES 
 
 local offices, he was given a seat in the national parliament, 
 which he held for a period of fifteen years. In his political 
 affiliations he was of the Agrarian group with leanings toward 
 the Conservative party. Frequently, however, he showed a 
 tendency to travel his own highway, a fact that was quite dis- 
 concerting to his more thoroughly disciplined colleagues. 
 
 When the Mads Fjord country received its own local organi- 
 zation, Erik Riisnes was appointed lensmann. After his death 
 this office was held for a time by his son, Arne Eriksen Riisnes. 
 As stated above, his grandson, Erik Arnesen Riisnes, held the 
 office when Lillian and I visited the old farm. In his house- 
 hold a young Arne is growing up, who will no doubt, when 
 the time comes, carry on the family tradition. 
 
 One day, presumably in 1838, visitors, not entirely unex- 
 pected, perhaps, came to Riisnes. There were several men in 
 the company, but the most important one was Lars Mikkelsen 
 Spjut0y, now a young man approaching his majority. He came 
 with his sponsors in the approved Norwegian way to ask the 
 hand of young Karen Andrea. Just how it happened that the 
 young farmer came to seek his bride in that quarter was never 
 explained to me. However, he seems to have become ac- 
 quainted with the young woman in their confirmation year 
 and it is likely that he was more than fond of her. 
 
 The journey by boat between the two farms was long and 
 often dangerous; one is therefore quite safe in assuming that 
 the families did not know each other very intimately. How- 
 ever this may have been, the chances are that Karen Andrea 
 was not entirely uninformed as to the visit that was in pros- 
 pect. Her father seems to have given his immediate approval 
 to the proposed marriage. At any rate, an understanding was 
 reached and in the course of a few months Karen Andrea Riis- 
 nes came to Spjut0y as bride and housewife. 
 
 In her old age (she died in her ninety-ninth year) my grand- 
 mother was still a handsome woman. When I first recall her 
 she was tall and somewhat stoutish; but she was straight as an 
 arrow and moved about with the vigor of youth. As a young 
 
10 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 woman she must have been very attractive, though perhaps not 
 what one might call beautiful. She was and always had been 
 the mistress of her household. Endowed with much physical 
 strength, she loved outdoor labor more than the routine of the 
 indoors. Perhaps it was this that preserved her health, for she 
 was rarely ill, and I do not know that she ever visited a dentist. 
 
 It is not to be understood, however, that her character was 
 in any degree masculine; in most respects she dealt with the 
 world about her in a way that was emphatically feminine. In 
 temperament she was highly emotional. Her strength and cour- 
 age would often change in a moment to fear and weakness. 
 The Iowa storms could fill her with terror. There is much 
 rain in western Norway and thunder and lightning are quite 
 frequent; but electrical storms seem never quite so menacing 
 there as they do in the American West. 
 
 Her sympathies were deep and it distressed her much to 
 know that she might be the cause of pain. She loved her cattle 
 and her fowls and found it hard to endure the thought that 
 they might have to be sold or butchered. When the slaughter- 
 ing season came, she often went away to visit her friends and 
 would rarely reappear until all the evil had been done. 
 
 She loved the prairie. So long had she looked on gray rock 
 and blue water that she had become sated with the beauties of 
 the Old World. But the prairie, rich and green and quietly 
 beautiful, fascinated her. She never lost her interest in her an- 
 cestral home ; she cherished the Daae tradition and thought and 
 spoke with pride of her family in old Norway. At times she 
 might think of the enchanting loveliness of the fjords that she 
 knew so well and where she had rowed her boat like a man. 
 She found much that was hard and painful in her new sur- 
 roundings; but I do not believe that she ever wished herself 
 back to the old haunts; for she loved the prairie. 
 
4 in )= 
 
 s 
 
 ometime in the 1830's a young farmer boy from Sondf jord, 
 a district some seventy-five miles north of Bergen, arrived in 
 that city and began a lifelong struggle to maintain a respectable 
 existence by manual labor. Mads (Matthias) Jacobsen Bruland 
 was a typical product of the fjord country; he was taller and 
 stronger than most men and had hands of unusual cunning. 
 His trade was that of a skilled mechanic and he was generally 
 well employed. 
 
 In addition he was endowed with a virile temper which he 
 never tried very hard to control. Consequently he never found 
 it difficult to get into a quarrel. Men of that sort do not always 
 get on well with their employers and associates and Bruland's 
 case was, in this respect, quite typical. While it is true that he 
 did not exactly prosper, his family was never in want, though 
 one can be sure that luxury was not known in the Bruland 
 household. 
 
 In Bergen he met and married a young woman from Nord- 
 fjord, a district bordering Sondfjord to the north. Mads 
 Bruland and his wife Aagot (Agatha) were to become my 
 grandparents. Since my family emigrated before I had reached 
 my second birthday, I have no memories to assist me in describ- 
 ing them. What I have been told about them has been quite 
 general and is scarcely pertinent to this narrative. My grand- 
 mother Aagot died when I was still a boy. I can recall vividly 
 my mother's grief when the letter came with the news of her 
 
 11 
 
12 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 death. The strongest bond that held her to the old home had 
 snapped. 
 
 There were several children in the Bruland family, but only 
 two grew to maturity: Ellen Mathilde, my mother, and her 
 brother, Andreas (Andrew). Uncle Andrew very early in his 
 life was sent to sea. He sailed for a number of years and was 
 sometimes absent from home for as much as two years at a 
 time. On one of his rare visits to his family he remarked to 
 his wife, "We have now been married twenty-two years; how 
 long do you suppose we have actually been together ? " " That 
 is easily told," she replied, " nine whole weeks." Seeing that as 
 a sailor he would never know much of family life, he gave up 
 the sea and as soon as he was able he emigrated to Illinois. He 
 died some years ago. His days in the New World had meant 
 much to him: they had allowed him to enjoy that form of life 
 which employment on the sea had so largely refused. 
 
 My mother was still a mere child when she had to begin to 
 help provide for the family needs. There was an establishment 
 in Bergen where cloth was woven by factory methods, though 
 in a decidedly small way. Children could not weave, but they 
 could be used in the room where the threads were wound on 
 spools. My mother was put to work there and, as soon as 
 might be, was given a place at the loom. In the course of the 
 years she became quite expert in the use of the shuttle and the 
 batten. For a number of years she lived in the home of one 
 Mrs. Ravn, a widow of the upper middle class, where her duties 
 were chiefly those of a weaver. Her stay with this family 
 meant more than a good home and a place to work: twelve 
 years in a cultured household gave her a knowledge of a higher 
 mode of living, which she could not otherwise have acquired. 
 
 I do not know by what chance my mother met my father, 
 but the occasion came sometime in 1862, when the young farmer 
 boy was a cadet and student at a military school in Bergen. 
 Christian Larson Spjut0y was born on March 25, 1840. As the 
 oldest son in the family it was hoped that he might become 
 
CHRISTIAN LARSON SPJUT0Y 13 
 
 something more than a mere farmer. We may imagine that 
 his mother was particularly hopeful that her first-born might 
 have a public career; for the Daae blood was always calling for 
 official preferments. Not that the Daaes held agriculture in 
 contempt; it was well to have a farm, and if it could be ac- 
 quired by marriage, so much the better. All the same, the duty 
 of a Daae was to serve the state. 
 
 The public schools were poor in Norway one hundred years 
 ago, but the requirements of the church were such that all chil- 
 dren had to learn to read. It was therefore determined to send 
 young Christian to his uncle Erik, who had had the advantages 
 of a normal school education and had served for some years in 
 the teaching profession. He spent several winters in his uncle's 
 household. The atmosphere at Riisnes was distinctly religious 
 without being morbidly pietistic, and the training that the boy 
 received in these surroundings may have been a determining 
 factor in his later life. 
 
 In 1861 he was sent to Bergen to be trained for a career in 
 the army. Attached to the military forces in that city was a 
 school for the education of subalterns, at which he studied for 
 a little less than two and one-half years. His record at the 
 school shows that he was able, intelligent, and methodical, 
 though not what one might call brilliant. He did not remain 
 long in the army — nine years including those spent in train- 
 ing; nevertheless, those years proved of great value to him. In 
 the training school many subjects were taught which were not 
 directly of a military character. The schools for subalterns 
 were regarded as a part of the educational system of the nation, 
 and their courses of study were planned accordingly. 
 
 Having finished his work at the school, he received an ap- 
 pointment as sergeant and was stationed with the brigade in 
 Bergen. His chief duty was to train raw recruits for the serv- 
 ice of His Majesty Charles XV, the reigning monarch of Nor- 
 way and Sweden. Many of these were indeed quite raw; in 
 some cases the training seemed to produce no visible results. 
 Sergeant Larson, who was always a humane man, recognized 
 
14 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 this fact and was instrumental in securing honorable dismissal 
 in several cases where the awkwardness was too deep-seated to 
 be drilled away. 
 
 It may be that his heart was not in his profession or it may 
 be that he saw no future in the army; at any rate he decided 
 to terminate his military career. After a little more than six 
 years of service as drillmaster, he resigned his appointment and 
 emigrated to the New World. 
 
 My parents were married early in 1866. The great event oc- 
 curred in Lindaas church, the chief church in the living. The 
 Reverend Jacob Hveding, rural dean in the Lindaas area, of- 
 ficiated and preached a long sermon, as the custom was in those 
 cruel days. Dean Hveding was a remarkable man, a clergyman 
 of an older type which by this time has probably disappeared 
 even from rural Norway. Born in Lindaas parsonage, he was 
 in every way at one with his people. For more than forty years 
 he traveled about, chiefly by boat, from parish to parish in a 
 living that was regarded as quite extensive even in those days. 
 He ruled his flock with a firm hand, but his guidance was in- 
 telligent and his commands were usually well received. 
 
 As a pastor he was active and conscientious. His parish- 
 ioners believed that he had great influence with Providence. 
 One of them is reported to have said on a Sunday morning, 
 "Now Jacob, can't you say something to the Lord about the 
 coalfish ? " And when the prayer was read the coalfish was not 
 forgotten. " May the Lord hear you, Jacob," muttered the con- 
 gregation. His flock was not always easily managed, but it was 
 never vicious. It was Hveding's proud boast that not a single 
 one of the thousands whom he had confirmed was ever con- 
 victed of a serious crime. 
 
 My father's family was anything but pleased with his choice 
 of wife. To bring a bride home from the city was a most un- 
 usual thing; and it must be admitted that a young woman bred 
 in town would find it extremely difficult to adapt herself to 
 Norwegian rural life. Moreover, an oldest son with some edu- 
 
THE WEDDING 15 
 
 cation and a military appointment could easily capitalize his 
 prestige and find a bride in one of the well-to-do families of 
 the neighborhood. His decision, therefore, to marry a woman 
 who could bring no dowry was one that could not fail to pro- 
 duce disappointment. My grandparents felt that no matter 
 how excellent the chosen bride might be, she would find life 
 in the country an experience which would be trying at best and 
 might bring much unhappiness to all concerned. 
 
 At the time when this discussion was on, the Norwegians 
 were deeply stirred by the German attack on Denmark. When 
 the Danes went forth to meet the enemy in the winter months 
 of 1864, they had some reason to believe that the Scandinavian 
 kingdoms would come to their relief. In this they were dis- 
 appointed. Many young Norwegians and Swedes were, how- 
 ever, serving as volunteers in the Danish army, and one day 
 the young sergeant informed his parents that, unless he were 
 allowed to marry the one to whom he had given his troth, he 
 would at once enlist to fight in the Danish cause. This was 
 something to think about: in the face of a decision so fraught 
 with peril, there was nothing to do but to yield; and so the 
 discussion was ended. 
 
 My mother spent the greater part of four years at Spjut0y. 
 Soon after the wedding she joined her husband in Sogn, where 
 he had a vacation appointment as superintendent of a govern- 
 ment project in connection with a newly established telegraph 
 system. Now and then she would spend some time in Bergen, 
 where my father was in active service the greater part of the 
 year. Most of her time was, however, spent on the island. 
 Her oldest two children were born there, my sister Katie first 
 and next the writer, who arrived on the twenty-third day of 
 September, 1868. 
 
 My mother was never happy at Spjut0y. The family was 
 large and the house inadequate. The food was coarse and of 
 little variety; oatmeal, fish, and potatoes made up the chief part 
 of the diet. The labor on the farm was heavy and of an un- 
 familiar character. So far as I have been able to learn her 
 
16 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 parents-in-law treated her kindly. My grandfather, especially, 
 was very thoughtful. Some of the younger members of the 
 household, on the other hand, were not so considerate, and 
 there was little hope that the friction could be removed. 
 
 Moreover, the future looked unpromising also in certain 
 other respects. As the oldest son, my father would ultimately 
 come into possession of the farm; but that event was likely to 
 be years ahead; and when the time should come there would 
 be the rights of other heirs to satisfy. All this would mean that 
 for many years he might have to carry the burden of a heavy 
 debt. 
 
 My grandmother's sister Henrikke (Henrietta) had married 
 a young man in Bergen who followed the trade of a cooper. 
 His name was Erik }. Gjors, which name was later altered to 
 Joke. Henrikke and her husband . decided to emigrate and 
 eventually settled in Stoughton, a village in southern Wis- 
 consin. This move was important also for my father and his 
 family, since it seemed to suggest a solution of their problem. 
 Letters went back and forth between Wisconsin and Norway; 
 and, after taking counsel together, my parents decided that 
 they, too, would try their fortunes in the New World. 
 
 This decision disturbed my grandparents mightily. America 
 was far away and they should probably never see their beloved 
 son again. To make matters worse my Uncle Martin, who had 
 just reached his majority, began to talk of joining his brother 
 in the long journey. This was satisfactory to my parents, for 
 Uncle Martin had a brotherly affection for both. A serious 
 business this was getting to be. Before long the entire family 
 decided to emigrate, the only exception being my Uncle Arne, 
 who was employed in business in Bergen. Had it not been for 
 the strenuous opposition of his wife, he, too, might have joined 
 in the exodus; but the little lady could not be moved; so she 
 and her family remained in the land that she loved so much. 
 My mother was grievously disappointed in this decision, for 
 Aunt Abigail was one of her dearest friends. 
 
< IV J: 
 
 I 
 
 t was early May in 1870. The old farm had been sold. The 
 auction had been held. Large and heavy chests and boxes 
 had been built and packed. A generous supply of provisions had 
 been selected, dried, and properly packed (the contract with 
 the ship captain provided that each passenger must be supplied 
 with provisions for twelve weeks). The boats were ready for 
 the journey to Bergen, the last visit to the beloved city. 
 
 Then came the leave-taking. The kinsmen left behind were 
 numerous and many hearts were heavy with grief. All felt 
 that the farewells which were said on that day were said for all 
 time, and thus it was actually to be in nearly all cases. My 
 Uncle Lewis saw some of his relatives years later, and Uncle 
 Andrew saw some of us in Illinois after he had left the sea. 
 When I visited Norway in 1925, only one person, my old Aunt 
 Abigail, was still living of those who said farewell to us on that 
 May day in 1870. 
 
 Among those who came to the house in those last hours on 
 the old farm was a grandaunt of mine, my grandfather's sister, 
 Martha. Emigration was something that she could not under- 
 stand. " Lars, Lars, that you should go to America ! " That was 
 almost all that the good woman found to say, but her heart 
 was full. 
 
 Our neighbors found themselves very much in agreement 
 with my Aunt Martha. That men of the cotter class who had 
 neither home nor farm of their own should wish to emigrate 
 
 17 
 
18 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 was quite understandable. But here was a family owning and 
 occupying a good farm and, moreover, holding an honored 
 place in the community. Why such people should want to 
 leave for a new country was a mystery that not even the wise 
 could fathom. 
 
 The sails bellied and the boats moved down the fjord and 
 on toward Bergen laden with men and merchandise, but also 
 with buoyant hopes and skulking fears. Moored at the wharf 
 in Bergen was the " Maryland," an old worn-out craft that was 
 in no wise seaworthy; but of this fact the emigrants had no 
 knowledge. Only after they were well out upon the deep, did 
 they sense the real situation; then they knew that only the best 
 of fortunes could bring them safe to land. 
 
 In those days the Norwegian-American newspapers took 
 careful note of the arrival of ships that might be expected to 
 bring Norwegian immigrants. On June 29, 1870, one of these 
 papers carried the following dispatch from Quebec: " (Arrival) : 
 the 22nd the sailship Maryland, Captain Hansen, . . . after 49 
 days at sea with 284 emigrants. A child died on the journey. 
 The passengers brought money to the amount of $6,300. The 
 boat came from Bergen. The emigrants will travel further on 
 Friday (June 24)." 
 
 Our own particular group numbered eleven persons. My 
 grandmother was the oldest — she was fifty-three years; I was 
 the youngest, not quite two; my father was thirty. Three of 
 my uncles were on board, Lewis, Martin, and John, and my 
 two aunts, Drude and Elizabeth. Elizabeth was the youngest 
 in my grandfather's family; I should say that she could not 
 have been more than sixteen years old when we departed from 
 Norway. 
 
 It goes without saying that the journey was worse than te- 
 dious. Seven weeks in a small craft that was packed to the limit 
 with human freight was more than even the men and women 
 from the fjords could patiently endure. The boat encountered 
 severe storms and there were those who did not enjoy the surly 
 behavior of the ocean. Our own party seem to have suffered 
 
FROM QUEBEC TO THE WEST 19 
 
 little in that respect, but the cramped quarters down in the body 
 of the ship they found very unpleasant. 
 
 We arrived at Quebec on a Wednesday, and left by train on 
 the following Friday. Small use was made of this opportunity 
 to see the famous city. The strange language that they heard 
 spoken about them made the newcomers timid and gave them 
 an uneasy feeling of helplessness. My father, however, who 
 had heard of the great military stronghold, had to make the 
 journey to the citadel to view the fortifications. He was deeply 
 impressed: what he had seen in Norway was nothing in com- 
 parison. 
 
 From Quebec the journey continued to Detroit. The rail- 
 way was a new experience for all and the speed of the train 
 proved quite disturbing. One night the coach in which we 
 rode managed to jump off the rails. The conductor soon ap- 
 peared and gave orders which no one in the car could under- 
 stand. He stormed down the aisle, but no one obeyed his com- 
 mands. Finally my father guessed what was wanted and ad- 
 vised the passengers to leave the car. We were finally huddled 
 into another coach and travel was resumed. 
 
 The journey took us to Grand Haven (or it may have been 
 Ludington), where we were scheduled to cross by boat to Mil- 
 waukee. The boat was at the pier but it was not yet ready for 
 occupancy. It had just arrived from Milwaukee with a cargo 
 of cattle, and as soon as these were landed we were allowed to 
 embark. A cattle boat could not be exactly clean, but so far 
 as we could discover not the least effort was made to remove 
 the accumulated filth. For a boatload of immigrants one could 
 not be expected to provide first-class accommodations; at any 
 rate none such were provided. 
 
 When the passengers realized the situation below the deck, 
 it was already too late to protest, even if they could have made 
 their protest comprehensible. Most of them thought it might 
 be possible to spend the night on deck and began to plan ac- 
 cordingly. It was midsummer and the night was warm. Soon 
 the skies darkened and a thunderstorm came rolling toward us 
 
20 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 across the lake. There was nothing to do but to go below — 
 down into the filth. 
 
 The journey continued westward by rail through towns that 
 all had strange and unfamiliar names. Milwaukee was one, 
 Rock Island was another, Des Moines was a third. Finally the 
 pilgrimage came to an end (or very nearly so) at De Soto in 
 Dallas County, Iowa. After nearly nine weeks of travel we 
 were at last able to rest our weary bones in real beds. 
 
 There was more discomfort to follow. We left the train late 
 in the evening on the third of July. Our objective was a farm 
 near the village of Xenia (now called Woodward) in the north- 
 eastern part of the county, where the travelers expected to find 
 old acquaintances who had emigrated some years before. Ex- 
 actly where they lived none of our party were able to know; 
 and it is not easy to get information when one does not under- 
 stand the language of the land. But my father seemed to gather 
 that we still had twenty-five miles to travel and that, since the 
 next day was the Fourth of July, there would be small chance 
 to get transportation. 
 
 Rather than wait a whole day at De Soto the family decided 
 to finish the journey on foot. It was a hot day and the clothes 
 which were so comfortable in Norway in the middle of May 
 were anything but comfortable in Iowa in early July. The 
 travelers next discovered that two months on board ship and 
 train had stolen the strength from their limbs and had left 
 them almost incapable of an extended walk. After a few miles 
 an intense weariness began to creep into their bones; still they 
 plodded on. Uncle Martin carried me the entire distance and 
 my sister Katie, who was not yet four years old, also had to be 
 carried a large part of the way. In the evening we finally 
 reached our destination, a weary, discouraged, footsore group. 
 For a week Mother was unable to walk. 
 
 After a short rest the men of the family began to look about 
 for work; and since the harvest was at hand it was possible to 
 find employment at good wages. After this season was past 
 Uncle Lewis found a place with a German family south of 
 
FIRST HOME IN IOWA 21 
 
 Des Moines. He knew no English and his mute existence 
 brought on much lonesomeness. Three young girls in the fam- 
 ily, who could not fail to admire the handsome young man, 
 now began to try to teach him the English language. They 
 were apparently quite successful and life became more endur- 
 able. 
 
 The house where we lodged was a small farmhouse, scarcely 
 adequate for its regular occupants, to say nothing of eleven 
 guests. Later in the year Uncle Lewis, who now had a little 
 money, took Grandmother and Aunt Drude to Stoughton (Wis- 
 consin) to visit the Joice family. My uncle remained in Stough- 
 ton for several years. He learned the cooper's trade in his 
 uncle's shop and in the meantime married his cousin Margaret 
 Joice. He quit his trade after a time and became successively 
 a farmer, a merchant, and a banker. The last survivor of five 
 brothers, he spent his declining years at Nampa, Idaho, where 
 he died at the age of ninety-three (1937). 
 
 My father found a home for his wife and two children on 
 a neighboring farm, where Mother served as housekeeper. For 
 himself he secured employment with one Frank Rivers, for 
 whom he worked most of the time through the rest of the 
 summer and the following winter. While with Rivers, he 
 achieved a fair mastery of everyday English and learned the 
 essentials of American farming. Grandfather and Uncle Mar- 
 tin also worked for a time on the Rivers farm. The under- 
 standing was that the wages should be paid in kind, the chief 
 consideration being a yoke of oxen. Rivers finally made a 
 small payment, chiefly in the form of provisions, but no oxen 
 were forthcoming. The amount still due, about one hundred 
 dollars, was never paid. 
 
 The need for money had become quite pressing, for the 
 family had decided to leave Dallas County. For men situated 
 as they were financially, opportunities were scarce in that part 
 of Iowa. Meanwhile, my father had had letters from Joice call- 
 ing his attention to what appeared to be real opportunities in 
 Winnebago County on the northern border of the state. Land 
 
22 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 was plentiful in that region; it was also cheap. This county 
 then became our objective; but now a new problem appeared; 
 how could money be found to pay for transportation ? Father 
 was advised to appeal to the law; a suit was brought and his 
 case against Frank Rivers was heard before a justice of the 
 peace. Father won his case and received a judgment, but he 
 received nothing else. When his opponent's affairs were ex- 
 amined, it was found that he had nothing in his own right. 
 There was consequently no way to force a payment. 
 
 Fortunately my two uncles were able to find work some dis- 
 tance away where a farm was to be cleared of trees and brush- 
 wood. The labor was heavy and the wages were not of the 
 best; but the employer was honest and paid the bill. Enough 
 had been earned in this way to pay the expense of hiring teams 
 and wagons. There was now no reason why the move should 
 not be made at once. 
 
 We had by this time spent almost a year in the land of prom- 
 ise. Eventually it was to prove a land of great promise; but one 
 must not be surprised to find that these Norwegian newcomers 
 always looked back upon this year with mixed, even with bitter 
 feelings. They had labored honestly, they had labored hard; 
 but their wages had only in part been paid. My grandfather's 
 family had never been rich, but it had never been so near to 
 actual poverty as it was at this time. Disappointed and be- 
 wildered, the members of the group gathered about my father, 
 who had indeed been the leader from the beginning of the ven- 
 ture. He knew a little more of the world than the rest; he had 
 acquired some acquaintance with the language of the land; he 
 had courage, initiative, and strength; from that time he was 
 the recognized head of the family. 
 
< V J: 
 
 JL oward the close of May, 1871, a little cavalcade made up 
 of two wagons, one drawn by horses and one by oxen, set out 
 from Dallas County on a trek toward the north. Aside from 
 the drivers who were hired for the trip there were nine persons 
 in the party. Since the loads were heavy and the roads bad, it 
 was necessary to spare the draft animals as much as possible; 
 those who could walk therefore did so; but some of us, the 
 writer included, had, of course, to find places in the wagons. 
 
 This was to be our last journey in the search for a perma- 
 nent home. Our objective was Forest City, of which nothing 
 was known except that it was located somewhere to the north 
 in Winnebago County. The distance today would be about 
 one hundred miles, a matter of less than three hours in a good 
 car; but in those days, when passable roads were almost non- 
 existent the greater part of the way, the distance covered was 
 much greater; and instead of three hours we traveled the 
 greater part of a week. 
 
 Early in June we crossed into Winnebago County. As we 
 approached Forest City, those in the company who still had an 
 eye for beauty looked ahead with wondering eyes. It was the 
 season of the year when nature is at its loveliest; and the out- 
 look, with heavy forests to the right and boundless prairies to 
 the left, must have been highly attractive and even impressive. 
 
 Winnebago was one of the later counties in Iowa to be effec- 
 tively occupied by white men. For one thing, the distance to 
 
 23 
 
24 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 available markets was long and the condition of the roads made 
 driving and hauling heavy and even hazardous; for another, 
 the land was in large part held by speculators, who set their 
 prices as high as the times would allow. These prices were by 
 no means exorbitant; but in Minnesota and Dakota there were 
 vast areas of free lands and the tide of settlement naturally 
 flowed in their direction. Not until the best of these free lands 
 had been taken up could the more expensive land in northern 
 Iowa find a favorable market. 
 
 Lime Creek, now called Winnebago River, is the only im- 
 portant watercourse in the county. Rising in southern Minne- 
 sota, it flows in a southerly direction till it passes Forest City, 
 where it turns southeast to join the Shell Rock and ultimately 
 the Cedar River. East of the " Creek," as we called it, there was 
 in earlier days an extensive area of wooded land, many of the 
 trees showing a respectable age. Traces of this forest still re- 
 main, though most of it has been cleared away. To the west 
 of the stream the only visible wooded area was a grove of trees 
 called Coon Grove; this was several miles away and near the 
 center of the county. Grandfather loved the timber and lived 
 for several years in the woods near Forest City. The others 
 turned their faces toward the open prairie. 
 
 Trappers are known to have operated in Winnebago County 
 at least as early as 1853. A few bona fide settlers arrived in 
 1855, most of them locating in the woodland in the southern 
 part of the county, a short distance east of Lime Creek. The 
 next year a few more pioneers ventured to build homes in the 
 new settlement, among them Robert Clark, a shrewd and ca- 
 pable young Yankee from western New York. Half a mile 
 north of the county line and facing the river was a stretch of 
 high ground where the drainage was good and the outlook 
 wide in all directions. Clark saw at once that this location had 
 possibilities as a town site; before he had been many months in 
 the county, he was surveying lots and laying out streets. He 
 called his town Forest City. 
 
 About the same time another settlement was forming, a 
 
IN WINNEBAGO COUNTY 25 
 
 dozen miles to the north, which eventually grew into the rival 
 municipality of Lake Mills. The seat of government came to 
 be located, however, at Forest City and this town has continued 
 to this day to be the most important place in the county. 
 
 Winnebago County had only an indifferent growth till after 
 the conclusion of the Civil War. For this the outstanding rea- 
 sons have been given above. The long distance to mill and 
 market, one hundred miles or more in the 1850's, must have 
 done much to discourage settlement. But after the war rail- 
 ways began to move westward into southern Minnesota and 
 northern Iowa and the long journeys to McGregor, Dubuque, 
 and Cedar Falls passed into history. 
 
 The census of 1860 found only 168 inhabitants in the entire 
 county. Many of these were young men who had not yet as- 
 sumed the responsibilities of married life. When, in 1861, the 
 call came for volunteers, Winnebago responded with enthusi- 
 asm: out of its small population twenty-seven men joined the 
 colors. 
 
 The earliest settlers were nearly all of native American stock. 
 The jury lists of the fifties and sixties show an occasional Ger- 
 man name, but other alien nationalities seem not to be repre- 
 sented. At the same time a new element was coming into the 
 region, one which was to prove of first importance. In 1856 
 and the following years a few Norwegian families were finding 
 homes in the northeastern part of the county, in what was 
 later to be organized as Norway Township. Settlers of the 
 same nationality soon appeared in other parts of the county, 
 especially after 1865. The newcomers came from the older 
 Norwegian settlements in southern Wisconsin and northern 
 Iowa; but a considerable number came direct from the old 
 northern shores. By the close of the century four-fifths of the 
 population of Winnebago County was of Norwegian origin. 
 
 We began our residence in the county in June, 1871. The 
 first need was a place where we might abide a while, and this 
 was found in the home of an old farmer who lived on the edge 
 of the settled area, about four miles northwest of Forest City. 
 
26 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 This home, like all farmhouses in a new settlement, was very 
 small and it was clear that our stay there would have to be a 
 brief one. 
 
 While we were at this place my father made the acquaint- 
 ance of Hans Mathiesen (Mattison), a Norwegian farmer who 
 had recently come west from Winneshiek County in the north- 
 east corner of the state. This meeting with Mattison, possibly 
 quite accidental, was to have a decisive influence in our choice 
 of a permanent home. Hans was an immigrant from the in- 
 terior of southern Norway and was a real son of the soil. In 
 some respects he was different from most of the Norsemen 
 whom I have known, for he loved life and was not afraid to 
 admit the fact. He appreciated witty repartee and was himself 
 a skillful fencer with words. His face was strongly marked 
 and not easily forgotten: his hooked nose, his thick reddish 
 brown beard, and his twinkling eyes all had their own indi- 
 vidual character. He loved a lively conversation but cared little 
 for reading. However, he enjoyed listening to his wife read, 
 and Mrs. Mattison read clearly and intelligently. 
 
 Hans Mattison was a member of the frontier nobility. He 
 loved his fellow men and did all in his power to assist them in 
 their many troubles. He was religious, but not demonstrative 
 in the display of piety. Sometimes his neighbors, in their seri- 
 ous moods (and these came often), were disturbed about Hans, 
 for his soul was probably in peril. But I am sure that, when 
 the Master on the great day of judgment shall come to winnow 
 the wheat from the chaff, he will say, " Friend Hans, you have 
 loved your neighbors, you have helped to bear the burden of the 
 weak, you have tried to heal the wounds of grief; come and 
 stand on my right side." 
 
 Mattison had contracted for eighty acres of land about ten 
 miles northeast of Forest City. That part of the county was, 
 however, entirely unsettled and he was naturally quite reluc- 
 tant to move out so far all alone. My father and my grand- 
 father went out to look at the land in the same neighborhood 
 and selected a quarter section one-fourth of a mile north of the 
 
PRAIRIE DUGOUT 27 
 
 Mattison farm. This was about midsummer. The land that 
 they bought had been given to a soldier about a decade earlier 
 for service in the Mexican War. It meant nothing to them at 
 the time, but my father and his friends came to be interested 
 later on in the signature that the original patent bore; it had 
 been written by the strong hand of Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 Meanwhile, Hans had built a little house of the dugout type. 
 His family was small (there was one son but no other chil- 
 dren), and we were to share the shelter with them. The mem- 
 bers of our group had now scattered somewhat, but they were 
 still much too numerous for the available accommodations. 
 The first night that we spent in this primitive home was one 
 of those stormy nights that often come in the Iowa summer. 
 If the house had been entirely completed we should have suf- 
 fered nothing; unfortunately the roof was still in part unfin- 
 ished. A terrific rain came on and the downpour very nearly 
 filled the dugout. My folks had brought a number of books 
 with them from Norway; most of these were ruined. There 
 were also losses in other respects. It was a night that was never 
 forgotten. 
 
 We lived with the Mattisons for a year, or until Father could 
 get his own house built. A child was born during our stay 
 in the Mattison house, a daughter whom Mother named Chris- 
 tine Mathilde. She was the first to be born in the new settle- 
 ment; she was also the first to pass away. She lived a little 
 more than ten months. At the time of her death we were in 
 our own home. 
 
 During that first year on the prairie we had no neighbors; 
 there was no other house less than four miles distant. Aside 
 from those of our own double household we rarely saw a human 
 being. The animal life, on the other hand, was varied and 
 plentiful. The wolf, the fox, and the skunk were often in evi- 
 dence and occasionally one might come upon a small variety 
 of deer. Smaller animals like muskrats, gophers, and pocket 
 gophers were more than plentiful. Minks and weasels were not 
 unknown, though not very numerous. In the summer snakes 
 
28 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 could be seen creeping about everywhere. So far as I know 
 there were no venomous snakes in our part of the country. 
 
 Birds there were in vast numbers, both large and small. 
 Most numerous of all, as we believed, were the crow black- 
 birds, whom the farmers fought with poison, scarecrows, and 
 firearms, for they believed them to be guilty of digging the 
 sprouting corn out of the soil. The hawk, too, was pursued as 
 an enemy, being suspected of carrying off little chickens. Owls 
 were seen but rarely; but now and then one would appear in 
 the barnyard, where it was not exactly welcome. The friendly 
 quail and the mourning dove appeared among us after the 
 settlement had been thoroughly established; they seemed to 
 have need of grainfields and tall trees. The same was appar- 
 ently true of the blue jay and the woodpecker, though in this 
 I may be mistaken. The bittern, or poke, as we usually called 
 him, a peculiarly unattractive member of the heron tribe, 
 stalked about in the marshes booming and pumping from the 
 tall grass. 
 
 To the lesser birds we gave only slight attention. It was 
 some time before we learned their names and we were not al- 
 ways sure that the identification was correct. But we could not 
 fail to take note of the meadow lark warbling its brief but 
 lovely song, or of the valorous gray kingbird, throning in con- 
 fident majesty on a bush or a fence post. We also learned to 
 know the common snipe, the killdeer, and the curlew, whose 
 monotonous calls were easily recognized. Interesting, too, was 
 a gaunt specimen of what may have been the duck family 
 which was locally known as hell-diver. Another of our early 
 acquaintances was the nighthawk, whose uncanny, whirring 
 noise in the dark evening would sometimes frighten the little 
 folks. 
 
 The region was a veritable paradise for the sportsman; un- 
 fortunately he had become fully aware of its possibilities at an 
 early date. Ducks, especially teal and mallards, were quite 
 plentiful. Geese were less common but never entirely wanting 
 in the summertime. The gray crane, tall as a man, and his 
 
SPRING ON THE PRAIRIE 29 
 
 white kinsman, the whooping crane, traveled through the fields 
 in large flocks. As a boy I was much intrigued by the shiny 
 double-barreled shotguns which seemed to form a part of the 
 equipment of every buggy that came our way. Soon after the 
 close of the harvest season sportsmen would be coming from far 
 and near. Their chief interest was the prairie chicken, which 
 could always be found in large coveys. The slaughter in those 
 days was terrific; after a few seasons of intensive hunting, 
 scarcely a chicken was left to shoot. 
 
 The glories of spring began with a low purplish blossom 
 which I later learned was the pasqueflower. It shot up even 
 before the snow had all thawed away. Later in the season 
 came the glossy marigold of the marshland and the violets mat- 
 ting the hilltops with masses of blue flowerets. Because one 
 petal bore what resembled the picture of a rising sun, the Nor- 
 wegians called the violet " night-and-day." In low wet places 
 we found an interesting flower that could be nothing but the 
 lady's slipper; it seemed to like the society of the blue flag. On 
 drier ground we plucked the sweet William, the orange-red 
 lily, the sunflower, and the goldenrod. And everywhere there 
 were flowers, some quite insignificant, some strikingly beauti- 
 ful, that we never learned to identify. 
 
 Of all the wild plants, that which interested us most as chil- 
 dren was the rosin weed. This grew in a single straight stalk 
 often four feet or more in height and bore a flower with some 
 resemblance to a sunflower. When we found one of these 
 weeds we always broke the stem near the top, for we knew 
 that it contained a substance that much resembled gum and 
 which proved a cheap and fairly satisfactory substitute for what 
 was sold at the store. 
 
 Everywhere there was life and loveliness. But the pioneer 
 had come with traps and plows and shotguns, and in a few 
 years much of this delightful variety of living things had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
4 VI J: 
 
 T, 
 
 he land that my father bought was the northwest quarter 
 of section nine in what is now Linden Township. It lay partly 
 in what might be called a valley with a broad swale, or, as we 
 called it, a ravine, running south through the middle. This 
 was the beginning of a series of swales and sloughs which, 
 after a few miles, began to take on the form of a creek. This 
 stream was Buffalo Fork, one of the headwaters of the Des 
 Moines River. 
 
 When Father and Grandfather examined the land in June, 
 they saw rank vegetation almost everywhere, especially on both 
 sides of the swale. Accordingly they concluded that the soil 
 was very rich, which it doubtless was. But what they did not 
 know was that the grass was high because the land was low in 
 considerable part and had been abundantly irrigated earlier in 
 the year. In a normal spring such land could be easily culti- 
 vated; but in a wet season there might be trouble. Ultimately 
 the whole was made into a good farm, though several years 
 passed before all the land could be utilized. 
 
 The price was more than reasonable, two dollars and fifty 
 cents per acre, four hundred dollars for the entire quarter sec- 
 tion. Unfortunately, no one in the family had any money and 
 in those days it was very difficult to convert anything into ready 
 cash. So there was nothing to do but to begin with a debt 
 which was sure to grow more burdensome when preparations 
 were to be made for actual farming. Houses and fences had 
 
 30 
 
EARLY MEMORIES 31 
 
 to be built. Ground had to be broken. Implements had to be 
 bought. Another need was livestock, without which farming 
 could not be carried on with profit. And nearly all of these 
 things had to be purchased on credit. 
 
 There was nothing much to be done on the farm that first 
 year, the season being too far advanced. The only wise thing 
 to do was to look for a place to work. Mention has been made 
 of Coon Grove, an isolated group of walnut trees which some- 
 how had survived the fires which had swept over the prairies 
 every autumn. Coon Grove was about seven miles north of 
 the new farm. One John Bailey had located there and on his 
 farm my father found employment. Part of the time Mother 
 was also employed at Coon Grove. Father was paid ten dol- 
 lars per month, except during the harvest season, when he was 
 paid at the rate of fifteen dollars. The days were long, often 
 sixteen hours. I am quite sure that Mr. Bailey never got more 
 good labor for his money. Meanwhile my sister and I re- 
 mained with the Mattisons. 
 
 My earliest memory dates from the late summer of this year 
 (1871) when I was still not quite three years old. One Sunday 
 morning Katie and I were standing on the highest point that we 
 could find near the house looking toward the north, for we 
 knew that Coon Grove was in that direction. Sure enough, 
 after a while a horse and buggy came across the horizon. I 
 can recall nothing else from that day, but I know that it was a 
 joyful Sunday, for my parents were in that buggy. 
 
 The next memory that I can definitely place is the death of 
 Christine, our baby sister. Father and Katie stood by the side of 
 the bed looking intently at the dying child. Both were silent, 
 but a little to the side sat my mother overwhelmed with grief. 
 The picture is as clear and vivid in my mind as if I had seen 
 it only today. It was the first winter in our own house, the 
 second day of January, 1873. The physician, if there was one 
 to be had, which was doubtful, was ten miles away. To drive 
 that distance through the trackless snow at that time of winter 
 would be a dangerous undertaking. My mother's sorrow had 
 
32 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 nothing to do with regret in that respect; her bitterness rose 
 from a feeling that in conditions such as they were in our home, 
 she had not been able to give her child the care that it really 
 needed. 
 
 I can also recall the funeral. Several new settlers had by this 
 time come out on the prairie and they all gathered in our little 
 house. In the absence of a clergyman my father spoke briefly. 
 I recall nothing that he said, but I can still see the tears that 
 rolled down his cheeks as he spoke. I was amazed, for I did 
 not know that men could weep. 
 
 Sometime in the autumn of 1871 Father bought a yoke of 
 young oxen for which he paid seventy-five dollars. He also 
 bought an old wagon which cost forty dollars. The price paid 
 for the oxen was reasonable, but the wagon was not worth the 
 money. With this equipment he was able to haul the logs and 
 other timbers necessary for a house and the most necessary farm 
 buildings. To begin with he had to erect two buildings, a 
 dwelling for the family and a shelter for the cattle. 
 
 The site of the new homestead was a little knoll, near the 
 top of which Father built his house. He dug into the hillside 
 to a depth of about three feet and set his log construction above 
 this excavation. It might therefore be called in part dugout 
 and in part log house. The walls had been carefully plastered 
 inside and the house proved to be a warm and comfortable 
 dwelling. The room (for there was but one) was not large, 
 about ten by sixteen feet. It was in every way like the usual 
 pioneer cabin, except that it had three windows, while the 
 number in the ordinary log house was only one or two. 
 
 The house was warmed by a little stove, a reminder of the 
 year with Frank Rivers, from whom it had been obtained. 
 Otherwise the important furnishings were homemade. Father 
 was reasonably skillful in the use of tools and in the winter he 
 had much time to use them. We ate from a homemade table; 
 we slept in a homemade bed. We sat on benches that my father 
 had made, but the chairs that we had came from a store in 
 
CANDLES AND LAMPS 33 
 
 town. We hung our wraps on wooden pegs which, for our 
 purpose, were as good as hooks. In some of our neighbors' 
 houses I saw wooden spoons, but our tableware, such as it was, 
 came from the village store. 
 
 We used tallow candles for lighting purposes a part of the 
 time, but most of our light came from a kerosene lamp. Once 
 an old man who was skilled with a carving tool came to our 
 home and made my sister and me each a pair of wooden shoes, 
 of which we were inordinately proud. We had to make an im- 
 mediate trip to our grandparents' house to display our new 
 footwear. After a time the basswood split into pieces, however, 
 and by that time our pride had also suffered a serious cleavage. 
 
 Mother could not, of course, be happy long with what her 
 husband could make for her, and the homemade things were 
 gradually replaced with furniture that came from factories 
 farther east. Certain other things, such as candles, remained in 
 favor a long time. Candles were the light of my mother's early 
 life and seemed a proper thing to use; but the kerosene lamp 
 gave a better light and ultimately the candle, too, disappeared. 
 
 When the farm was bought the understanding was that 
 Father should take the western and Grandfather the eastern half. 
 Grandfather never seriously thought of farming the land him- 
 self; he merely held the deed, Uncle Martin being the actual 
 farmer. A log house was built on this half, too, very much 
 like our own but a trifle larger and set entirely above the 
 ground. The arrangement as to the division of the land stood 
 for half a dozen years only; at the end of that period Father 
 bought Uncle Martin's rights and became possessor of the entire 
 quarter section. Nothing more was added for a number of 
 years; but when Father finally retired from farming, the quarter 
 section had grown to a tract of four hundred acres. 
 
 Actual farming was begun in a small way in 1872. Some 
 ground was broken and various other things were done to get 
 the soil ready for cultivation. Now came a new problem. In 
 the seventies the leading crop in our part of the West was 
 
34 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 wheat and this was what my father intended to grow. So he 
 set out to buy the necessary seed and to his amazement he found 
 that there was no wheat to be had. The county was develop- 
 ing rapidly; by the close of the decade the population had al- 
 most trebled. This meant that new soil was being broken every 
 year and this again meant a larger demand for seed wheat the 
 following spring. 
 
 For days the distressed man drove about in the older settle- 
 ment in the eastern part of the county seeking for the coveted 
 grain but without success. There seemed to be no surplus any- 
 where. The future looked dark and ominous; without seed 
 the land was worthless. But help was on the way. One eve- 
 ning Hans Mattison came to our house bringing with him 
 Mikkel Peterson, a substantial farmer who lived in the eastern 
 part of the county. His presence in our little settlement at that 
 time was probably accidental; but he came at the right time. 
 Our desperate situation was laid before him and after a few 
 moments' thought he said, " Yes, you shall have wheat." 
 
 A great burden was lifted. A day or so later Father drove 
 away and when he returned there were bags in the wagon. The 
 seeding could now begin. 
 
 In the early seventies it was no longer necessary to drive a 
 hundred miles to mill or market, but the journeys were still 
 long and wearisome. The Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul 
 Railway was creeping westward over the prairies, and when my 
 father needed a market the iron rails had been laid to Clear 
 Lake. The distance to Clear Lake was at least thirty miles, 
 and with a load of wheat one cannot travel at great speed. By 
 setting out on the journey a little after midnight it was possible 
 to get to the elevators and dispose of the load sometime in the 
 afternoon. After a little rest one might begin the journey 
 homeward, which, since the wagon was now empty, would 
 take a little less than the outward trip. However, sixty miles 
 or more of almost continuous travel was more than the animals 
 could endure and the journey had to be finished on the second 
 day. 
 
OLD FRANK 35 
 
 After a time the railway worked its way westward to Gar- 
 ner, which now became our market. Garner was a little more 
 than twenty miles distant, and it was quite possible to drive to 
 that town and return in a day. Before long we heard that the 
 road had reached Britt, a point which was almost directly south 
 of us at a distance of about fifteen miles. The road to Britt 
 ran in part over low and swampy ground and it was not 
 thought wise to drive to that town with a load except in the 
 company of others. When I first went with Father to Britt, 
 there were probably half a dozen teams traveling together, each 
 with its load of wheat. 
 
 My father worked with oxen for about three years. Jack 
 and Jim were good animals, but a farmer was in many ways 
 better served with a team of horses. In 1874 Father began to 
 look about for a suitable span and finally found what he 
 thought he could use. One morning he drove away with the 
 oxen and I was given to understand that they might not return. 
 All afternoon I watched the road carefully and intently; and 
 when I finally caught sight of a wagon drawn by a team of 
 horses half a mile away, I was sure that my father was the 
 driver and ran down the road to meet him. It was a real ex- 
 perience to come up to the house in a wagon drawn by " our " 
 own horses. 
 
 One of the horses was an excellent animal, somewhat slow 
 but well built and powerful. He worked in harness on the farm 
 for more than twenty years. Old Frank was a noble beast; we 
 all came to be very fond of him. His mate was old, older no 
 doubt than was represented at the time of purchase. In a few 
 months she was found one morning dead. This was a serious 
 loss. The spring was upon us, but instead of beginning the 
 normal activities of the season, my father had to scour the coun- 
 try for another horse. A suitable animal was finally secured, 
 but only after many valuable days had been lost. 
 
 Ours was not the only household in which there was dis- 
 couragement in those days. The times were out of joint. In 
 September, 1873, certain large business houses in the East failed 
 
36 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 and panic spread from coast to coast. The great depression of 
 1873 and the following years did not directly affect our com- 
 munity. The county had no banks and no business establish- 
 ments larger than small stores. There could be no failures 
 where there was nothing to fail. In other respects we were af- 
 fected with the rest of the nation. Prices dropped and money 
 was hard to get. Foreclosures became exceedingly common. 
 Men stole away from their debt-burdened farms by night, tak- 
 ing their mortgaged chattels with them. The Minnesota bor- 
 der was not more than a dozen or fifteen miles away, and 
 when the line was crossed the fugitives were reasonably safe 
 from the agents of the law. Others there were whose depar- 
 ture was not motivated by a fear of sheriffs and creditors. West- 
 ern Minnesota and southern Dakota were calling for settlers. 
 Many of our citizens responded, hoping that the times would 
 not be so hard where men could get farms for the asking. In 
 our county, farm after farm was left vacant, though of course 
 new occupants were not long in arriving. 
 
 After a few years the farmers discovered that there was little 
 profit in raising wheat. Crops were often poor and prices fre- 
 quently stood on a low level. Since the acreage sown to wheat 
 in the Northwest was constantly expanding, low prices were 
 no doubt inevitable. In the autumn of 1876, while the hard 
 times were still general throughout the land, a terrible affliction 
 came out of the west in the form of huge swarms of locusts, or 
 grasshoppers, as they were usually called. On clear days one 
 could see them passing before the sun in darkening clouds. 
 Where they alighted to feed nothing was left to harvest. The 
 farmers tried to trap them in large pans of tin coated with tar. 
 Large numbers were actually destroyed in this way, but it is 
 not likely that the ravages of the hungry grasshoppers were 
 much abated by anything that human ingenuity was able to 
 devise. 
 
 It was now coming to be quite generally believed that Iowa 
 was a corn state and not a wheat state. Gradually the charac- 
 ter of our farming changed. My father's plan was to plant one 
 
BROTHERS AND SISTERS 37 
 
 half of the acreage under plow to corn while the other half was 
 sown to the smaller grains, chiefly oats. A few acres were al- 
 ways set aside for wheat and about the same area devoted to bar- 
 ley. Since barley ripens early it can be used as fodder until the 
 corn is ripe and ready. Most of the corn and barley was fed to 
 hogs, of which we always kept a considerable number. Nearly 
 all the corn was fed on the farm. On rare occasions only was 
 it hauled away to the market. 
 
 A boy was born in our first house on February 1, 1874. 
 There was much discussion as to what his name should be, my 
 grandmother wishing that her ancestry should in some way be 
 honored. She had her way (as she often did) and the boy was 
 named Christian Daae. It was a good name and has been 
 borne with honor. In his early manhood the Far West called 
 him and for more than thirty years he has lived in the sprawl- 
 ing area that we call Los Angeles. 
 
 On Holy Thursday two years later (April 13, 1876) there 
 was another birth in the old cabin. On some pretext I was sent 
 down to the other house where Uncle Martin and his wife, 
 Aunt Ingeborg, were then living. It was a cold, snowy day, 
 not a good day for a journey even by the stork; but that re- 
 markable bird came none the less and brought an unexpected 
 burden. Later in the day Aunt Ingeborg came home in great 
 excitement to announce the birth of twins, a boy and a girl. 
 
 Again Grandmother began to wonder about names and sug- 
 gested that the girl should be named for her own mother, 
 whose maiden name was Drude Marie Kathrine Daae. This 
 was obviously too much of a name; but Mother yielded in part 
 and the girl was named Drude Marie (we usually called her 
 Dora). She grew up to be a strikingly handsome woman with 
 something of Grandmother's carriage and bearing. She died 
 in the summer of life at the age of thirty-one under a surgeon's 
 knife. The boy was named Edward Emil; he is still living, a 
 citizen of Mason City, Iowa. 
 
 In 1877, when my father had bought Uncle Martin's farm, 
 
38 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 we moved from the old house to the one that Grandfather had 
 built. This had the advantage of a site near the section line 
 where the highway would some day be laid. Father put a new 
 and better roof on the house, partitioned off a room, and added 
 a kitchen on the side. We enjoyed greater comfort in the sec- 
 ond house; but here, too, we were cramped for room, for we 
 were growing into a family of some size. 
 
 We were five children when the move was made. Another 
 child, a boy, was born on September 1, the next year (1878). 
 It was a night of horror, for Mother had gone far down into the 
 dark valley and seemed unable to find her way back. A mes- 
 senger rode through the night to Forest City to bring back 
 help. The doctor came in the morning and soon life was as- 
 sured. The boy was named for his two uncles in Norway, 
 Arne Andreas (Andrew). He died young, reaching only his 
 twenty-seventh year. 
 
 In 1880 we moved into our third house. After ten years the 
 log period was past, for this was a frame building. Though 
 only a small house, it was larger than the one we left and had 
 the advantage of an upper story. The earliest happening of 
 any moment in the third house was the birth of my youngest 
 sister. There was a superstition among the Norwegian farm 
 folk that it was unwise to name a child for a member of the 
 family that had recently died. Some of our friends in the 
 neighborhood mentioned this, but Mother was not interested. 
 She had determined that if this child was a girl, she should be 
 given the name of her departed sister, Christine Mathilde. Ap- 
 parently the superstition had no basis, for she who received the 
 name has flourished to this day. 
 
 Ellen Mathilde Larson belonged to a generation which be- 
 lieved in rearing large families. She gave life to eight children, 
 seven of whom grew to maturity. Five of us are still living. 
 Mother was proud of her large household, though it is true that 
 we often gave her great grief. She was a woman of average 
 build, though a little taller than most women. She was ener- 
 getic and to an extent vivacious. Her labor was hard and her 
 
PIONEER MOTHER 39 
 
 days were long, for the household was numerous and the duties 
 to home and farm were becoming steadily more insistent. In 
 our family responsibilities were pretty well divided. The cows 
 and the hens, the milk, the butter, and the eggs lay almost en- 
 tirely within Mother's province. She never neglected her duties 
 and her husband never encroached on her field. She recognized 
 him as the head of the house; but only in the rarest instances 
 did he oppose her will. 
 
 She sang well and indulged her likings in this respect quite 
 freely. If she found a song that she wanted to sing, she fre- 
 quently composed a tune of her own, if she did not know the 
 accepted melody. I would not say that these compositions had 
 much merit, but they were often as good as many another that 
 we liked to sing. She asked me several times to translate Eng- 
 lish songs she liked, so that she might be able to sing them. 
 
 She enjoyed the society of her own kind, and was always 
 ready to help when need appeared. She was an excellent nurse, 
 and was frequently found in the homes of the sick. Also she 
 was a woman of peace : she bore no tales and stirred up no ani- 
 mosities. What feeling there may have been against her hus- 
 band's family soon was worn away and nearly all his relatives 
 appreciated her for what she was, an energetic, capable, and 
 upright woman, and a devoted and resourceful wife. 
 
 Though strongly religious, there was in her Tiature no trace 
 of bigotry; she held firmly to what she had come to believe, 
 but she tried to give to others the freedom that she claimed for 
 herself. In all her doings she was the practical woman; her 
 moral code was strict, but she knew how to allow for human 
 frailities. She believed that "a wound should never be made 
 deeper than it is," and she always dealt with human problems 
 in that spirit. 
 
 One day in September, 1917, I boarded a train for Iowa to 
 make a little visit to the old haunts. Father met me at the sta- 
 tion. " Do you know how things stand with us ? " he asked, to 
 which I replied in the negative. He then told me that Mother 
 was ill. Two days later she passed away (September 10). 
 
4 vn > 
 
 JL-s/AST of our home, about half a mile distant, the ground 
 was high, considerably higher than the farm on which we 
 lived. The geologist would probably call it a moraine, but 
 we had never heard of glaciation and simply called it the 
 "hills." The ground was rough and stony up there and no 
 one expected that it would ever be used as pasture land, for the 
 soil was dry and the grass was short. Cultivation was, of 
 course, impossible. Still, the time came when these stony 
 knolls were put under the plow and farmed with fair success. 
 As early as I can remember, we were in the habit of climb- 
 ing up these hills to see what was going on outside our own 
 little world. In those first years there was rarely anything new 
 anywhere within our horizon. Seven miles to the north we 
 could see Bailey's estate, mentioned above as Coon Grove. 
 About the same distance to the south we could see Buffalo 
 Grove, which to our eyes looked very much like the grove to 
 the north. Following the crest of the hills another half mile 
 to the east we came to a place where we had a view of Forest 
 City, ten miles distant, and of the "big woods" on the other 
 side of the creek. In between there was very little that we 
 could make out. I can recall a time when we could see a house 
 about four miles away toward the northeast but nothing nearer. 
 Changes came rapidly. The edge of the settlement east of us 
 was gradually coming nearer and ours was going forth to 
 meet it. 
 
 40 
 
PRAIRIE SCHOONERS 41 
 
 In the other directions, north and south and west, aside from 
 the two patches of woodland there was nothing to see but the 
 prairie, green stretches of grassland rolling quietly outward till 
 they were lost in the haze that trembled on the horizon. 
 
 Our part of the county was not flat; at the same time it could 
 not be called hilly. Here and there the grassy undulations 
 would culminate in "knobs," little elevations that were often 
 quite symmetrical. There were also numerous small depres- 
 sions, or " kettleholes," which we called "sloughs." These 
 were ordinarily filled with water and were a great joy to the 
 small boy. In the deepest part of the slough the water might 
 be as much as three or even four feet deep. Here and there 
 were cattails and other forms of marsh vegetation, amid which 
 the crane laid her large eggs or the red-winged blackbird built 
 her flimsy nest, both of which were regarded as legitimate 
 plunder by little country boys. One had to look out for leeches 
 when wading into a slough; all the same, it was a fascinating 
 place when the water was deep. Here, too, the muskrat built 
 his mound of marsh vegetation which we visited in the winter 
 with barbarous steel traps. I was never a very successful trap- 
 per, but I now regret that I have to confess to several fine skins. 
 
 One thing we did see very often, sometimes almost daily. 
 This was the covered wagon, otherwise known as the prairie 
 schooner. Such a schooner was a wagon with hickory bows 
 rising from the wagon box. Canvas or ticking or some other 
 kind of strong cloth was stretched on the bows to make a shel- 
 ter from the sun and the rain. Singly at times, but more often 
 in groups of five or six, these wagons rolled forward along the 
 higher ground, always headed westward or northwestward. 
 Following behind there might be small droves of cattle, the 
 nuclei of larger herds that were hoped for in the homes to be 
 builded. Behind the animals trudged the more youthful pio- 
 neers, boys of rather tender age, whose duty was to keep the 
 cattle from straying aside from the line of march. 
 
 Sometimes it would happen that a covered wagon would 
 halt in our neighborhood, and soon we could count on seeing 
 
42 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 another farm. The single little dugout of 1871 was not al- 
 lowed to remain in solitude for long. Neighbors came in close 
 succession, till by the close of the decade the development in 
 and about our settlement was sufficiently great to warrant a 
 request for a separate township organization. 
 
 My father's farm lay on the north edge of the settlement in its 
 earlier extent and one mile from the north edge of the township. 
 Half a mile farther south lived the Mattisons till toward the 
 close of the decade, when Halvor, the son in the family, bought 
 a quarter section at our northwestern corner and established 
 the family home on that farm. Halvor Mattison was older 
 than I, but he was the first boy whom I learned to know inti- 
 mately. We were always friends and I have treasured his 
 friendship to this day. He is one of the few of my old ac- 
 quaintances who still occupy the old farms. 
 
 One day we saw several loaded wagons coming down the 
 hillside to the east. We watched, Katie and I, and saw them 
 come to a halt on a little rise midway between our farm and 
 Mattison's. The loads belonged to Erik Osmundson, a new 
 settler who had bought land just south of us. Osmundson died 
 a few years later and left a wife with seven children; an eighth 
 was born soon after his death. Of these eight, four were sons, 
 two of whom were older than I. I spent quite a little time 
 with the Osmundson boys ; they taught me many things, much 
 that was good and desirable but also some things that were not, 
 the usual story of boyhood friendships. 
 
 We were all learning English at the time. Ole Osmundson, 
 who was spending a part of his time with men who spoke some 
 sort of English, was constantly picking up new words, which 
 he promptly passed on to me, never failing at the same time to 
 comment on my abysmal ignorance. I found it hard to believe 
 that he was always right and could not be sure that some of 
 the terms were not pure invention, for the English language, 
 as he spoke it, seemed to have too many words. 
 
 Farther to the southwest, his farm touching that of Hans 
 Mattison, lived George Johnson, who was one of the first to 
 
PIONEER NEIGHBORS 43 
 
 buy land in the township. Being unmarried, he did not at once 
 set up a home. Before long a young lady came into the settle- 
 ment. The young farmer was interested at once. The mar- 
 riage was in 1873, the first in the township. 
 
 I was late to school one day, and when I came in I saw two 
 girls reciting a lesson, girls whom I had never seen before. 
 They turned out to be Anna and Hanna, twin daughters of 
 Christian Mortensen, a Dane who had bought land two miles 
 to the south of us. There were other younger children in the 
 same family; counting the girls just mentioned I can think of 
 seven, which was the normal number in our community. 
 
 Mortensen's neighbor to the east was Arne E. Dahl, who 
 came in 1877. In many ways Dahl was the most individual of 
 all the men in our community. He was tall and muscular, a 
 good workman and a considerate neighbor. If a man needed 
 help with his farm work, Dahl would never say no, even though 
 his own work might be demanding his immediate attention. 
 He was genial in disposition and always found a welcome 
 wherever he went. A constant reader, he had accumulated a 
 vast fund of important information along with nearly as much 
 misinformation, both of which he dealt out with a liberal hand. 
 
 Dahl had many children, ten or eleven, I believe. He never 
 seemed to know exactly how many they were, for when asked 
 he would usually proceed to call the roll, which he always 
 did quite correctly. For some years there was unmitigated 
 poverty in the Dahl household. Of surplus cash there was 
 never much and Arne would never contract a debt to keep 
 up appearances. Time came, however, when his family, too, 
 was to have a taste of prosperity; but that was when he quit 
 working as a tenant on another man's land and began to culti- 
 vate a farm of his own. 
 
 A mile and a half to the southwest was a farm occupied by 
 Paul Mikkelson and his son Mikkel (Michael). The Mikkel- 
 sons had come into Winnebago from Mitchell County about 
 fifty miles farther east, a locality which was described to us as 
 something akin to the ancient Canaan. " Old Paul," as we usu- 
 
44 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 ally called the father, was an oldish man, heavy and round- 
 shouldered. Unlike his neighbors, he wore no beard: he was 
 also unique in being an active member of the Methodist church. 
 He was not much interested in the routine of the farm but was 
 very enthusiastic about fishing and spent a good deal of his time 
 at Crystal Lake, some five or six miles to the south of us, where 
 bullheads and pickerel were sometimes quite plentiful. 
 
 One day I saw two haystacks on the prairie about two miles 
 to the southwest. A few days later a heap of logs appeared 
 alongside the stacks and before long a log house was rising 
 and taking form. For some years this house was almost a land- 
 mark; it was the best and the largest in the settlement. It had 
 a small hallway, it was partitioned into several rooms, and its 
 walls had a better finish than those of the other houses in the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 The occupant, Nils Olson, was a farmer from southern 
 Sweden. We held him and his family in high respect, but 
 socially we had little to do with them. They were an outpost 
 of a strong Swedish settlement north of Forest City and their 
 close friendships were found in that community. If I remem- 
 ber correctly Cecilie Olson had given birth to thirteen children 
 and lived long enough to lay them all in their separate graves. 
 Why the Lord should be so severe with the Olsons we could 
 never understand; but Mother was once heard to remark that 
 the dread of fresh air at night was not conducive to a healthy 
 life. 
 
 These neighbors nearly all came in the years of 1873 to 1877. 
 A little later came Andrew Anderson, who was known among 
 us as " Baker " Anderson from the trade that he had followed 
 in Norway. Anderson settled on a small farm touching ours 
 on the north. Like nearly all the rest of us, Baker Anderson 
 was of rural Norwegian stock ; but having spent a good part of 
 his life in urban surroundings, he had acquired more polished 
 manners than those that were observed among his neighbors. 
 Anderson had a family of six children, two of whom were boys 
 of very near my own age. I saw much of these two in my boy- 
 
A FARMING COMMUNITY 45 
 
 hood days. One of them, Joseph Herman Anderson, has had 
 a successful political career, having served in several public of- 
 fices, the highest being the speakership of the Iowa House of 
 Representatives, which he held for two sessions. 
 
 Farther away to the northwest lived another Anderson fam- 
 ily, which was not, however, related to our friend the baker. 
 John Anderson was the father of five sons, several of whom 
 were, when I first knew them, of the age when social pleasures 
 have much meaning. He had a daughter Betsy who married 
 my boyhood chum, Ole Osmundson. In the early eighties An- 
 drew Olson Kiel bought the farm that joined ours on the west. 
 Kiel had been a sailor in his younger days and had seen a great 
 deal more of the world than his neighbors had. He did not 
 seem to be good material for the making of a successful farmer; 
 all the same, he did succeed and left an excellent farm when he 
 died. His daughter Mathilda became the wife of Joseph An- 
 derson, whose present home is very near what was once my 
 own. 
 
 In 1881 Peter J. Huglen moved over from Wisconsin and 
 bought a farm a mile to the north just across the township line. 
 We came to be closely associated with the Huglens, especially 
 some years later, when my sister Katie became the wife of 
 James Ellickson, Mrs. Huglen's brother. 
 
 These families, with a few others that lived farther out, 
 formed our community and our neighborhood. We changed 
 work with them, we called on them and received their calls in 
 return. We turned to them for help when we needed it and 
 expected them to turn to us in similar circumstances. With 
 two exceptions they were all Norwegians and all but two ad- 
 hered to the Lutheran church; most of them belonged to the 
 same branch of that much divided body. They were our 
 friends and the friendship was genuine and close. 
 
 An occasional Swede or Dane, in addition to those already 
 mentioned, slipped into the settlement at various times, but 
 their stay, as a rule, was quite temporary. The same was true 
 of one or two Irishmen and about the same number of Ger- 
 
46 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 mans, though most of these located farther out. Usually they 
 came as tenant farmers. But whether near or far, the farmers 
 were mostly Norwegian stock, as the population of the town- 
 ship has remained to this day. 
 
 Very much the same was true of the county at large. Out- 
 side the villages the Norwegians were in great majority. In 
 the towns it was different. Norwegians were there, too, in re- 
 spectable numbers; but the native element had strength enough 
 to control affairs for a long time. Down to 1876 this element 
 was also in control of the county administration; in the election 
 of that year, however, the American, or as we called them, the 
 Yankee forces suffered a decisive defeat and the ascendancy of 
 the naturalized citizen was about to begin. 
 
4 VIII J: 
 
 I 
 
 n many respects our community was a bit of the Old World 
 transplanted to the richer soil of the Northwest. It was a gar- 
 den almost entirely filled with plants of a foreign culture. 
 These did not all flourish in the new environment, but some 
 of them throve exceedingly well. This condition was not pe- 
 culiar to our township or county ; all through the Middle West 
 and the Northwest similar communities had been established 
 or were in the process of formation. They were not all alike, 
 but their differences were due to their differing racial constit- 
 uents. Those that I have known were nearly all German or 
 Scandinavian; but since my boyhood days other nationalities 
 have come into the republic in growing numbers and have 
 formed "little Hungaries," "little Italies," and various other 
 little nations, especially in the urban centers. 
 
 But we lived in America, not in Norway, and the physical 
 and social environments cannot fail to be of great significance, 
 even in such alien communities. Furthermore, we were Ameri- 
 can citizens; at least we enjoyed all the rights that could be 
 conferred by naturalization. My father was naturalized in 
 1876, just in time to vote for Hayes and Wheeler. I became a 
 citizen by the same declaration. But, though we were in a sense 
 Americans, we lived as Norwegians, or as nearly so as condi- 
 tions would permit. 
 
 There was first the matter of speech. English was recog- 
 nized as the language of the land and was acknowledged to be 
 
 47 
 
48 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 of first importance. Adult immigrants were not, however, so 
 very keen about learning to speak or to read this language. My 
 father and my uncles attended the public school, such as it was, 
 during the first two or three years of our stay in Winnebago. 
 Father had learned, as told above, a little English from the 
 Rivers family, a little more in school, and a little, very little, 
 from manuals prepared to assist aliens in mastering the new 
 language. He came in the course of time to speak English 
 fairly well, though with a marked accent and with a pleasant 
 disregard for grammatical usage. He could write English after 
 a fashion, but he rarely did undertake to do so without at the 
 same time giving vent to strong sentiments on the subject of 
 English spelling, which, to one whose written language is en- 
 tirely phonetic, is an utterly incomprehensible thing. 
 
 My mother spoke a form of the language that her friends 
 could understand but which never failed to mystify a stranger. 
 My grandparents were wholly innocent of English. In fact 
 very few of the adult immigrants in our neighborhood were 
 able to get very far toward the mastery of the national idiom. 
 
 There was, for that matter, only small incentive to learn to 
 use this language. Nearly all our business transactions could 
 be (and frequently were) carried out in Norwegian. The 
 merchants at the county seat soon found it expedient to pro- 
 vide themselves with Norwegian clerks and salesmen. When 
 there was no such help available, the next best was an inter- 
 preter. There were Norsemen in Forest City who pocketed 
 many welcome fees as interpreters, especially at the sessions of 
 the public court. 
 
