The Gift of 
 James R. and Helen E 
 Davies 
 in Memory of 
 Attorney and Mrs 
 Joseph L. Shaw 
 University of Illinois 
 at Urbana-Champaign 
 
 IUW8K HJSTORICAl SURVEY 
 

 (s /<?<$£. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://archive.org/details/agnesowensstoryoOOohar 
 
OUR IRISH LASSIE AT TWENTY 
 
AGNES OWENS 
 
 The Story of An Irish Lassie 
 
 BY 
 
 MILEHAM L. O'HARRA 
 and 
 
 NELLIE S. O'HARRA 
 
 o?c 0Y0 
 
 — 1936 — 
 
 DAVIDSON PRINTING HOUSE 
 Carthage, Illinois 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 to 
 
 The Sons and Daughters of 
 
 Agnes Owens Searle 
 
 Who hold in unfading remembrance and devoted love the 
 
 gentle mother whose cheerfulness of heart and loveliness of 
 
 soul challenged and inspired all who knew her, and made 
 
 glad the heart of God. 
 
vi syh o \'botf t £#.M. 
 
 AT THE THRESHOLD 
 
 On March 10, 1937, will occur the Centennial Anni- 
 versary of the birth of Agnes Owens, whose life on earth 
 ended only seven short years ago. In the early part of 
 1936 her daughter, Mrs. Nellie S. O'Harra, suggested to 
 her husband that he and she together should prepare the 
 story of her mother's life for private distribution among 
 relatives and friends. 
 
 This little booklet is the result of that suggestion. 
 Its writing has been a delight for it has been a labor of 
 love on our part. If the readers shall find as much 
 pleasure in its perusal as we have found in its prepara- 
 tion then, indeed, our labor has not been in vain. 
 
 Practically all the personal experiences here nar- 
 rated were told to the daughter by the mother during 
 the later years of her life, though some have been 
 gleaned from other sources. 
 
 After completing the special task we had assigned 
 ourselves we concluded it would be of interest to add a 
 brief sketch of the life of each of the children, then a 
 complete list of all her descendants up to date and finally, 
 a genealogy of John Searle as nearly as it is now known. 
 
 We are indebted to many relatives for the various 
 dates concerning descendants. We are especially in- 
 debted to J. Clinton Searle, a grandson of John and 
 Agnes Searle, for access to the unusually fine genealogy 
 which he has prepared of the several branches of the 
 Searle family since the first of the Searles arrived in 
 America. 
 
 From this we have compiled a greatly condensed 
 record of the lineal American ancestors of John Searle, 
 the husband of Agnes Owens. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Part I. 
 THE STORY OF AN IRISH LASSIE 
 
 The Valley of the Dawn 
 
 The Great Decision 
 
 A Long Farewell 
 
 Sunshine and Shadows 
 
 A Stranger in a Strange Land 
 
 Our Lassie Meets a Pioneer 
 
 The Old Homestead 
 
 The Children's Hour 
 
 The Sun Is Darkened 
 
 Beginning Life Anew 
 
 The Shadows Lengthen 
 
 The Golden Sunset. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 ADDENDA 
 
 Life Sketches of the Children 
 Unto the Fourth Generation 
 American Ancestry of John Searle 
 
Part I. 
 
 THE STORY OF 
 AN IRISH LASSIE 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE DAWN 
 
 "The Land of Erin is enchanted land, 
 
 A land of roses and misty vales, 
 
 Sweet with the pungence of the fragrant thyme 
 
 And bright with rowan trees in scarlet haws, 
 
 Green with the shamrock and fair foliaged trees, 
 
 Of many a forest where the bluebells hide." 
 
 Like the music of many waters moving over the rock 
 strewn bed of some gently flowing streamlet comes the 
 name of Ballymena to them who knew and loved the one 
 whose life story we are to tell. For it was near to Bally- 
 mena, a village in County Antrim, in the island where 
 the shamrock grows, that our Irish lassie, Agnes Owens, 
 first saw the light on the tenth day of March in the year 
 1837. 
 
 Ballymena lies in the lap of Glenarifr, beautiful 
 Glenarirr, the Valley of the Dawn. Its eastern entrance 
 opens out into an arm of the sea, known as Red Bay, so 
 called because of its soft red sandstone. Standing at Red 
 Bay and looking toward Glen Arm and up the valley to 
 the left is a scene of loveliness surpassing the imagina- 
 tion. The sun shining upon the broad expanse of sand, 
 the atmosphere and water both so transparent that every 
 
 ONE 
 
rock and promontory and huge stone are reflected, while 
 the whispering ripples on the waters impart a deeper 
 tone of color to the shining sand, make a picture before 
 which the artist would sit entranced. 
 
 From Red Bay the valley stretches into the interior, 
 and through the valley a winding road leads westward. 
 From the road the valley presents a view both grand 
 and graceful. There is a mingling of high cultivation 
 with dark massive walls and bared rocks, which rise 
 along the valley, giving to it an exceedingly picturesque 
 character. The sunshine touches the frowning precipices 
 and rugged rocks with a gentle caress as if to soften their 
 somber mood. A clear and rapid river, the River Braid, 
 supplied by cataracts far up in the glen, runs directly 
 through the center of the valley and its wavelets rising 
 to kiss the sunbeams are baptized with lambent flames, 
 which dance upon the surface like the scintillating bril- 
 liance of ten thousand diamonds. 
 
 In the heart of this lovely valley, thirty miles west 
 of Red Bay, lies the village of Ballymena on the banks of 
 the River Braid. It has a population of about eleven 
 thousand. Three high schools and an academy, besides 
 the public schools, minister to the education of the child- 
 ren. An agricultural College trains the youth of the 
 surrounding country for farm work. Many churches, of 
 
 TWO 
 
course, are to be found in various parts of the town. It 
 possesses a fine business section with up-to-date gro- 
 ceries, dry goods stores, banks, offices, and so forth. The 
 streets are macadamized. The town is especially noted 
 for its fine quality of linen. Indeed it is the linen indus- 
 try which gives to Ballymena the greater part of its pros- 
 perity. Flax markets are held each Wednesday. Its 
 linen factories are noted far and wide. Its bleaching 
 greens, where the linen is laid out in the sun to bleach, 
 form a beautiful sight with their long stretches of linen 
 spread out on these flat green fields. 
 
 The homes of Ballymena are all built either of brick 
 or stone and are mainly two story structures. Many of 
 these homes are thatched with rushes, a long reed-like 
 plant, which, when cut and dried, are used for that 
 purpose. 
 
 Such is the Ballymena of today. Of course between 
 the Ballymena of a hundred years ago and that of today 
 many contrasts could doubtless be discerned. But even 
 a century ago Ballymena and its linen industry with its 
 bleaching fields were noted throughout the island. The 
 population was not so large as now but it numbered 
 several thousand even then. 
 
 In the nearby vicinity, was the farm on which Agnes 
 Owens was reared. Her home was a modest stone cot- 
 
 THREE 
 
tage thatched with rushes, standing somewhat back from 
 the road. A stone walk led to the front door, before 
 which lay a huge, slightly elevated slab of stone. Climb- 
 ing fuschias and red roses draped themselves along the 
 sides and by the windows, while a flowering vine bent 
 gracefully over the door. In front of the house was a 
 commodious lawn, with shade trees here and there and 
 various shrubs growing amid the surrounding grass. In 
 the foliage many birds built their nests and found shelter 
 from the summer sun and the falling rain. 
 
 Flax and potatoes were the principal crops, though 
 other products were also raised. Peat was abundant on 
 part of the soil. A goodly orchard of cherry, plum and 
 apple trees grew abundant fruit. No peaches or apricots 
 can be grown in Ireland and consequently these fruits 
 could be gotten only from the markets in Ballymena 
 which secured them by importation. In such a setting 
 as has here been described Agnes Owens first saw the 
 morning dawn one hundred years ago. 
 
 It would doubtless be of considerable interest to 
 know more about her ancestry than we have been able 
 to learn. It is unfortunate that we know so little about 
 this. However, we know that her father's name was 
 James Owens and her mother's maiden name was Mar- 
 garet Knox, who was a lineal descendant of the family 
 
 FOUR 
 
made famous by the celebrated reformer, John Knox, 
 who lived 1502-1572. 
 
 The grandfather of Agnes Owens was William 
 Owens, who lived with the family of his son, James, for 
 several years before his death. An uncle, also named 
 William Owens came to America in the early part of the 
 nineteenth century and settled in the south. 
 
 FIVE 
 
THE GREAT DECISION 
 
 "Standing with reluctant feet 
 Where the brook and river meet." 
 
 In the open doorway of her home framed with 
 flowers and roses, Agnes Owens stood on a day in May. 
 The light of early morning was upon her face. Her nut- 
 brown hair, parted in the middle, was gathered in wav- 
 ing folds about her head. The Irish dawn was upon her 
 cheeks, proclaiming her to be in perfect health. A 
 checked gingham dress with a white lace collar about 
 the throat, fastened with a cameo, clothed her in simpli- 
 city and added to her charm. In the calm, clear depths 
 of her blue eyes could be seen the inner soul, the home of 
 a winsome womanhood. 
 
 She was looking dreamily out upon the scene before 
 her, drinking in its loveliness, wrapped in silent admira- 
 tion, accustomed to it though she had been for years. 
 From her earliest life Glenariff had woven a spell about 
 her. But today something besides admiration stirred 
 her heart. A wistful sadness was in her eyes. For 
 eighteen years she had lived in this peaceful spot and 
 
 six 
 
had wandered among the trees and along the riverside 
 in the Valley of Glenariff. But when the sun should go 
 down that day she will have gone from the home of her 
 childhood, and, though she knew it not, she would return 
 no more. 
 
 Swift memory carried her back across the years. 
 As a little child she had played under the trees upon the 
 lawn, had decorated herself with the shamrock, had 
 gathered the wild flowers from the meadow, and occa- 
 sionally had wandered among the heather on the distant 
 mountain side. As she had grown older she had helped 
 to gather the fruit from the orchard, had helped her 
 father in the raising of flax and potatoes and in rolling 
 up the peat. She had learned to bleach the linen so 
 beautifully that from her bleaching grounds was sent 
 the very finest of Irish linen. She smiled to herself as 
 she recalled the quaint old cobbler who used to come 
 every autumn to her father's home to make shoes for 
 the family, remaining several days, for besides her father 
 and mother there were eight children in the family. 
 
 Her grandfather, William Owens, had been an in- 
 mate of the home for some years before his death and 
 many were the tales he told of auld lang syne reaching 
 far back into the previous century. And she, always 
 interested, had listened eagerly to his reminiscences. 
 
 SEVEN 
 
Nor would she ever forget the story he told of the Irish 
 Rebellion during which period he had feared to be cap- 
 tured with a gun in his possession, as the opposing 
 faction had expressly forbidden such possession. But he 
 took some bricks out of the wall of the house, inserted 
 the gun and walled it up until it was safe to produce it 
 again. But he was arrested and when asked where his 
 gun could be found he refused to tell. Whereupon they 
 hung him up by the thumbs until his tongue stuck out 
 and his wife, filled with horror went from one fainting 
 fit into another. But they did not get the gun. 
 
 As she stood in the doorway thinking of the days 
 that were past and of the new epoch soon to dawn upon 
 her life it seemed to her as if the years had sped onward 
 like a river gently flowing through green pastures and 
 among blooming flowers. The pleasures and cares of 
 home life, with their laughter and their tears were but 
 the wavelets softly breaking upon the shore of each new 
 day. All of these had given added charm to these beau- 
 tiful years, the memory of which would come to her 
 always like sweet zephyrs from a fruitful land. 
 
 She had supposed that her entire life would be spent 
 in Ireland and that she would always be a part of Bally- 
 mena and Glenariff. But the Weaver at the Loom of 
 Life had other plans for her. As Rebecca in the long 
 
 EIGHT 
 
ago went to the village well with her pitcher never 
 dreaming that destiny was waiting for her there, but at 
 the curbstone met one whose story changed the whole 
 current of her life forever, so on a certain day Agnes 
 Owens wakened from her slumbers in the morning not 
 knowing that ere the sun should set that day she would 
 meet the Great Moment of her life. Yet it proved to be 
 so, for on that day her uncle came with a request which 
 was answered affirmatively and the decision thus made 
 determined the future of Agnes Owens and her descend- 
 ants to all generations. 
 
 Some years before this time one of her cousins, a 
 young man, Alexander Owens, familiarly called Alec, 
 a nephew of the uncle just mentioned, had gone to the 
 United States, had married there and settled down for 
 life. His sister, Jennie, now fourteen years of age, was 
 still in Ireland. Her father having died she was living 
 with her uncle. But he thought it wise to send her to 
 her brother in America, as he believed she would have 
 better opportunities for an education and for life gener- 
 ally in America than in Ireland. 
 