 The details of local administration and to an extent the busi- 
 ness of the county itself were often discussed in the alien tongue. 
 My father was frequently called into jury service and it some- 
 times happened that every juror in a given case was a Norse- 
 man. In such cases the deliberations in the jury room were 
 carried on in the language that all knew. Records, of course, 
 were kept in English, or what was believed to be English. It 
 is likely that many of the minutes of the county board and other 
 
NORWEGIAN-AMERICAN NEWSPAPERS 49 
 
 public records of the seventies and eighties would make highly 
 interesting reading. 
 
 The most serious difficulty would arise when one of the older 
 immigrants found that he needed the services of a physician. 
 The doctor usually finds it necessary to get some information 
 from his patient, and the latter on his part needs to understand 
 the doctor's instructions. In such difficulties the interpreter 
 might be of little help; his vocabulary might fail, as it no doubt 
 often did. I recall the case of a German, for instance, who sent 
 a friend to town to procure medicine for a sick child but found 
 when the messenger had returned that the doctor had prescribed 
 for a totally different ailment than the one that he had tried to 
 describe. 
 
 Such intellectual sustenance as our neighbors needed they 
 found in books imported from Norway or in Norwegian news- 
 papers printed in this country. The journal most generally 
 read was S\andinaven, a weekly paper of wide influence, dat- 
 ing from 1866 and published in Chicago. S\andinaven was in 
 a measure the mouthpiece of the left wing in the Lutheran 
 church, and throughout the seventies, when a strong element 
 in the clergy was urging a parochial school system, it fought 
 vigorously for the common school. The more conservative 
 groups gave their subscriptions to Norden, also published in 
 Chicago. Father liked S\andinaven, but Mother was not inter- 
 ested in religious controversy, so for a time we read Decorah- 
 posten, a small sheet published in Decorah, Iowa. As a news- 
 paper this was not in those days a great success; but it con- 
 tained much material that we found highly entertaining. The 
 paper had a large clientele, and has flourished to this day. 
 
 In the early eighties we began to read Nordvesten (the 
 Northwest) which was published in St. Paul and was believed 
 to be financed by " Jim " Hill, who was at that time giving his 
 unremitting energies to promoting his undertakings in the Red 
 River Valley. Nordvesten may have been something of a 
 propagandist sheet, but it was ably edited and deserved such 
 popularity as it had. 
 
50 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 The immigrant, like the native, was interested in the doings 
 of the country in which he lived; but he was interested still 
 more in what was going on in the land from which he had 
 come. In his view a good paper was one that had much news 
 from Norway. Even today the Norwegian-American press 
 finds it expedient to devote a considerable part of its space to 
 happenings over the sea. Next in importance was the news 
 from the Norwegian settlements. Many were also keenly in- 
 terested in what was happening in the church, that is, in their 
 own branch of Lutheranism. To show much of an interest in 
 the fortune of non-Lutheran churches was not good form ; one 
 might almost say that it revealed disloyal tendencies that should 
 not go unrebuked. 
 
 It is difficult to rate too highly the importance of the foreign- 
 language press. It formed the bridge between the past and the 
 present, the old and the new. By means of this bridge the alien 
 was enabled to maintain the culture of the homeland in his 
 new environment. From the viewpoint of the native citizen, 
 the foreign-language newspaper was an evil thing, since it de- 
 layed the process of Americanization. However, it also had 
 much to say about affairs in this country and was therefore a 
 very useful institution, inasmuch as it helped to inform the im- 
 migrant as to the constitutional forms and habits of the land 
 in which he had come to live. 
 
 In many homes one would be sure to find copies of some 
 church journal and one could also be sure that this would ordi- 
 narily not be found to have an irenic temper. A Methodist 
 clergyman came to see us once in those early days, and Mother 
 carefully hid the church paper; but somehow the man came 
 upon it, and what he read was evidently not to his liking. 
 
 In almost every farmhouse one would also find a small col- 
 lection of books, but these, too, were likely to be of a religious 
 character. Secular books were exceedingly rare. The readers 
 loved the homely narrative of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress; they 
 found spiritual comfort in the devotional writings of the Ger- 
 man Pietists, great souls like Philipp Jakob Spener and August 
 
BOOKS AND READING 51 
 
 Hermann Francke. The Bible, of course, was not neglected, 
 but I believe that the interest in other religious writings was 
 greater than that in the Book itself. My grandfather began his 
 serious reading of the Old Testament in his last years and was 
 shocked to find that the ancient worthies, whom he had al- 
 ways regarded as of unquestioned holiness, men like Jacob and 
 David, might and sometimes did stoop to unholy deeds. 
 
 In my father's house there was a little bookcase made by the 
 head of the household from a few thin walnut boards. This 
 case contained all the reading matter that we possessed at the 
 time when I was learning to use the alphabet. The books were 
 all in Norwegian and nearly all were religious in content. Two 
 were outstanding: the Bible and the postil, or book of sermons 
 designed for informal worship in the family or in larger gath- 
 erings. In this case the author was Ludvig Hofacker, a Ger- 
 man divine who had evidently been a preacher of great power. 
 Of fiction there was absolutely nothing. A borrowed book of 
 this class might occasionally find its way to the shelves, but 
 that was a temporary matter; it was there on sufferance only. 
 Father was sure that the novel was a thing of evil and Mother 
 leaned to the same opinion; but the flesh is sometimes weak, 
 and whenever a novel came into the house she was quite sure 
 to read it. 
 
 After some years of this scant intellectual fare, the settlement 
 began to form the acquaintance of a type of novel that one as- 
 sociates with the name of E. P. Roe, though his stories did not 
 reach us until we had come well into the eighties. The earliest 
 that I can recall of this class were certain stories by Hesba Stret- 
 ton, which were highly prized because of their clear-cut ethi- 
 cal teachings. Then came Ingraham's Prince of the House of 
 David, which passed from hand to hand and was eagerly read. 
 There were also religious novels of a more distinctly historical 
 type and usually of German origin, which enjoyed an even 
 earlier vogue. The question was, of course, are these things 
 true? After serious discussion of this point the farmers nat- 
 urally concluded that much of what these books told must be 
 
 U. : H-L Un 
 
52 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 true; enough, indeed, to allow a Christian to read the entire 
 narrative with a good conscience. 
 
 Except for a brief and not very helpful experiment with the 
 Farmers' Alliance, our community had no formal organization 
 except the church. Its membership was held together by con- 
 siderations of race, religion, and culture, all of which are ef- 
 fective bonds. The same condition prevailed in nearly all the 
 other settlements, especially in the countryside. In the history 
 of Norwegian-American society the church is a dominant fac- 
 tor. The local churches were associated with other congrega- 
 tions of the same faith and spirit into larger general bodies; this 
 is a highly significant fact, for in this way powerful forces were 
 created which stood ready to fight not only for Lutheranism 
 but also for Norsedom. 
 
 Of the Norsemen who came to find homes in the Northwest 
 the vast majority had great reverence for the national church. 
 So far as possible they wished to reproduce its institutions in 
 the new land. The Norwegian establishment is Lutheran in 
 doctrine and Episcopal in polity, though the bishops are by no 
 means so highly clothed with power as their fellows in the 
 English church. The local pastors, however, are men of promi- 
 nent position and authority. Usually they are able men, care- 
 fully educated, trained to leadership, and jealous of their rights 
 and privileges. In all the affairs of the parishes they have al- 
 ways played the leading part; in secular activities, too, their will 
 and counsel are not to be ignored. 
 
 The Norwegian church may be classed with the ritualistic 
 group, though its ritual is not at all elaborate. The minister of 
 the Word is a priest, but he is also a preacher. When robed for 
 official duties he wears a long, loose, and rather unattractive 
 black gown and a wide ruff, very much like those that we see 
 in the pictures of English lords and other worthies of the later 
 sixteenth century. Ordinarily the robe and the ruff are only 
 worn when the service is being read or other parts of the ritual 
 are being observed, as at baptism on a weekday. At other 
 
CHURCH ORGANIZATION 53 
 
 times there is little in his dress to distinguish a clergyman from 
 other citizens. 
 
 It was quite obvious that this system could not be trans- 
 planted in all its completeness to the Northwest. In certain 
 quarters there was some agitation in favor of an American 
 episcopacy but nothing came of it: the polity adopted was a 
 compromise between the Presbyterian and the Congregational 
 systems, with emphasis on the powers inhering in the local 
 church body. All were agreed on matters of faith, at least all 
 accepted the Augsburg Confession; but creeds have to be inter- 
 preted and disagreement was not far away. Another matter of 
 contention was the ritual, which some wished to employ in its 
 complete Norwegian form, while others sought to reduce the 
 ceremonial to a scant minimum. 
 
 Those who wished to conserve as much as possible of the old 
 establishment and rebuild it on western soil found their leaders 
 in an able and aggressive group of young university graduates 
 who came to the settlements in southern Wisconsin and the 
 neighboring parts of Iowa and Minnesota in the decade begin- 
 ning with 1848. These men formed their churches into a com- 
 pact body commonly called the Norwegian Synod. In this 
 body the authority of the priesthood received a decided em- 
 phasis. Ministerial robes were regarded as the only decent garb 
 for an officiating clergyman; and parts of the ritual had to be 
 chanted, as the rule was in Norway. The Norwegian order of 
 worship states distinctly that a priest who can sing " only mod- 
 erately" shall read and not chant; but no clergyman would be 
 willing to admit that this instruction might apply to him. 
 
 There were many who were wholly out of sympathy with 
 the conservatism of the Synod. In the closing years of the 
 eighteenth century a great religious leader had appeared in 
 Norway in the person of Hans Nielsen Hauge, a common lay- 
 man with outstanding talents as preacher and organizer. 
 Hauge's voice was raised against the rationalistic mood of the 
 times and he called the sleeping Christians to awaken and come 
 
54 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 out into the light of day. Unfortunately his activities ran 
 counter to an old law governing religious conventicles, and the 
 prophet was ultimately condemned to serve a long sentence in 
 one of the filthy prisons for which the age was famous. 
 
 The Haugean movement had a striking resemblance to the 
 Wesleyan agitation which had already reached its culmination 
 in England. Like Wesley, the Norse reformer wished to work 
 inside the framework of the church; the devotees of Haugean- 
 ism, therefore, never became a dissenting sect. Like Wesley, 
 Hauge called his people to conversion and placed much stress 
 on personal conduct; holy men must lead holy lives. Unlike 
 Wesley, he was not an Arminian; on the subject of sin and its 
 power over man he stood squarely on the Lutheran platform. 
 Salvation is by faith alone; in the process of conversion the 
 deeds of man are of no effect. Hauge was never convicted of 
 preaching heretical doctrines. 
 
 On the other hand, the great preacher and his followers took 
 a critical and almost hostile attitude toward the official priest- 
 hood. Like their English contemporaries, they made large use 
 of itinerant lay preachers. They saw no virtue in an elaborate 
 ritual and looked with scorn on the black robe and the white 
 "millstone." They recognized a holy creation in the minis- 
 terial office; but the men who filled the office and the uses that 
 they made of its functions were not according to their liking. 
 Everywhere in the profession they saw worldliness and indif- 
 ference, and they sometimes feared that the pastor was not a 
 true believer. 
 
 Haugeanism was strong in the west country; the city of 
 Stavanger is still the center of a great deal of religious activity 
 both within and without the establishment. The earliest immi- 
 grants to the New World were also from the city and the neigh- 
 borhood of Stavanger: some were Quakers, but many were 
 Haugeans or of that tendency. If the adherents of Hans Nil- 
 sen Hauge in America had been able to work in harmony, they 
 might have become the stronger party; but this proved impos- 
 sible and a real opportunity passed. 
 
CHAOTIC CHURCH CONDITIONS 55 
 
 As the American frontier moved westward, it bore on its 
 bosom a great variety of religious sects, some of which gained 
 a notable following. So it was also in Winnebago County, where 
 church conditions in the early seventies were decidedly chaotic. 
 Methodism with its joyous and virile religion appealed power- 
 fully to many of the immigrants. A Norwegian Methodist so- 
 ciety had already been established in Forest City; the first church 
 building in the county was erected by this organization. The 
 Baptists followed close behind and had considerable success, es- 
 pecially among the Swedes who lived in the neighborhood of 
 Forest City. The Norwegian dissenters took less kindly to the 
 Baptist system; they preferred Methodism, in which they seemed 
 to recognize certain characteristics of the Haugean movement. 
 The Adventists carried on a vigorous propaganda in the middle 
 seventies, the chief result of which was a notable secession from 
 the young Baptist church to the standards of the Battle Creek 
 group. 
 
 My family was subject to all these forms of religious pressure, 
 but the Methodists pursued us the farthest. My grandaunt, Mrs. 
 Joice, was a Methodist; her husband was a regularly ordained 
 member of the Methodist clergy, though he was never actually 
 in charge of a church. A woman of my grandmother's emo- 
 tional nature would inevitably be drawn in the same direction. 
 In spirit she was a dissenter from Lutheranism, though she re- 
 tained her membership in the local congregation. Uncle Lewis 
 quite naturally found his way into the Methodist fold when he 
 married Margaret Joice. No wonder that the Methodist minis- 
 ter in Forest City had hopes and even expectations. 
 
 There was much in the Wesleyan appeal that my parents re- 
 garded with favor, particularly the insistence that the evidence 
 of conversion must and will appear in the daily conduct of a 
 living Christian. They could not, however, approve the meth- 
 ods employed by the preachers and workers in the camp meet- 
 ings; they felt that they were not in accord with the demands 
 of Christian dignity. For one thing, they did not enjoy being 
 pulled by main strength to the mourner's bench. Repentance 
 
56 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 and conversion could not, in their opinion, come to the soul in 
 that way. 
 
 What was more important, the church in Forest City seemed 
 to look with favor on the doctrine of human perfectibility, which 
 my father could not accept. Those who held to their belief were 
 willing to grant that a converted Christian might fall into er- 
 ror, might even make serious mistakes; but these would lead to 
 condemnation; at least, that was how my father understood the 
 doctrine. In all his essential beliefs, he was and remained a 
 firm Lutheran. He held with emphasis that there must be a 
 conscious recognition of one's sinful nature and that even after 
 conversion there remains the need of carrying on a persistent 
 warfare against the embattled powers of evil. He therefore could 
 never be a Methodist. 
 
 When my memories begin, my parents had become Hauge- 
 ans of a pronounced type. Some time during those early and 
 troublous years in Iowa, they had been "awakened" and had 
 gone through the process that leads to conversion. Theirs was 
 a complete conversion. Their thoughts had been turned away 
 from the exclusive contemplation of worldly things and had be- 
 come fixed on the delectable promises of the hereafter. They 
 had begun to walk in what they believed were the ways of God. 
 
 I would not say that the new passion for holiness had crowded 
 worldly interests completely to the wall; my father knew quite 
 well that he had duties to perform in this mundane life and 
 strove honestly to fulfill them. Their importance, however, was 
 slight when compared to the one thing needful. With his con- 
 version he had also become more firmly grounded in Lutheran 
 doctrine, though he rejected certain extreme interpretations. He 
 refused to believe, as some of his neighbors actually did, that an 
 unbaptized child must necessarily be lost. Nor did he carry his 
 belief in man's inherent sinfulness to the point of accepting pre- 
 destination. Strong, too, was his reliance on a kind and merci- 
 ful Providence; at the same time he recognized the validity of 
 ordinary human duty and responsibility. He held firmly to the 
 
CHRISTIAN LARSON 57 
 
 sacredness of the Lord's Day, though he did not condemn social 
 relaxation on the Sabbath. Unnecessary labor and noisy activi- 
 ties he would not allow. I once had a part in a Sunday baseball 
 game and met strong disapproval on my return home. 
 
 In all matters of belief he was tolerant; but he was never easy- 
 going in his attitude toward sin. After all, his religion had 
 most to do with everyday living; he liked to judge a tree by its 
 fruits. Certain common practices he regarded as peculiarly vi- 
 cious : chief among these were dancing, drinking, and card play- 
 ing. In these practices he seemed to find seductive dangers 
 which were sure to overwhelm the pleasure-loving soul. 
 
 In his attitude toward the use of alcoholic beverages he dis- 
 tinguished carefully between partaking of a glass of wine on 
 social occasions and habitual indulgence in strong drink in any 
 form. As for himself, he preferred to be regarded as a total 
 abstainer; I do not recall that alcoholic beverages were ever 
 served in our house. When Iowa (in 1882) took a referendum 
 on the question of prohibition by constitutional amendment, he 
 spoke and voted for the extinction of the liquor traffic. It was 
 a matter of real gratification to him that every vote in our town- 
 ship was cast for the amendment. 
 
 I have known no man whose life was so completely an illus- 
 tration of his religious principles. In a quiet, natural way he 
 held to that which he believed was right. In his conversation 
 he rarely padded his speech with Biblical phrases; that he re- 
 garded as an affectation, a form of vanity which one should 
 avoid. He walked in the paths of the Lord so far as he knew 
 them and I believe he knew them well. Even the scoffers, who 
 spoke of his home as " the house of God," would cheerfully ad- 
 mit that Christian Larson's word was as good as his bond and 
 that he never knowingly deceived a fellow man. 
 
 When he died (in 1919) his old friends came from far and 
 near in the county to do him the last honors. All were ready 
 to testify that a quiet, hard-working, peace-loving citizen had 
 gone from their midst, one whose chief ambition had been to 
 
58 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 join and do his part in building a God-fearing community on 
 a little stretch of Iowa's prairie. 
 
 They had other reasons to remember him. Most of our neigh- 
 bors were industrious readers, but they did not trust themselves 
 to write letters. Some of them could write very little beyond 
 their signatures; so when something had to be written they 
 came to Father who, they knew, could compose readily as well 
 as write. He consequently became a sort of unofficial notary 
 for the settlement. There were not many important secrets in 
 our neighborhood, but, such as they were, he usually shared 
 them. He also was called upon to read letters. Two forms of 
 script were still used in Norway, the Latin and the German, 
 and the recipient might not know the form in which the letter 
 was written. Father could read both. 
 
 In all matters that concerned religion my parents were in 
 substantial agreement; Mother was, however, less logical and 
 consistent in her views, especially as she applied them to the 
 little world around her. She found it hard to condemn the 
 dance, if it was held amid decent surroundings and riotous be- 
 havior was not allowed. She had much sympathy for those of 
 her friends who strayed from the narrow path, and hoped in the 
 ultimate triumph of righteousness. Best of all, her religion did 
 not deprive her of a keen appreciation of humor, which was far 
 more highly developed in her than in her more serious spouse. 
 
 Holding such principles as they professed, my parents could 
 find one church only in which to seek Christian fellowship. The 
 high-church element was organizing the farmers on both sides 
 of the creek, and was daily gaining in strength and influence. 
 For a number of years the Reverend J. M. Dahl was in charge 
 of these congregations. Dahl was something of a character. He 
 was a large, portly person and had at one time been widely 
 known for great muscular strength. He had served a term of 
 years as missionary in India, which fact he never allowed his 
 friends to forget. Dahl had, indeed, certain qualities of leader- 
 ship, though not in the field of spirit. He was a very successful 
 farmer and doubtless could give excellent advice in matters of 
 
THE AUGUSTANA SYNOD 
 
 59 
 
 this world. In his dealings with his parishioners he was kind 
 and thoughtful, but in the pulpit he was rarely interesting. 
 Neither he nor the great Synod to which he belonged had any 
 appeal to men and women of strong pietistic tendencies. In the 
 state of mind in which my parents were in the early seventies, 
 they could not have been happy in a congregation that belonged 
 to the Norwegian Synod. 
 
 The Mattisons held membership in a small church body 
 called the Augustana Synod, an organization with Haugean 
 proclivities and one of three general bodies into which the low- 
 church or pietistic element was divided. The Augustana Synod 
 held a place on the left, if that term can be properly applied 
 to a situation so tangled as the one in which Norwegian Lu- 
 theranism found itself in that particular period. Like the older 
 pietistic groups in Norway, it made extensive use of the lay 
 ministry. Its clerical members wore neither ruff nor robe, and 
 refused to chant any part of the service. The Augustana group 
 was a democratic body with strong indications of the pervading 
 influence of an early frontier existence. 
 
 It was not long before clergymen of this connection appeared 
 in our midst. The earliest one that I can remember was David 
 Lysnes, a man with certain positive and quite peculiar charac- 
 teristics. He had much light brown curly hair gathered on his 
 head in the form of a low pyramid. A beard of the same color 
 framed a strong, interesting, and attractive face. Many tales 
 have been told of his quaint mannerisms and of his frequent 
 departures from the conventional style in oratory. Lysnes was 
 devout, intelligent, fairly well educated, and curiously absent- 
 minded. It was inevitable that he should ultimately be made 
 into a theological professor. 
 
 In 1869 a group of families in or near Forest City had formed 
 Luther Congregation of the Augustana Synod and my parents 
 joined this church. Later they helped to organize Linden Con- 
 gregation, a little church in our own neighborhood. In both 
 of these bodies my father served as clerk. For a long time he 
 also held the position of klo\\er. In the Norwegian church 
 
60 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 this official serves as the representative of the congregation in 
 the divine worship. His duties are to open and close the service 
 with a brief prayer. Ordinarily he also leads the congregation 
 in singing the hymns. In Norway he further served as parish 
 schoolmaster and there were churches in America where the 
 office combined all the three functions; in our church that was 
 not the case. 
 
 Church services were not frequent in our neighborhood, even 
 after these organizations had been formed. Part of the time 
 we had no resident pastor and a clergyman would appear among 
 us only once in four or six weeks. My father again stepped into 
 the breach. It became his custom to gather together in a farm- 
 house or in the schoolhouse those who wished to gather for 
 informal worship. At these gatherings some of his friends, 
 notably Baker Anderson, assisted. When the postil was used, 
 Anderson frequently was the reader, for he was perhaps the 
 best reader in the group. 
 
 My father was a fair speaker and could at times move his 
 audience with real power. It was suggested at one time that he 
 should seek ordination; but the suggestion did not appeal to 
 him. He held the ministerial office in great reverence but was 
 not anxious to exercise its functions. He was careful never to go 
 beyond what he regarded as his rights as a layman. Once or 
 twice he performed an emergency baptism, but to do this was a 
 duty as well as a right which belongs to all the members of the 
 church. 
 
 There were a few discontented souls in our community who 
 could not find themselves at home in any Lutheran organiza- 
 tion whether of the right or the left wing. These, if they af- 
 filiated with any church, usually found a haven in Methodism. 
 Erik Osmundson, our nearest neighbor, was one of those who 
 had developed a strong, almost violent, distaste for the ecclesi- 
 astical system, even before he left Norway. God seemed very 
 near to Erik; had he lived in earlier times he would have been 
 called a mystic. He was confident that the Lord could not fail 
 
A STRANGE CHARACTER 61 
 
 to hear the prayers of the righteous and would be sure to inter- 
 vene in human troubles when asked to do so. But his own 
 career proved that this confidence had its limitations, for the 
 death of this virile, handsome, thoughtful man could probably 
 have been prevented had he trusted less to the efficacy of prayer 
 and more to the arts of the physician, though it must be ad- 
 mitted that our medical practitioners had little knowledge and 
 less skill. 
 
 One day there appeared among us a strange character who 
 claimed to have a message for us all. He was a middle-aged 
 Norseman, Andrew Larsen by name, whose earlier years had 
 been spent at Troms0, a town located more than two hundred 
 miles north of the Arctic Circle. By profession he was a plas- 
 terer and seemed to be a fairly competent workman. When I 
 knew him he was not working much at his trade. How he 
 made ends meet, we never quite understood; perhaps he was 
 supported by his children, of whom he had a large quiverful, 
 having become a father fifteen times. 
 
 Andrew Larsen was to some extent a product of the spiritual 
 confusion which was so common in frontier settlements. He 
 had come out of Norway an ecclesiastical anarchist; in Iowa he 
 developed into a religious hobo. He had come to believe that 
 he was a Quaker, in which belief he was clearly mistaken, for 
 the spirit of George Fox was not in him : he was fanatical, opin- 
 ionated, coarse, quarrelsome, and even litigious. His chief tenet 
 seemed to be the old antinomian belief that the children of God 
 had nothing to do with the law, neither with that of the Bible 
 nor that of the state. Since they would be sure to act in every 
 case according to God's will, written laws would hamper rather 
 than help. He extended his theory even to cover the marriage 
 ceremony : the marriage rite, if celebrated by a clergyman, was 
 a form of idolatry; if performed by a justice of the peace it was 
 mockery and nothing else. For the Lutheran clergy he had only 
 deep contempt; he rarely mentioned the Reverend Mr. Dahl 
 by name, but spoke of him as the "Prince of Darkness." 
 
 " The Quaker," as we called him, had his home in Marshall 
 
62 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 County, Iowa; but almost every year he visited the lost sheep 
 in Winnebago County. He was a frequent guest in my parents' 
 house, where he was always treated with patient kindness. In 
 return he preached, prayed, and read copiously from the Scrip- 
 tures. He read with a peculiar intonation which the sacred 
 word seemed to demand. I recall an evening prayer on which 
 occasion he pleaded with the Lord for an hour and a half. His 
 petitions were often quite personal: our weaknesses as well as 
 our needs were presented before the Throne of Grace, often in 
 terms that were picturesque and even piquant. Once to bring a 
 lengthy religious discussion to an end my father alluded to the 
 news which had just come of the death of ex-President Arthur ; 
 old Andrew came back with an immediate query "Was he a 
 believer?" 
 
 As a propagandist he was not highly successful. His only 
 convert in our neighborhood was Osmundson, whom he con- 
 vinced that he was already a Quaker. The rest of us remained 
 in our old condition of ignorance and error. 
 
 Every year and often several times in the year, preachers who 
 were not of our own particular persuasion would appear at our 
 house, where they received a humble entertainment and a re- 
 spectful hearing. Every one had some distinctive doctrine or 
 interpretation that he felt called to present, giving little atten- 
 tion to anything else. Some came with a joyous gospel con- 
 cerned chiefly with happiness in the next world; others had 
 their eyes fixed on the sinfulness of earthly life. Somehow the 
 farmers appeared to like the latter form of preaching the best. 
 
 It is not to be understood, however, that all these itinerant 
 preachers belonged to what our leaders termed the " sects." The 
 greater number were Lutherans, men who adhered loyally to 
 Lutheran standards. No doubt they had but a slight acquaint- 
 ance with the Augsburg Confession ; but they were thoroughly 
 grounded in the books and the teachings that had to be studied 
 and learned in preparation for the rite of confirmation, and the 
 farmers were satisfied with that. In theological subtleties they 
 had no real interest, for theirs was a thoroughly practical re- 
 
ITINERANT PREACHERS 63 
 
 ligion. No matter what Scripture was read, the laymen usually 
 preached on the same text from meeting to meeting, " Repent 
 ye, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand," and only rarely did 
 they get beyond the word " repent." 
 
 There were young men among them (I can think of one or 
 two) but most of them were of middle age or even older. They 
 were farmers and tradesmen who felt an urge to give a part of 
 their time to the spiritual needs of their fellow countrymen. 
 They had the appearance of what they actually were; rarely 
 did any one of them attempt to imitate the dress or manners 
 of the educated clergy. Razors and good clothes, what were 
 they but vanity? And vanity was an ugly sin. One of these 
 strong-souled men would ordinarily not make use of a mirror. 
 He seemed to fear that one might come to enjoy the contempla- 
 tion of one's own image and even take pride in its loveliness; 
 and pride was another ugly sin. 
 
 Much could not be expected from these men and one will 
 have to admit that their preaching was often quite ordinary. 
 Still, we were glad to have them come, for, in addition to the 
 spiritual message, they brought us something of the world that 
 lay beyond our own little settlement. Some of them had trav- 
 eled widely and could tell us how Norsemen were faring else- 
 where. Moreover, there were gifted men among them, men 
 whose sermons were prized as highly as those delivered by 
 ordained ministers. The one whom I remember best was a 
 wonderful preacher, one of the greatest that I have heard. 
 
 Under such conditions it was that I received my earliest re- 
 ligious impressions. I fully accepted my parents' views, so far 
 as I was able to understand them, though I found no joy in 
 their system. I recall that one of our visiting exhorters was 
 fond of singing a Swedish hymn which his audience found 
 highly edifying. It ran in part like this : 
 
 O youth who rejoice in the springtime, 
 Say farewell to the world and its sin; 
 For know that God's eye is upon you 
 And vengeance is dogging your steps. 
 
64 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 More than half a century has passed since I heard that 
 hymn; I can still see my neighbors hanging on its gruesome 
 words. It was sung in a minor key and the melody was haunt- 
 ingly beautiful. In a striking way it epitomized the creed of 
 the Pietist. Instead of a pillar of fire leading the soul to a 
 future of joy and peace, his faith was more like an angry cloud 
 threatening trouble, distress, and grief. 
 
4 IX js 
 
 w. 
 
 hen we came to Forest City, we found a small village of 
 rude shacks and half-finished houses. Along Clark Street, 
 where the business of the town was transacted, there was the 
 usual series of general stores with groceries on the right side and 
 dry goods on the left, where the small wants of the farmers and 
 their wives could be moderately satisfied. Liquors could be 
 bought, drugs were available, and our needs in hardware could 
 be fairly well supplied. But Forest City had no bank and was 
 not to have one for several years. 
 
 There was very little wealth in the town. Robert Clark, its 
 leading citizen, had a great deal of real estate but probably not 
 much in the way of liquid assets. In 1867 he was elected county 
 treasurer, which office he held till the summer of 1876, when he 
 suddenly passed away. His death led to a political upheaval 
 which will be dealt with later. During his years in office, 
 Clark seems to have made a decidedly free use of the county 
 funds. He carried on a real estate and collection business which 
 served in a measure as a banking institution. He made loans 
 freely and the belief was common that the money he used in this 
 way came out of the public treasury. This part of his business 
 was not, however, conducted primarily for his own profit; his 
 loans were usually for the accommodation of citizens who were 
 greatly in need of money; and these were almost a multitude. 
 When a farmer needed a little cash to ease financial pressure, 
 he simply " went in to see Clark." 
 
 65 
 
66 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 The Secors came into the county in the early sixties. They 
 were two brothers, David and Eugene. David Secor held vari- 
 ous offices of more than local importance and at one time hoped 
 to go to Congress, but in this ambition he was disappointed. 
 He finally left the county and located in Minnesota. His 
 brother Eugene held county offices continuously for a dozen 
 years. He was something of a farmer and was deeply interested 
 in bee-keeping and horticulture. Eugene Secor was the one 
 prominent man in Forest City whom I always heard mentioned 
 with respect and often with sincere approval. 
 
 The two Thompson brothers, Jasper and John, came to 
 Forest City in 1871 and 1872 respectively. They hailed from 
 Ohio and were distantly related to Salmon P. Chase. Jasper 
 was conspicuous for his extensive girth and was generally 
 known as " Big " Thompson. He was interested chiefly in the 
 mercantile business. His brother John was a short man with 
 a black beard. Perhaps that was why the farmers spoke of 
 him as " Black " Thompson, though in some mouths the nick- 
 name had a sinister meaning. He was a lawyer but had no 
 reputation in his profession. After a few years, he secured a 
 wealthy partner and opened up a bank. 
 
 Another prominent family were the Plummers, John and 
 Brookins. I remember John Plummer chiefly as a cattle buyer 
 who scoured the country on horseback in search of likely beasts 
 that the farmers might be willing to part with at a reasonably 
 low price. " Brook " Plummer was for a time in the mercantile 
 business, but he saw greater possibilities in banking, and in the 
 course of a few years he became the leading banker in Forest 
 City. There were other men of prominence in the village, but, 
 as it developed, the more important business interests tended to 
 group themselves around one or more of these families. In the 
 course of time, Brook Plummer and Eugene Secor were drawn 
 together into a banking concern which was in its day the 
 strongest enterprise in the town. 
 
 In the early seventies the native element was still in the 
 majority. The townsmen were nearly all of Yankee stock, hav- 
 
YANKEES AND NORSEMEN 67 
 
 ing come either direct from New England and New York or 
 by the way of Ohio and Illinois. A few traced their wander- 
 ings back to the upper South, to Virginia or Kentucky. For 
 twenty years this element ruled the county; then came the re- 
 volt and the power passed to the alien. The change came 
 with a distinct shock to the Yankees, though they must for 
 some years have had an uneasy conviction that such an outcome 
 could not long be deferred. While they realized that the for- 
 eigner was in many respects an important asset to the county, 
 they could not help regarding him with a slight contempt, such 
 contempt as one who considers himself of superior stock is 
 likely to have for those who are not of the same blood. 
 
 Some Norwegians take on American ways quite readily and 
 there were a few of those in Forest City. They all spoke reason- 
 ably good English and took pleasure in associating with Amer- 
 ican families. Their countrymen sometimes called them 
 "Norwegian Yankees"; moreover, they regarded them with a 
 measure of suspicion. The Americans, on the other hand, ac- 
 cepted them cordially even in party politics and shared with 
 them the spoils of office. 
 
 There were, furthermore, a few Norsemen who had fought 
 for the flag on southern battlefields; these, too, were accepted 
 by the ruling class, even though they usually kept in close touch 
 with their own people. The Norwegians who first were elected 
 to county office nearly all had Civil War records. But aside 
 from these two small groups, the foreign contingent kept to 
 its own camp and had little association with its native neigh- 
 bors. 
 
 The immigrant is often and quite naturally afflicted with 
 a sense of inferiority. As a rule, the Norwegian settler came 
 from a little hut in the old country and found his home in a 
 humble log cabin in the new land. Neither here nor abroad 
 had he ever enjoyed the comforts of a prosperous life. His 
 substance on his new farm was continuously increasing in value 
 as well as in quantity, but notes and mortgages blinded his eyes 
 to the fact of material advancement. He felt that his burden 
 
68 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 was heavy and that only his poverty was evident to his neigh- 
 bors. 
 
 At the county seat he saw men and women who lived in 
 houses that looked palatial to his hungering soul. They wore 
 what he regarded as fine clothes and there could be no doubt 
 that they ate good food. They were believed to have an easy 
 time; they held nearly all the public offices, from which they 
 pocketed large salaries; at least, so the alien believed. They 
 controlled the affairs of the county and the alien was sure that 
 through this control they were able to lay exorbitant taxes on 
 the poor farmers' land. 
 
 The Yankees were " smart " and the immigrant had a lurk- 
 ing fear that he himself was not smart in the same way. Of 
 course, he was handicapped all around; his ignorance of Eng- 
 lish put him at a disadvantage in all sorts of business trans- 
 actions. It is therefore not strange that he came to believe that 
 he was being exploited by the native businessmen, and often 
 too the belief was well founded. Usury was a practice of which 
 farmers complained most bitterly: in one case a helpless immi- 
 grant paid interest at the rate of fifty-five per cent. In their 
 resentment the farmers sought out the traders and businessmen 
 who spoke their own idiom. They felt safer with them; at 
 least they could make them understand what they thought of 
 men whom they suspected of dishonest dealings. 
 
 Lurid tales floated over the countryside detailing the alleged 
 wickedness of the Yankee aristocrats in the little town. To the 
 charges of idleness and dishonesty there was added that of 
 coarse immorality, of which the village doubtless had its share 
 in the usual measure. Most of the immigrant farmers were 
 desperately poor. They had many children and their daughters, 
 in growing numbers, were finding work as domestic helpers 
 in town. Some of them returned to their homes in shame. 
 Incidents of this character were not allowed to be soon forgot- 
 ten; every case added fresh fuel to the fires of bitter resentment 
 that were burning in many homes where the alien tongue was 
 spoken. 
 
INTERMARRIAGE 69 
 
 It might seem likely that the propinquity of the two peoples 
 would lead to an early fusion by intermarriage; but there was 
 little of this in the seventies. American parents frowned on 
 any union with young men or women of the invading race. 
 On the other side the Norse farmers regarded marriage into an 
 American family as something very much like treason to their 
 own nationality. Young Norwegian girls occasionally took 
 husbands of the native stock; but the young men as a rule 
 sought and found their wives among their own people. Time 
 came when all this was to change. The racial barriers which 
 seemed so defiantly strong in those early days could not with- 
 stand the continued attacks of the human urge. Today forty 
 per cent of all Norwegian-Americans who marry find their 
 mates beyond the pale. 
 
 Complete isolation of life and thought, such as the immi- 
 grant leaders favored in those early days, could not, of course, 
 be maintained for any length of time, and gradually the situa- 
 tion became more tolerable. With better acquaintance the two 
 peoples came to respect each other and even to hold each other 
 in high regard. The older and cruder methods of trade were 
 soon a thing of the past. More and more the Norwegians found 
 it convenient to transact business with their American fellow 
 citizens. In addition there was the need for help from pro- 
 fessional men, which in this case would mean lawyers and doc- 
 tors. And of these practically all had come from the native 
 stock. 
 
 There is no need to write extensively about the medical pro- 
 fession. In pioneer times the immigrants were rarely to be 
 seen in a doctor's office. What was the use, they argued, to 
 consult a physician whom one cannot understand, to whom one 
 can tell nothing intelligently, and who probably knows little 
 anyway about human ailments? The argument was valid, at 
 least in part. It was thought to be much better to find a drug- 
 gist who had provided himself with a Norwegian clerk and to 
 describe the symptoms to him. In that way one could at least 
 
70 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 have the satisfaction of sharing one's troubles with someone 
 who could understand and would give a sympathetic hearing. 
 
 The druggists soon learned that it might be profitable to get 
 a supply of certain Norwegian remedies in which the farmers 
 appeared to have great confidence. Such were oil of spike and 
 oil of juniper, both of which were believed to be effective in 
 all sorts of morbid conditions. Another favorite was Hoff- 
 man's Anodyne, which was found in almost every immigrant 
 household. A plaster made of the Spanish fly was a sovereign 
 remedy against rheumatism and all the diseases of that kindred. 
 Asafetida was another remedy that enjoyed high favor; it had 
 a pungent individuality that could not fail to rout the most 
 persistent enemy. 
 
 If the ailment proved too stubborn for the skill of the drug- 
 gist, one might try to follow the advice of kind friends, many 
 of whom would know of wonderful cures wrought by strange 
 and fearful remedies. Many of these belonged to the field of 
 magic rather than to that of medicine. My own people were 
 not superstitious; still, magic and witchcraft are mentioned in 
 the Scriptures and my father was willing to grant that in earlier 
 ages there may have been effective reality in the practice of the 
 black art. Some of our neighbors were willing to go somewhat 
 farther: they were not so sure that magic was wholly a thing 
 of the past. In our community there was a "wise woman," 
 one who "knew more than the Lord's Prayer," and whose 
 mind was bulging with superstitious lore. She believed firmly 
 in the efficacy of incantations and could recite many. At one 
 time she tried to save an injured horse by that method. The 
 horse had received a deep wound and was bleeding profusely 
 in spite of all the rhymes that the good lady could intone. A 
 neighbor arrived at the critical moment; a more rational proce- 
 dure stopped the bleeding and saved the animal. I do not 
 know what my parents actually thought of the old lady, but 
 I know that they disapproved of her attitude toward physical 
 ailments. 
 
 If the more obvious treatment proved ineffectual, the patient 
 
PIONEER DOCTORS 71 
 
 would begin to study the almanac. This was a pamphlet pub- 
 lished and distributed without price by the makers of certain 
 well known patent medicines. An almanac contained the usual 
 data provided by the modern calendar and in addition a certain 
 amount of astronomical information which the calendar does 
 not afford. These materials, however, served merely as a 
 vehicle in which to bring to market a long series of testimonials 
 contributed by grateful men and women who owed their health 
 and happiness to six bottles of one or another of the wonderful 
 remedies advertised in the pamphlet. 
 
 Shortly before Christmas everybody called at the drug stores 
 to procure copies of the new almanacs. These could be obtained 
 in either of the two languages that we used; ordinarily we 
 asked for both versions. Of those that came to our house I 
 remember particularly Ayer's, Green's, Jayne's, and Hostetter's. 
 We liked the last the best. In addition to the usual materials 
 found in such a publication, Hostetter's Almanac contained 
 amusing pictures and lively anecdotes which all enjoyed, the 
 old as well as the young. As for the medicine that it advertised, 
 Hostetter's Stomach Bitters, it was said to be an exhilarating 
 tonic and was widely sold, especially in prohibition territory. 
 
 But sometimes and in spite of everything one had to consult 
 a physician. Several young doctors and a few of an older gen- 
 eration came into the county in its earlier decades, but most of 
 them tarried only a short time. Only one, Dr. W. H. Jones, 
 a red-whiskered Welshman, decided to spend his days in the 
 young community. Dr. Jones had not penetrated very deep 
 into medical science, but long experience with morbid condi- 
 tions had given him an insight into such conditions, which 
 served as a fair substitute for scientific knowledge. It is useless 
 to list further names; but Forest City had no reliable prac- 
 titioner before 1883, when Dr. H. R. Irish came to town. 
 
 Meanwhile the Norwegians had discovered that J. M. Dahl, 
 the erstwhile missionary whose training had included the rudi- 
 ments of homeopathic medicine, was a remarkable physician. 
 Even those who were actively in opposition to the Synod and 
 
72 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 regarded Dahl as a blind guide in spiritual affairs sought his 
 parsonage in quest of healing or sent for him to visit their sick 
 relatives. Dahl had the advantage of a cheerful disposition and 
 his broad countenance radiated hope and assurance. He under- 
 stood his people; he could look into their troubles; he could 
 even explore their imaginations ; and he knew something about 
 the virtues of the drugs that he dispensed. He practiced a 
 number of years with real success and ceased only when his 
 American competitors invoked the law. Dahl now expressed 
 a willingness to submit to the necessary examinations, but his 
 parishioners vetoed the proposition. But by that time the need 
 for a Norwegian doctor was no longer so insistent as it had 
 been in earlier years. 
 
 Our attitude toward the legal profession was not sympa- 
 thetic. Since most of their business was to enforce the payment 
 of debts, the lawyers could not be popular. There can be no 
 doubt that they sometimes dealt in ruthless fashion with farmers 
 who were in financial distress; sometimes they were suspected 
 of being dishonest as well as merciless. It is not necessary to 
 record the nouns and the adjectives that we and our neighbors 
 used to describe them; one need only say that they were not 
 highly complimentary. There is the additional fact that the 
 Forest City bar was a group of strange and largely ineffective 
 personalities who were not likely to be employed by litigants 
 except at times of real need. 
 
 After his unfortunate lawsuit against Frank Rivers my 
 father had no desire to appear in court either as plaintiff or 
 defendant. Except in two or three cases involving debts or 
 property rights he found it unnecessary to employ the services 
 of a lawyer. However, he served several times on trial juries 
 and thus came to know the bar quite well. Otherwise his 
 experience with the custodians of the law was limited to matters 
 involving business details of a sort that need not lead to litiga- 
 tion. 
 
 In 1870 there came to Forest City an elderly gentleman with 
 
PIONEER LAWYERS 73 
 
 a solemn countenance heavily bearded in patriarchial style and 
 with some, perhaps even a considerable, knowledge of law. 
 This was T. C. Ransom who, while I do not recall that he ever 
 appeared in a sensational case, must have transacted a good 
 deal of legal business. Ransom was in his early fifties when I 
 saw him first, but his hair was already white and his long gray 
 beard gave him a striking appearance. He had a little office, 
 scarcely more than a shack, in the south part of town; but the 
 most important thing about this office was that it seemed to be 
 the only place where the young men in our part of the country 
 could give themselves to the study of law. At least three 
 lawyers received their professional instruction wholly or in 
 large part in this little office. 
 
 Of these three John F. Thompson used his legal training 
 chiefly as a part of his equipment for the banking business. 
 Number two was W. W. Olmstead, a gaunt, untidy, and 
 unhealthy-looking bachelor, who is said to have remained single 
 because he feared that a wife might prove expensive. I do not 
 recall hearing Olmstead's having a case to plead, though he 
 may have had some court business now and then. But I heard 
 much, most of it apochryphal perhaps, about his miserly habits 
 and his adventures into radical politics. He finally left Forest 
 City and moved out to a less vigorous climate on the Pacific 
 coast. 
 
 An early and rather quaint character was Colonel Martin 
 Cooper, who claimed a distant kinship to the famous novel- 
 ist. Cooper had once been an enthusiastic student of the clas- 
 sics, and the ancient masters continued to absorb his interest, to 
 the detriment of his legal activities. He came to our county 
 soon after the close of the Civil War, in which he had com- 
 manded a colored regiment. Martin Cooper was a queer indi- 
 vidual: he walked about like a man asleep and his curious 
 courtroom manners were known far beyond the limits of the 
 county. Though a Civil War veteran, he was not a Repub- 
 lican. Neither he nor Olmstead stood well among the Nor- 
 wegians. Cooper did occasionally have a case to plead, for it 
 
74 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 was believed that his knowledge of the law was better than 
 that of his fellows, but his office was usually the last resort. 
 
 I once heard a prominent attorney remark, "I have heard 
 of Nelson and I have seen Cooper." C. L. Nelson was the 
 queerest of the lot. He, too, came out of Ransom's office. In 
 the middle seventies he was a public-school teacher, one of the 
 earliest Norwegian teachers in the county. He was the first 
 member of the Winnebago County bar. His nationality and 
 particularly his ability to speak his native language freely were 
 important assets: they brought business that he could not other- 
 wise have gotten. His countrymen finally elected him county 
 attorney. 
 
 Christian L. Nelson was a tall, slender individual, taller than 
 he actually seemed to be, for his body had almost no straight 
 lines. One shoulder was higher than the other and presumably 
 to restore symmetry he shaved farther down on one side than 
 on the other. In general he looked like a character out of one 
 of Dickens' novels. All the same he was a fairly successful 
 lawyer. Like Olmstead he moved out to the coast and settled 
 in the state of Washington, where he long enjoyed a lucrative 
 practice as a specialist in divorce litigation. 
 
 Nelson was admitted to the bar in 1878. Two years earlier 
 John E. Anderson, a young Swede, had opened a law office at 
 the county seat. Educated at the state university, an energetic 
 speaker, handsome in appearance, and acquainted with the 
 language of the farmers, he seemed to have all the require- 
 ments for a successful career. He served a term in the state 
 legislature as a Republican; but for some reason he left his 
 party and, with Cooper and Olmstead, drifted into Populism. 
 But, whatever the reason was, as a lawyer he had little success. 
 
 There were other lawyers in Forest City but those mentioned 
 were the most prominent. One day in the early eighties my 
 father came home from jury service with the news that he had 
 seen and heard a new kind of lawyer, one who did not rant 
 and was not loud and abusive, but was actually courteous to 
 everyone in the courtroom, including his opponent's witnesses. 
 
POLITICAL LEADERSHIP 75 
 
 This was C. H. Kelly, who later was elevated to the bench. 
 With his coming the Forest City bar began to show real im- 
 provement. It was on the way to become a respectable group. 
 
 It is often the case, especially in counties with large rural 
 constituencies, that the members of the legal profession pro- 
 vide political leadership for the community; that, however, 
 was not true in my day in Winnebago County. The reasons 
 for this were several and not very far to seek. For one thing, 
 the bar, in Lake Mills as well as in Forest City, was wholly 
 wanting in the real qualities necessary to effective leadership. 
 A second consideration is the fact that a large share of its mem- 
 bership tried to lead a forlorn minority, one so forlorn that it 
 was rarely able to poll more than one-tenth of the total vote 
 in the county. 
 
 It is also necessary to remember that the Scandinavian ma- 
 jority (which was almost unanimously Republican) was for 
 a long time unwilling to accept the leadership of native poli- 
 ticians, even supposing that such were to be found. At the 
 same time there was none among their own many chieftains 
 who could pretend to a primacy. County politics was, there- 
 fore, in a rather nebulous state, at least from the politicians' 
 point of view. In local politics very little attention was paid 
 to party organizations. Conventions were held and nomina- 
 tions were made, but even a Republican nomination did not 
 necessarily mean that the candidate would be elected. It actu- 
 ally happened in the early eighties that a Republican conven- 
 tion nominated for county supervisor a man who was strongly 
 suspected of being a Democrat. But he was a Norwegian and 
 his election followed as a matter of course. No doubt the fact 
 that he was known to be an "honest Democrat" helped to 
 swell his vote. 
 
 For two decades the native element controlled the county 
 and held nearly all the public offices. For a time David Secor 
 was the most successful politician, though Robert Clark seems 
 to have been the most popular officeholder. His popularity 
 
76 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 was believed to be based on his easy attitude toward the county 
 funds. The poor debtors whom he helped with cash from the 
 public chest saw nothing wrong in this practice. Even his 
 enemies were willing to admit that if the treasurer could make 
 a satisfactory settlement with the county board when the proper 
 time came, it was nobody's business where the cash had been 
 or how it had been used in the meantime. 
 
 In August, 1876, the news went abroad that Judge Clark 
 had suddenly died. The report created a tremendous sensa- 
 tion. The intimate relation of his public office to his private 
 afTairs now became a matter of serious concern. The county 
 board met to consider the situation and W. A. Burnap, a young 
 lawyer whose occupation was chiefly that of a farmer, was ap- 
 pointed acting county treasurer. Burnap found the finances of 
 the county in hopeless disorder. The situation looked ominous. 
 Rumors flew over the county thick and fast; they were probably 
 as unfounded as they were ugly ; but they had their effect. 
 
 A new treasurer had to be elected in November. For some 
 years two or three ambitious Norwegians had had their eyes 
 on the treasurer's office; now the opportunity seemed to have 
 arrived. At the same time there were others who were not 
 directly interested in the office but who hoped in the coming 
 election to destroy a political ring which, they believed, flour- 
 ished at the county seat. The most important outcome of the 
 balloting proved to be the virtual destruction of this ring, if 
 such a ring there was; at any rate, the group that had domi- 
 nated county politics for nearly two decades was clearly being 
 shorn of power. 
 
 As usual there was much strife and contention in the immi- 
 grant camp. Two candidates were put forward: William 
 Larson, a merchant in Lake Mills, and Mikkel Peterson, a 
 farmer who has been mentioned above as the one who helped 
 my father in a time of great need. In this division the native 
 element saw a promising opportunity and massed its forces 
 behind Charles D. Smith of Lake Mills, an early pioneer who 
 had lived in the county for twenty years. 
 
AN ELECTION RIOT 77 
 
 After much discussion the leaders of all the factions agreed 
 that it might be expedient to test the sentiment of the electorate 
 in a mass convention. A central committee was formed and 
 all the voters were invited to come to Benson Grove on Satur- 
 day, October 21, to record their choice by ballot. Benson Grove 
 was located about six miles north of Forest City and was a 
 fairly central point. Among the many who turned their wag- 
 ons thitherward on that day was my father, who went to cast 
 his vote for Mikkel Peterson. 
 
 The voters gathered on the schoolhouse grounds and the 
 balloting went on peacefully until late in the afternoon when 
 a half-drunken Irishman threw a rotten apple at a noisy Nor- 
 wegian and hit him in the eye. The offended Norseman called 
 for help. Both sides flew to arms, which in this case meant 
 fence rails and neckyokes. When the riot subsided it was found 
 that the casualties were many, though none were seriously 
 hurt. One of the rioters attacked J. M. Dahl with a fence rail 
 and broke it on the pastor's broad back; but Dahl merely ut- 
 tered a grunt, spoke to his horses, and drove homeward in 
 peace. 
 
 The riot roused the Norwegians to action. In the November 
 election the nationalized citizens crowded the polls and won a 
 decisive victory. William Larson was elected treasurer. Of 
 the remaining offices Norwegian candidates captured two. The 
 election of an American to the office of recorder was expected, 
 since his opponent, though a Norseman, had little strength 
 among his own countrymen. 
 
 William Larson was honest and capable, but he was also 
 something of a grouch and his year in the courthouse did not 
 add to his popularity. In the election of 1877 he was defeated 
 by Mikkel Peterson, to my father's great satisfaction. At the 
 same time Norwegian candidates also secured the offices of 
 sheriff and supervisor ; but the auditor and the superintendent of 
 schools, both of whom were native citizens, were re-elected to 
 their respective offices. 
 
 By these two elections (1876 and 1877) the leaders of the 
 
78 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 immigrant element had come into almost complete control of 
 the county administration, and that same element has kept this 
 control to the present time. The Norwegians have shown little 
 interest in the offices of coroner and surveyor; frequently they 
 have allowed Americans to hold the offices of sheriff and super- 
 intendent of schools. The more important administrative of- 
 fices of auditor, treasurer, recorder, and clerk of the courts have 
 usually been sought and won by Norwegian candidates. In 
 the forty years following the election of 1876, thirty-one men 
 were elected to these offices: of these, four were Americans. 
 The history of the county board tells a similar tale: of twenty- 
 four men elected to the office of county supervisor in the years 
 1876 to 1916, twenty-one were Norwegians. 
 
4 x t= 
 
 JL he young boy who was growing up in the Larson house- 
 hold was in most respects like any other boy whose home is in 
 the country. Such differences as might be noted were due 
 chiefly to the fact that he lived his days in pioneer surround- 
 ings, in a region where the great battle with nature had just 
 begun. So far as his strength permitted, he shared in the war- 
 fare and rejoiced in the victories that came from time to time. 
 He lived close to the soil. He rejoiced in the white days of 
 winter, in the driving snow and the crusted hillsides where the 
 little homemade sled ran surely and swiftly. Even more he 
 rejoiced in the spring, when melting snows ran away in count- 
 less little rills which could be dammed into waterfalls or bridged 
 with stick and shingle. In the early summer he loved to wade 
 in the marshes where birds were nesting and he robbed the 
 little homes with an easy conscience. From season to season, 
 from month to month, the aspects of life were changing and 
 he watched the changes with absorbing interest. 
 
 He was early set to work and most of the time labored con- 
 scientiously, though not with great enthusiasm. For the young 
 Norseman, like most other boys, was a dreamer, and a careful 
 workman cannot allow himself to indulge too much in the 
 luxury of dreams. He read whatever came his way and his 
 dreams were usually suggested by what he had last been read- 
 ing. He pictured his fate in diverse, often unbelievable, places; 
 but the farm had little to do with these fancies; farm life was 
 
 79 
 
80 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 too real to figure much in dreams. It may be added that some 
 of those early dreams came true. 
 
 Among strangers he was always reticent and shy ; it actually 
 gave him pain to meet men and women whom he had not seen 
 before. Boys were a different matter; with them he readily 
 came to terms of acquaintance. Whether this shyness was an 
 inborn trait or something acquired in the process of growing 
 up, it is not possible to say. It is quite true that in our earliest 
 years on the farm we rarely saw anyone but our neighbors, and 
 they were not many. But whatever its origin, the shyness per- 
 sisted and has followed the boy and the man like a faithful and 
 sometimes embarrassing shadow all the way down the course 
 of the years. 
 
 There was little excitement in our neighborhood, though 
 of course we were not without our occasional thrills. Suspi- 
 cious persons would come wandering over the prairie, and some- 
 times they asked for lodgings for the night and the request was 
 never refused. I do not recall that we were ever molested by 
 the hand of man. Only once in my boyhood days do I remem- 
 ber that we locked our doors. On that occasion a group of un- 
 attractive men were camping not far away. What we really 
 feared was that in the morning we should find our horses 
 stolen, for in those days the horse thief was a real menace. But 
 when morning came everything was found as it should be. In 
 an hour or two the campers drove away and our fears departed 
 with them. 
 
 The Norwegian settlers were, on the whole, a peaceful folk, 
 though occasionally they gave a freer rein to their tempers than 
 was actually safe. They had, however, a profound respect for 
 human life; and for half a century Winnebago County had no 
 trial for murder. We were much disturbed when we heard 
 one day in the later seventies that a man traveling across the 
 prairies had killed his companion. It was comforting to know 
 that such terrible men did not belong to our own county. An 
 attempt was made to trace the murderer but without success. 
 
 One thing that worried the young boy (and his older sister, 
 
FOOD ON THE FARM 81 
 
 too) was the scant fare that was served during some weeks in 
 the winter. There was never want in our home; we always 
 had enough to eat, but there were times when the table showed 
 no great variety of dishes. I can recall the time when we had 
 only one cow; consequently there would be several weeks when 
 we had neither milk nor butter except as these needs could be 
 supplied from our neighbors. It was not long, however, before 
 we had several cows and there would always be one or two 
 that gave milk throughout the winter. 
 
 It was common in our neighborhood to have the most im- 
 portant meal at noon. In the evening the women of the farm 
 had so many duties that they were able to serve only a simple 
 supper. Simple it surely was, the principal and often the only 
 dish being something resembling American hasty pudding. 
 Of this there were several varieties and I disliked them all, 
 though what was called potato mush was by far the least enjoy- 
 able. Still, it was nourishing food and I always consumed my 
 share. 
 
 On Sundays we always had something better than our every- 
 day fare; on Sunday afternoons we had what might be called 
 tea, only that beverage was rarely served. The Norwegian 
 likes his coffee and likes it best when the taste is the taste of 
 strength. Unfortunately our coffee was not always up to the 
 Norse standard, for the bean was expensive and various substi- 
 tutes were used, though none was found satisfactory. What 
 was served on Sunday afternoons was, however, quite sure to 
 be real coffee, for nothing but what was genuine could be 
 allowed on that day. 
 
 In the early autumn we would drive out to the " woods " to 
 see what could be found in the way of ripe fruit. There were 
 still considerable tracts that were not occupied, and picking 
 fruit on " speculator land " was regarded as entirely permis- 
 sible. There was not much to get; I remember only grapes, 
 plums, and cherries. We found the plums quite enjoyable, but 
 the grapes and the cherries were unpleasantly sour. Occasion- 
 ally we would bring home a few walnuts and perhaps also a 
 
82 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 supply of hazelnuts. These we stored away for the months to 
 come when a little variety in the larder was sure to be highly 
 welcome. 
 
 Dried fruits could be purchased at any time at the groceries: 
 apples, peaches, currants, and raisins. We often had currants 
 for dessert (when there was dessert), but the raisins were too 
 expensive for frequent use. The apples and the peaches had 
 been sliced, strung on a thread, and dried till the fruit was 
 ready to ship. We saw pictures in our geographies of a strange 
 fruit (or was it a vegetable?) called the pineapple, and we read 
 about bananas in our books at school. I was, however, near 
 the close of my teens before I saw and tasted these delicacies. 
 Pears and oranges, too, were practically unknown among us 
 and of such a thing as the grapefruit no one had ever heard. 
 
 Most of the farmers in our neighborhood came from those 
 parts of Norway where little fruit can be grown and they had 
 consequently only a slight interest in this form of culture. Cur- 
 rants and gooseberries were planted even in our earliest years 
 in Iowa but for a number of years very few farmers would ven- 
 ture farther in this direction. Of vegetables we had usually all 
 that we could consume. We were, of course, partial to such 
 as were also grown in Norway, particularly onions, turnips, 
 peas, and beans. The farmers' wives also had asparagus plants 
 in their gardens, but they were grown only because they were 
 thought to be ornamental. That the shoots were edible they 
 had not learned. 
 
 There were many interesting days in the year, but the greatest 
 and most interesting of all was Christmas. In rural Norway 
 the yuletide began (and doubtless still begins) at sunset on 
 December 23 and continued till the sixth of January. Decem- 
 ber 24 was known as the " little Christmas Day " and was not 
 regarded as particularly sacred, though it formed an essential 
 part of the holiday season. Whenever possible there would be 
 services on Christmas Day or on one of the following days, 
 which were therefore called second- and third-day Christmas. 
 It was customary to make an offering in money to the pastor 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE 83 
 
 at the Christmas service and that custom may have had some- 
 thing to do with the multiplication of Christmas days. In Nor- 
 way a rural living usually included several churches and in no 
 other way could this custom be satisfied. 
 
 The Norwegian farmers knew almost nothing about Christ- 
 mas gifts or of any of the other American methods of celebra- 
 tion; to them it was a season of joy and merriment and they 
 made such preparations as they thought would make it a 
 " merry Christmas." As an aid to this end they provided them- 
 selves with a sufficiency of home-brewed ale and perhaps also 
 with a smaller quantity of distilled beverage. The food served 
 at yule was also of the best that the house could afford. In 
 many other ways, too, the Norseman contrived to make it a 
 lively season, even though the days were short and gloomy and 
 in some parts of the country were merged into night. 
 
 It was not possible in the western settlements to reproduce 
 the old Norse routine of holiday observance except to a very 
 limited extent. There was no brewing in our home, but Mother 
 was always quite active baking in the week preceding the great 
 day. Father had to make a special trip to town a day or two 
 before the season began, for there were certain purchases which 
 always had to be made. On " little Christmas Eve " everything 
 had to be put in order, including our own little selves. Baths 
 were not so common in those days, but on that day everybody 
 had to be scrubbed clean. 
 
 The yule meal was eaten on Christmas Eve. When we had 
 been seated at the table we all joined in a Christmas hymn. 
 Next one of us read the story of that wonderful night in the 
 Holy Land where shepherds were "keeping watch over their 
 flocks by night." Then one of us children said grace and we 
 proceeded to the meal. 
 
 The main course was a large bowl of rice pudding. That 
 may not seem very exciting, but it was exciting to Katie and 
 Christian and me. For in the pudding there were raisins and 
 the top of the dish was strewn with sugar and cinnamon. Be- 
 side the bowl lay an apple, large, round, and rosy, which we 
 
84 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 children always agreed to keep till morning but which had 
 usually been consumed before we were sent to bed. The bread 
 was made especially for the feast and there was a little candy. 
 To have so many good things at the same meal was a real ex- 
 perience. Christmas was indeed a feast. 
 
 An event that long remained vivid in my memory was a 
 furious snowstorm that came upon us early in January in 1873. 
 For some days my father had been working in the woods near 
 Forest City. He had just finished his task and was on his way 
 homeward on foot. After he had been about an hour on the 
 road, he met a friend who asked where he was going. When 
 Father had explained he said: "You had better come in and 
 spend the night with us. A storm is on the way and in half an 
 hour you will have passed the last house in the settlement." 
 
 Baby Christine had been buried only a few days before and 
 he knew that a great loneliness had come into my mother's life. 
 But when he reflected that he had more than six miles of wild 
 prairie to cross, he decided to accept the invitation. Ever after- 
 wards he regarded this meeting as providential, since to have 
 continued on his way would have meant certain death. In a 
 few minutes the storm broke. Borne on a roaring northwest 
 wind, a broad bank of dark gray clouds rolled threateningly 
 across the heavens. Presently a dense whiteness began to fill 
 the air. Before long the eye could discern nothing but the ever 
 present movement of the frozen flakes. 
 
 The storm was general over a large part of the Northwest. 
 Three days it raged with varying intensity and the toll of lives 
 that it took was distressingly great. My mother was in agony; 
 she knew that if her husband was on his way home, as she 
 feared he was, she might never hear his living voice again. 
 There was nothing to do but to call upon the Lord, and she 
 prayed as she had never prayed before. 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon she had begun to observe 
 the changes that were appearing in the sky and seemed to know 
 
BLIZZARD ON THE PRAIRIE 85 
 
 instinctively that serious danger was on the march. She hur- 
 ried out to get the few animals that we had shut safe in the 
 stable and gave them their usual ration of hay. She next be- 
 gan to search for fuel, but, before she could find what she 
 needed, the storm had broken and she was driven back into the 
 house. Food in plenty there was on the shelves, but, since the 
 wood box was nearly empty, there could be no cooking. 
 
 There were three of us in the house, Mother, Katie, and I. 
 That night we went to bed early and remained there most of 
 the time for two nights and a day. When the next morning 
 came the storm was still raging. Mother got up and toward 
 noon she put on her wraps and went out to see if it might be 
 possible to feed the cattle. Halfway to the stable a tall post 
 had been set in the earth. Mother noticed that occasionally 
 this was dimly visible. When a favorable moment came she 
 ran to the post and, as soon as she could, she went on to the 
 stable. She found the cattle comfortable but ready for more 
 hay, which she brought them in good supply. No doubt they 
 were thirsty, too, but water they could not have. When the 
 work was done she started back as she had come and reached 
 the house in safety. 
 
 Toward midnight we were awakened by someone calling 
 out, " Are you still alive ? " It was my grandfather's voice. 
 At the time he was living in the other log house a quarter of a 
 mile away. Several times he had tried to reach us, but the 
 storm had driven him back inside the house. But now, in the 
 second night, the snow had ceased to fall and the stars would 
 appear at intervals among the riven clouds. The wind was still 
 strong and the snow was drifting dangerously; the peril was, 
 however, less than it had been, for it was now possible to know 
 in what direction one was walking. 
 
 Since our great need was fuel, Grandfather went out and 
 managed to find a few short fence rails, which he brought into 
 the house. There was a saw in the room, so that he was able to 
 cut them into proper lengths. A fire was started and before 
 
86 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 long we were all eating hot pancakes. Of course, Grandfather 
 had to have his coffee. 
 
 The wind was now abating and the next day Father started 
 for home. The snow was deep and travel was difficult; but the 
 fear that his loved ones might be suffering spurred him on. 
 There were joyful eyes and shining faces when he arrived; but 
 there was no unusual demonstration. The men and women of 
 rural Norway believe in keeping their emotions under control. 
 Love and affection, as they see it, are private matters; and since 
 they can be expressed most in strict privacy, they should not be 
 displayed before the eyes of the world. 
 
 It may seem strange that a family coming from a farm twelve 
 hundred miles nearer the pole than our farm in Winnebago 
 County should find winters in Iowa a trying experience; such, 
 however, was the actual case. In the Bergen area zero tempera- 
 ture is scarcely known, nor are the winter storms in that region 
 in any way comparable to the blizzards of northern Iowa. My 
 grandfather had expected to find a mild climate in the New 
 World and the severity of the winters in Iowa was therefore a 
 great disappointment. 
 
 Like our neighbors, we felt the need of something to break 
 the force of the winter winds. The only solution was a grove 
 of trees. At a suitable distance from the farm buildings to the 
 west and the north my father planted a row of willows. In 
 front of this on the side facing the farmhouses he set out several 
 rows of Lombardy poplars and Cottonwood trees. Neither the 
 poplar nor the willow was a very desirable tree, but they grew 
 rapidly and consequently served their purpose quite well. 
 Moreover, the tall and stately poplar can sometimes be a thing 
 of rare beauty. We also had a clump of walnut trees on the 
 farm, grown from nuts that were gathered in Coon Grove. 
 Later we planted soft maples and box elders. The maple had 
 its good points but the box elder proved disappointing. The 
 whole complex of trees and bushes soon grew into a perfect 
 windbreak, into which the snow drifted and was heaped up in 
 a white wall sometimes ten feet high or even more. 
 
PRAIRIE FIRES 87 
 
 In the autumn we sometimes had real thrills, especially in 
 October, for that was the month of the prairie fire. The grass 
 was always heavy on the prairie, except on the higher ground; 
 and in the swales and runs and marshes it was not only heavy 
 but thick and rank. 
 
 If the season happened to be dry, we could see, almost daily, 
 menacing clouds of smoke far off on the horizon to the west, 
 the south, or the north. Fires in the last two directions would 
 have little interest for us, since they would be quite sure to 
 continue on their way eastward and therefore could give us no 
 trouble; but indications of a blaze in the west or southwest were 
 often viewed with real concern. An early duty in the autumn 
 was to provide firebreaks, which was usually done by plowing 
 a broad strip of field land on the side from which the fire might 
 be expected. An even more common method was to plow two 
 narrow strips and to burn the stubble or the grass between 
 them. With the spread of settlement the danger from such 
 fires passed; but in my earlier years in Winnebago County they 
 were always regarded as a real peril. 
 
 It was commonly believed that the fires that came our way 
 originated in sparks thrown from the locomotives on the rail- 
 ways to the south and the southwest of us. No doubt many 
 of them could be traced to this cause ; it is far more likely, how- 
 ever, that careless sportsmen or travelers were the ones responsi- 
 ble, at least in some cases. In earlier days the fires were charged 
 to the ill will of the Indians; but in our county there were no 
 Indians in my day, though the older settlers were well ac- 
 quainted with the vindictive ways of the red man. 
 
 A prairie on fire is an awesome sight. It might be one of 
 our lovely October days (of which we had many) with a bright 
 sun in the sky and a warm haze in the air, a day that might 
 make us wonder whether Indian summer were not upon us. 
 As the day progressed the haze would thicken, the sun would 
 take on a dull red color, the smell of smoke would begin to per- 
 vade the air. At twilight a faint glow would appear in the 
 southwest. As the night deepened this brightened into a flam- 
 
88 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 ing sheet drawn along the western horizon, and soon we could 
 make out an ocean of fire rolling across the sky and sending its 
 waves high into the air. 
 