 Naturally he did not like to send so young a girl by 
 herself, so he came to Agnes and her father to ask for 
 their consent for Agnes to accompany Jennie to America. 
 The plea of the uncle was, "There are several girls in 
 
 NINE 
 
your family and surely one can be spared to go with 
 Jennie, for of course Agnes can return to Ireland after 
 she has delivered Jennie to her brother Alec." 
 
 Agnes and her father reluctantly consented, each 
 supposing that she would be back home within a few 
 weeks or months at most. But the "best-laid schemes o' 
 mice an' men, gang aft a-gley", as we shall see. 
 
 TEN 
 
A LONG FAREWELL 
 
 "When we asunder part 
 
 It gives us inward pain, 
 
 But we shall still be joined in heart 
 
 And hope to meet again." 
 
 After receiving the consent of Agnes and her father 
 the uncle wrote to his nephew, then living in Cleveland, 
 Ohio, telling him of the arrangement that had been made 
 and asking him to meet the two girls in New York City. 
 As quickly as possible preparations were made for their 
 departure. It was on the morning of the day of sailing 
 that we find Agnes standing in the doorway gazing out 
 over the Valley of Glenarifr. 
 
 That afternoon they left for Belfast where they were 
 to take a ship to cross the Atlantic. It was May 5, 1855. 
 A quaint old Irish cart conveyed them to Belfast. It was 
 built on two wheels, each cut out of a solid piece of wood. 
 The framework was supported on five pedestals, one and 
 one-half feet high behind and gradually shorter ones as 
 it was built forward, the first part being clamped to the 
 shafts. Over this framework boards were placed and 
 upon these straw was laid. Passengers sat flat upon this 
 
 ELEVEN 
 
platform and the vehicle was drawn by one horse. This 
 was the common method of transportation in those days. 
 Sometimes a featherbed was placed upon the straw. Oc- 
 casionally a cart could be seen moving along the road 
 with three or four passengers inside and a boy astride 
 the horse. 
 
 Arriving at Belfast they hastened to the city wharf. 
 Father and uncle of the girls had accompanied them. 
 No modern steamship was theirs with the many conveni- 
 ences which make for the traveler of today the crossing 
 of the Atlantic a swift and pleasant one. Theirs was a 
 sailing vessel and its progress would be slow. 
 
 To leave Europe for America in those days was a 
 momentous undertaking and the separation from old 
 familiar scenes and from friends and dear ones was 
 heart-rending. A writer of that period thus describes 
 the touching scenes enacted at the time of sailing: 
 
 "It was impossible to witness it without heart-pain 
 and tears. Mothers hung upon the necks of athletic 
 sons, young girls clung to older sisters, fathers, old 
 whiteheaded men, fell upon their knees and with arms 
 uplifted to heaven, implored the protecting care of the 
 Almighty upon their departing children. Amid the din 
 and turmoil, the people pressing and rolling in vast 
 masses toward the place of embarkation like the waves 
 
 TWELVE 
 
of the troubled sea, there were many sad episodes as the 
 final moment of separation came. It is impossible to 
 describe the final parting. 
 
 "Men embraced each other and cried like children. 
 Women wept in each other's arms. Young men and 
 maidens wept together. Shrieks and prayers, blessings 
 and lamentations, mingled in one great cry. A father 
 voiced his sorrow by saying, 'Oh, Ireland, mavourneen, 
 oh, my own dear counthry, and is it mesilf that's for 
 lavin' you after giving you the sweat of me brow and the 
 love of me heart for forty years.' And the strong man 
 wept convulsively as he held his children in his arms." 
 
 But to Jennie this was the great adventure and she, 
 perhaps too young to sense all that it meant, and too 
 eager mayhap for the exciting times she anticipated as 
 waiting beyond the sea, was but momentarily affected 
 by the pathetic scenes being enacted. Agnes, more 
 calm than most, gazed silently but with tear-filled eyes 
 upon the faces of those about her. 
 
 Yet she was herself sustained by the expectant 
 thought that in a short while she would be back again 
 once more. Had she known that never again would she 
 walk in Erin's Isle, that the faces of her father and 
 mother, brothers and sisters she would never see again 
 
 THIRTEEN 
 
in this world, she, too, would doubtless have been as 
 broken-hearted as the rest. 
 
 The father and mother lived and died in Ireland, as 
 did also two of her brothers, James and Archie, and the 
 two twin sisters, Isabel and Jennie Ann. Eventually, 
 however, one brother, William and two sisters, Margaret 
 and Jane, made their homes in Australia and there spent 
 the remainder of their lives. 
 
 The words of farewell were finally spoken, the com- 
 municating plank was drawn up, the ship moved out into 
 the sea. Agnes and Jenny had entered upon a new 
 epoch in life. What would the years hold for them? 
 
 FOURTEEN 
 
SUNSHINE AND SHADOWS 
 
 "Across the sunny waves the shadows creep 
 As the vessel sails upon the ocean deep." 
 
 Six weeks and three days their vessel sailed ere they 
 reached the harbor beyond the Atlantic. Their money 
 they carried in a belt around their waists. They had to 
 do part of their own cooking, though truth to tell, they 
 were so seasick a good share of the voyage that they did 
 not require much food. Aside from the slowness of the 
 vessel they were also hindered by the fogs. At one time 
 three days of such thick fog encompassed the vessel that 
 it lay at anchor, not daring to try to move on. Day and 
 night during that time the foghorn blew continuously 
 lest some other ship might crash into them. The inces- 
 sant noise, the deadliness of seasickness, and the dark- 
 ness of the surrounding fog combined to make those 
 three days a hideous nightmare, never to be forgotten. 
 
 At last the fog lifted and the vessel proceeded 
 on its way. Several huge icebergs were seen along their 
 course, but none were near enough to be dangerous. 
 At the end of five weeks Agnes said to Jennie, "Only ten 
 days more and we shall see Alec." 
 
 FIFTEEN 
 
But Jennie replied, "Well, we won't see him in New 
 York." 
 
 "Why not?' 1 
 
 "I destroyed the letter uncle wrote to him." 
 
 "Destroyed it? Oh, Jennie, why did you do that?" 
 
 "Because he wrote some things in it that I didn't 
 like. He told Alec that I need careful oversight. It 
 made me angry and I burned it." 
 
 Agnes was filled with consternation. She burst out 
 crying and said, "Oh, Jennie, how could you do such a 
 thing? Whatever will become of us when we get to New 
 York?" 
 
 The destruction of the letter seemed to Agnes a 
 veritable tragedy and that night she cried in her berth 
 for a long time. But a kind Providence was evidently 
 caring for her. On board were two young married 
 couples, the two husbands being brothers and the two 
 ladies sisters. These had all become well acquainted 
 with Agnes and Jennie. They occupied cabins adjoining 
 theirs and heard Agnes crying. The next morning one 
 of the ladies said, "Agnes, we heard you crying last night 
 and felt very sorry for you. Would you mind telling us 
 all about it?" 
 
 SIXTEEN 
 
So she told her what had happened and how fearful 
 she was about getting into New York with no cousin 
 there to meet them and help them on to Cleveland. But 
 the lady replied, "Well, now, dear, don't you worry any 
 more about that. We are going directly from New York 
 to Cleveland and we will take care of you and see that 
 you reach your cousin safely. I presume you have his 
 address?" 
 
 "Yes, I have the address. It is No. 3 Cross Street." 
 
 "Well, then you just be content for we will manage 
 everything for you." 
 
 The end of the voyage finally came. They were 
 detained at Castle Garden, where all incoming passen- 
 gers had to be examined by the authorities. 
 
 Accommodations at Castle Garden were very primi- 
 tive in those days in comparison to the conveniences of 
 Ellis Island today. No provision was made for sleeping 
 quarters so our travelers had to sit up all night. 
 
 On the following day, June 20, 1855, they entered 
 the city of New York. No Statue of Liberty then stood 
 at the gateway of the Western Continent. No familiar 
 face was at the landing place to greet them as they 
 stepped upon the pier. And the eighteen year old girl 
 who stood for the first time upon American soil, so home- 
 
 SEVENTEEN 
 
sick, oh, so homesick, for her native isle, did not dream 
 that the day could ever come when America would be 
 dearer to her heart than any other earthly scene. But 
 wait until the veil of the future shall be lifted. 
 
 EIGHTEEN 
 
A STRANGER IN A 
 STRANGE LAND 
 
 "There is a divinity that shapes our ends 
 Rough hew them how we will." 
 
 At the depot in New York the new friends secured 
 tickets for Agnes and Jennie, and together they all 
 boarded the train for Cleveland. When that city was 
 reached her friends secured a dray to convey them and 
 their baggage to the home of Alec. No taxis, no busses, 
 no carriages were waiting at the station in that day of 
 Cleveland's growing pains. Agnes thanked her friends 
 with heartfelt appreciation for their kindness. Though 
 she never saw them again she always held them in grate- 
 ful remembrance so long as she lived. 
 
 The drayman took them to the address given him. 
 Never having seen Alec's wife, she was a little worried 
 lest she might not have found the right place, but she 
 assumed that everything was all right. Alec himself 
 was not at home, so Agnes explained who they were, 
 why they had come, and why Alec had received no word 
 of their coming. But she was ill at ease at not finding a 
 
 NINETEEN 
 
familiar face, so she suggested that she go to the place 
 where Alec worked, but the wife sent one of the children 
 to ask him to come home. When he arrived he gave a 
 gasp of amazement and exclaimed, "Agnes Owens! 
 Where in the world did you come from?" 
 
 Inasmuch as Jennie will no longer figure in this 
 story, we may as well state that after staying with her 
 brother for a few years, she went to St. Louis, where 
 she married a wealthy captain of a river boat. Later 
 they moved to New Orleans where she made her home 
 until her death. She and her family occasionally visited 
 with Agnes as the years passed by. 
 
 Agnes remained in her cousin's home for a few 
 weeks and then secured a position as caretaker for the 
 children of a Mrs. Reynolds. As has already been stated 
 she had expected to return to Ireland and for a long time 
 she was homesick for her native country beyond all 
 words. She said in after years that many a time she had 
 looked upon the sun or moon as they rose in the eastern 
 sky and computed the number of hours since her parents 
 and family had seen their rising on the fields of Ireland. 
 Yet great as was her homesickness she could never bring 
 herself to the point of trying to cross the ocean again. 
 
 The voyage over had been so long and tiresome, sea- 
 sickness had been her portion so much of the time, the 
 
 TWENTY 
 
fog experience brought a shudder to her heart, so that 
 the ocean continued always to be a thing of dread to her. 
 Then also little by little, the lure of the new country 
 into which she had come grew upon her as the months 
 passed on and she decided to remain here. 
 
 The dread of the ocean was with her throughout life. 
 Long years afterward when steam had made an ocean 
 voyage a short and luxurious trip her sons, then grown, 
 tried to persuade her to revisit the scenes of her youth. 
 But, though Ballymena and Glenariff were always beau- 
 tiful memories to her, she felt she could not venture upon 
 the ocean again. Moreover, by that time her parents 
 were dead, some of her brothers and sisters were no 
 longer in Ireland, finances were not plentiful, and above 
 all else America had become dearer to her than all she 
 had ever known before. 
 
 For seventy-five years she was destined to make her 
 home in the great Middle West. She stayed in Cleve- 
 land about a year, then came to Rock Island, Illinois. 
 This is now a city of forty thousand, but then had a popu- 
 lation of only a few thousand. Here she served as maid 
 in the home of Mrs. Elizabeth Gorton for three years at 
 one dollar and fifty cents per week, the usual pay in 
 those days. Her work was no sinecure. Cooking, wash- 
 
 TWENTY-ONE 
 
ing, ironing, sewing, mending, — all that went into the 
 work of a home were her constant tasks. 
 
 All this was quite a contrast to what she had been 
 led to believe by the enthusiastic reports that had drifted 
 to her while she was still in Ireland. It was a common 
 idea then in that country that America was the land of 
 gold, where it was easy to pick it up off the streets and to 
 gather it from the trees. She stated in later years that 
 one of the big surprises of her life was to find how hard 
 the people here had to work for what they got. As the 
 years passed she learned that even America, the Land 
 of Promise, is a land where only industry can reap a 
 harvest, at least for the vast majority of the inhabitants. 
 
 While still in Ireland Agnes had united with the 
 Presbyterian church, but in 1857, she transferred her 
 membership to the Methodist Episcopal Church in Rock 
 Island. Later on she transferred to what was then 
 known as the Brick Chapel, a Methodist Church near 
 Cleveland, and then shortly thereafter to Cleveland, 
 where her membership in that denomination continued 
 until the time of her death. 
 
 TWENTY-TWO 
 
OUR LASSIE MEETS A PIONEER 
 
 She was an Irish lassie 
 Fresh from her native land. 
 He was an American pioneer 
 Of a strong heroic band. 
 They met on a day in June 
 As the sun shone bright above. 
 And each to the other was drawn 
 In the bonds of a mutual love. 
 
 Some fifteen miles from Rock Island, on a farm near 
 the village of Cleveland, Illinois, lived the brother of 
 Mrs. Gorton, in whose home Agnes worked. This was 
 John Searle, a bachelor of fifty odd years. He fre- 
 quently walked to Rock Island to visit his sister and thus 
 met the young Irish lassie in the home. Gradually a 
 warm affection grew up between them and it became no 
 uncommon thing for John to rise early on Sunday morn- 
 ing and walk the fifteen miles to take breakfast with his 
 sister and incidentally (?) to feast upon the fair face of 
 the little lady who sat across the table from him. Of 
 course we moderns need to remember that walking, 
 almost one of the lost arts in these days, was then the 
 favorite mode of transporting oneself from one place to 
 another. John Searle was a brisk walker even in his 
 
 TWENTY-THREE 
 
old age. He often walked to Rock Island and to Cam- 
 bridge, each of them fifteen miles from his home. 
 
 However, we do not know that he ever walked so 
 swiftly as it is recorded that one of his contemporaries 
 did. This was the father of Joseph Shaw, an attorney 
 now living in Geneseo. Of him it is said that as he was 
 walking along the road one day a man in a wagon asked 
 him to ride. But he proceeding briskly on, answered, 
 "No, thank you, I am in a great hurry." 
 
 But we have no doubt that after John met his Irish 
 lassie the fifteen miles he walked to see her was covered 
 in record breaking time. At any rate we are not sur- 
 prised to find that on May 5th, 1859, just four years from 
 the date of her sailing from Belfast, Agnes Owens and 
 John Searle were married. 
 
 John Searle's ancestors had been in America over 
 
 two hundred years. He himself was born in Royalton, 
 
 i 
 
 Ohio, on April 19, 1804. His life was destined to span 
 
 almost the whole of the nineteenth century, an era 
 
 having hardly a parallel in the annals of time. George 
 
 Washington had been dead only five years at the time of 
 
 his birth. Thomas Jefferson was nearing the end of his 
 
 first term as President of the United States. There were 
 
 only sixteen states in the union. Practically two-thirds 
 
 of the continent were unoccupied by civilization. The 
 
 TWENTY FOUR 
 
vast Middle West was almost an unsettled wilderness 
 and the Far West was barely known. 
 
 The first settlement in Ohio was not made until 1788, 
 in which year Cincinnati and Marietta were founded, 
 only fourteen years before John's father had moved from 
 Royalton, Vermont to Royalton, Ohio, and only sixteen 
 years before John was born. For the most part Ohio 
 was still in the raw. Edward Eggleston in "The Circuit 
 Rider" gives a vivid and accurate description of the 
 social conditions which obtained during that period in 
 Ohio. 
 
 "The sharp contrasts of corn-shuckings and camp 
 meetings, of wild revels followed by great revivals, con- 
 tacts of highwaymen and preachers, the mingling of 
 picturesque simplicity, grotesque humor and savage 
 ferocity, of abandoned wickedness and austere piety, can 
 hardly seem real to those of us who know the country 
 now. Drunkenness, Sabbath desecration, revelry and 
 rowdyism were common features of the day." 
 
 Yet along with all these things the circuit riders of 
 that early day were laying foundations of moral and 
 religious life in the hearts of the pioneers. Hardly would 
 a new settlement be opened up but there would 
 appear the itinerant preacher to hold meetings in log 
 cabins, in school houses, and in tents at campmeetings 
 
 TWENTY-FIVE 
 
in the forest. Like the other hardy spirits of those days 
 they too, braved the swamps, the wild beasts, the Indians, 
 highway robbers, malaria, and the rigor of desperate 
 winters, if by any means they might proclaim the gospel 
 to them that would hear. Young John Searle early 
 came under the sway of these heralds of the cross and 
 united with the Methodist Church at the age of seven- 
 teen years. 
 
 In 1804 Illinois was considered the far West. It 
 was a wild and uncultivated region. Chicago was un- 
 born; Springfield likewise. Davenport, Rock Island and 
 Moline were still in the future. In that day the swift- 
 footed deer roamed at will across the trackless expanse 
 of our virgin prairies. The cries of wild beasts were to 
 be heard on every hand. Tribes of savage Indians 
 stalked in grim restlessness as they watched with jealous 
 eyes the steady enroachments of the whites, which 
 eventually led the famous Indian chief, Black Hawk, 
 filled with vengeful fury, to rally the Sacs and Foxes 
 and Algonquins to his standard and precipitate the war 
 designated by his name. 
 
 Upon the altars of log cabins in the wilderness and 
 on the prairie the pioneers of those early days were mak- 
 ing a vicarious sacrifice of toil and poverty, of loneliness 
 and suffering, that the generation in which we live might 
 enjoy the blessings which were denied them. 
 
 TWENTY-SIX 
 
Matches were unknown. A flint supplied the means 
 of building a fire and not infrequently some luckless 
 settler awoke to find no embers in the fireplace and had 
 to go to a neighbor's home, often a mile distant to secure 
 a supply of coals and bring them back in a kettle covered 
 with ashes. To keep the home fires burning was a ser- 
 ious matter in those days. Candles were the universal 
 lighting system. Oil lamps were unknown. Electric 
 lights were undreamed of. Grain was harvested with 
 the scythe-like cradle. Wool was carded, spun, dyed, 
 woven, cut and made up in the house. 
 
 What an amazing century he witnessed! Only a 
 year before his birth Jefferson had concluded the Louisi- 
 ana Purchase which added one million square miles to 
 our domain at a cost of only fifteen million dollars, that 
 is to say two and one-half cents per acre. The year he 
 was born Lewis and Clarke started on their celebrated 
 expedition into the far northwest to survey this immense 
 tract of newly acquired territory. 
 
 He was three years old when Fulton floated the 
 Clermont on the waters of the Hudson. He was four- 
 teen when Illinois was admitted into the union. A year 
 later the first steamship made its maiden voyage across 
 the Atlantic, but he was almost middle aged before its 
 use would become common as a means of transportation. 
 
 TWENTY-SEVEN 
 
Locomotives had been built in England a short time 
 before his birth but he was a youth of twenty-six before 
 the first train was run in the United States. This 
 road had been laid only thirteen miles out from Balti- 
 more. The trip of thirteen miles was made in one hour. 
 The train had a race with a spirited horse. The horse 
 did its best. The engine likewise. Finally steam con- 
 quered. From that time the building of railroads pro- 
 gressed rapidly, but it was not until many years after- 
 ward that Ohio and Illinois heard the whistle of an 
 engine. 
 
 In 1804 the first telegram was forty years in the 
 future and still much farther ahead were the telephone, 
 the typewriter, the phonograph and the electric light, all 
 of which he would see before his departure from the 
 world. So also was he destined to behold a multitude 
 of the wonderful inventions of other kinds which have 
 changed conditions in the whole earth. He would hear 
 of many of the most amazing of scientific discoveries and 
 of geographical explorations that opened up the vast 
 interior of South America, lifted the veil from the face 
 of Japan, penetrated the empire of China, and would 
 witness the rising of the sun on darkest Africa. 
 
 It was the century that saw the greatest religious 
 awakening ever known. A mighty series of revivals 
 
 TWENTY-EIGHT 
 
swept the country from one end to another. The names 
 of Peter Cartwright, Uncle Dick Haney, Timothy 
 Dwight, Matthew Simpson, Dwight Moody, Charles 
 Finney, Gypsy Smith, J. Wilbur Chapman and many 
 others suggest to us what those days must have been in 
 the evangelistic field. 
 
 But even more important was the awakening of the 
 non-Christian nations. When John Searle was born, 
 China was shrouded in the chrysalis of three thousand 
 years. India was buried under the superstitions of un- 
 counted ages. Japan sat grimly silent and aloof from 
 all other nations. Korea was wrapped in hermit garb 
 and withdrew from the gaze of all men. All of Asia 
 lay at the very bottom of an ocean of night. No Bible 
 was to be found in any of its homes. No messenger of 
 the gospel had ever stood in all its vast expanse. The 
 name of Christ was utterly unknown. 
 
 Africa, dark and tragic, groped in Stygian night, a 
 prey to fetishism, cannibalism and wild barbarities. 
 New Zealand, Australia, Hawaii and ten thousand other 
 islands of the sea, undiscovered, uncharted and un- 
 known, with their millions of inhabitants, were "crying 
 in the night with no language but a cry" as they stretched 
 despairing hands into the midnight gloom. 
 
 But before John Searle would reach the end of his 
 life he would see the light of the Morning Star shining 
 
 TWENTY-NINE 
 
in almost every country of the world. Nor would he 
 hold himself indifferent to the mighty movement that 
 would carry this gospel of the kingdom to the uttermost 
 parts of the earth. 
 
 The writers of these lines have in their possesion 
 bound volumes of all the Minutes of the Central Illinois 
 Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church from the 
 beginning of that Conference in 1855 until its union with 
 the Illinois Conference in 1928. It is of unique interest 
 now to note that in the early years of the Conference the 
 names of donors to the missionary cause and amount 
 contributed by each one were published for several suc- 
 cessive years in the Annual Minutes. Rock River Circuit, 
 which included Cleveland, Colona, Green River and one 
 or two other churches, was then in the list of appoint- 
 ments. Each of these years we find in the list of 
 generous contributors to the missionary cause the name 
 of John Searle. He was not disobedient to the vision 
 of a redeemed earth. 
 
 Truly his life was lived amid a panorama of increas- 
 ing wonders such as men had never seen before. But 
 all unconscious of the mighty drama soon to open before 
 him, he grew from childhood to youth and manhood in 
 the town where he was born. He was eight years old 
 
 THIRTY 
 
when he peeped through the fence to see the soldiers 
 march away to the War of 1812, his own father being 
 among them. There was great fear and excitement in 
 the village and his grandmother, Mehitabel Dunbar 
 Searle, who was living with them, gathered the fright- 
 ened children of the neighborhood together who had 
 been neglected in the excitement and cared for them. 
 
 His early days were full of hardship. That is, we 
 moderns think of them as days of hardship. He wore 
 only the coarsest of home spun clothes. He had no shoes 
 until he was twelve years of age. The children of his 
 day played in winter upon the ice barefooted. When 
 chopping wood they warmed a flat piece of wood and 
 stood upon that in their bare feet. Such things, how- 
 ever, were so much the common lot of the pioneers that 
 they were not considered hardships at that time. 
 
 When he was grown to manhood in Royalton he had 
 hoped to study medicine under the direction of his rela- 
 tive, Dr. Samuel Dunbar, but his father died and some 
 time later his mother married again. Circumstances 
 made it necessary for him and his grandmother to take 
 charge of his brothers and sisters, so he had to give up 
 his dream of becoming a physician and stay on the farm. 
 
 In 1836 he came to Illinois, with his brother James, 
 
 THIRTY-ONE 
 
who was married. They remained here only a short 
 time and then went to Texas and Louisiana, but the 
 brother decided that the south was no place in which 
 he wished to rear children, so they all came back up the 
 Mississippi and returned to Ohio. 
 
 The following year, 1837, he came again to Illinois 
 with other members of the Searle clan. His brother 
 James and family located on a farm not far from Osborne, 
 in Rock Island County, Illinois. John stayed with them. 
 The lumber which they used in building his brother's 
 house was hauled from Chicago, about two hundred 
 miles distant. John and James hauled wheat to Chicago, 
 selling it at thirty-five cents per bushel. It was put in 
 sacks and hauled in wagons. These wagons often got 
 stuck in the mud and the sacks had to be carried over the 
 miry places and then reloaded. On the very site where 
 Chicago now stands their wagons often got mired in the 
 swamp. 
 
 The money received from the sale of the wheat was 
 invested in barrels of salt. These they hauled home and 
 disposed of to the neighbors, exchanging a barrel of salt 
 for a thousand fence rails. With these rails the farm 
 was fenced. John remained with his brother James 
 until 1858 when he bought a farm across Rock River in 
 
 THIRTY-TWO 
 
Henry County. Upon this farm he was living at the 
 time of his marriage and here he continued to live until 
 his death. 
 
 THIRTY-THREE 
 
THE OLD HOMESTEAD 
 
 "Of all the beautiful pictures 
 That hang on memory's wall, 
 That one of the dear old homestead 
 Seemeth to me the best of all." 
 
 The first home of John and Agnes Searle was in the 
 log cabin on the farm owned by Mr. Searle. This cabin 
 had two rooms on the first floor. A ladder fastened 
 against the wall led to a loft above. A fireplace did 
 double duty for heating the cabin in winter and for sev- 
 eral months was also used for cooking. Then a cook- 
 stove was installed. Their only cupboard had been 
 made several years before Mr. Searle had left Royalton 
 and was brought to Illinois in the covered wagon in 
 which they traveled in making the trip. This cupboard 
 was about four feet high, four feet wide, and one foot 
 from front to back. It was fastened to the wall by 
 wooden pins and was placed on a shelf a foot or two from 
 the floor. This cupboard is now in the possession of 
 Mrs. Margaret Hand, the eldest daughter of John and 
 Agnes. 
 