 On such a night I, and the other children too, would climb 
 to the highest point that we knew, which would be the roof of 
 the house. There we sat entranced watching the broad columns 
 of smoke which would rise when the fire struck a dried-up 
 marsh — four or six columns, thick, black, and towering, shoot- 
 ing up from a flaming pool and joining high in the air into a 
 dark menacing cloud. And as we saw the black and gray giants 
 moving their thousand tongues licking the sky, we could sense 
 the terror that would come to the unprepared. 
 
 If the fires came early, it might be necessary to go out on the 
 grassy edges of the farm to fight approaching danger. This 
 usually meant starting a counterfire at some point where it 
 could be easily controlled. With brooms and grain sacks we 
 would put out the flames on the side touching the farm, while 
 the other side would be allowed to burn as it might. It was a 
 real experience to go out in the evening with the men to head 
 off an approaching blaze. I do not believe that our own fires 
 ever got beyond control ; but such an outcome was not unusual 
 in the neighborhood. 
 
 I recall a day in the autumn when I had gone with Father 
 to Forest City. On our return we noticed smoke in the air and 
 as we proceeded westward it became increasingly evident that 
 there was danger abroad. Our horses were not rapid travelers, 
 but that afternoon they were encouraged to put forth all that 
 they had of speed and strength. When three or four miles 
 from home, we saw that the fire had reached the settlement 
 and was breaking through between the farms. We met the 
 flames about a mile farther on; fortunately it was on high 
 ground where the grass was thin and the team was able to dash 
 through without injury. We found all well at home. So far 
 as I can recall we never suffered any appreciable loss from fire 
 on the prairie. There were others in the neighborhood who 
 suffered much; sometimes it was a haystack or a set of grain 
 
FARM IMPLEMENTS 89 
 
 stacks; in one case a neighbor returned to his farm one evening 
 to find his home a heap of ashes. 
 
 For some years we remained an outpost on the western edge 
 of the settlement; but our isolation was not to continue long. 
 The broad belt of unoccupied land between our community 
 and the settlements half a dozen miles to the east gradually 
 shrank till it was no more. In our journeys to town or to tim- 
 ber, particularly in the spring months, we saw frequent evidence 
 of expanding life. It has been my privilege to see what few 
 will see in the future: the conversion of the prairie into culti- 
 vated farm land. As we traveled the highway we could watch 
 on both sides teams of horses, three or four, pulling the plow 
 through the tough sod. A new farm was coming into being. 
 
 I never held a breaking plow, but I became acquainted with 
 every other implement that was used in farm work in the seven- 
 ties and eighties. In the first years we had only the simplest 
 equipment. Four of the neighbor farmers, my father included, 
 bought a blacksmith's outfit which they used in making repairs. 
 The shop was located on Mattison's farm as the most central 
 point. The farmers had to buy plows but they made their own 
 "drags" or harrows. Much of the grain was sown by hand 
 and the corn was planted with the aid of a hoe and a small boy, 
 who dropped the kernels where the man with the hoe had 
 made a place for them. 
 
 The scythe was an important implement on every farm; 
 there were those who mowed much of their hay with the scythe. 
 With the addition of three or four finger rods placed parallel 
 to the steel blade, the scythe could be transformed into what 
 was called a cradle, which was used to cut ripe grain. The 
 cradle was never used on our farm; only farmers who had a 
 small acreage found it a practical implement. 
 
 I was put to work as early as it seemed expedient to do so. 
 A great deal of the chores about the homestead had fallen to 
 me as early as I can remember. When I was about eight years 
 old I was introduced to the plow and we continued on intimate 
 
90 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 terms for the next dozen years. Plowing was a monotonous 
 task; but it was not hard work, except at the end of the furrow, 
 when a small boy might find it difficult to get the plow to the 
 place where the next furrow should begin. At the age of ten 
 I was " driving the reaper," a self-rake machine of the Buckeye 
 type. I was never a very enthusiastic harvester and was ac- 
 cused of taking too much time to oil the machine. I found, 
 however, that I was never in danger of being dismissed. 
 
 A little later I learned to bind grain, a highly important 
 accomplishment. I was not to bind much grain, however, for 
 soon that work, too, was done by machinery. One day my 
 father came home bringing his Norwegian newspaper and 
 showing more than usual interest in one of the advertisements. 
 This was a picture and a description of Walter A. Wood's self- 
 binder and it was doubtless studied with great care in many 
 Norwegian homes. The Woods machine bound the sheaves 
 with wire. I know of only one binder of this type in our neigh- 
 borhood. All sorts of doubts were expressed by the farmers in 
 discussing the self-binder; but Arne Dahl, who was rarely in 
 want of an opinion, was sure that a wire binder was a practical 
 invention, though a twine binder would, of course, be an im- 
 possibility. It was not long before Dahl and all his neighbors 
 were cutting and binding their grain with twine binders. 
 
 There was almost no kind of work on the farm which at 
 sometime or other did not fall to me. Some of it interested 
 me very much; some of it bored me. But of all my tasks that 
 which proved most tiresome was herding cattle. 
 
 We had been several years on the farm before we found it 
 necessary to herd our livestock. In the morning the cattle 
 were driven out into the open range to the north of us and were 
 allowed to stray about wherever they listed; usually they came 
 back to the corral early in the evening. The cows felt the need 
 of returning home to be milked. The younger cattle followed 
 the older leaders. 
 
 As the settlement grew it became expedient to have someone 
 with the livestock during the summer months, and a co-operative 
 
CATTLE HERDING 91 
 
 scheme was tried: a young man was hired to serve as herds- 
 man, but he proved anything but reliable. Then, in 1877, the 
 voters in a referendum approved a stock act, or "herd law," 
 as it was commonly called, and the old freedom was gone. By 
 this act the owner of livestock became responsible for all the 
 damages that could be charged to his cattle; consequently there 
 was nothing to do but to keep them closely watched. 
 
 Since there was no one else who could be spared from the 
 farm work, the duties of the herdboy naturally fell to me. In 
 addition to our own cattle I also had some other animals in my 
 care. There was ordinarily not much to do except to follow 
 the beasts about; now and then, however, they would decide 
 to "trek," as we called it; an older cow would take the lead 
 and the rest would fall in line. The whole procession would 
 then start off across the prairie and it took much running about 
 to bring them back to the range. 
 
 Ole Osmundson had charge of another herd and we often 
 spent the time together. Ole and I talked of many things as 
 we roamed over the hill and the lower land to the north. Some- 
 times we quarreled, but we never fought, chiefly because Ole 
 was older and stronger than I. We rarely spoke anything but 
 English, which in my case was an important fact, for those days 
 provided almost the only opportunity in that season to use that 
 language. Ole was to develop into a useful and prominent 
 citizen. Thirty years after those days on the range he was 
 serving the county in the office of sheriff. He also performed 
 an important service as member of the county board. 
 
 My younger brothers took over my duties as herdsman as 
 soon as they were able to do so. By that time the open range 
 had been materially narrowed and could no longer support so 
 much livestock as earlier. But no one had yet tried to farm 
 the hills, and Edward and Arne claimed that area as their own 
 sphere of activity. If other boys drove their cattle in upon that 
 range they received immediate warning. If they ignored this 
 they would find that they would have to defend their claim 
 with naked fists, which they rarely tried to do. 
 
4 xi ji 
 
 i 
 
 do not remember the time when I began to learn to read. 
 A story was told in the family that, when my sister Katie was 
 introduced to the alphabet, I was near at hand watching the 
 process. When she had acquired the reader's art, my parents 
 discovered to their surprise that I, too, had mastered it. If the 
 story is reliable, I learned to read when I was a little less than 
 four years old. 
 
 The language that we were taught to read was, of course, 
 Norwegian. Our parents were not prepared to teach us any- 
 thing else; but even if they had been able to do so, they surely 
 would have taught us their own language first. English we 
 were to learn later, first in the district school and later in the 
 society of young friends who had acquired a little knowledge 
 of that mysterious idiom. This accomplishment, however, was 
 something that did not belong in our prairie home. To know 
 English was a useful, perhaps even a necessary attainment, but 
 the language in which we thought and lived was Norwegian. 
 In a society such as ours there could be no alternative. 
 
 In 1736 Christian VI, the king of Denmark and Norway, 
 published a royal order that all his subjects must be confirmed. 
 In the Lutheran church confirmation comes about the four- 
 teenth year and consists in the renewal of the baptismal vows, 
 after which the confirmant partakes of the Lord's Supper, 
 being now regarded as an active member of the Christian fel- 
 lowship. Whether this decree and later commands in the in- 
 
 92 
 
PREPARING FOR CONFIRMATION 93 
 
 terest of religion and the religious life actually achieve the royal 
 purpose may well be doubted; but they had important results 
 none the less. Since it was the normal thing for all to be con- 
 firmed, the failure to receive this rite would be taken to mean 
 either mental incapacity or moral delinquency. It was very 
 difficult for one who could not produce a certificate of confir- 
 mation to secure employment, to take up a trade, or even to 
 enter into marriage. Consequently, all parents felt the need of 
 presenting their children at the altar as soon as the proper time 
 should come. 
 
 The rule was that no one should be admitted to confirma- 
 tion unless the priest felt satisfied that the candidate had a cer- 
 tain measure of knowledge of the fundamental doctrines held 
 and taught in the Lutheran church. These could be learned 
 from two or three popular religious treatises which were used 
 in all the churches. To use these one must be able to read. Il- 
 literacy, therefore, came to be almost unknown in the Norwe- 
 gian kingdom. Most of the men and women whom I knew 
 in my youth had received very little instruction in school, but 
 all could read. 
 
 We began with a little primer, or "A-B-C book," which had 
 evidently been prepared by someone who had not the faintest 
 acquaintance with the art of teaching. Fortunately, the lan- 
 guage being strictly phonetic, a reading knowledge of Norwe- 
 gian is easily acquired. We were next put through Martin 
 Luther's Shorter Catechism, which did not detain us long. 
 Having memorized this book we passed to an Explanation of 
 the catechism prepared by Erik Pontoppidan, a Danish eccle- 
 siastic who held an episcopal office in Norway in the middle 
 years of the eighteenth century. The Explanation was not a 
 large book, but it kept us busy reading and memorizing for 
 several years. 
 
 In addition to these books we were required to read and, if 
 possible, to commit to memory the contents of a little volume 
 of sacred history with an appendix relating the more promi- 
 nent facts of church history. The book that I read was excel- 
 
94 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 lent in this respect, that the author had tried to tell the story, 
 as far as might be, in the language of the original accounts. 
 The sections on church history were, of course, written from a 
 strictly partisan point of view. In addition to these require- 
 ments our religious preparation included the memorizing of 
 a number of the more popular Lutheran hymns. 
 
 In Pontoppidan's Explanation almost every important state- 
 ment is fortified with verses from the Bible; these we commit- 
 ted to memory along with the rest. In this way we learned a 
 great many choice passages from the Book of Books. Soon, 
 however, I discovered that there were interesting chapters in 
 the Bible of which Erik Pontoppidan did not take note. I was 
 still a mere boy when I had read the greater part of the Bible. 
 The Old Testament in its historical account proved fascinating 
 reading. The prophets were beyond me for the most part, 
 though the stories of Daniel and the adventures of Jonah were 
 exceedingly interesting. I found the Pauline epistles and parts 
 of the Pentateuch to be heavy reading and not very enlighten- 
 ing for a mere boy; but the greater part of the Book I read not 
 only once but many times. 
 
 Our neighbor, Baker Anderson, had an edition of the Bible 
 which included the Apocryphal books; this I borrowed and 
 thus came to learn of the magnificent heroism of the Macca- 
 bees and the crushing tyranny of the Hellenistic kings. It is a 
 story that cannot grow old. There were other marvelous tales 
 in the same group and they were all read with avidity. 
 
 That I thus at an early age became acquainted with the won- 
 derful literature of Holy Writ I have always regarded as a 
 fact of the first importance in my progress toward the hills of 
 knowledge. That this acquaintance was formed through the 
 medium of my native language has sometimes proved to be a 
 handicap, but only when I have felt the need of using scriptural 
 phrases. To a great extent these have been deposited in my 
 mind in their Norwegian form and I cannot always be sure of 
 the English rendering. 
 
 One may conclude from all this that the reading in our home 
 
COOPER AND DICKENS 95 
 
 was concerned exclusively with religious materials; and it is 
 quite true that for some years that was almost exactly the situa- 
 tion. We usually subscribed, however, for a weekly Norwegian 
 newspaper which was devoted largely to secular affairs. For 
 those who were interested in fiction, the paper provided a serial 
 which was ordinarily a translation from English or some other 
 foreign language. I recall Mother's reading Cooper's Deer- 
 slayer, which was published in this form. I read a few install- 
 ments of it myself, though my first complete reading of this 
 famous novel was in English. A year or so later Oliver Twist 
 came to us in serial form and this I read religiously. So it hap- 
 pened that my first, and for a long time my favorite, author 
 was Charles Dickens. I still have vivid memories of the eve- 
 ning when I read of Bill Sikes's brutal crime and his flight 
 into the darkness. That night sleep refused to come for several 
 hours. 
 
 Here and there in the settlement I found little volumes of 
 old tales and chronicles which I managed to borrow. Among 
 these was a fantastic version of Tristan and Iseult (called " In- 
 diane " in this tale) which my grandfather had somehow man- 
 aged to salvage from the destruction which came with the great 
 rain on our first night in Mattison's home. I was quite young 
 at the time but I was sufficiently acquainted with the map of 
 the eastern hemisphere to see the absurdity of a Chinese in- 
 vasion of Spain. I was not mature enough to appreciate the 
 artistry of Pilgrim's Progress when Bunyan's great allegory first 
 came to my hand, and I was not sufficiently interested to com- 
 plete the book; but I was old enough to appreciate the heroic 
 suffering of the patient Griselda and the keen tortures of the 
 martyred saints. It was a heavy diet and not well assorted; 
 much of it could not be assimilated; and, while I would not 
 say that this early reading was wasted effort, I am sure that it 
 was all far beyond the intellectual stage that I had reached at 
 the time. 
 
 At a very early age I became interested in the historical 
 novel. To a boy with an active imagination there is no type of 
 
96 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 literature that is more real and more vital. Sir Walter Scott 
 had many early imitators and not a few of these wrote in the 
 North. The histories of Denmark and Sweden have a great 
 series of romantic chapters, all of which have proved wonderful 
 materials for the devotees of historical fiction. The literary pos- 
 sibilities of the Norwegian annals are not so great. The coun- 
 try was never rich and was always thinly populated; for these 
 and for other reasons feudalism with beetling castles and flaunt- 
 ing chivalry never took root in that land. It was otherwise in 
 the sister countries. Moreover, these had age-old ambitions to 
 rule the Baltic basin, ambitions which led to intermittent war- 
 fare, with its attendant sorrows and tribulations and often seri- 
 ous defeats but also heroic victories and brilliant achievements. 
 
 One day before I had begun to take an interest in news- 
 paper serials, Mother and young Halvor Mattison were discuss- 
 ing the last installment of a story then running in S\andinaven. 
 It was Starback's great romance of Engelbrekt Engelbrektsson, 
 a popular chieftain who fought and died for Swedish liberty in 
 the fifteenth century. I read it a few years later and was stirred 
 to wrath against the royal bailiffs and the heartless aristocrats 
 who tyrannized over the Swedish yeomanry. In other novels 
 I read of the perfidy of the medieval clergy, which Protestant 
 authors painted in screaming colors. The Danish' novels, like 
 the Dane himself, were more quiet and more genial. I shall 
 mention only the writings of Carit Etlar and B. S. Ingemann, 
 both of whom contributed to my insight into the northern past. 
 
 Wishing to know something of the land whose citizenship 
 he was about to share and enjoy, my father procured two small 
 volumes of a history of the United States in his own language. 
 It was anonymously published, but the author proved to be 
 David Monrad Schoyen, a Norwegian immigrant who was 
 trained to the legal profession but found a career in journalism. 
 Schoyen's book gave an interesting account, largely political 
 in character, of our national growth; it carried the narra- 
 tive down to 1861. At least one more volume was published 
 later. This, which tells the story of the Civil War, has the au- 
 
NORWEGIAN LITERATURE 97 
 
 thor's name on the title page. My first reading in American 
 history was in these books. 
 
 The first book, aside from schoolbooks, that I had a right 
 to call my own was a little volume by A. E. Eriksen, a Nor- 
 wegian schoolmaster, on the history of Norway, Sweden, and 
 Denmark. My father gave it to me and it still remains in my 
 possession. It is only the merest outline of a highly complex 
 subject; but my reading in this little book was the beginning 
 of my life work, the study of history, with which I have been 
 occupied the greater part of forty years. 
 
 During the first dozen years of my life the literature that I 
 read was nearly all Norwegian or Dano-Norwegian. This does 
 not mean that the books that I learned to know were inferior 
 stuff; far from it. Many of the authors were men of real 
 genius. I did not, indeed, read much of the new and vigorous 
 Norwegian fiction which began to appear about 1850; but even 
 before the appearance of Bj0rnson and Ibsen there were literary 
 giants in the North and their books taught me much of north- 
 ern life and thought. 
 
 I came to have a personal interest in some of the great Nor- 
 wegians from information that came from my mother. Bergen 
 in her day was a city of about thirty thousand inhabitants. It 
 was large enough to have a distinctive intellectual life; at the 
 same time it was small enough so that its great men could not 
 hide away from the populace. Bj0rnson Mother knew chiefly 
 as a powerful orator whose virile speeches on May 17, the na- 
 tional holiday, inspired his hearers with patriotic fervor. Of 
 Ibsen she had more to tell. The great dramatist courted and 
 won his bride in a house not far away from the place where 
 Mother had her home at the time. Consequently, the some- 
 what queer-looking artist of seedy appearance was frequently 
 seen in her part of the town. That Ibsen was a great man very 
 few could bring themselves to believe. Sometime in the sixties 
 Bj0rnson confided to a friend that there was not a trace of 
 genius in Henrik Ibsen. 
 
 Two other names that I often heard mentioned and dis- 
 
98 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 cussed were those of Ole Bull and Edward Grieg, both of whom 
 belonged in Bergen. In the earlier sixties the great violinist 
 had already attained to high fame; the young composer had, 
 however, only just begun to display his wonderful power. 
 Mother had heard of Grieg chiefly as a highly gifted per- 
 former; she followed the development of his later creative 
 career with the interest of one who had frequently been im- 
 pressed by his fine and slightly delicate personality and had 
 heard strains of lovely music whenever she passed his home in 
 the town. 
 
 But from this acquaintance with Norwegian cultures I got 
 nothing that could give me insight into the life and the social 
 order of the American people. Nor could I at that stage be 
 expected to develop an intelligent appreciation of the Anglo- 
 American race. That could come only when I should have the 
 opportunity to study the achievements of that same people. 
 And for me this opportunity began when I was first sent to 
 public school. 
 
4 XII £ 
 
 T, 
 
 hroughout all my life I have heard lively debates on the 
 subject of Americanization. In my earlier years the discussion 
 dealt with the matter as with something which was, perhaps, 
 inevitable, but which should be stoutly resisted; at least it 
 should never be allowed to effect a complete change in life and 
 culture. This was an attitude which could not, however, be 
 maintained for any length of time. Change was inevitable and 
 in some quarters the change was thorough and even radical. 
 In more recent years Americanization has been presented in 
 some quarters as a process which should be hurried forward 
 to an early completion. This attitude, it was true, was not 
 much in evidence before the outbreak of the Great War; when 
 it appeared it met with greater approval than one would think 
 possible, for it was regarded as inhering in a new and more 
 intense form of patriotism. 
 
 But what do we really mean by Americanization ? Thus far 
 I have met no one who has seemed to understand very clearly 
 what the term implies. Too often the argument in my earlier 
 days would center about the question of language, and no 
 doubt a change in idiom is a very important matter. However, 
 a process that goes no farther than a change in daily speech is 
 likely to produce a very superficial form of Americanization, 
 for it is possible to remain an alien in spirit even if one has sur- 
 rendered his own native language. 
 
 The American people have hoped and believed that the new 
 
 99 
 
100 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 western environment would make genuine Americans of the 
 adult immigrants and that the public school would take care 
 of the process among their children. Unfortunately for this 
 belief, the environment in the alien settlements was anything 
 but American. The thought life of the elders was Norwe- 
 gian. The culture that they loved, believed in, and strove to 
 maintain was woven into the strong web of their mother 
 tongue. Our social life was lived among men and women of 
 our own race. Their dearest memories led back to a land be- 
 yond the sea and they never tired of relating them. They 
 looked back upon a country which in their imaginations had 
 been idealized to an extent that was almost unbelievable. They 
 never became Americans in a positive sense, though more loyal 
 citizens never lived. 
 
 The importance of the common school as an Americanizing 
 influence can scarcely receive too much emphasis. There have 
 been many communities, however, where this institution has 
 not been able to exert its full measure of influence, having to 
 compete with parochial schools where most of the instruction 
 was, in earlier days, at least, given and received in languages 
 other than English. Our community was loyal to the common 
 school; but even there its influence was closely limited. We 
 learned much about the American people but we did not learn 
 to know them. The chasm between the races was not easily 
 bridged. Each lived in its own world of thoughts and ideas 
 and made little effort to understand the inner life of the other. 
 There was no active hostility; but the old antipathy continued 
 to influence our lives and conduct. Until this was removed the 
 process of Americanization could not proceed very far. 
 
 Sometime in the early months of 1873 a school was opened 
 in the Mattison house. Into the little dugout, which was barely 
 large enough for the family itself, the male population of the 
 community above the age of hvt years came to receive instruc- 
 tion in the language of the land. There were, of course, other 
 subjects taught besides English; but most of the pupils were 
 
IN THE SCHOOLROOM 101 
 
 adult immigrants and for them the important thing was to 
 learn to speak, read, and write the English language. 
 
 My father attended the school, as did two of my uncles. 
 There they sat, a group of young men, around a dining-room 
 table, trying to get a little insight into the language of the 
 Yankees, to learn something of its intricate and illogical spell- 
 ing, to read or hear something of American history, and per- 
 haps to get a little drill in the use of numbers. To teach such 
 a group must have been a real experience. 
 
 The teacher had only one important qualification: he could 
 converse with his pupils in their own tongue. He probably 
 owed his appointment to the fact that he was the son of a Lu- 
 theran clergyman of some prominence. Many tales have been 
 told of the efforts of the young man to maintain conventional 
 discipline, some of his pupils being somewhat unruly. On one 
 occasion a fight was about to be staged between the teacher and 
 one of the young men, who had apparently created a little dis- 
 turbance; but the housewife intervened and the clash was 
 averted. 
 
 The session was short, only one month; but that was all that 
 the ruling powers in Forest City could be induced to provide. 
 The next winter the period was longer. Having now passed 
 my fifth birthday, I was permitted to attend. This time the 
 teacher was an American, Ed May by name. What I best re- 
 member about May was that he seemed to find it difficult to 
 keep comfortably warm. Most of the time he sat close to the 
 stove and directed the work from that point. With a some- 
 what indifferent teacher, and with schoolroom conditions such 
 as they were, it was impossible to have effective instruction. 
 Still we did learn something: we were at least beginning to 
 read books in the language of the land. 
 
 In my own case school attendance was important further in 
 that it was bringing me into closer contact with other boys of 
 my own age. Quite a few children were attending the school. 
 Several adults were enrolled among them, but they were fewer 
 than in the year before. Perhaps the fact that the school was 
 
102 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 coming to be a school for children discouraged the men from 
 attending. 
 
 The school and everything that belonged to it interested me 
 immensely. To learn lessons was not a trial to me, as it evi- 
 dently was to some of the pupils ; the work had its reward now 
 and then in a recitation which the teacher felt in duty bound 
 to notice. Then there were the recess periods and the noon 
 hour, both of which were utilized to their fullest extent: we slid 
 over the ice in the winter, fought each other with snowballs, 
 and played the usual outdoor games. Incidentally we some- 
 times had little misunderstandings on the playground which 
 might occasionally lead to the use of harsh words and even to 
 the exchange of blows with little fists. 
 
 Delightful as the whole thing was, it was also something of 
 a torture. Not having enough work to keep me busy, I would 
 let my eyes roam about quite a bit. Things would happen that 
 might be mildly amusing; but to a boy like myself they would 
 seem excruciatingly funny. Some of my young friends, John 
 Osmundson in particular, saw to it that I did not miss any- 
 thing. Laughter in school was a cardinal sin which could not 
 be tolerated, and I very early became acquainted with the stern 
 realities of rural school discipline. 
 
 One day when I was six or possibly seven years old some of 
 us boys noticed a heap of fresh logs on a site about half a mile 
 south of my father's house. On making inquiries we were in- 
 formed that a schoolhouse was to be built. It turned out to be 
 a larger building than any other in our settlement; it had seats 
 that could not be shoved around and made to creak like the 
 chairs and the benches at Mattison's. On the whole my com- 
 rades and I agreed that the new building was quite remarkable 
 in every respect. In this log house I attended school for at least 
 half a dozen years. 
 
 If there is anything in the theory that there is more virility in 
 the instruction given by men than in that given by women, my 
 education should be quite robust. The summer before the log 
 schoolhouse was built, school was held for a month in our house 
 
PIONEER TEACHERS 103 
 
 with a young woman in charge. There surely was little vigor 
 in Miss Cook's teaching, for it irked her much to correct the 
 mistakes of the little foreigners who were gathered about her. 
 Whenever possible she allowed one or the other of the Morten- 
 sen girls to hear us read and spell while she relaxed her weary 
 muscles on a little homemade couch. This indifference to her 
 work and an occasional outburst of temper irritated my mother 
 to the extent that she ordered the school to betake itself to the 
 granary, which at that time was empty and served the purpose 
 fairly well. 
 
 After that experience I had no woman teacher till my fresh- 
 man year in college, when I took a year's work in English his- 
 tory which was given by a woman. I am sure, however, that 
 this course could not have had a feminizing influence, for Mary 
 Elizabeth Paddock was a militant young lady, one of those 
 strong women who like to look at the world from the mascu- 
 line point of view. My other teachers have all been men. I 
 have learned much from women in my time, but their instruc- 
 tion has been informal and not confined to the classroom. And 
 such instruction is often quite effective. 
 
 The first session (it was again only a month) in the new log 
 building was taught by a Norwegian educator of some preten- 
 sions whom we called Professor Anderson. During the school 
 year J. }. Anderson was in charge of a little church school at 
 Marshall, Wisconsin. He had a farm about two miles from 
 where we lived and consequently found it convenient to visit 
 our community now and then. Not being paid very well by 
 his employers, he was not averse to earning a few dollars as 
 primary schoolteacher. Anderson was quite impressive, with 
 his long beard and the long morning gown which he wore a 
 good part of the time. He was disposed to treat us with all 
 kindness; and though evidently aware of his own importance, 
 he was somehow able to get down to our level. My memories 
 of the school that he taught are pleasant without exception. 
 
 In pioneer communities the successful teacher is one who is 
 able to " keep order " in the schoolroom. I had such a one for 
 
104 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 several winters in the old log schoolhouse. Isaac J. Kessey was 
 a Norwegian immigrant who had learned and accepted Ameri- 
 can ways more readily than the average alien. Though he had 
 not forgotten his native tongue, he preferred to use English. 
 Except in one or two subjects he was sufficiently well prepared 
 for common-school work, since our demands in this respect 
 could not be very exacting. Kessey was best known for the 
 virility of his temper, an active, almost vicious thing, which he 
 apparently never tried to control, at least not in the schoolroom. 
 It is quite true that some of his pupils tried him sorely, but a 
 teacher cannot afford to display his impatience too often. I 
 endured much during those three or four terms with Kessey. 
 Almost every day he discovered some little irregularity in my 
 department, for all of which he made me suffer. His disci- 
 plinary expedients were sometimes quite barbarous. As I think 
 back on those days, I can only wonder that anything like in- 
 dependent initiative was left in my mental make-up. 
 
 In the early eighties a little frame building was erected near 
 my home and on my father's land; the rest of my common 
 school life was spent there. The first term in this building 
 was taught by my early friend, Halvor Mattison. He was my 
 teacher for several years and I have only satisfactory memories 
 of him and his work. He organized his school with care, used 
 intelligent methods, and saw to it that there was not unneces- 
 sary repetition. I was finally making progress. 
 
 Later in the decade I went to college in Des Moines; still 
 later I entered the graduate school of the University of Wiscon- 
 sin. The process of education which began in the dugout in a 
 pioneer settlement was completed in the lovely seminar rooms 
 of the State Historical Society in Madison. 
 
 After my seventh year my school attendance was limited to 
 a few months in the winter. There was work to do in the sum- 
 mer and no time could be spared for school. In the winter, 
 too, there were important duties at home and I was frequently 
 absent from roll call. But, limited as my actual attendance was, 
 it was amply sufficient for what one could get out of the schools 
 
JOEL DORMAN STEELE 105 
 
 as they were organized in the seventies. Still, by the time I was 
 seventeen years old, I had somehow accumulated knowledge 
 sufficient to be allowed to try my own hand as a common- 
 school teacher. 
 
 The most severe criticism that one could pass on the teachers 
 of my boyhood days is that they did not make sure that their 
 pupils understood what they were presumably learning. In 
 grammar, for instance, we read of voice, mood, and tense; but 
 we left school with only the vaguest ideas of what these terms 
 meant. Concrete things we could grasp with little difficulty: 
 the facts of history and geography gave us no trouble; with a 
 little effort on the part of the imagination we could understand 
 the functioning of the human system. But we were soon lost 
 when we tried to follow the discussion of things abstract. In 
 the study of arithmetic there were rules and principles that 
 floored us. I never really understood, at least not in those days, 
 why the divisor is inverted in the division of fractions. Some 
 of my teachers seemed not to be impressed with the importance 
 of the subjects that lay outside the circle of the three R's. His- 
 tory, for instance, they treated almost exclusively as an exercise 
 in reading. Occasionally the teacher might take the trouble to 
 impress upon us the importance of a date or some other land- 
 mark on the highway of national achievement; but that the 
 course of events could have a significance when viewed as a 
 comprehensive unit seems not to have occurred to him. 
 
 One day before I had begun to attend school my father 
 brought home a book, a copy of which is still in my library. 
 It was the well known Barnes's History of the United States, 
 prepared, I believe, by the universal scientist and educator, Joel 
 Dorman Steele. The present generation is not likely to know 
 about Steele's Fourteen Weeks in Physiology, Fourteen Wee\s 
 in Astronomy, and his other " fourteen weeks " with correspond- 
 ing titles; but in my day they were widely used. When the 
 Civil War came on, Steele was engaged in academic work in 
 western New York. He joined the army, but at the close of 
 
106 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 the war did not return to active teaching, having evidently de- 
 veloped extensive plans of publication. While not a scholar, he 
 was for his time an excellent popularizer. Few men have served 
 primary education better than Joel Dorman Steele. 
 
 The history proved to be a fascinating volume. I could not 
 yet read a word of English but the book had pictures such as 
 I had never looked at before. Angels and devils were nowhere 
 to be seen, which seemed strange to one whose acquaintance 
 with art had come through crude woodcuts of German origin 
 devised to illustrate dramatic events in sacred history. There 
 were pictures of soldiers, Indians, ships, covered wagons, and 
 railway trains; but the soldiers impressed me most of all. I can 
 recall still the interest with which I studied a picture of General 
 Sherman and his army on their famous march to the sea. Of 
 course, I could not know what it was all about, but surely some- 
 thing important must be going on where there were so many 
 horses. 
 
 Later I got acquainted with another mind of broad preten- 
 sions: that of William Swinton, who also seemed to have an 
 ambition to write textbooks for the entire school curriculum. 
 Swinton was a journalist, a college professor, and an expert 
 (after a fashion) on military affairs. He was also an educator 
 and was best known for his textbooks. I liked his geography 
 and was much attracted to his history for the reason that it was 
 brief and easily learned. 
 
 Swinton's Grammar had many critics, the chief objection be- 
 ing that he accepted constructions and phrases as idiomatic 
 when they refused to submit to logical analysis. In this he was 
 no doubt correct. But the great excellence of the work lay in 
 his illustrative sentences. Instead of making his own materials 
 for exercises in grammatical construction, he sought them in 
 the works of the great English and American writers, Shake- 
 speare, Milton, Locke, Longfellow, and all the rest. One could 
 sit down with Swinton's Grammar and read and ponder these 
 quotations to great profit, for his selections, even when taken 
 out of their context, were full of thought and meaning. 
 
THE UNION SERIES 107 
 
 Most of the children in our school began to learn to read 
 from "primers." Katie and I had no such book; we began 
 with the first reader. From this we passed (I do not know 
 why) to the third reader. There were three more readers in 
 the series and I used them all. They were prepared by Charles 
 W. Sanders and made up the Union Series. Sanders was a 
 teacher of some experience who spent most of his years after 
 the age of thirty in preparing readers, spellers, and music books. 
 He must have had a fine appreciation of literary art, for his 
 selections were frequently chosen with a view to acquaint the 
 pupil with the great masters; this holds particularly good in 
 his fifth and sixth readers, which these days would be consid- 
 ered rather heavy fare for classes in the primary grades. 
 
 Recently much has been said of the great influence that 
 McGuffey once exerted on American life and character. I 
 know McGuffey's readers well, having read them all and also 
 used them in the classroom. I cannot see, however, why 
 they should have preference over those of the Union Series. 
 McGuffey's selections are not so difficult as those presented by 
 Sanders, and it may be that he makes a greater effort to em- 
 phasize the moral that is borne by the tale that he has to tell. 
 But there is something that is strikingly substantial about the 
 Sanders volumes and the moral is not forgotten, though it may 
 not always be pressed to the same degree as in the rival series. 
 
 One of our earlier educators said at one time that " it is quite 
 as important to teach the young what to read as to teach how 
 to read." Charles W. Sanders evidently built his books on this 
 principle. In his readers I found selections, especially from the 
 field of poetry, which I enjoyed reading over and over again 
 till memory held them almost verbatim. The great masters of 
 American literature were not well known in the fifties and six- 
 ties when Sanders was preparing his readers — many of them 
 had not yet appeared on the field. But Hawthorne was still 
 active in the field of English prose. Poe had proved himself 
 a master of mystery and rhythm and we read him eagerly. 
 Holmes and Fitz-Greene Halleck and John Godfrey Saxe were 
 
108 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 writing in lighter and easier veins. Longfellow and Lowell 
 were bringing distinction to American poetry. We read se- 
 lections from orators like Webster and Phillips and Edward 
 Everett. Ruskin, Macaulay, Dickens, Burke, and James Hogg 
 brought us contributions from over the sea. My first acquaint- 
 ance with these and many other outstanding writers came from 
 the Sanders readers. My boyhood days were the period of 
 "Casabianca" and "Marco Bozzaris," but they were also the 
 period of "Hiawatha" and " Thanatopsis " and the "Last 
 Leaf." 
 
 The most difficult subject that the immigrant has to master 
 in the study of English is spelling. From his point of view the 
 appearance of the English word is often ludicrous and some- 
 times even grotesque. One can, of course, present what is be- 
 lieved to be a satisfactory argument for the strange forms from 
 long past history; but of this the learner knows nothing. Spell- 
 ing makes particular trouble for adults; but children, too, who, 
 like myself, learned a completely phonetic system before taking 
 up the new language, find English spelling troublesome. Nor 
 is it always so easily mastered by the native himself. Hence it 
 has become necessary to prepare spelling books, which in most 
 languages seem not to be known. 
 
 In 1875 a movement that came to be known as the " spelling 
 mania" began its progress across the land. In three or four 
 years it had reached our own community. Spelling schools 
 were held everywhere, usually in the evenings. Captains were 
 selected, who were allowed to choose the men who were to 
 serve on their respective sides. In this way all attendance would 
 be drawn into one or the other of two competing platoons. 
 Those who failed to spell a word correctly would drop out till 
 finally one remained alone on the floor. Sometimes there 
 would be no lone victor, but all those who stood last could 
 claim a share in the victory, if not exclusive laurels. 
 
 Many of those who came to these competitions were in- 
 tensely interested in the contest. For days before such a 
 " school " was to be held, spelling books were eagerly studied, 
 
AMERICAN NOVELS 109 
 
 not only in the district directly concerned but also in the neigh- 
 boring areas. After the spelling match had been finished, the 
 hours that remained of the evening were given over to games. 
 These were often quite boisterous and might continue far into 
 the night. I recall the first time when I attended such a session. 
 It was three o'clock in the morning when Katie and I came 
 home, and our reception was not exactly cordial. 
 
 Though my father was very suspicious of these gatherings, 
 he usually allowed me to attend them. He looked on them as 
 an expedient of the dance-loving mob to give respectability to 
 their orgies, for to him they were orgies. Still, there was al- 
 ways a contest in spelling on these occasions, and he knew that 
 my spelling was usually good. Pride apparently overcame his 
 scruples and I was allowed to attend if I would promise to meet 
 and defeat all my competitors. This I always dutifully prom- 
 ised and only once or twice did I need to explain why another 
 speller had the victory. 
 
 One result of my work with textbooks was a desire to read 
 English books that had nothing to do with school. Every year 
 there was less of Norwegian and more of English in the life of 
 the younger group. Among other things my general reading 
 gave me some acquaintance with the American novel. The 
 eighties were a highly sentimental decade. Human nature no 
 doubt remains much the same from age to age, but tastes ap- 
 pear to change. The fiction of the period following the Civil 
 War was, so far as I came to know it, of the sad and tearful 
 sort; its theme was love, usually suffering love. There was 
 nothing very sturdy about it. It gives one a real satisfaction 
 to know that the type of character that interested us fifty years 
 ago no longer stirs us to tearful admiration. 
 
 The older Mortensen girls were children of their own time. 
 They managed to acquire some of the popular novels of the 
 time and knowing that my thirst for reading was always keen, 
 they lent me some of their books. In this way I got to read my 
 first full-length novel in English, which was Augusta Evans' 
 
110 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 sad story, Infelice. This was followed by Lena Rivers by Mary 
 J. Holmes. In the course of time I got acquainted with the 
 stories written by the simpering Mrs. Hungerford, usually 
 known as the "Duchess," and by Mrs. Charlotte M. Breame, 
 who wrote sentimental tales under the pseudonym of Bertha 
 M. Clay. The four writers that I have named were immensely 
 popular; there was a time when their writings were found 
 in almost every western home where English was the family 
 speech. 
 
 Most of this reading belonged to the half dozen years before 
 I began my work as a public-school teacher. Another and 
 wholly different type of romance was the dime novel, which 
 had quite a vogue in my boyhood days. I read several of these 
 and have no regrets. They were quite as wholesome as many 
 of the novels that receive high praise from present-day critics. 
 George W. Beadle, who was responsible for their publication, 
 should not be too severely condemned. 
 
sjf XIII Jfc 
 
 JL he intellectual isolation in which our life in Winnebago 
 County began could not, of course, be maintained for any 
 length of time. It was inevitable that our community should 
 before long come into closer contact with the native culture, 
 though at first this was to touch us at a few points only. Books 
 in English most of my neighbors could not read; but presently 
 translations appeared and many of the lesser English and 
 American classics were made accessible to Norwegian readers. 
 I have already made mention of The Deerslayer and Oliver 
 Twist. Two other important books that I remember reading 
 in my boyhood days were Mrs. Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin and 
 Epes Sargent's Peculiar Institution. Both dealt with the great 
 conflict between the North and the South, the first with the 
 period of its preliminaries, the second with its terrible climax in 
 the sixties. 
 
 There is no need to say anything about Mrs. Stowe's famous 
 novel. Whatever may have been its influence on the American 
 mind in the decade of the fifties, there can be no question as to 
 what it meant in the development of opinion among the grow- 
 ing body of naturalized citizens in the seventies. Its reading 
 intensified an inborn and implacable hostility toward slavery. 
 At the same time it strengthened the bonds that held good 
 men and women to the Republican party, which, we were told, 
 had done so much to make this country a land of real freedom. 
 Sargent's novel has no doubt long since passed into deserved 
 
 111 
 
112 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 oblivion. It is much inferior to Mrs. Stowe's book, but one 
 must not question its influence on that account. It was pub- 
 lished as a serial in S\andinaven and no doubt for a definite 
 purpose. In the middle seventies there was a strong tendency 
 among honest men to desert the " party of great moral ideas." 
 The leaders were uneasy and felt that something would have 
 to be done to cement the cracking loyalty of the more intelli- 
 gent aliens. 
 
 The novel is propaganda pure and simple. The author has 
 woven into his web highly colored strands from the under- 
 ground railway and from the policies of reconstruction. He 
 has made effective use of some of the more dramatic episodes 
 of the Civil War. Naturally he has to deal with the race prob- 
 lem and in " Peculiar Institution," the hero of the novel, he pre- 
 sents a character who illustrates the belief, widely held in some 
 parts of the North, that the average colored man may be intel- 
 lectually the peer of his white master. The picture is done in 
 bright shades and drawn against the darker background of the 
 southern slave life. And the good men and women who read 
 the story as the installments came from week to week learned 
 to hate the Democratic party, which, they were told, had tried 
 so hard to stem the wave of righteousness that had swept the 
 party of freedom into power in 1860. 
 
 Politically, therefore, my family and our neighbors were all 
 loyal Republicans. For that matter, the same might be said of 
 nearly all the Norwegians in the United States. There was 
 some dissatisfaction with the Grant regime, but that passed; 
 not before the Cleveland campaign in 1884 was there any 
 noticeable defection among the Norsemen in the Northwest. 
 Arne Dahl, who sometimes did a little thinking by himself, 
 had begun to wonder about the expediency of a high tariff; but 
 I doubt that he was carried very far into the enemy's camp. 
 
 From 1868 to and including 1880 the ratio of the Republican 
 to the Democratic vote in Winnebago County was approxi- 
 mately ten to one. The Cleveland campaign brought this down 
 to three to one. The 67 who cast their vote for Hancock in 
 
WINNEBAGO COUNTY POLITICS 113 
 
 1880 found their number increased to 216 four years later. Most 
 of the deserters returned, however, to their old loyalty in the 
 next election: in 1900 the Democrats polled 472 votes to the 
 Republicans' 2,051. This was high-water mark till the year 
 1916, when the figures were 611 and 1,913. The Norseman had 
 begun definitely to leave the old camp. La Follette carried the 
 county in 1924 and a majority voted for Roosevelt in 1932. 
 
 Winnebago County was never entirely free from political 
 agitation; but the disturbing element was American almost to 
 a man, and it labored chiefly among the natives. Since the 
 Norwegian voters had, on the whole, only a very imperfect 
 grasp of political terminology, they were largely immune from 
 this form of attack. In the two decades following the Civil 
 War, the Democratic party, at least in northern Iowa, was not 
 regarded as respectable. " Can you," said C. L. Nelson in one 
 of his many eloquent appeals to his countrymen, " can you go 
 to the Lord's table on Sunday and vote for Cleveland on Tues- 
 day?" The answer was quite sure to be in the negative. The 
 dissatisfied voters consequently had to look for other camps to 
 which to withdraw. These were found first in the Greenback 
 party and later in the Populist movement. In October, 1878, 
 a Greenback meeting was held in Forest City at which B. A. 
 Plummer presided. This was not at all strange, since Brook 
 was always a restless soul; but one is surprised to note that 
 nearly all the members of the bar, Ransom, Cooper, Olmstead, 
 and Nelson, were present and spoke. At a similar meeting two 
 years later several prominent citizens, including " Big " Jasper 
 Thompson, were among the speakers. But the movement did 
 not prosper: in the election of that year J. B. Weaver, the 
 Greenback candidate for president, received only 34 votes in 
 the entire county. 
 
 Twelve years later Weaver was again a candidate, this time 
 as the choice of the Populist aggregation. Economic conditions 
 in the county were anything but easy and the Republican lead- 
 ers feared that there might be a serious defection toward the 
 new political standards. But the Norwegian farmers were kept 
 
114 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 in line beneath the old banner and Weaver received only 157 
 votes out of a total of 2,205. (The Cleveland vote in the same 
 election was 342.) 
 
 In the process of Americanization, politics was a highly im- 
 portant factor. It brought the alien group into contact with the 
 institutional arrangements of the nation. In that field all sym- 
 pathetic interest in a foreign system was wholly ruled out. It 
 also brought the leaders of the naturalized contingents into 
 close touch with some of the keenest minds in the native ele- 
 ment. In this way their appreciation of the republic and its 
 institutions in the abstract became practical knowledge of a 
 working government in its more concrete forms. 
 
 The Norseman is a born politician. Since the dawn of his- 
 tory the farmers in Old Norway have, in a large degree, man- 
 aged the affairs of their local political units. For centuries they 
 were engaged in fighting the petty tyrants of local officialdom 
 and were never wholly daunted by failure or defeat. They had 
 therefore long been trained in practical politics and in the 
 simpler forms of administration. The American system in its 
 larger outline met their immediate approval. Here was a form 
 of popular government that extended to the uttermost limits of 
 authority with no hereditary monarch and no governing class. 
 All this was as it should be, and the new citizens could not be 
 happy until their hands had touched the levers of political 
 power and control. 
 
 A related agent that worked in a small way to the same end 
 was the annual celebration of Independence Day. The Fourth 
 of July was a national holiday; but the events of its celebration 
 were intended to have a meaning quite different from that of 
 an ordinary holiday: they were planned to stimulate patriotic 
 fervor, to give new vigor to flagging loyalties. In the decades 
 following the reduction of the South, the "Glorious Fourth" 
 was observed in every village that felt able to arrange proper 
 festivities. Not only was the day celebrated, but a conventional 
 type of celebration was developed from which few communi- 
 
THE FOURTH OF JULY 115 
 
 ties were ever known to deviate except in some of the less im- 
 portant details. 
 
 In the evening of the third the youth of the nation went 
 to bed with tingling nerves. About dawn they were awakened 
 by the roar of something that was called artillery: it was the 
 friends of freedom saluting the coming day. The guns were 
 usually sought and found in neighboring blacksmith shops. An 
 iron ring was placed on an anvil, powder was poured into it, 
 and another anvil placed upon it. When the powder was ig- 
 nited it exploded with a loud report. 
 
 Soon after the breakfast hour, the wagons of the farmers be- 
 gan to roll into town. By ten o'clock the roads were crowded 
 with vehicles of every sort, all headed toward the same point. 
 Half an hour later a procession would begin to form at the 
 courthouse square and move toward a grove where the patriotic 
 exercises were to be held. Songs were sung, the band played, 
 toasts were given, and the celebration culminated in an oration 
 by someone who was chosen for his abilities to stir the masses 
 with vivid oratory. Usually this effort was little more than a 
 torrent of laudatory sentences; but once at least I heard an 
 orator of the day who saw breakers ahead and called on his 
 auditors to look forward instead of backwards. His effort met 
 with violent criticism. It was not patriotic to raise doubts and 
 questions on Independence Day. 
 
 The rest of the day was given over to amusement and social 
 conversation. Dancing began in the afternoon on an outdoor 
 dancing floor called a "bowery" and continued till dawn the 
 next day. A display of fireworks about nine o'clock in the eve- 
 ning was always a part of the festivities. After the last Roman 
 candle had exploded, the farmers were usually ready to go 
 home, if they had not left earlier. 
 
 My first Fourth of July was in 1876. Since this was the cen- 
 tennial of independence, the farmers in Forest City felt that 
 they must make a great effort to observe the day correctly. It 
 was feared that the Norwegians might not be sufficiently en- 
 thusiastic to come to town on that day, and something therefore 
 
116 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 had to be devised to secure a respectable attendance. So the 
 news went forth that a free dinner would be served immedi- 
 ately after the exercises in the grove. The bait proved effective : 
 even my own family sent representatives to assist in the celebra- 
 tion. We were three: Father, Uncle John, and I. A dinner was 
 actually served, but the mob that surged against the tables was 
 larger than the management had anticipated. Many went away 
 to satisfy their hunger elsewhere. Uncle John was lucky enough 
 to get a bite to eat; but Father and I had nothing. 
 
 It was a long way to Forest City and that day the road was 
 longer than usual. The exercises had just begun when we 
 reached the grove. There were many brief speeches, two by 
 Norwegians. One of the two was J. J. Anderson, whom I have 
 mentioned as one of my earliest teachers. The oration was de- 
 livered by Colonel A. H. Chase, the publisher of the Summit. 
 Colonel Chase had come to Forest City two years before with 
 something of a reputation as a master of English prose which, 
 in his journalistic work in Winnebago County, he did very 
 little to sustain. 
 
 An important feature of every Fourth of July celebration 
 was the "ragamuffin parade." About four o'clock a group of 
 mounted men, a dozen or more, dressed in ragged clothes and 
 wearing grotesque, almost terrifying, masks, came out appar- 
 ently from nowhere and rode slowly down Main Street. The 
 leader on almost every such occasion was Darius Bray, an early 
 settler and curious character who lived in a little cabin in the 
 woods not far from town. It was a common belief that Bray 
 suffered from some mild form of mental derangement and 
 there were those who held the same opinion of Mrs. Bray. 
 "Old Bray" did not trouble to put on a disguise; he was fan- 
 tastic enough in appearance to need no mask. In a slight de- 
 gree he tried to dress like an Indian; otherwise he was simply 
 " Old Bray." 
 
 Nothing so far in my life had impressed me like this gor- 
 geous day in Forest City. Of course, I had not yet reached my 
 eighth birthday and all my conscious life had been spent on a 
 
farmers' holiday 117 
 
 quiet farm in what was almost prairie solitude. Still, my days 
 had not all been void of excitement, though my emotions had 
 not been stirred as they were on this Fourth of July. The 
 crowding and jostling on the rickety sidewalks, the noise and 
 din to which there was no lull, the blare of the band and the 
 overpowering rhythm of the martial airs, the pageantry, the 
 flags, and the bunting — all these had a subtle power of fascina- 
 tion, even when they confused and almost distracted me. After 
 that year I never missed a celebration if I could find a way to 
 attend. On at least one such occasion I walked the twelve miles 
 in the morning and returned on foot at night. 
 
 Most of the farmers liked to take a holiday on the Fourth 
 and join with their friends in town to do homage to the nation 
 and the flag. Just what was said and done at the patriotic 
 service they did not clearly know. Having no knowledge of 
 American history, they could hardly be expected to understand 
 the reading of the Declaration of Independence. But they loved 
 the music, especially the triumphant strains of the airs played 
 by the band. They were glad to meet old friends and to dis- 
 cuss with them the latest happenings in the old home beyond 
 the sea. If they were young they would enjoy the "bowery" 
 dance. They could return to their homes with the satisfaction 
 of knowing that they had helped to commemorate a great 
 event; just what the event was they were not sure; but it evi- 
 dently was a great event and surely worth a holiday. 
 
 The wives of the foreigners had little interest in politics. It 
 was not until the outbreak of the great conflict over the mone- 
 tary standard, which raged in the nineties, that Mother began 
 seriously to follow political developments. The women (and 
 one may include most of the young people) got their first 
 glimpse of American culture through another window, that of 
 music, and, first of all, church music. 
 
 The hymns of our Lutheran services were nearly all sung 
 to old melodies composed by German masters of song. These 
 were nearly all of the choral type, somewhat slow-moving but 
 
118 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 dignified, churchly, and often strangely beautiful. Most of 
 them were in a minor key. No doubt that will account for the 
 popularity of Hessler's glorious choral, "O Head so Sorely 
 Wounded," which, it seems to me, cannot be surpassed as a 
 musical expression of Christian sorrow, dignified, deep, and 
 dark, but without the note of despair. 
 
 But the way we sang the passion hymn, it was not lovely. 
 Our hymns appeared to have become decrepit with age; they 
 moved laboriously forward, heavily sighing for an early close. 
 No leader could achieve a quicker and more reasonable tempo; 
 for the congregation insisted that to be spiritual, church music 
 must be sung with the utmost deliberation. Even Martin Lu- 
 ther's great Reformation Hymn, which is essentially a song of 
 triumph, a defiant challenge to the foes of his church, was sung 
 in the same plodding fashion and wholly without any under- 
 standing of what the energetic composer had in mind. 
 
 Then came the " Gospel Hymns," which were at the oppo- 
 site pole of church music. My family got acquainted with these 
 very soon after our coming to Winnebago County. Such is the 
 inconsistency of the human mind that men and women who 
 insisted on slow and stately music in their churches took real 
 pleasure in the carols and religious ballads that were sung to 
 light and almost rollicking melodies composed by Sankey and 
 Stebbins and George F. Root. 
 
 The earliest English hymn that I can remember hearing 
 sung was " In the Sweet By and By." The sentiment appealed 
 to the pioneer whose tasks were heavy and whose hours were 
 always long: " In the sweet by and by we shall rest on the beau- 
 tiful shore." The emphatic word was rest. There was probably 
 not an adult soul in our settlement who ever allowed himself to 
 doubt the continuation of life and personality in another world. 
 Heaven was real to them, but it seems to have been thought of 
 as a land of rest rather than as a great gathering of souls before 
 the throne of the Almighty lifting their voices in praise and 
 joyful adoration. Of course both ideas were held, but I heard 
 more about rest. 
 
GOSPEL HYMNS 119 
 
 It is therefore easy to understand that such songs as " There 
 Is Rest for the Weary" and "Over There," where "we shall 
 rest on the beautiful shore " achieved an early and continuous 
 popularity. There were other hymns, too, that we learned to 
 sing; but instinctively we seemed to prefer those that promised 
 a restful existence throughout eternity. 
 
 The "Gospel Hymns" were first brought home to us by 
 members of our family who had been employed on American 
 farms or in American homes. Aunt Lizzie learned quite a few 
 and soon we were all singing them. Reformed clergymen, 
 Methodists in particular, who came into our community to do 
 a little work in the Lord's vineyard, used these songs almost 
 exclusively. Soon Lutheran clergymen were making transla- 
 tions of the better of these hymns and before long we could 
 sing "Hold the Fort" and "Jesus, Lover of My Soul" from 
 Norwegian books. It is not to be understood that they were 
 given places in the official hymnbooks; they appeared only in 
 collections intended for use in the home and in larger, though 
 still private, gatherings. There is not much to say for the 
 poetry of the hymns and still less for the translations, which 
 often violated all the rules of Norwegian grammar in the effort 
 to produce passable verses. However, most of us did not know 
 the difference, and after all, the important consideration was 
 the melody. 
 
 The more conservative among our clergymen opposed the 
 singing of the "Gospel Hymns." They held that American 
 songs were always objectionable; they were not Lutheran in 
 spirit, having flowed from Reformed sources. But their parish- 
 ioners wanted to sing and they wanted songs that were light, 
 joyful, and different. The hymns appeared to fill a real need 
 and pastoral opposition availed very little. 
 
 It is not to be understood, however, that in our neighbor- 
 hood hymns were sung to the exclusion of all other forms of 
 musical entertainment. Secular songs followed close in the 
 wake of the religious songs; but since no one was actively en- 
 gaged in promoting music of this sort, songs of the " worldly " 
 
120 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 type came more slowly into our knowledge. One of the ear- 
 liest that I can remember was the fine old ballad of " Grand- 
 father's Clock." On the whole, however, the songs that came 
 to us in English were not of superior quality. The age was 
 highly sentimental and its character was reflected in its music. 
 Many of the songs had to do with sorrowful maidens whose 
 ailing hearts were brooding upon faithless love. After a decade 
 of shoddy singing, Stephen C. Foster's "folk songs" came to 
 our knowledge; "Old Folks at Home" became an immediate 
 favorite. "My Old Kentucky Home" came some years later. 
 Our musical taste was improving. 
 
 Whatever the songs might be, our elders sang them in Nor- 
 wegian, while we of the younger generation preferred the orig- 
 inal version. They were a real help to us in our effort to master 
 the language of the land. Gradually we came to some sort of 
 a tacit understanding that English should be the medium of all 
 our conversation. At home, of course, we continued to speak 
 Norwegian. I was never guilty of using English in conversa- 
 tion with my parents except on rare and unusual occasions. 
 Some of my younger brothers and sisters did not always follow 
 this rule and frequently there were conversations in our house 
 in which two languages were employed, one by each speaker. 
 
4 xiv > 
 
 F, 
 
 or nearly a decade after our coming to Winnebago, the 
 county continued without the advantage of a railway. This 
 was a serious handicap, for it meant long and burdensome jour- 
 neys in the autumn when the crops were to be turned into 
 money. The Milwaukee road was pushing its lines westward 
 through the county to the south of us; but markets remained as 
 distant as ever. Garner, twenty miles southeast, was still the 
 place where we sold most of our grain. Britt was several miles 
 nearer; but roads in a wet country make difficult travel. The 
 phrase, " wading into Britt," was not without justification. 
 
 Great was the interest, therefore, when it was reported early 
 in 1879 that the Minneapolis and St. Louis Railway, which 
 had been building southward toward the Minnesota border, 
 would probably extend its line to Forest City before the close 
 of the year. Since this was a north and south road, it did not 
 seem so desirable as one leading directly into Chicago. But it 
 was a railway and it would ultimately run its coaches to Des 
 Moines. A direct connection with the capital of the state was, 
 of course, an important consideration. 
 
 I recall going with Father to Garner with a load of grain 
 one lovely October day in that year. It was a long and tiresome 
 journey; but we had the satisfaction of knowing that such trips 
 would not have to be made much longer; for along a part of 
 the highway near Forest City we could see evidences of the new 
 enterprise. Men with mules and horses were busy with plows, 
 
 121 
 
122 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 wagons, and scrapers cutting through hills and building up the 
 grade on lower ground. There was still much work to be done, 
 but the youthful imagination could already see the iron horses 
 galloping north and south. 
 
 Of the long train ride from Quebec to central Iowa, I have, 
 of course, no memory; but I had been with Father to Britt and 
 there I had seen my first train. It was a procession of ugly 
 freight cars and I should not today regard the sight as anything 
 remarkable. It was otherwise in those days : I was a small boy, 
 and the noise of the whistle and of escaping steam impressed 
 me as something quite terrible. 
 
 Work had gone on along the whole length of the new rail- 
 way line throughout most of the year. Then came the news 
 that the rails had been laid across the boundary and that a sta- 
 tion called Norman had been located on Iowa soil. Next it was 
 reported that the road was completed as far as Lake Mills. Not 
 long afterwards we heard that trains were running into a sta- 
 tion near Benson Grove (later called Leland). Could the road 
 be finished to Forest City before January 1? That was an 
 interesting question and was much discussed. In reality few 
 had hopes of seeing trains in town before spring. 
 
 Suddenly the rumor spread that the road within the county 
 was rapidly nearing completion. The rumor proved to have a 
 sound basis. On December 10, 1879, the first passenger train 
 rolled into the station at Forest City. It was a day of great 
 excitement in which a large part of the county shared. The 
 entire town and much of the rural neighborhood turned out to 
 see the marvel. In the evening the more prominent citizens 
 and the visiting dignitaries of the railway system came together 
 in the dining room of the Congregational Church, where good 
 food was served to the accompaniment of a series of optimistic 
 and slightly inflated speeches. 
 
 A dozen years later another railway entered the county by 
 way of Forest City and built a line northwestward into the cen- 
 ter of the county and westward across the prairies toward Spirit 
 Lake. This, too, was a great help to the farmers: it brought 
 
TOWNSHIP BOUNDARIES 123 
 
 market facilities within four miles of my father's farm. But 
 the whistle of the engine on the prairie to the north of us, 
 though a pleasing and welcome sound, did not produce an 
 excitement comparable to that of December, 1879. 
 
 Much as the farmers delighted in the new railway, there was 
 one feature of the enterprise that they did not like. The laws 
 allowed the promoters of such an undertaking to ask the vari- 
 ous townships that would benefit from its operation to levy a 
 tax to help finance the building. Such a tax had been voted by 
 Forest Township, to which we belonged at the time. Many 
 farmers favored the tax; many others were strongly opposed 
 and blamed the leaders at the county seat for the new burden. 
 
 Strange things were sometimes done by the governing forces 
 in Forest City. In 1864 the board of supervisors devised a 
 scheme to divide the county into four townships. Two of these 
 covered the southern half, and a part of the boundary between 
 them was drawn in such a way that it ran south through the 
 village of Forest City, dividing it. The eastern half of the vil- 
 lage was in Center Township and the western half was in 
 Forest Township. In this way a wide stretch of unoccupied 
 land, most of it held by owners who resided in other states, 
 could be taxed in the interest of the county seat. Another im- 
 portant consideration was that two township organizations 
 would call for two sets of officials. These would have to be 
 filled from and by the citizens of Forest City and its immediate 
 neighborhood, who in this way could almost have an office 
 apiece, since in the election of that year the entire county cast 
 only 52 votes. This canny arrangement continued in force for 
 eleven years, or till 1875, when the county was divided into 
 three townships of approximately equal size extending across 
 the area from east to west. 
 
 We lived in the western half of Forest Township, the south- 
 ernmost one of these three. While Forest City was less advan- 
 tageously situated under this than under the old scheme, it still 
 could draw on large resources, since about one half of the 
 
124 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 township was wholly unoccupied. Though these areas paid 
 a considerable tribute, they had no needs that the township 
 authorities had to meet. Settlers who were coming here and 
 there were given only slight consideration. Our little commu- 
 nity felt the injustice of all this; the feeling was quite general 
 that the township board and the school authorities were mak- 
 ing only the most niggardly provisions for schools and high- 
 ways. As the roads were located in those days, we lived ten 
 or twelve miles from town. About half of that distance had no 
 improved highways till toward the end of the seventies. Yet 
 our men were called to the neighborhood of Forest City to 
 work out their poll tax on roads leading into town, while many 
 a troublesome stretch nearer home was left unimproved. 
 
 In 1881 the minutes of the board of supervisors record the 
 fact that a petition signed by Christian Larson and others, ask- 
 ing for the organization of a new township, was " laid over." 
 The project had been discussed for some time in our part of the 
 county and was quite generally favored, though some timid 
 souls feared that it might mean higher taxes. The request came 
 before the board once more at a later meeting, when it was 
 somewhat reluctantly granted. 
 
 The petition when drawn up carried no name for the new 
 local unit, and as my father had the matter in charge, it quite 
 naturally fell to him to supply the defect. Wishing to give the 
 new township a name that would at the same time be a re- 
 minder of the rock whence we were hewn, he decided on Lin- 
 den, a variant of Lindaas, the name of the church district from 
 which he had emigrated ten years before. Two townships in 
 the county, Norway and Linden, have names that lead directly 
 back to the old shores. 
 
 Linden Township was organized in the autumn of 1881. At 
 its first election my father was chosen to the office of trustee, 
 a position which he held for several years. Ignoring his de- 
 fective knowledge of English, his fellow citizens called him 
 from time to time to fill other places of public trust. For a 
 
THE SCHOOL BOARD 125 
 
 number of years he served as a member of the school board, a 
 part of the time as its president. He was treasurer of the school 
 board for nearly a dozen years. He served for two years as 
 highway supervisor, or "road boss," as that functionary was 
 usually called. For a term of two years he was justice of the 
 peace and he also served for some time as township assessor. I 
 do not believe that he ever heard a case as justice of the peace, 
 his purpose always being to try to bring the litigants into agree- 
 ment without a formal trial. 
 
4 XV j: 
 
 I 
 
 T is quite possible that my readers will infer from what I 
 have written in earlier chapters that I was brought up in strict 
 adherence to what are usually known as Victorian ideals. That 
 would be an error. We lived, indeed, in the days when those 
 ideals were at their meridian; we knew something, though not 
 a great deal, about the principles of conduct that supposedly 
 were accepted by British society; but their authority did not 
 extend very far into the immigrant settlements. For that mat- 
 ter, the outlook on life in our community was entirely different 
 from that of the great Victorian writers. It was more in ac- 
 cord with the actual facts of life, social as well as natural. It 
 was the outlook of men and women who walked the earth with 
 open eyes and saw things as they really were. 
 
 The Victorian novelists appear to have been keenly interested 
 in the problem of man's dealing with woman. The women 
 that they describe were often (though by no means always) 
 frail and somewhat anemic ladies who lived a secluded and 
 consequently unhealthy life, and were always conscious of the 
 need of support and protection. Our women were not in that 
 class. They were not ladies in the social sense, they were not 
 frail, and they did not look upon life with fear. The farmers' 
 wives and daughters were strong in body and it was often 
 proved that there was courage in their hearts. When there was 
 need, as there frequently was in those hard days of pioneering, 
 they could take their places alongside menfolk and do their 
 
 126 
 
THE MORAL CODE 127 
 
 serious bit. As the years went by there was less call to labor in 
 the field and the meadow; but that simply meant that the 
 needs of a growing household called for more and longer labor 
 in and about the house. 
 
 Our women were rarely beautiful. What they might have 
 been, with greater care given to the needs of the body and the 
 selection of clothes, cannot be known; but economic conditions 
 and religious ideals forbade much attention to these matters. 
 Cosmetics were regarded with horror, as they were by nearly 
 all the " decent " women throughout the land ; in the old coun- 
 try they served as the trade-mark of commercial immorality. 
 No doubt the women of our neighborhood loved beautiful 
 clothes; but their taste was primitive; their dresses were badly 
 made and badly worn. Moreover, the plainer the costume, the 
 more pleasing it was to the Almighty. We believed with 
 the Preacher that all is vanity, and strove manfully to suppress the 
 promotings of pride and all its related sins, especially when 
 they appeared in other households. 
 
 The question of the feminine hat was for some years a dis- 
 turbing problem in our settlement. The older women wore 
 the Shaker bonnet in full confidence that it could not possibly 
 have a sinful taint; in this view they were doubtless correct. 
 The younger women wanted something different. To some of 
 the more strenuous spirits in our neighborhood this craving 
 was clear evidence of sinful inclinations. And so the conflict 
 went on. Gradually, of course, the old taboos were shoved 
 aside, with the natural result that our women improved greatly 
 in appearance: a dubious result in the opinion of some of the 
 elders, who feared that precious souls were being put to peril. 
 
 The moral code of Victorian times was much concerned 
 with sex relationships. The mysteries of life were, however, 
 not to be examined in the light of day; the more intimate facts 
 of sex were to be discussed in private only. There is something 
 to say for this view; but it was not always honest. In our set- 
 tlement there was no attempt to deny the obvious. There was 
 never any unnecessary discussion of sex in family conversation; 
 
128 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 but if it should be necessary to bring the subject up, no one 
 feared to do so. 
 
 My bringing up was pietistic rather than Victorian. In my 
 family, sin and worldliness were convertible terms. We were 
 urged to strive for a religious life and were taught that our days 
 must be a continuous conflict with the forces of evil. Still, in 
 spite of all, pride and vanity and worldliness seemed to flourish 
 among us; but that was to be expected, for man is a frail vessel 
 and evil is powerful both within and without our souls. 
 
 Of our religious leaders, those who had been officially ap- 
 pointed to watch over the Lord's flock, few made more than a 
 superficial impression on my youthful mind. Many of those 
 who came to preach to us were so obviously ignorant on some 
 of the more elementary things in this world of ours, that one 
 could have little faith in what they had to say on spiritual sub- 
 jects. In one case a clergyman expressed the eloquent hope 
 " that a gleam of the heavenly atmosphere would come down 
 and bedew our hearts." Again, I once heard from the pulpit 
 that "the early Christians fled to the desert where they knelt 
 by the riverside in prayer." One good orthodox Lutheran 
 preacher told us in all seriousness that eclipses, which to him 
 were signs of the imminent end of the universe, were becoming 
 more numerous as the centuries passed. 
 
 Once upon a time the church authorities in Copenhagen had 
 selected a series of passages from Holy Writ, chiefly from the 
 Gospels, which were ordered read at public worship on various 
 Sundays and other holy days of the church year. It was ex- 
 pected that the Gospel assigned to a particular day would be 
 used in all the churches as the subject of the pastors' discourse 
 on that day. One of these texts was taken from the twenty-first 
 chapter of the Gospel according to Saint Luke, where the 
 Saviour speaks of the signs that are to appear " in the sun and 
 in the moon and in the stars " before the day of judgment. It 
 was this text which my church friend was elucidating with 
 such interesting astronomical observations. If anyone were to 
 express a doubt as to the validity of his conclusions (his data 
 
THE GREAT COMET 129 
 
 were not questionable), the answer was ready that there shall 
 also be signs in the stars; and in those days unusual signs were 
 not wanting. 
 