 Two or three splint-bottomed chairs graced the 
 
 THIRTY-FIVE 
 
kitchen and four hand-made chairs were in the other 
 room. A bed in the loft also hand-made, was to be 
 found. The floor of the cabin was bare and kept immac- 
 ulately clean. The dining table had been made by Mr. 
 Searle and as Agnes had brought with her from Ireland 
 some of the best of Irish linen she was able to lay upon 
 the table a cloth that would now be the envy of every 
 housewife. 
 
 Candles were the only means of lighting the house, 
 though oil lamps were introduced a few years after their 
 marriage. But primitive as were the furnishings of the 
 home, the main ingredients of happiness were theirs, 
 namely mutual love and congeniality. The log cabin in 
 Rock River valley was a beacon light of joy and peace 
 for themselves and for all who came that way. 
 
 For two and one-half years this cabin was their 
 home. It is worthy of note that one morning when 
 Agnes was removing the ashes from the fireplace pre- 
 paratory to building a fire for cooking breakfast, a huge 
 snake crawled out before her astonished and frightened 
 eyes. In that day snakes were all too common. Even 
 at a much later date snakes of all sorts were often met 
 with, so that the incident of the fireplace was not so sur- 
 prising to her as it would be to us. 
 
 THIRTY-SIX 
 
In this cabin their first baby was born and like so 
 many of his ancestors he was named John. When John 
 was about a year old, a new and much more commodious 
 house was built on the farm about a quarter of a mile 
 from the site of the log cabin. It was a long time before 
 tiny John could appreciate it. Often in the early days 
 of the new home he would go to his mother and plead 
 wistfully, "Mamma, let's go back home," for the log 
 cabin was dearer to him than the big new house into 
 which they had moved. This new home originally had 
 five rooms, three downstairs and two upstairs. It had 
 also a front and a back porch. As the years passed addi- 
 tional rooms became necessary and three more were 
 added. The original five room structure was brick, but 
 the later addition was frame. This homestead over- 
 looked picturesque Rock River which ran by the farm 
 and emptied into the Father of Waters ten miles distant. 
 
 For years after the new home was built it may truly 
 be called a pioneer home. The cries of the coyote and 
 the wolf were heard on every night wind. As late as 
 twenty years after their marriage wolf packs could occa- 
 sionally be seen running along the river shore. Indians 
 had their wigwams in the nearby forest and by the river- 
 side. They frequently called at the farm soliciting food 
 or some needed article, but were always friendly, and 
 were never turned empty away. 
 
 THIRTY-SEVEN 
 
There were no cisterns. A barrel was placed under 
 the eaves to catch the falling rain, the only means of 
 securing soft water. For drinking and cooking purposes 
 water was provided by a well near the house. About 
 four years after the new house was built an artesian well 
 was dug to the depth of 960 feet. This was dug with the 
 hope of finding oil, but no oil came. However, an abund- 
 ant supply of water was secured and this artesian well 
 became famous in all that region. 
 
 Canned goods were as yet unheard of. Consequent- 
 ly every summer wild berries — blackberries, raspberries, 
 strawberries, gooseberries, wild grapes were gathered, 
 for all of these were abundant in the meadows and in 
 the woods. These were used profusely as sauce during 
 their season and in pies and preserves. Large quantities 
 were also dried in the sun and put away for winter, then 
 by adding hot water they were made quite palatable 
 again. Apples and peaches and pears after having been 
 peeled, cored and quartered, were placed in wooden 
 trays, covered with mosquito netting and placed on the 
 roof to dry. They were then strung on cords with a 
 darning needle and suspended in the attic to be used 
 as occasion required. 
 
 Every family did its own butchering and the famous 
 smoked hams of those days, smoked carefully in a closed 
 
 THIRTY-EIGHT 
 
shed with hickory wood, by far the best for that purpose, 
 would put to shame the very best brands of Swift and 
 Armour today. Beef was placed raw in barrels of strong 
 brine and taken out when needed. If weather would 
 permit the beef was left to freeze. Some was dried by 
 hanging it near the fireplace. 
 
 No sewing machine came into the house until eight 
 years after they were married. But Agnes was an un- 
 usually fine seamstress and her children had no reason 
 to sigh for store clothes. In this connection we may call 
 attention to the fact that she was an immaculate house- 
 keeper, but not of that variety that makes housekeeping 
 such a hardship to the family that they must always 
 walk in fear and trembling. She knew how to combine 
 the fine art of housekeeping with that finer art of making 
 home beautiful. As a cook her reputation was known 
 throughout the community. Her apple pies and marble 
 cakes and dumplings and biscuits and such like are 
 sacred traditions in the family to this day. 
 
 Large numbers of chickens and turkeys were raised 
 on the farm, she having most of the care of them, though 
 as the years passed the children became a great help 
 along this line as well as in other ways. A considerable 
 amount of butter was churned each week. The nearest 
 market was eleven miles away so that every week 
 
 THIRTY-NINE 
 
butter, eggs and other products of the farm were taken 
 by wagon to the town to be exchanged for various house- 
 hold needs. 
 
 The only washing machine was the old fashioned 
 washboard and as the family increased in number the 
 washing generally occupied an entire day and the iron- 
 ing another day. No railroad ran closer to them than 
 the one at Rock Island for a number of years. Event- 
 ually, however, a branch of the Chicago, Burlington and 
 Quincy was built from Osborne to Colona via Cleveland, 
 which connected the road with the line to Galesburg. 
 This branch road went right through the Searle farm 
 and henceforth passengers could entrain at Cleveland 
 only two or three miles distant. This road was dis- 
 banded about 1890, since which time Cleveland has had 
 no railroad. 
 
 This homestead was also isolated from the main 
 highway. Only a byroad, rarely used, passed by the 
 house. Occasionally an old fashioned peddling wagon, 
 the prairie schooner, covered with stout muslin, came 
 down the road, laden with all manner of kitchen utensils, 
 groceries, cotton goods and so forth, which the owner 
 was ready to dispose of for cash or in exchange for eggs, 
 butter and other farm commodities. 
 
 It was also the day of the pack peddler and once in 
 
 FORTY 
 
a while one bearing a huge bundle on his back would 
 venture up the road to display his silks and satins and 
 linens and laces before the enraptured eyes of the child- 
 ren. Always the mother would buy something, "for", 
 said she, "he has such a heavy load, I'll try to lighten it a 
 little." 
 
 In this remark we see the animating principle of her 
 life. She was always ready to lighten the burdens of 
 those around her. In sickness or sorrow or trouble of 
 any kind none so ready as she to bring help and comfort 
 to those who were thus affected. Her neighborly hands 
 washed and baked and ironed and mended and sewed 
 for any who stood in need of such kindly ministrations. 
 Like Dorcas of old many were the mementoes of her 
 hand and heart which she left in the homes of the people 
 among whom she dwelt. This very disposition to help 
 caused her at times to be imposed upon, as is generally 
 the case with all who devote themselves to the ministry 
 of others. A neighbor woman, living some distance 
 away, formed the habit of bringing her bread over to the 
 Searle home in summer to have Agnes bake it for her, 
 "because", said she, "I know you always have a fire go- 
 ing." Of course this grew extremely trying, but uncom- 
 plainingly she baked the bread and sent the woman on 
 her way rejoicing. Her only comment was, "It does beat 
 
 FORTY-ONE 
 
Charlie" which was her general way of expressing dis- 
 approval of certain people and actions. 
 
 Both she and her husband very early in life had met 
 the Great Companion, had listened to His voice and laid 
 their hands in His and said, "Thou shalt be our Guide 
 from our youth even unto old age." They were mem- 
 bers of the small brick church two miles away, where a 
 little band of faithful souls met each Sabbath day. Later 
 on they united with a number of others in erecting the 
 Methodist Church in the village of Cleveland, where 
 they remained devoted members for many years. This 
 church was eventually destroyed by fire but not until 
 Mr. Searle had joined the Church Triumphant and Agnes 
 had moved to Geneseo. 
 
 The Searle home was always a welcome retreat for 
 the various pastors who came to shepherd the flock in 
 that neighborhood. Many familiar names recur to us, 
 such as Richard Haney, familiarly known as Uncle Dick, 
 G. C. Woodruff, whom the children called Grandpa 
 Woodruff, A. R. Morgan, Edward Wasmuth, H. K. Met- 
 calf, F. Doran, J. Q. Adams, and others. Grandpa 
 Woodruff was a great wonder to the children because he 
 would come out to the home sometimes on Saturday, and 
 spend the day in cutting out and making a pair of trous- 
 ers and wear them to church the next morning. Wonder 
 
 FORTY-TWO 
 
how many of our modern preachers can turn a trick like 
 that. 
 
 The hospitality of the home became proverbial and 
 upon occasions of church festivals a huge clothes basket 
 laden with three or four dressed turkeys cooked to a 
 delicious brown, together with an abundance of other 
 provisions was deposited at the church door. 
 
 Such in brief was the old homestead where our 
 Irish lassie was to spend nearly half a century, where one 
 by one the children came, where her husband would pass 
 from her side, a home whose influence would leave its 
 impress upon the hearts of her children and her child- 
 ren's children even to far off generations. 
 
 FORTY-THREE 
 
JOHN SEARLE AND SON JOHN 
 
 FORTY-FOUR 
 

 
 AGNES OWENS SEARLE, AGE 27 
 
 FORTY-FTVE 
 
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 
 
 "Her pleasures were in the happiness of her family." 
 
 John stepped into the arena of life in the log cabin, 
 but the other children were born in the old homestead. 
 After John came Margaret, James, Burton, Clara, Mary, 
 Belle, Truman and Nellie. Here all of them grew into 
 manhood and womanhood. With nine boys and girls the 
 home resounded with noise and laughter, with fun and 
 frolic. And we have a right to presume there was also 
 an occasional tempest in a teapot when one or the other 
 of the lads and lassies would fly off the handle and preci- 
 pitate a wordy battle. But stormy scenes were rare and 
 a few stern words from the mother would quell any 
 disturbance. 
 
 As the years passed and John became a man, he as- 
 sisted his mother in keeping order in the household, for 
 the father, growing old, passed the management of the 
 farm and to some degree the care of the family over into 
 his hands. The youngest scion of the family still treas- 
 ures a vivid memory of her brother, John, returning 
 from his work a half mile beyond the river, saying, 
 
 FORTY-SIX 
 
"What's the matter with you children? I could hear you 
 clear across the river yelling like bloody Indians." 
 
 Naturally many funny things happened with such a 
 gang around. When Burton was just a charming baby 
 he went with his mother to attend a party at one of the 
 neighbors. While there he crawled under the bed, 
 emerging with a lot of fuzzy feathers all over him. He 
 was a sight! But Agnes, whose soul abhorred untidi- 
 ness, said later, "If a child would pick up fuzzy feathers 
 under my beds I would be mortified beyond measure." 
 
 When Truman was four years old he ran away one 
 day and after a long and frantic search, he was found 
 sound asleep under a hazel bush by the roadside. One 
 day when he was a mere child, Burton and James asked 
 him to request the mother for some cookies for all three 
 of them. The mother gave him a generous handful, but 
 Truman, whose appetite was not satisfied with the out- 
 look, said plaintively, "I wouldn't think you would be so 
 stingy with your little boy." 
 
 Truman was specially fond of his little sister Nellie, 
 then a toddler of two or three years. When a big wagon 
 load of potatoes or apples were brought from the field or 
 orchard to be stowed in the cellar, the unloading process 
 was often hindered by persistent little Truman being too 
 much in the way. A sure method of easing the conges- 
 
 FORTY-SEVEN 
 
tion was for one of the boys to say, "Truman, where's 
 Nellie? You'd better go and find her or maybe the pigs 
 will get her." This always sent him off with a great fear 
 in his heart lest his much loved sister might be in deadly 
 peril. 
 
 Margaret, being the oldest of the girls, was also the 
 first to have a beau. On Sunday afternoons while wait- 
 ing for the arrival of the young man of her heart, she 
 delighted in going upstairs to read. But the other 
 youngsters out in the yard would no sooner see him com- 
 ing down the road than they would rush to the stair door, 
 shouting over and over, "Mag! Mag! Henry's coming! 
 Henry's coming!", greatly to her disgust. 
 
 John used to say to Mary, "If Mary can't find any- 
 thing else to do she stands in the middle of the floor and 
 'hollers' ". And her father believing that enough is 
 enough of anything, would say to her, "Mary, if you've 
 got to jump up and yell, go out in the yard to that 
 stump." 
 
 Among the horses on the farm was one that had been 
 in the family so long that he was practically freed from 
 all work, except an occasional light task. His name was 
 Army and he was a great pet with the children. They 
 delighted in riding him up and down the road, three or 
 four on his back at the same time. Old Army did not 
 
 FORTY -EIGHT 
 
seem to resent this, but he was a wily old nag and when- 
 ever they came out to the pasture to catch him he led 
 them a merry chase from one end of the field to the other, 
 eluding their most frantic efforts for two or three hours 
 and when finally cornered would leap over the rail fence 
 into another field. 
 
 One day they took Army to the orchard, filled a sack 
 with apples and placed it on his back. Mary and Belle 
 got up in front of the sack and Clara got behind it. This 
 put her at the extreme back part of the animal. Truman 
 and Nellie trudged on behind the procession. All things 
 went well until old Army gave a shake of his hide and 
 down came apples and Clara and all, landing in one 
 inglorious heap together. Of course this was a big show 
 to the rest of them and they laughed uproariously at the 
 tragic sight, but poor Clara, sensitive to their laughter, 
 sat amid the ruins weeping briny tears. 
 
 But Clara could laugh, too, at the discomfiture of 
 another when the spirit so moved her. One day, the 
 hired man, either not recognizing the nature of a certain 
 dish before him, or else inadvertently, took a huge 
 mouthful of horseradish. The effect was electric. His 
 face flushed fiery red, he groaned in spirit, his eyes filled 
 with tears, his whole frame was moved to sympathetic 
 action. But Clara could not hold her merry laughter in, 
 
 FORTY-NINE 
 
as she viewed his predicament. But the mother, pitying 
 the poor fellow's state, said, "Clara, if you can't keep 
 from laughing you can leave the table." But Clara could 
 not bring her fun-loving soul under control, especially as 
 brother Jim, sitting across the table, winked so comically 
 at her. So she vanished from the scene until her risibil- 
 ities had subsided to an occasional chuckle. 
 
 Of Belle it is told that one day after having washed 
 the front porch immaculately, she looked out of the 
 window and saw a hen just in from a muddy lot walking 
 over her freshly cleaned porch. Exasperated, she rushed 
 to the door and cried, "Shoo, there! Get out of that!"' 
 And the poor innocent hen, frightened out of its wits, 
 burst out into wild cackling, flew with desperate haste up 
 into the air about fifteen feet, and while in flight dropped 
 a brand new egg which struck the ground in splattering 
 destruction. This of course, sent Belle and the other 
 girls, who had witnessed the impromptu delivery, into 
 gales of laughter. And poor old Biddy reported to her 
 friends in the barnyard, "She didn't quite scare the giz- 
 zard out of me, but she sure scared an egg out." 
 
 Once in awhile a rather unkind joke was played 
 upon some member of the family. For instance, when 
 Belle was about seventeen years old she went on a visit 
 for a few days. While she was gone her pet canary, for 
 
 FIFTY 
 
which she cared a great deal, died. And what did Mary 
 and Nellie do but go out to the chicken yard and take a 
 tiny chick with no feathers on it and put it in the cage 
 where the canary had been. When Belle came home 
 and found the featherless chick instead of her canary she 
 lifted up her voice and wept. Of course that filled the 
 souls of Mary and Nellie with grief and penitence. 
 
 Now wasn't that a joke too weird and wild 
 To play upon their sister meek and mild? 
 
 When Nellie was still so young that she cannot now 
 remember the fact, Mary and Clara had the happy 
 thought of wrapping the little sister in a blanket, then 
 rolling her down the stairs. But this was done once too 
 often, for the mother standing by the stair door when 
 this daily recreation was going on and hearing a noise 
 inside the stair door, opened it and out popped the bundle 
 with Nellie in it. That stopped the fun for good and all. 
 
 But the old farm witnessed more trying scenes than 
 these. To the children at least the loss of their walnuts 
 was quite a tragedy. One day in autumn, James and 
 Burton said to Truman and Nellie, "There are a lot of 
 walnuts in the timber. If you two will pick them up, 
 hull them and put them in sacks we will bring them 
 home with us this evening." So with much labor, but 
 also enjoyment and bright anticipations of the coming 
 winter, they gathered the nuts, hulled them and after 
 
 FIFTY-ONE 
 
putting them in sacks, placed them at the gate. When 
 the two boys came home that night they said, "We 
 thought you children were going to gather those walnuts 
 for us to bring home?" 
 
 They responded that they had done exactly that. 
 Immediately Burt suspected a certain man of having 
 found and stolen the nuts. He went off down the road a 
 mile or so and sure enough he found the nuts in the sus- 
 pected man's yard, recognizing the sacks by the peculiar 
 kind of string with which they were tied. But he re- 
 turned without them, saying that if he wanted them that 
 badly he could have them. Which was mighty fine for 
 friend thief, but just too bad for the children. 
 
 One day as Truman and Nellie were out in the 
 meadow they saw a man hiding behind some bushes, who 
 pushed a gun out and aimed it straight at them. Fright- 
 ened almost out of their wits they fled to the house and 
 told their mother. But she, suspecting a trick, waited 
 until a man came by the house, when she asked him 
 about it. He confessed that it was he, that he saw the 
 children playing in the field and just for mischief picked 
 up a stick and pointed it at them through the bushes. 
 But he received a good calling down for such a scurvy 
 trick upon unsuspecting childhood. 
 
 Sadder things than these occurred occasionally. 
 
 FIFTY-TWO 
 
One day Mr. Searle came in with clouded brow, saying 
 that the train had just killed his team of exceptionally 
 fine black horses. Their loss was a most serious matter, 
 but the Searles had learned to take the bitter with the 
 sweet and after a few words of regret, he proceeded to 
 buy another team and carry on. 
 
 Financial reverses came from time to time. Some- 
 times the crops were not good. An occasional drought 
 and an occasional season of too much rain conspired to 
 deplete the income from the farm. But there never 
 lacked food and raiment and shelter, and schooling with 
 the necessary books were always provided. 
 
 After the last child was born, there were eleven to 
 sit down at the table for each meal and for the noontide 
 dinner there were frequently more, for any neighbor or 
 stranger who came along was urged to remain and eat. 
 Thus in quiet simplicity the years swept on. 
 
 It was during these years that the family became 
 acquainted with Lorado Taft, afterward to become an 
 eminent sculptor, who in the later seventies was a stu- 
 dent in Illinois University. The cousins of the Searle 
 children, living just across Rock River, were also in the 
 University at that time and not infrequently he would 
 visit in their home. At such times the cousins always 
 brought Mr. Taft over to visit with the John Searle 
 family. Naturally, therefore, the future career of 
 
 FIFTY-THREE 
 
Lorado Taft has been followed by them with much 
 interest and with pride in his ability and accomplish- 
 ments. (Mr. Taft has died since these lines were written.) 
 
 On August 30, 1883, Margaret was married. This 
 was the first break in the family circle and her going left 
 "a lonesome place against the sky," and in the hearts of 
 all the family. Poor Belle was so broken-hearted over 
 her going that she hid herself behind the cellar door to 
 cry in solitude. However, Margaret did not move very 
 far away, only a mile or so, and as a consequence was 
 often in and out of the home. 
 
 On March 17, 1887, John was married. A year later 
 he and his wife moved to a farm near Washta, Iowa. A 
 sad day this for Mother Agnes. The final farewells were 
 spoken the day before he left for Iowa, as their furniture 
 had to be loaded on the train on the other side of the 
 river. On the day of his departure the mother went out 
 to the brow of a hill on the farm from whence she could 
 see the train as it passed beyond the river. She gazed 
 after it with wistful eyes and with a grief in her heart 
 she had never known before. She kept on looking until 
 the train disappeared from sight, then turned and walked 
 into the house saying no word to anyone. But with 
 courageous soul she entered again into the duties of the 
 household feeling that whatever was best for her child- 
 ren she would acquiesce therein. 
 
 FIFTY-FOUR 
 
THE SUN IS DARKENED 
 
 "Were a star quenched on high 
 
 For ages would its light 
 
 Still traveling downward from the sky, 
 
 Shine on our mortal sight. 
 
 So when a good man dies 
 
 For years beyond our mortal ken 
 
 The light he leaves behind him 
 
 Lies upon the paths of men." 
 
 Ten years slipped by. Clara, Burton and James 
 married. Clara and Burton moved to farms near 
 Washta, Iowa. James occupied the cottage on the farm 
 and its management passed into his hands. Mary, Belle, 
 Truman and Nellie were in college a good share of the 
 time. The pranks and laughter of fun-loving, care free 
 children became a thing of the past. Manhood and wo- 
 manhood claimed them. But some of them were always 
 at home and occasional family gatherings filled the house 
 with echoes of days that were gone. 
 
 The time was approaching when the old homestead 
 would be only a memory, whose incense would permeate 
 all the future with thankful joy that their early years 
 were spent therein, and whose influence would linger 
 
 FIFTY-FIVE 
 
with them like the scent of the May apple blossoms that 
 once bloomed on the farm. Wherever the coming years 
 would lead them they would treasure in their inmost 
 hearts the beautiful sunlit sky that overspread their 
 childhood home. 
 
 "For this fond attachment to the well known place 
 Where first we started into life's long race 
 Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway 
 We feel it e'en in age and at our latest day." 
 
 The year 1897 came on apace. Thirty-eight years 
 had passed since John and Agnes Searle had joined 
 hands and hearts for the journey of life. Peace and 
 contentment had spread their wings over their home 
 through all these years of mutual love and companion- 
 ship. But the husband and father was now old and well 
 stricken in age. The snows of ninety-three winters had 
 piled themselves upon his brow. The burden of the 
 years had slowly undermined his strength. His physical 
 vigor grew less and less as the days went by. As the 
 springtime grasses began to grow he declined in health 
 more rapidly. As the summer days drew near it was 
 recognized by all that he was nearing the end of his life. 
 
 And then one morning the weary eyes closed in 
 slumber here and he was not for God took him. Seven- 
 ty-five years had passed since he had found the Pearl of 
 Great Price. For three-quarters of a century he had 
 
 FIFTY-SIX 
 
lived for the eternal ages. As he traveled through the 
 world he had been far more intent upon what he could 
 put into the world than what he might get out of it. 
 Thus it was that his declining days had been blessed 
 with "the glad remembrance of a life well spent," and in 
 the quiet trustfulness of the Christian soul he passed 
 from earthly scenes to be forever with his Lord. 
 
 It was June 10th. The saddest day in Agnes' life 
 had come. Out from the old homestead, made beautiful 
 by the associations of many years they bore his body to 
 its resting place in Hanna Cemetery only a mile distant. 
 Agnes and the grieving children went back to the old 
 home. A new epoch in life had come. In after years his 
 body was removed to Oakwood Cemetery in Geneseo. 
 Thirty-three years would pass before the wife and 
 mother would reach the end of her journey, but the 
 memory of the husband of her youth would be cherished 
 so long as the years increased. 
 
 With brave and steadfast heart she began the jour- 
 ney of life without his presence and help. Truman still 
 remained at home. James was in the nearby cottage. 
 Mary, Belle and Nellie were at home throughout the 
 summer. That fall and winter Mary taught school at 
 Osborn only a mile away and, therefore, was able to be 
 at home most of the time. Belle taught school in Iowa 
 
 FIFTY-SEVEN 
 
and Nellie went back to Knox College in September, 
 graduating therefrom the following June, 1898. 
 
 In August, 1898, Mary married and moved to a dis- 
 tant part of the state. Belle and Nellie taught school 
 near home for three years, 1898-1901, and were at home 
 every night and all week ends. About 1898 a grand- 
 child of her husband's sister, Mrs. Elizabeth Gorton, for 
 whom Agnes had worked when she first came to Illinois, 
 came to live in the home. This was John H. Gorton, 
 eight years of age. He remained with the family until 
 1903 when because of the breaking up of the home he 
 went to live with his Aunt Nellie Chamberlain in Gales- 
 burg, 111. 
 
 In 1901 Belle was married and departed to her new 
 home near Macomb. Two years later Nellie was mar- 
 ried and moved to Geneseo. Truman was still at home, 
 but six months after Nellie's marriage, he also embarked 
 upon the Sea of Matrimony. By mutual agreement it 
 was decided that Truman and his wife should occupy the 
 homestead and Mother Agnes should go to live with 
 Nellie in Geneseo. She continued to live with Nellie 
 the remaining twenty-seven years of life. 
 
 FIFTY-EIGHT 
 

 
 liltf. 
 
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 L 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 AGNES OWENS SEARLE, AGE 73 
 
 FIFTY-NINE 
 
BEGINNING LIFE ANEW 
 
 "The signs of age are creeping, creeping, 
 All silently their vigils keeping. 
 The frosts of time hath touched the hair 
 Once darkly brown and wondrous fair." 
 
 For forty-five years Agnes had been the manager of 
 a home, the leading worker of the household, the mother 
 of the children, and the counsellor of all. Her busy hands 
 had rarely found an idle hour. The training of her sons 
 and daughters had challenged all her wisdom and under- 
 standing. The care of the entire household had been 
 hers for almost half a century. But now her children 
 were all married and gone. She herself had left the 
 home so dear to her to take up her abode with her daugh- 
 ter Nellie and husband. 
 