 I had often heard my grandfather tell of a star that carried 
 a " brush of light " across the heavens and was in this way dif- 
 ferent from all the other stellar bodies. It was something of 
 which he always spoke in serious tones, for this star was known 
 to be the harbinger of great evils, of war and pestilence and 
 other calamities both on land and on sea. He had seen this 
 apparition in the old country and he knew whereof he spoke. 
 And now he was to see the same thing again, not only once but 
 twice. 
 
 Early in the evening of a May day in 1879 (if my memory 
 serves me right), we all went outside the grove to look for a 
 comet which, we were informed, would be visible at that time. 
 And there it was, sure enough, hanging quietly in the north- 
 western sky. It was not large, but the occurrence was so un- 
 usual in the lives of many of us that we went back to the house 
 with the uneasy feeling that it probably was an omen of some- 
 thing terrible that was soon to befall us. 
 
 Another such visitor appeared in the sky three years later, 
 the great comet of 1882. I was now fourteen years old but was 
 still counted only "half grown"; I was, however, thought old 
 enough to do most of the work that was expected of a man. 
 In the autumn of that year Father found it inconvenient to help 
 his neighbors at threshing time and I was accepted in his stead. 
 Since the owners of the threshing machine always wanted to 
 begin work at the earliest possible moment, it was necessary for 
 the helpers to be on hand in time to have breakfast with the 
 men on the farm where the threshing was going forward, and 
 that meant we would have to be on our way at dawn or even 
 earlier. 
 
 The memory of those dark mornings in October is still clear 
 and vivid; for spanning a long stretch of sky in the east was a 
 large comet, several times as large as the one that I had seen 
 three years earlier. It was an awesome spectacle and I saw it 
 
130 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 the first time in real fear. Did it come for a purpose, and, if 
 it did, what was the purpose ? I had, of course, read that com- 
 ets were innocent wonders in the infinite stretches of space, but 
 these teachings did not seem so entirely convincing when one 
 looked into the skies in the autumn nights of 1882. 
 
 Many subjects were discussed at the table in threshing time, 
 and many interesting opinions were expressed. The matter of 
 the great comet frequently came up in the conversation, but al- 
 ways in the form of a question. On one point only was there 
 general agreement: the comet had not been sent to warn us of 
 the imminent end of the world. Some of the men held to the 
 belief that such a star was always an omen; but unless one 
 knew what was ahead, an omen was not very helpful. 
 
 In that same autumn an intense political fight was raging 
 across the land. In November we learned to our amazement 
 that the Democratic legions had gained a number of notable 
 victories. Among the new names that were prominent in the 
 story of the campaign was that of a large and portly gentleman 
 from Buffalo who had been chosen governor of New York. 
 Perhaps the comet was an omen after all. 
 
 There was one clergyman who, though a Pietist with some 
 of the idiosyncrasies of that tendency, had a sane outlook on 
 life. This was Knud Salvesen, a highly gifted layman, who 
 was ordained to the ministry on a call from our congregation 
 at Forest City. The new pastor had almost no formal educa- 
 tion beyond a few days of instruction in a rural school in Nor- 
 way. Early in life he had been sent out to serve before the 
 mast, and his experiences in many lands supplied to some ex- 
 tent his lack of formal training. But he knew his Bible and he 
 had mastered the theological system of his church. When he 
 was ordained he was well along in middle life, having reached 
 the age of sixty-one. 
 
 Pastor Salvesen was a most remarkable preacher. I have yet 
 to hear a man who could seize upon his auditors with greater 
 power than he. He was eloquent in a quaint, simple way and 
 though he rarely preached less than an hour his sermons were 
 
PASTOR AND BOY 131 
 
 never thought too long. Farmers drove miles to hear him. 
 They filled the schoolhouses where he preached and thronged 
 about the open windows outside to get what they could of the 
 inspiring words. 
 
 The pastor took a real interest in me but he dealt with me 
 as one who understands that a boy is a boy. Most of the good 
 men who came to the house wished to know if I had not yet 
 been awakened from the sleep of sin; but Salvesen never ap- 
 proached that subject. He did, however, all that he could to 
 plant in my mind the ambition to become a student. And it 
 came to be generally believed in our neighborhood that I would 
 some day begin to prepare for a professional career. 
 
 But for what profession? To that there could be but one 
 answer. Our community recognized only one profession as 
 worthy of the energies of an upright man, that of the divine 
 ministry. The higher schools that the Norwegians had built 
 in the Northwest were intended primarily to prepare young 
 men for a career in the Lutheran priesthood. So it seemed to 
 be predetermined that I was to be a clergyman. I alone seemed 
 to be in disagreement with this conclusion, but my objections 
 were not regarded as anything that needed to be considered 
 very seriously. 
 
 In the summer of 1884 the news was broken to me that I 
 was soon to be " confirmed." On a recent visit our pastor had 
 informed the family that a month hence there would be con- 
 firmation services at the courthouse in Forest City. He further 
 intimated that he should expect me to be among those " on the 
 church floor " on that occasion. My parents, though they knew 
 that my attitude toward the rite was not favorable, felt that 
 as Christian believers they could not allow a stubborn son to 
 have his own way in such a serious matter. Not wishing to 
 give them unnecessary pain, I consented, but with strong in- 
 ward protest. 
 
 My father and mother always tried to be honest with them- 
 selves as well as with others. When someone sent my mother 
 
132 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 a Biblical " motto " of the sort that graced many walls in those 
 days, she refused to have it framed. "As for me and my house, 
 we will serve the Lord" was surely a proper ideal; but she 
 feared that in her own house the quotation might not be en- 
 tirely truthful. She also knew that the vows taken at confirma- 
 tion had little significance to many young people. Therefore 
 she doubted sometimes that the rite was something that a par- 
 ent could honestly demand. 
 
 In all this my father agreed; but the spirit of conservatism 
 was powerful even in him, who looked at so many old practices 
 with a critical eye. Might it not be a greater sin to neglect con- 
 firmation than to urge it ? And might not the vows then taken 
 come to have a real significance sometime in the future? 
 
 Two or three weeks later a group of young people, of whom 
 I was one, assembled at the home of an old parishioner who 
 lived not far from the county seat. I was fifteen years of age at 
 the time and was probably one of the oldest in the class. For 
 two or three days we sat with the pastor reading, reciting, and 
 receiving instruction in the Lutheran way of salvation. The 
 Reverend Mr. Thormodsgaard was kind and sympathetic, but 
 he could brook no error on this important subject. When the 
 question came, what does it mean to be saved ? no one seemed 
 able to reply; the good man was visibly shocked. I suddenly 
 remembered the statement in Pontoppidan's Explanation and 
 the day was saved. 
 
 I do not recall much of what we said and did ; but my prepa- 
 ration was good and I was sure that the pastor would regard 
 my part in the rehearsal a creditable performance. I do recall, 
 however, that the man of the house was quite deaf and that his 
 wife's voice was much like a thunderclap. Every now and then, 
 when we in the "parlor" should have been giving our atten- 
 tion to the verities of Christian doctrine, our somewhat frivo- 
 lous minds would be diverted to worldly and highly irrelevant 
 thoughts by loud conversation between husband and wife with- 
 in or without the walls. 
 
 The following Sunday was confirmation day. It began with 
 
CONFIRMATION 133 
 
 a dull, gray, drizzly morning and the weather did not improve 
 as the hours went by. The long drive of ten miles in the lum- 
 ber wagon was anything but delightful. At half after ten we 
 assembled at the courthouse. Except as I had seen most of the 
 others at the rehearsal, the young persons were all strangers to 
 me, all but John A. Anderson, Baker Anderson's oldest son. I 
 can recall now two other names only. The one is L. A. Jensen, 
 who later studied law and is practicing his profession in Forest 
 City, and Miss Kloster, who was good-looking and wore what 
 I thought was the most attractive hat on the platform. 
 
 It was customary in Norway for the pastor to arrange the 
 candidates in the order of their ability or the thoroughness of 
 their preparation. To be first on the church floor was regarded 
 as a signal honor. But on this occasion no attempt was made 
 to give us definite places. We all avoided the place at the head 
 of the line, or tried to do so. And so it fell out that this place 
 was left for a young unfortunate fellow with a slow and dull 
 mind, one who had been refused confirmation by another pas- 
 tor because he seemed to have no adequate understanding of 
 what the ceremony really meant. 
 
 The oral examination was brief and after the usual prelimi- 
 naries the pastor proceeded to the ancient ceremonial. He be- 
 gan, as custom was, with the candidate at the head of the line. 
 
 " Dost thou forsake the devil ? " And the youth replied with 
 an emphatic " No." 
 
 A shock passed through the congregation. All eyes were 
 turned on the unfortunate boy. This was something new in 
 the lives of the worshipers. Loud sighs were heard, and with 
 the sighs came tears. 
 
 The young man clearly wished to have nothing to do with 
 the devil; but "forsake" was a word that had no place in his 
 vocabulary. The pastor was nonplussed. He repeated the ques- 
 tion with the same result. He then rephrased it and stated it 
 in terms that would require a negative answer. The boy, who 
 had now come to understand that his first reply was wrong, 
 promptly answered, " Yes." 
 
134 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 My turn came next and everything went well. We all de- 
 clared that we had forsaken the devil and all his works and all 
 his ways. Next we affirmed our belief in the Apostles' Creed. 
 Then we gave the pastor our hand in token of our honest con- 
 fession. A brief prayer followed. The pastor next proceeded 
 with the celebration of the Lord's Supper, of which we now 
 partook for the first time. I believe my unfortunate friend was 
 privately confirmed after the close of the service. 
 
 The vows taken on that day seem to have been originally 
 devised twelve hundred years ago when Christian missionaries 
 were fighting heathendom among the Germanic tribes. The 
 devil at that time meant the heathen Gods, Woden, Thor, and 
 the rest. Why these same formulas should be presented to 
 young adolescents in our own age, I have never been able to see. 
 But churches are conservative and rarely change their forms 
 except in times of great crisis. 
 
 My confirmation never stood out as a great event in my life. 
 All the same, it was an important landmark. In some respects 
 a confirmed person was regarded as having attained his major- 
 ity. Certain things were now definitely behind him; other 
 things were just as definitely ahead, and not very far ahead. 
 For one thing I must soon decide what my life work was to be. 
 In that decision I turned to something that lay quite near but 
 which also satisfied my own inclinations. I decided to become 
 a public-school teacher. 
 
4 XVI |= 
 
 I 
 
 n April, 1886, I received a communication from the county 
 superintendent of schools which definitely turned my thoughts 
 in the direction of educational work. With the letter came a 
 certificate stating that since I had passed the required examina- 
 tions I was permitted to teach in the public schools of the 
 county. 
 
 With a number of other applicants, I had written the exam- 
 inations the week before. It was a new experience for me. I 
 had indeed taken a few tests in my common-school work, but 
 they were quite elementary and did not help me much in what 
 I had before me. When I had finished, I thought a liberal 
 grading of my papers might give me an average of about 80 
 per cent. The superintendent was, however, a little more criti- 
 cal than I should have been and gave me an average of 76.5 
 per cent. This was, after all, quite satisfactory; it gave me a 
 certificate of the third class, which was all that I could expect 
 at the outset. In the autumn examination, having now a clearer 
 notion of what might be expected of me, I raised my grade 
 nearly twelve points. This gave me a certificate of the second 
 class. The next year I passed into the first-class group on an 
 average of 94 per cent. The classification is important, for each 
 step upward meant an addition of Rvc dollars to my monthly 
 wages. 
 
 I was now ready to undertake my first real task. Since my 
 father was a school director, I had no difficulty in getting an 
 appointment; so that summer I taught the home school. It 
 
 135 
 
136 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 was not a difficult term, since only the younger children could 
 attend and they were not many. Before I closed my career in 
 common-school work I had had experience with two other 
 schools in the neighborhood and had taught in one located in 
 another township eight miles from home. 
 
 While I was occupied with the work in my second school I 
 lived at the home of Halvor Ormbreck, a farmer from the high- 
 lands of southern Norway. Ormbreck had no formal education 
 but had much intellectual curiosity; he had read widely, and on 
 many subjects he was remarkably well informed. His philoso- 
 phy of life was a curious combination of high and low ideals, 
 of intellectual servility and independent opinion. Though he 
 was naturally conservative, there were many subjects in which 
 authority counted for very little in his thinking. He had a pas- 
 sion for song and taught me how to read music, an accomplish- 
 ment that gave me much pleasure in later years. 
 
 My school was not large, only three families in the district 
 having children. Consequently I had quite a little free time, 
 which I spent in reading. On the bookshelves at the house 
 I found many volumes that one could study with real profit. 
 Never before had I been in a farmhouse which had so large a 
 library; of course, the books were practically all in Norwegian, 
 for my host read English only with great effort. 
 
 Ormbreck was an enthusiastic admirer of the Norwegian 
 poet, A. O. Vinje, and had nearly all his writings. Vinje wrote 
 in his own dialect and was one of the earliest promoters of the 
 New Norse language movement. The purpose of this was to 
 create a new idiom out of the many dialects spoken in the rural 
 sections, and to a large extent the movement has been success- 
 ful. My reading in Vinje gave me a thorough acquaintance 
 with the purposes and methods of the language reformers. In 
 the course of the years I have lost some of my enthusiasm for 
 the movement, though I have not ceased to find it interesting. 
 And the knowledge of the dialects which I acquired in those 
 early days proved to have real value when, in my university 
 years, I found it necessary to learn to read Old Norwegian. 
 
COMMON-SCHOOL TEACHING 137 
 
 I had many interesting conversations with my very amiable 
 host and in one field I found his counsel both wise and practical. 
 Knowing that I dreamed of college work, he strongly urged 
 me to avoid all institutions that promised a short cut to higher 
 learning. " Learn languages " was his constant advice. In my 
 college work, the study of languages came to occupy the greater 
 part of my time. Since then, too, I have been to some extent 
 occupied with linguistic studies; for the profession of history is 
 very exacting in its demands in this respect. 
 
 I was again employed to teach in this district the following 
 autumn. My pupils were Norwegians, all but three, who were 
 Scotch-Irish. The problem of discipline, which might be quite 
 difficult in rural schools, scarcely existed here. My only trouble 
 was with one of the patrons, a blustering Norseman with a 
 vicious temper, who tried to force me to adjourn school for a 
 week because his two daughters had found temporary employ- 
 ment some distance away. 
 
 My most difficult experiences in common-school work came 
 to me one summer when I was teaching in a district about three 
 miles from home. The enrollment was large; no two of my 
 pupils seemed to have reached the same stage of advancement; 
 organization was therefore hard to achieve; some of my young 
 people were disposed to be unruly. I gave much thought to my 
 task with, I fear, very slight results. Here, too, the parents gave 
 more serious trouble than the children. A mother, whose 
 young son had evidently not been treated properly, visited me 
 one day and gave me to understand that she had known far more 
 competent teachers. One morning the father of a young boy 
 whom I had punished rather severely appeared with the direc- 
 tor of the district to set me right. This time the aggrieved 
 parent was an Irishman who was known as a capable fighter 
 with boot and fist. The director was frightened to the point of 
 trembling; but we had no trouble. After the angry gentleman 
 had said what he felt was necessary, he seemed willing to for- 
 give. We had no further difficulties. 
 
 In the autumn of 1888 I had determined to go away to col- 
 
138 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 lege; but conditions arose which caused me to postpone the 
 journey till January. Meanwhile I accepted a new teaching 
 position. About eight miles to the west of us was the fringe 
 of a German settlement, most of which lay beyond the county 
 line. There were only three families on our side of the bound- 
 ary; all had children, but so far they had never had a school. 
 This year, however, they were allowed a term of three months. 
 A shack was put up, large enough to accommodate a teacher 
 and ten pupils. I was asked to come out to take charge, which 
 I somewhat reluctantly agreed to do. 
 
 It was a rather dreary season. Life was almost painfully 
 quiet out on the prairie. Neighbors were few and not very near. 
 My week ends I usually spent at home, walking the distance 
 of eight almost roadless miles, six of which were out of sight 
 of house or home. On one of these walks a prairie wolf kept 
 me company for several miles; but, being alone, he did not care 
 to venture very close. 
 
 In the house where I lived, the husband, a German, had a 
 Swedish wife. Consequently, the language used in the house- 
 hold was chiefly English, which both understood, though 
 German was also spoken to some extent. The new language 
 interested me and I began to study it. Though I did not get 
 very far with the work, my efforts were not wholly wasted. 
 When I took up the subject in class a few months later, I found 
 that it was not nearly so unfamiliar and perplexing as I feared 
 that it would be. 
 
 My pupils were all retarded; some of them were positively 
 dull. All were two or three years behind the point that they 
 would have reached if they had been allowed even a minimum 
 of school attendance. All were well behaved and anxious to 
 learn. I remember in particular Bror Stint, one of the finest 
 little fellows that I ever had in class. Bror did not know a 
 word of English. He was shy almost to the point of being 
 afraid. But he had a splendid mind and as soon as he discov- 
 ered that he was actually able to learn, he progressed rapidly. 
 
 It was necessary to find something with which to occupy 
 
READING AND TEACHING 139 
 
 my free time, and in one of the neighboring houses I found 
 a volume containing accounts of various periods in Ameri- 
 can history. One of these was by the great Scotch historian, 
 William Robertson. I also provided myself with some books 
 from home. These, too, were of historical character. Aside from 
 what I read in German books, my reading that autumn dealt 
 almost exclusively with American history. 
 
 The year I began my work as a teacher I secured a copy of 
 Scott's Lady of the Lake, parts of which I read several times. 
 This I followed with Ivanhoe, which delighted me more than 
 any other book that I had read up to that time. Forty years 
 later I read it again and it grieves me to say that the tale was 
 no longer so stirring as it once had been. During the same 
 year I had the use of an edition of Shakespeare's writings which 
 was lent to me by a friend. I read all the plays to the last 
 scene. One cannot, of course, get much out of those majestic 
 dramas when one reads them in a tumble-down farmhouse and 
 without guidance of any sort; still, I am sure that the hours 
 spent with the great master could not have been used to better 
 advantage in any other way. 
 
 Even though it may be true that the materials included in 
 the curriculum of the common school have little educative 
 value beyond a certain point, it seems evident, all the same, 
 that the teacher's daily work cannot fail to add materially to 
 his mental equipment. Teaching, to be successful, requires 
 thorough and constant preparation, careful organization of the 
 matter to be dealt with, close attention to the method of pres- 
 entation, and a clear knowledge of the difficulties that the 
 learner is likely to encounter. While the teacher's mind may 
 not be adding much to its fund of information, it is acquiring 
 power, insight, and understanding which are, after all, likely 
 to be the most enduring results of the educating process. 
 
 To improve the quality of teaching in the common school 
 some administrative official devised the teachers' institute, a brief 
 period of systematic training which in our part of the country 
 
140 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 was usually spent at the county seat. In my early pedagogical 
 days, the length of the period varied from two to six weeks; 
 but it was expected that every teacher, no matter how well pre- 
 pared, would give some time, a week at least, to the institute. 
 
 I attended such a training school in the first year of my 
 teaching career. The time was late in August, 1886; the place 
 was the old schoolhouse in Forest City. The institute was con- 
 ducted by the superintendent, George A. Franklin, a highly 
 capable schoolman, with several assistants, the most important 
 being George Chandler, principal of the school in Osage. 
 
 In many ways it was a curious assortment of men and 
 women who gathered in the assembly room of the high school 
 when the session opened. Some were youthful to the point of 
 verdancy; some were quite mature, with years of classroom ex- 
 perience to their credit. There were men and women among 
 us who had had the advantage of college or normal school 
 training. Two or three had received their training at a Norwe- 
 gian college, with the curious though quite inevitable result that 
 they spoke English with a decidedly foreign accent. Others 
 had almost no preparation for the work to be done and little 
 knowledge of the world beyond the fences of the old farm. 
 All the same there was much ability in the group; several of 
 those enrolled were to rise to higher stations in professional 
 work. But in those days they were all rated as common school- 
 teachers, who needed to learn better methods of teaching arith- 
 metic and grammar. 
 
 Up to that time I had spent my days in a homogeneous 
 group. Even on the rare occasions when Americans were as- 
 sembled with us, Norwegians dominated the gathering. Now 
 for the first time I was to enter into a different situation. The 
 Norwegians were numerous at the institute but the native 
 element was in control. The Americans had the knowledge, 
 the training, and the power. There were many women in the 
 classes, and most of them had American names. Now for 
 the first time I was able to see and to appreciate the poise, the re- 
 finement, and the beauty of the cultivated American woman. 
 
THE TEACHERS' INSTITUTE 141 
 
 There were those of my own blood who ranked well with the 
 rest; but they were as yet few in number. From the native 
 point of view we were crude in manners and ignorant of real 
 life. 
 
 I attended three other sessions of the same sort in succeeding 
 years and found the gatherings very much alike except for the 
 fact that the number of capable men seemed to be smaller every 
 year. At one institute we were only two men in the higher 
 division, instead of a dozen or more in the session the year be- 
 fore. Again I found that there were many capable young per- 
 sons in the room, but only a few seemed to have the ambition 
 to achieve anything beyond a first class certificate. 
 
 The institute was a useful device. We may not have bene- 
 fited very much from it as teachers, but some of us got a few 
 lessons in deportment which we needed badly. We learned a 
 little of how to meet and deal with each other. We came to 
 understand that some of our associates lived on higher planes 
 than those on which we lived and moved. We learned to be a 
 little more like those who were native to the soil. 
 
D|f XVII |c 
 
 T 
 
 he decade of the eighties was a period of much political 
 debate, in which our community shared, though in a mild de- 
 gree only. A series of far-reaching movements, chiefly eco- 
 nomic in character, were gaining strength in the rural areas, 
 especially in the West and the South. These could not fail to 
 come to our notice, but they were all presented to us in an un- 
 favorable light; for the journals from which the voters drew 
 most of their information on current problems were all such 
 as viewed radical suggestions with horror and fear. 
 
 Our Norwegian farmers were not interested in single-tax 
 clubs, or in antimonopoly leagues; they looked with suspicion 
 on the national Grange, for good Christians were not allowed 
 to hold membership in secret orders. On the other hand, they 
 showed a mild interest in the Farmers' Alliance. A branch of 
 the organization was formed in our township and for some 
 weeks its meetings had a fair attendance. But the farmers were 
 unable to find many problems that they could discuss with 
 profit, and the local alliance suffered an early demise. 
 
 The national Greenback party was regarded with a certain 
 qualified favor by some of our voters, and in one election it 
 made a very respectable showing. At the next poll, however, 
 the deserters were practically all back in the Republican camp. 
 Winnebago County was deeply interested in the prohibition 
 movement, which was reaching its flood stage when the decade 
 opened. Nearly all our neighbors were agreed that the liquor 
 
 142 
 
POLITICAL DEBATE 143 
 
 traffic should be outlawed; but to achieve this reform they saw 
 no need to organize a new political party. The Republican 
 leaders, it was firmly believed, could be relied on to make an 
 effective move in this direction as soon as such action should 
 seem expedient. 
 
 In our part of the world the center of debate was at the 
 county seat. On the streets and in the business houses in For- 
 est City the war of words surged back and forth all day in the 
 political season of the year. Some of the merchants feared that 
 so much discussion was not good for business. In one of the 
 stores placards were posted requesting the patrons to refrain 
 from political debate. Out in the country the new movements, 
 especially those that emphasized agrarian demands, were com- 
 mon subjects at the dining tables in threshing time. In our 
 own community these discussions were never heated. The 
 farmers had real grievances; on that there was general agree- 
 ment; so long as the Republican party was functioning nor- 
 mally one had a right to hope for complete redress. Of course, 
 nothing could be expected from the Democrats, whose leaders 
 were still believed to be tainted with treason. 
 
 One might have expected that this growing demand for re- 
 form would have stirred up a more general interest in the ma- 
 chinery of politics; but in our community there was no such 
 result. Aside from the exploitation of the soil, the immigrant 
 farmers gave little time and thought to any great issues except 
 those that grew out of religious differences. When others were 
 debating railway regulation and protective tariffs, they were giv- 
 ing their intellectual energies to the controversy over predestina- 
 tion which was raging throughout the Norwegian Northwest 
 and was ultimately to rend the mighty Synod in twain. All 
 the same, the number of Norwegian names in the lists of dele- 
 gates admitted to, or chosen by, the county convention was 
 steadily growing; these, however, usually belonged to men of a 
 younger generation, whose interests did not always coincide 
 with those of their elders. 
 
 There are those who believe that shortly after the close of 
 
144 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 the Civil War the leaders in the Grand Army of the Republic 
 came to an agreement with the high command in the Repub- 
 lican party, according to which the veterans were to receive 
 pensions and offices in return for loyal support of the new eco- 
 nomic policy which was being developed in the inner councils 
 of the Grand Old Party. That such an arrangement was actu- 
 ally made may well be doubted. Perhaps no understanding was 
 even necessary; for the officers who had commanded the great 
 host had been chosen for their ability and evident qualities of 
 leadership; it was, therefore, in the nature of things that they 
 became successful contenders for public favor at the polls. 
 
 In 1886 our congressman was Major A. J. Holmes, who had 
 served in the House for several terms and doubtless hoped for 
 a life tenure. His successor was, however, already in training. 
 He was Jonathan P. Dolliver, a young lawyer (he was twenty- 
 eight years old) who was practicing his profession in Fort 
 Dodge. No one in our county ever heard that Dolliver was an 
 outstanding lawyer; he was known best for his oratory, for on 
 the public platform he was the peer of any man in the state. 
 
 It happened that my father was township committeeman in 
 that year, and when the proper time came he posted a call for 
 a caucus to be held at the nearest schoolhouse. A few came 
 together on the stated day and selected a delegation to the 
 county convention favorable to Dolliver's ambition. When this 
 action became known at the county seat, the friends of Major 
 Holmes suggested to the old soldiers in the township that they 
 hold a caucus. Accordingly, two or three assembled in another 
 schoolhouse and selected delegates who would favor the re- 
 nomination of Major Holmes. 
 
 When the convention met the delegation headed by my 
 father was seated, whereupon a considerable part of the con- 
 vention withdrew and organized a competing body to which 
 the contesting delegation from Linden Township was admit- 
 ted. The outcome was that when the congressional convention 
 met, two delegations from Winnebago County claimed the 
 right to participate in its deliberations. 
 
DEFEAT OF CLEVELAND 
 
 145 
 
 One day shortly before the date when this body was to meet, 
 a buggy came rolling across the meadow where Father and I 
 were making hay. In the carriage were two men, partisans of 
 Dolliver, whose errand was to secure evidence that the caucus 
 held in our schoolhouse was regularly called. Since I had seen 
 and read the notice and could testify that a meeting had actu- 
 ally been held at the hour designated, a statement from me 
 was regarded as important, and I was asked to make an affi- 
 davit covering the essential facts. On the strength of that state- 
 ment, the Dolliver delegation was seated. But the Grand Army 
 was still too powerful, and the incumbent was renominated. 
 Two years later Dolliver achieved his ambition, but only on the 
 one hundred and tenth ballot. 
 
 In the election of that year President Cleveland was defeated 
 and the Republican party was restored to power, to the great 
 satisfaction of the good citizens of Linden Township. A Chris- 
 tian gentleman had been chosen tenant of the White House, 
 an outcome in which all good citizens should rejoice, which 
 was as it should be. We had not forgotten that Cleveland had 
 paid money for a substitute in the Civil War, and it seemed to 
 us highly proper that a soldier should now be preferred for the 
 presidency. That Grover Cleveland had shown courage, intel- 
 ligence, and honesty in the high office we knew in a vague way 
 only. All the newspapers that circulated in our community, 
 such as Skandinaven, the Inter-Ocean, the Iowa State Register, 
 and the Winnebago Summit, were intensely partisan and had 
 nothing good to say for any man or measure associated with 
 the Democratic regime. All would now be well in the land. 
 
 A practical question that was soon to be asked was what dis- 
 position was to be made of the postmastership in Forest City. 
 During Cleveland's administration this was held by Colonel 
 Martin Cooper, who has been mentioned above as a member of 
 the Forest City bar. Cooper was only an indifferent postmaster. 
 A delegation of old soldiers now visited the new congressman- 
 elect and laid before him certain pertinent facts. Since the close 
 
146 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 of the Civil War the office had been held almost continuously 
 by Civil War veterans and it seemed only right that the next 
 occupant should also be chosen from the Grand Army. To this 
 Dolliver cheerfully assented and the delegation brought home 
 the promise that it had been sent to secure. 
 
 Not long after this another group of citizens appeared in 
 Fort Dodge. They came to tell Dolliver that four-fifths of all 
 the men who had voted for him in Winnebago County were 
 Norwegians. Many of these had no great knowledge of the 
 English language and sometimes needed an interpreter to make 
 Cooper understand. It seemed expedient, therefore, that the 
 next postmaster be chosen from the members of the immigrant 
 group. 
 
 Dolliver was quite agreeable. The Norwegians surely had a 
 good claim on this particular office and he would be glad to 
 nominate one of their nationality to the position. He next 
 communicated with his friends in Forest City, instructing them 
 to find a qualified Norwegian who was also an old soldier. By 
 some such appointment alone would he be able to make both 
 his promises good. 
 
 The number of men available under these conditions was 
 very small. Norwegian immigration did not begin in real ear- 
 nest till after the war ; and though there were a few Norwegian 
 veterans in the county they were for the most part farmers and 
 therefore not available. Finally one was actually found in John 
 Olson, a merchant in Forest City. Olson was believed to be 
 thoroughly honest and in most respects quite competent; but 
 there were those who claimed that he had never learned to 
 write. It seems true that the new postmaster was not highly 
 skilled in penmanship, but his defect in this respect was prob- 
 ably exaggerated. 
 
 My family and all our neighbors were pleased with the new 
 appointment. Still, they had a feeling that Dolliver had some- 
 how made a mistake. Much had been said during the campaign 
 and earlier about the civil service reform; from that point of 
 view the appointment looked rather doubtful. 
 
TOWNSHIP COMMITTEEMAN 147 
 
 In the year of Dolliver's victory (1888) I was appointed 
 township committeeman. Though I was not yet old enough 
 to vote, I was keenly interested in political moves and move- 
 ments, and my sponsors believed that I would be sure to take 
 the appointment seriously. They were therefore not interested 
 in the deficiency of years. It became my duty the following 
 summer to call a caucus to select delegates to the county conven- 
 tion which was again to choose delegates to the state convention 
 to be held in Des Moines. (In those days Iowa had annual elec- 
 tions, some of the state officers being chosen in odd-numbered 
 and the rest in even-numbered years.) 
 
 Fearing that no one would come to the meeting, I asked my 
 friend John A. Anderson to be sure to attend. John came, but 
 no one else. So we sat down on the schoolhouse steps, John 
 and I, and organized the caucus. John served as chairman and 
 I was elected secretary. The caucus chose John and me as dele- 
 gates and also a third representative, since the township was 
 entitled to three delegates. Finally the caucus resolved that 
 those present at the convention should cast the full vote of the 
 delegation. 
 
 When, a few days later, I came to the courthouse where the 
 convention was to meet, I found that I was the only one pres- 
 ent from Linden Township. The first thing to do was to select 
 a temporary chairman. After that came the appointment of 
 two or three committees. At that point I made a motion to 
 the effect that these committees be made up of one member 
 from each township. This seemed fair to all ; at least there was 
 no opposing vote. No one appeared to understand that by this 
 action I was given a place on all the committees. Since these 
 deliberated simultaneously, I was, of course, not able to be an 
 effective member of any one of them. Just what was the intent 
 of my motion I do not remember; perhaps it was merely an 
 attempt at youthful cleverness. 
 
 Of recent years I have heard frequent and often bitter com- 
 plaint that the prevalent system of primary elections has not 
 proved a success. No doubt much of what has been urged is 
 
148 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 well founded; but when I recall the ease with which conven- 
 tions were manipulated fifty years ago, I am inclined to believe 
 that the primary election is, after all, the better method. 
 
 One day in 1891 I read in the Iowa State Register (I was 
 then a student in Des Moines) that my brother-in-law, James 
 Ellickson, had been nominated for membership in the lower 
 house of the state legislature. The news pleased me exceed- 
 ingly, for " Jim " was to me everything that a brother could be. 
 At the time of his nomination he was a young man of thirty- 
 two years; but he had a wide acquaintance in the county and 
 was deservedly popular. Political ambition he had, however, 
 only in slight measure. He accepted the nomination with real 
 reluctance, and on the expiration of his term two years later he 
 refused to stand for re-election. 
 
 Jim came to Des Moines in January and found lodgings a 
 few blocks from the Capitol. In the following weeks I saw 
 him frequently; sometimes I sat with him at his desk in the 
 House. He told me a great deal of what he suspected was go- 
 ing on under the surface of the placid and often drowsy de- 
 liberations. My observations in those days were as enlightening 
 as a college course in political science, a subject in which I have, 
 by the way, had almost no formal instruction. 
 
 The Honorable James Ellickson was honorable in the high- 
 est sense of the word. He had his party preference and affilia- 
 tion, but he was never guilty of blind partisanship. Early in 
 the session he discovered that the political enemy was not the 
 Democratic opposition (a feeble lot they were) but a group of 
 men in his own party who seemed to take instructions from an 
 astute lobbyist whose particular care was the Burlington Rail- 
 way. Jim had his desk in the rear part of the chamber and 
 when the lobbyist was on the floor he kept a close watch on 
 him, noting particularly the men to whom he sent messages 
 and the apparently innocent remarks and motions that were 
 sure to follow. 
 
 Ellickson was a leader in a group of farmers whose purpose 
 
 
POLITICAL EDUCATION 149 
 
 was to prevent suspicious corporation bills from coming to vote. 
 In this they were not always successful. I may have been un- 
 duly critical but I got the impression that the district conven- 
 tions had selected a great deal of mediocre talent. However, 
 the farmers had certain personal habits that proved helpful : for 
 one thing, they could get to work at an early hour. Toward 
 the close of the session the railway lobbyist and his friends 
 managed to have appointed a sifting committee favorable to 
 their own interests. The farmers took counsel. The next 
 morning at opening hour they had a quorum in the chamber. 
 The gavel fell, and in a few minutes the sifting committee was 
 excused from further prosecution of its duties. In this coup the 
 gentleman from Winnebago had a leading part. 
 
 My political education was going forward. For one thing 
 I had come to believe that it may sometimes be a matter of 
 patriotism to act with the opposition, and that at other times 
 it may be even more patriotic to take a stand outside party poli- 
 tics than within the ranks of those who actually "belong" to 
 an organization. 
 
cj XVIII |s 
 
 i 
 
 t was the last day of the year 1888. At the station in Forest 
 City stood a young man with a ticket to Des Moines, ready to 
 board the southbound train which was due about three o'clock. 
 The day was raw and dreary, as December days sometimes are 
 in Iowa; it was not a day to give zest to a journey which prom- 
 ised to become a real adventure. For the young traveler was 
 not sure what such an adventure might mean to him. He 
 knew in a vague way that it would bring great changes into 
 his life, that he would be taken out of his social and intellectual 
 environment and set down into something entirely new. Nat- 
 urally the thought made him uneasy; but it also made him 
 eager, eager to go forward and to begin to explore the new 
 land. 
 
 For some months, perhaps for several years, his life was to 
 be spent in what was to his mind a large city. Of urban life he 
 knew almost nothing. The years just ahead were to be de- 
 voted to the pursuit of higher study; but how this was to be 
 carried forward he did not know. He was to live apart from 
 his own people, but of life in an American home he knew noth- 
 ing very clearly, having never spent an entire day in such a 
 home. The rural class in Norway was not without its system 
 of etiquette and in this he had been trained in his home; but 
 of the standard rules of American etiquette he had little knowl- 
 edge. To one who has to enter upon new ways of living even 
 the simple is likely to seem quite complex. It was to be so with 
 
 150 
 
TO DRAKE UNIVERSITY 151 
 
 our young traveler, who had now become an emigrant for the 
 second time. 
 
 The train crawled along slowly, as its habit was, till it 
 reached a point about twenty-five miles from Des Moines, 
 when its lone passenger coach was attached to a Rock Island 
 train commonly known as the " Cannon Ball." The coach had 
 the usual number of weary souls, for a long journey on this 
 train could not be other than tiresome. A middle-aged Dane 
 was heard to inquire every now and then if the train would not 
 soon be in "Dess Monis." This interested our passenger; he 
 was not so far from home after all. 
 
 It was dark night when the train rolled into the station at 
 Des Moines. Not knowing where to go, the young passenger 
 asked the conductor to direct him to a hotel. He was told to 
 go to a near-by establishment where he would (and did) find 
 ample accommodations. The colored bellboy piloted him to 
 his room and made sure that the new arrival knew how to deal 
 with the gas, which of course he did not, having never seen a 
 gas light before. The mulatto had a surly look on his face 
 when he left the room; doubtless he carried on a little conversa- 
 tion with himself about the " hicks " who do not know enough 
 to tip the bellboy. 
 
 The following morning I took a streetcar to University 
 Place, then a separate municipality on the edge of the city to 
 the northwest. After having examined a number of college 
 catalogues, all of which claimed great advantages and held out 
 much promise, I had decided to enroll at Drake University. 
 I knew nothing about the institution except that it was located 
 in the capital of the state; it was that fact that decided me. 
 I had often been told that the best colleges were located in small 
 towns where the evils and the temptations of the city were not 
 likely to find a foothold. In spite of all this I had decided in 
 favor of Des Moines, for I had a vague feeling that I needed to 
 know something about the larger world. 
 
 There was an electric car line in Des Moines at the time, but 
 it did not run in the direction that I wished to travel. The uni- 
 
152 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 versity suburb was served by an old horsecar line, the first and 
 the last that I ever saw. The cars were drawn by wheezy horses 
 with crooked knees. No wonder that they were decrepit, for 
 the route up the bluffs was not an easy climb. It would even- 
 tually destroy the best of animals. 
 
 On the southeast corner of the Drake campus was a three- 
 story wooden building called the Students' Home. It was not 
 old, but the energetic life of the young and the frivolous had 
 been too much for its structural health and it had taken on a 
 worn and aged look. In the early days of the institution the 
 Students' Home had been a very important building; while 
 Main Hall was in the process of construction, it had housed the 
 entire college. Since then it had been a dormitory occupied by 
 the newer students who usually, however, did not remain long. 
 Time soon came when it was no longer profitable to use it as a 
 dormitory and the building was taken down. 
 
 I secured a room on the second floor, which was lovingly 
 spoken of as " Beggar's Resort." I found a roommate in Fred 
 Anders, who hailed from Minburn, a near-by village in Dallas 
 County. Anders was a little older than I and remained at 
 school for a term only. Why he came to college I do not know, 
 unless it was to build up a little prestige in his home town. At 
 the time his chief interest was Republican politics and more 
 particularly the Minburn post office, of which he was later 
 given charge, though for a short time only. 
 
 The building was full of students, all young men and nearly 
 all from farms or small neighboring towns. Most of them 
 stayed a term or two, then went home, never to return. It was 
 not a cultured group; quite the contrary. But a similar condi- 
 tion would be found in almost every other college in the state. 
 We were often boisterous and sometimes quite reckless in our 
 behavior; but later I spent a night in a dormitory in one of the 
 state institutions, and we at Drake had been models of propriety 
 compared with the energetic young scholars who sang and 
 howled us to sleep on that memorable night. 
 
 It was New Year's Day when I came up to University Place, 
 
REGISTRATION 153 
 
 and I arrived just in time to attend a religious service in the col- 
 lege chapel. Professor D. R. Dungan of the Bible department 
 spoke. His talk was a review of the events of the past year, and 
 was given in a hopeful and even optimistic spirit. Perhaps all 
 was not well with the world, but powerful intellects were at 
 work on its problems, and they would no doubt be successfully 
 solved. 
 
 The next day we all assembled in the college building for 
 registration. The corridors were thronged with young men 
 and women, many of whom, like myself, were there for the 
 first time. Professor Bottenfield, who acted as registrar, worked 
 like a dynamo. Some of the older students took charge of us 
 newcomers, showing us about the building, and telling us how 
 to get started with our work. They also pointed out to us the 
 notables of the campus. There was Charles O. Denny, a senior, 
 broad-backed and heavily built, but said to be a capable student 
 in the classics. Later in the year he was given a college appoint- 
 ment. Edward S. Ames was outstanding in oratory. He was 
 a handsome man and made an agreeable impression. Later, in 
 his graduate days, he turned to philosophy and found his career 
 in the University of Chicago. A quiet, beautiful woman (her 
 name was Mabel Van Meter) was pointed out to me as likely 
 to become Mrs. Ames, and the forecast was correct. Then there 
 was Henry Silwold, a ponderous German with a large reddish 
 moustache. Silwold was not flashy but thoroughly solid; after 
 graduation he studied law and his fellow citizens ultimately 
 gave him a seat on the bench. There were many others whom 
 I might mention ; but I observed later on, when I came to know 
 them as students, that while they might be forward and aggres- 
 sive in campus activities, they were quiet, reserved, and modestly 
 retiring in the classroom. 
 
 The first real student whom I came to know intimately was 
 George W. Gonder. Gonder was energetic and capable and 
 might have become an outstanding man on the side of scholar- 
 ship, had it not been for the enticing temptations of campus 
 activities. In matters that required shrewd management he was 
 
154 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 a master. He was not exactly popular, but the leaders on the 
 campus realized that in any new undertaking of any importance 
 Gonder would have to be included. After graduation he entered 
 a law school in Chicago ; but for some reason he never practiced 
 his profession, giving his energies to commercial enterprises in- 
 stead. 
 
 I soon began to understand, vaguely at first, perhaps, that my 
 preparation for the work that I had hoped to do was very poor ; 
 in some respects it was entirely wanting. I imagine, however, 
 that many others had the same feeling. To come directly from 
 the farm to an institution devoted primarily to college work 
 was a long leap, but one that in those days was frequently taken. 
 In my boyhood years high schools were not found in every town 
 and in many such schools the work was not of a high quality. 
 My father some years earlier had consulted a school official on 
 a proposal to send me to the high school in Forest City, but the 
 advice was not to do so. There would be slow progress, he 
 feared, and a decided waste of valuable time. 
 
 Drake never turned a student away unless he practiced the 
 more obvious forms of wickedness, such as dancing or card 
 playing. For young persons like me the college had provided a 
 preparatory department in which the work normally called for 
 three years' residence. There was nothing unique about this; 
 virtually all western colleges had the same problem and had 
 made the same provision. Consequently I was classified as a 
 first-year preparatory student; at the same time I was given 
 work that was taken largely by college students. This was un- 
 fortunate, but instruction at Drake in those days was poorly 
 organized, a condition that was due chiefly to the lack of an 
 adequate instructional force. 
 
 But if I was deficient in training and knowledge of the type 
 that was expected, I had other assets that I hope I may be allowed 
 to mention. I had spent much time with the writings of some 
 of the choicest spirits of history. I had read Shakespeare's plays 
 and nearly all of the Bible. I was acquainted with some of the 
 great masters of English prose. My language equipment was 
 
CHAPEL SERVICES 155 
 
 beyond what the average student had in his freshman year. I 
 had read books printed in London, Copenhagen, Stockholm, 
 and Christiania. I had a little knowledge of German and had 
 read more widely in history than most of my fellow students 
 would have read by the close of their senior year. My mind 
 was steeped in the uncanny folklore of the north German peo- 
 ples and much of their poetry I knew by heart. 
 
 Alas! It was a rather ill-assorted information and much of 
 it could not be made useful as prerequisites to a college course. 
 However, when I began to examine the preparatory curriculum 
 more in detail, I began to wonder if it would not be possible to 
 secure credit in some of the subjects by private study and exami- 
 nation. My last teacher in common school had allowed me to 
 take up some subjects not ordinarily taught in such schools; 
 and in those, at least, I felt able to acquire credits without regu- 
 lar class work. I was allowed to write in several subjects and 
 passed all the examinations that I took. When I came to regular 
 college work I took an extra subject, five subjects instead of 
 four. This I did almost every term or semester. Thus by ex- 
 aminations and by extra studies I was able to complete a curricu- 
 lum planned for seven years in a little more than four years 
 and a half. 
 
 We had chapel services every morning. It is my memory 
 that attendance was not exactly compulsory. We were, how- 
 ever, assigned definite seats, and absences were noted and re- 
 ported by monitors. For that matter, we were glad to attend; 
 chapel at Drake was rarely a bore, and there might be important 
 announcements made at the close of the exercises. One of the 
 first bits of news of this sort that I recall hearing was a statement 
 by the chancellor that the faculty occasionally had serious busi- 
 ness to transact and that, at its last meeting, it had been found 
 necessary to expel a student. The young man in question was 
 a well-known figure on the campus ; he was sitting in the back 
 part of the room when the chancellor broke the news to us; he 
 did not seem to be very happy. His fiancee was on the campus, 
 
156 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 however, and had powerful connections; he hoped, therefore, 
 for reinstatement, which came in due time. 
 
 On the platform in a row back of the chancellor's desk sat 
 the faculty of the collegiate departments located in University 
 Place; the professional schools had locations elsewhere in the 
 city. With a single exception the men all wore beards of a more 
 or less luxuriant growth. In contrast with these mature-looking 
 scholars, the one smooth-faced professor looked very youthful. 
 Three women also had places on the platform ; they represented 
 the finer arts, oratory, music, and painting. 
 
 The venerable man with the pleasant face and the white hair 
 and beard was Chancellor George Thomas Carpenter. The 
 chancellor was fifty-five years of age but looked much older. 
 In a little more than four years he was to pass away. I took one 
 course with him, a course in elementary economics. He used 
 a text which argued strongly for free trade, while he himself 
 was a firm believer in a protective tariff. This disagreement be- 
 tween author and teacher led to protracted discussions, but the 
 chancellor was never known to retreat. 
 
 The old executive was the object of much ironical comment 
 on the campus, for there were those among us who were not 
 always reverential in their remarks on any subject. He was 
 charged with being inconsistent at times, which is merely say- 
 ing that he was a human being. He liked to tell witty stories, 
 but, his repertoire being small, he could not avoid the fatal mis- 
 take of repetition. On the whole, however, he stood high in 
 the regard of the undergraduates, for we all knew that the insti- 
 tution which we had come to love was his handiwork and his 
 achievement. 
 
 Not far away sat a man with a full dark beard covering a 
 strong face. This, I was told, was Bruce E. Shepperd, the pro- 
 fessor of mathematics. He was, as I learned later, one of the 
 few men on the platform who could lay valid claims to real 
 scholarship. He was also the only one that I can recall who had 
 enjoyed the advantages of residence and study abroad, having 
 spent a year at a German university. Another prominent pro- 
 
PROFESSORS AT DRAKE 157 
 
 fessor was Floyd Davis, who had the distinction of having 
 achieved a doctor's degree. Davis was a tall, finely-built young 
 man (he was not yet thirty), thoroughly trained, and a real 
 scientist. Unfortunately, his tenure at Drake was a matter of a 
 few years only. 
 
 Next in line was Lyman S. Bottenfield, the professor of Eng- 
 lish, whom I was to know quite well. Bottenfield was an odd- 
 appearing man with certain outstanding peculiarities of body 
 and manner. But I was told that he dealt with his students in 
 sympathetic kindness and I was to learn that the statement was 
 true. 
 
 A man, aged in face and figure, was pointed out to me as the 
 professor of Latin and Greek. His name was Norman E. Dun- 
 shee and I learned that his scholarship was of a high character. 
 D. R. Dungan I had already seen. He was a slow, heavy man, 
 a little past middle age. He must have had native abilities in 
 more than ordinary measure, but his training was scarcely ade- 
 quate for the work that he had undertaken to do. 
 
 Close to the wall, apparently trying to be and to look as in- 
 conspicious as possible, sat a little man with a striking counte- 
 nance; he had a long black beard, a large hooked nose, and eyes 
 with a peculiar stare which gave them a stern, almost angry, 
 look. This was Gerhard J. Zepter, the professor of modern 
 languages. Of a totally different type was Lysander W. Cush- 
 man, a boyish-looking man with a degree from Harvard. Pro- 
 fessor Cushman's personality was anything but aggressive, but 
 I was to learn that he was approachable and helpful. 
 
 Of the others whom I saw before me that morning I shall 
 mention only one, Lafayette Higgins, a mathematician who 
 developed into a competent engineer. He looked a little drowsy 
 that day, but I was later informed that Higgins was usually 
 wide-awake. 
 
 During the years that I studied at Drake the faculty of the 
 liberal arts suffered notable changes. Before I reached gradu- 
 ation most of the men whom I have just named had been re- 
 placed by others. Carpenter and Dunshee had passed away. 
 
158 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Dungan had taken the presidency of a small college. Davis 
 and Bottenfield had gone to other, presumably better, positions. 
 Cushman had not been reappointed. Zepter, Higgins, and 
 Shepperd remained at the university for some years. Other men 
 came in and some of these were capable teachers; others were 
 only moderately successful. In too many cases considerations 
 other than personality and scholarship were likely to be decisive 
 factors when appointments were made. It may not be true that 
 the trustees always insisted on the conventional religious affilia- 
 tion; but, all the same, orthodoxy usually weighed heavily in 
 the balance. In this there was nothing unusual: other colleges 
 had similar habits. The day of special training was as yet not 
 very far advanced. 
 
 Of my first year at Drake there is not much to write. I was 
 often lonesome, and sometimes the blues would come; but I 
 never thought of giving up my plans. Somehow, I felt sure 
 I should be able to struggle through. I was therefore never 
 really discouraged. I observed that some of the well-groomed 
 young men who strode proudly down the street in silk hat and 
 frock coat were just ordinary common clay in the classroom. 
 Culture they had of a sort, but I had a suspicion that most of it 
 was plain veneer. Though I knew that I could not compete 
 with them elsewhere on the campus, I felt sure that in the class- 
 room I had more than a fair chance. I realized, of course, that 
 in the competition before me, hard and persistent work would 
 be required; but in my case hard work was nothing new. 
 
 There were two subjects in which I took particular interest: 
 rhetoric and European history. The rhetoric work belonged in 
 the preparatory department and was taken almost exclusively 
 by students who were not yet ready for the freshman year. Pro- 
 fessor Bottenfield was the teacher. In this course Bottenfield 
 was at his best; he was essentially a teacher of the preparatory 
 school type; in strictly college work he was not highly success- 
 ful, chiefly because he did not possess the necessary grade of 
 scholarship. The course was largely theoretical, as such courses 
 
THE COURSE IN HISTORY 159 
 
 were in those days; but we did a certain amount of writing, in 
 the grading of which I fared quite well, being one of the two 
 who received the highest grade. 
 
 The course in history was freshman work, but I was allowed 
 to enroll in it because the timetable offered no other subject that 
 I could conveniently take. The class was large and highly 
 varied in its composition : we were upper classmen, lower class- 
 men, and preparatory students; seniors who were close to grad- 
 uation and men like myself who had no formal training beyond 
 that of the common school. It was not surprising that the upper 
 classmen scowled. 
 
 Professor Cushman's preparation in history left much to be 
 desired, but he tried to do his best. The juniors and seniors, 
 who cared for neither Cushman nor history, had apparently 
 decided not to worry about daily preparation. Evidently they 
 hoped to get the necessary information by absorption. There 
 was, however, a small group among us who refused to let the 
 work go by default. We studied the assignments carefully from 
 day to day and in this way we were able to help the recitations 
 to go forward in a fairly satisfactory way. Before long the rest 
 of the class, tired of confessing continued ignorance, began mak- 
 ing preparation and the class work improved materially. 
 
 Later in the year some of us were much displeased to learn 
 that a petition was being circulated in the college classes request- 
 ing the trustees to appoint another man to the chair of history. 
 Cushman was intelligent and in some respects was better pre- 
 pared than most of his colleagues. But the trustees granted the 
 request. I can only count this decision a great mistake; years 
 were to pass before the work in history at Drake University 
 could be built on a thoroughly solid foundation. 
 
 In this course my earlier reading in history proved to be a 
 great help. I found that I already knew something about al- 
 most every topic that came up in class. The course on its side 
 was also helpful : it enabled me to bring into some sort of order 
 a fund of knowledge which earlier had been made up largely 
 of confused and unrelated materials. 
 
160 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Like very many of my fellow students I shared only slightly 
 in the social life of the community. Inside the college there was 
 very little activity of this sort. There was, it is true, a get- 
 together at the beginning of the year when we assembled in the 
 chapel, conversed, and marched about a little; but that was all 
 and it surely was not very much. Greek letter societies, which 
 now provide social activities in great abundance, did not then 
 exist, in fact they were banned ; and any such organization that 
 might attempt to carry on sub rosa would be hunted down and 
 forced to disband. 
 
 Professor Shepperd's house was always open to students and 
 it was more than a pleasure to spend an hour with a man whose 
 conversation was such a delicate blend of humor and philoso- 
 phy; but since he was in those days a bachelor, he could not 
 provide social diversion of the conventional sort. Professor 
 Zepter invited me to his house and even asked me to dine with 
 him, an invitation which the members of the staff were not in 
 the habit of extending to students outside the circle of kinship 
 or close friendship. 
 
 Students who were members of the local church shared in 
 entertainments and parties arranged for its younger member- 
 ship by various organizations in which the young people were 
 interested. Being a nonconformist in this respect, I had no part 
 in these diversions. Even the Y. M. C. A. seemed, to an out- 
 sider, so closely affiliated with the local congregation that I 
 hesitated about joining it, not wishing to enter where I was not 
 sure of a welcome. 
 
 Of course we found it possible ourselves to do something 
 now and then to relieve the monotony of boardinghouse lives. 
 Class parties were arranged and occasionally a literary society 
 would provide something of the sort for its members and their 
 friends. So far as I could discover the citizens of University 
 Place did not do a great deal to promote our social well-being, 
 nor were they in position to do so. In my senior year, however, 
 the situation changed radically in my case. In that year I saw 
 much of an interesting family near the university, which was 
 
LASTING FRIENDSHIPS 161 
 
 quite natural, seeing that I had reached an important under- 
 standing with the daughter of the house. 
 
 I formed few close friendships, but those that I did form have 
 proved lasting. One of my earliest friends was Frank H. Noble, 
 now a lawyer and businessman in Des Moines, with whom I 
 worked in our literary society. Later in my career I came to be 
 closely associated with Lawrence Focht and P. P. Sullivan, 
 whose energies since graduation have been given to business 
 and educational work. Other friends whom I have always be- 
 lieved in were William H. Matlock and Alva W. Taylor. Mat- 
 lock is teaching history in California and Taylor is a sociologist 
 of wide fame; at present he is located in Nashville, Tennessee. 
 In my second year I became acquainted with Rupert A. Nourse, 
 now a businessman in Milwaukee, and with Arma Jones, a 
 strong and faithful student who became Rupert's wife. Their 
 friendship has remained a cheering reality to this day. 
 
 There were many more for whom I came to have high re- 
 gard, but it does not seem expedient to multiply names. Indeed 
 I came to have a friendly feeling toward the whole community 
 both in its academic and civic divisions. I had a feeling that I 
 was living among people who, though possibly a little narrow 
 and provincial in ideas and outlook, believed in righteousness 
 and sought to walk in its pathways. 
 
 I needed to study in an institution like Drake University. I 
 needed to live in a town like Des Moines. I needed to be jerked 
 out of my old environment, and jerked I surely was. I was now 
 among men and women who, almost to a man, were of the na- 
 tive population. I was the only Norseman on the campus and 
 one of a very small number who were known to be of European 
 birth or of recent European descent. I had passed into a new 
 stage of the highway of Americanization. At last I was begin- 
 ning to learn something of what lay beneath the surface of 
 American culture. Those years at Drake left marks and traces 
 that could not be erased. Still, I never lost touch entirely with 
 my past, nor have I ever entirely forgotten what I learned of 
 another culture in my boyhood days. 
 
cj XIX |3 
 
 D: 
 
 rake University was founded in 1881 in what may be de- 
 scribed as a secession from Oskaloosa College. The leaders in 
 the movement seem to have hoped that the entire institution 
 might be removed to the capital city; but in this they did not 
 succeed. The citizens of Oskaloosa blocked the move and col- 
 lege work continued on the old site. The founders of Drake 
 were men who adhered to the Christian church. There are 
 those in the fellowship who prefer the name Disciples of Christ; 
 their rivals call them Campbellites, an appellation which these 
 Christians generally regard as a term of reproach. I am quite 
 sure, however, that Alexander Campbell was a great and re- 
 sourceful leader, and I see no reason why it should be a disgrace 
 to bear his name. 
 
 The Christian church is so uncompromisingly congregational 
 in its principles of organization that it can scarcely form itself 
 into a corporation with power to hold property. Drake Uni- 
 versity therefore never has belonged to a church in a possessive 
 sense; consequently, denominational loyalty could be secured 
 only by certain charter provisions respecting the religious affili- 
 ations of the trustees. At the present these seem no longer to 
 exist. Still, Drake has traditions which bind it closely to the 
 church of the founders; its constituency is still largely Christian 
 in the denominational sense; its College of the Bible teaches the 
 principles and upholds the standards of the Christian church. 
 
 In my day Drake claimed to be Christian but not sectarian. 
 
 162 
 
THE ACADEMIC ATMOSPHERE 163 
 
 So it was in most respects: no church requirements hampered 
 the student body and there were members of the faculty who 
 were not " Disciples." And yet, the Reformed view of life was 
 held both within and without the college walls, and the aca- 
 demic atmosphere was instinct with the thought and spirit of 
 Alexander Campbell and his fellow leaders. 
 
 On the negative side this view of life appeared in a set of 
 regulations which the students accepted as a matter of course, 
 even though many did not exactly like them. A student who 
 played cards or joined in a dance did so at his peril. Card play- 
 ing could be carried on strictly in private, and was, therefore, 
 not so easily dealt with; but dancing was another matter and 
 was more difficult to keep from the knowledge of the faculty, 
 which was known to be ruthless in dealing with those who 
 violated these two supplementary commandments. 
 
 Early in 1890 seven students belonging to the Philomathian 
 Society repaired to the old Art Hall after a society program to 
 indulge in a few of the forbidden steps. The campus very soon 
 knew what had happened but apparently nothing was going to 
 be done about it. Then one morning there appeared a vulgar 
 little sheet headed the Regulator, which hinted broadly that 
 certain sacred rules were not being enforced. The sheet was 
 prepared and published anonymously, but it soon leaked out 
 that a group belonging to the Athenian Society were the guilty 
 persons. Their identities, however, were not revealed, though 
 G. W. Gonder and }. W. Wilson, the editor of the college paper, 
 were strongly suspected of having had a share in the publica- 
 tion. The outcome was that the rumors of what had happened 
 in the Art Hall were now investigated and the merry Philo- 
 mathians were suspended. 
 
 Smoking was also taboo and for a time the rule was strictly 
 enforced. Student opinion was opposed to the use of tobacco 
 in any form. Some members of the college faculty smoked, 
 notably Professor Zepter, who held the anti-smoking rule in 
 downright contempt. He might even be seen in the street 
 puffing his long German pipe. It is said that when a prominent 
 
164 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 member of the staff felt the need of a smoke "to steady his 
 nerves," he would call at Zepter's house, where he could enjoy 
 the forbidden weed without any fear of embarrassing pub- 
 licity. 
 
 It goes without saying that Drake was no place for anyone 
 who sought enjoyment in alcoholic beverages. So strong was 
 the sentiment against the use of liquor that the institution was 
 regarded by many as almost an adjunct to the Republican party, 
 which, theoretically at least, was in those days a dry organiza- 
 tion. When the Grand Old Party began to waver on this issue, 
 there was much searching of hearts; many felt that they must 
 begin to affiliate with or return to the Prohibition party. Pro- 
 fessor Dungan had been nominated for governor by the Prohi- 
 bitionists in 1879. President Ayles worth accepted a nomination 
 for the same office by the same party in 1893. In the election of 
 the preceding year, when there was still hope that the Repub- 
 licans might be brought back to the old sanctuary, the pastor 
 of the local Christian church preached a vigorous sermon on 
 " law as an educator," which his Democratic parishioners (he 
 had a few) spoke of as a " Republican rally." 
 
 The university regulations did not forbid theatrical perform- 
 ances, but plays that were to be given on the campus had to be 
 carefully chosen. A young woman who had used the term 
 "holy terror" in a declamation was severely censured by the 
 " best " element. Another young woman was made to feel un- 
 comfortable because she had recited " Money Musk " with ap- 
 propriate movements of shoulders and feet. 
 
 In my own case there was nothing onerous in this moral 
 code. In the main it was in accord with the laws of behavior 
 that were held and practiced in my own family. My father 
 used tobacco to a moderate extent but he rarely smoked; nor 
 was smoking general in our neighborhood, possibly because a 
 lighted pipe is something of a hazard among stacks of grain 
 and hay. Our neighbors took their tobacco in plug form. I 
 did not find tobacco pleasant to the taste and was never tempted 
 to use the pipe. 
 
EVANGELISTIC MEETINGS 165 
 
 The work of the winter term (in 1889) had hardly gotten 
 into full stride when announcement was made from the chapel 
 rostrum that evangelistic meetings would soon begin at the 
 Central Church of Christ. We were told that these would 
 provide an opportunity to hear preaching of a quality so un- 
 usual that none of us could afford to miss it. " But," added the 
 chancellor in a warning tone, " your first duty is to your studies." 
 No doubt the good man was entirely candid in his remark. 
 It had, however, very little meaning, for I found it to be un- 
 failingly true that, when a "big meeting" was on, classroom 
 standards would be appreciably lowered. 
 
 W. F. Black was the preacher. He had at one time been 
 president of Butler University and naturally felt quite at home 
 among so many academic brethren. He was a short, portly 
 man with a feminine cast on his broad face. As a preacher he 
 was magnetic and powerful. He was, indeed, somewhat un- 
 even in his oratory: at times he was marvelous; at other times 
 quite ordinary. After he had finished his work at Central 
 Church, he continued the "meetings" in University Place, 
 where he preached in the college chapel. 
 
 I can recall several other evangelists who came and went, but 
 with one exception they were not outstanding men. The ex- 
 ception was J. V. Updike, who conducted a series of meetings 
 in 1891. Updike was not only a wonderful preacher but also 
 a delightful humorist. As a friend of mine said, "Updike is 
 as good as a play." His real strength, however, lay in the 
 power of his appeal. The sermon would march easily along 
 with wise sayings and witty remarks running along the side till 
 the preacher had come to his last ten-minute period, when he 
 began his attack on the human heart. In those minutes he 
 could be eloquent almost beyond description; hardhearted the 
 sinner must have been who could resist this powerful call. I 
 can still remember the breathless attention of his audience 
 when, one night towards the close of his series, he rose to dra- 
 matic heights with a sermon on the text, " The harvest is past, 
 the summer is ended, and I am not saved." 
 
166 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 When the last eloquent sentence had been spoken and sensi- 
 tive hearts were all aglow with the warmth of the speaker's 
 appeal the audience would rise to sing the invitation hymn. 
 This might be the triumphant strains, "O Lamb of God, I 
 Come, I Come," or Isaac Watt's penitential hymn, "Alas, and 
 Did My Saviour Bleed," with its energetic refrain (not by 
 Watt) "At the Cross, at the Cross." Every minute the emo- 
 tional current would run stronger and swifter, till it rolled a 
 mighty tide, toward the mercy seat. The shaken soul could 
 resist no longer, and the trek down the aisles began. 
 
 One Sunday when the Updike meetings were near their cli- 
 max, a grizzled veteran in a Methodist pulpit not many blocks 
 away expressed the fervent hope in his morning prayer " that 
 the blatherskite may soon quit!" The atmosphere in Univer- 
 sity Place that afternoon was tense with poorly suppressed 
 anger. The remark was certainly not nice, but it was not en- 
 tirely unprovoked, for the evangelist could, in his more fervent 
 moments, be guilty of utterances that were anything but tact- 
 ful. 
 
 Revival meetings in those days were highly organized. Mu- 
 sic and sermon were planned with a view to stir the soul to im- 
 mediate action. Not a moment was lost when the attack was 
 launched. The scene during the singing of the invitation 
 hymn, with men and women rising in all parts of the church 
 and moving toward the place where the preacher stood, was al- 
 ways impressive; sometimes it was even beautiful. And yet, as 
 I looked over the audience, I wondered where the boundary 
 lies between spiritual and physical emotion and which of these 
 two kingdoms provides the forces that drive men and women 
 forward to make the good confession. 
 
 The evangelists that I heard in those days were not all of the 
 Updike type. Isaac N. McCash (who later became pastor of 
 University Place Church) made his appeal to the intellect and 
 probably achieved more lasting results than his more emotional 
 contemporaries. Sam Jones, whom I heard in a Methodist 
 church, depended on quaint and witty remarks to keep his 
 
AN OUTSTANDING EVANGELIST 167 
 
 audience intent and listening. In administering a rebuke to 
 two elderly ladies who were visibly shocked by his manner of 
 preaching, he remarked that since " solemn Sol has had his op- 
 portunity to save the world and has failed, it is now time to give 
 humor a chance." It was a joy to listen to Sam Jones. He 
 spoke deliberately, as a Southerner would, but he made every 
 sentence count. 
 
 B. Fay Mills, who conducted a series of union meetings in 
 1892, put his faith in religious atmosphere and organized effort. 
 He spoke in a large ramshackle building called the Calvary 
 Tabernacle. Thousands came to hear him and were marshaled 
 forward by a host of ushers working under chief ushers, who 
 were again directed by a grand chief usher. The regular serv- 
 ices were followed by after-meetings and conferences. The 
 Mills meetings illustrated the effectiveness of intelligent organi- 
 zation, for they were not without notable results. As a preacher 
 Mills seemed to me quite ordinary; it must have been his 
 "system" that gave him his reputation as an outstanding 
 evangelist. 
 
 A part of the organization that conducted these " patrolled 
 meetings" was a corps of "personal workers." During the 
 Black meetings there were several of these workers at the 
 Students' Home, though some of them no doubt were self- 
 appointed. One of the more prominent undergraduates, Nel- 
 son G. Brown, seems to have been assigned the task of bringing 
 me into the fold. Brown was a tall, heavy man, heavy in in- 
 tellect as well as in body. He had something of a reputation as 
 a reader and could do fairly well with ponderous selections; 
 though he was not nearly so effective as his fame would indi- 
 cate. 
 
 Brown came to me one day and suggested that I "go for- 
 ward " and confess my faith that evening. I replied that I was 
 already a church member. But did I not wish to be baptized ? 
 Again I had to inform him that, so far as I knew, I had been 
 properly baptized. There we stood, ready for the old argument, 
 the nature of baptism and all its many implications. Would I 
 
168 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 not see Brother Black and ask to be instructed ? I said no, quite 
 decisively. A mere preparatory student, I could hardly expect 
 to hold my own in a discussion with a former college president; 
 and I was determined to go with a white flag. 
 
 Other emissaries appeared later and my situation began to 
 be somewhat embarrassing. Soon, however, their zeal damp- 
 ened and I was let alone. So far as I can remember I was not 
 labored with in the interest of the local church after my first 
 year. 
 
 Just before Easter in 1889, it was announced that Professor 
 Black was to preach in the Grand Opera House. That morn- 
 ing the entire student body seemed to be on the march toward 
 the downtown section. We all expected to hear a great sermon 
 and we were not disappointed. It was one of the finest orator- 
 ical efforts that I have ever heard. The Reverend Miss Hultin, 
 the Unitarian pastor, tried to reply to it a week later. The reply 
 was not convincing. Miss Hultin was intelligent, attractive, 
 and always plausible; but her oratory could not compete with 
 that of the great evangelist. 
 
 On the platform the churches had assembled a chorus of one 
 hundred voices. The number alone was impressive; but when 
 the choir rose to sing, I received a thrill that music had never 
 given me before. 
 
 " Joy to the World, the Lord Has Come." Like the sound of 
 a mighty cataract the hundred voices swept down the scale. 
 The music was a wonderful combination of power and beauty 
 and dignity. I had heard English hymns before, stirring 
 hymns, lovely hymns, but they were not like this, for this was 
 the work of a master, of the lordliest sovereign in the kingdom 
 of song. 
 