 From henceforth other hands than hers would at- 
 tend to the main part of the work of the household. She 
 would be a busy woman for many years yet, as she 
 helped in the various duties of the home, but the care 
 of management, the many decisions to be made, the 
 menus to be provided, the general oversight of household 
 affairs, from these she would be free. By this time she 
 
 SIXTY 
 
was a woman of 67, but the moving years had been kind 
 to her. She was still brisk and active, though always 
 quiet in demeanor and retiring in disposition. 
 
 With contented spirit she greeted each new day and 
 welcomed with a smile the dawning of each new year. 
 In the fall of 1907 the husband of the daughter with 
 whom she lived came to the end of a long illness and 
 passed to the realms of light and life. For five years 
 thereafter she and her daughter dwelt in the cottage on 
 Pearl Street in Geneseo. Then the daughter married 
 again and they moved to a home on College Avenue. 
 Here Mother Agnes would pass the remaining years of 
 her life. Besides these three there was also in the home 
 an adopted daughter of the husband, Edna, who stayed 
 with them until the time of her marriage, except for the 
 years she was in college. 
 
 At the time of Nellie's second marriage Mother 
 Agnes was a woman of seventy-five, but she knew and 
 practiced that finest of all arts, the art of growing old 
 gracefully. In simplicity of life and cheerfulness of heart 
 she so adapted herself to the home that it was always 
 easy to be kind and thoughtful toward her. Com- 
 plaining words never fell from her lips. She often ex- 
 pressed appreciation for the kindly ministries of her 
 son-in-law and of the other inmates of the home and also 
 
 SIXTY-ONE 
 
of relatives and friends with whom she came in contact. 
 Her physical vigor continued with her in considerable 
 measure for some years after she reached eighty years 
 and she was a real help in many ways in carrying on the 
 work of the home. Advancing years made her more 
 feeble but the inner spirit was ever sweet and lovely. 
 
 After she reached the age of eighty-three she had sev- 
 eral attacks of pneumonia, in each of which the attending 
 physician believed she could not recover. But somehow 
 she always came through safely but naturally somewhat 
 weaker than before. After she had had three or four 
 spells of this and recovered contrary to all expectations 
 another attack did not excite the alarm that it other- 
 wise would have done. 
 
 Fourteen tranquil years had been spent in this new 
 home when another sadness came to her. Her children 
 had nearly all reached middle life or beyond and as yet 
 all of them had continued in health and vigor. But in 
 the autumn of 1924 the daughter, Belle, living near Ma- 
 comb, became very ill. As the weeks passed it became 
 apparent that her ailment could not be cured, and after 
 months of sickness she passed beyond the shadows here 
 to walk in the sunlight of the Father's home. 
 
 It was March 25, 1925. Mother Agnes, now in her 
 eighty-eighth year was too weak to permit of her visiting 
 
 SIXTY-TWO 
 
the daughter on her sick bed or of attending the funeral 
 services. Thus a new and poignant grief was laid upon 
 her, but the presence and comfort of the One who had 
 been her Friend in all the years was with her and with 
 meek and quiet spirit she accepted even this as from His 
 hand and murmured not. Only a year and a half after 
 Belle had gone, her son James, at the end of an illness of 
 only ten days, joined his sister in the Home above. 
 
 A few days before he was taken ill the mother had 
 been at his home in another part of the town. As she 
 sat on the porch she saw him coming through the orchard 
 with a handful of plums in his hand, cheerful and smil- 
 ing. When he died and they asked her to go and see him 
 as he lay in the casket, she answered, "No, I want to re- 
 member him as I saw him coming through the orchard 
 so happy and bright." She was now ninety years old. 
 She could read only a little for the eyes were dim. The 
 hands were feeble and the body was frail. She could not 
 do much but sit in an easy chair during the day, though 
 occasionally she could be taken out in the auto for a 
 drive. Thus the uneventful months went by. 
 
 SIXTY-THREE 
 
THE SHADOWS LENGTHEN 
 
 "Leaves have their time to fall 
 
 And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, 
 
 And stars to set, — but all, 
 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death." 
 
 Two or three years passed on. Each day seemed so 
 like another that time itself almost stood still. But the 
 inexorable march of sunrise and sunset led her ever on. 
 And thus came 1929 a year of sorrows to all the Searle 
 family. Just after Christmas of 1928 Mother Agnes was 
 stricken once more with pneumonia. It seemed quite 
 certain that this time death would not pass her by. The 
 New Year opened with her almost at the crossing, as 
 physicians and relatives thought. On Friday, Jan. 5th 
 her son John came in to see her and as he took his depar- 
 ture he said, "Nellie, we must make up our minds that 
 we shall not have mother with us long." Little he 
 thought that his mother would outlive himself. John 
 went to his home and on Monday morning, Jan. 8th, with 
 only one hour of illness, his spirit took its flight to the 
 eternal world. John was gone, he who had been like a 
 father to the younger brothers and sisters and a real 
 elder brother to them all. John, upon whom the mother 
 
 SIXTY-FOUR 
 
had leaned so much in the days of her greatest need. No 
 wonder a pall fell upon the hearts of them who mourned 
 his going. 
 
 But the little mother did not know for many days 
 that she here would see his face no more. She was too 
 ill to be told. To the great surprise of every one she 
 came safely through her illness, but it left her so weak 
 and frail that she never fully recovered from its ravages. 
 The physician said to the daughter, "I think it would be 
 best for you to say nothing to her about John unless she 
 inquires about him." 
 
 Three months passed before she roused herself from 
 the lethargy that was upon her sufficiently to notice that 
 he no longer came to see her. But the day came when 
 that to which the daughter had looked forward with 
 dread and yet with desire was at hand. Mother and 
 daughter were alone in the sitting room rocking and 
 talking when the mother said, "It has been a long time 
 since John has been in to see me." 
 
 To which the daughter replied, "Yes, mother, it has 
 been a long time." 
 
 "Do you know why?" 
 
 "Yes, I know why and I am glad you have asked 
 about him, for I have waited for several weeks to talk 
 with you about him." 
 
 SIXTY-FIVE 
 
And then the daughter moved her chair near to that 
 of the mother, and taking her thin hand in hers, said: 
 "Do you remember when you were so ill that Mary came 
 up to see you for a few days and planned to go home on 
 a certain day, but did not go?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember it quite well and I have often 
 wondered why she changed her mind." 
 
 "Well, a little while before she was intending to start 
 for the train we received word that John had suddenly 
 passed away. He was taken violently ill at midnight 
 and at one o'clock that morning he left us." 
 
 "Oh, no, not my John." 
 
 "Yes, mother, we lost John that day, but you were 
 so ill the doctor told us not to tell you until you should 
 ask us about him. We shall all miss John so much. He 
 was always so kind and thoughtful and you had learned 
 to lean upon and trust him so completely that we know 
 it will be hard for you. But you know, Mother, it will 
 be lovely for you that when you also go you will find him 
 waiting for you there." And the gentle mother an- 
 swered, "Yes, it will be beautiful for me to find John and 
 Belle and James and Father waiting for me over there." 
 And so with bright anticipations of a glad reunion in the 
 near future she passed the summer days in peace of mind 
 and heart. 
 
 sixty-six 
 
In July, Marjorie, her grandchild, Truman's daugh- 
 ter, a girl of nineteen years, just budding into a lovely 
 womanhood, was taken ill and two days later fell asleep. 
 
 "No fading of the cheek of bloom 
 
 Forewarned us of decay: 
 
 No shadow from the silent land 
 
 Fell round our Marjorie's way. 
 
 The light of her young life went down 
 
 As sinks behind the hill 
 
 The glory of a setting star, — 
 
 Clear, suddenly and still." 
 
 But so feeble was Mother Agnes that she was not 
 told and when she herself reached heaven among the 
 many surprises awaiting her was Marjorie, whose love- 
 liness had been transplanted from earth to bloom forever 
 in the Garden of the King. 
 
 "For not in cruelty, not in wrath, 
 The Reaper came that day. 
 'Twas an angel visited the green earth, 
 And took the flower away." 
 
 On Nov. 8th her daughter-in-law, the widow of 
 James, departed to join the dear ones gone before. This 
 time it was necessary to tell the aged mother, for the 
 daughter-in-law lived in Geneseo and came over almost 
 every day to see her, so that her absence would soon be 
 detected. 
 
 As Thanksgiving Day approached still another with 
 whom she had been so long associated was taken away. 
 
 SIXTY-SEVEN 
 
On Nov. 25th George J. Smith, the husband of Nellie, 
 sick for only two days, ceased at once to labor and to 
 live. In the eighteen years in which she had been an 
 inmate of his home his unfailing kindness had won her 
 respect and affection and his death left another wound 
 upon her heart. 
 
 SIXTY-EIGHT 
 
THE GOLDEN SUNSET 
 
 "Sunset and evening star 
 
 And one clear call for me, 
 
 And may there be no moaning of the bar 
 
 When I put out to sea." 
 
 As 1929 came to a close the four who at the begin- 
 ning of the year had been in health and vigor of life were 
 now among the multitude whom no man can number. 
 But the fragile mother still lived on. Her time had not 
 yet come, but the hour of her coronation was at hand. 
 
 As 1930 grew older her strength diminished and 
 when June came she was again stricken with pneumonia. 
 She recovered but it had sapped her vitality so much 
 that she grew speedily weaker. On June 24th she sank 
 into a coma and remained thus throughout the night. 
 Two of her daughters, Mary and Nellie, were with her. 
 
 "They watched her breathing through the night, 
 
 Her breathing soft and low. 
 
 As in her breast the wave of life 
 
 Kept heaving to and fro. 
 
 So silently each to the other spake 
 So gently moved about 
 As they had lent her half their powers 
 To eke her living out. 
 
 SIXTY-NINE 
 
THE LITTLE MOTHER, AGE 85 
 
 SEVENTY 
 
Their very hopes belied their fears, 
 Their fears their hopes belied. 
 They thought her dying when she slept 
 And sleeping when she died. 
 
 And when the early morning came 
 All bright with sun and flowers, 
 Her quiet eyelids closed, she had 
 Another morn than ours." 
 
 It was June 25, 1930, when she passed to be with 
 Him whom not having seen here, yet had she learned to 
 greatly love. 
 
 "With songs and dewey light 
 Morning blossomed out of night 
 When she opened her blue eyes 
 Neath the palms of Paradise." 
 
 With gentle and reverent hands her children bore 
 her body to the grave in Oakwood Cemetery and laid it 
 by the side of the husband of the years that were gone. 
 With grieving hearts and yet with rejoicing hope they 
 returned to their separate homes to carry with them 
 always the precious memory of the little mother who had 
 been so great a blessing to them through all the years, 
 treasuring also the glad assurance that when they too 
 should reach the end of their pilgrimage, they would 
 find her standing at the Gate Beautiful waiting to wel- 
 come them home. 
 
 SEVENTY-ONE 
 
Part II. 
 
 ADDENDA 
 
 Life Sketches of the Children 
 Unto the Fourth Generation 
 American Ancestry of John Searle 
 
LIFE SKETCHES OF 
 THE CHILDREN 
 
 "What gift has Providence bestowed upon us 
 That is so dear to us as our children?" 
 
 By the foregoing pages it will be seen that into the 
 home of John and Agnes Searle there came nine child- 
 ren, five girls and four boys, each of whom brought joy 
 and comfort to the parents, though also, of course, they 
 brought many cares. All of these children were differ- 
 ent in temperament and general characteristics and this 
 fact gave variety to the household. And since "variety 
 is the spice of life" there was never any danger of the 
 home atmosphere growing stale or monotonous. 
 
 Plenty of wholesome food, a sufficient amount of 
 discipline, enough work and play and not too much of 
 either, the faithful training in virtue and integrity, the 
 constant example of the father and mother, the import- 
 ant place which the church held in the family life, and 
 the emphasis put upon genuine Christian living, all com- 
 bined to throw around them such influences as would 
 make it well nigh inevitable that they should grow into 
 
 SEVENTY-FIVE 
 
manhood and womanhood with high ideals and with 
 staunch and sturdy characters which would send them 
 forth into the world to do their duty always and their 
 life work well. All of them became members of the 
 church in early life and continued so through all the 
 years. 
 
 John, the first born, entered life in the log cabin on 
 Aug. 19, 1861. He attended school near home and also at 
 Colona. As he came to manhood he became the main- 
 stay of the family for his father was growing old and 
 thus the management of the farm was his task for some 
 years. 
 
 On March 17, 1887, he married Minnie Osborn of that 
 vicinity. A year later they moved to a farm near Washta, 
 Iowa. For fifteen years they lived here and here three 
 children were born to them, Clinton, Clara and Tru- 
 man. The farm was raw prairie land with no buildings 
 upon it at first. They lived in a school house until the 
 barn and the home were completed. In 1903 they re- 
 turned to Illinois, and took up their abode in a small cot- 
 tage on the home farm for six months. In September of 
 that year they moved to Geneseo for the schooling of 
 their children. In 1920 they moved to Rock Island, 
 where they made their home until his death on Jan. 8, 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX 
 
1929. His widow still survives and makes her home in 
 Rock Island. 
 
 Margaret was the second child to appear upon the 
 scene. She was born Mar. 1, 1863. She attended the 
 home school and then at Colona and later on went to the 
 Moline High School. For two years thereafter she taught 
 the home school. Being the eldest of the girls a great 
 deal of the care of the younger ones devolved upon her. 
 She was the chief seamstress after her mother in making 
 dresses for the girls and shirts and overalls for the boys. 
 
 On Aug. 30, 1883, she was married to Henry Hand, a 
 young man of that neighborhood. This was the first of 
 the weddings that would eventually come and naturally 
 was a great event in the household, though tinged with 
 sadness for she would be an inmate of the home no more. 
 She and her husband settled on a farm only a mile dis- 
 tant and for thirty-seven years they dwelt there. In 
 1920 they moved to Geneseo, where they now live. The 
 first of the grandchildren of Mother Agnes was born to 
 them, their only child, Marian. 
 
 James, the third child, arrived February 19, 1865. 
 After spending several years in the home school he at- 
 tended Northwestern Normal, which was then an im- 
 portant part of the educational system of Geneseo, 
 though now no longer in operation. 
 
 SEVENTY-SEVEN 
 
He married Mary Linnell of Cleveland on February 
 21, 1892. They lived in the cottage on the home farm 
 until 1903 when they moved to the P. K. Hanna farm, 
 three-quarters of a mile distant. Here they lived for 
 several years and then went to a farm near Cleveland. 
 In December, 1925, they moved to Geneseo and here 
 James died on Aug. 3, 1926. His wife lived until Nov. 
 8, 1929. Four children were born to them, Blanche, 
 Jeanette, Burton and Madge. But the eyes of little 
 Madge were never opened to the sunlight here. 
 
 William Burton, the fourth of the children, made his 
 advent on Nov. 16, 1866. While he was still a small 
 child of two or three months, Miss Lucinda Nesbaum 
 came into the home to assist in the housework. After 
 being with them a year she married Andrew Ollson, who 
 was working on the farm. Both she and her husband 
 continued to work there for two or three years. The 
 children as well as the parents became much attached 
 to her and called her Aunty Lou. 
 
 An amusing incident happened during her courtship. 
 Young John, then only six years of age, had the task of 
 keeping the woodbox filled. Each night he filled it up 
 and calculated it would last nearly all of the next day. 
 But he began to feel very much abused because Andrew 
 and Lucinda sat up so late at night that in the morning 
 
 SEVENTY-EIGHT 
 
he would find the woodbox empty and thus he would 
 have to fill it again before starting in the day. So rebel- 
 lious John, whose youthful soul had not yet tasted the 
 pleasures of courtship and knew not the hypnotic influ- 
 ences of such blissful sweets, refused to fill the woodbox 
 in the evening, declaring with an indignant snort, "If 
 they are going to burn up all the wood they can just 
 fill the box their ownselves." 
 
 Aunty Lou's husband died many years ago, but she 
 herself still lives in Geneseo, treasuring in her heart the 
 many reminiscences of the olden days when she stayed 
 with Mother Agnes and in later years often visited her 
 at her home in Geneseo, and for whom she has a warm 
 and loving memory. 
 
 Burton's early school life was near home and then 
 at Northwestern Normal in Geneseo. On January 1, 
 1891 he married Sarah Osborne, who lived near. They 
 went at once to a farm near Washta, Iowa. Here they 
 stayed for eleven years, but in 1902 returned to Illinois 
 and settled on a farm northwest of Geneseo. In 1918 
 they moved to Geneseo, where he resided until he was 
 called from this earthly life. He is the only member of 
 the family who has died since the death of the mother. 
 In 1934 he had a paralytic stroke and later on two or 
 three more. Slowly his strength was depleted and on 
 January 19, 1936, he entered the Homeland of the Soul. 
 
 SEVENTY-NINE 
 
It is worthy of record that the funeral services which 
 were set for January 21st, had to be postponed for two 
 or three days because of one of the fiercest of winter 
 storms which drifted the roads full faster than they 
 could be cleared. This was the beginning of the worst 
 series of snows and bitter cold that has occurred in the 
 Middle West for two generations and more. Burton's 
 wife, Sarah, still abides at the home in Geneseo. He was 
 the father of five children, Byron, Agnes, Ella, Margaret 
 and Fred. 
 
 Clara, the fifth of the family, first saw the light on 
 September 5th, 1868. She attended the home school and 
 Northwestern Normal. She was married to Robert J. 
 Osborn, a brother of Sarah, Burt's wife, and a brother 
 of Minnie, John's wife. They spent six years in Washta, 
 Iowa, then in Sioux City for a few years and later rented 
 a farm on the Winnebago Indian Reservation in Nebras- 
 ka. They are now living in Houston, Texas. She is the 
 mother of six children, Zenana, John, Inez, Robert, Clara 
 and Dwight. 
 
 Mary was number six and appeared August 17, 1871. 
 Her education was secured at the home school, North- 
 western Normal, Geneseo Collegiate Institute, and she 
 graduated from Hedding College at Abingdon, Illinois, 
 in the class of 1896. She had taught school two or three 
 
 EIGHTY 
 
years before entering Hedding College and after gradua- 
 tion taught at Osborne, Illinois, for two years. On Aug- 
 ust 16, 1898, she was married to Howard C. Drayer, a 
 classmate in Hedding. The first two years of their mar- 
 ried life were spent in Momence, Illinois, where Mr. 
 Drayer taught. The next two years they lived in Man- 
 teno, Illinois, where he was principal of the schools. 
 
 In 1902 they went to St. Louis where Mr. Drayer 
 became a teacher in the Manual Training School. Two 
 years later he became a teacher in the public schools of 
 St. Louis. For the past thirty years he has been a prin- 
 cipal of one of the schools in the St. Louis system. His 
 present position is that of principal of the Emmerson 
 school in that city. In 1909 they built their present 
 home in University City, a suburb of St. Louis. One 
 son, Calvin, was born to them. 
 
 Belle, the seventh to join the circle, came on July 14, 
 1873. She attended the home school, graduated at 
 Geneseo Collegiate Institute and later attended Hedding 
 College and Knox College. Upon leaving Knox in 1897, 
 she taught school near Washta, Iowa, for one year, then 
 for three years at Osborne, 111. 
 
 On November 14, 1901, she was married to Alfred 
 Stickle of near Macomb, whom she had met while in 
 G. C. I. They began life together on the old Stickle 
 
 EIGHTY-ONE 
 
farm, six miles northwest of Macomb. This farm had 
 been bought by the husband's grandfather in 1839 and 
 has continued in the family ever since. After living 
 here a few years they moved into Macomb and remained 
 there several years. They returned to the farm in 1923, 
 and two years later on March 25, 1925, Belle passed to 
 the home beyond. Owen, Ruth and Nellie were born to 
 her. 
 
 Truman, the eighth of the flock, came to Mother 
 Agnes on March 5, 1875. After attending school near 
 home he was in Hedding College and Geneseo Collegiate 
 Institute for a few years. He married Hilma Falk on 
 September 9th, 1903. They made their home in the 
 Searle homestead for some years and then moved to 
 Rock Island to educate the children. Here they re- 
 mained until 1928 when they moved to the farm on 
 which they now live, five miles northwest of Cambridge, 
 111. Six children came into their home, Helen, Ruth, 
 Marjorie, Aileen, Elmer and Hilma. Of Marjorie's early 
 death we have already written. 
 
 Nellie, the last of the children to arrive upon the 
 scene, but by no means least, as the writer of these lines 
 insists, was Nellie the Ninth. This was on February 17, 
 1877. After her years in the home school, she went to 
 G. C. I. for awhile, then for two and one-half years in 
 
 EIGHTY-TWO 
 
Hedding College. Part of that time the three sisters, 
 Mary, Belle and Nellie, and one brother, Truman, lived 
 together in one of the homes of Abingdon, doing their 
 own work and economizing as much as possible that they 
 might obtain an education. When the others left Hed- 
 ding in 1896 Nellie entered Knox College at Galesburg, 
 Illinois, in the fall of that year and graduated in June, 
 1898. She then taught school for three years, two of 
 these at the home school and the other year in Cleveland. 
 
 On February 25, 1903, she was married to Harry 
 Reherd, an attorney of Geneseo, who passed away Octo- 
 ber 19, 1907. To them came Helen and Harold, but ere 
 their lamps of life were fairly lit the sunshine faded 
 from their eyes and they entered the city where the 
 angels of childhood do always behold the face of the 
 Father in heaven. 
 
 Five years after Mr. Reherd's death Nellie married 
 George J. Smith, a retired farmer of Geneseo, on Sep- 
 tember 12th, 1912. They made their home in Geneseo 
 until his death on November 25th, 1929. Six months 
 later, as has been stated, her mother left her. Miss 
 Hazel Westlund, who had come into the home during her 
 mother's illness, was retained and for the next three 
 years she had the help and comfort of her presence. 
 
 On September 6, 1932, she was married to Mileham 
 
 EIGHTY-THREE 
 
L. O'Harra, a pastor in the Illinois Conference of the 
 Methodist Episcopal Church. Immediately after the 
 close of the Conference session, September 15th, they 
 came to Aledo, Illinois, which has since been their home. 
 
 EIGHTY-FOUR 
 
UNTO THE FOURTH GENERATION 
 
 "A good man and woman leaveth an heritage 
 to their children and their children's children." 
 
 In the following list of names of the members of the 
 Searle family the names of the children of John and 
 Agnes Searle are designated by capital letters, the names 
 of the grandchildren by numerals, the names of the 
 great grandchildren by small letters. 
 
 Inasmuch as a sketch of the life of each of the child- 
 ren has already been given no further notations con- 
 cerning them need to be made. 
 
 A— JOHN SEARLE 
 
 1 — J. Clinton Searle — 
 
 Born January 10, 1889 
 
 Graduated from Geneseo High School, 1907 
 Graduated from Illinois University, 1911 
 Graduated from Law Department of 111. U., 1913 
 Admitted to Illinois Bar, 1913 
 Opened law office in Rock Island, 1913 
 Married Gail South, June 3, 1924 
 Republican member Illinois Legislature, 1928-36 
 Candidate for Congress, 1936, but the great demo- 
 cratic landslide prevented his election. 
 
 a — John Searle, born March 15, 1931 
 
 EIGHTY-FIVE 
 
2— Clara Searle— 
 
 Born December 22, 1891 
 
 Graduated Geneseo High School 
 
 Graduate of Kindergarten School, Illyria, Ohio 
 
 Taught kindergarten school in Chicago 
 
 Married Glenn Tracy, October 21, 1913 
 
 Mr. Tracy an auto salesman in Geneseo 
 
 a — Jess Tracy, born 1914, dying at birth 
 b— Robert Tracy, born Dec. 14, 1914 
 c — Gordon Tracy, born Dec. 5, 1916 
 d — Truman Tracy, born June 18, 1918 
 e — Virginia Tracy, born July 14, 1921 
 f — James Tracy, born June 18, 1925 
 g — Clara Jane Tracy, born April 2, 1928 
 
 3 — Truman Searle — 
 
 Born April 18, 1897 
 
 Graduated from Geneseo High School, 1915 
 Graduated from Illinois University, 1918 
 Graduated from Columbia University Law School, 
 
 1921 
 Admitted to New York Bar and opened office in 
 
 Rochester, 1921 
 Member New York legislature, 1930-31 
 Secretary and Legal Adviser to Speaker of the 
 
 House in Albany, 1936 
 At present Secretary to Republican State Chair- 
 man of New York. 
 Retains home and office in Rochester 
 Married Dorothea Ann Donovan, April 22, 1924. 
 
 a — Truman Searle, born November 27, 1927. 
 
 B— MARGARET SEARLE 
 
 1 — Marian Hand — 
 
 Born December 26, 1884 
 
 Graduated from Geneseo Collegiate Institute, 1904 
 
 EIGHTY-SIX 
 
Taught school, 1904-1907 
 
 Graduated from Iowa University, 1911 
 
 Taught at North English, Iowa, 1911-12 
 
 Taught at Iowa Falls, Iowa, 1912-1914 
 
 At home with parents, 1914-1920 
 
 Teacher of General Science in Geneseo H. S. 
 
 1920-37 
 Lives with parents in Geneseo. 
 