 That day for the first time did I really come to understand 
 and appreciate the glorious treasures of English hymnology. 
 The Lutheran chorals remain magnificent; their grandeur will 
 never be questioned. But here in another realm I had found 
 other compositions differing in form and content, lighter and 
 yet deeply spiritual, which I should also call magnificent. 
 
CHURCH ATTENDANCE 169 
 
 Then came the thought that once more it was the German 
 spirit that had created a new type. Handel was a German of 
 the Lutheran faith. 
 
 My church attendance in my student days was quite irregu- 
 lar. I did not wish to forsake my own assembly ; but the Nor- 
 wegian church was several miles distant and I could not afford 
 much streetcar travel. For that matter I could afford very little 
 of anything beyond the necessities of student life. 
 
 I sometimes went to the Swedish church, where the music 
 was splendid but the preaching quite ordinary. The Reverend 
 Mr. Henry of the English Lutheran was a good preacher with 
 a delightful personality. I heard him quite frequently. A few 
 times I went to hear A. L. Frisbie, the patriarchal guide of 
 Plymouth Congregational Church. Frisbie was a thoughtful 
 man, beloved in his congregation, and highly respected every- 
 where in the city of Des Moines.. But he sometimes seemed to 
 be more concerned about the form of his sermons than about 
 their substance. 
 
 The man who appealed to me most was Dr. H. W. Tilden, 
 an elderly Baptist clergyman. Tilden was not an orator, he was 
 an essayist. But his essays were radiant with literary brilliance. 
 His evening sermon, or lecture, on Handel's " Messiah," given 
 just previous to a rendition of that magnificent oratorio by the 
 combined forces of the more important musical organizations 
 in Des Moines, was a masterpiece in itself. I still recall a power- 
 ful sermon that I heard him preach on the labor question; it 
 was sane and sympathetic at the same time. I even remember 
 his text : " Feed me with food convenient for me . . . lest I be 
 poor and steal." His lecture on " The Bible as a Source of Cul- 
 ture," which was delivered on the college platform, was another 
 effort that has not entirely left my memory. 
 
 A good part of the time I attended services in the University 
 Place Christian Church, where the preaching was often good 
 and sometimes even excellent. But the services that linger in 
 my mind were those conducted by Frisbie, Henry, and Tilden. 
 
170 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 It was a great privilege to be allowed to hear men like these. 
 They not only had a message, but they phrased their message in 
 clear and beautiful English. They knew when the expression 
 should be delicate and when it should be energetic and strong. 
 They were artists, each in his own way; but Tilden was the 
 greatest of the three. In culture and refinement Dr. Tilden, 
 the Baptist clergyman, probably had no peer in any profession 
 in Des Moines. 
 
4 XX js 
 
 I 
 
 did not return to college in the autumn of 1889; money was 
 scarce and I had decided to give one more year to public-school 
 teaching. Another reason was that I was still in some doubt as 
 to what I should want to do in the years to come. I had, how- 
 ever, not thought seriously of an alternative to Drake Univer- 
 sity. Accordingly I asked to be allowed to conduct the home 
 school and the request was granted. For the first time I was to 
 teach in my own neighborhood in the longer session, and there 
 were those who feared that there might be difficulties, especially 
 in matters of discipline, in a school where the teacher and the 
 pupils all belonged to the same closely knit community group. 
 But I had no trouble of any sort and have always been able to 
 look back on this, my last term in common school work, with 
 unalloyed satisfaction. 
 
 During the period of my college studies I spent the summers 
 at home on the farm helping with the work in the hayfield and 
 the harvest field. Labor on a farm will sometimes have its ex- 
 citing hours, but such thrills as we experienced in the dog days 
 were usually mild and fleeting. Really we were much too busy 
 to worry about the lack of excitement; what we seemed to crave 
 most of all was rest. 
 
 But one week in July, 1890, the entire county was stirred by 
 the news that a shower of meteorites had fallen in the northern 
 part of Linden Township. The day was one that is not easily 
 forgotten. It was a quiet afternoon about four o'clock. My 
 
 171 
 
172 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 brothers and I had just had our usual cup of coffee, as the custom 
 was in our family, for the work day in the summer months was 
 very long. At the moment we were all gathered in the yard 
 preparing to resume our work in the hayfield. Suddenly we 
 heard something that resembled a thunderclap. We looked up 
 and near the zenith, though perhaps a little to the southwest, 
 we saw a whitish cloud, which seemed, however, to be rapidly 
 disappearing. Otherwise the sky was clear. We exchanged a 
 few surprised remarks, wondered a minute or two what the 
 thing might have been, and then drove out to the meadow. 
 
 That evening a member of the family in walking along a 
 trodden path found a strange-looking pebble that surely had not 
 been there before. It was about two inches long and quite 
 heavy for its size; it was black and looked distinctly as if it had 
 been touched by intense fire. Next day reports came of similar 
 finds on the neighboring farms and we began to understand 
 that the strange phenomenon of the day before was a meteorite 
 shower. 
 
 The fall covered an area of two or possibly three square miles. 
 For some days it came near being the sole topic of conversation. 
 What were these " stones " and what did the shower signify ? 
 For such an occurrence could not be entirely without meaning. 
 Our thoughts quite naturally reverted to the great comet of a 
 decade earlier, and those who held that such an apparition was 
 always an omen of impending calamities were inclined to view 
 the little meteorites in the same light. And here was a very 
 disturbing thought: if the stones had been sent as a warning, 
 it was a warning that was evidently aimed directly at us, and 
 what had we done to deserve such marked attention ? 
 
 The meteorites were now being picked up in considerable 
 numbers all over the area of the fall. Someone began to wonder 
 whether they might not have a cash value and took a little bag- 
 ful to Forest City, where he found eager purchasers. When 
 it was learned that there was a market for the pebbles all dis- 
 cussion as to purpose and origin died away; the question now 
 was, what were the stones really worth ? 
 
RETURN TO THE CAMPUS 173 
 
 On the Sunday following the shower the highways leading 
 out to our locality swarmed with eager citizens who hoped to 
 find something that would at least serve as souvenirs of the 
 strange occurrence. What success they had I do not know; but 
 for many months an occasional pebble was found even where 
 careful search had been made in the days following the shower. 
 
 Among those who heard the explosion and saw the cloud 
 was Peter }. Huglen, who has been mentioned as one of our 
 neighbors to the north. He also saw a small cloud of dust rise 
 from the earth a quarter of a mile or thereabouts on a neighbor- 
 ing farm to the south. The farm being untenanted, Huglen 
 saw no reason why he should not examine the spot where the 
 dust had appeared. His search was rewarded: he unearthed 
 a meteorite weighing about seventy pounds. Of the fragments 
 that came to light this was by far the largest. 
 
 Huglen profited nothing from his find. The owner of the 
 land claimed the specimen, and since he seemed to have the 
 better right, the finder cheerfully surrendered it. The meteor 
 had a later history with episodes of burglary and litigation; 
 but of these details I am not reliably informed. When I last 
 saw the black stone it was on display in the Museum of Natural 
 History in New York. 
 
 In September, 1890, 1 was back in Des Moines to resume my 
 work at Drake University. From that time on my attendance 
 at college was continuous except for a few weeks in the spring 
 of 1891, when my health was slightly below par and it seemed 
 advisable to take a rest. The campus on my return looked very 
 much as it had when I left it a little more than a year earlier; 
 but I was to learn that several important changes had come into 
 the university organization; for one thing, the college of liberal 
 arts had been provided with a new executive head. 
 
 In the spring of 1889 the students heard a rumor that the 
 institution was to have a new official with the title of president. 
 Technically he was to be the administrative head of the college 
 of liberal arts; but it was widely believed that he was to function 
 
174 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 alongside the chancellor, taking charge of the affairs of the uni- 
 versity in their educational aspects, while the chancellor re- 
 mained the financial executive and the representative of the 
 institution in its outside relations. It may be that Chancellor 
 Carpenter, realizing that his strength was ebbing away, saw the 
 need of appointing a colleague who might, perhaps, be thought 
 worthy to succeed him. Finally we learned that he had made 
 a journey to Wichita, Kansas, in the interest of the new office, 
 and in due course it was announced that Harvey W. Everest 
 would be appointed president of the college. 
 
 Everest was in charge of an educational venture at Wichita 
 called Garfield University. It was becoming clear, however, 
 that this institution could not have a long life and its president 
 felt free to accept the chancellor's offer. He came to Drake for 
 a brief visit, and the community seemed to find him wholly 
 adequate. But some weeks later the press reported that H. W. 
 Everest had decided not to come to Des Moines after all, and 
 that the presidential office had been conferred on Barton Orville 
 Aylesworth, the pastor of a Christian church in Cedar Rapids. 
 
 One day in September, 1890, as I was strolling up the walk 
 to the college building, a man came out on the steps and spoke 
 to me. It was President Aylesworth. The first impression of 
 the young executive (he was not yet thirty) was always highly 
 favorable. Aylesworth was a tall man with a fine physique. 
 His voice was strong and pleasing and his platform efforts were 
 unusually well received. He was resourceful and energetic. 
 We were soon to learn that he had strong emotions; but to all 
 appearance he had them under good control. 
 
 Aylesworth had large ambitions, not only for himself but for 
 the institution that had come into his charge. Drake was to 
 become a university from which men and women would go 
 forth and achieve great things in all parts of the world : it was 
 to be the " Oberlin of the West." He believed that it would in 
 time become the center of activities in the field of social reform, 
 and in these he expected to be the recognized leader. Unfor- 
 tunately, the intellectual character of the student body was not 
 
A COLLEGE EXECUTIVE 175 
 
 such as to warrant any real confidence in this direction. Able 
 men and women we did have; but most of them were likely to 
 find satisfaction in far less strenuous careers. 
 
 In many ways Aylesworth was an ideal college executive. 
 He knew the student mind better than most men and under- 
 stood that many things might as well be overlooked. He would 
 often call men whom he regarded as leaders in the student body 
 into his office to sound their views on campus problems. The 
 students no doubt realized that their advice would probably not 
 be taken; but they were pleased to be consulted. His conduct 
 of chapel exercises was masterly. The services were always in- 
 teresting; they had all the dignity that the occasion demanded, 
 but they were never formal or stiff. He seemed built for a posi- 
 tion that would allow him to keep in direct touch with the 
 students. This, of course, would mean a school with only a 
 moderately large enrollment; whether he could have succeeded 
 as the head of an organization like that of a state university may 
 well be doubted. 
 
 As a teacher of philosophy he was less successful, for the 
 simple reason that he did not have the temper and spirit of a 
 philosopher. The cold logic of Kant and Locke could not be 
 satisfying to a man whose life was lived so largely in the realm 
 of emotion. His important addresses were frequently built 
 around emotional themes. It is therefore not surprising that, 
 after some years as professor of philosophy and related subjects, 
 he withdrew from these fields and took the chair of English 
 and American literature. 
 
 Another new man whom I met that autumn was Ed Am- 
 herst Ott, who had just come to teach oratory. Ott was a young 
 man of twenty-three when he began work at Drake; but the 
 students soon discovered that in experience and mental maturity 
 he was far beyond his years. He was a handsome man; his 
 clean-shaven face had strong lines, but they were such as an 
 artist would love to copy. He often wore a silk hat, which to 
 the student mind would indicate an aristocratic spirit. But 
 
176 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 when one learned to know Ott, one soon discovered that instead 
 of being an aristocrat he was simply a democrat with aesthetic 
 tastes. 
 
 Ott was a philosophical radical. He watched current move- 
 ments with a keen eye and rejoiced in the radical trend of the 
 time. Needing a political group with which to affiliate, he 
 chose the Populist party. In 1892, when he was not yet twenty- 
 five, his party gave him a nomination for a seat in Congress. 
 He took the stump and put much energy into the campaign; 
 but in a conservative district like the Des Moines constituency 
 the hope of Populism was quite forlorn. All things considered, 
 however, the showing that he made at the polls was remark- 
 ably good. 
 
 Ott's work was not heavy at first, but his influence with the 
 student body was never limited to his classes: the Ott following 
 included many who had no interest in oratory; at least they 
 were never registered in his classes. However, there were times 
 when some of us would go to him for private instruction. He 
 took the shy, backward student and put him on his feet. 
 He opened our throats and taught us to speak naturally. Ges- 
 tures and poses had no great interest for him, for he had a theory 
 that if a man had something to say he should simply proceed to 
 say it; he should state his message as effectively as possible, but 
 first of all he would have to know how it could best be spoken. 
 
 I had no formal work with Professor Ott, but informally I 
 kept in close touch with him. Several times I had cause to be 
 grateful to him for practical help and for sane (even if not al- 
 ways pleasant) criticism. Though I did not share all his views, 
 I had profound respect for his opinions. In political and social 
 theory many of us were slipping away from the old moorings ; 
 and it must be confessed that Ott did nothing to strengthen 
 the old chains. Still, I am sure that his influence was, on the 
 whole, quite wholesome, even though somewhat disturbing to 
 his conservative neighbors. 
 
 Professor Ott remained at Drake for a decade. That he 
 should have to give up his position and leave Des Moines in the 
 
DEAN OF THE BIBLE COLLEGE 177 
 
 way that he did was no credit to the university authorities. No 
 doubt he did hold views on many points that ran counter to 
 prevailing opinion. But inasmuch as the Christian church takes 
 great pride in its freedom and rejects all the claims of dogma, 
 Ott's unconventional views might have been tolerated. 
 
 Another important man whom I first saw in the autumn of 
 that year was Alvin I. Hobbs. Dr. Hobbs had come from a 
 pastorate in Denver to take an appointment as dean of the Bible 
 college. It happened that Dean and Mrs. Hobbs took their 
 meals at a boardinghouse where I, too, boarded for a time, 
 and I came to know him quite well. 
 
 Hobbs was a soldier-chaplain in the Civil War and looked 
 the soldier all his life. I remember well when I first saw him 
 walking down the street, erect, deliberate, but showing vigor 
 in every step. There were traces of a determined spirit in his 
 face ; a clipped gray beard covered a strong chin. His views on 
 all subjects were precise and definite; but his students did not 
 seem to resent his dogmatic attitude even when he said, "You're 
 wrong, you're wrong." 
 
 Dr. Hobbs belonged to his own generation, the standard of 
 which he said he had never seriously questioned. In religion, 
 in politics, in social theory, and in view of life he was distinctly 
 conservative. He believed in the Republican party, and the 
 radical movements which were just then coalescing into Popu- 
 lism were anathema to his orderly mind. Though he no doubt 
 had a high regard for his friend Aylesworth, he did wish that 
 the president would not "wobble" so much politically; for 
 Aylesworth was disposed to accept all the "vagaries" of the 
 Prohibitionist party platform, a weakness that Hobbs could not 
 understand. 
 
 The dean was at one with his church in its attitude toward 
 creedal statements; but that did not prevent him from having 
 a definite religious philosophy of his own. So far as this was 
 comprehensible to us, it seemed to be based on Calvinistic prin- 
 ciples. Aylesworth was heard to remark at one time that 
 
178 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 " Brother Hobbs is a Presbyterian in everything except the form 
 of baptism." We could never be sure whether or not he be- 
 lieved in foreordination, but we had a lively suspicion that he 
 did. 
 
 He served Drake for four years and in this period he did 
 much to give real substance to the work in the Bible college. 
 The students of this department were a highly promiscuous lot. 
 There were fine men among them; no man on the campus had 
 a clearer intellect than Cleo M. Chilton, who has now for many 
 years served an important parish in St. Joseph, Missouri. Har- 
 vey H. Guy, suave in manners and discriminating in thought, 
 made a reputation for fruitful scholarship on both sides of the 
 Pacific. Abram E. Cory has won high honors in educational 
 administration in the missionary fields of China. Charles C. 
 Morrison, as editor of the Christian Century, has become an 
 outstanding leader in Protestant thought. Alva W. Taylor has 
 been mentioned elsewhere as an enthusiastic leader in the field 
 of sociology. These men were, however, all exceptional; a 
 large percentage of the enrollment was composed of men of 
 moderate power. They had come to Drake to get a somewhat 
 clearer insight into the doctrinal system of the Bible and a little 
 knowledge of the technique of preaching; more than that they 
 had not yet thought necessary. 
 
 Dean Hobbs had other ideas. He wished to build the work 
 of his college on a scientific basis. He wanted ministers who 
 were thoroughly educated. He frowned on the practice of en- 
 couraging indifferent students to seek ministerial charges. If 
 he tried to correct this situation, he was not successful. Every 
 Friday afternoon and Saturday morning processions of ardent 
 but somewhat immature theologians could be seen on the 
 march to the streetcar line; soon they were all on their way to 
 their respective parishes, twenty, thirty, fifty miles out of Des 
 Moines. 
 
 A mile and a half out in the country was a schoolhouse where 
 many a budding preacher delivered his first real effort. One 
 will have to believe that the congregation in that locality got 
 
A STEADYING INFLUENCE 179 
 
 a rather indifferent fare. I once went out there with a friend 
 who wished me to hear his first sermon; I hope that he was 
 never given a church. And yet there were times when the 
 preaching must have been good. William H. Matlock, who 
 was a born speaker, began his preaching there. 
 
 In spite of his robust appearance Dean Hobbs was not in 
 good health. In May, 1894, he passed away. I cannot say that 
 he contributed much to my education, since I was never en- 
 rolled in any of his classes. But the presence on the campus of 
 a man of his character, knowing where he stood, virile in his 
 faith, ready to meet the adversary at any time and on any field, 
 was a strong and steadying influence which could not fail to 
 reach far out beyond the walls of the classroom. 
 
3f XXI j£ 
 
 M 
 
 .y second year at Drake passed quietly. For a few weeks 
 I stayed at the Students' Home, where I had as roommate 
 Elijah N. Johnson, a young Kansan who had come to enter the 
 junior class. There was nothing mushy about Johnson's mind, 
 it was sound and solid. After many years' service as professor 
 of mathematics at Butler College, Indianapolis, he died early in 
 the year 1934. 
 
 We finally both left the home. I found a room two blocks 
 north of the campus on the edge of town, which I kept till the 
 close of my college career. Most of the time I had the room 
 to myself. Having almost no interests that year on or off the 
 campus except my daily work, I was able to give nearly all my 
 time to my studies. 
 
 Now that I had at last a fairly clear idea as to what my ex- 
 penses would be, I had been able to arrange for the necessary 
 funds; but my purse would rarely allow me to indulge in lux- 
 urious habits. I was able to pay for good meals and a comfort- 
 able room in addition to the fees and other expenses that my 
 studies entailed ; but I had little money for amusements or other 
 forms of diversion. Fortunately there were so many fine things 
 in the city that one could have for the asking, that expensive 
 amusements were not a real necessity. 
 
 At last I had at my disposal nearly all the books that I wanted. 
 The Drake library was not what one might expect it to be and 
 the library hours were not conveniently planned; nevertheless, 
 
 180 
 
CAMPUS ACTIVITIES 181 
 
 I was able to make considerable use of it. The state library was 
 open to us and I visited it whenever I could. It was, however, 
 an hour's walk from the campus to the Capitol where the collec- 
 tion was housed and my visits could therefore not be very fre- 
 quent. I made more use of the city library, being principally 
 attracted to its periodical room, for I was developing an abiding 
 interest in current problems. It was in this library that I first 
 saw and used "incandescent" lights, which were then quite 
 new to the town. 
 
 Gradually I was finding myself. My course of study was 
 taking form, for I was beginning to see what I might probably 
 like to do. I moved around most freely in history, languages, 
 and literature. Mathematics was more difficult but with the 
 necessary study I was always able to master the subject. So far 
 as I went I had no trouble with the sciences, though I did not 
 go very far on that side of the curriculum. 
 
 I was also getting into what are known as " campus activities," 
 though on a restricted scale. The literary society had been an 
 important activity from the very first. In February (1891) I 
 made my first appearance on the chapel rostrum. The occasion 
 was the anniversary program of the Signet Literary Society, to 
 which I belonged. My part on this program was a poem en- 
 titled "The Wreck of the Sea Wing" in which I told in 
 rhymed stanzas the tragic story of the wreck of a pleasure boat 
 on Lake Pepin about fifty miles southwest of St. Paul. My 
 friends praised the poem but told me frankly that it was poorly 
 read. 
 
 I was in the old college building on registration day in Sep- 
 tember, 1890, when a young woman who had the appearance 
 of a teacher came walking down the hallway. She looked as if 
 she might be about thirty years old; she had a good face, though 
 it was not disturbingly beautiful. One noticed a tenseness in 
 her expression which did not, however, detract from the favor- 
 able impression that she made. She walked directly across the 
 hall, wholly unconscious, it would seem, of her surroundings. 
 She was Mary Elizabeth Paddock, the new professor of history. 
 
182 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Miss Paddock came from Butler College, where she had 
 been concerned chiefly with the classical languages. She had been 
 recommended to the Drake authorities as a woman who could 
 teach history and at the same time could act as dean of women, 
 or what later came to be known by that title. Her friends were 
 mistaken on both counts. Though Miss Paddock protested 
 that she knew but little history, she was urged to accept and 
 she finally did. The staid officials at Drake soon discovered that 
 she had a touch of temperament in her make-up, which is not 
 exactly a qualification for the office of adviser to young women. 
 
 Professor Paddock worked hard and faithfully to make his- 
 tory a vital subject and it is only fair to say that she was more 
 successful in the classroom than Professor Cushman had been. 
 My work with her was in English history, to which we gave 
 the greater part of the year. The members of the class were 
 pretty much on the same level of preparation; consequently the 
 work went on at a far more satisfactory pace than in the earlier 
 year. 
 
 Professor Paddock also organized a class in current events 
 which some of us attended religiously. Among the members 
 of the group was Rea Woodman, a Kansas girl whose personal- 
 ity was highly reminiscent of that of her native state. But we 
 all liked her genial frankness and her evident good nature. In 
 November of that year Jerry Simpson, W. A. Peffer, Mrs. Mary 
 Ellen Lease, and their Populistic associates swept the state, to 
 the ineffable disgust of the Kansas student, who had remained 
 in the old camp. 
 
 Miss Paddock remained only two years at Drake. She was 
 an ardent feminist, one of those who felt that they could never 
 be happy till they could vote; in fact she wished to do a great 
 many other things, too, that were regarded as belonging pri- 
 marily in the masculine sphere. President Aylesworth was 
 sympathetic toward woman's suffrage, but it shocked Hobbs to 
 hear the women talk such " rant." When he asked Miss Pad- 
 dock what Paul would have said about women's rights, she re- 
 plied that, if Paul was against the women in their demand for 
 
INSTRUCTION AT DRAKE 183 
 
 the ballot, " so much the worse for Paul." I understand that she 
 later went out to the Pacific coast, became something of a 
 mystic, and is no more. 
 
 The instruction that I received at Drake University was no 
 doubt of the kind and quality that I would have received in any 
 other college or even in some of the larger universities. Newer 
 methods were being tried out here and there in other institu- 
 tions, but the news of them had not reached us in Des Moines. 
 The men of the faculty were not nearly so well prepared as the 
 average in larger institutions, nor were they all strong person- 
 alities. But I should say that Davis and Shepperd measured up 
 pretty well with the better teachers in other places. In some 
 classes the instruction was on a level too far down toward the 
 elementary plane; especially was this true in some of the sci- 
 ences : botany and zoology and possibly the introductory course 
 in physics. (I am now thinking of the time just subsequent to 
 Professor Davis' departure.) My teacher in the biological sci- 
 ences was a Professor Stearns, who remained at Drake for less 
 than a year. I met him some months after he had left us. He 
 seemed pleased to see me and ventured the tactful remark that I 
 looked more intelligent than when I was enrolled in his work. 
 I have heard nothing of him since that day. 
 
 Though I did not think very highly of Stearns as a classroom 
 teacher, I felt obliged to him for an opportunity to do a little 
 work in botany outside the classroom. He had learned that 
 C. L. Watrous, a prominent nurseryman in the vicinity of 
 Des Moines, needed a man to help with some experiments in 
 cross-fertilization and sent me down to the nursery to do the 
 work. I spent nearly a week with Watrous and was glad when 
 the task was completed, for a walk of four miles or more every 
 morning and evening was tiresome as well as tiring. 
 
 The chief horticulturist at the nursery was Niels E. Hansen, 
 a young Danish immigrant, who was soon to rise to a high 
 place in his profession. He gave me the necessary instructions, 
 but otherwise did little to supervise my work. My employer 
 
184 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 paid me for the time that I spent among his trees and bushes; 
 but more important was the fact that I was allowed to work, 
 if only for a few days, with one whom scientists have since been 
 glad to honor. 
 
 When Professor L. S. Ross, who had studied the sciences at 
 the University of Illinois, came to Des Moines in 1892 to take 
 over the work in biological subjects, the standard of that field 
 was raised at once to a higher plane. I came to know Professor 
 Ross quite well, though I took no courses with him, since my 
 study in the sciences had been done before his arrival. My work 
 was chiefly concerned with the study of languages, in which 
 term I include English and the study of English literature. The 
 instruction that I received in Greek, Latin, and German was of 
 a high character. Our work in French was probably not so 
 good. French was taught by the professor of German and the 
 way we read the language of beautiful France would have 
 caused a Frenchman keen distress. 
 
 Gerhard Johann Zepter came from the Rhine country and 
 the University of Berlin. In 1876 he decided to visit America, 
 primarily to see the centennial exposition at Philadelphia. He 
 never returned to Germany. Herr Zepter brought with him a 
 great many prejudices in his intellectual baggage. He had 
 served his country as lieutenant in the Franco-Prussian war, 
 not at the front but in the military postal service. Zepter's war 
 experiences were an ever-present help to the student who had 
 come unprepared to class. He did not seem to be attracted to 
 the French people; on the other hand he appeared to be quite 
 genuine in his highly appreciative attitude toward French litera- 
 ture. 
 
 Professor Zepter was just past thirty when he came to the 
 United States. He never became more than politically Amer- 
 icanized. He once told me that in his immigrant days he was 
 in the habit of visiting the Milwaukee police court to perfect 
 his knowledge of English. Perhaps that explains why he spoke 
 that language in such a curious, halting way. His students 
 rarely attempted to correct his English, that would be indeli- 
 
A REAL TEACHER 185 
 
 cate; but we did our best to enlarge his vocabulary with slangy 
 words and phrases which he did not seem to know. 
 
 We were cruel to "Old Zep," though he was not always 
 aware of our meanness. All the same, we appreciated him, for 
 he taught his classes with vigor and enthusiasm. In our crude 
 way we were even fond of him. His classroom manners were 
 quaint ; but they were the spice that gave tang to a fare that was 
 never light. Many of us thought back to the old days with 
 sincere regret when we learned that he was no longer in the 
 college. In a moment of irritation he resigned his position and 
 to his great surprise and chagrin the resignation was accepted. 
 When I saw him last he was employed on a German newspa- 
 per. It is years now since he passed beyond. 
 
 I began the study of Latin about the time that I took up Ger- 
 man. Charles O. Denny was my teacher throughout my course. 
 He had learned Latin from Dunshee and the tuition had been 
 excellent, for Dunshee was thorough in scholarship and exact- 
 ing in his demands. Professor Denny took real interest in his 
 students and appreciated good work wherever he found it. 
 Some of his methods made us a trifle rebellious, such as his re- 
 quirement that not only should a construction be understood 
 but we should also be able to give the number of the section 
 where it was noted in Allen and Greenough's grammar. We 
 were sometimes guilty of unpleasant remarks about this require- 
 ment, but our sarcasm availed nothing. 
 
 Denny was a drillmaster but he was also something more: 
 he was a good judge of literary art. We never got entirely rid 
 of Latin grammar, but generally it was forced into the back- 
 ground. To a real teacher the melodious verses of the Aeneid 
 are superb and lovely masterpieces of the poet's art, not sen- 
 tences to be construed. Denny was such a teacher. I was dis- 
 tressed when I learned a few years ago that he had been stricken 
 by a serious illness. A year or two, and he was no more. 
 
 I began Greek with Professor Oscar T. Morgan, who also 
 taught Hebrew, wherefore some of us called him " Old Testa- 
 
186 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 ment " Morgan. He took us through the intricate structure of 
 Greek grammar and guided our feet on our march with Xeno- 
 phon and his ten thousand. Morgan seemed to have the 
 makings of an academic leader, but something, perhaps it was 
 his liberalism in religion, crippled his career, and he never got 
 very far in his profession. In his thinking he was an individ- 
 ualist and could be depended upon to express his views at 
 irrelevant and inopportune times. He left Des Moines before 
 I had finished my course. I continued the study of Greek with 
 Professor Denny. 
 
 Except for one course my instruction in English was not at 
 par with my work in the languages. The exception was an 
 advanced course in rhetoric which I found very valuable in that 
 it cleared up my thoughts on many points concerning literary 
 construction. On the literary side the materials for study were 
 poorly selected and our classroom discussions were often un- 
 interesting and sometimes dull to the point of futility. 
 
 Philosophy and its related subjects were in the chancellor's 
 sphere when I came to Drake. They were required subjects 
 and it was generally believed that on no condition could a stu- 
 dent graduate until he had spent a year in Carpenter's class- 
 room. With Aylesworth's arrival the philosophic interests 
 passed into his keeping. The subjects that I had with him were 
 psychology, logic, ethics, history of philosophy, and metaphys- 
 ics. In psychology we read and discussed the views of William 
 James. The idea that there might be such a thing as serious 
 laboratory work in this subject never occurred to us; but the 
 same was no doubt true of students in many other institutions 
 of even higher grade. 
 
 When Aylesworth decided to take the chair of English, Bruce 
 E. Shepperd was transferred from mathematics to philosophy; 
 but that was after my graduation. Shepperd had studied in 
 Leipzig with the great mathematician Sophus Lie. He was a 
 man of wide knowledge and much erudition; but he never 
 paraded his learning as Zepter was wont to do. Much more 
 stable in his scientific views, he was never dogmatic like Hobbs. 
 
CLASS DISCUSSION 187 
 
 We admired Shepperd for many things, but most of all for his 
 human qualities and for the deep sense of equity that deter- 
 mined his dealings with his students. Though actually far 
 above us, he made us feel that he was one of us. If a student 
 needed wise counsel he usually went to Shepperd. He did not 
 teach philosophy many years. The conservative patrons of the 
 institution showed a growing uneasiness about the disposition 
 of this chair. In religious matters Sheppered was a noncon- 
 formist. And could it be safe to leave the subject of philosophy 
 in the care of a man who had not made a public confession of 
 his faith? 
 
 In most of the subjects that I studied, the instruction was 
 quite well organized. The men knew their objectives and had 
 fairly clear ideas as to how they might be reached. The meth- 
 ods used in the language instruction were probably as good as 
 any that had been devised up to that time; of course, some men 
 can use a method more successfully than others. Laboratory 
 work in the sciences was being developed; but progress was 
 slow, chiefly because there was lack of space and the necessary 
 equipment. The needs of the subject were realized, however, 
 and in my last years at Drake a science building was in the 
 process of being erected and equipped. 
 
 In almost every class there was much discussion. Questions 
 were raised and objections were stated without fear; opposing 
 views were often hotly debated. In the philosophic subjects 
 debates were a daily occurrence. For days we discussed Wil- 
 liam James's conclusion, "The thoughts themselves are the 
 thinkers," a doctrine which most of us found hard to accept. 
 The monism of Kant (Aylesworth insisted that Kant was a 
 monist) was the subject of protracted discussion. We were not 
 quite so contentious as the old schoolmen, but I believe that we 
 were not far behind them. 
 
 The lecture method was little used in the classes that I at- 
 tended, though the teacher frequently talked briefly and in- 
 formally. It seems to me that lecturing is justified only when 
 
188 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 the teacher has something to add to the information given in 
 the text, or when he wishes to develop the subject from a dis- 
 tinct point of view. In such subjects as economics, history, 
 literature, and philosophy more could have been accomplished 
 with less discussion and more lectures. And yet, our debates 
 were not without their values: the clash of opinion could not 
 help but stimulate our mental operations; perhaps it actually 
 made us think. 
 
 Our most prominent scholastic was William Wade Rodwell, 
 a tall, gaunt, serious-faced man who seemed to be afflicted with 
 a grumbling disposition. Much of his grouchiness was, I be- 
 lieve, merely a pose. Rodwell had an active, analytical mind 
 and often showed remarkable insight. If he had not carried 
 the practices of the objector too far, he would have attained 
 great popularity on the campus. When I last heard of Rodwell 
 he was employed in educational work in the state of Oregon. 
 
 There were others who kept close behind the chief. Gonder 
 would hunt high and low for plausible objection; A. T. Vin- 
 acke, who was even more gaunt and ghostlike than Rodwell, 
 was often busy with the rapier. Perhaps the writer himself 
 may have been guilty at times. 
 
sjf XXII Jfc 
 
 I 
 
 n my student days college and university faculties in the 
 West were concerned almost exclusively with classroom instruc- 
 tion. The professors were all presumed to possess a thorough 
 mastery of all the knowledge available in their respective fields, 
 a presumption that was not always well founded ; but it was no 
 part of their duty to add to the fund of information that the 
 world already possessed. An instructor who had a passion for 
 writing (and such there were in considerable numbers) was 
 quite naturally regarded as an asset to the institution that em- 
 ployed him; provided, of course, that his conclusions or as- 
 severations were not too distinctly at variance with what was 
 generally received as truth among those to whom the adminis- 
 tration would ordinarily look for material support. 
 
 In this respect the situation at Drake was much like that 
 which obtained in older institutions like Iowa (at Grinnell), 
 Knox, or even Oberlin. It surely would not be correct to affirm 
 that there was no active literary talent in our college faculty, 
 for Drake had at least a few teachers who felt the urge to write 
 and responded to the urge so far as their professorial duties 
 allowed. I have in my library a book by Ed Amhurst Ott on 
 How to Use Voice. The title page shows that he composed two 
 other treatises on related subjects. One of the first things that 
 I learned about David R. Dungan was that he was something 
 of an author, having written several volumes on religious sub- 
 jects. One of them, On the Roc\, was said to have received a 
 
 189 
 
190 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 wide circulation and to be regarded by the leaders in his church 
 as a notable addition to the literature of their denomination. 
 
 It was to be expected that a virile intellect like that of Pro- 
 fessor Davis could not be content to limit its activities to the 
 field blocked out in the textbook. So far as conditions and 
 facilities permitted he carried on important and fruitful re- 
 search, particularly in chemistry, which happened to be his 
 special field. To our untutored minds the printed results of his 
 labors did not look impressive; they looked like pamphlets 
 rather than books. Nor did I believe that his efforts were so 
 thoroughly appreciated as they might have been, even by those 
 who understood what he tried to do. It is my memory that far 
 more publicity was given to religious writings than such as 
 originated in scientific study and research. 
 
 When one pauses a moment to think, he finds nothing 
 strange in this; Iowa was a rural state and most Iowans looked 
 out upon the world from a rural point of view. Des Moines, 
 the largest city, had a population of not much more than sixty 
 thousand. Most of its inhabitants had a recent history on mid- 
 western farms and their activities were still in a large degree 
 directed by rural ideals. 
 
 It has sometimes been said that Iowa began as a Bible com- 
 monwealth. This cannot, of course, be strictly true : there were 
 certain groups and elements in the early history of the state 
 that had no great interest in the teachings of the Bible. Never- 
 theless the proposition can be defended and it should not be 
 taken as a mere taunt. The religious element of the state was 
 strong and influential. Its power and its methods can be ob- 
 served, for example, in the movement to outlaw the liquor 
 traffic, a movement that bore fruit in a constitutional amend- 
 ment in the early eighties. 
 
 University Place was a Bible commonwealth in miniature. 
 Our citizenship looked at public affairs from a distinctly ethical 
 point of view. In a college community much thought is natu- 
 rally given to the subject of education. On and about our cam- 
 
THE CHAPEL ROSTRUM 191 
 
 pus the purpose of education was held to be not merely to build 
 up an enlightened citizenship but to promote a mental develop- 
 ment that should be instinct with ethical principles. This view 
 was by no means peculiar to University Place ; it was shared by 
 all the other college communities in the state, except, perhaps, 
 that which adjoined the state university, the latitudinarian 
 theories of which we regarded with strong disapproval. 
 
 While it is quite true that no idea or set of ideas was forced 
 upon our minds, the general opinion on the campus seemed to 
 be that nothing should be taught or presented, either in the 
 classrooms of the college or elsewhere in the community, that 
 would tend to break down the authority of the Scriptures or to 
 lower the accepted ethical standards. The Drake authorities 
 wished to provide a liberal education ; they resented the imputa- 
 tion of narrowness; still, the founders of the institution had a 
 definite purpose, and that purpose had to be carried out. 
 
 President Aylesworth was anxious that we should have the 
 opportunity to see and hear the intellectual leaders in the city, 
 and invited to the chapel rostrum many vigorous personalities, 
 both men and women. One day we had the privilege, and it 
 was a privilege, to hear Father J. F. Nugent, who was reputed 
 to be the most learned man in Des Moines. Though the rever- 
 end father's mind was by no means impervious to the newer 
 ideas in social and intellectual life, it was essentially that of a 
 conservative. He closed with the observation that it was wise 
 to " keep to the beaten track." 
 
 One morning the president introduced Dr. Woods Hutchin- 
 son, who in those days was practicing his profession in Des 
 Moines. It was evident that the young scientist liked to attract 
 attention and had learned how to achieve his desire. What we 
 noticed first was a red beard, trimmed and parted with care and 
 precision. Then we saw a brown coat, selected, we thought, to 
 match the beard. The speaker wore trousers of a checked ma- 
 terial, the dominant shade of which was a faded green. I saw 
 
192 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 and heard Dr. Hutchinson again years later, after he had begun 
 his work in the cause of preventive medicine; but by that time 
 the provocative beard had disappeared and there were no longer 
 any eccentricities of dress. 
 
 Dr. Hutchinson addressed us on " The Gospel according to 
 Darwin." (A few years later he published a book with that 
 same title.) He spoke exceedingly well, but we refused to take 
 him seriously. The teaching of evolution was not forbidden at 
 Drake, but faculty opinion, so far as it found expression, was 
 distinctly in favor of "special creation." On that matter the 
 Bible speaks in terms that are not at all ambiguous and it was 
 agreed that the account in Genesis was in every way worthy of 
 credence. 
 
 The advocates of Darwinism no doubt thought us a sadly 
 benighted lot, but, if we were, we enjoyed excellent company. 
 Fifty years ago the Darwinian hypothesis had no great follow- 
 ing in Iowa. It had implications that good Christians found 
 very disturbing. If man has been evolved, as the great agnostic 
 believed, then what about original sin? And if we surrender 
 our views on that point can we still believe in the Christian 
 scheme of salvation ? And so the debate went on. 
 
 The great philosopher of the age was Herbert Spencer. He 
 had, we were told, looked more profoundly into the problems 
 of life than most any other living thinker. There can be no 
 doubt that he added much to the intellectual life of his time. 
 But even those who admired most the tremendous sweep of his 
 powerful mind felt obliged to reject his system. Based, as it 
 was, on a belief in evolution, it had to be regarded as funda- 
 mentally false. 
 
 Ethical and religious standards were also applied to litera- 
 ture, especially to current writings. The three great literary 
 giants of the age, Ibsen, Zola, and Tolstoy, were regarded with 
 disapproval, in some quarters with an aversion that bordered 
 on horror. Their great sin was that they had dared to discuss 
 the problems of sex, a subject that was taboo in the better Iowa 
 
ROBERT ELSMERE" 193 
 
 homes. I can remember none who had anything good to say 
 for Emile Zola; but Tolstoy was not without ardent admirers, 
 though the number was not great. The terrible moral earnest- 
 ness of the man was something that none could fail to ap- 
 preciate, even though his social creed could not be accepted. 
 " Ibsen," said a Des Moines lady, " Ibsen is too Ibscene." I recall 
 that this remark was quoted approvingly by one of the most 
 prominent men on the campus; for Ibsen had written the " hor- 
 rible tragedy of ' Ghosts! ' " 
 
 It is my impression that my fellow citizens in University 
 Place were not much interested in plays and novels that were 
 concerned with social and psychological problems. Neverthe- 
 less this literature was forcing itself upon our attentions and 
 simply could not be ignored. I recall distinctly the furor that 
 was caused by the publication of Mrs. Humphry Ward's fa- 
 mous novel, Robert Elsmere. I came to Drake less than a year 
 after the book was published, but what I heard was chiefly 
 condemnation. Mrs. Ward had succeeded in focusing the in- 
 terest on what was called " higher criticism," and had given to 
 this method a vogue which our friends of the Bible department 
 could only regard as menacing to the faith. But there were 
 those who had their doubts. After all, there might be some- 
 thing in what the higher critics maintained. 
 
 It was not a part of our literary creed that the novel should 
 serve as the handmaid of religion. We were taught distinctly 
 that literature was an art and should be judged by the canons 
 of art. Nevertheless, we lived in an environment that held to 
 a belief that good fiction has an ethical purpose. This again 
 means that in the choice of his materials an author should con- 
 fine himself to fields where one might expect to find human 
 beings living normal and wholesome lives. 
 
 Somehow we had come to believe that there was something 
 peculiarly wholesome in the lives of the untutored and the 
 simple-minded. Such lives our authors found in rural society. 
 Mary E. Wilkins described farm and village life in New England. 
 James Lane Allen was doing the same for Kentucky. Mary N. 
 
194 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Murfree had found her characters in the mountain regions of 
 eastern Tennessee. Thomas Nelson Page dealt with the simple 
 minds of the Negroes in Virginia. These writers were all popu- 
 lar at Drake. Most of their stories were short and easily read. 
 Their writings were typical of what we regarded as wholesome 
 literature. 
 
 In the republic of letters Iowa was still in the pioneer stage. 
 After sixty years of settlement the state had produced very little 
 of imaginative writings. Only two names were prominent in 
 my student days: Octave Thanet and Hamlin Garland. Miss 
 French (Octave Thanet) had a respectable number of admir- 
 ers, though I do not believe her stories were widely known. 
 Hamlin Garland was younger than Miss French, but his stories 
 had more vigor than those that came out of Davenport and 
 received much more attention. Unfortunately this attention 
 was rarely favorable; for Mr. Garland did not share the con- 
 ventional enthusiasm for rural or village life. 
 
 One of President Aylesworth's many ambitions was to find a 
 niche for himself in the temple of American letters. One sum- 
 mer he spent several weeks in northern New York, hoping that 
 amid the inspiring scenery of the Adirondacks he would be 
 able to do inspired work. He returned in the autumn with the 
 manuscript of a group of short stories which he published un- 
 der the title of Thirteen and Twelve Others. The stories were 
 of unequal quality, but most of them had some merit. We all 
 dutifully purchased autographed copies and took pride in the 
 fact that our own president had placed his name on the title 
 page of a book. 
 
 Iowa no doubt had the usual quota of poets, but most of 
 them had achieved local fame only. I can recall three poems 
 by Iowa authors that were known beyond the borders of the 
 state, but only three. Major S. H. M. Byers' " Sherman's March 
 to the Sea" had real popularity, though perhaps only in the 
 North. J. L. McCreery's "There Is No Death" and Belle 
 Smith's " If I Should Die Tonight " were also widely read. Wil- 
 liam Savage Pitt wrote " The Little Brown Church in the Vale " 
 
POPULAR POETS 195 
 
 while in Iowa, but in this case the author was not a citizen of 
 the state. 
 
 Here was a void that some of the versifiers at Drake hoped 
 to fill. We had several poets in the student body and some of 
 them served on occasion to do quite well; but none of us actu- 
 ally mastered the art. President Aylesworth also tried his hand 
 at verse. He had a good command of fluent English and no 
 doubt had a touch of the poetic temperament; but the more 
 untrammeled freedom of prose appealed strongly to him and he 
 soon discontinued the cultivation of rhythm and rhyme. 
 
 Beyond the state, and not very far beyond, were several popu- 
 lar poets who wrote delightful verse and whose poetic mood 
 was in complete accord with that which dominated the west- 
 ern mind. When our literary programs required readings, we 
 looked first of all among the writings of Will Carleton, the 
 Michigan editor who had written so effectively about the hum- 
 ble folk in his own state. The first reading that I heard at 
 Drake was one of the Carleton poems. Almost a neighbor to 
 the Michigan poet was James Whitcomb Riley, the Hoosier 
 bard whose poems of childhood had a youthful quality that 
 refused to grow old. Like ourselves, both of these men had 
 lived close to the soil and their thoughts seemed pleasantly 
 familiar. 
 
 A third poet in whom we delighted was Eugene Field. His 
 somewhat whimsical verses were less successful in public recita- 
 tion, but we loved to read them. I never saw Will Carleton, but 
 Riley and Field came to Des Moines and I heard them both. 
 They were very different; still they had much in common: they 
 were alike in their love for children and in their profound under- 
 standing of the child mind. We felt that both were great, but 
 the deeper impression was made by Eugene Field. 
 
 It may be proper at this point to mention two poets of even 
 wider fame whom I was privileged to see and to hear. One 
 Sunday afternoon I learned that Samuel Francis Smith, the 
 author of our national hymn, was to speak in a neighboring 
 church. With a few student friends I hurried to the place of 
 
196 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 meeting. On the platform with two or three other clergymen 
 sat an aged man (he was about eighty-five years old), who 
 seemed to take very little note of what was going on about him. 
 This seeming lack of interest may have been due to defective 
 hearing, for he was apparently quite deaf. But his address 
 proved that his mind was still active. Smith had no particular 
 message to bring to us; but he did what we most wanted him 
 to do: he told the story of " America," how he came to write it, 
 and what important thoughts he intended the hymn to convey. 
 
 Sir Edwin Arnold, the British journalist and epic poet, came 
 to Des Moines a few months later. Sir Edwin read from his 
 own writings, chiefly from "The Light of Asia." He was a 
 man in the early sixties with a somewhat stiff personality and 
 what seemed to us rather unusual mannerisms. On his right 
 hand he wore a glove with its mate for the left hand fastened 
 to it. When he made gestures, as he often did, the empty glove 
 would swing about like a pennant. Though we all had a high 
 opinion of Sir Edwin's poetry, we got very little out of the read- 
 ing: we found most of his lines very heavy. The rendition of 
 his short poem " He and She " was, however, very impressive. 
 To hear that read made the evening worth while. 
 
 Our interest in current literature was not so all-absorbing as 
 to exclude the classics from our course of study. We read such 
 authors as were usually studied in college and I believe that the 
 classroom presentation was quite typical. Professor Bottenfield 
 was quite conventional in his selection of writers, except that he 
 had a strange enthusiasm for Thomas Carlyle. But the classics 
 were a task, while the lesser American writers were pure enjoy- 
 ment. Moreover, they could be safely recommended to readers 
 of any age. Their writings were ethical, since they rarely dealt 
 with anything that we regarded as of doubtful morality. Their 
 thoughts lay close to the heart of things; at least, such was our 
 opinion. They satisfied the criterion set in the corn belt, that 
 the results of intellectual effort, whether in literature, in science, 
 or in art, must serve the interest of accepted standards of per- 
 sonal morals and provide the acceptance of revealed truth. 
 
$\ XXIII |s 
 
 T, 
 
 ill my last year in college the student body at Drake 
 showed little enthusiasm for college athletics. What interest 
 there was centered about the baseball diamond. Drake had 
 baseball teams and occasionally would play a game with some 
 neighboring institution; but I do not recall that our men 
 brought home very many trophies. 
 
 The ethical standards on the field of sport in the early nine- 
 ties were not high. Doubtful practices were common every- 
 where, and I do not believe that we were in any way better 
 or worse than our neighbors. Living near the campus were 
 several young men who were regarded as capable players ; every 
 spring some of these managed to register as students. I recall 
 one such in particular : he was a tall, lank, and bony youth with 
 something of a reputation as a baseball pitcher. To qualify for 
 the team he had to enroll for class work and was allowed to 
 register in two subjects, voice culture and physical culture, both 
 of which seem naturally to belong to the diamond. 
 
 In the autumn of '93 we began to feel the need of a football 
 team and began looking about for a coach. An experienced 
 player was found and a team was organized. I went out with 
 the rest and was assigned to the center position; but my duties 
 were getting rather numerous and I decided not to play. But 
 since that day Drake has always had an eleven. 
 
 The next spring we had a field day. Such a competition 
 was by no means new at Drake, but in 1894 we had more en- 
 
 197 
 
198 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 trants than on any earlier day of this sort. I won second place 
 in the high jump and first place in the pole vault event. I did 
 not rise very high, but since the others did not do better, I 
 did not think it necessary to try my skill further. The prize 
 was a pole sprouting with roses which was awarded by the 
 young ladies of the college. I was by no means an outstanding 
 athlete and probably could never be one; but none of us gave 
 much time to athletic sports. No one had even dreamed of 
 such a thing as the Drake relays. 
 
 Among the men who were most active in promoting ath- 
 letics, I believe Wade Rodwell was the chief. I am not sure 
 that he was much interested in sports for their own sake. More 
 likely he had discovered that in this respect the university was 
 lagging behind the procession, and he seized on the situation 
 as promising material for one who loved to stir things up. 
 
 To give the new activity the appearance of something that 
 normally belonged to universities, the promoters felt that a 
 patron should be sought within the faculty group. Such a guide 
 was found in Professor Strong of the department of music. 
 Jarvis Strong came to Drake from Oberlin in the autumn of 
 1892. He was an excellent performer on the piano and proved 
 a real asset to his department. The students found him some- 
 what eccentric but his eccentricities were always very delightful. 
 With characteristic enthusiasm he threw his vibrant energies 
 into the new task. In rapid staccato speech he argued the im- 
 portance of collegiate athletics in and out of season, till even 
 the most indifferent began to feel the Olympic urge. 
 
 In my day at Drake the principal field of student activity 
 was the literary society. In its weekly sessions the members 
 sang, read, declaimed, and debated. Sometimes even a full- 
 blown oration might be presented. After the literary program 
 came the parliamentary session, at which a great show was made 
 of transacting business, though in reality there was little enough 
 to transact. There were those who were much more interested 
 in this part of the meeting than in the literary exercises, for it 
 
LITERARY SOCIETIES 199 
 
 gave them much and valuable practice in the application of 
 parliamentary law. 
 
 When I came to Drake there were five literary societies. 
 Two of these, the Athenian and the Philomathian, had tradi- 
 tions running back to Oskaloosa College. There was some dis- 
 pute as to which was the older; but the records appear to show 
 that the Athenians organized a week earlier than their rivals. 
 Athens, as we usually called it, was a solid, democratic, but en- 
 tirely dignified body, and was probably the stronger group of 
 the two. Its membership was keenly interested in discussion 
 and the intricacies of parliamentary law. The Philomathian 
 group, on the other hand, was reputed to be more vitally con- 
 cerned with social affairs, its membership being rather closely 
 associated with the social-minded element in the community. 
 Society was, however, by no means a controlling interest in that 
 organization; there was much excellent work presented in 
 Philo Hall. 
 
 A third society, the Alethean, had been organized in 1883 by 
 a group who had seceded from the Athens. It is said that the 
 secession had been motivated by the crude manners of some of 
 the leading men in the parent society. The Aletheans were 
 believed to place great emphasis on the aesthetic side of college 
 life; and it is likely that many in this body had inclinations in 
 this direction. 
 
 The Berean Society was organized at an early date as an ad- 
 junct to the Bible department. The Bereans quite naturally gave 
 their programs a religious content. Also, quite naturally, they 
 emphasized oratory and debate. 
 
 There was a fifth society called the Miltonian, a name that 
 was later dropped in favor of Signet. The Miltonians, when 
 I knew them first, were practically all in the preparatory years. 
 They were led by Frank H. Noble, who retained the position 
 of leadership until he graduated. They were feeling their way 
 forward, trying to do what the older societies did, and were do- 
 ing it rather poorly. For a time Professor Cushman served as 
 
200 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 guide and adviser to the Miltonians; later, in the Signet stage, 
 Professors Shepperd and Ott assisted in the same way. 
 
 When I decided to join a society, which was not long after 
 my registration, I gave my name to an Athenian, who promised 
 to present it to the proper officials. Apparently he forgot all 
 about it till some weeks later when it was somehow called to his 
 mind. By that time I had joined the Miltonians. 
 
 The choice had its advantages and its disadvantages. I was 
 among the students who, for the most part, were on my own 
 level of preparation. Since the society was not a strong body, 
 I had ample opportunities to display and exercise such abilities 
 as I might have. At the same time I was in my first two years 
 kept out of the group that really counted for something on the 
 campus, and that was a serious handicap. What honors came 
 to me later were such as could be won by individual effort. But 
 Ibsen may be right when he says that "he is strongest who 
 stands most alone." 
 
 We did not have many strong men in Signet, but we did 
 have a few. I have mentioned Noble. Another was Alva W. 
 Taylor, who has also been mentioned earlier. Not long after 
 I had graduated (two or three years), Signet disbanded. No 
 doubt the older societies wagged their heads, but their time was 
 coming. Other interests were crowding literary organizations 
 out into the street. The passion for athletic honors was too 
 strong for oratory and debate. The Greek letter societies, 
 banned all these years, were finally admitted to the campus. A 
 great change was coming into student life. In many respects 
 the change was no doubt for the better; but certain fine enthus- 
 iasms and certain educating values of real significance were lost 
 in the process. 
 
 One day in 1891 a young man from an out-of-state univer- 
 sity appeared on the campus with no errand that was known to 
 the general public. All the same, he did have an errand, which 
 was nothing less than to initiate a group of young men into an 
 organization called a fraternity. 
 
CAMPUS POLITICS 201 
 
 The initiates were to form a chapter of a national organiza- 
 tion, the Sigma Nu fraternity. They received their chapter in 
 March, 1891. The rules of the college being what they were, 
 the organization had to be content with a sub rosa existence. It 
 did not live long; the next year it had already dissolved. With 
 the faculty and the student body in hostile array against any 
 secret influence in student life, it is remarkable that it managed 
 to live as long as it did. 
 
 Sigma Nu was not in any sense a fraternity. The members 
 had little in common and must have had many lively tilts in 
 their business sessions. But they no doubt enjoyed the thrill of 
 secrecy and reveled in the thought that they had challenged the 
 authority of the faculty, though the gauntlet had scarcely been 
 delivered in the time-honored way. 
 
 The prime movers in this venture are said to have been the 
 two Cathcarts, Charles and Frank, H. H. Everest, William 
 Chisholm, and G. W. Gonder. Gonder, who naturally enjoyed 
 mystification, now began to behave more mysteriously than 
 ever. In this way the men created an atmosphere in which 
 suspicion throve; for the new fraternity was not many weeks 
 old before it began to be whispered about that an ogre had in- 
 vaded the campus and was about to destroy its peace. 
 
 So far as I know, the only occasion on which the new fra- 
 ternity actually tried to dominate campus politics was in May, 
 1891, when the management of the Delphic, the student paper, 
 was to be chosen. In that election Sigma Nu came near carry- 
 ing ofT all the honors. A. T. Vinacke, a prominent member of 
 the fraternity, was elected editor-in-chief, with Nellie Slayton 
 as local editor. Miss Slayton was an attractive young woman of 
 real parts. (As Mrs. Aurner she is now a member of the faculty 
 of the state university at Iowa City.) She had the fraternity 
 endorsement, though she was probably not aware of the fact. 
 A candidate on the opposing ticket was elected business man- 
 ager. A few months later he, too, became a member of Sigma 
 Nu. 
 
 Vinacke, the new editor, was an odd character. Dark-haired, 
 
202 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 nervous, and meager almost to skeleton proportions, he was a 
 striking figure. Vinacke was the campus humorist; sometimes 
 his humor was good. He had passable abilities and had many 
 friends. 
 
 The student body scented something new in the air. If the 
 rumors of a secret ring were founded on fact, the barbarians had 
 better organize. In the election of May, 1892, a ticket headed 
 by W. H. Matlock was successful. His opponent on the fra- 
 ternity ticket was Wade Rodwell. 
 
 It was clearly the intent of the promoters of Sigma Nu to 
 bring into the fraternity as many of the student leaders as could 
 be induced to join, and to a certain extent they succeeded. Some 
 of the members must, however, have been selected for other 
 reasons. The two Cathcarts were handsome young men who 
 enjoyed great popularity in certain circles; but they never en- 
 joyed the prestige of leadership. The same must be said of Wil- 
 liam Chisholm, a dark, somewhat taciturn Athenian. He, too, 
 was prominent, but scarcely a leader. Charles Otis Carter was 
 ambitious to be among the elect, but being a Democrat he was 
 at a real disadvantage in such a place as the Drake campus, 
 where political feelings would sometimes rise to a high pitch. 
 I am sure that Rodwell, too, was a Democrat, since to associate 
 with the majority on any issue seemed to make him restless and 
 unhappy. 
 
 We often felt that President Aylesworth's public effusions 
 were too extravagant in language ; but only once did I consider 
 his words in bad taste. One day in 1890, soon after the opening 
 of the autumn term, he announced in chapel with a broad smile 
 on his expansive face that " a college prince " had registered in 
 the university. The prince was H. H. Everest, mentioned 
 above as a member of Sigma Nu. He was the son of Chancellor 
 Everest of Garfield University, the man who had once been 
 slated for the position that Aylesworth came to hold. The presi- 
 dent's remarks were not the best kind of an introduction, but 
 Everest was a likeable young man and succeeded in living down 
 the embarrassing distinction that had been thrust upon him. 
 
THE ORATORICAL CONTEST 203 
 
 In the nineties the fondest ambition of a college student was 
 to have a place on an intercollegiate debating team or to share 
 in the honors of an oratorial contest. When one of the literary 
 societies gave its anniversary program (which was a real event 
 in those days) orations had to be given, and these were counted 
 the most important parts of the exercises. Shortly before com- 
 mencement the various classes would give programs and the 
 orators were again called into action. Orations of a less preten- 
 tious character were sometimes delivered at the regular weekly 
 meetings and I can honestly testify that some of these were 
 weird and woeful productions. 
 
 The greatest event of the year was the oratorical contest. Fol- 
 lowing the custom that obtained generally at educational insti- 
 tutions, the literary societies had organized themselves into an 
 oratorical association. This body held a contest early in the 
 school year. This was followed later in the year by a state con- 
 test, in which the winners of the local contests competed for the 
 state title. The final act was an interstate contest in which the 
 winners in a group of midwestern states, from Ohio to Colo- 
 rado, met to contend for the highest title (as they believed) in 
 American college oratory. 
 
 In the autumn of 1890 John E. Northup was awarded first 
 honors in the local contest, to the general satisfaction of the 
 student body. Northup had a strong and vigorous intellect. A 
 clear thinker, he was slightly ponderous in his delivery, but this 
 was not always a defect, since there are addresses that may need 
 to be delivered in that way. After graduation he studied law 
 and has won a place of high distinction as a member of the 
 Chicago bar. 
 
 The state contest was held at Simpson College. Since Indian- 
 ola is in the next county, Drake students attended in large 
 numbers. When, in the evening, we marched in a body to the 
 auditorium where the contest was to be held, we tried hard to 
 impress the natives with the fact of our presence. But our noise 
 was to no purpose: a man from Coe College, Cedar Rapids, 
 won first honors. 
 
204 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 The interstate contest was held in Des Moines under the 
 auspices of Drake University (May, 1891). A remarkably fine 
 group of young men and one woman appeared on the rostrum. 
 The winner was Frank Fetter of Indiana University, who has 
 since had a long and brilliant career in the field of economics. 
 
 Twice I sought oratorical honors in the local contest and twice 
 I failed ignominiously. I was prepared for a low marking in 
 delivery, for I realized that in that respect I could not compete 
 with some of my rivals; but I felt that I should have had a fair 
 rating on thought and composition. To my disappointment 
 the judges thought the one as bad as the other. I can write this 
 now without a trace of feeling, but in my student days it was 
 otherwise. 
 
 Student oratory is seldom very enlightening. We all found 
 it very difficult to find subjects on which we might have some- 
 thing to say. There was much ferment in social and political 
 life in my undergraduate days, and at Drake we had come to 
 believe (at least some of us had) that all was not right with the 
 world. We then proceeded to say so in sentences that were 
 heavy with metaphors but not with thought. 
 
 Our judges were often elderly men of local prominence who 
 did not share in our fears for the future. A judge once com- 
 plained that the orations were so turgid that he could scarcely 
 follow the arguments. And that was probably the reason why 
 one of our Drake orators, with a eulogy on Alexander Hamil- 
 ton, won a local and later a state contest. Here was something 
 at last that the judges could understand. 
 
 Some would-be Websters had no thoughts of their own. 
 Their ambitions could be satisfied only by skillful plagiarism, 
 which some of them employed with real success. In my senior 
 year Focht and I were able to expose two students who had 
 stolen their speeches. The first was a young man in Oregon 
 who had cribbed from an oration entitled "The Puritan and 
 the Cavalier," which had been delivered at an interstate meet 
 three years before. The second case was that of a senior in 
 Michigan College who delivered almost verbatim an address 
 
THE WORK IN ORATORY 205 
 
 written by a student at Drake University. The man who per- 
 petrated the theft was some years later elected a member of 
 Congress. 
 
 In 1889 the work in oratory was taught by " Daisy " Carpen- 
 ter, a daughter of the chancellor. When she resigned, later in 
 the year, Mabel Yates, a young woman from a school in Boston, 
 came to take charge of the work. The West was too crude for 
 Miss Yates and she did not continue long at Drake. The two 
 women were both interested chiefly in the aesthetic side of the 
 art. Not till Professor Ott took charge of the work in oratory 
 did this department become a real force in the university. 
 
3f XXIV Js- 
 
 o. 
 
 my return to Des Moines in September, 1892, I found 
 the university community much absorbed in the issues of the 
 coming election. A president sought re-election ; an ex-president 
 asked for another term in the White House. Both had been 
 thoroughly tested; whom did the country prefer? 
 
 Mrs. Warrington, the capable wife of an old soldier, kept a 
 boardinghouse on Twenty-fourth Street, near the campus. I 
 took my meals there, as did a number of my friends, most of 
 them members of the junior and the sophomore class. I should 
 not say that we were a quarrelsome set, but we all loved an 
 argument and indulged our passion quite freely. If there was 
 any subject in politics, economics, or religion that we did not 
 discuss, it was because we had not heard of it. Our hostess 
 bore the turmoil with patience till we began to find fault with 
 the pension system, when she intervened decisively and effec- 
 tively. For some time that subject remained taboo. 
 
 It was not difficult to raise a political discussion that autumn. 
 In addition to the old parties, a new organization had come 
 forward to ask for our votes. Various radical movements had 
 flowed together into a common stream called Populism. James 
 B. Weaver, a resident of Des Moines, had been chosen standard- 
 bearer of the new party. Economic conditions were not favor- 
 able; in certain sections the situation bordered on real distress. 
 And it was generally believed that the People's ticket would 
 poll a heavy vote. 
 
 206 
 
THE CAMPAIGN OF 1892 207 
 
 The leading journal in the state was the Iowa State Register, 
 then owned and published by the Clarkson family. James S. 
 Clarkson was high in the councils of the Republican leadership: 
 he was a violent partisan and consequently did not stand well 
 with the opposition. As assistant postmaster general he had 
 dealt brutally, so the Democrats charged, with inoffensive post- 
 masters whose only crime was that they had credentials from 
 Cleveland's administration. The Register was vigorously edited, 
 but in a spirit that was shamefully arrogant. Much of its com- 
 ment was highly abusive and sometimes even vulgar. But the 
 paper had a large constituency and was read widely. The 
 Democratic organ in Des Moines, the Leader, was not in a class 
 with the Register. 
 
 It was clear that the Republicans were worried, even in Iowa, 
 for they seemed unusually anxious to " get out the vote." Stu- 
 dents who wished to go home for the election could usually 
 secure transportation either from the Republican state com- 
 mittee or from their local organization, if they would promise to 
 vote " right." In the case of Drake students the risk was very 
 small, since the campus was Republican almost to a man. 
 
 As soon as the campaign was well under way, the Repub- 
 licans planned and carried out a huge torchlight parade. An 
 emissary arrived on the campus to secure aid, and a large num- 
 ber of students cheerfully responded. Whether we could vote 
 or not was unimportant; at all events we could help to lengthen 
 the parade and swell the noise. I marched with Professor Zep- 
 ter who, while professing Populist sympathies, liked to be 
 counted with the majority. 
 
 Later in the month the Democrats came to us on a similar 
 errand. The earlier parade had been a pleasant experience and 
 why not march once more ? It was pretty much the same crowd 
 that responded this time and for an hour or more we did our 
 loudest to impress the city with the numbers and the power of 
 the Democratic host. In that parade we all carried cornstalks. 
 I believe I acted as some sort of a marshal. 
 • A great deal of oratory was released in this campaign and 
 
208 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 I attended a number of rallies. The Populists were earliest in 
 the field. They began with street meetings, at one of which I 
 heard Leonidas L. Polk, president of the (Southern) Farmers' 
 Alliance. Polk was a dignified old gentleman, the chief feature 
 of his countenance being a long, gray beard carefully trimmed 
 into the shape of a fan. But if his appearance was conventional, 
 his ideas were not. For a long time, he said, the farmers had 
 asked their representatives in Washington, "Watchman, what 
 of the night? " and the watchman would reply, "All is well; 
 plow on." Polk wanted new watchmen. 
 
 Once I spent a few minutes at a Populist outdoor gathering, 
 something like a camp meeting. Here I first heard Mrs. Mary 
 E. Lease, who is said to have advised the Kansas farmers to 
 "raise less corn and more hell." She did not impress me on 
 that occasion, but later I heard her address a crowd of Rvt thou- 
 sand in a tumble-down auditorium on the east side; and there 
 she demonstrated what the " Kansas hurricane " could do. 
 
 The kind fairy that presided at Mary Ellen's birth gave her 
 a quick mind; but she had neglected to give her beauty. At 
 any rate there were only slight traces of such a gift in 1892. 
 Mrs. Lease looked like a woman who had just entered middle 
 age. Her dress was severely plain, black with a little white 
 trimming. The dark gown gave emphasis to a somewhat 
 somber personality. But the fairy had given her another rare 
 gift, the gift of eloquence and invective, withering like a hot 
 blast. It was said that a Republican club was present, intending 
 to heckle her; but after one disturber had singed his beard, 
 there was no further heckling. 
 
 " Jim " Weaver spoke at one of these meetings. Weaver was 
 an able man and had at one time been a powerful campaigner, 
 but his day was past. As I listened to his rather labored argu- 
 ment I seemed to feel that here was a volcano that had become 
 nearly extinct. 
 
 Among those who spoke for the Prohibition party I recall 
 Helen M. Gougar and John P. St. John. Mrs. Gougar was an 
 excellent speaker, but after two hours one wearies of the best 
 
ELECTION DAY 209 
 
 of oratory. The Register always spelled her name " Hellen." 
 Mrs. Lease was referred to editorially in the same paper as the 
 " wanton." She was advised to go to the editorial sanctum with 
 the horsewhip; but she preferred not to take note of the insult. 
 
 John P. St. John was an impressive figure. His address was 
 effective, but when he began to charge Congress with having 
 been " hyptonized," some of us began to wonder about his train- 
 ing in English. 
 
 Of the Republican speakers one General Sheridan, a large, 
 fat, funny man, but a brilliant orator, made the deepest impres- 
 sion. He spoke after the parade referred to above, and held his 
 audience spellbound for more than an hour. Another Repub- 
 lican campaigner was Terence V. Powderly, who presided in 
 the councils of the Noble Order of the Knights of Labor. For 
 once the Grand Master Workman seemed to know where he 
 stood. I do not recall that the Democrats had any outstanding 
 orators to present. They needed none ; the stars in their courses 
 were battling for them. 
 
 Election day came. Several of us students were quite eager 
 to vote; but as money was now becoming scarce at Republican 
 headquarters, we would have to vote in Des Moines or not at 
 all. The chairman of the Republican state central committee, 
 Senator E. E. Mack, urged us to vote "if it took a leg"; but 
 when we asked him if we had a right to do so, he refused to 
 give an opinion. We decided to take a chance. Cassius C. 
 Dowell, a Drake alumnus who was to have a long career in the 
 national Congress, helped us at the polls. Later in the day we 
 heard considerable grumbling about students voting. The 
 Democrats threatened to make an example of us, but their vic- 
 tory was so decisive that their anger was speedily appeased. 
 