 C— JAMES SEARLE 
 
 1 — Blanche Searle — 
 
 Born March 2, 1893 
 
 Graduated Geneseo Collegiate Institute, 1913 
 Taught in Henry County schools, 1913-16 
 Graduated from Augustana College, Rock Island, 
 
 1920 
 Taught in East Moline school, 1920-37, except 
 
 1925-26, when she was at home 
 Received degree of A. M. from Columbia Univer- 
 sity 1934 
 
 2 — Jeanette Searle — 
 
 Born December 14, 1894 
 
 Graduated from G. C. I. 1913 
 
 At home 1913-16 
 
 Taught 2y 2 years in Cleveland, 2 years at White 
 
 School and 2 years in Geneseo 
 Graduated from Western State Normal at Macomb, 
 
 1924 
 Now studying for A. M. 
 Has been teaching in Geneseo school 1927-37 
 
 3 — Burton Searle — 
 
 Born May 1, 1898 
 
 Graduate of G. C. I. 
 
 Married Lucile Williams Sept. 21, 1929 
 
 EIGHTY-SEVEN 
 
On farm near Geneseo 
 
 a — Marta Louise Searle, born Feb. 11, 1931 
 b — Evelyn Lorraine Searle, born April 3, 1932 
 c— Rodney Carl Searle, born Sept. 14, 1935. 
 
 D— W. BURTON SEARLE 
 
 -Byron Searle — 
 
 Born February 25, 1892 
 
 Graduate of G. C. I. 
 
 Soldier in World War, Jan. 1918-April 1920 
 
 Overseas but in no battle 
 
 Married Ida Pobanz, Feb. 23, 1924 
 
 a — John Searle, born Nov. 24, 1924 
 
 b— Howard Searle, born Jan. 10, 1927 
 
 Ida Pobanz Searle died Nov. 27, 1934 
 
 Byron married Esther Allmendinger, Sept. 12, 1935 
 
 On farm northwest of Geneseo. 
 
 -Agnes Searle — 
 
 Born November 10, 1894 
 
 Graduated from G. C. I. 1915 
 
 Graduated from Illinois State Normal University, 
 
 1923 
 Received degree of B. Ed. from same university, 
 
 1929 
 Taught school in Henry County and in Geneseo 
 Is now teaching in Winthrop Harbor, 111. 
 
 -Ella Searle— 
 
 Born June 5, 1898 
 
 Graduated from G. C. I., 1915 
 
 Graduated from Illinois State Normal, 1923 
 
 Taught in Henry County and in Cicero schools 
 
 Married Merrill Marcy, musician, Nov. 6. 1924 
 
 Lives in Geneseo 
 
 EIGHTY-EIGHT 
 
-Margaret Searle — 
 
 Born August 31, 1900 
 
 Graduated from G. C. I., 1917 
 
 Married Carl Burgston, farmer, Feb. 11, 1923 
 
 Lives Northwest of Geneseo 
 
 a — Dorothy Burgston, born Oct. 24, 1923 
 
 b— Harold Burgston, born Dec. 26, 1925 
 
 c — Lois Burgston, born April 10, 1927. 
 
 In the summer of 1936 Lois was taken ill and a 
 minor operation was determined upon. Unfor- 
 fortunately the operation proved to be much 
 more serious than was anticipated. She recov- 
 ered from the anaesthetic only long enough to 
 give a smile and a cheery greeting to those about 
 her and within a few minutes little Lois had gone 
 to be with Marjorie and the other dear ones who 
 had entered the spirit land. 
 
 d — Sarah Burgston, born June 10. 1932 
 
 -Fred Searle — 
 
 Born January 30, 1904 
 
 Graduated at G. C. I. 
 
 Took course in Auto school in Kansas City 
 
 Married Lillian Matson, June 29, 1929 
 
 Auto salesman in Geneseo 
 
 a — Maxine Searle, born June 6, 1935 
 
 E— CLARA SEARLE 
 
 -Zenana Osborn — , 
 
 Born May 20, 1890 
 
 Four years at Morningside College in Sioux City, la. 
 
 Taught one year at Larchwood, Iowa 
 
 Taught two years in Pender, Neb., College 
 
 Taught three years in Morningside College 
 
 Married William Pugh, Salesman, August. 1919 
 
 Lives in Seattle, Washington 
 
 EIGHTY-NINE 
 
a— Williston C. Pugh, born April, 1920 
 b — Patricia Pugh, born May 5, 1921 
 c— Richard C. Pugh, born July, 1923 
 d — Pauline R. Pugh, born May, 1925 
 
 2 — John Osborn — 
 
 Born October 11, 1892 
 
 Six years in Wisconsin University at Madison, Wis. 
 
 Literary and law courses. 
 
 Married Margaret Curry, Dec. 28, 1917 
 
 Cattle buyer in Sioux City, Iowa, stock yards. 
 
 a— Jack C. Osborn, born Sept. 25, 1921 
 
 3 — Inez Osborn — 
 
 Born February 7, 1898 
 
 Two years in Columbia School of Expression and 
 
 Dramatic Art, Chicago, 111. 
 Past twenty years teacher and owner of Carroll 
 
 School of Expression and Dancing, Sioux City, la. 
 
 4 — Clara Jane Osborn — 
 
 Born March 1, 1901 
 
 One year in Morningside College, Sioux City, Iowa. 
 Taught one year at Winnebago, Nebraska 
 Married Paul Osborne, no relation to other Osborns 
 
 mentioned previously, Aug. 26, 1922. 
 He is Secretary and Office Manager of the Hess 
 
 Mallory Wholesale Dry Goods Co., Sioux City. 
 
 a — Eleanor Jane Osborne, born Aug. 22, 1925. 
 b — Alice Louise Osborne, born March 10, 1928. 
 
 5 — Robert Osborn — 
 
 Born July 19, 1905 
 
 One year in Nebraska University 
 
 Two years in Northwestern University 
 
 Married Irene Lahay 
 
 Auditor Humble Oil Co., Houston, Texas. 
 
 a — Robert H. J. Osborn, born September. 1933. 
 
 NINETY 
 
6 — Dwight Osborn — 
 
 Born January 4, 1909 
 
 Two years in Northwestern University 
 
 Married Betty — 
 
 Salesman Liggett Drug Co., Chicago, 111. 
 
 F— MARY SEARLE 
 
 1 — Calvin Drayer — 
 
 Born in St. Louis, June 18, 1906 
 
 Graduated at Ohio Wesleyan University, 1927 
 
 Degree of M. D. from Washington University, St. 
 
 Louis, Mo., 1931 
 Interne in Barnes Hospital, St. Louis: 
 Medicine— July 1931-Jan. 1933 
 Surgery— July, 1933-March, 1935 
 Special Course in National Hospital, London. Eng- 
 land, Feb. to May, 1935 
 Specializing in mental diseases, Philadelphia dur- 
 ing 1936-1937. 
 
 G— BELLE SEARLE 
 
 1— Owen Stickle— 
 
 Born August 24, 1903 
 
 Graduated at Western State Normal, Macomb, 111. 
 
 Farmer northwest of Macomb 
 
 Prominent in Farm Bureau and Masonic Order. 
 
 2— Ruth Stickle— 
 
 Born Sept. 15, 1906 
 
 Graduated from Western State Normal, Macomb, 
 
 111. Degree of A. M. from Columbia University 
 Teacher of English in H. S. at Galesburg, 111., 
 
 1927-37. 
 
 3— Nellie Stickle— 
 
 Born August 24, 1910 
 
 NINETY-ONE 
 
Graduated from Western State Normal 
 
 Is taking course leading to A. M. from Columbia 
 
 University 
 One year with Illinois Emergency Relief. Now at 
 
 home. 
 
 H— TRUMAN SEARLE 
 
 1 — Helen Searle — 
 
 Born April 12, 1905 
 
 Graduated from Rock Island High School 
 
 Graduated from Augustana College, Rock Island 
 
 Married Wallace Moody 
 
 Lives on farm near Cambridge, 111. 
 
 a — Marjorie, born April 4, 1933 
 b— Caroline, born Sept. 25, 1935 
 
 2— Ruth Searle— 
 
 Born March 6, 1908 
 
 Attended Rock Island High School 
 
 Graduated from Nurses Training School, Lutheran 
 
 Hospital, Moline 
 Special training in Bloomingdale Hospital in New 
 
 York 
 Supt. of nurses in East Moline State Hospital for 
 
 several years. 
 One year in State Hospital in Peoria 
 One year Supt. Marietta Phelps Hospital, Macomb, 
 
 111. 
 At present Supt. of Nurses in Denver University 
 
 Hospital, Denver, Colorado. 
 
 3 — Marjorie Searle — 
 
 Born September 14. 1909 
 
 Graduated from Rock Island High School 
 
 One year in Western State Normal, preparing to 
 
 teach. 
 Died July 27, 1929 
 
 NINETY-TWO 
 
-Aileen Searle — 
 
 Bom June 17, 1913 
 
 Graduated from Cambridge High School 
 
 Graduated from Nurses Training School, Lutheran 
 
 Hospital, Moline, 111. 
 Now Supt. of Nurses in Barnes Hospital, St. Louis. 
 
 -Elmer Searle — 
 
 Born July 11, 1915 
 
 Attended school in Cambridge and Rock Island 
 
 High School in Cambridge 
 
 Now on farm with his father. 
 
 -Hilma Searle — 
 
 Born Sept. 2, 1917 
 
 Graduated from Cambridge High School 
 
 One year post-graduate work in Geneseo High 
 
 School. 
 Now a student in business college in Denver, Colo. 
 
 I— NELLIE SEARLE 
 
 1 — Helen Reherd — 
 
 Born Dec. 5, 19C3 
 
 2— Harold Reherd— 
 
 Born Dec. 15. 1905 
 
 Both died at birth. 
 
 NINETY-THREE 
 
AMERICAN ANCESTRY OF 
 JOHN SEARLE 
 
 "There is no richer heirloom than that 
 bequeathed by noble ancestors." 
 
 The ancestral line of John Searle can be traced back 
 definitely only as far as the arrival of the first American 
 John Searle, who is known to have arrived in Spring- 
 field, Massachusetts, in 1638. How long he may have 
 already been in America is not known, but certainly not 
 more than five or ten years. 
 
 He was of English descent and in all probability 
 came here from Cornwall, England, but this has not been 
 positively ascertained. He married Sarah Baldwin on 
 March 19, 1639. He died September 6, 1641. His wife 
 later married Alexander Edwards. 
 
 John Searle (2) was born May 3, 1641. His father 
 dying of consumption four months later as noted above, 
 he and his mother were left alone. His mother married 
 again and he went with her and her husband to North- 
 ampton, Massachusetts. He married Ruth Janes, July 
 3, 1667, who died Nov. 20, 1672. Of their three children 
 one was slain by the Indians at Pascommuck, Mass., on 
 
 NINETY-FOUR 
 
May 13, 1704. Three of this son's children were also 
 massacred at the same time. His wife also was toma- 
 hawked but eventually recovered. 
 
 After the death of the aforesaid John Searle's wife 
 who died in 1672, he married Mary North of Farmington, 
 Mass., May 30, 1675. He died Oct. 5, 1726. Seven child- 
 ren were born during this second marriage one of whom 
 James (3) became the ancestor of the husband of Agnes 
 Owens. He was born Feb. 12, 1676. He married Mary 
 Mansfield in 1717. We do not know the date of his 
 death. He was the father of five children. One of these 
 was the Rev. John Searle, through whose line comes the 
 Searle family of which we write., 
 
 Rev. John Searle was born May 14, 1721, at North- 
 ampton, Mass. He graduated from Yale University in 
 1745 and was licensed to preach in 1746. He received 
 the degree of A. M. from Yale in 1747. For a few years 
 he was associated with the celebrated Jonathan Edwards 
 in the study of theology, receiving much of his instruc- 
 tion from that famous theologian and evangelist. 
 
 His health was never very good which occasioned 
 him considerable trouble in being able to retain a charge. 
 He served Sharon, Mass., 1749-54 and was then com- 
 pelled to resign on account of ill health. Five years 
 later, 1759, he was made pastor of the Congregational 
 
 NINETY-FIVE 
 
church in Stoneham, Mass. This is now a suburb of 
 Boston. After a pastorate of seventeen years he was 
 again compelled to resign because of ill health. It was 
 during this pastorate that on September 7, 1761, he mar- 
 ried Mehitabel Dunbar, daughter of Rev. Samuel Dun- 
 bar, of Stoughton, Mass., who had graduated from Har- 
 vard with A. B. in 1723. Some time between 1776 and 
 1783 Rev. John Searle became a chaplain in the Ameri- 
 can Revolution. 
 
 It is by virtue of his services as chaplain that his 
 descendants have been made eligible for membership in 
 the Sons and Daughters of the American Revolution. 
 In 1783 he became pastor of the church in Royalton, Ver- 
 mont and here he died on July 5, 1787. 
 
 John Searle, son of the above, date of birth un- 
 known, was baptized, probably in infancy, on June 14, 
 1767, at Preston, Connecticut. He married Nabby Abi- 
 gail Johnson Safford Feb. 7, 1793. In 1802 he moved 
 with his family to Royalton, Ohio, and here on April 19, 
 1804, a son John was born. It was this son who event- 
 ually became the husband of Agnes Owens, the Irish 
 lassie whose life story we have here endeavored to por- 
 tray. 
 
 NINETY-SIX