 In that election I voted the Republican ticket straight. It 
 was my first straight ticket. It was also my last. 
 
 After dinner a few of us came together and set out for down- 
 town to learn what had happened during the day. We went 
 first to the Register building, where news was no doubt coming 
 in but was given out in driblets only. After a while the man 
 
210 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 who read the bulletins gave a list of states that evidently had 
 gone for Cleveland; he added sorrowfully, "and I fear he has 
 carried all the rest." 
 
 The atmosphere was too quiet in the Register rooms, so we 
 betook ourselves to the Democratic headquarters. Here there 
 was no lack of excitement. Bedlam ruled to such an extent that 
 we could hardly hear the man who read the bulletins. All were 
 intoxicated with the news of victory; many had an added in- 
 toxication of a different brand. Excitement, too, can become 
 monotonous and before long we found ourselves in the Repub- 
 lican headquarters. Here there was peace without a trace of 
 political enthusiasm. In silence the drivers of the elephant sat 
 along the wall inhaling stale smoke and nursing their wounded 
 spirits. Iowa had been saved, but it was evident that Cleveland 
 had carried the nation. 
 
 The following year Drake University got into politics with 
 both feet. Early in the summer the Prohibitionists met in con- 
 vention and nominated Barton O. Aylesworth for governor. 
 He accepted with alacrity. The antisaloon Republicans were 
 still grouchy because their party had thrown the prohibition 
 plank into the river, and Aylesworth hoped to get substantial 
 aid from that element. He promised to take off his coat and 
 collar and fight for prohibition and woman's suffrage. But the 
 battle was not for him; the fight was to be made by another 
 man. 
 
 Later in the season the Republicans met and nominated Gen- 
 eral Francis Marion Drake for the office of governor. I have 
 heard it charged that his supporters had packed the galleries 
 with Drake students, whose vociferous endorsement of the gen- 
 eral completely befuddled the innocent delegates. Inasmuch 
 as the university was not then in session, this charge can hardly 
 have a substantial basis. Anyhow, Drake received the nomina- 
 tion. 
 
 This outcome created an awkward situation which gave the 
 Aylesworth enthusiasts much worry. General Drake was 
 
AN IOWA CAMPAIGN 211 
 
 Chancellor Carpenter's brother-in-law. He had provided the 
 funds which had made the founding of the university possible. 
 Quite naturally, therefore, the new institution was given the 
 donor's name. Drake had been heard to speak of " my univer- 
 sity." The president's friends realized very soon that he would 
 have to withdraw from the contest. This he did in a statement 
 worded with grace and skill. 
 
 Meanwhile the Populists had placed Professor Ott on their 
 ticket as a candidate for the office of lieutenant governor. This 
 nomination, however, did not worry the Republicans; Ott 
 would in all probability draw more votes from the opposition 
 than from their own and this would be all to the good. Gen- 
 eral Drake was elected governor. 
 
 Throughout the year 1893, persistent efforts were being made 
 to injure the reputation of the university by charging it with 
 political ambitions. It is quite true that Aylesworth talked 
 vaguely of a great institution that should become a directing 
 force in the life of the state, political as well as social and re- 
 ligious, but we all recognized his vision as a dream that could 
 never be realized. The policy, if a vision can be called a policy, 
 was not entirely mistaken ; but insofar as it placed the emphasis 
 too far outside the university purpose, it was mistaken. 
 
 That there should be professors who had political aspirations 
 was too much for the Register and the editor launched a series 
 of insidious attacks on the university. As soon as affairs in Uni- 
 versity Place had been brought back to normal, General Drake 
 called in a reporter and gave out an interview in which the 
 enemies of the university received a severe and highly deserved 
 castigation. " My university " was not to be dealt with as a po- 
 litical football. A more serious charge came from another direc- 
 tion: Drake was becoming a hotbed of radicalism. Dangerous 
 radicals like Aylesworth and Ott were leading the youth of the 
 land astray. To supplement their own endeavors they were 
 calling in men who were worse than themselves and allowing 
 them to sow the seeds of economic heresy in the very chapel 
 itself. It was a serious situation. 
 
212 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Speakers whose messages breathed a radical spirit came now 
 and then to Des Moines, and the students were free to hear 
 them. Henry George, for example, spoke to a large audience 
 on his favorite subject, the reforming virtues of the single tax, 
 but the lecture was rather ineffective; at least that was my opin- 
 ion. Radical leaders rarely came to Drake. I can recall only 
 two, both of whom came on the president's invitation: they 
 were Hamlin Garland and George D. Herron. 
 
 Hamlin Garland was in Des Moines in the winter of 1893, to 
 collect materials, as we thought, for some new literary effort. 
 I was much interested to learn that he had agreed to address us 
 from our own rostrum. When my family was moving to 
 northern Iowa, the Garlands were busy cultivating and build- 
 ing up a new homestead in Mitchell County about fifty miles 
 east of my own future home. Young Hamlin was then a little 
 more than ten years old. The physical environment in which 
 he was growing up cannot have differed very much from that 
 in which I was to grow to maturity. Our surroundings, how- 
 ever, did not affect us both in precisely the same way. Hamlin 
 Garland was so profoundly impressed with the sordid realities 
 of farm life that he could never really appreciate the magnif- 
 icent achievement of the American pioneer. It became his 
 ambition to tell the world what life on an Iowa farm was like, 
 and in this he succeeded brilliantly, though one has a right to 
 object that his coloring is often of too somber a tone. 
 
 Mr. Garland was known at Drake not only as a writer of 
 dreary tales but also as a member of a group of radical thinkers 
 whose ideas were given currency in the Arena, a liberal review 
 published in Boston but long since defunct. Aylesworth knew 
 all this, but he was not disturbed by the author's radicalism. 
 His interest lay almost wholly in Hamlin Garland's literary 
 delineations of prairie life. He was anxious to have us all see 
 and hear and meet the man who had written Main Travelled 
 Roads. 
 
 We expected therefore to hear a lecture on literary crafts- 
 manship, but instead we were given a sympathetic discussion 
 
GARLAND AND HERRON 213 
 
 of the single tax theory. A handsome man with a counte- 
 nance that spoke of serious thought and natural refinement 
 rose to address us. He was a little past thirty years of age and 
 though clearly an idealist he did not speak like a fanatic. He 
 told us frankly that his theories might not work and that if they 
 were put into effect there was much in our civilization that we 
 should have to dispense with. If the steel industry, for example, 
 could flourish only on what he regarded as a form of slavery, 
 that industry should be allowed to perish. Of course, there 
 would then be no steel products, but civilized man would have 
 to get along as best he could without them. 
 
 Far more dangerous from the viewpoint of the conservative 
 was George Davis Herron, who spent a week with us early in 
 the autumn of 1893. Dr. Herron was professor of sociology, or 
 applied Christianity, as it was called in Iowa College, an insti- 
 tution that had been founded by members of the Congrega- 
 tional church. He was believed to have entered upon a great 
 career in the field of human relations. He remained with us 
 for a week, giving informal talks to large groups of students. 
 Herron had a face that was almost beautiful. His opening lec- 
 ture was delightful and seemingly plausible. But as his social 
 theories gradually came into the light we began to doubt. 
 
 Herron taught us that man will some day be so imbued with 
 the Christian spirit and so devoted to Christian morality that 
 all social artifices will become unnecessary and the state will 
 cease to exist. For what can be the use of arbitrary regulations 
 when every man does what is right ? I shall not try to describe 
 Dean Hobbs's mounting wrath as he listened to this, to him 
 impossible, theorizing. The lectures really became too much 
 for us and, when Dr. Herron was ready to leave, Aylesworth 
 was glad to bid him Godspeed. 
 
 Alas for the fine vision! Perplexing difficulties arose in Dr. 
 Herron' s Grinnell household and the promising career of the 
 young fanatic was soon a sere leaf. Evidently the time had not 
 yet come when professors of applied Christianity instinctively 
 do what is right. 
 
214 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Six months later the good citizens of Des Moines had occa- 
 sion to watch a social phenomenon which disturbed some of 
 them very much. In April, 1894, a strange aggregation of un- 
 employed, led by a little unimpressive man who styled himself 
 " General " Kelly, was marching across the country with Wash- 
 ington as its objective. Kelly's " army " was one of several such 
 protesting hosts that were in motion at the time and was per- 
 haps the most numerous of all. Late in April (or early in May) 
 the army straggled into Des Moines and established a camp on 
 the east side. There the " soldiers " remained for several days, 
 or until the authorities, who regarded them as a real menace, 
 were able to induce them to move on. 
 
 President Aylesworth had inspected the army in Council 
 Bluffs and in two chapel addresses he reported what he saw. 
 Aylesworth was deeply sympathetic with the men as individual 
 human beings, but as to the movement itself he was frankly 
 skeptical. His remarks were sufficient, however, to stir the men 
 of the press into action, and once more venom began to flow. 
 General Drake telegraphed a warning that Kelly must not be 
 allowed to present his cause on the Drake platform. Conserv- 
 atism was alarmed and even angry. 
 
 The president had no intention to invite the hobo general 
 to speak on the campus; but he did encourage those of us who 
 might be interested to visit Kelly's camp and try to learn at 
 first hand what we could about the movement. This was some- 
 thing that we liked to do, and many of us acted on the sug- 
 gestion. I did not meet the general but I had a talk with 
 " Colonel" Speed, who seemed to be second in command. He 
 told me that his men were footsore snd weary and hoped to 
 have an empty freight train put at their disposal. Our curi- 
 osity was to some extent satisfied, but we learned nothing im- 
 portant. 
 
 In the early nineties the human mind, even in stodgy old 
 Iowa, continued restless and dissatisfied. Wherever two or 
 three were assembled together the conversation was sure to turn 
 to economic issues. In the smoking cars men were devouring 
 
THE GOSPEL OF CONSERVATISM 215 
 
 Ignatius Donnelly's lurid account of the destruction of capital- 
 istic civilization in Caesars Column. A pamphlet long since 
 forgotten but once read with avidity was Mrs. S. E. V. Emery's 
 Seven Financial Conspiracies which had " enslaved the people 
 of the United States." I am inclined to believe that most Iowans 
 looked upon the contraction of the currency in the seventies as 
 an unfortunate move; at the same time they could not bring 
 themselves to favor currency expansion through the printing 
 of fiat money. 
 
 On the whole, however, the forces of conservatism, both 
 within and without the college, were far stronger than those of 
 the radical partisans. Prominent men came to Des Moines 
 from time to time and I tried to hear as many as possible. 
 Nearly all preached the gospel of conservatism. Robert G. 
 Ingersoll, the famous Illinois agnostic, had his radical phase; 
 but on social and economic questions he was almost violent in 
 his orthodoxy. The same was true of the Reverend David 
 Swing, the Chicago heretic, who stirred the clerical profession 
 mightily in the decade of the eighties. He gave a thoughtful 
 lecture on the novel; but what I best remember about him was 
 his curious and rather unattractive face. The Honorable J. A. 
 T. Hull, who represented Des Moines in Congress, gave a 
 Memorial Day address in my hearing in which he said little 
 about the illustrious dead, but much about the dangers that 
 lurked in the agitation for a free coinage of silver. Frederick 
 W. Lehmann, who later served as solicitor general in the Wil- 
 son administration, came up to the campus to discuss "the 
 ethical basis of the single tax." His conclusion was that it had 
 no such basis. I recall a lecture by ex-Senator John }. Ingalls 
 on "twentieth century problems" in which he tried to deal 
 with his subject from a liberal point of view; but Ingalls as a 
 reformer-prophet was out of his element and the effort was a 
 failure. 
 
^ xxv J: 
 
 F. 
 
 or a time I had nursed two ambitions, both of which I 
 feared would never be realized : I wished to win honors in ora- 
 tory and to become editor of the college paper. Of my early 
 failures in oratorical contests I have written above. After I had 
 tried twice to present something that I thought lay in the drift 
 of public affairs and had twice received a low rating, I gave up 
 trying to compete on that sort of a rostrum. And then, at the 
 close of my junior year, fate seemed to relent. 
 
 Since the earliest days of the college the students had pub- 
 lished a paper called the Delphic. This was at the same time 
 a magazine, a news record, and a journal of student opinion. 
 As a newspaper it could never be a great success, since most of 
 the time it was published only once a month. However, the 
 Delphic files are and will continue to be important as a source 
 of information for those who wish to learn the history of the 
 university. The news items were rarely very fresh at the time 
 of publication; but they are an important part of the record of 
 what was thought and said and done at Drake when the insti- 
 tution was still very young. 
 
 During the academic year 1892-93 W. H. Matlock was the 
 editor. Matlock knew something about the printer's trade; 
 moreover, we felt that he was levelheaded and open-minded; 
 all regarded his editorial work as high class. He tried to im- 
 prove the paper by publishing an issue every other week. Mat- 
 lock and I were on very friendly terms and he encouraged me 
 
 216 
 
STUDENT CONTESTS 217 
 
 to send in contributions. For that matter, I had been an occa- 
 sional contributor to the Delphic almost from the beginning of 
 my residence in University Place. 
 
 The management of the Delphic was elected by the subscrib- 
 ers to the paper, each having one vote. The election was called 
 by the editorial star! and was held in May. In the election of 
 1893, Alva W. Taylor made a speech nominating me for the 
 editorial position. What combinations my friends had formed 
 in my behalf I do not know; but some preparatory work must 
 have been done, inasmuch as there was almost no opposition to 
 my election. Lawrence Focht, one of my closest friends on the 
 campus, was chosen business manager. There was this to say 
 for the team, that its members were congenial and not likely to 
 fall into disagreement. Our fields of labor were quite distinct; 
 but neither one acted in any important matter without consult- 
 ing the other. In that election the fondest ambition of my col- 
 lege career had been realized. 
 
 When commencement week came I happened to be involved 
 in two contests: the one was an essay contest in German; the 
 other was a competition for the Chancellor's Medal, which 
 was given to the member of the junior class who should win 
 first honors in a contest in oratory held to determine the award. 
 
 For the German competition I had prepared a paper on 
 Charles XII, the erratic hero-king of Sweden. There were two 
 other contestants, both women; one of them was an excellent 
 student and highly proficient in German. The essays had to be 
 written in German script. The prize was a small gold medal 
 given by Professor Zepter. 
 
 The junior contest had been initiated a few years before by 
 Chancellor Carpenter. The prize was a moderately large gold 
 medal and to win this was regarded as a high distinction. In 
 1893 there was some doubt as to whether there was to be a con- 
 test. The most finished speaker in our class was Frank D. 
 Pettit, an energetic and handsome clergyman, who knew the 
 technique of oratory and could make a very presentable address. 
 
218 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 At a meeting of the class Pettit remarked that he would not 
 enter the contest, since he might be the only entrant. The re- 
 mark nettled me and I informed my classmates that I expected 
 to try for the medal. Pettit changed his mind at once. Two 
 others joined us later. 
 
 It was customary in those days for the members of the junior 
 class, or representatives of the membership, to appear in chapel 
 with an essay which was read to the assembled students. When 
 my turn came I read a paper on Edgar Allan Poe. It was 
 received with real favor and I decided, instead of writing a 
 conventional oration, to recast this paper into the form of an 
 address, making such improvements in the diction as I could. 
 
 My rival, Pettit, had won a Loyal Legion contest with an 
 oration entitled " Columbia Beware ! " in which he gave the 
 great Republic such advice as would naturally suggest itself to 
 one who leaned toward prohibition and nativism. He now en- 
 tered this for the Chancellor's Medal. A young woman deliv- 
 ered a thoughtful address on Robert Browning. The fourth 
 oration was on Christopher Columbus. This being the year of 
 the Columbian Exposition, it was inevitable that someone 
 should choose that subject. 
 
 The evening came when the award was to be determined. 
 On the way to the church where the orations were to be de- 
 livered, I met Professor Zepter, who was coming to inform me 
 that I had won the German prize. At least the day was not to 
 prove a complete failure. Then came the event which to my 
 mind was the most important of the commencement season. 
 We gave our addresses. There was a short wait during which 
 a quartet sang a song, taunting the sophomores for a failure to 
 get the best of the freshmen in a set-to a few days before. Then 
 the presiding officer came in and announced that the judges 
 had given first place to the oration on Edgar Allan Poe. 
 
 I was too astonished to speak. In a few minutes Carpenter, 
 looking old and ill, came to the rostrum to make the presenta- 
 tion speech and to give me the medal. I never saw the chancel- 
 lor again. Two months later he was in the grave. 
 
THE PANIC OF 1893 219 
 
 Later in the evening my friends crowded into my room to 
 extend their felicitations. I was especially pleased to see Profes- 
 sor Ott among them — he had been a severe critic of my earlier 
 efforts on the rostrum. It is difficult to say what is the most 
 satisfactory event in one's life; but up to that time this evening 
 was probably the most satisfactory. My two ambitions had been 
 achieved. 
 
 Sometime in the late spring of the year, I met Professor Ott 
 on the street. He asked me if I had observed what was going 
 on in the country. I had noticed the reports of business fail- 
 ures, but did not realize their possible significance. Ott, who 
 watched events closely, was sure that destruction was not far 
 ahead. "It is a panic," he averred, and a panic it was. The 
 hard times of 1893 had begun. 
 
 At home on the farm the full force of the crash did not come 
 to us until the grain had been harvested. The farmers then 
 began to worry about the prices, which really were ridiculously 
 low. With oats at ten cents per bushel and other grains at pro- 
 portional prices, they could see nothing but ruin ahead. Ca- 
 lamity seemed to be threatening everywhere. 
 
 When in September I began to plan for my return to Drake, 
 it was discovered that no money was available. There was 
 much on the farm that could be sold, both grain and livestock, 
 but everything seemed at once to have become worthless. Fear 
 had seized upon all, bankers and all other men who supposedly 
 had money. My father's credit was beyond question but no one 
 would lend him a dollar. The situation was desperate. My 
 last year was before me; and I felt that an interruption in my 
 studies at that time would be calamitous. 
 
 Help was found. A friend in Forest City, who had taken 
 some interest in my work, lent me money, not a great deal, but 
 enough to begin the year. After that I was able to continue my 
 studies without serious troubles. My needs were not extrava- 
 gant; my work on the Delphic netted me something; and my 
 father was soon in position to provide what more was needed. 
 
220 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 In my senior year my classroom work was not so heavy as it 
 had been earlier. But that did not mean easier days, for I had 
 the college paper to look after and that was no light task. In 
 earlier years there had been a local editor as well as an editor- 
 in-chief. This year we were dispensing with the second posi- 
 tion; at the Delphic election no local editor had been chosen. 
 I, therefore, had a double duty to perform. There was no re- 
 gret about this; the arrangement was really what Focht and I 
 had wanted. 
 
 My family had always been strongly individualistic and I 
 had inherited that trait in full measure. Throughout my col- 
 lege career I had been compelled most of the time to plow a lone 
 furrow and I have, for that matter, preferred to do my work in 
 that way whenever possible. In my editorial work I followed 
 this natural bent. There was much to write but I wrote far 
 more than was actually necessary. Contributions were sought 
 whenever the field seemed promising; but contributors are 
 often not so dependable as they might be, and Focht and I 
 had to get our paper out on time. Many subjects I should of 
 course have let alone. But when I call attention to this fault, 
 I am simply stating what is generally true of college editors: 
 they often have an irritating way of writing dogmatically on 
 matters that have long puzzled older and wiser heads. 
 
 The circumstances of my education had tended to produce 
 a critical attitude toward many things, though I do not believe 
 that this ever developed into plain faultfinding. No doubt 
 there were those who did not like the tone of the college paper, 
 but that had been true earlier to fully as great an extent. In 
 many ways the problems of a college campus differ radically 
 from those that confront the editor of a local paper; still, there 
 are many similarities. We had our important people, who all 
 expected preferential treatment. We had budding artists of 
 one sort or another who were willing to " do the right thing " 
 in return for the right publicity. We had administrative offi- 
 cials who sometimes wondered how this and that in the Delphic 
 would affect the friends of the institution. But on the whole 
 
THE COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION 221 
 
 our constituency appeared to be reasonably satisfied, and en- 
 couragement was far more common than criticism. 
 
 I early discovered that my comments were read quite gen- 
 erally in the editorial offices of other college papers. A few 
 bold spirits attacked me for pointing out what seemed to me 
 patent flaws in matters that concerned or interested them. As 
 a rule, however, I never wrote before I was fairly sure of my 
 facts, and I do not recall that I was ever forced to retract. At 
 the time I was sure that my life work would be journalism. 
 Focht and I were even planning a little in that direction; but 
 fate willed that my profession was not to be concerned with 
 the living present but with the distant past. My colleague and 
 I separated in June, expecting to meet again in the near future. 
 Forty-two years were to pass before we were to see each other 
 face to face. 
 
 In the summer of 1893 all America was entraining or pre- 
 paring to entrain for Chicago, where a wonderful display, the 
 World's Columbian Exposition, had been made ready to feast 
 the human eye. In Jackson Park, not far from Lake Michigan, 
 Chicago had built a "White City," a marvelous complex of 
 buildings, which was without doubt the greatest as well as the 
 loveliest that had ever been planned and erected for exposition 
 purposes. All the world was invited to come to this magic city, 
 and all the world came. 
 
 In midautumn, when the great event was approaching its 
 close, the railways announced rates so low and so favorable to 
 travel that many who had hitherto resisted the temptation to 
 visit the fair yielded and set out for Chicago. Among those 
 who now answered the call were a group of innocents from 
 Drake University. I do not recall who we all were, but Law- 
 rence Focht was accepted as the leader; another member was 
 Henry C. Taylor, who has achieved renown as an economist 
 and as a bureau chief in the national department of agriculture. 
 But that was years later. 
 
 We found Chicago bewildering, to say the least, but some- 
 how we managed to keep our bearings, and returned to Des 
 
222 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Moines according to schedule. I am quite sure that none of us 
 ever spent a week to better advantage. What we saw was all 
 very much worth while. We took a stroll down the midway 
 and looked at whatever could be seen without charge, which 
 was not a great deal. Most of us had very little money to spend 
 and what we had we used in the main for exhibits that would 
 count for something. 
 
 I recall that one day some of us drifted into the Peruvian 
 Building where we saw on display a sword that probably had 
 belonged to some conquistador or perhaps to some successful 
 revolutionist. At any rate it seemed to invite a closer inspection. 
 But when I proceeded to carry out my intentions, the somno- 
 lent personnel suddenly woke up and began to shout, " You got 
 no business, you got no business at all." Of course I retreated 
 and left the building, with the Peruvian close behind affirming 
 lustily that I really had no business. 
 
 After more than forty years I find that I still retain some of 
 the deeper impressions that I received in that wonderful week. 
 Those days provided an essential part of education; they gave 
 me something that I needed far more than a course of lectures 
 in the university. What impressed me most about the fair was 
 the ineffable, almost uncanny loveliness of it all. The courts, 
 the islands, the fountains, the buildings, all were beautiful be- 
 yond anything of the sort that the average American citizen 
 had been privileged to see before. 
 
 As I wandered from building to building, I found one to 
 which I was moved to return again and again. It was the 
 building devoted to the fine arts. There was a small art hall 
 at Drake where I had seen a few pictures that probably had real 
 merit, though most of the work displayed on its walls must 
 have been of indifferent value. But here was a building with 
 vast galleries into which the treasures of two worlds had been 
 brought. Though I had not the least qualification for critical 
 study, I was profoundly impressed and I looked and looked. 
 
 Of sculpture I had even less knowledge than of pictorial art. 
 I doubt that I had thus far seen anything in bronze or marble 
 
IMPRESSIONS OF THE FAIR 223 
 
 that would have attracted the attention of a competent critic. 
 It amazed me, therefore, to see what can be done with the 
 chisel to give personality to a figure carved in stone. Of course, 
 I had seen this thing in photographs of busts and statues, but 
 the reality had not been revealed to me until those days in 1893. 
 
 The Columbian Exposition was an education to others be- 
 sides myself. The impressions that were borne away were of 
 almost ludicrous variety; but as in my own case, that which 
 attracted and impressed the greater multitude was the beauty 
 of it all. Men and women who had never given the matter a 
 thought before saw that most of our attempts at art in the West 
 had brought only crude results. A lesson was learned that was 
 never wholly lost. More and more the West began to think in 
 terms of beauty. 
 
 The great and the widely famous came from all parts of the 
 world to see what Chicago had done; but in our week at the 
 fair there was no outstanding visitor that I can recall, unless 
 one should give Chauncey M. Depew a place in that class. On 
 a day that I presume was New York Day, there was a program 
 which some of our group attended. The mayor of the city, the 
 elder Carter Harrison, gave an address of welcome, to which 
 Depew replied. I remember nothing that was said but I have 
 retained a distinct impression of the jerky movements of the 
 mayor and the graceful gestures of the famous New Yorker. 
 In Depew's case oratory was clearly one of the finer arts. 
 
 On September 22, 1893, the university authorities called a 
 convocation in honor of the departed chancellor. President 
 Aylesworth (now acting chancellor) designated me to repre- 
 sent the student body on that occasion and suggested that I pre- 
 pare an original poem. I set to work and produced something 
 that I thought would be in keeping with the occasion. The 
 president read and approved it. In those days I was keenly 
 interested in the problems of verse. It was no great task to 
 dash off something that might pass for a poem. My develop- 
 ment, however, was to take another direction: my pen seemed 
 to need a freedom that rhyme and meter would not allow. 
 
224 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Soon after the second semester had begun, a challenge was 
 received from an organization at Penn College to meet repre- 
 sentatives from that institution in joint debate. There was some 
 disagreement among us as to whether we ought to accept the 
 invitation, some holding that it would be beneath our dignity 
 to do so. Others (and I was among them) believed that inter- 
 collegiate debating ought to be added to our regular campus 
 activities. The challenge was accepted. 
 
 The students being unable to agree on who should make up 
 the team, President Aylesworth assumed authority and selected 
 three men, of whom I was one. My colleagues were good speak- 
 ers but they had no idea how to work up a college debate. They 
 spoke exceedingly well, but the opposition was better prepared 
 with the facts. Moreover, we had the affirmative side of the 
 question whether the government should take over the rail- 
 ways. To most minds that proposition was too foolish to be 
 entertained for a single moment. The outcome was inevitable : 
 we returned to Des Moines a beaten team. 
 
 One evening in May, 1893, I had an errand downtown and 
 boarded a streetcar at the usual corner. I was doing a little 
 reportorial work for the Leader at the time and was going 
 down to the newspaper office with my copy. There were not 
 many passengers in the car and none of those whom I saw at 
 first had any interest for me. Later I looked farther back and 
 saw a young woman whom I had never seen before. She 
 caught my attention at once and I shall have to confess that I 
 looked at her rather intently. 
 
 I did not see her again till September, when we were both 
 once more on the campus. Meanwhile I had learned that her 
 name was Lillian Dodson, that she was a transfer student from 
 Tabor College, that she had joined the junior class, and that 
 her family lived in Des Moines only a stone's throw from the 
 campus. 
 
 We met for the first time in the Delphic office, where she 
 had come to read the Tablet, a paper published by the students 
 
LILLIAN MAY DODSON 225 
 
 of Tabor College. It was a delight to see her face to face, for 
 there was something in her personality that drew me as I had 
 never been drawn before. It may have been her eyes — they 
 were deep and brown and beautiful; or possibly her clear-cut 
 aristocratic profile ; or it may have been her smile, which seemed 
 to gladden and to beautify the day; or the dignity with which 
 she moved and spoke, a dignity, quiet, reserved, and more per- 
 fectly natural than I had ever observed in woman before. 
 Perhaps it was all of these in gracious combination; but what- 
 ever it was, it made her extremely lovely. And I realized in 
 a vague way that I was face to face with fate. 
 
 A few months later Miss Dodson and I reached an under- 
 standing which was publicly sealed in a little less than two 
 years. Since this is primarily a study in Americanization, it is 
 proper to add at this point that this process was now to take 
 an abrupt turn into a new direction. 
 
 Lillian May Dodson was the first person who was in a favor- 
 able position to give me intimate information as to what it means 
 to be of the native race, by which I mean of old colonial an- 
 cestry. Racially she was completely American, the most com- 
 plete that I had known up to that time, and I believe the 
 statement holds true to this date. A family with Puritan fore- 
 bears of the mingled blood of Loomises, Skinners, Nortons, and 
 Coggeshalls had found its way into the Hudson Valley where 
 it mated with Irish Walls and German Rouses. Westward the 
 slow but inevitable trek continued, with brief interruptions in 
 Michigan and Illinois, till it came to a halt in southwestern 
 Iowa. 
 
 Meanwhile a family of Dodsons with the blood of Parkers 
 and Chestnuts in their veins had been moving westward from 
 Virginia and out into Tennessee by way of Cumberland Gap. 
 (The Walls were in central New York when the Dodsons halted 
 in the Tennessee Valley.) North and west the Dodsons traveled 
 till they, too, found an abiding place in southwestern Iowa. 
 Here Mary Lodiska Wall met Benjamin Franklin Dodson; and 
 just after the close of the Civil War she became his wife. It was 
 
226 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 their daughter, a daughter of the North and of the South, who 
 now gave her troth to one to whom the outlook of Massachu- 
 setts and the traditions of Virginia were still somewhat alien 
 and difficult to appreciate. 
 
 Lillian May Dodson had drawn from both sides of the house. 
 In form and feature, in her attitude toward her environment, 
 in her outlook on life and its problems, she was a Dodson; in 
 the deeper reaches of her inner personality, in her ethical code, 
 she was more like an offspring of the Walls. She had received 
 a heritage from a strangely divided people; but so wisely had 
 nature selected and fused the essentials of her character that no 
 element seemed at variance with its controlling principles. 
 
 Such was the young woman who came into my life on that 
 May day more than forty years ago; and such she is still today. 
 
 My work at Drake University closed on commencement day 
 early in June, 1894. I do not recall the date, but I remember 
 that it was a lovely day. My brother Christian came down 
 from Ames, where he was studying at the state college, and 
 I quite casually introduced him to the young lady who was 
 some day to become his sister-in-law. 
 
 There had been a serious rift in the class, but the trouble 
 had been composed, and we graduated in the spirit of good 
 fellowship. It seems likely that our difficulty grew out of the 
 junior contest of the year before, an event which had produced 
 factional differences. The immediate question was who should 
 deliver the class valedictory. It seemed that on the basis of class 
 grades I might lay claim to that honor. To a few, such an ar- 
 rangement was not satisfactory; so it was suggested that we 
 break the old tradition and have no valedictorian. But without 
 some sort of a farewell address we could scarcely have a class 
 day program, without which most of us would regard our 
 graduation as sadly defective. 
 
 There was grief in the class. Most of the members were 
 friendly to both sides in the controversy and disliked to offend 
 either group. In the circumstances I felt it was my duty to 
 
COMMENCEMENT, 1894 227 
 
 prevent an open conflict. When matters had reached a point 
 when action had to be taken, I moved that Lute Jones be 
 chosen valedictorian. This was a move to which no one could 
 object, for Miss Jones was one of the ablest women in the uni- 
 versity. In addition to a brilliant mind, she had a remarkably 
 effective personality. She was chosen without a murmur. 
 
 It was next suggested that I should take the second place 
 on the program and give the salutatory. In the interest of har- 
 mony I was willing to take any place, and so it was decided. 
 It proved not to be difficult to fill the other places and we 
 separated in peace. 
 
 I am writing this account more than forty years after the 
 event. Lute Jones has long been among the departed, but her 
 husband, P. P. Sullivan, is still in active life. Lawrence Focht 
 is also among the strong in the earth. The reaper has, however, 
 been active and has left only a few of those who walked out 
 of Drake as alumni in 1894. 
 
 The next thing was to get something to do, which was not 
 an easy matter in the summer of that year. The depression had 
 settled down upon the land. Fear was still in the air. Men 
 were being pushed out of their employment and very few new 
 places were being created. So I returned to my old home, 
 where I knew there was work to do, but with little hope that I 
 should secure the sort of employment for which I had been 
 preparing myself in the preceding years. 
 
:} XXVI ji 
 
 I 
 
 n the early days of settlement in central Wisconsin, there 
 was a district known as the " Indian country." Since this ter- 
 ritory could have no definite boundaries, it was large or small 
 according to the notions of whoever used the term. To the 
 Norwegian pioneers it signified chiefly what was known to 
 them as the " Waupaca settlement," so called because it had its 
 beginnings in Waupaca County. Later it spread further into 
 Portage County, which adjoined Waupaca on the west. 
 
 On the map the Waupaca settlement would look something 
 like an irregular oval, its main axis beginning a few miles 
 northwest of the city of Waupaca and running northwestward 
 for a distance of about thirty miles. The greatest width would 
 be about a dozen miles. A man traveling through that area 
 in the early days of settlement would find it to be a complex 
 of long ridges, broad valleys, and small stretches here and there 
 of fairly level country. The hills and the ridges were covered 
 with forest, chiefly of the deciduous type, though evergreens 
 were not wanting, for it was not many miles to the edge of the 
 northern pine woods, or "pineries," where many enterprising 
 Wisconsin men had found much wealth. 
 
 Within the boundaries of this district the Norwegian stock 
 has long been and no doubt still is in great majority. There 
 are, of course, native Americans settled in parts of the area, 
 notably in the villages. Families of German origin can also be 
 found here and there in the settlement, but unless there have 
 
 228 
 
THE WAUPACA SETTLEMENT 229 
 
 been notable racial shiftings in the last generation these ele- 
 ments will be found to be of little strength. 
 
 The first Norwegians came into the Indian country about 
 1850. They settled in the western part of Waupaca County in 
 the township which, when organized, was named Scandinavia. 
 The new local unit soon developed into one of the strongest 
 Norwegian communities in the land. A Lutheran congrega- 
 tion, the Scandinavia church, was formed at an early date; and 
 for a number of years it was rated as the largest of all the Nor- 
 wegian churches in the entire country; in 1894 it counted about 
 fifteen hundred souls. Its membership had come largely from 
 the interior valleys of southern Norway. It was a rural popula- 
 tion drawn from the rural element of the old land. Its ideals 
 were those of the countryside; its activities were largely con- 
 cerned with the economics of the soil. 
 
 In the neighboring settlements in Waupaca, Portage, and 
 other near-by counties, there were flourishing congregations 
 which for a time made part of what was called the Scandinavia 
 circuit. In the later eighties the pastors of this group of 
 churches began to talk about the desirability of establishing a 
 higher school. The churches outside the Waupaca settlement 
 took only a slight interest in these deliberations. But within 
 that area the conversations had developed into a movement; 
 funds were being subscribed, educational plans were being dis- 
 cussed, and in 1893 a building and an organization called the 
 Scandinavia Academy were ready to receive students. The in- 
 stitution thus established lived on for nearly forty years — in its 
 later phase it was known as Central Wisconsin Junior College. 
 But it proved unable to weather the storm in the years of the 
 great depression, and in 1933 it was transformed into a public 
 high school. 
 
 The circumstances at the time of opening were anything 
 but auspicious. The state had just built a new normal school 
 at Stevens Point in the next county and only twenty miles dis- 
 tant. The panic of 1893 had stricken the land with fear, and 
 the thrifty Norwegian farmers concluded that they had no 
 
230 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 more money to invest in higher education. The principal who 
 was to guide and promote the venture was not in the best of 
 health; after a few months he resigned his position. It was a 
 bad beginning. 
 
 When I returned home after commencement I had no pros- 
 pects whatever of securing the sort of employment that I should 
 like to have. Work there was no doubt to be found, though 
 not of the sort that calls for a man with an academic degree. 
 Having spent so much time as I had in study, I felt that it was 
 incumbent on me to secure a position which my parents and 
 friends would consider as of sufficient dignity and prestige. 
 
 Then one day I was invited to come over to Peter Huglen's 
 farm to meet a clergyman who wished to see me. We were 
 rather close to the Huglens, since Mrs. Huglen's brother, James 
 Ellickson, had married my sister Katie. The visiting friend 
 was Huglen's brother-in-law, K. O. Eidahl, who was the pastor 
 of a group of churches in Portage County, in the northern part 
 of the Waupaca settlement. He had been one of the most 
 energetic promoters of the new academy and was a member 
 of its governing board. He was now looking about for a new 
 principal and Huglen had urged him to talk with me. 
 
 Eidahl was a product of earlier conditions. His parents had 
 come to Wisconsin a dozen years before the Civil War. He 
 was born in Wisconsin and was one of the first American-born 
 Norwegians to be ordained to the Lutheran ministry. In spite 
 of his native birth he never came to know the English language 
 as a leader should know it. His college education he had re- 
 ceived in Norwegian; his theological training largely in Ger- 
 man. Eidahl was well informed on many subjects; but his 
 ideas as to what was demanded in the higher schools in the 
 decade of the nineties were somewhat vague and even foggy. 
 He was a man of some sagacity ; he realized fully that the times 
 demanded English in their educational programs; but just how 
 much English should be required he did not know. 
 
 The fact that I spoke my native language fluently and that 
 
SCANDINAVIA ACADEMY 231 
 
 I seemed to be reasonably well informed on Norwegian afTairs 
 on both sides of the sea appealed to him; but he was careful 
 not to commit himself on the subject of an appointment. Our 
 conference did not therefore seem entirely satisfactory : it looked 
 as if it might lead to nothing. I found work with a neighbor 
 farmer and was helping him stack his grain when a letter was 
 brought to me which proved to contain the information that I 
 had been appointed principal of Scandinavia Academy. 
 
 It need not be said that I was highly pleased with the news. 
 I was to have a salary of seven hundred dollars, which was 
 something, if not very much. In addition I was to have a suite 
 of rooms in the academy building. Such inquiries as I was able 
 to make brought out the information that the Norwegians were 
 strong in central Wisconsin; and it was generally believed that 
 if they would give the institution reasonable support, it was 
 likely to have a prosperous future. 
 
 There would be difficulties, that I knew. A friend warned 
 me to be as diplomatic as I knew how, for I was to deal with a 
 stiff-necked race. There would be responsibilities that might 
 not be pleasant, but I did not shrink from them even in 
 thought. For I was twenty-five years old and I, too, was of 
 the same stiff-necked race. 
 
 As soon as I could get released from my farm duties I began 
 to make preparations for my departure for Wisconsin. But 
 first I had to make a journey to Des Moines, where a lovely 
 young woman was waiting to see me once more before I should 
 leave the state. 
 
 I had also promised to deliver a lecture before the teachers' 
 institute, which was then in session in Forest City. For this 
 lecture I was to have ten dollars, and I was glad to have the 
 fee; it was the first money that I ever received for a public per- 
 formance of this sort. Whether I actually earned the money is 
 another question: I had a great deal to say and I had worked 
 out my sentences with great care; but I do not believe that I 
 said very much that could be really helpful to those who came 
 to hear me. 
 
232 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 It was a lovely August morning when I alighted from a 
 Green Bay train at the station called Scandinavia. For some 
 reason that I do not recall I had found it expedient to travel 
 by way of St. Paul instead of the more direct route through 
 Winona. The trains had been far from first class. The station 
 was small and not in good repair. The village behind it was un- 
 impressive. I had expected nothing elaborate, but this looked 
 anything but promising. I could not, however, allow myself 
 to get discouraged so early in the game, for a job is a job. 
 Moreover, there was wine in the air and youth is the time of 
 quick reactions. 
 
 My objective was the Lutheran parsonage, a mile or so north 
 of the village. As I walked on along the highway I found 
 much to look at, and I was interested in what I saw. For the 
 country here was different from anything I had seen anywhere 
 in Iowa. Lovely green and wooded ridges ran outward toward 
 the horizon, each in its own direction. A stream came down 
 from the north and ran south past the village. It was a small 
 stream but large enough to be dammed and utilized for power: 
 Scandinavia had begun with a mill. Looking up the valleys I 
 could see farms and farmhouses. The familiar cornfields were 
 not part of the scenery, nor did I see much grain stubble. I 
 learned the reason the same day: the leading crop in this sec- 
 tion was potatoes. I was in the great potato belt of central 
 Wisconsin. 
 
 To the right on a bit of high ground was a large building 
 which I was sure must be the academy. It was not an attractive 
 structure but it looked as if there was much room in it. Back 
 of it was a small lake, at the farther end of which the forest 
 seemed to grow thick and heavy. On the whole the outlook 
 over the hills was quite pleasing. Later, when September came 
 with light frosts and the trees began to put on new colors, the 
 countryside became very beautiful. 
 
 At the parsonage I was welcomed by the Reverend O. Nil- 
 sen, who was pastor of the local church and of two or three 
 smaller congregations in the neighborhood. He was also presi- 
 
A COUNTRY CLERGYMAN 233 
 
 dent of the board that directed the affairs of the school ; as such 
 he was my chief as long as I remained in charge of the in- 
 stitution. I dislike to use the term " Reverend," but in Pastor 
 Nilsen's case the term was properly applied. Even the finest 
 clerical types of modern fiction could scarcely be an improve- 
 ment on the character of this country pastor. At the altar he 
 was a devoted priest; outside the church he was the courageous 
 leader, the wise counselor, and the loyal friend. 
 
 Nilsen was a small man with a clearly marked, intelligent 
 face. He did not look strong; yet I have never seen a man with 
 better health. When I saw him last he was in his eighty-ninth 
 year; but he did not look aged. He was engaged in various 
 minor literary activities and was still able to travel alone by 
 train or otherwise, if the journey was not too long. When I re- 
 marked on his amazing agility he replied, " Yes, but you know 
 I have never been ill a single day in all my life." He died in 
 the autumn of 1934 at the age of ninety years. 
 
 He was highly appreciated by all his parishioners; only one 
 thing troubled them : the pastor was a Prohibitionist, a fact that 
 was almost unbelievable. How could such a fine man fail to 
 be a Republican? Saloons were not allowed in the township, 
 so why should anyone worry about the party label? There 
 was one Democrat in the village; but, since he had been re- 
 warded by Cleveland with the postmastership, his aberration, 
 though difficult to justify, was quite comprehensible. 
 
 The pastor was about fifty years old when I saw him first. 
 He was born and reared in one of the interior valleys in Nor- 
 way; his background was rural life with its many trials and 
 small opportunities. At the age of twenty-seven he emigrated, 
 and three years later was ordained to the Lutheran ministry. 
 Somehow he had formed the acquaintance of a young woman 
 of the upper middle class whose family lived in one of the 
 southern Norwegian seaports. This lady was a talented musi- 
 cian and had studied her art in Paris. It may seem strange 
 that she should marry a country clergyman; but she did and 
 became the mother of a large family. 
 
234 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 I remained at the parsonage for two or three weeks. The 
 time was spent in orientation. It seemed necessary to produce 
 proof that the academy now had a dependable chief. Conse- 
 quently, it seemed wise to spend a few days traveling up and 
 down the settlement to meet important men and to address 
 such gatherings as one might be able to attend. This part of 
 my duties was somewhat distasteful to me; I was not equipped 
 to be a promoter. It is likely that I disappointed my new 
 friends very much at the very outset, since I insisted on using 
 the English language whenever I had to address an audience. 
 
 We began our work in September. Most of the time I had 
 three or four assistants, including Mrs. Nilsen, who gave such 
 instruction in music as might be desired. One of the teachers, 
 T. K. Thorstenson, had a master's degree from the University 
 of Minnesota. During the year one of our men died. In his 
 place we secured N. N. Hageness, a North Dakota boy of Nor- 
 wegian birth. Hageness was not so well prepared as he might 
 have been; but the subjects that he knew, he knew thoroughly; 
 his classroom was never a dull place. After many years in edu- 
 cational work, Hageness retired from the profession and is now 
 engaged in business in Tacoma, Washington. 
 
 I had set forth from a little alien settlement in Iowa which, 
 in matters of culture and population, was almost like a com- 
 munity in Old Norway; I had come to another settlement in 
 Wisconsin to which the same general characterization would 
 apply. But there was a difference — I sensed it immediately. 
 The Waupaca settlement was older, stronger, more homoge- 
 neous, more isolated intellectually than ours in Winnebago 
 County. In the Scandinavia county the native element had not 
 yet begun to influence the inner life of the aliens to any appre- 
 ciable extent. Consequently, English was often poorly spoken, 
 more so than even in our own locality in northern Iowa. 
 
 The men and women whom I had known in my younger 
 days had come from all parts of Norway. My new friends, on 
 the other hand, had their kinsmen chiefly in the same general 
 section of the southern part of that country. While in religious 
 
A NORWEGIAN ENVIRONMENT 235 
 
 matters my own community was divided and supported com- 
 peting congregations, the Waupaca settlement had in this re- 
 spect been almost a unit from the very first. Vigorous young men 
 with academic degrees from the old homeland had come into 
 the settlement in its earlier days to organize the emigrants 
 into churches and to minister to them. Quite naturally they 
 sought to reproduce conditions as they had all known them to 
 be in rural Norway, and to a great extent they had succeeded. 
 Even the details of congregational economy were to be as in the 
 old country. The parsonage was a small farm from which the 
 pastor was expected to derive most of the necessities of life. 
 Sizable offerings to the clerical purse were laid upon the altar 
 at the three great church festivals, Christmas, Easter, and Pente- 
 cost. There were other contributions from time to time but 
 they were never large. 
 
 One could realize fully the unity and the strength of the 
 community in our part of the settlement on Sunday mornings, 
 when a mighty procession of farm vehicles could be seen 
 headed for the Scandinavia church. In this old barn-like struc- 
 ture four hundred families gathered to worship. In short I had 
 come into an environment that was more consistently Norwe- 
 gian than the one from which I had set forth. 
 
 In such a community I was to plan and build a school on 
 American lines. I would not claim that I was eminently suc- 
 cessful in dealing with this assignment; but when I think back 
 upon the difficulties and perplexities that appeared on every 
 side, I am surprised that my associates and I were able to carry 
 the work forward as far as we did. 
 
cjif XXVII |* 
 
 i 
 
 remained in charge of the academy for five years. In many 
 respects these were five heavy years. There was much work 
 to be done, far more than should be asked of one man. The 
 problems of discipline were difficult and required more tact 
 than a young man usually has at his disposal. At times I en- 
 countered opposition of a character that was often unreasoning 
 and sometimes even unfriendly. Our student body was small, 
 the number rarely passing the hundred mark. No doubt the 
 acute economic misery of the decade was largely responsible 
 for the slight progress that we were able to show. " How can 
 you think of sending your daughter to school in hard times like 
 these! " said a man to his neighbor. " Well," replied the latter, 
 " one must try to live even when times are hard." Since there 
 were others who had similar thoughts, we were not left entirely 
 without support. 
 
 The boys and girls who came to us were often very poorly 
 prepared. But since our purpose was to help the sons and 
 daughters of the farm, we refused admission to none, even if 
 they were inadequately trained. This must not be taken to 
 mean that they were necessarily deficient in intellectual power: 
 we had many young men who have since proved their abilities 
 in a variety of ways. Lars A. Dahl, one of the first to come to 
 us, is a surgeon of repute in Los Angeles. Oscar Hellestad, 
 after the usual period of college and seminary training, crossed 
 the sea and went into the interior of China to bring the gospel 
 
 236 
 
ACADEMY PROBLEMS 237 
 
 to an ancient people. Carl Anderson is associated with the 
 Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. Oscar H. Eliason served 
 a term of years as veterinarian for the state of Wisconsin. 
 Henry Hotz holds a deanship in the University of Arkansas. 
 Others have shown competence and capacity in business, in 
 farming, in teaching, and in other lines. We did not carry our 
 pupils very far forward; but we gave them some of the funda- 
 mentals of an education; perhaps we also did something to 
 stimulate their ambition to seek for greater treasures in higher 
 institutions. 
 
 We should no doubt have been able to do more if we had 
 received adequate financial support; but the problem of finance 
 was one that the governing board was never able to solve. 
 Some of the good citizens believed that the institution could 
 be made self-supporting. They pointed to schools that were 
 run for profit and wondered why we could not do quite as 
 well. With the most rigid economy we sometimes came sur- 
 prisingly near breaking even; but of course we could not have 
 done so well as that, if we had paid decent salaries. 
 
 Unfortunately I had neither the skill nor the suave assurance 
 of the born salesman. I found it extremely difficult to approach 
 a man with a request for a donation. When I tried to help 
 out in this way I was soon discouraged. I went twice beyond 
 the limits of the Waupaca settlement, but found little sympathy 
 for the cause that I tried to present. " I don't believe in these 
 high schools," said a farmer who was rude as well as plain- 
 spoken. " See what they do to our young men. There is my 
 brother, what has become of him ? Only a Democrat." 
 
 The men who promoted the academy seemed to feel that 
 higher education was in some peculiar way a concern of the 
 church. For this reason, perhaps, they appeared to believe that 
 students should live in a sublimated atmosphere. The most 
 difficult question was what to do about the dance. To many 
 thoughtful souls there seemed to be something very gross in 
 the dance, something that belonged to the animal; and they 
 urged that this form of amusement be prohibited. Dancing in 
 
238 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 the school building found no favor anywhere, but how about 
 attending dances away from the campus in the week end ? On 
 this question there were many debates in the meetings of the 
 board of directors, but the dispute was never settled. 
 
 It soon became clear to me that there must be reasons other 
 than economics and finance for the slow progress that seemed 
 to be our lot. The men who appeared to have the institution 
 most at heart were also leaders in the church. They had re- 
 ceived their training in church schools, in seminaries, or in col- 
 leges that stressed preparation for the religious ministry. They 
 did not believe it possible to conduct any other sort of educational 
 institution, at least they were sure that no other type of school 
 could succeed among their own people. They could see no 
 patronage except such as came from the church membership, 
 and in that view they were very nearly correct. 
 
 It was therefore quite natural that they should wish to em- 
 phasize the religious character of the academy, in its curricu- 
 lum as well as in its life. One of the distinctive features of its 
 plan of instruction should be courses in the fundamentals of 
 religion; and by this they meant, of course, the ethical and the 
 doctrinal system of the Lutheran church. 
 
 This program had been put forward at the very inception of 
 the academy plan and had met immediate opposition. Among 
 those who had supported the venture there were a few who be- 
 lieved and argued that religious training need no more be a 
 part of high school instruction than of the work in the grades. 
 Most of them were loyal to the church; but they were also 
 loyal citizens and they were anxious that the new institution 
 should be as nearly like the typical American high school as it 
 could be made. They were therefore radically opposed to the 
 clerical group, who seemed to want something quite different 
 from the ordinary school of the high school grade. 
 
 There were also a few who opposed having religious in- 
 struction because it was religious. The leader of this group was 
 Michael Ravn, a highly competent physician who had received 
 
A NORWEGIAN DOCTOR 239 
 
 his training in the national university of Oslo, in those days still 
 called Christiania. Dr. Ravn had a vigorous and attractive per- 
 sonality. Urbane and polished in his manners, he could not 
 fail to be a very effective opponent. He was, at the same time, 
 uncompromisingly Norse in opinion and point of view; in his 
 contempt for his professional brethren of the native race he had 
 not even cared to learn sufficient English to be able to converse 
 with them in their own speech. 
 
 Dr. Ravn practiced almost exclusively among his own people. 
 They gave him much to do and his fame drew patients to Scan- 
 dinavia from every part of central Wisconsin. For his day he 
 was a competent scientist. He believed that science, and by 
 that he meant biology, would some day be able to solve the 
 great problems of existence, problems that philosophy had so 
 long examined without success. I recall a day when we en- 
 gaged in a long discussion on this point. I believed that phi- 
 losophy, using the results of scientific research, might prove a 
 wiser guide than pure science. Ravn denied this with vehe- 
 mence. Philosophy, in his opinion, was a bankrupt discipline. 
 I am not sure now that recent trends in philosophic thought do 
 not really indicate that Dr. Ravn was fundamentally right in 
 this contention. At the same time science appears to be coming 
 no closer to the core of things. Perhaps we were both wrong. 
 
 The Ravns were an interesting family. Mrs. Ravn was a 
 sister of Dr. Knut Hoegh, a widely known Norwegian physi- 
 cian located in La Crosse, Wisconsin. She was a woman of 
 refinement, but her culture was that of the homeland. Not 
 being entirely sure that her husband was right in his views on 
 the subject of religion, she saw to it that her children were 
 baptized. It should be stated that Dr. Ravn would surely dis- 
 claim being an atheist or even a deist. His opposition was not 
 so much to the church itself as to certain activities which he re- 
 garded as baneful and which he believed were fostered by am- 
 bitious churchmen. 
 
 Intellectually the Nilsen family and the Ravn family were 
 both of high character. Both were Norwegian in almost every 
 
240 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 respect. The Norwegian language was the language of life and 
 thought and daily work in both households, though I should 
 say that the Ravns were more intensely Norse than the Nilsens. 
 Unlike the physician, the clergyman had received most of his 
 training on this side of the water, though in schools where 
 English was not spoken. His teachers had all done their aca- 
 demic work in Norway; still, the environment in Minneapolis 
 was wholly different from that in Oslo, and could not fail to 
 have a positive influence even in a theological education. 
 
 In the conflict between these two leaders (and it was a 
 friendly conflict), I had no real interest. Having had no re- 
 ligious training in any sort of a school, not even in a Sunday 
 school, I could not be impressed by the clerical arguments. It 
 seemed to me that more could be accomplished by seeking to 
 create and maintain a Christian atmosphere in and about the 
 institution than by any kind of formal class instruction. At 
 first I was disposed to give the opposition a chance to find a 
 mode of settlement and thus to end the contention; but it soon 
 became evident that the positively religious element would have 
 to be given what it demanded, since it had done more to estab- 
 lish the institution than any other group; without its cordial 
 support the venture could not flourish. 
 
 The question then was, how can the ideals of the clerical 
 group be realized? Every morning we had chapel exercises 
 with hymns, Scripture reading, and prayer. Again, in the eve- 
 ning, just before the study period was to begin, we had brief 
 exercises of the same type. These, however, could not satisfy 
 the demand for direct instruction. So the question was, what 
 shall we offer and what shall we require in the field of re- 
 ligion? To this question we never found the answer, for the 
 subject never became a practical issue within the academy walls. 
 It might be presumed that after long debate the proponents of 
 religious training would have a feasible plan to present to the 
 principal. Such a plan was never produced; even if it had 
 been, it could scarcely have been put into operation. For we 
 were faced with the stern realities of practical finance. If work 
 
A CHURCH LEADER 241 
 
 of this sort were to be done, a competent and thoroughly 
 trained teacher would have to be employed; furthermore, 
 money would have to be found to pay his salary. The teachers 
 on the ground were poorly equipped for duties of this sort; 
 moreover, they had been hired to give instruction in their own 
 fields, and their bounden duties took all the time that could 
 reasonably be demanded. 
 
 It occurred to me that since this work would be directly in 
 the service of the church in its larger organization, it might 
 properly be provided for in the budget of the general church 
 body. Once when I happened to be in the western part of the 
 state, I took a train to Eau Claire to put the matter before the 
 Right Reverend G. Hoyme, the president, one might even say 
 the archbishop, of the United Norwegian Lutheran Church. 
 
 Hoyme was a most remarkable man. When one looked 
 upon the fine bearded face with its clear-cut profile and its 
 penetrating eyes, one knew that great power resided in that 
 stately figure. He usually said very little; but what he did say 
 seemed to have been thought out long before. There was dig- 
 nity in his bearing, majesty in his soul. To see such a man face 
 to face and to hear him speak made a journey well worth while. 
 
 We discussed our problem but reached no agreement. The 
 Norwegian academies had been built, argued Hoyme, without 
 authorization from any church body and the church could there- 
 fore not be expected to give them financial support. This argu- 
 ment was, of course, irrefutable; still, these institutions had been 
 established in the interest of the church and I believed that the 
 general body could not afford to ignore that fact. Nothing was 
 done or could be done at the time; but some years later the 
 general convention of the United Norwegian Lutheran Church 
 undertook to assist these ancillary institutions with small sub- 
 ventions, adopting substantially the plan, even to the amount 
 allowed, that I had proposed in Hoyme's library. 
 
 As I have indicated above, there was in the decade of the 
 seventies quite a little hostility in the Norwegian settlements to 
 
242 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 many things that were thought of as American or English. 
 The leaders, especially the pastoral guides, never ceased to urge 
 the cultivation of a positive Norsedom on western soil. The 
 program in certain localities had been quite ambitious : English 
 was to be learned, but not before the thirteenth year; during 
 the first dozen years of its life the child was to read, speak, and 
 think in the mother's language and in no other. By that time, 
 it was believed, the character and the mental habits of the child 
 would have been so completely formed that there was little 
 danger of the young person's becoming anything else than a 
 transplanted Norseman. 
 
 This view was at one time held quite generally by the clergy 
 in the powerful body known as the Norwegian Synod. The 
 leaders of this organization had nearly all been educated in 
 Norway and wished to know as little as possible about the 
 ideals of American social life. Some of the stronger men in the 
 Synod, men who were outstanding in influence and leadership, 
 went so far as to stigmatize the common school as godless and 
 even ungodly, to the great confusion of the lay mind, which 
 somehow felt that this was a worthy institution and entitled to 
 cordial support. 
 
 It may be that these churchmen, who were naturally quite 
 conservative, were strengthened in their views through contact 
 with the Lutheran Missouri Synod, a powerful German organi- 
 zation with headquarters in St. Louis. The Germans had gone 
 far forward in the development of a parochial school system; 
 and the Norwegian clerics were led to believe that they could 
 do as well in their own parishes. 
 
 One must not believe that Norwegian-Americans were gen- 
 erally of this opinion; on the contrary the rank and file of the 
 laity were skeptical of parochial establishments. The left (or 
 the Haugean) wing of the church, which included my own 
 family, for example, was practically a unit in support of the 
 common school. And this element kept possession of the battle- 
 field. 
 
THE PROBLEM OF EDUCATION 243 
 
 In the later eighties and the earlier nineties the problem of 
 education appeared in a new form. By this time the dream 
 that Norwegian schools of the primary grade could be built and 
 maintained had come to be understood as being a dream only. 
 The purpose now was to build schools of the secondary grade, 
 higher schools in which all the instruction was to be given in 
 English, except that the study of languages might demand the 
 use of the idiom which the student was trying to learn. Even 
 religion might be taught in English, though the better medium 
 would be Norwegian. 
 
 There was to be one subject that was to be dealt with in a 
 particular way: Norwegian was to "occupy the high seat." 
 By Norwegian was meant the language of Norway and its liter- 
 ature; perhaps a little Norwegian history might be added to 
 enrich the curriculum. This was no doubt to be the program 
 at Scandinavia; on this Ravn and the clerics were in agreement. 
 
 I do not know what happened in this respect after my day, 
 but so long as I was in charge Norwegian had no place in the 
 plan of instruction. There was no opposition to the language 
 on the part of the staff; Norwegian was a subject that we could 
 have taken up without calling for additional help. The diffi- 
 culty was that the students wanted other lines of work. Nor- 
 wegian was an old story — they had heard it all their lives. 
 Now they wanted algebra, Latin, bookkeeping, history, natural 
 science, and other subjects that were new to them. And, of 
 course, they had their way. 
 
 The failure to have classes in Norwegian was therefore not 
 due to neglect on my part, and the same can be said of the sub- 
 ject of religion. But the fact that these two important studies 
 were not being taught reacted unfavorably on our work. They 
 had been dear to the founders and in many cases had provided 
 the reason for supporting the venture; and now nothing was 
 being done to promote them. Some of our former strong 
 friends became indifferent and our enrollment suffered an in- 
 evitable decline. 
 
:J XXVIII Js 
 
 A 
 
 few months after I had begun my work at the academy 
 a meeting of the Scandinavia circuit was held in the local 
 church. This area covered a large part of central and eastern 
 Wisconsin, extending as far as Milwaukee and Green Bay. 
 There were many clergymen in the circuit, and a considerable 
 number of them had arrived to join in the conferences on the 
 problems of the church. 
 
 Pastor Nilsen had hoped to use the occasion to create an in- 
 terest in the academy, and had asked me to announce a lecture 
 in the assembly for an evening during the meetings. The hall 
 was packed. I discussed certain problems of education in a 
 broad way. Perhaps I was not careful enough to get down to 
 the level of my audience; but I believe that not a single state- 
 ment was made to which anyone could take exception. To an 
 educated audience most of what I had to say would seem obvi- 
 ous and possibly trite ; but it was not so with the audience that I 
 addressed that night. To many of my hearers the ideas that 
 I put forth seemed to be either radical or without meaning. 
 
 After my lecture John O. Hougen, the pastor of a church in 
 Manitowoc, was asked to take the platform. Hougen was a 
 man of recognized ability ; he had some reputation as a literary 
 critic and as a connoisseur of art. It was believed that he would 
 have something to say that would add to the enjoyment of the 
 evening. He spoke, but the results were not according to ex- 
 pectation. 
 
 244 
 
A CAPTIOUS CLERGYMAN 245 
 
 Evidently Hougen was in a critical mood that night. He 
 began by telling us that our building was not an architectural 
 gem, which some of us knew only too well. After a few min- 
 utes he came to me and to my remarks; all that I had said dis- 
 pleased him. Most of all he was displeased with my choice 
 of subject: it came too near being a psychological discourse, he 
 thought. Finally he noted with evident disapproval that I had 
 alluded — once only — to Martin Luther. 
 
 I was the host of the evening. The captious clergyman was 
 a guest. And the guest proceeded to hold the host up to ridicule. 
 To put it mildly, the performance was very crude. His attack 
 failed to achieve its purpose, whatever it may have been. His 
 colleagues disliked his remarks; my friends resented them. In 
 fact, my position was stronger after he had spoken than before. 
 For some time I did not know what it all meant; but gradually 
 I began to understand; I saw clearly that I should have to 
 withdraw from the institution as soon as I could do so with 
 dignity and safety. The meaning was that certain clergymen 
 were unwilling that a man educated in a Reformed institution 
 should be allowed to hold a principalship in a Lutheran school. 
 I might not necessarily be a disloyal member of the church; but 
 my training had been too unorthodox and there was a suspicion 
 that I had become tainted with heresy. All this was not mere 
 guesswork on my part; it was told me in clear language by one 
 of my clerical friends who, I am sure, wished me well and was 
 anxious to have me remain at my post. I have never had much 
 liking for administrative duties and I cannot claim to have 
 been eminently successful in that part of my work. For teach- 
 ing I have always had much enthusiasm and, as I believed, all 
 the necessary preparation. However, so far as I have been in- 
 formed, a satisfactory principal, one who was willing to make 
 the work at the academy his career, was never found. 
 
 Meanwhile, the hard times continued. Banks received de- 
 posits but were more than cautious in making loans. Once I 
 tried to borrow a small sum at a bank in Waupaca but was 
 
246 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 refused. The cashier informed me that no endorsement was 
 good enough at a time like that. In fact the bank was at the 
 time making practically no loans whatever. 
 
 The feeling, now growing strong in many parts of the West, 
 that the situation might be remedied by a larger use of silver 
 was not entirely absent from our community. But, after the 
 St. Louis platform had been adopted and McKinley had given 
 his approval to its financial program, our neighbors lost their 
 interest in the cheaper metal. The light had entered into 
 their souls, and they were all strong for the gold standard. 
 
 When I came to Scandinavia I still counted myself a Repub- 
 lican, though some of my friends had misgivings about my 
 loyalty. In the campaign of 1894, I presided at a Republican 
 rally and introduced the speaker, Congressman Nils P. Haugen, 
 who had come among us to prevent any serious defection 
 among the Norwegians. But it was not long before I found 
 myself drifting away from the old moorings: I had evidently 
 become a Mugwump. The old claim of the Republicans to be 
 "the party of great moral ideas" was, it now seemed to me, 
 hypocrisy of the first water. The talk about honest money 
 also left me cold. I could not be sure, but it seemed to me that 
 a dollar that was apparently adding to its own value was no 
 more honest than one which was moving the other way. 
 
 What did more than anything else to drive me out of the old 
 party was Mark Hanna's attempt (and it was a successful at- 
 tempt) to organize the foreign vote. While continuing loyal to 
 my own people, my experiences in Scandinavia were leading 
 me to believe that too much emphasis was being placed on 
 racial origins. Here was a mighty organization which was 
 deliberately turning back the hands of the clock and striving 
 to make the alien politically conscious, not as an American 
 citizen, but as a member of an alien group. That was a policy 
 which I could not approve. 
 
 Soon we read of vast political processions in which Hebrew- 
 American clubs, Swedish-American clubs, German-American 
 clubs, and other hyphenated organizations marched in proud 
 
THE CAMPAIGN OF 1896 247 
 
 array. No doubt something of this sort is inevitable in many 
 parts of our land, but I felt that the hyphen should not be 
 fostered and financed by political committees. If political na- 
 tivism is wrong, political alienism is even more reprehensible. 
 
 In view of the fact that my community was almost unani- 
 mous for McKinley, I might have decided not to vote the presi- 
 dential ticket, though in a canvass so highly emotional as that 
 of 1896, it would be difficult to refrain. My decision to do 
 otherwise resulted from an unpleasant happening that occurred 
 at a political meeting. The orator, a fairly capable stump 
 speaker from Egyptian, Illinois, digressed for a moment from 
 his prepared speech to pay his respects to young teachers and 
 principals who went away to serve false political gods. The 
 audience, suspecting that the shaft was aimed at me, as it doubt- 
 less was, cheered lustily. I could have ignored the orator; but 
 the applause of my neighbors I regarded as an insult. 
 
 Some time later an invitation came to me to speak at a Demo- 
 cratic meeting in Waupaca, which I accepted. No doubt this 
 was a mistake, but it was what one would be likely to do in those 
 exciting weeks. It was my first and last attempt at political 
 oratory. The audience was hostile and my arguments, if I had 
 any, were wasted on unwilling ears. 
 
 My appearance on the platform was soon forgotten in Wau- 
 paca; not so in Scandinavia. As the campaign progressed, feel- 
 ing became more bitter every day. No one who has not lived 
 through this campaign can imagine how intense political excite- 
 ment can become. I was singled out and made the object of 
 various forms of petty persecution such as a hostile neighbor- 
 hood knows so well how to encourage. Insulting remarks and 
 meaningful glances became quite common. The result was 
 that I rarely went down to the village till after election. 
 
 My friends were distressed : they realized that an attempt was 
 being made to drive me out of the academy, an outcome which 
 they feared would be to the injury of the institution as well as 
 to me. As for me, I was anxious to leave as soon as I could, 
 but I refused to be driven away. 
 
248 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 In the evening of election day Hageness (who was also 
 heretically inclined) and I joined others at the railway station 
 to hear the returns. We were courteously treated, even to the 
 point of being asked to share a keg of beer which some of the 
 more enthusiastic had brought to the office. No one could be 
 angry that night, for, as the news began to come in, it looked 
 as if nearly every voter had joined the victorious majority. One 
 could afford to be generous. 
 
 The bitterness soon subsided. Our patrons reflected that the 
 work at the academy was going forward better than they had 
 reason to expect. Two years later, when Scandinavia celebrated 
 the national birthday, I was asked to give the principal address. 
 In other ways, too, an effort was made to accentuate the fact 
 that 1896 was past history. 
 
 After I had served at the academy for three or four years 
 my friends began to believe and possibly to hope that I would 
 be willing to continue indefinitely in the principalship. If such 
 was to be the case I ought, so they argued, to be brought into 
 closer touch with the religious forces, on the co-operation of 
 which the academy would have to depend. In 1897 (or it may 
 have been the following year) I was encouraged to attend the 
 annual meeting of the United Norwegian Lutheran Church, 
 which was to meet in St. Paul in June. It is my memory that 
 I was given credentials as a delegate from the local congrega- 
 tion. This did not mean a great deal, since I was not likely to 
 take an active part in the proceedings. Still, as a delegate I had 
 an official status; moreover, my railway fare was paid, which 
 in those days was an important consideration. 
 
 The convention was large and the sessions proved highly 
 interesting. It was the largest gathering of the sort that I had 
 ever attended. It brought together a highly influential section 
 of Norwegian-American leadership. Men of whom I had 
 heard and read since early boyhood I now met face to face for 
 the first time. In one respect the gathering was a disappoint- 
 ment: its outstanding men seemed to be so much on the same 
 
A CHURCH CONVENTION 249 
 
 intellectual level. One must remember, however, that in a 
 society so individualistic as that of the Norwegian pioneers, it 
 is not so easy to achieve unquestioned leadership. 
 
 The proceedings were all conducted in the Norwegian lan- 
 guage. Only one clerical member had the temerity to address 
 the convention in English. I am quite sure that many of those 
 present disapproved of his remarks. A fraternal delegate from 
 one of the larger general bodies of Lutheranism also spoke in 
 English; but that was regarded as quite natural, seeing that he 
 was an American. It was not until the distressful days of the 
 World War that the leaders of the church began to realize that 
 the insistence on a foreign idiom hindered its work, especially 
 in the urban centers. 
 
^J XXIX Jfc 
 
 i 
 
 n August, 1899, Lillian and I were in Madison. We found 
 living quarters in the southwest part of town, not far from 
 Camp Randall and quite near the edge of the city. A rickety 
 sidewalk ran out toward the southwest, headed apparently for 
 nowhere — I believe it is now Monroe Street. A feeble attempt 
 had been made to develop University Heights, but with little 
 success. Three or four houses had been built high up on the 
 crest, but that was about all. The intervening territory was 
 occupied only in the dream of the real-estate man; but in this 
 case the dream was more than a promoter's fantasy; it was a 
 vision, and it came true. 
 
 Since there were yet several weeks till the opening of work 
 on the "Hill," as the nonprofessional part of the university 
 was called, we had ample time to wander about and enjoy the 
 beautiful localities in and near the city; and these were many. 
 Few towns have such an asset in beauty as Madison has in its 
 lakes, especially in Lake Mendota. Not only is Mendota a 
 lovely sheet of water but it is large enough to be impressive and 
 I have seen days, wild, stormy winter days, when it was truly 
 awesome. 
 
 But to one who remembered some of the better residential 
 districts in Des Moines, the city itself could not be impressive. 
 At the time I was not much disturbed about this, but when I 
 think back I seem to feel that the good citizens of Madison had 
 failed to realize what a wonderful opportunity nature had given 
 
 250 
 
THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN 251 
 
 them. With a little planning they could have made their city 
 a most attractive town, while in fact most of it was rather ordi- 
 nary. A movement was on foot, it is true, to build a drive 
 westward along the lake; it is a lovely drive, but it could have 
 been made more beautiful than it actually is. 
 
 And yet, something had been done to bring the town into 
 closer harmony with its surroundings. Well up the side of the 
 Hill were (and still are) two cubical structures called North 
 Hall and South Hall. Uglier buildings could not very well be 
 imagined. The neighboring college buildings were great im- 
 provements over these in architecture but they, too, emphasized 
 utility rather than aesthetic excellence. But on the lower cam- 
 pus at the foot of the Hill a new structure was nearing comple- 
 tion, one of the loveliest buildings in the West. It was planned 
 on classic lines; particularly effective was the loggia which ran 
 along the front and caught the rays of the rising sun. This was 
 the new historical library, erected primarily to serve the needs 
 of the state historical society but planned at the same time to 
 house the collections of the university. It is a far cry from 
 North Hall to the new library; but these two structures are the 
 first and last chapters in the history of architectural taste and 
 progress in the university district. 
 
 The new library was completed in the second year of my 
 stay in Madison and was dedicated with such ceremonies as a 
 democratic institution is able to devise. Meanwhile the old 
 library had continued to be in use and a good deal of my time 
 was spent in the bookstacks in that building. One of the first 
 men whom I observed at work in the library was a quiet man 
 with a Vandyke beard who seemed to have charge of the loan 
 desk. This was William H. Dudley, a man of many accom- 
 plishments, whom I came to know very well and whose indul- 
 gent kindness I have much reason to remember. He was helpful 
 to me on many occasions and forgave many infractions of 
 library regulations which, though due to student ignorance, 
 must have been quite annoying. 
 
252 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 I had come to Madison without any plans except a vague 
 purpose to work for the master's degree. Several subjects at- 
 tracted me, but I knew that I would be allowed to take major 
 work in one only. I had always enjoyed language study; litera- 
 ture, too, had interested me, and I read widely in history. It 
 would have to be one of these lines, but which one ? 
 
 Before determining this matter I did what Norwegian stu- 
 dents usually did when much perplexed: I went to consult 
 Julius E. Olson, the professor of Scandinavian languages. I 
 knew Professor Olson by reputation but had never met him. 
 I was told that he could put more vim into a student gathering 
 on the campus than anyone else. If he could not do it with 
 words, he did it with song. He was further known as a man 
 who would always give a student a sympathetic hearing and 
 would send him away with a feeling that he had received good 
 advice. 
 
 I found a man of the usual Norwegian type, except that he 
 seemed more agile in his movements than is common among 
 Norsemen. He appeared to be a man of strong and quick 
 emotions and he evidently had much enthusiasm for his work. 
 He was that day preparing an address in which he would make 
 a pronouncement of the policy of his department with respect 
 to current Norwegian literature. The writings of Ibsen, Bj0rn- 
 son, and Garborg were not popular everywhere in the Nor- 
 wegian settlements: they were too radical in thought, too 
 realistic in content. The center of influential conservatism was 
 presumed to be Decorah, Iowa, where Luther College is lo- 
 cated. It was there that Olson was to deliver his speech. 
 
 After we had discussed this subject for some time, I had to 
 submit to a searching examination into my intellectual back- 
 ground and my preparation for graduate work. The results 
 were apparently satisfactory; Olson seemed to think that I 
 ought to go on with my plans. So we passed to the question 
 of what field I had better try to cultivate. We discussed the 
 whole subject and I went away entirely satisfied that Professor 
 Olson's advice was good. 
 
GRADUATE STUDY 253 
 
 If I were to devote myself to the study of language, I would 
 naturally register in the department of German and give my 
 time to philological subjects. It was doubtful, however, whether 
 my knowledge of German was sufficient to allow me to qualify 
 as a graduate student. If my subject was to be literature the 
 major study would be English; but Olson would not advise 
 registration in that department just then. The outstanding man 
 in English was Professor Freeman, whose fame had gone forth 
 into all the West. But Freeman was absent on leave and might 
 not return for some years. The other good men in the depart- 
 ment were stronger on the language than on the literary side. 
 
 History was a different matter. Registration in history would 
 mean work with Professors Turner and Haskins, and a more 
 powerful academic team could scarcely be found in any other 
 American university. Olson's advice was that I should give my 
 time to history. I was glad to have him state the case in this 
 way, since my leanings were already in the direction of histori- 
 cal study. In the end I came to have history as my major sub- 
 ject, with minor interests in Old English and Old Norse. 
 
 Graduate study in Wisconsin was still in the experimental 
 stage, as it probably was in nearly all other universities at that 
 time. There was what was called a graduate school but it was 
 not precisely that; rather it was an undertaking of a group of 
 departments which the administration believed to be qualified 
 and equipped to organize and direct research. The elaborate 
 system of a later day with faculties, deans, and committees had 
 not yet been devised. There was, indeed, an approach to such 
 an organization : the instruction was supervised by a committee, 
 the chairman of which might, in a sense, be called a dean; but, 
 so far as I could discover, the authority of this committee was 
 very slight. In my own case everything was apparently settled 
 within the department, at least so far as courses, credits, and 
 requirements were concerned. Only in matters specifically con- 
 cerning the degree did higher authorities get into action. 
 
 On registration day I called at the office of Charles Forster 
 
254 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Smith, who was professor of Greek and chairman of the com- 
 mittee on graduate studies. Professor Smith proved to be a 
 mild-mannered elderly gentleman with a southern drawl which 
 he had brought with him from Vanderbilt University. He as- 
 sured me that I would have no difficulties in getting the courses 
 that I wanted; then, observing my name, he looked up and 
 asked, " Are you the Larson who plays ball ? " 
 
 There was on the Wisconsin campus in those days a young 
 Norseman of my name who was achieving an enviable reputa- 
 tion on the gridiron. He had not yet come to graduation and 
 that event was by some of his teachers regarded as exceedingly 
 problematical. Evidently Dr. Smith did not follow the sport- 
 ing news very closely. 
 
 I next went to consult Professor Turner, the head of the de- 
 partment of history, who was to determine what I would be 
 allowed to do. I knew that Dr. Turner was one of the most 
 eminent men in his profession, though I did not precisely know 
 why; I was soon to learn, however, that his fame rested on the 
 important fact that he had given a new interpretation to Ameri- 
 can history, with emphasis on the westward movement. There 
 was nothing impressive about Turner. He was below middle 
 height and of corresponding build. It was easy to talk to him, 
 for there was nothing about him to indicate that he was at all 
 conscious of his own greatness. His voice had a pleasing quality 
 and I should believe that it disliked saying unkind things. This 
 does not mean that Turner was willing to let anything pass; on 
 the contrary, he could be hard as flint when he felt that the oc- 
 casion required it, as many have learned, graduate students as 
 well as others. 
 
 He heard my case in an interested manner and inquired what 
 texts had been used in my history courses. On hearing the 
 titles he remarked, " Anything if it is not Barnes." I informed 
 him that I really was brought up on Barnes. He smiled and 
 added, " So have we all been." He finally concluded that my 
 preparation was doubtful and seemed about to advise that I go 
 into some other field. 
 
WISCONSIN PROFESSORS 255 
 
 Just then a young man who was clearly of the staff appeared 
 in the room and Turner took up my case with him. The new 
 man was Professor Haskins. After a brief consultation the two 
 agreed that I might go on with my plans. It was also agreed 
 that I should take one course with Haskins. A minor in English 
 was approved, though no course was suggested. 
 
 From Turner's office I went to consult Professor Hubbard, 
 who was for the time being in charge of the department of 
 English. Hubbard's field was Anglo-Saxon, a fact which no 
 doubt made it easy for him to recommend that subject to me. 
 I did not, however, have work with him till my second year. 
 Hubbard was not popular in all quarters. He stuttered slightly 
 and often seemed uncertain of his ground. On the whole he 
 was not a successful pedagogue. On the other hand, he was 
 one of the most honest men intellectually that I have ever met. 
 He never bluffed — I believe he was constitutionally unable to 
 pretend to knowledge that he did not have. While he may not 
 always have been right in his estimate of work done, the error 
 was never due to the promptings of hostile feelings. 
 
 Another subject suggested by Professor Hubbard was Ameri- 
 can literature, a course which was given by Professor William 
 B. Cairns. There was no question as to Cairns's knowledge of 
 the subject, but as a teacher he was not highly successful. He 
 had an awkward and rather unattractive personality and a 
 somewhat listless manner. Literature is a subject in which a 
 teacher should be able to convey a measure of his own enthusi- 
 asm to his class; this Cairns could not do. His lectures were 
 often very illuminating but he remained pretty much on the 
 undergraduate level. Cairns's case was that of a man who had 
 much to give but did not know very well how to give it. 
 
cjj XXX |c 
 
 I 
 
 n 1899 the state historical library was housed in the capitol 
 building, where it had been located for some years. Professor 
 Turner's seminar in American history held its sessions in the 
 stack room in this library. The class was assembled around a 
 large table for which a place had been found in front of the 
 shelves. Our meetings were held twice a week late in the after- 
 noon, each period running a little less than two hours. 
 
 Our studies began with the constitutional convention of 1787 
 and continued till the close of Washington's administration. To 
 this decade we gave the entire year. Our labors were concerned 
 almost exclusively with documentary materials; only now and 
 then were we encouraged to consult the pages of some recent 
 writer who had developed original views on the problem before 
 us. It was a typical seminar after the Johns Hopkins model, 
 which again was an importation from Gottingen and Berlin. 
 
 Our group at the outset numbered about a dozen but was 
 soon reduced to seven or eight. I did not realize the fact at the 
 time, but the seminar of that year was, on the whole, a remark- 
 able group of students. Six of its members came to hold im- 
 portant academic or semi-academic positions. Joseph Schafer is 
 secretary of the Wisconsin Historical Society and as such ad- 
 ministers one of the great historical societies in the land. Ed- 
 win W. Pahlow has a professorship in Ohio State University. 
 James F. Willard was for a long time in charge of the depart- 
 ment of history in the University of Colorado. Albert B. Storms 
 
 256 
 
GRADUATE STUDENTS 257 
 
 served for several years as president of the Iowa State Agricul- 
 tural College. William S. Robertson is professor of history and 
 in charge of the department at the University of Illinois. In 
 their respective fields these men have risen to high places with- 
 in the profession. 
 
 There were other able men and women in the group but of 
 their later careers I have no knowledge. In my work in other 
 classes I met Charles McCarthy, Louise Phelps Kellogg, and 
 Allyn Young. Miss Kellogg has since been employed in the 
 Wisconsin Historical Society and has a large number of publi- 
 cations to her credit. McCarthy made a name for himself as 
 chief of the legislative reference bureau in the state capitol. 
 Young became an eminent economist. Of the persons named 
 all are living except Willard, McCarthy, and Young. Young 
 died some years ago in London, where he was serving as lec- 
 turer in the London School of Economics. Professor Willard 
 passed away in Boulder, Colorado, in 1934. 
 
 The next autumn Willard and Robertson returned to the 
 campus, but Schafer had received an appointment in the Uni- 
 versity of Oregon and Pahlow had gone to Harvard as assistant 
 in history. The seminar group was further depleted the fol- 
 lowing year. Robertson had been awarded a fellowship at Yale 
 and was laying the foundation for his later career as a highly 
 productive student of Latin-American history. Willard had re- 
 ceived a stipend from the University of Pennsylvania and con- 
 tinued his work in medieval history at that institution. He was 
 to become one of the few outstanding medievalists on this side 
 of the ocean. When my third year began I was the only one, 
 of the group that had gathered about Turner's seminar table in 
 October, 1899, who still remained on the Wisconsin campus. 
 
 The men whom I have mentioned all had their bachelor's 
 degrees from large institutions; consequently they were thor- 
 oughly acquainted with the newer methods employed in class- 
 room work. I was the only one who came from a small 
 college and the fact was not in my favor. At Drake we had, as 
 I have indicated above, a great deal of give-and-take discussion 
 
258 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 and we were allowed to air our opinions without serious re- 
 strictions. In Madison I found these methods in use to a slight 
 extent only, the lecture being the method usually employed. Of 
 course, in a seminar there naturally would be opportunities for 
 real discussion, since a critical attitude toward the sources is 
 one of the things that a seminar is intended to develop. 
 
 In a study of the making of the federal constitution it was 
 inevitable that the problem of sovereignty should come up for 
 discussion. Professor Turner taught that the fathers had di- 
 vided the sovereignty between the states and the nation. If Tur- 
 ner meant governmental authority, he was doubtless correct, 
 but in my view that was not sovereignty. As I understood the 
 term, sovereignty meant the will of the state and I could not see 
 how a will could be divided. 
 
 Another question that came up was the nature of the federa- 
 tion with respect to secession. I was not interested in the ab- 
 stract right of a state to secede from the union but was coming 
 to believe that the forming of a " more perfect union " was the 
 result of a historic process operating through a century or more. 
 Turner asked me to make a study of public opinion in 1787 and 
 1788 on the nature of the federal compact. I did this in a thesis 
 for the master's degree. My conclusions could not be very posi- 
 tive, since expressions of opinion were not recorded to a great 
 extent in those days; what traces one could find seemed to point 
 in both directions. 
 
 Professor Turner was not pleased with my work; but he ap- 
 proved the study and I got the coveted degree. We were prob- 
 ably not much in disagreement except as to which facts should 
 be emphasized and which should not. But for some reason 
 Turner lost interest in my work and when opportunity came 
 I changed my plans and took up the study of European history 
 in the Middle Ages, which was the province of Professor Charles 
 Homer Haskins. 
 
 I had in my first year two courses with Professor Haskins, 
 one in French institutions and one in the constitutional history 
 of England. In the first of these the class was made up almost 
 
PROFESSORS TURNER AND HASKINS 259 
 
 entirely of graduate students. Practically all those who were 
 enrolled in Turner's seminar were in this class, and with them 
 a few others. The second course had more of an undergraduate 
 character and the enrollment was accordingly; but even though 
 it was of this type, the standard set was high. Professor Has- 
 kins seemed incapable of giving anything but "stiff courses." 
 
 If I was at a disadvantage in Professor Turner's work, the ad- 
 vantage was on my side in Haskins' courses. The requirements 
 in his work in French institutions were quite rigid. We were 
 expected to do all our reading in French and German books. 
 The use of materials in English was not directly outlawed; but 
 we all understood that such reading was not acceptable. More- 
 over, English books on the subject of the course as Haskins 
 gave it would be difficult to find. Charles McCarthy was not 
 strong in languages but somehow he was able to find material 
 elsewhere. But McCarthy was a man of gridiron fame and 
 more or less a law unto himself. If Professor Haskins was ever 
 lenient, it was in his dealings with the men of the squad. 
 
 The two men, Professors Turner and Haskins, made a pow- 
 erful combination. Though the former was the official head, 
 the department actually was a consulate. Although very much 
 unlike, they seemed to be in cordial agreement on all matters 
 of educational policy. Both were men of middle height, but 
 Haskins was physically more rugged and of greater weight 
 than his colleague. In his graduate courses he went through 
 the literature like a cyclone; nothing that was in the least 
 doubtful escaped his keen, penetrating eye. One might indeed 
 argue, as some did, that he overdid the matter of critical dis- 
 section and gave too little thought to constructive synthesis. 
 Still, the fact was that most of us needed exactly the sort of 
 treatment that Professor Haskins gave. In his classes only that 
 which was able to prove its genuineness counted for anything; 
 that which only might be true was cast aside. Woe unto the 
 student who sought to build with counterfeit bricks ! If he tried 
 it once, he never tried it again. 
 
 Turner, too, insisted on a critical use of the sources, but his 
 
260 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 problems were less intricate and his insistence therefore took 
 a milder form. In fact, he seemed more interested in larger 
 movements than in the examination of a body of details. In 
 his mind's eye he saw the steady, resistless movement of the 
 American pioneer into the widening West; he was busy with 
 the larger aspect of the movement, with the factors that pro- 
 moted it, with the meaning that it had for the nation. If his- 
 tory has prophets, Frederick Jackson Turner was a prophet and 
 withal a major prophet. 
 
 Haskins was a medievalist, the greatest student and exponent 
 of medieval history that the country has thus far produced. 
 His knowledge and grasp of the sources and literature of the 
 Middle Ages was extensive, thorough, and penetrating. This 
 meant an intimate acquaintance with the more important Euro- 
 pean idioms, Latin, German, and French. Since his task and 
 his preparation were so different from those of his colleagues, 
 his education was also different; he had drawn more from the 
 far past, more from the world across the Atlantic. 
 
 Professor Haskins was always affable; still, the students found 
 his friend more approachable. Turner would always take time 
 to listen and talk to a student. If longer conferences were nec- 
 essary, he would invite him to his study on Francis Street, with 
 its gorgeous view over the painted waters of Lake Mendota. 
 With the student seated before him he would light a cigar and 
 proceed to the problem. This willingness to give so freely of 
 his time to conferences might almost be called a weakness: a 
 student can consume a great deal of his teacher's time. But if it 
 was a weakness it was a most amiable trait. 
 
 Turner and Haskins were both great men. I would not say 
 whom I thought the greater. This, however, I am free to say: 
 never in my academic career have I met another personality so 
 powerful and so dominating in all that concerned his profes- 
 sion as Charles Homer Haskins. He matured early. At the 
 age of nineteen he received the doctorate from Johns Hopkins 
 University. The same year (1890) he came to Wisconsin as 
 instructor in history. He was a full professor at twenty-one ! 
 
PROFESSOR VICTOR COFFIN 261 
 
 It was a great loss to Wisconsin when Haskins accepted an 
 appointment at Harvard, even though the university was able 
 to secure in his place a scholar so learned, genial, and effective 
 as Dana Carleton Munro. Again it was a great loss when Tur- 
 ner, a few years later, also was transferred, to Cambridge. This 
 time the loss seemed almost irreparable, for among the younger 
 men in the guild of American historians there was none who 
 had as yet achieved the prestige and appeared to have the in- 
 sight into western history that was necessary to fill the vacant 
 chair. The choice fell on Professor F. L. Paxson, who proved 
 a worthy successor of the great pathfinder. 
 
 Haskins being absent on leave in my second semester, I 
 found it necessary to map out a new plan of courses. After 
 going over the list of offerings, I decided to register in a course 
 in Napoleonic history given by Professor Coffin. Victor Coffin 
 was a Canadian with a degree from Cornell University. In 
 many respects he was an outstanding man. He was a good lec- 
 turer and knew how to interest the underclassmen. At the 
 same time he was believed to be ruthless in final examinations 
 and merciless when he made out his grades. It was told on the 
 campus that he had failed an entire class. No doubt these tales 
 were highly exaggerated, though Coffin could at times be se- 
 vere. But he surely was not popular. The campus punsters 
 found his name happy material for their craft: caskets were 
 chalked on his classroom door; his seminar was sometimes 
 called Coffin's " cemetery." Among the undergraduates he was 
 best known as " Vic." 
 
 In his studies Professor Coffin had developed a series of bril- 
 liant generalizations which he stated in clear and lucid English. 
 His one weakness was that he failed to review the details of his 
 subject before proceeding to his lecture room; a failure to do 
 this will often lead to disastrous results. As a man of British 
 blood, he was quite naturally interested in athletic sports and 
 was often seen on the tennis courts and on the golf links. Many 
 students growled about this, believing that these activities took 
 too much of his time, that devotion to sport was incompatible 
 
262 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 with professorial duties. If the criticism ever came to Coffin's 
 ear it did not disturb him; his habits remained unchanged. 
 
 Later in my course I heard his lectures on Europe in the 
 nineteenth century, in which course I was assigned two subjects 
 to study: the Schleswig-Holstein problem and the Vatican Coun- 
 cil of 1870. On the first I was able to get some information; 
 on the second the necessary materials were not available. Cof- 
 fin also tried his hand at a seminar but the results were not 
 brilliant. The failure is not to be charged to the professor him- 
 self but again to his choice of problem. We were to study hu- 
 manism in Germany in the earlier decades of the sixteenth 
 century, but again materials were lacking and the course flat- 
 tened out. 
 
 It was my great privilege and also my misfortune to be en- 
 rolled in a seminar in the classics. Since there were only two 
 or three students who were seriously working in the Middle 
 Ages, Professor Haskins agreed to merge his group with an- 
 other that was studying with Professor Slaughter, the head 
 professor of Latin. The subject to be studied was Tacitus' Ger- 
 mania. What we did was to compare the institutions described 
 by the great Roman with those that actually functioned among 
 the Germans in the later centuries. The plan was excellent and 
 much of the work was good, but nearly as much was not, some 
 of the reports bordering close on futility. 
 
 Professor Slaughter was a delightful man. He was an ac- 
 complished scholar in his subject and a man of real wisdom in 
 academic affairs; but he loved a joke above everything else and 
 where he was present there was sure to be hilarity. The same 
 was true of our discussions in the seminar: the students seemed 
 more anxious to find traces of humor in the Germania than 
 serious and important information. 
 
 In my second year I enrolled in a course in the history of 
 political thought given by Paul S. Reinsch, who later had a 
 notable career as ambassador to the Chinese Republic. Pro- 
 fessor Reinsch was one of the strong men on the campus: he 
 was thoroughly educated and highly informed. When he was 
 
Laurence Larson in 1928 
 
THE VALUE OF SEMINARS 263 
 
 able to find time for his daily preparation, his lectures would 
 be illuminating and even brilliant. However, in those particu- 
 lar months he was giving his energies largely to a series of stud- 
 ies on world politics, in the preparation of one of which I 
 assisted in a slight degree in assembling the necessary data. 
 
 If I were to express an opinion on the value of my work at 
 Wisconsin, it would have to be that the reading and lecture 
 courses were excellent almost without exception. To get the 
 viewpoints of such men as Turner, Haskins, Coffin, Hubbard, 
 and Reinsch was the most important thing about the courses 
 that they gave, for these could not be acquired in the library. 
 In our reading we gained an acquaintance with a considerable 
 body of historical literature, to a large extent the work of the 
 more eminent European scholars. Perhaps this was not exactly 
 graduate work; but it was work every graduate student needs. 
 
 To be a graduate student without doing some work of the 
 seminar type is quite impossible. In some way one must get a 
 fairly intimate acquaintance with more important sources of 
 his subject. He also needs practice in the art of assembling 
 his materials and of shaping them into a consistent narrative. 
 These objectives can scarcely be attained in any place but a well 
 organized seminar. That there can be a waste of good time in 
 classes conducted on this plan must be conceded; but, if the 
 group is not too large, the advantages of the plan will more 
 than outweigh its disadvantages. 
 
 In addition to the seminars mentioned above I had one in 
 Anglo-Saxon with Professor Hubbard. The study in this class 
 proved to be entirely philological and wholly unsuited to my 
 needs. The effort was not entirely wasted, however, for I did 
 get some insight into the problems and the methods of philo- 
 logical research. Far more satisfactory was a seminar in Nor- 
 wegian literature with Professor Olson. This was a field in 
 which I felt thoroughly at home. There was perfect freedom 
 of speech around Olson's table, and we argued more vigorously 
 for our opinions and points of view in that class than in any 
 other seminar of which I was a member. 
 
c$f XXXI j£ 
 
 w, 
 
 hen I came to Madison I had no plans beyond the mas- 
 ter's degree. With this achieved I hoped to find a good posi- 
 tion in secondary-school work. Nothing of the sort was in 
 sight, however. Moreover, the doctorate looked attractive and 
 I began to have dreams of a college chair. The problem was 
 how I was to finance two more years' residence at the univer- 
 sity. 
 
 A countryman of mine who was also a friend of the univer- 
 sity had for some years been providing money for a scholarship 
 to the amount of two hundred dollars. This was called the 
 Henrik Wergeland scholarship and was given to graduate stu- 
 dents of Norse origin. Wergeland, by the way, was a major 
 poet in Norwegian literature and a persistent agitator in the 
 interest of nationalism. The appointment was in Professor 
 Olson's control and he offered to recommend me (a matter of 
 form) to the proper authorities. He had no assurance that the 
 money would be available the following year, but he believed 
 that it would. I decided to take a chance. One of my old 
 friends in Iowa lent me a little money. Lillian helped out in 
 various ways. With the means thus placed at our command we 
 managed to get through the year. 
 
 Sometime in the second semester Professor Haskins asked 
 me if I intended to apply for the European history fellowship. 
 I replied that I had in mind to do so. After this conversation I 
 felt fairly confident that I would get the appointment and 
 
 264 
 
WORK FOR THE DOCTORATE 265 
 
 I was not disappointed. The stipend was four hundred dollars, 
 which in those days was a real help. 
 
 Early in 1900 a rumor began to move across the campus that 
 the University of Chicago had been negotiating with Professor 
 Turner and had offered him a professorship with the amazing 
 salary of seven thousand dollars, a figure that was far beyond 
 what Wisconsin had ever been able to offer. Turner was to 
 succeed Professor Hermann E. von Hoist, a German immi- 
 grant of Russian birth who came to Chicago in 1892, having 
 had earlier appointments in Strassburg and Freiburg. Wiscon- 
 sin could not afford to lose so eminent a man and offered terms 
 which Turner was able to accept. One inducement was a leave 
 of absence for a year, which he and his family spent in Italy, 
 chiefly in Florence. 
 
 It was then that I decided to abandon American history as 
 a major and work for a doctorate in some European field, pref- 
 erably in the Middle Ages. It was a good move. I had the 
 necessary linguistic preparation for work in any of the conven- 
 tional medieval fields, and if I could find a subject that had 
 possibilities, I believed that I should be able to write an accept- 
 able thesis. But there was the rub. To a graduate student it 
 looks as if everything has already been done. 
 
 One day Professor Haskins set out to get some information 
 on the royal household in old English times but found almost 
 nothing. This led him to propose that I make a study of that 
 subject. " There are many," he said, " who know Anglo-Saxon, 
 but they have no interest in history, and very few of those who 
 can work in medieval sources can read Anglo-Saxon." Since 
 I was presumably able to qualify in both lines, I would have 
 no difficulty, he believed, in getting satisfactory results. 
 
 The subject looked interesting and I proceeded to examine 
 the more obvious materials. That research in old English his- 
 tory had not thus far been a very active line at Wisconsin was 
 proved by the fact that one of the most important bodies of 
 sources, the Anglo-Saxon charters, had never been used. The 
 
266 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 set had been bought soon after I was born, and it fell to me to 
 cut the leaves. 
 
 Before I had gone very far, I saw that there might be mate- 
 rials in the northern sources, so I set about to study Old Norse 
 with Professor Olson. The work that I did in that field proved 
 useful not only for the time but for much of my later research. 
 Gothic, too, seemed to have possibilities, so I registered in a 
 course in that subject, given by Professor Roedder of the de- 
 partment of German. In the end I found almost nothing in 
 Ulfilas (or whoever the scribe was) that I could use in my 
 study. Still, I had the satisfaction of becoming acquainted, if 
 to a slight extent only, with an ancient form of Germanic 
 speech, and that was something. 
 
 In addition to hearing lectures by the men with whom I did 
 my daily work, I had the privilege of meeting and hearing men 
 of eminent scholarship who were not of my field in the univer- 
 sity or who came to Madison from other universities, either 
 to deliver addresses or for other reasons. I do not remember 
 who all these men were, but a few were of such outstanding per- 
 sonality that they could not readily be forgotten. 
 
 One day soon after our arrival in Madison I saw an elderly 
 man walking across the campus in a way that indicated a cer- 
 tain measure of authority. There was nothing very striking 
 about him except his eyelids, which apparently could not open 
 to the normal width. The lids were paralyzed, so I was told, 
 and the explanation was evidently correct. As he walked about 
 he held his head high and his bearded chin pointed straight 
 forward. This was Charles Kendall Adams, the president of 
 the university. 
 
 Dr. Adams was a trained historian and had never lost his 
 interest in the profession. Soon after registration time (Octo- 
 ber, 1899), the Boer War broke out and the campus watched 
 the strange contest with a growing interest. President Adams 
 felt called upon to address a convocation on the subject. He 
 knew little more of what was going on than the rest of us did ; 
 
VISITING LECTURERS 267 
 
 but he at least knew how to pronounce the names of the Boer 
 generals and battlefields. I heard him several times after that 
 and he always spoke well. But about midwinter we learned 
 that he was planning to go to California for his health. He left 
 not long afterwards and never returned to Wisconsin. 
 
 The dedication of the new library building (in my second 
 year at the university) naturally could not be carried through 
 without certain intellectual festivities, and these were provided. 
 Reuben Gold Thwaites, the expansive secretary of the historical 
 society, delivered a series of lectures on the early history of 
 French activities on American soil. The dedication address 
 was given by Charles Francis Adams, who spoke on " the sifted 
 grain and the grain sifters," or, in simpler terms, history and 
 the writers of history. He was a large, impressive man and 
 doubtless regarded his address as a serious affair. One could 
 listen to Adams without effort, though one might feel like 
 smiling at the thought that it should be found necessary to call 
 attention to a fact so obvious as the importance of the Adams 
 family. 
 
 We were all profoundly impressed by Hiram Corson, the 
 long-bearded patriarch from Cornell University, who lectured to 
 us for a week. When he rose to speak he resembled more a 
 high priest approaching the altar than a lecturer with a manu- 
 script on a reading desk. He discussed some of the greater 
 English poets in the nineteenth century and spoke as one who 
 was duly impressed with his own authority. Though always 
 interesting and often enlightening, his dogmatism was too 
 much for us and in the end we tired of his lectures. 
 
 Albert Bushnell Hart came west from Harvard to set us right 
 on the Monroe Doctrine. H. Morse Stephens came east from 
 California to enlighten us on certain phases of British imperial 
 history. George Elliott Howard came from Nebraska to tell 
 us about the French Revolution. It was much worth while to 
 hear what these men had to say; it was more worth while to meet 
 them and to study them at close range. 
 
 The three men all lectured under the auspices of the depart- 
 
268 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 ment of history. Hart was well known for his unusual pro- 
 ductivity; in fact he seemed more like an organized industry 
 than a simple professor. Howard's chief claim to renown was 
 the strong stand that he once took at Stanford University when 
 he, with others, resigned his professorship in protest against 
 Mrs. Stanford's attempt to interfere in the affairs of the institu- 
 tion and particularly in the department of economics. 
 
 In the guild of historians there was no more colorful person- 
 ality than H. Morse Stephens. Born in England, he emigrated 
 to the United States, and after a period of service at Cornell, 
 he went to the University of California, where he ended his 
 days. Everything was large about Stephens, his beard, his 
 girth, his intellectual endowments, and his experience with life. 
 While he was at Wisconsin he was honored with a convocation 
 at which he read in his inimitable way from " the Gospel ac- 
 cording to Kipling." 
 
 The department of history was growing. In the autumn of 
 1900 two young men came to take instructorships. They were 
 Carl Russell Fish and Asa Currier Tilton, the former with a 
 doctorate from Harvard, the latter with the same from Yale. 
 Dr. Tilton did not remain long on the staff; but Fish lived the 
 rest of his life at Wisconsin, where he achieved prominence 
 and popularity. Both were small, youngish looking men; Fish 
 looked especially youthful, though he was within a few days of 
 his twenty-fourth birthday. It was not possible for him to be 
 taken seriously at first; but in a few years the university began 
 to understand that when Carl Russell Fish came it had acquired 
 a real asset. 
 
 George C. Sellery came the following year to assist in the 
 work in European history. Sellery was the opposite in physique 
 to Fish. To the compact form of an athlete he joined an alert 
 and penetrating mind. One had a feeling that he always kept 
 a great part of his strength in reserve. Dr. Sellery would surely 
 have gone far in his profession, if fate in an irresponsible moment 
 had not decided to make him a dean. 
 
:J XXXII j: 
 
 I 
 
 n Madison I lived in an atmosphere that was almost entirely 
 native American. The vast majority of the men who made up 
 the faculty of the university were of British blood. There were 
 notable exceptions but these were not of sufficient number to 
 affect the general situation. Outside the university, too, my 
 contacts were mainly with men and women of American stock, 
 or such as used English as the language of daily life. Our clos- 
 est friends were the family of Mrs. N. B. Berg and her four 
 capable sons. Mrs. Berg's husband (long deceased) had at one 
 time served the churches in the Scandinavia settlement, and the 
 family therefore had deep roots in the Norwegian past; but the 
 Bergs, too, had become quite thoroughly Americanized. Ex- 
 cept in the church that I attended most of the time, I heard 
 almost no Norwegian. 
 
 While in Scandinavia I had on occasion used my native 
 idiom in written communications and in a few newspaper ar- 
 ticles; but, after I left the academy, that use came to be limited 
 practically to a weekly letter to my father, which I wrote as 
 long as he lived. Now and then I send a letter to relatives in 
 the old country; these, too, have to be written in Norwegian. 
 On the whole, however, since my thirtieth year, I have lived in 
 an environment, physical and intellectual, the language of 
 which was English. 
 
 At the same time I was not able, or ever have been able, 
 to cut all the bonds that bound me to my intellectual past. I 
 
 269 
 
270 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 have already mentioned certain courses that I took with Profes- 
 sor Olson. Of these a seminar to which I belonged in my sec- 
 ond year was most important, in that it tended to emphasize 
 Norsedom. The group was made up of four students, all reg- 
 istered in the graduate school. One of the four, John A. Mol- 
 stad, went into the Lutheran ministry, as did Olaf M. Norlie, 
 who sat at the same table. Norlie is better known, however, 
 for a group of important writings of the statistical-historical 
 type. Martin W. Odland, a third member of the seminar, has de- 
 voted his energies to journalism but has also made fruitful ex- 
 cursions into history and literature. 
 
 Our meetings were lively and interesting. We prepared 
 themes and reports on literary subjects which we read and dis- 
 cussed fearlessly and sometimes, I hope, intelligently. We were 
 all somewhat in doubt, I believe, as to the validity of certain 
 tendencies in the literature of contemporary Norway. Ibsen 
 and Garborg seemed so revolutionary in purpose and spirit that 
 we found it difficult to approve some of their outstanding nov- 
 els and dramas. 
 
 Not so our guide. He had developed a literary philosophy, 
 into the framework of which it was possible to fit most of the 
 newer writings. In the matter of ideas he was very tolerant; 
 he accepted the fact that a new school of fiction had arisen and 
 refused to isolate himself from its influence. He never insisted 
 on our accepting his views; but we usually had to admit that 
 his presentation and his arguments were quite convincing. 
 
 While our readings in this course were practically all in Nor- 
 wegian, our discussions were invariably carried on in English. 
 Perhaps this may seem an illogical procedure but it has its ad- 
 vantages; it gives the student a power and control over both 
 languages which all will recognize as an important accomplish- 
 ment. Rapid mental translations from the one medium to the 
 other must be made as the discussion goes on and the signifi- 
 cance of the subject is seen in clearer light. 
 
 Professor Olson and I also gave some time to a survey of 
 
YGDRASIL AND R. B. ANDERSON 
 
 271 
 
 Norwegian grammar, a subject on which he had written a 
 useful text. Evidently he did not find my knowledge of this 
 matter too utterly deficient; for when, toward the close of my 
 second year, he took his family to Europe, he felt that he could 
 leave me in charge of a part of his class work. 
 
 Sometime in the middle nineties, in 1896, I believe, a few 
 Norwegians in Madison had organized a literary club called 
 Ygdrasil. It was to be a small group with a college degree as a 
 requisite for membership. The plan was never strictly adhered 
 to; but when I knew the club it was still a small body of men, 
 nearly all of whom had bachelor's degrees. 
 
 The idea that such a club might be organized apparently de- 
 veloped in the restless and fertile mind of Rasmus Bj0rn An- 
 derson, who in those days was one of the most widely known 
 Norwegians in the Northwest. In his somewhat checkered ca- 
 reer R. B. Anderson had experience in a variety of occupations; 
 he had been university professor, insurance agent, salesman, 
 diplomat, politician, historian, and much more. In all these 
 lines he had been reasonably successful. In my day in Madison 
 he was engaged in a journalistic venture, having bought a small 
 Norwegian weekly called America. Because of his having held 
 a chair in the University of Wisconsin, he had come to be 
 known as Professor Anderson. He had resigned his professor- 
 ship in 1893 while still a young man of thirty-seven, but the 
 title has clung to his name to this day. Anderson died about 
 a year ago (1936) at the age of ninety. 
 
 Anderson became famous among his countrymen in the 
 early seventies when he declared war on a section of the Lu- 
 theran clergy with conservative tendencies. There were battles 
 on many fields but the conflict finally came to center about the 
 common school. As I have stated above, there were those in 
 the clerical profession who regarded the public school as an in- 
 stitution from which the religious forces had to withhold their 
 blessing. Their ideal was the parochial school, an ideal which 
 
272 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 they believed to be entirely attainable. To Anderson's mind 
 this attitude was treasonable. He had no fear of making the 
 charge but placed it boldly on his letterhead. 
 
 Anderson was a young man still in his twenties when the con- 
 flict began. He was rapidly moving away from conventional 
 positions and was soon to become a radical in religion and a 
 Mugwump in politics. But in the early nineties a great change 
 had come into his way of thinking. He had returned to the 
 Republican fold and was soon to join the element that was try- 
 ing to eliminate Robert M. LaFollette from political life. He 
 had made peace with his old opponents in the church and had 
 taken membership in a congregation that belonged to the more 
 orthodox wing of Lutheranism. 
 
 It is therefore not surprising that a man with such a back- 
 ground should insist that the new club must not allow any dis- 
 cussion in the fields of religion and politics; any other subject 
 might be freely debated. On this understanding Ygdrasil was 
 formed and the members no doubt tried to live up to this agree- 
 ment, but it was soon found impossible to do so. In his latest 
 mood Anderson had become very hostile toward the great writ- 
 ers of contemporary Norway and refused to admit their 
 writings to the programs of the club. This was due in part 
 to the freedom with which these men discussed the problems 
 of sex, and in part to the critical attitude that they assumed to- 
 ward the church. If Anderson had been allowed to dictate in 
 these matters, Ygdrasil would have had to limit its discussions 
 to the literary products that had been published in Norway be- 
 fore 1875. What had come later was to be regarded as pro- 
 gressively evil. 
 
 This position was not satisfactory to Professor Olson and 
 those who followed his lead. They were impressed with the 
 art and the power of writers like Ibsen, Bj0rnson, Kielland, and 
 Garborg, and wished to study and discuss their works, though 
 not necessarily in a spirit of unqualified approval. For some 
 time there was war in the club and Anderson, who had never 
 known the meaning of such a word as compromise, with- 
 
A UNIQUE PERSONALITY 273 
 
 drew from its membership. The club survived, however, and 
 entered upon a period of tolerant peace. 
 
 I had not been long in Madison before Professor Olson intro- 
 duced me to Ygdrasil and I was elected to membership. The 
 club was just entering upon a study of modern Norwegian 
 literature beginning with the great Ludwig Holberg, who be- 
 gan to publish his series of inimitable comedies in 1722. From 
 this point we were to continue our survey down to our own time. 
 During the three years of my stay in Madison we covered a 
 large part of the field that we had laid out for ourselves. I 
 recall reading a paper on one of Holberg's works and one on 
 Oehlenschlaeger's Aladdin. Oehlenschlaeger was, of course, not 
 a Norwegian; but in the century between Holberg and the dis- 
 solution of the union with Denmark, the literature was Norse- 
 Danish, and so we found it necessary to study it on both sides. 
 
 The most striking figure in the group was Peer Str0mme, 
 who was also one of the most widely known Norwegians in 
 the land. Str0mme was a unique personality. He had begun 
 his career as a clergyman; but finding that in the clerical pro- 
 fession he was clearly on the wrong shelf, he gave up the min- 
 istry and transferred his activities to politics and journalism. 
 He was a tall, heavy, somewhat ungainly man with a forest of 
 curly hair on a head that seemed never to have known the teeth 
 of a comb. At the same time he was by no means unkempt in 
 his appearance, though he probably cared little about the eti- 
 quette of dress. 
 
 Str0mme wrote fluently, spoke easily, and was endowed with 
 a great fund of ready wit. He had some of the marks of genius, 
 but somehow he failed to find exactly the right field for his 
 talents. He was a very likable man, though he could also be 
 quite irritating. Men of genius often have their own peculiar 
 weaknesses; and Str0mme was not an exception in this respect. 
 He was not always dependable, would often forget important 
 engagements, and had been known to take the most surprising 
 turns. 
 
274 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 One difficulty in Str0mme's case was that he had become a 
 Democrat and was unable to find his way back to the old Re- 
 publican fold. In those days no Norseman who wished to have 
 part in political life could afford to be a Democrat. Str0mme's 
 party rewarded his loyalty by giving him a place on the state 
 ticket. This gave him publicity but nothing more. When I 
 first met him he had largely withdrawn from politics, though 
 he retained a strong interest in the affairs of government. 
 
 Ygdrasil met once a month. Our place of meeting was the 
 offices of the Steensland Loan and Trust Company, a quasi- 
 banking establishment, of which Halle Steensland and his son 
 E. B. Steensland were the leading officials. Halle Steensland 
 had been in business in Madison for about forty years. He had 
 had considerable share in the public life of his countrymen, in 
 his own state and farther out. He served as vice-consul for the 
 kingdom of Norway and Sweden and had been decorated by 
 the Norwegian king. Steensland did not have a college educa- 
 tion and contributed little to our discussions. But he liked to 
 be with us and attended faithfully. 
 
 I regard my association with this group as an important in- 
 fluence in my education. The membership of Ygdrasil was 
 quite varied in its composition: we were lawyers, businessmen, 
 journalists, and men of the academic profession. The work 
 that we did was of an academic character; but we worked in- 
 dependently and our views were often subjected to thorough- 
 going criticism. In Ygdrasil we were closer to the real world 
 than in the seminars in the library or in the lecture rooms on 
 the Hill. 
 
 Soon after the organization of Ygdrasil, the wives of the 
 members organized a kindred society which was named Gud- 
 rid. According to one of the Vinland narratives, Gudrid, a 
 young Icelandic wife who accompanied one of the expeditions, 
 gave birth to a son and thus became the first white mother on 
 American soil. The society was named in her honor. Lillian 
 was a member of Gudrid and took an active part in its work: 
 I recall she presented a thorough study of Hans Christian An- 
 
A LIVING TREE 275 
 
 dersen's novel The Improvisators The daughters of Gudrid 
 still have their society and continue to cultivate the heritage of 
 a noble past. 
 
 Three times I have been invited to address the members of 
 Ygdrasil on anniversary occasions and twice I have been able 
 to accept, the last time in 1926, when its thirtieth birthday was 
 celebrated. In spite of its strong drift away from Old World 
 interests, the club continues to function and even to flourish. 
 Ygdrasil, the great ash that holds the nine worlds together and 
 unifies creation, is still a living tree. 
 
■cj[ XXXIII Jg3 
 
 i 
 
 n these days of highly organized graduate schools with files 
 and records and calendars that must be carefully kept and ob- 
 served, the student is faced by a series of hurdles which must 
 be cleared if he wishes to secure a place for himself among the 
 elect who are allowed to call themselves doctors of philosophy. 
 I am not at this time arguing either for or against the present 
 system: no doubt some of the organized procedure is necessary 
 to make possible a proper sifting of the multitude who, in re- 
 cent years, have thronged the graduate seminars in the hope of 
 securing a coveted distinction which, after all, unless one se- 
 cures a good academic or semi-academic appointment, is scarce- 
 ly worth the effort. 
 
 In the graduate school that I know best, a good record must 
 be maintained in all the class work: a low grade in a single sub- 
 ject may terminate the student's career. By the close of the 
 second year he is normally required to have satisfied the de- 
 partments of French and German that he is able to read the 
 prose literature in his subject in those languages. Next he has 
 to pass a preliminary examination in some of the fields in- 
 cluded in the work of the department in which he is enrolled. 
 Half a dozen seasoned men will bombard his mind with diffi- 
 cult questions for two hours and he must have elaborate prepa- 
 ration to meet the attack successfully. And students have often 
 shown a remarkable grip on their subjects on such occasions. 
 
 If the examination is successfully passed, the student pro- 
 
 276 
 
THESIS WORK 277 
 
 ceeds with his research and finally brings his results together 
 into a carefully prepared book called a thesis. This is supposed 
 to make some contribution to our knowledge of the subject, 
 which it generally does, though the contribution is often very 
 slight. The thesis must then be successfully defended in a final 
 examination which is ordinarily not difficult, as the members 
 of the committee have little knowledge of the matter before 
 them. This is in the nature of things; if it were otherwise there 
 could be no thesis. 
 
 No elaborate scheme of this sort had been developed in my 
 day in Wisconsin. To begin with, there was no check on the 
 student's work in his classes, inasmuch as some of the instruc- 
 tors in their strictly graduate courses reported no grades except 
 " passed " or " failed." I recall that Professor Turner informed 
 his seminar that he would "send in no specific grades in this 
 class" other than "passed" or "failed." Of course we all 
 passed. Sometime before his second year was too far advanced, 
 the student began his thesis research. Professor Haskins may 
 have reported to some authority that I was at work on a satis- 
 factory subject, but I do not know. I do not recall that I had 
 to inform anyone as to what my thesis subject was going to be. 
 There was no preliminary examination to give me sleepless 
 nights, nor did I have to produce a certificate of proficiency in 
 French and German before sometime in May of my last year. 
 
 Like most graduate students I proceeded to my research with 
 fear and trembling. Professor Haskins was confident that no 
 one had made more than a superficial investigation of my sub- 
 ject. But one could not be sure. I soon felt assured that no one 
 had written anything very important in English and the only 
 treatment in German that I was able to find touched the sub- 
 ject only on one side. 
 
 There are professors, I am told, who feel that thesis work 
 must be watched and guided continuously and with the great- 
 est care. I have heard of one man who insisted on weekly 
 conferences with his thesis students. How a study composed 
 under such circumstances can be a test of the abilities that one 
 
278 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 should look for in a doctor, I never was able to see. The Wis- 
 consin ideal was wholly different. I had one conference with 
 Professor Haskins on my thesis work and only one. In the 
 middle of my last year he went abroad and left me to get on with 
 my research as best I could. In these days a new adviser would 
 have to be appointed in such a case; in those days that was not 
 regarded as necessary. Since my materials were to a large ex- 
 tent derived from Old Norse and Old English sources, and since 
 no member of the department was able to check my work in 
 these sources, there really was no point in appointing an ad- 
 viser. I had scarcely more than enough time to throw my 
 materials together, but I was assured that form was not an im- 
 portant consideration till time came to edit the manuscript for 
 publication. By that time I would no doubt be able to present 
 a thoroughly revised version. The main question in June, 1902, 
 was whether I had actually succeeded in adding anything to 
 the knowledge of the profession on the subject of my study. 
 
 There was no rule as to the form that a thesis should have 
 to be acceptable, but ordinarily typewritten copies were re- 
 quired. However, since I had to use phrases and characters 
 that would make trouble for a typist, I was allowed and even 
 advised to hand in a copy in longhand. These days a dean 
 would refuse to accept a thesis if it did not come with the 
 signed recommendation of the student's adviser and the head 
 of the department. So far as I can remember no one signed my 
 manuscript or gave approval in any form before the day of my 
 final examination, when it was approved by the examining 
 committee. 
 
 Before the degree could be awarded I had to secure certifi- 
 cates from some member of the French and the German de- 
 partments that I could read those languages. I first went to 
 Professor Voss of the department of German. It was a hot day, 
 entirely too hot to bother with examinations. Moreover, Pro- 
 fessor Voss felt quite sure that I could read German and after 
 I had told him a little about my preparation, he asked me one 
 question : " What are your initials, Mr. Larson ? " 
 
THE FINAL EXAMINATION 279 
 
 The next man that I went to see was Professor Giese of the 
 French department. Giese and I had never met before and he 
 knew nothing about my preparation. He gave me a page to 
 read — I believe it was from Michelet's history. I got my certif- 
 icate. 
 
 I was now ready for my final examination. This was really 
 what we now call a preliminary examination. There were no 
 questions worth mentioning on my thesis or on the research of 
 which it was the tangible result. Nearly all were intended to 
 determine whether I actually was as thoroughly informed as a 
 doctor ought to be. My preparation for the test had not been 
 thorough. I had been unusually busy with many things even 
 to the day before. The worst was that the man with whom I 
 had had the major part of the work was absent and there was 
 none to take his place. My chief examiner was Professor Tur- 
 ner, with whom I had taken only two courses. Neither of these 
 had to do with the general subject of American history; in fact 
 I had never taken a college course in that subject. So it hap- 
 pened that half of my examination was concerned with Ameri- 
 can history, of which I had had little, while not a question was 
 asked in medieval history, of which I had had a great deal. Yet, 
 somehow I was able to pass. 
 
 Eight men came into the European history seminar room to 
 quiz me or to hear me quizzed. Charles Forster Smith at- 
 tended as chairman of the graduate school committee. Turner 
 and Coffin came as representatives of my major subject. Hub- 
 bard and Olson represented the minor subjects. Slaughter, 
 Roedder, and Voss came as interested friends. Most of them 
 asked no questions, but Turner asked entirely too many. Had 
 he gone into the national period I should not have fared so 
 badly; but he took me back into the eighteenth century where 
 my information was quite fragmentary. I was able, however, 
 to meet him on a good many points and he seemed satisfied. 
 
 Professor Coffin asked me a few questions in European his- 
 tory, most of which had to do with territorial changes. My 
 
280 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 outline of the history of the boundaries in the Lorraine country 
 was not very enlightening, though not entirely wrong. Coffin 
 and I had a little discussion as to whether Sweden, in the sev- 
 enteenth century, should be called a northern or an eastern 
 power. In this I felt that I scored a victory; at any rate, Slaugh- 
 ter was immensely amused and the amusement was clearly on 
 my side. He laughed heartily, as he did frequently during the 
 examination. 
 
 Professor Hubbard had come in with a list of questions, 
 chiefly of a linguistic character, which gave me no trouble. 
 One of the first questions asked was what languages I was 
 able to read. I presented a list that some members of the com- 
 mittee thought too large to be accurate; but I made no claims 
 that I could not substantiate. 
 
 " Well," said Professor Turner at the close, " we had you run- 
 ning a part of the time," which was quite true. But on the 
 whole it was a pleasant occasion. Knowing nothing about the 
 character of the ordeal that I was to go through, I had come 
 into the room without fear of the outcome. Perhaps my confi- 
 dence was not well founded, but it helped me retain my self- 
 control. I really enjoyed the examination; and I think back 
 with real gratitude to Professor Slaughter, who did so much to 
 prevent the three hours from becoming too serious and somber. 
 
 When Charles Kendall Adams retired from the presidency, 
 the vice-president, Professor Parkinson, an easygoing political 
 scientist of kindly and venerable appearance, took his place at 
 the helm, but did not hold it long. After a few months Ed- 
 ward Asahel Birge, the dean of the college of liberal arts, was 
 made acting president. As such he presided at the commence- 
 ment in 1902 and conferred on me the degree of doctor of 
 philosophy. 
 
 President Birge had an appearance of his own ; his profile, if 
 once seen, could not be forgotten. His features were strong 
 and clearly marked. His countenance, which had always borne 
 an expression of deep seriousness, had in the course of the years 
 
DOCTOR IN HISTORY 281 
 
 received an added look of stern severity, derived, as some 
 thought, from his daily contact as dean with the weak and the 
 wicked. Others who knew him more intimately held that his 
 stern expression was merely a mask, behind which he concealed 
 a character that was naturally shy and sensitive. Dean Birge 
 had without doubt many qualities of greatness: he ranked 
 among the best as a scientist; in the classroom he was famous 
 for thorough instruction; as a dean he set high standards and 
 saw to it that they were maintained. 
 
 At graduating exercises the academic gown was coming into 
 use but no one was required to wear it. The women seniors 
 all wore it, as did also some of the men. At my commence- 
 ment no candidate for a higher degree was gowned; the fac- 
 ulty, too, was garbed in modern clothes. 
 
 Eleven men and women received the doctorate in 1902 but 
 all of these degrees were not conferred at the exercises in June. 
 In the series of doctors in history I was the sixth, the degree 
 having been given at four earlier commencements. I do not 
 know what the custom is at Wisconsin at present, but in my 
 day the candidates appeared individually before the president 
 and not in a group. When my turn came to approach the 
 presidential chair (for the president was seated) Professor Hub- 
 bard introduced me to President Birge, who then recited the 
 ancient formula " by virtue of the power," etc., and handed me 
 my diploma. When this had been done, I was ushered to a 
 seat on the platform. I recall that my chair was quite close to 
 that of a rather unimpressive little man whom I knew to be 
 Governor Robert M. La Follette. 
 
 One of the candidates on this occasion was so disturbed by 
 the solemnity of the ceremony that he could not follow the 
 president's deliberate speech, but tried twice to snatch the sheep- 
 skin, to the great amusement of the audience. When President 
 Birge was reciting the closing words of the formula, he and the 
 candidate both had a firm grip on the roll, each holding to his 
 end. Finally the president released the document and the can- 
 didate fled to his seat. 
 
^{ XXXIV ]&: 
 
 JL he goal that I had striven for had been reached, but beyond 
 lay a great disappointment. I was an applicant for an instruc- 
 torship in a western state university and had been led to believe 
 that my appointment was only a few days away. Then it hap- 
 pened that a man in an eastern institution failed of reappoint- 
 ment, and it seemed right to his friends at the university where 
 I expected a position to give the place to him instead of to me. 
 
 When commencement came I was stranded, though not yet 
 discouraged. Efforts to get a position in some other college or 
 university also failed. Vacancies were few and most of them 
 quite unattractive. The college world had not yet recovered 
 from the lean years of the last decade. If I had known more 
 about the ability and fitness of some of the men who were 
 preferred before me in the few positions that I tried to get, 
 I should have become bitter instead of discouraged. There 
 seemed to be no reason why I should hope to get anything 
 worth while. 
 
 In the years that followed I continued my efforts to get into 
 academic work, but without success. College presidents sent 
 me such regretful replies to my inquiries that I began to feel 
 that I was really doing wrong in giving them so much unneces- 
 sary sorrow. One university president was actually in need of 
 an instructor with my preparation, but informed a man who 
 was trying to secure an appointment for me that he had as 
 many Scandinavians as he could use. On learning this I began 
 
 282 
 
IN MILWAUKEE 283 
 
 to wonder whether my name and origin might not also have 
 been a factor in the unfavorable decisions in other places. 
 
 As my career finally shaped itself, I began to understand that 
 fate, in ordering some of the administrators to reject my appli- 
 cation, had really done me a great kindness. In some places I 
 should have been a misfit; in others I should have been shorn 
 of every opportunity to do anything but routine class work. 
 Still, I did learn of a few places where I could have done satis- 
 factory work, if I could only have secured one of them. 
 
 Meanwhile I had been looking for a high school position 
 and an unexpected resignation in Milwaukee brought an oppor- 
 tunity which I was able to seize. A young lady had yielded to 
 the urgings of a young man who wished to make her his wife. 
 This made a vacancy, in the West Division High School, which I 
 was chosen to fill. Almost exactly three years after our arrival in 
 Madison, Lillian and I packed up our belongings and left for 
 the new field of labor, where we were to remain for five years. 
 
 It may be thought since this narrative is primarily intended 
 to trace the progress of an immigrant mind toward a more 
 complete Americanism it ought really to close at this point. 
 By this move to Milwaukee I was to be taken out of the Nor- 
 wegian sphere of influence and was never again to come within 
 its boundaries. There were Norwegians in Milwaukee, but they 
 lived in another part of the city. My contacts with them were 
 so slight as to be almost negligible. I found no longer any need 
 to speak my native language; only very rarely did I hear it 
 spoken by others. 
 
 Milwaukee, however, was hardly an American city. Of its 
 three hundred thousand inhabitants two-thirds were of German 
 blood. At least fifteen per cent of the population was Slavic. 
 Nearly all other nationalities, including the British-American, 
 were represented in the city directory. A strong minority of 
 my pupils at West Division were German Jews. Many of them 
 came from cultured families and knew no citizenship, political 
 or spiritual, except that of the country in which they lived ; but 
 
284 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 some of them were not far removed from the culture of the 
 Old World. 
 
 At the same time there was coming in from the great Jewry 
 that lies between the Baltic and the Black Sea large numbers 
 of poverty-stricken Hebrews who had fled in terror from the 
 pogroms in Russia and Rumania. The terrible massacres which 
 brought disgrace to the name of Kishinef had begun just a few 
 months before Lillian and I had taken up our abode in Mil- 
 waukee. The older Jewish population was distressed and per- 
 plexed. " What shall we do with these people ? " said one of the 
 rabbis to me in conversation. " They do not fit in anywhere in 
 this country." However, the Jew is adaptable and the new ar- 
 rivals soon found places for themselves. 
 
 I did not come into direct contact with this newer element be- 
 fore 1905, when I was transferred to the east side. They were 
 darker, many of them, than the Jews I had known on the west 
 side. In many other ways, too, they differed from their breth- 
 ren of the Yiddish idiom. But they all had the Jewish charac- 
 teristics of energy, industry, and ability; whatever the racial 
 mixture, they were at bottom of Hebrew origin. 
 
 Lillian and I lived in various parts of town, chiefly out on 
 the west and the north sides. Our neighbors on the west side 
 were largely of the older American stock. On the north side the 
 situation was different. There the population was about ninety- 
 seven per cent German. Our nearest English-speaking neighbor 
 lived a block and a half away. Of course, some of the citizens 
 of our more immediate neighborhood spoke something that 
 they imagined was English, but the belief was pure fancy. 
 The language that I heard on the streets was a dialect that I 
 could not follow. I soon learned that it was Plattdeutsch, for to 
 a very great extent the population in our part of Milwaukee ap- 
 peared to have its roots in Mecklenburg and Pomerania. 
 
 The presence of this German and especially North German 
 element was responsible for the fact that the Lutheran churches 
 were the most powerful religious body in Milwaukee. The in- 
 fluence of the Lutheran clergy in certain parts of the city was 
 
GERMAN INFLUENCE 285 
 
 a factor that could not be ignored, as it often extended beyond 
 the limits of the religious realm. I was present one Sunday 
 afternoon at the laying of the cornerstone of the forty-second 
 Lutheran church — I am sure that my number is not an over- 
 statement. Most of these churches were German in speech and 
 constituency. There was also a large German element that 
 held to the Catholic faith. In my day in Milwaukee the dio- 
 cese was under the authority of Archbishop Messmer, a widely 
 known prelate of Alsatian stock. 
 
 The religious situation was strongly reflected in the local 
 school system. At least forty per cent of the children attend- 
 ing school were getting their instruction in parochial schools. 
 The citizens generally accepted this as a satisfactory situation, 
 inasmuch as it lightened the burdens of the taxpayers, except 
 of course the patrons of the parochial schools, who naturally 
 felt aggrieved because of the added burden of public school 
 taxation. 
 
 These schools were conducted largely in foreign languages, 
 for the most part in Polish, Italian, and German. Every morn- 
 ing for some time I passed one of these schools at the hour of 
 its opening exercises. An important part of these was a hymn, 
 which was always sung in German. English was taught in all 
 the parochial schools, but I fear it was not always taught very 
 well. It would be difficult to say whether the official language 
 of some of them was English or some foreign idiom. So far as 
 I was able to learn the advantage was not on the side of the 
 English language. 
 
 Even in the public schools a decided emphasis was placed on 
 the subject of German. The study of this language was begun 
 in the first grade and continued from year to year till the end 
 of the high school course. It was possible for parents to have 
 their children excused from the work in that language; but 
 unless such a request was made, enrollment in German was 
 regarded as compulsory, though not farther than the last ele- 
 mentary grade. To supervise and promote this work, the school 
 board employed an assistant superintendent, usually called the 
 
286 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 superintendent of German. When I came to Milwaukee the 
 city superintendent and two of the three assistant superintend- 
 ents were Germans; I include among them the superintendent 
 of German, who was a German Hebrew. 
 
 It would appear, therefore, that while I was not any longer 
 in close touch with my own people, I had been drawn within 
 the orbit of another and more powerful culture, that of the 
 great Teutonic nation. In Milwaukee this culture was enjoying 
 a flourishing existence alongside that of Anglo-Saxondom and 
 in a measure even overshadowed it. What was called Deutsch- 
 thum found nourishment in churches, schools, newspapers, 
 theaters, turner halls, clubs, and other organized societies and 
 institutions of every description. While I did not come directly 
 under its influence, indirectly it affected us all, non-Germans as 
 well as Germans. 
 
 We came to think well of Milwaukee. The bay was beauti- 
 ful and some of the parks were delightful in their natural loveli- 
 ness. While I never regarded its government as a model of 
 righteousness, I believe Milwaukee was the best policed city that 
 I have known. The chief of police was an energetic Dutchman 
 who saw to it that the patrolmen were capable and efficient. 
 Saloons were numerous — there was one for every thirty-five 
 families — but they seemed to be quiet, orderly places; at least 
 that was the impression that one got from the street. 
 
 The principal at West Division High School was Charles E. 
 McLenegan, a schoolman of long standing in the city, who had 
 held the principalship since the school was established. Mc- 
 Lenegan was a large, portly man, strong, energetic, and deter- 
 mined, though he knew how to yield when the situation 
 demanded it. He was an efficient organizer and in many re- 
 spects a good model executive. Unfortunately he was somewhat 
 emotional and had in his keeping a vigorous temper which on 
 occasion would get away from him. Bland and genial one day, 
 he might be stormy and blustering the next. These changes in 
 the executive disposition could at times make work very diffi- 
 
MILWAUKEE HIGH SCHOOLS 287 
 
 cult. Rarely did a teacher go to the principal's office without 
 first sending a scout to spy out the land. 
 
 At West Division I taught several blocks of history and a 
 part of the time I also had a class in English. Having no great 
 interest in themes and essays I was glad to be relieved of that 
 part of my work; but my new program had ancient history in 
 four consecutive hours and that was no great improvement. 
 
 McLenegan thought at first that I would be a real asset to 
 the school; but in a few weeks he decided that I was a liability 
 and told me so quite frankly. Now frankness is often a virtue, 
 especially when combined with a little delicacy. But my prin- 
 cipal knew nothing about the delicate touch; his fist was hard 
 and he looked at its steely form with considerable pride. 
 
 Later in the year the wind began to blow from the other 
 direction and as soon as it seemed expedient he recommended 
 that my salary be increased. It was difficult, however, for us 
 to work together in peace. McLenegan's criticisms often left 
 his teachers with a sense of humiliation and I resented certain 
 things very much. I began to fear that my stay at West Divi- 
 sion was destined to be brief. It turned out to be briefer than 
 I had thought. 
 
 It happened that William Beach, a grizzled old soldier with 
 a remarkable memory for the events of the sixties, was not get- 
 ting on well with his superior at East Division. Beach had 
 been an able teacher, but the years had stolen in upon him and 
 had taken away much of his effectiveness. His principal was 
 anxious to have him retired, but the superintendent was reluc- 
 tant to dismiss a member of the Grand Army. So he conceived 
 the idea of transferring him to another school. One day when 
 I was in his office he asked me if I would be willing to go to 
 East Side. I replied that such a transfer might please me. 
 Beach was then notified of his appointment to my old position. 
 I was informed later that McLenegan was anything but pleased 
 with the exchange. 
 
 George A. Chamberlain, my new chief, was a totally differ- 
 ent man and executive from the one whom I had just left. He 
 
288 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 was, if possible, a better organizer and a wiser disciplinarian 
 than McLenegan. He worked quietly and rarely allowed him- 
 self to show anger or resentment. His quiet manner of going 
 about his duties aroused suspicion in certain quarters and there 
 were those among his teachers who were inclined to be rebel- 
 lious. For my own part, however, I can say that, except in some 
 very trivial matters, the treatment that I received was fair and 
 quite satisfactory. 
 
 Of my pupils in these two schools I have many pleasant 
 memories. The East Division building was an old and wholly 
 inadequate structure and its equipment was not satisfactory; 
 but in my classes I had a group of young people of whom many 
 were unusually able, and that was worth a great deal. In West 
 Division, too, I had some remarkably competent men and 
 women. Perhaps I may be allowed to mention one of them, 
 Frederick Merk, whom I came to know quite intimately. I be- 
 lieve it was in my classroom that Merk acquired his interest in 
 history; he developed it further at the University of Wisconsin. 
 For a number of years he has held a professorship at Harvard 
 University. 
 
 In the summer of 1905, before I had been transferred to East 
 Side, a change came in our family which I count an important 
 event in the progress of my education. Lillian's father died 
 that summer and her mother, whose home was still in Des 
 Moines, came to Milwaukee to live with us; she remained with 
 us from that time till her death nineteen years later. 
 
 Mary Lodiska Wall Dodson was born in central New York 
 in a household that apparently loved pioneering. She had 
 known the discomforts of the covered wagon and the many 
 needs and wants of the pioneer's cabin. She had known the 
 heavy toil that comes to women whose families settle on un- 
 broken soil. Troubles had come with the years, troubles of 
 many kinds; but they had left no trace of bitterness in her 
 character. Lodiska Wall was only two generations removed 
 from the older New England and shared in full measure the 
 
MOTHER DODSON 289 
 
 Puritan belief that God is worshiped in conduct. Reared in 
 the principles of an uncompromising Calvinism, she had ac r 
 cepted much of it, but not its chilling severity. Her God was a 
 kind God, one who required that she be tolerant toward those 
 whose ethical system did not exactly accord with her own. 
 
 There was strength in Mother Dodson's soul; there was also 
 quiet patience and placid beauty. What was most important in 
 my case was that in her life in our home she served to illustrate 
 how fine the life of the higher type of the old colonial stock 
 can be. I had learned the same from her daughter who now 
 for ten years had been my wife. But Lillian was not in agree- 
 ment with everything that all her Puritan forebears had be- 
 lieved: her mind had drawn from many sources other than 
 those of New England. Her mother, on the other hand, repre- 
 sented something older, something more colonial, for though 
 her outlook broadened as the years went by, she never com- 
 pletely lost the Puritan point of view. 
 
3f XXXV Jfc 
 
 iL he routine of high school work can be very deadening. 
 There is constant danger that one may fall into pedagogical 
 ruts and never be able to find the way out. For those who 
 wish to build up a career in work of this grade it has many com- 
 pensations. There are excellent, even outstanding teachers in 
 our high schools. There are many splendid men and women 
 among those who are training the youth in our secondary 
 schools. In their hands the routine is a means to an end which 
 can be reached in no other way. 
 
 It was otherwise with a man like myself, who came to the 
 high school a pilgrim whose hopes were centered on another 
 and more desirable land. In such a case secondary-school work 
 offers little inspiration. My ambition to do something different 
 remained awake ; in fact it grew more active from year to year. 
 Moreover, I found that my duties at the school left a certain 
 amount of free time which I could use for some type of literary 
 work. The problem was how to find a task that one could 
 undertake with a hope of carrying it forward to completion. 
 
 One day soon after we had come to Milwaukee I came upon 
 a new book which interested me. It was a little volume on Fin- 
 land by N. C. Fredriksen, a Danish citizen of Chicago, who 
 may best be described as a journalist, though he seems to have 
 had several vocations. I read the book carefully and wrote a 
 review of it which I sent to the Dial, a periodical devoted al- 
 most exclusively to the discussion of new books. The editor 
 
 290 
 
WRITING FOR THE DIAL 291 
 
 must have been pleased with it, for he not only accepted my 
 contribution but asked me if I would care to prepare an occa- 
 sional review for his journal. Naturally I was glad to do so. 
 I remained on the reviewing staff of the Dial for fifteen years. 
 
 The Dial was a useful but not exactly a lively journal. In 
 its evaluation of books it was likely to be quite conservative, its 
 purpose being chiefly to point out what is good and worth while 
 in a book rather than to dwell upon flaws and weaknesses, of 
 which even excellent books naturally have their share. This does 
 not mean, however, that the editor refused to print criticisms of 
 the harsher sort; many reviews appeared in the Dial which 
 were not only condemnatory but thoroughly devastating. I 
 was responsible for at least one signed review which looked 
 rather out of place in a staid publication like Browne's Dial. 
 
 The editor, Francis Fisher Browne, was, when I saw him 
 a few years later, a man who had long passed the year of his 
 greatest strength. I presume that much of the editorial work was 
 being done by his son, Waldo R. Browne, who ranked as assist- 
 ant editor and who continued the publication for some time 
 after his father's death. The elder Browne had an interesting 
 face, every feature of which testified to intellectual refinement. 
 His conversation was that of a man who knew what the Middle 
 West was doing and was able to sort out the wheat from the 
 chaff. He probably leaned toward the older standards, not be- 
 cause his mind was timid, but because he felt that most of them 
 had proved their value to mankind in this unaccountable world. 
 
 A year or two later someone mentioned me to the editor of 
 the American Historical Review as one who would be able to 
 review books in Scandinavian history. My first contribution to 
 this journal was a brief review of Evjen's study in the constitu- 
 tional revolution in Denmark in 1660, when the monarchy be- 
 came absolute. Since then I have contributed to the Review 
 in one way or another to this day. 
 
 One day (I believe it was in 1904), the editor of the Mil- 
 waukee Journal was in McLenegan's office and remarked in the 
 conversation that he found it very difficult to secure good edi- 
 
292 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 torial writers. McLenegan, who at that moment was in one of 
 his happier moods, suggested that I might be able to assist in 
 this matter. I was called in to meet the editor (Henry Colin 
 Campbell) and agreed to send him some copy. My connec- 
 tion with the Journal did not continue long, as I found it im- 
 possible to maintain it; but during the weeks that it lasted I sent 
 in a number of editorials, nearly all of which were printed. 
 
 I also did a little work for the Milwaukee Free Press, which 
 in those days was the leading organ of the La Follette (or " half- 
 breed ") element in Wisconsin politics. My contributions had, 
 however, nothing to do with local political affairs : they centered 
 about an elaborate Seventeenth of May celebration which was 
 held on that date in 1906. The Norwegians date their na- 
 tional independence from May 17, 1814, on which day a national 
 assembly adopted a constitution that was at the same time a 
 declaration of independence. This event had no doubt been 
 celebrated many times in Milwaukee but only in a mild way. 
 This year, however, the festivities were to be anything but mild, 
 for this was the first anniversary following the recent separation 
 from Sweden. Norwegian freedom had now become complete. 
 
 One morning in early June, 1905, screaming headlines in all 
 the newspapers informed us that the union between Norway 
 and Sweden, now nearly a century old, had been dissolved by 
 action of the Norwegian parliament. When I came to the high 
 school that morning I saw two young men, a Norwegian and 
 a Swede, bristling like wild boars and eager to decide the merits 
 of the controversy then and there. Both were friends of mine 
 — they had both been among my pupils; I was therefore able to 
 smooth their ruffled tempers, so there was neither bloodshed 
 nor scandal. 
 
 The following year the Norse contingent in Milwaukee de- 
 cided to celebrate the Seventeenth as they never had celebrated 
 before. The festivities were to take the form of a banquet at 
 the cost of four dollars per plate, a high figure in those days. 
 To prepare the Milwaukee mind for the great event I was asked 
 to draw up a statement for the press as to what it was all about. 
 
THE SEVENTEENTH OF MAY 293 
 
 This finally took the form of a full-page article on " Democracy 
 in Norway," which was published in the Free Press. 
 
 The gathering in the banquet room of the Hotel Pfister was 
 large and enthusiastic. Governor Davidson, Peer Str0mme, 
 Julius E. Olson, and others whom I knew had come over from 
 Madison. My old friend Dr. Ravn had come down from his 
 new home in Merrill. Even my clerical acquaintance from 
 Scandinavia days, the Reverend K. O. Eidahl, was present to 
 share in the jollification. Had it not been that the Free Press 
 was in need of someone who could report Norwegian speeches, 
 I should not have been able to attend, since a man in my posi- 
 tion could scarcely afford to pay four dollars for a meal. 
 
 After the dishes had been cleared away and the champagne 
 had begun to achieve its purpose, the toastmaster began his 
 deadly work. There were ten speakers, each to have ten min- 
 utes; some took nearly half an hour. Practically all spoke in 
 Norwegian. It was a long night. After I had handed in my 
 copy at the Free Press office I hastened homeward. It was three 
 o'clock when I finally came in and there was something to ex- 
 plain to a much disturbed partner who had anxiously been 
 waiting since midnight. 
 
 In the spring of 1904 the committee on publications at the 
 university expressed a desire to print the dissertation on which 
 I had achieved the doctorate. I had already given the manu- 
 script a careful revision and it was now ready for the press. My 
 friends had advised me to enter it for the H. B. Adams prize; 
 but as this would mean a considerable delay in publication I 
 decided not to do so but to send it to the printer instead. The 
 committee was ready to proceed with publication at once, but 
 it was thought best to defer the printing till June, when I should 
 be able to read the proofs in Madison. 
 
 Soon after the close of school I left for the capital city in the 
 hope that I would soon have the proof sheets before me. The 
 committee now informed me that documents of this sort could 
 not be printed without the governor's consent and that La 
 
294 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Follette had not yet signed the necessary papers. The thesis 
 was on his desk and it was hoped that he would get to it before 
 long. Meanwhile there was nothing to do but wait. 
 
 After two weeks or more had passed I began to wonder if I 
 could not find some way to apply a little friendly pressure on 
 the dilatory executive. Dr. McCarthy, the legislative reference 
 librarian, who was close to the governor, was confident that he 
 could help me, but his efforts brought no results. I next went 
 to John M. Nelson, who had at one time been La Follette's cam- 
 paign manager (he was sent to Congress two years later) ; his 
 intervention also failed. Former Congressman N. P. Haugen, 
 then of the tax commission, also tried his hand with a similar 
 outcome. James O. Davidson, then state treasurer and soon to 
 be governor, was no more successful. Everywhere I heard the 
 same complaint : the governor is interested in legislative reforms 
 only; for the business of his office he cares very little. So I 
 reached the conclusion that however capable La Follette might 
 be in certain respects, he was a mighty poor administrator. 
 
 Finally, after some weeks, time came for the governor to 
 mount the Chautauqua platform. Since he would now be ab- 
 sent for some time, it became necessary to dispose of the busi- 
 ness that had accumulated on his desk; and among the papers 
 that he then signed was the permit to print my dissertation. At 
 last we could get to work. The manuscript was rushed to the 
 printer and appeared in the form of a book in August, 1904. 
 
 It was a little volume of some two hundred pages and did 
 not deal with a subject of absorbing interest. I was therefore 
 surprised to receive letters from a number of scholars, American 
 and foreign, who had received the book, all expressing satisfac- 
 tion with the study. They were usually only brief notes, but 
 the fact that historians of international fame would take the 
 trouble to write to me was highly encouraging. 
 
 A few months later (in January, 1905), I received a letter 
 from Professor Henry B. Gardner of Brown University, who 
 was at the time associated with the Carnegie Institution, asking 
 
MILWAUKEE FINANCE 295 
 
 me to make a study of Milwaukee finance. This was a strange 
 request to make of a medievalist, who, furthermore, had very 
 little training in economics. However, I had come to fear that 
 I might have to continue in secondary-school work, in which 
 case my only hope of being able to do anything in historical 
 research would be in the field of local history. I therefore 
 agreed to undertake the work. 
 
 In this investigation I had much efficient help from my wife, 
 who proved to have the true instincts of a student of history. 
 Lillian's particular research was in the subject of the municipal 
 debt, but she also assisted in other parts of the work. 
 
 We had not gone far into the sources before we discovered 
 that the story of the financial vagaries of Milwaukee would not 
 be very enlightening unless the story of the changes in the ma- 
 chinery of administration were told at the same time. We also 
 learned that we would have to depend exclusively on printed 
 materials; for the earlier decades of the city's life there were no 
 other extant sources. The explanation given for this strange 
 situation was that an earlier official had stored the municipal 
 archives in the upper story of a livery stable and that the stable 
 had burned down ! Nothing was known as to how the fire had 
 originated. 
 
 The history that we had to write does not make pleasant 
 reading on every page: it is largely a story of selfish promoters, 
 of thieving contractors, of administrative unwisdom, and of, 
 now and then, a spasm of fairly effective reform. And yet, in 
 spite of its ragged history in the days of raw beginnings, Mil- 
 waukee had grown into a powerful and attractive city. 
 
 The department of economics at the University of Wisconsin 
 became interested in my study and recommended its publica- 
 tion in the University Studies. Being at the time in no relation- 
 ship to the university except in that of an alumnus, I was much 
 surprised when my manuscript was requested. The work was 
 finished in 1905 and was published two years later. After I had 
 entered upon my new duties in the University of Illinois, Pro- 
 fessor Gardner suggested that I make a study of the finances 
 
296 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 of that state. This proposal I was unable to accept, having 
 neither time nor preparation for a research so extensive and so 
 complex as a work of that sort was sure to be. 
 
 My work in the Anglo-Saxon period had led me to believe 
 that a study of that part of the Viking period, of which Canute 
 the Great is the most prominent figure, would be not only pos- 
 sible but very much worth while. The project did not get very 
 far in Milwaukee, since the more important sources were not 
 available. After my removal to Illinois I laid my plans before 
 Mr. G. H. Putnam of Putnam's publishing house, who promptly 
 sent me a contract for a book in the Heroes of the Nations se- 
 ries. The work was published in 1912. 
 
 After the close of my duties in the high school (toward the 
 end of June) I had two months at my disposal. These I usually 
 spent in Madison while Lillian took the time for a visit with 
 her parents in Des Moines. I had many friends in the capital 
 city and at the university. I would occasionally meet men of 
 prominence whom I had not met before. On my last visit to 
 Madison I was introduced to Paul Vinogradov, a Russian 
 scholar of great fame who held a professorship at Oxford. Vino- 
 gradov was in every way an immense man. I met him again 
 later on in Milwaukee. We went out together to take a look 
 at the more alien parts of the town and as we were walking the 
 great Russian remarked, "Now, since you are a Norwegian, 
 we may as well speak your language," and so we did. Vino- 
 gradov was once introduced to a European audience as one who 
 knew all the legal systems and all the languages of the Con- 
 tinent. This was not so much of an exaggeration as one might 
 think. My own language he spoke fluently. Possibly the fact 
 that Mrs. Vinogradov was of Norwegian birth had some signifi- 
 cance here. 
 
 During my years in the graduate school I had become quite 
 well acquainted with Charles Hart Handschin, who was work- 
 ing for the doctorate in German. We received the coveted de- 
 gree on the same day and the next three years he served as 
 instructor in German at the university. I saw a great deal of 
 
THE MONONA ASSEMBLY 297 
 
 Dr. Handschin during those summers in Madison, more than 
 of anyone else; for we had rooms in the same house. Hand- 
 schin and I had many interests in common; for one thing we 
 both enjoyed singing German student songs, and we indulged 
 our liking to our hearts' content. 
 
 A famous institution in the Madison area was the Monona 
 Assembly, an elaborate organization of the Chautauqua type, 
 located in a camp on the south side of Lake Monona. The as- 
 sembly provided the usual fare of lectures and music; but the 
 management always tried to be careful to employ high-class 
 talent. Handschin and I made several trips to the Monona 
 camp, not to hear lectures but to listen to the music, which we 
 often found magnificent. Sometimes we were joined by Pro- 
 fessor Edwin C. L. C. Roedder, who was giving courses in Ger- 
 manic philology; he now holds a prominent position in the 
 College of the City of New York. 
 
 In one of those summers the particular attraction was Crea- 
 tore's Italian Band, an organization that was known the country 
 over thirty years ago. Creatore was a conductor of the acro- 
 batic type. His behavior on the platform was always unusual, 
 and often highly diverting. The distinguishing feature of his 
 personal appearance was a heavy head of thick black hair which 
 he encouraged to grow down his neck like a mane. He must 
 have taken great pride in his shaggy neck, for all his pictures 
 had to be taken from an angle that would allow him to display 
 his lovely mane. 
 
 Always himself quick and alert, he had his men trained to 
 respond to the slightest movement of the baton. I recall one 
 evening when at a sign from the conductor six of the bands- 
 men leaped forward and began to play Donizetti's immortal 
 sextet. On a later occasion the agile conductor really outdid 
 all the earlier exhibitions that we had witnessed. The band was 
 playing Berlioz's "Damnation of Faust," and when the 
 " descent into hell " was reached, one could easily imagine that 
 the squirming bandsman was himself descending into the 
 flames. 
 
298 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 At an interval in the program a short but otherwise ample 
 Italian woman of middle age came out upon the stage to sing. 
 She did not look as if she could have much of a voice; but a 
 voice she had and she used it with marvelous effect. First she 
 sang the well known ballad, "I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble 
 Halls." Never have I heard it sung so beautifully since. As an 
 encore she gave "Listen to the Mocking Bird"; the audience 
 roared with applause. So far as I know these two songs were 
 the extent of her repertoire; but we could not tire of them. 
 
 One night I recall that we went to the assembly to see the 
 Ben Greet players give "Everyman." I shall have to admit that 
 I did not find the performance very exciting, but Handschin 
 argued that the mystery plays have an important place in the 
 history of culture, an argument that I could not refute. 
 
 It must not be thought that we had to go to Madison to see 
 and hear the higher forms of art; we had even better oppor- 
 tunities in Milwaukee. Lillian and I heard our first operas in 
 Milwaukee: " Tannhauser," "Parsifal," and "II Trovatore" are 
 the ones that I recall at this moment, but these were by no 
 means all. 
 
 One summer day in 1903 a temptation came to me to return 
 to the type of work that I had left behind in Scandinavia. A 
 friend from Forest City brought me the news that a higher in- 
 stitution, called by courtesy a college, had been established in 
 that town under the aegis of the Lutheran church. His par- 
 ticular errand was to invite me to take the headship of the new 
 school. It was after all no great temptation. The prospects of 
 success would no doubt be far better in a progressive locality 
 like Forest City than in a place so colonial-minded as Scandi- 
 navia. Still, the work and the ancillary duties were likely to be 
 much the same, and I therefore found it easy to decline the 
 invitation. 
 
3f XXXVI Js 
 
 i 
 
 n the early summer of 1907 I was completing my fifth year 
 in Milwaukee. A friend had warned me when I took the posi- 
 tion at West Division that if I went into high school work I 
 would be " eternally damned." I feared that he was right, and 
 five years later I was sure that his prediction had come true. 
 Gradually the conviction had become rooted that if I were 
 to have a career it would have to develop in the secondary 
 schools. 
 
 The thing to do then was to make the adaptations and ad- 
 justments necessary to this end and to get into closer touch 
 with the educational leaders of the city. I had been asked to 
 become a member of the Milwaukee Schoolmasters' Club and 
 in its gatherings I became acquainted with a number of interest- 
 ing men whom I had known earlier only by name. I was 
 learning their attitude toward the problems of the local school 
 system and was beginning to sort out the persons who seemed 
 really to count. 
 
 Such then was the outlook; fortunately the outcome was to 
 be otherwise. Early in the year a letter came from Professor 
 Joseph Schafer, my old friend from Turner's seminar but now 
 professor of history in the University of Oregon, indicating that 
 I might be asked to come out to Eugene for a year. This, of 
 course, was not satisfactory; at the same time the correspond- 
 ence hinted at the possibility of permanent tenure. Nothing 
 came of this, however, for before the Oregon authorities were 
 
 299 
 
300 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 ready to make a definite proposition, I had accepted a position 
 elsewhere. 
 
 In Madison Professor Olson had long been urging the de- 
 partment of history to give me a place on its staff. Professor 
 Munro, who had seen my class work in Milwaukee, was favor- 
 ably disposed; but there seemed to be influences at work which 
 for some time successfully vetoed any action in my behalf. 
 Finally, however, in the spring of 1907, a plan was devised, 
 according to which I would be given two appointments instead 
 of one; I was to have an assistantship in history and an assist- 
 antship in Scandinavian languages. It was a crude arrange- 
 ment but it was believed to have possibilities. At least it would 
 take me out of Milwaukee and bring me into the university. 
 No doubt I should gladly have accepted the offer if the possi- 
 bility of a better appointment had not appeared in another 
 quarter. 
 
 At the University of Illinois Dean Evarts B. Greene, who was 
 also in charge of the department of history, was looking for a 
 man who might be able to undertake a combination of English 
 and medieval history. Naturally he turned to Professor Has- 
 kins for counsel and Haskins' reply included my name with the 
 names of several others. Dean Greene sent me the usual infor- 
 mation blank and a little later invited me to visit Urbana. I 
 found time to go and spent an interesting day with the mem- 
 bers of the department, Greene, C. W. Alvord, and Guy Stanton 
 Ford, all of whom were ranking men in the profession. 
 
 When I returned home I could not tell what sort of an im- 
 pression I had made; I had reason to fear that it was not of the 
 best; still I had hopes, for the appointment at Illinois looked 
 very desirable. Meanwhile Professor A. L. P. Dennis, who was 
 in charge of the history work in Madison, had been calling for 
 a definite reply to the offer that he had sent me. I was in a 
 quandary : was I to lose both opportunities ? 
 
 I then decided to visit Madison to consult Dr. Dennis and 
 President Van Hise. Dennis insisted that I make an immediate 
 decision; but President Van Hise told me to take all the time 
 
"a more complete Americanism" 301 
 
 that I seemed to need. Before long I was able to inform Pro- 
 fessor Dennis that I had accepted an appointment as associate in 
 history at the University of Illinois. 
 
 It was a far cry from the little Norwegian settlement in 
 northern Iowa, where almost everything had a north European 
 flavor, to the older community of Champaign and Urbana, 
 where the native American element was in complete control 
 and domination. There were almost no Norwegians in either 
 town or county and the nearest Norwegian settlement was a 
 little group of farmsteads ninety miles away. Except for two 
 churches using the German language in their services, there 
 were no important organizations in either city with the pur- 
 pose of maintaining an alien culture. One of these was the 
 church, and the only church of my own faith. Much as I ap- 
 preciated the marvelous achievements of the German spirit, I 
 could not for a moment think of joining permanently in a wor- 
 ship conducted in the German language. So it seemed that 
 every influence, personal and institutional, that had held me in 
 the old grooves had been removed. My development in the 
 direction of a more complete Americanism, though seemingly 
 slow, had indeed been swift and thorough. It may be said 
 with much truth that in the course of my life I have gone 
 through a process of change and education that normally re- 
 quires two or even three generations. 
 
 But I have not forgotten my past. The knowledge of things 
 Norwegian, new and old, which came to me in early life is a 
 heritage that I prize most highly and should be loath to lose 
 even in the slightest measure. As the years have come and 
 gone, my interest in all those mighty forces that shaped the cul- 
 ture and the civilization into which I was born has, if anything, 
 become deeper and more intense, possibly because their signifi- 
 cance has come out into clear light. Nor can I deny that it 
 is a matter of real pride to me that my cradle stood in that stern 
 and rugged but grandly beautiful country whence so much of 
 human strength has gone forth into all the western world. 
 
302 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 For more than sixty years I have shared in the citizenship 
 of the great Republic. I owe no allegiance, political or spirit- 
 ual, to any other land; but my past is a fact and a vital fact 
 that I cannot ignore. Between an active loyalty to a land and 
 a system into which one has been received and an honest recog- 
 nition of the values that inhere in a culture out of which one 
 has come, there need be no conflict. America herself has a 
 European past, from the long experience of which she has 
 drawn knowledge and wisdom and power. And the individual 
 citizen no more than the nation itself can escape the implica- 
 tions of his past. 
 
THE WRITINGS OF 
 LAURENCE MARCELLUS LARSON 
 
THE WRITINGS OF 
 LAURENCE MARCELLUS LARSON 
 
 COMPILED BY KENNETH BJ0RK 
 
 King Alfred. In Modern Culture, vol. 14, p. 96-100 (October, 1901). 
 
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 Thesis Submitted for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy, University 
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 History Series, vol. 1, no. 2, p. 55-211. Madison, 1904. 
 
 Norwegian Democracy. In Milwaukee Free Press, May 13, 1906, mag- 
 azine section, p. 3. 
 
 A Financial and Administrative History of Milwaukee. Madison, 
 1908. 182 p. University of Wisconsin, Bulletins, no. 242: Eco- 
 nomics and Political Science Series, vol. 4, no. 2. 
 
 The Household of the Norwegian Kings in the Thirteenth Century. 
 In American Historical Review, vol. 13, p. 459-479 (April, 1908). 
 
 Old Norse Sources in English History. In American Historical Associ- 
 ation, Annual Reports, 1908, vol. 1, p. 103-108. Washington, 1909. 
 
 The Sectional Elements in the Early History of Milwaukee. In Mis- 
 sissippi Valley Historical Association, Proceedings, 1907-08, p. 121— 
 135. Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 1909. 
 
 A Syllabus of European History for Secondary Schools. Champaign- 
 Urbana, 1909. 74 p. 
 
 The Political Policies of Cnut as King of England. In American 
 Historical Review, vol. 15, p. 720-743 (July, 1910). 
 
 Canute the Great, 995 (circ)-\035, and the Rise of Danish Imperialism 
 during the Viking Age. New York, 1912. xviii, 375 p. New edi- 
 tion: New York, 1932. 376 p. Heroes of the Nations. 
 
 The Efforts of the Danish Kings to Recover the English Crown after 
 the Death of Harthacnut. In American Historical Association, 
 Annual Reports, 1910, p. 69-81. Washington, 1912. 
 
 Die Gefolgschaft bei den Angelsachsen, and other articles. In Johan- 
 nes Hoops, Reallexi\on der germanischen Altertums\unde , vol. 2, p. 
 135-36, 240-41; vol. 3, p. 139-143, 508, 528, 544-546, 546-551, 576. 
 Strasbourg, 1912-14. 
 
 Scientific Knowledge in the North in the Thirteenth Century. In So- 
 ciety for the Advancement of Scandinavian Study, Publications, vol. 
 1, p. 139-146 (November, 1913). 
 
 305 
 
306 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 The Voyages to Vinland the Good. In Society for the Advancement 
 of Scandinavian Study, Publications, vol. 2, p. 113-127 (March, 
 1915). 
 
 A Short History of England and the British Empire. New York, 1915. 
 xvii, 661 p. American Historical Series. 
 
 The King's Mirror (Speculum Regale — Konungs Skuggsja). Trans- 
 lated from the Old Norwegian of the Thirteenth Century, with an 
 Introduction. New York, 1917. 388 p. Scandinavian Monographs 
 Series, no. 3. 
 
 The Changing Fortunes of the Great War. In Historical Outloo\, vol. 
 
 9, p. 375-377 (October, 1918). 
 Further Evidence in the Case against Germany. In Historical Out- 
 
 loo\, vol. 9, p. 420-423 (November, 1918). 
 The Boundaries of Finland. In American-Scandinavian Review, vol. 
 
 6, p. 315-325 (November-December, 1918). 
 Nationalism in the Coming Peace Conference. In Historical Outloo\, 
 
 vol. 9, p. 475-477 (December, 1918). 
 An Outline of the Historical Background of the Great War. Urbana, 
 
 1918. 28 p. 
 The Responsibility for the Great War: An Address Delivered at a 
 
 Convocation of the College of Agriculture, University of Illinois, 
 
 May 16, 1918. Urbana, 1918. 16 p. University of Illinois, Bulle- 
 tins, vol. 15, no. 51. 
 Territorial Problems of the Baltic Basin. Urbana, 1918. 15 p. Uni- 
 versity of Illinois, Bulletins, vol. 15, no. 51. 
 Prussianism in North Sleswick. In American Historical Review, vol. 
 
 24, p. 227-252 (January, 1919). 
 Socialistic Upheaval in Europe. In Historical Outloo\, vol. 10, p. 18- 
 
 20 (January, 1919). 
 The European Neutrals and the Peace Conference. In Historical Out- 
 
 loo\, vol. 10, p. 71-74 (February, 1919). 
 When the War Machine Broke Down. In Historical Outloo\, vol. 10, 
 
 p. 115-117 (March, 1919). 
 The New Germany. In Historical Outloo\, vol. 10, p. 175-177 (April, 
 
 1919). 
 The Revolution in Hungary. In Historical Outloo\, vol. 10, p. 239- 
 
 242 (May, 1919). 
 A Few Territorial Problems. In Historical Outloo\, vol. 10, p. 312-314 
 
 (June, 1919). 
 The Church in North America (Greenland) in the Middle Ages. In 
 
 Catholic Historical Review, vol. 5, p. 175-194 (July-October, 1919). 
 Submarine Warfare and Scandinavian Shipping. 1919. 15 p. Issued 
 
 as a supplement to Scandinavian Studies and Notes, vol. 5. 
 
THE WRITINGS OF LAURENCE MARCELLUS LARSON 307 
 
 The Kensington Rune Stone. In Wisconsin Magazine of History, vol. 
 4, p. 382-387 (June, 1921). 
 
 Did John Scolvus Visit Labrador and Newfoundland in or about 1476? 
 In Scandinavian Studies and Notes, vol. 7, p. 81-89 (May, 1922). 
 
 The Vinland Voyages. In American-Scandinavian Review, vol. 13, p. 
 531-537 (September, 1923). 
 
 Greenland. In Scandinavia, vol. 1, p. 68-70 (January, 1924). 
 
 The Beginnings of the Norwegian Church. In American-Scandinavian 
 Review, vol. 12, p. 726-735 (December, 1924). 
 
 A History of England and the British Commonwealth. New York, 
 1924. ix, 911 p. Revised edition: New York, 1932. 916 p. Ameri- 
 can Historical Series. 
 
 The Changing West. In Illinois State Historical Society, Journal, vol. 
 17, p. 551-564 (January, 1925). 
 
 Oslo and Christiania. In American-Scandinavian Review, vol. 13, p. 
 31-39 (January, 1925). 
 
 A Century of Achievement, 1825-1925: The New Norway in the New 
 World. In American-Scandinavian Review, vol. 13, p. 333-347 
 (June, 1925). 
 
 The Norwegian Pioneer in the Field of American Scholarship. In 
 Norwegian-American Historical Association, Studies and Records, 
 vol. 2, p. 62-77. Northfield, 1927. 
 
 Seventy Years of Congregationalism in Champaign and Urbana. Cham- 
 paign, 1928. 17 p. 
 
 The Rock Whence We Were Hewn. In St. Olaf College, Bulletins, 
 vol. 24, no. 5, p. 7-17. Northfield, 1929. 
 
 Witnesses and Oath Helpers in Old Norwegian Law. In Charles H. 
 Taylor, ed., Anniversary Essays in Mediaeval History by Students of 
 Charles Homer Hasans, p. 133-156. Boston, 1929. 
 
 The Convention Riot at Benson Grove, Iowa, in 1876. In Norwegian- 
 American Studies and Records, vol. 6, p. 122-132. Northfield, 1931. 
 
 Erik Gustaf Geijer (1783-1847). In Encyclopedia of the Social Sci- 
 ences, vol. 6, p. 600. New York, 1931. 
 
 Scandinavian Countries. Editor. In William H. Allison, Sidney B. 
 Fay, Augustus H. Shearer, and Henry R. Shipman, eds., A Guide to 
 Historical Literature, p. 758-771. New York, 1931. 
 
 Great Britain. In World Boo\ Encyclopedia Annual, 1932, p. 70-74; 
 1933, p. 70-74; 1934, p. 72-75; 1935, p. 72-75. Chicago, 1933-36. 
 
 The Norwegian Element in the Northwest. In American Historical 
 Review, vol. 40, p. 69-80 (October, 1934). 
 
 Tellef Grundysen and the Beginnings of Norwegian-American Fiction. 
 In Norwegian- American Studies and Records, vol. 8, p. 1-17. North- 
 field, 1934. 
 
308 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Problems of the Norwegian Church in the Eleventh Century. In 
 Church History, vol. 4, p. 159-172 (September, 1935). 
 
 Literature of the Vinland Problem. In Lew Eiri\sson Review, p. 6. 
 Brooklyn, October 9, 1935. 
 
 The Earliest Norwegian Laws, Being the Gulathing Law and the 
 Frostathing Law. Translated from the Old Norwegian and edited. 
 New York, 1935^. ix, 451 p. Columbia University, Records of Civ- 
 ilization: Sources and Studies, no. 20. 
 
 Otto Leopold Schmidt: An Appreciation. In Illinois State Historical 
 Society, Journal, vol. 28, p. 237-246 (January, 1936). 
 
 The Kensington Rune Stone. In Minnesota History, vol. 17, p. 20-37 
 (March, 1936). 
 
 The Collection and Preservation of Sources. In Norwegian- American 
 Studies and Records, vol. 9, p. 95-105. Northfield, 1936. 
 
 The Changing West and Other Essays. Northfield, 1937. ix, 180 p. 
 Norwegian-American Historical Association, Publications. 
 
 England. In World Boo\ Encyclopedia, vol. 5, p. 2243-2264. Chi- 
 cago, 1938. 
 
 Great Britain. In World Boo\ Encyclopedia, vol. 7, p. 2922-2931. 
 Chicago, 1938. 
 
 The Log Book of a Young Immigrant. Northfield, 1939. 318 p. 
 Norwegian-American Historical Association, Publications. 
 
INDEX 
 
INDEX 
 
 Adams, Charles Francis, 267 
 
 Adams, Charles Kendall, sketch, 266; re- 
 tirement, 280 
 
 Adventists, Forest City, 55 
 
 Alethean Society (Drake University), 199 
 
 Alvord, C. W., 300 
 
 American Historical Review, 291 
 
 Americanization, of Norwegian element, 
 47, 104, 140, 150, 161, 234, 242, 269; 
 definitions, 99; importance of common 
 school, 100; politics as a factor, 114. 
 See also English language 
 
 America, 271 
 
 Ames, Edward S., 153 
 
 Anders, Fred, 152 
 
 Anderson, Andrew (" Baker "), 60, 94, 
 133; sketch, 44 
 
 Anderson, Betsy, 45 
 
 Anderson, Carl, 237 
 
 Anderson, J. J., teacher, 116; sketch, 103 
 
 Anderson, John, Iowa farmer, 45 
 
 Anderson, John A., 133, 147 
 
 Anderson, John E., attorney, 74 
 
 Anderson, Joseph Herman, political ca- 
 reer, 45 
 
 Anderson, Rasmus Bj0rn, sketch, 271-273 
 
 Arnold, Sir Edwin, poet, 196 
 
 Athenian Society (Drake University), 
 163, 199, 202 
 
 Augsburg Confession, 53, 62 
 
 Augustana Synod, 59 
 
 Aylesworth, Barton Orville, president of 
 Drake University, 164, 174, 177, 182, 
 186, 187, 191, 202, 211, 212, 213, 214,' 
 223, 224; sketch, 174; author, 194; 
 poet, 195; nominated for governor, 210 
 
 Bailey, John, 31 
 
 Baptist church, Forest City, 55; Des 
 
 Moines, 169 
 Beach, William, 287 
 
 Benson Grove (Iowa), convention riot, 77 
 Berean Society (Drake University), 199 
 Berg, Mrs. N. B., 269 
 Bergen (Norway), 2, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 
 
 97; sketch, 1; emigrant port, 18 
 Bible, use by Norwegians, 51, 94 
 Birge, Edward Asahel, 281; sketch, 280 
 Bj0rnson, Bj0rnstjerne, 97, 252, 272 
 
 Black, W. F., evangelist preacher, 165, 
 167, 168 
 
 Blizzards, Iowa, 84-86 
 
 Bottenfield, Lyman S., 153, 196; sketches, 
 157, 158 
 
 Bray, Darius, 116 
 
 Bray, Mrs. Darius, 116 
 
 Britt (Iowa), market, 35, 121 
 
 Brown, Nelson G., sketch, 167 
 
 Browne, Francis Fisher, 291 
 
 Browne, Waldo R., 291 
 
 Bruland, Aagot, 11 
 
 Bruland, Andreas (Andrew), Larson's 
 uncle, 17; sketch, 12 
 
 Bruland, Ellen Mathilde, see Mrs. Chris- 
 tian Larson 
 
 Bruland, Mads Jacobsen, sketch, 1 1 
 
 Buffalo Fork (Iowa), 30 
 
 Buffalo Grove (Iowa), 40 
 
 Bull, Ole, 98 
 
 Burnap, W. A., 76 
 
 Byers, Maj. S. H. M., poet, 194 
 
 Cairns, William B., 255 
 
 Campbell, Alexander, 162, 163 
 
 Campbell, Henry Colin, 292 
 
 Campbellites, 162 
 
 Carleton, Will, author, 195 
 
 Carpenter, " Daisy," 205 
 
 Carpenter, George Thomas, Drake Uni- 
 versity chancellor, 165, 174, 186, 211, 
 217, 218; sketch, 156; death, 157 
 
 Carter, Charles Otis, 202 
 
 Cathcart, Charles, 201, 202 
 
 Cathcart, Frank, 201, 202 
 
 Cedar River, 24 
 
 Center Township (Winnebago County, 
 Iowa), 123 
 
 Chamberlain, George A., 287 
 
 Chandler, George, 140 
 
 Charles XV, king of Norway and Sweden, 
 13 
 
 Chase, Col. A. H„ 116 
 
 Chase, Salmon P., 66 
 
 Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul Rail- 
 way, 34, 121 
 
 Chilton, Cleo M., 178 
 
 Chisholm, William, 201, 202 
 
 Christian VI, king of Denmark and Nor- 
 way, 92 
 
 311 
 
312 
 
 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Christian church, alliance with Drake 
 
 University, 162; University Place, 164, 
 
 169; principles, 177 
 Church of Christ, Central, Des Moines, 
 
 165 
 Clark, Robert, Forest City pioneer, 24; 
 
 career, 65, 75; death', 76 
 Clarkson, James S., 207 
 Clear Lake (Iowa), 34 
 Cleveland, Grover, 112, 114, 145, 210 
 Coffin, Victor, professor of history, 263, 
 
 279, 280; sketch, 261 
 Comets, 129 
 Congregational church, 53; Forest City, 
 
 122; Plymouth, Des Moines, 169 
 
 Cook, Miss , teacher, 103 
 
 Coon Grove (Winnebago County, Iowa), 
 
 24,31,40,86 
 Cooper, Col. Martin, 113, 145; sketch, 73 
 Corson, Hiram, 267 
 Cory, Abram E„ 178 
 Covered wagons, described, 41 
 Creatore's Italian Band, 297 
 Crystal Lake (Iowa), 44 
 Cushman, Lysander W., 158, 182, 199; 
 
 sketches, 157, 159 
 
 Daae, Drude Marie Kathrine, 8 
 
 Daae family, name, 8; history, 10, 13 
 
 Dahl, Arne E„ 90, 112; sketch, 43 
 
 Dahl, Rev. J. M., 61, 77; sketch, 58; medi- 
 cal practice, 71 
 
 Dahl, Lars A., 236 
 
 Dallas County (Iowa), 20, 21, 23 
 
 Danes, in Iowa, 43 
 
 Darwinism, attitude of Drake University, 
 192 
 
 Davidson, James O., 293, 294 
 
 Davis, Floyd, 158, 183; sketch, 157; au- 
 thor, 190 
 
 Decorah (Iowa), 252 
 
 Decorah-posten, sketch, 49 
 
 Delphic, Drake student paper, 201, 216, 
 219, 220, 224 
 
 Democratic party, attitude of Norwegians, 
 75, 112, 113, 143, 148, 233, 237, 247, 
 274; victories of 1882, 130; on Drake 
 campus, 202, 207; victory of 1892, 209, 
 210 
 
 Denmark, 15 
 
 Dennis, A. L. P., 300, 301 
 
 Denny, Charles O., 153; sketch, 185 
 
 Depew, Chauncey M., 223 
 
 Des Moines, in 1888, 151; evangelistic 
 meetings, 165-169; churches, 168, 169; 
 rural character, 190; arrival of Kelly's 
 "army," 214; residential district, 250. 
 See also Drake University 
 
 Des Moines Leader, 207, 224 
 
 Des Moines River, 30 
 
 De Soto (Iowa), 20 
 
 Dial, 290, 291 
 
 Disciples of Christ, 162 
 
 Dodson, Benjamin Franklin, 225, 296; 
 death, 288 
 
 Dodson, Mrs. Benjamin Franklin (Mary 
 Lodiska Wall), 225, 296; sketch, 288 
 
 Dodson, Lillian May, see Mrs. Laurence 
 M. Larson 
 
 Dolliver, Jonathan P., 145, 146; sketch, 
 144 
 
 Dowell, Cassius C, 209 
 
 Drake, Gen. Francis Marion, 210, 211, 
 214 
 
 Drake relays, 198 
 
 Drake University, Larson at, 150-227; lo- 
 cation, 151; Students' Home, 152, 167, 
 180; students, 152, 160, 178; chapel, 
 153, 155; Bible college, 153, 162, 177, 
 178; entrance requirements, 154; fac- 
 ulty, 156-160, 175-179, 181-188, 189, 
 194; history department, 159; founded, 
 162; affiliation with Christian church, 
 162; ethical standards, 163, 191, 192, 
 196; theatrical performances, 164; ef- 
 fect of evangelistic meetings, 165; presi- 
 dency, 173; scholarship standards, 187, 
 189; science building, 187; visiting 
 speakers, 191, 195, 212, 215; attitude 
 toward social problems, 193; interest in 
 current literature, 196; athletics, 197; 
 literary societies, 198-200; Greek letter 
 societies, 200-202; student paper, 201, 
 216, 219, 220, 224; debating, 203-205, 
 224; in politics, 206-211; charged with 
 radicalism, 211; commencement, 226 
 
 Dudley, William H, 251 
 
 Dungan, David R., 153, 158, 164; sketch, 
 157; author, 189 
 
 Dunshee, Norman E., 185; sketch, 157; 
 death, 157 
 
 East Division High School (Milwaukee), 
 287; building, 288 
 
 Education, factor in Americanization, 100; 
 the common school, 100-105, 135-141, 
 271; pioneer methods, 105; methods 
 for graduate study, 276; high school 
 teaching, 290. See also Drake Univer- 
 sity, Scandinavia Academy, University 
 of Wisconsin 
 
 Eidahl, K. O., Lutheran pastor, 293; 
 sketch, 230 
 
 Eliason, Oscar H, 237 
 
 Ellickson, James, 45, 230; in legislature, 
 148 
 
INDEX 
 
 313 
 
 Ellickson, Mrs. James, see Katie Larson 
 
 English language, adoption by Norwegian 
 element, 42, 47, 92, 99, 104, 230, 234, 
 239, 240, 243, 249, 269; use in Mil- 
 waukee, 285 
 
 Everest, H. H., 201, 202 
 
 Everest, Harvey W., 174, 202 
 
 Farmers' Alliance, Winnebago County, 
 52, 142 
 
 Farmers' Alliance and Industrial Union 
 (Southern Alliance), 208 
 
 Fens Fjord, 2, 3 
 
 Fetter, Frank, 204 
 
 Field, Eugene, poet, 195 
 
 Fish, Carl Russell, 268 
 
 Focht, Lawrence, 161, 204, 217, 220, 221, 
 227 
 
 Ford, Guy Stanton, 300 
 
 Forest City (Iowa), 23, 40; town site, 24; 
 county seat, 25; churches, 55, 56, 59; 
 business affairs, 65; Fourth of July cele- 
 brations, 114-117; railroad, 121, 122; 
 government, 123; teachers' institute, 
 140, 231; interest in politics, 143; post- 
 mastership, 145; college, 298. See also 
 Winnebago County 
 
 Forest Township (Winnebago County, 
 Iowa), railroad tax, 123 
 
 Fourth of July celebrations, Forest City, 
 Iowa, 114-117 
 
 Franklin, George A., 140 
 
 Freeman, J. C, 253 
 
 Frisbie, A. L., Congregational pastor, 169, 
 170 
 
 Gardner, Henry B., 294, 295 
 
 Garland, Hamlin, 194; sketch, 212 
 
 Garner (Iowa), market, 35, 121 
 
 George, Henry, 212 
 
 German element, Iowa, 45; Milwaukee, 
 
 283, 284, 285, 286 
 Germany, 15 
 Giese, William F., 279 
 Gonder, George W., 163, 188, 201; 
 
 sketch, 153 
 Gougar, Helen M., 208 
 Grand Army of the Republic, 144, 145, 
 
 146 
 Granger movement, 142 
 Grasshopper plague, 36 
 Greenback party, 113, 142 
 Greene, Evarts B., 300 
 Grieg, Edward, 98 
 Grinnell College, 189 
 Gudrid, literary society, 274 
 Guy, Harvey H., 178 
 
 Hageness, N. N., teacher, 248; sketch, 234 
 
 Handschin, Charles Hart, 296, 297, 298 
 
 Hanna, Mark, 246 
 
 Hansa, 1 
 
 Hanseatic League, 1 
 
 Hansen, Capt. , 18 
 
 Hansen, Niels E., 183 
 
 Harrison, Carter, 223 
 
 Hart, Albert Bushnell, 267, 268 
 
 Haskins, Charles Homer, 253, 255, 258, 
 262, 263, 264, 265, 277, 278, 300; 
 methods, 259; sketch, 260; transferred, 
 261 
 
 Hauge, Hans Nielsen, sketch, 53 
 
 Haugeanism, 54, 56, 59; relation to com- 
 mon school, 242 
 
 Haugen, Nils P., 246, 294 
 
 Hellestad, Oscar, 236 
 
 Henry, Rev. , Lutheran pastor, 
 
 169, 170 
 
 Herron, George D., 212, 213 
 
 Higgins, Lafayette, 158; sketch, 157 
 
 Hill, James J., 49 
 
 Hobbs, Alvin I., teacher, 182, 186, 213; 
 sketch, 177-179 
 
 Hobbs, Mrs. Alvin I., 177 
 
 Hoegh, Dr. Knut, 239 
 
 Hofacker, Ludvig, 51 
 
 Hognesen, Erik, 7, 8 
 
 Holberg, Ludwig, 273 
 
 Holmes, Maj. A. J., congressman, 144 
 
 Hope, Martha, 8 
 
 Hope, Sigrid, 7, 8 
 
 Hope farm, 8 
 
 Hordaland (Norway), 5 
 
 Hotz, Henry, 237 
 
 Hougen, John O., Lutheran pastor, 244 
 
 Howard, George Elliott, 267, 268 
 
 Hoyme, Rev. G., sketch, 241 
 
 Hubbard, Frank G., 255, 263, 279, 280, 
 281 
 
 Huglen, Peter J., 45, 173,230 
 
 Huglen, Mrs. Peter J., 45, 230 
 
 Hull, J. A. T., 215 
 
 Hultin, Rev. Miss , Unitarian pas- 
 tor, 168 
 
 Hutchinson, Dr. Woods, sketch, 191 
 
 Hveding, Rev. Jacob, sketch, 14 
 
 Ibsen, Henrik, 97, 192, 252, 270, 272 
 
 Ingalls, John J., 215 
 
 Ingersoll, Robert G., 215 
 
 Inter-Ocean, 145 
 
 Iowa, climate, 10, 27, 84, 86; railroads, 
 
 25, 34; Norwegian settlements, 25; 
 
 wheat raising, 34, 36; corn raising, 36; 
 
 foreign elements, 45; rural character, 
 
314 
 
 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 190; literature, 194; conservatism, 215. 
 
 See also Winnebago County 
 Iowa State Register, 145, 207, 209, 210, 
 
 211 
 Iowa State University, 191 
 Irish, Dr. H. P., 71 
 Irish element, Iowa, 45 « 
 
 Jensen, L. A., 133 
 
 Jewish element, Milwaukee, 283; sketch, 
 284 
 
 Johnson, Elijah N., sketch, 180 
 
 Johnson, George, 42 
 
 Joice (Gjors), Erik J., 21; decides to emi- 
 grate, 16 
 
 Joice, Henrikke (Mrs. Erik J.), 21, 55; 
 decides to emigrate, 16 
 
 Joice, Margaret, 21, 55 
 
 Jones, Arma (Mrs. Rupert A. Nourse), 
 161 
 
 Jones, Lute, 227 
 
 Jones, Sam, evangelist, 166 
 
 Jones, Dr. W. H., sketch, 71 
 
 Kellogg, Louise Phelps, 257 
 
 Kelly, "General" , 214 
 
 Kelly, C. H., sketch, 75 
 Kessey, Isaac J., teacher, 104 
 Kiel, Andrew Olson, sketch, 45 
 Kiel, Mathilda, 45 
 
 Kloster, Miss , 133 
 
 Knox College, 189 
 Krummedike, Hartvig, 7 
 
 La Follette, Robert M., 272, 281, 292, 294 
 
 Lake Mendota, 250 
 
 Lake Mills (Iowa), 25, 75, 122 
 
 Lake Monona, 297 
 
 Larsen, Andrew, sketch, 61 
 
 Larson, Arne Andreas, Larson's brother, 
 91; birth, 38 
 
 Larson (Spjut0y), Christian, Larson's 
 father, 39, 62, 72, 74, 76, 77, 84, 86, 
 88, 96, 97, 105, 109, 116, 121, 129, 
 145, 164, 219, 269; sketch, 12; army 
 career, 13; marriage, 14; decides to 
 emigrate, 16; journey to Iowa, 18-20; 
 leader of family, 19, 20, 22; farm la- 
 borer, 21, 22, 31; buys land, 26, 30, 
 33, 37; houses, 27, 32, 38; begins farm- 
 ing, 33-37; naturalized, 47; learns Eng- 
 lish, 48, 101; attitude toward literature, 
 51; religion, 55, 56, 58, 63, 131; char- 
 acter, 57; church activities, 59, 60; or- 
 ganizes Linden Township, 124; school 
 director, 135; township committeeman, 
 144 
 
 Larson, Mrs. Christian (Ellen Mathilde 
 
 Bruland), Larson's mother, 20, 27, 33, 
 38, 44, 84, 85, 97, 98, 103; sketches, 
 12, 38; marriage, 14; at Spjut0y, 15; 
 decides to emigrate, 16; housekeeper, 
 21, 31; use of English, 48; attitude to- 
 ward literature, 51, 95, 96; religion, 55, 
 58, 59, 63, 131; attitude toward politics, 
 117; death, 39 
 
 Larson, Christian Daae, Larson's brother, 
 83, 226; birth, 37 
 
 Larson, Christine Mathilde, Larson's sis- 
 ter, 27; death, 31, 84 
 
 Larson, Christine Mathilde, the younger, 
 Larson's sister, birth, 38 
 
 Larson, Drude, Larson's aunt, 18, 21 
 
 Larson, Drude Marie, Larson's sister, 
 birth, 37 
 
 Larson, Edward Emil, Larson's brother, 
 91; birth, 37 
 
 Larson, Elizabeth, Larson's aunt, 18, 119 
 
 Larson, John, Larson's uncle, 18, 22; 
 Americanization, 48, 101 
 
 Larson, Katie (Mrs. James Ellickson), 
 Larson's sister, 20, 31, 42, 80, 83, 85, 
 92, 107, 109, 230; birth, 15; marriage, 
 45 
 
 Larson, Laurence M., 18, 145; visit to 
 Norway, 1-4, 7, 9; ancestry, 5-15; 
 name, 6; birth, 15; journey to America, 
 18-20; fondness for the prairie, 27-29; 
 childhood friendships, 42, 45; learns 
 English, 42, 92, 120; early religious im- 
 pressions, 55-63; boyhood, 79-91; farm 
 work, 79, 89-91, 129, 171; early read- 
 ing, 92-97, 105-108, 109-112, 136, 
 139, 180; first schooling, 101-105; in 
 spelling bees, 108; first Fourth of July, 
 115; choice of career, 131, 134, 171; 
 confirmed, 131-134; common-school 
 teacher, 135-141; language study and 
 proficiency, 136, 137, 138, 184-186, 
 253, 259, 262, 263, 266, 270, 278; 
 Americanization, 140, 150, 161, 225, 
 269, 283, 288, 301; township commit- 
 teeman, 147; political education, 148, 
 207, 209; at Drake University: 150- 
 170, 173-227; registration, 153; inade- 
 quate preparation, 154; first year, 158- 
 170; college friendships, 161; reaction 
 to college regulations, 164; impressions 
 of evangelist meetings, 166, 167, 168; 
 church attendance, 169; in campus ac- 
 tivities, 181; in athletics, 197; joins 
 literary society, 200; student orator, 
 204, 217-219, 223, 224; visits Kelly's 
 " army," 214; student editor, 217, 220; 
 wins essay contest, 217; financial prob- 
 lems, 219, 264; visits Columbian Expo- 
 
INDEX 
 
 315 
 
 sition, 221-223; meets Lillian Dodson, 
 224; graduation, 226 — use of Norwe- 
 gian language, 230, 269; at Scandinavia 
 Academy: 231-249; relations with 
 Scandinavia community, 234, 237, 240, 
 245; speaker, 244, 247; political inter- 
 ests, 246, 247 — at Madison: 250-281; 
 chooses major subject, 253; disadvan- 
 tages for graduate study, 257; thesis 
 work, 258, 265, 277, 278; acquires 
 master's degree, 258; determines to 
 acquire doctor's degree, 264; elected to 
 Ygdrasil, 273; final examination, 279; 
 receives doctorate, 281 — search for 
 professional appointment, 282; in Mil- 
 waukee high schools, 283-301; trans- 
 ferred, 287; book reviews, 290; news- 
 paper work, 292; publications, 293— 
 296; University of Illinois appointment, 
 301; estimate of Norwegian heritage, 
 301 
 
 Larson, Mrs. Laurence M. (Lillian May 
 Dodson), 161, 231, 250, 264, 274, 283, 
 284, 289, 295, 296, 298; visit to Nor- 
 way, 1-3, 9; meets Laurence Larson, 
 224; sketch, 224-226 
 
 Larson, Lewis, Larson's uncle, 17, 18, 20; 
 sketch, 21; marriage, 55 
 
 Larson, Martin, Larson's uncle, 16, 33, 
 37; journey to Iowa, 18-20; work in 
 Iowa, 21, 22; Americanization, 48, 101 
 
 Larson, William, 76, 77 
 
 Larson family, 1; ancestry, 5-16; depar- 
 ture from Norway, 17; journey to 
 Iowa, 18-20; first home in Iowa, 21, 
 22; removal to Winnebago County, 23, 
 25; neighbors, 26, 42-46; house, 32 
 
 Lease, Mrs. Mary Ellen, 182, 208 
 
 Legal profession, Winnebago County, 72- 
 75 
 
 Lehmann, Frederick W., 215 
 
 Leland (Iowa), 122 
 
 Lime Creek (Iowa), 24 
 
 Lincoln, Abraham, 27 
 
 Lindaas (Norway), 4, 5; church, 14 
 
 Lindaas Peninsula, 2, 4 
 
 Linden Township (Winnebago County, 
 Iowa), 30, 147; organized, 124; in poli- 
 tics, 144, 145; meteorites, 171-173 
 
 Livestock raising, Iowa, 90 
 
 Luther College, 252 
 
 Lutheran church, Norwegian, 45, 50, 52- 
 55, 62, 143, 242, 298; Luther congre- 
 gation, Forest City, 59; Linden con- 
 gregation, Winnebago County, 59; con- 
 firmation, 92, 131-134; hymns, 117; 
 English, Des Moines, 169; Scandinavia, 
 229, 232, 235, 244; relation to Scan- 
 
 dinavia Academy, 237, 238, 241, 245, 
 248; meeting, 248; attitude toward 
 common school, 271; Milwaukee, 284 
 
 Lygre Fjord, 3, 5 
 
 Lygre Island, 5 
 
 Lysnes, David, sketch, 59 
 
 McCarthy, Charles, 257, 259, 294 
 
 McCash, Isaac N., evangelist, 166 
 
 Mack, Sen. E. E., 209 
 
 McCreery, J. L., poet, 194 
 
 McGuffey, William H., 107 
 
 McKinley, William, 246, 247 
 
 McLenegan, Charles E., 286, 287, 291 
 
 Madison (Wis.), described, 250 
 
 Mads Fjord, 2, 7, 8, 9 
 
 " Maryland," emigrant ship, 1 8 
 
 Matlock, William H., 161, 179, 202; stu- 
 dent editor, 216 
 
 Mattison, Halvor, 42, 96; teacher, 104 
 
 Mattison (Mathiesen), Hans, 31, 34, 42, 
 89, 100, 102; sketch, 26; house, 27; 
 religion, 59 
 
 Mattison, Mrs. Hans, 26 
 
 May, Ed, teacher, 101 
 
 Medicine, Winnebago County, 49, 69-72 
 
 Merk, Frederick, 288 
 
 Messmer, Archbishop Sebastian G., 285 
 
 Meteorites (Linden Township), 171-173 
 
 Methodist church, among Norwegian ele- 
 ment, 44, 50, 55, 56, 60, 119; Des 
 Moines, 166 
 
 Mikkelson, Mikkel, 43 
 
 Mikkelson, Paul, sketch, 43 
 
 Mills, B. Fay, evangelist, 167 
 
 Miltonian Society (Drake University), 
 199, 200 
 
 Milwaukee (Wis.), high schools, 283; 
 foreign elements, 283; religious situa- 
 tion, 285; public schools, 285; govern- 
 ment, 286, 295; finance, 295 
 
 Milwaukee Free Press, 292, 293 
 
 Milwaukee Journal, 291 
 
 Milwaukee Schoolmasters' Club, 299 
 
 Minneapolis and St. Louis Railway, 121 
 
 Missouri Synod, 242 
 
 Molstad, John A., 270 
 
 Monona Assembly, 297 
 
 Morgan, Oscar T., sketch, 186 
 
 Morrison, Charles C, 178 
 
 Mortensen, Anna, 43, 103, 109 
 
 Mortensen, Christian, 43 
 
 Mortensen, Hanna, 43, 103, 109 
 
 Mugwumps, 246, 272 
 
 Munro, Dana Carleton, 261, 300 
 
 Music, among Norwegian pioneers, 117- 
 120; at evangelist meetings, 168; at 
 Monona Assembly, 297 
 
316 
 
 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Nelson, Christian L., 113; sketch, 74 
 
 Nelson, John M., 294 
 
 Newspapers, Norwegian-American, 49 
 
 Nilsen, Rev. O., Lutheran pastor, 232, 
 239, 244; sketch, 233 
 
 Nilsen, Mrs. O., 233; music teacher, 234 
 
 Noble, Frank H., 161, 199, 200 
 
 Nor den, 49 
 
 Nordvesten, sketch, 49 
 
 Norlie, Olaf M., 270 
 
 Norman (Iowa), 122 
 
 Northup, John E., 203 
 
 Norway, coast, 1, 2, 3, 4; racial types, 4; 
 climate, 10; literacy in, 13, 92; inter- 
 est for recent immigrants, 50; Christ- 
 mas in, 83; literature, 96 
 
 Norway Township (Winnebago County, 
 Iowa), 25 
 
 Norwegian element, Winnebago County, 
 25, 46, 48, 67; resistance to Americani- 
 zation, 47, 100, 234, 240, 242; rela- 
 tions with medical profession, 49; news- 
 papers, 49; books, 50; religion, 52-64, 
 128; relations with Yankees, 68, 100; 
 intermarriage, 69; in politics, 75, 76, 
 77, 78, 112-114, 142-148, 233, 246, 
 247; character, 80; Christmas celebra- 
 tions, 83; use of English, 108, 120, 
 234, 239, 249; interest in music, 1 17— 
 120; moral code, 126-128; women, 
 126; in Wisconsin, 228, 229, 231; Mil- 
 waukee, 283 
 
 Norwegian Synod, 59; organized, 53; 
 controversy, 143; resistance to Ameri- 
 canization, 242 
 
 Norwegians, in Danish army, 15; atti- 
 tude toward emigration, 17 
 
 Nourse, Rupert A., 161 
 
 Nugent, Father J. F., sketch, 191 
 
 Oberlin College, 189 
 
 Odland, Martin W., 270 
 
 Olmstead, W. W., 113; sketch, 73 
 
 Olson, Cecilie, 44 
 
 Olson, John, 146 
 
 Olson, Julius E., 263, 264, 266, 270, 272, 
 
 273, 279, 293, 300; sketch, 252 
 Olson, Nils, 44 
 
 Ormbreck, Halvor, sketch, 136 
 Oskaloosa College, 162 
 Osmundson, Erik, 42, 62; sketch, 60 
 Osmundson, John, 102 
 Osmundson, Ole, 42,45,91 
 Ott, Ed Amherst, 200, 205, 211, 219; 
 
 sketch, 175-177; author, 189 
 
 Paddock, Mary Elizabeth, teacher, 103; 
 sketch, 181-183 
 
 Pahlow, Edwin W., 256 
 
 Panics, 1873, 35, 219; 1893, 229, 245 
 
 Parkinson, John B., 280 
 
 Paxson, F. L., 261 
 
 Peffer, W. A., 182 
 
 Peterson, Mikkel, 34, 76, 77 
 
 Pettit, Frank D., 217, 218 
 
 Philomathian Society (Drake University), 
 163, 199 
 
 Pietism, 50, 59, 64, 130 
 
 Pioneer home, described, 32, 38; lights, 
 S3] work animals, 35; reading material, 
 49-52; food, 81; Christmas, 82; farm 
 implements, 89 
 
 Pitt, William Savage, author, 194 
 
 Plummer, Brookins A., 113; sketch, 66 
 
 Plummer, John, sketch, 66 
 
 Politics, 130; Winnebago County, 65, 75- 
 78, 112, 113, 142-148; relation to 
 Americanization, 114; primary system, 
 147; in Iowa legislature, 148; at Drake 
 University, 206-211; Scandinavia, 233 
 
 Polk, Leonidas L., 208 
 
 Populist party, 113, 176, 177, 182, 206, 
 207, 208, 211 
 
 Portage (Wis.), 229 
 
 Powderly, Terence V., 209 
 
 Prairie, animal life, 27; birds, 28; flowers, 
 29; described, 41; vagrants, 80; bliz- 
 zard, 84-86; trees, 86; fires, 87-89 
 
 Prairie schooners, described, 41 
 
 Presbyterian church, 53 
 
 Prohibition movement, 164, 208, 210, 
 233; Winnebago County, 142 
 
 Quakerism, among Norwegians, 54, 61, 
 
 62 
 Quebec, arrival of Larson family, 18, 19 
 
 Railroads, Iowa, 121 
 
 Ransom, T. C, 113; sketch, 73 
 
 Ravn, Mrs. , 12 
 
 Ravn, Dr. Michael, 238, 243, 293; sketch, 
 239 
 
 Ravn, Mrs. Michael, sketch, 239 
 
 Reinsch, Paul S., 263; sketch, 262 
 
 Republican party, 177, 207, 209, 210, 
 211; popularity with Norwegians, 75, 
 112, 142, 145, 233, 246, 247, 272, 274; 
 affiliation with prohibition movement, 
 143, 164; relations with G. A. R., 144 
 
 Riisnes, Arne, 9 
 
 Riisnes, Arne Eriksen, 9 
 
 Riisnes, Arne Hognesen, 8 
 
 Riisnes, Erik Arnesen, 8, 9, 13 
 
 Riisness, Erik Arnesen, the younger, 2, 9 
 
 Riisnes, Gjertrud, 7 
 
 Riisnes, Hogne Ericksen, 8 
 
INDEX 
 
 317 
 
 Riisnes farm, 2, 8, 13; described, 7 
 
 Riley, James Whitcomb, author, 195 
 
 Rivers, Frank, 21, 22, 32, 72 
 
 Robertson, William S., 257 
 
 Rock Island Railroad, 151 
 
 Rodwell, William Wade, 198, 202; sketch, 
 
 188 
 Roedder, Edwin C. L. C, 266, 279, 297 
 Ross, L. S., 184 
 
 St. John, John P., 208; sketch, 209 
 
 Salvesen, Knud, sketch, 130 
 
 Sanders, Charles W., sketch, 107 
 
 Sargent, Epes, 111 
 
 Scandinavia Academy, 229, 231, 232, 248; 
 students, 236; financial problems, 237, 
 240; relation to church, 237, 244, 245, 
 248; religious character, 239, 240; lan- 
 guage question, 243 
 
 Scandinavia Township (Waupaca County, 
 Wis.), Norwegian community, 229, 
 232, 234, 246, 247, 248, 298; attitude 
 toward education, 237 
 
 Schafer, Joseph, 256, 299 
 
 Schoyen, David Monrad, sketch, 96 
 
 Secor, David, sketch, 66; in politics, 75 
 
 Secor, Eugene, sketch, 66 
 
 Sellery, George C, 268 
 
 Seventeenth of May celebrations, 292 
 
 Shell Rock River, 24 
 
 Shepperd, Bruce E., 158, 183, 186, 200; 
 sketches, 156, 160 
 
 Sheridan, Gen., 209 
 
 Sigma Nu fraternity, at Drake, 201 
 
 Signet (Drake University), 199, 200 
 
 Silwold, Henry, 153 
 
 Simpson, Jerry, 182 
 
 Simpson College, 203 
 
 Skandinaven, 96, 145; sketch, 49 
 
 Slaughter, M. S., 279, 280; sketch, 262 
 
 Slayton, Nellie (Mrs. Aurner), 201 
 
 Smith, Charles D., 76 
 
 Smith, Charles Forster, 254, 279 
 
 Smith, Samuel Francis, poet, 195 
 
 Speed, " Colonel " , 214 
 
 Spencer, Herbert, 192 
 
 Spjut0y, Arne, 16 
 
 Spjut0y, Kristi, 6 
 
 Spjut0y, Lars Mikkelsen, Larson's grand- 
 father, 5, 14, 16, 17, 24, 48, 57, 85, 
 86, 129; described, 6; marriage, 9; 
 journey to America, 18-20; farm work 
 in Iowa, 21; buys land, 26, 30, 33 
 
 Spjut0y, Mrs. Lars Mikkelsen (Karen 
 Andrea Riisnes), Larson's grandmother, 
 5, 8, 14, 16, 18, 21, 37, 48; sketch, 9; 
 religion, 55 
 
 Spjut0y, Mikkel, 6 
 
 Spjut0y, see also Larson 
 
 Spjut0y (Norway), described, 3, 5; name, 
 
 5; ghost, 6 
 Stanford, Mrs. Leland, 268 
 State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 256; 
 
 building, 251, 267 
 Stavanger (Norway), Haugean center, 54 
 
 Stearns, , professor at Drake, 183 
 
 Steele, Joel Dorman, sketch, 105 
 
 Steensland, E. B., 274 
 
 Steensland, Halle, sketch, 274 
 
 Stephens, H. Morse, 267; sketch, 268 
 
 Stint, Bror, 138 
 
 Storms, Albert B., 256 
 
 Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 1 1 1 
 
 Str0mme, Peer, 293; sketch, 273 
 
 Strong, Jarvis, sketch, 198 
 
 Sullivan, P. P., 161, 227 
 
 Swedes, in Iowa, 44, 45, 55; Forest City, 
 
 74 
 Swing, Rev. David, 215 
 Swinton, William, sketch, 106 
 
 Taylor, Alva W., 161, 178, 200, 217 
 
 Taylor, Henry C, 221 
 
 Thanet, Octave, 194 
 
 Thompson, Jasper, 113; sketch, 66 
 
 Thompson, John F., 73; sketch, 66 
 
 Thormodsgaard, Rev. , 132, 133, 
 
 134 
 Thorstenson, T. K., 234 
 Thwaites, Reuben Gold, 267 
 Tilden, Dr. H. W., Baptist pastor, 169, 
 
 170 
 Tilton, Asa Currier, 268 
 Turner, Frederick Jackson, 253, 263, 265, 
 
 277, 279; sketch, 254; seminar, 256; 
 
 methods, 258, 259, 260; transferred, 
 
 261 
 
 Unitarian church, Des Moines, 168 
 University of Illinois, 295, 300, 301 
 University of Wisconsin, 271; library, 
 251; faculty, 252, 254, 258-263, 266, 
 268, 300; graduate school, 253-255, 
 277-280; visiting lecturers, 267; com- 
 mencement, 281; department of eco- 
 nomics, 295 
 University Place, site of Drake University, 
 151; as Bible commonwealth, 190. See 
 also Des Moines, Drake University 
 Updike, J. V., evangelist preacher, 165, 
 166 
 
 Van Hise, Charles R., 300 
 Van Meter, Mabel (Mrs. Edward S. 
 Ames), 153 
 
318 
 
 THE LOG BOOK OF A YOUNG IMMIGRANT 
 
 Victorian influence, 126, 127 
 Vinacke, A. T., 188; sketch, 201 
 Vinje, A. O., 136 
 Vinogradov, Paul, sketch, 296 
 Vinogradov, Mrs. Paul, 296 
 Von Hoist, Hermann E., 265 
 Voss, Ernst, 278, 279 
 
 Wall, Mary Lodiska, see Mrs. Benjamin 
 Franklin Dodson 
 
 Ward, Mrs. Humphry, author, 193 
 
 Warrington, Mrs. , 206 
 
 Watrous, C. L., 183 
 
 Waupaca settlement (Wis.), 229; de- 
 scribed, 228, 234; religious character, 
 235 
 
 Weaver, James B., 113, 206, 208 
 
 Wesley, John, 54, 55 
 
 West Division High School (Milwaukee), 
 283, 286, 287, 288 
 
 Wheat raising, Iowa, 34, 36 
 
 Willard, James F., 256, 257 
 
 Wilson, J. W., 163 
 
 Winnebago County (Iowa), 21; arrival of 
 Larson family, 23; land prices, 24; his- 
 tory, 24, 25, 34; Norwegian element, 
 25, 46, 48, 67; in panic of 1873, 36; 
 
 Yankee element, 46, 66-69; govern- 
 ment, 48; medical profession, 49, 69- 
 72; church conditions, 55; politics, 65, 
 75-78, 112, 113, 142-148; legal pro- 
 fession, 72-75; crime control, 80; prai- 
 rie fires, 87-89; growth of population, 
 89; railroads, 121-123; township divi- 
 sions, 123; schools, 124. See also Forest 
 City 
 
 Winnebago River (Lime Creek), 24 
 
 Winnebago Summit, 145 
 
 Wisconsin, Norwegian settlements, 25, 
 228, 231,244 
 
 Woodman, Rea, 1 82 
 
 Woodward (Iowa), 20 
 
 World's Columbian Exposition, 221-223 
 
 Yankee element, Winnebago County, 46, 
 
 66-69 
 Yates, Mabel, 205 
 Ygdrasil, literary club, 271-275; meetings, 
 
 274; membership, 274; anniversary, 
 
 275 
 Young, Allyn, 257 
 
 Zepter, Gerhard J., 158, 160, 163, 186, 
 207, 217, 218; sketches, 157, 184 
 
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