Rooters, Our new site is up and under construction. Please change your bookmarks and send me any data, notices, news, etc for addition to the site. http://genealogy.toolcity.net Barbara -- Barbara Farthing Bonham Summerville SC Nodine Nostalgia http://www.tfsweb.net The Family Snitch's Web http://homepages.rootsweb.com/~bfbonham Crawford County, PA Genealogy http://genealogy.toolcity.net

Has anyone else experienced inconsistencies in dates cited in the index of Hartstown Cemetery? On 1/2 a page I have found three. In one, the index cites the year of death as 1899 while the Conneautville Courier of 1898 cites 1898 as the year of death. Pete Wilson -- Peter M. Wilson, now at petelois@mindspring.com Moderator, COPDSupport http://www.onelist.com/subscribe/copdsupport Volunteer, Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness http://www.rootsweb.com/~tnraogk/index.htm

Information from Second Souvenirs, by Francis C. Waid, 1890, pp. 188-230 Extracts from his diary 1887 November 24, 1887--Thanksgiving Day--Another year has passed, and again our home is made happy by the presence of all our children, our two daughters-in-law and four granddaughters. This family gathering, together with G. N. Waid (my only brother living) and Mr. and Mrs. G. W. Cutshall, compose our Thanksgiving party to-day. I desire to express my thankfulness to the Parent of all good for His unnumbered blessings to us as to all mankind. Our family remains unbroken. How many, not only in this community, but everywhere, during the past year, have bade adieu to some departing one who has gone to his reward. Home, kindred and friends--what a blessing! But this is not all of even to-day's enjoyment. At 11 A. M. I heard a sermon at Blooming Valley Methodist Episcopal Church, delivered by Rev. B. L. Perry, from Genesis viii, 22: While the earth remaineth, seed-time and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter shall not cease. As we advance in years let us trust more fully in His promises. Memory brings the past to view, and I think of the time when my brothers and myself, with our families, would gather at our father's home, and with friends, spend Thanksgiving Day, and at church, as on to-day, would hear a sermon and be happy and contented. It is never too late to be educated, and I have lived long enough to pass some of the degrees of life. In the primary department they called me "son," then "grandson," after that "father," and for several years back, as on to-day, the children of the family circle have called "grandma" and "grandpa," except little Edna, who will not be a year old until December 11, 1887. There is still hope in completing an education, as we may get new ideas each day we live. Our first granddaughter, Ida, if living, would have been nine years old December 25, 1881; she died October 13, 1881, at the age of two years, ten months and twelve days, and is interred at Blooming Valley. Our aged friends are passing away. Henry Marker died November 11, 1887, in his seventy-seventh year, and the funeral services were held at the Methodist Episcopal Church Blooming Valley, on Sunday the 13th, by Rev. H. McClintock, of Meadville. He was interred in Blooming Valley Cemetery, I and my wife attending the funeral. Samuel Chase died November 19, 1887, in his eighty-third year; funeral at Wayland, services being held by our pastor, Rev. M. Miller, of Meadville. This funeral I attended accompanied by Mr. L. Slocum. December 23, 1887--To-day I attended the funeral of Mr. Leon C. Magaw's wife, who died suddenly on the morning of December 21, of heart disease. She was a very highly esteemed lady. Mr. Magaw is a life-long acquaintance, and I regard him as a true friend. My father, as well as myself, dealt with him many years, hence the friendship between us. I am informed my aunt, Sarah Finney, was their nurse, taking care of him when he was a child, and was a particular friend in their family many years afterward in cases of sickness or death. In this life the distance from a tear of sorrow to a smile of joy is not great. While sadness is brought to us by her departure from our midst, joy enters our hearts when we think of her removal being from earth to heaven. As the minister said: "If Jesus could say to the thief on the cross (who had lived a bad life, but whose dying request was to be remembered), This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise, what would He say to one who had lived an exemplary life so long as she? Let us live aright, die beautifully and live eternally," were the concluding words of the sermon. On my return from the funeral I attended the Christmas entertainment at Blooming Valley, where I had an opportunity of helping the Sunday-school cause by giving $5.00 to their library. December 27, 1887--My wife and I to-day visited Frank Sturgis, living near Centerville, this county, our conveyance being horse and buggy. Winter had seemingly set in in earnest, and it was our lot to have a storm to face. But I think we were repaid (leaving the business point out of the question), for the pleasure experienced on that wintry day more than compensated for our experience on the storm-beaten road. A short visit and a good dinner with our cousin, George A. Goodwill, at Tryonville. Mr. Goodwill and I have been acquainted with each other from our childhood (he being a little the elder), as his parents lived near us many years, until his father died. Many were the incidents of our lives to which, with pleasure, we could refer. While in our "teens," we took a trip with Mr. Bowers, a drover, to help him drive a drove of cattle from Crawford County, Penn., to Orange County, N. Y. The story of our new boots we had not forgotten--a story which, in its small way, would yet "point a moral and adorn a tale." We had occasion, before getting to Orange County, to buy, each of us, a new pair of boots, and in our selection (perhaps our vanity had some influence in our choice) we chose each a pair fitting close and neat, and were elated over our new boots, thinking "what a fine time we would have when comparing them with some worn-out pair of shoes." Being thus equipped with brand new "understandings," we were too glad to throw away the old ones; but, before the close of that same day, we both wished we had carried our poor old discarded shoes along with us, for, ere long, we were obliged to take our fine new boots off, and walk bare-footed through the mud. It rained soon after we started with the drove that morning, and to have to break in a new pair of boots on a muddy road, completely cured me of buying a too closely fitting pair of boots or shoes. It was a lesson early in life, and one to be remembered. The incident, besides illustrating an experience, also carried a moral--small things should never be despised (For who hath despised the day of small things?"--Zech. iv, 10). After leaving Tryonville, where we remained only long enough to get warm and do an errand of business with a friend, my wife and I continued our drive to Townville. Stopping at Pember Phillips, once the home of my aged Aunt Eliza, who so recently died, we went in out of the snow-storm, and were made welcome by George W. Phillips, who soon after introduced us to his wife, and it was to us indeed a being ushered from storm into sunshine. The newly married bride and groom, the only occupants of the home, are deserving of our thanks and kindest remembrances for the kind reception accorded to us. On our departure after supper, I felt like saying: "God bless you, and may your home ever be a happy one." December 31, 1887--There is no old day in the year. It is we who grow old, not the year. Change is written on all that pertains to earth. "Change and decay in all around I see, Oh, Thou, who changest not, abide with me!" If life is full of pleasure, which seems true sometimes, let me ask, who can sketch its hours of sadness caused by accidents? I would that I could give the reader a brief pen-picture of the collision which occurred about; 9 A. M. to-day, four miles west of Meadville, on the New York, Pennsylvania & Ohio Railroad. This has been indeed the saddest of all days of the past year to Meadville. Probably not since the battle of Gettysburg, in 1863, has this community been shocked to such a degree as it was this morning when the news of the disaster reached Meadville. Five were killed and fourteen wounded. The killed are Engineer Swan and his fireman, Arthur Irwin, of the passenger engine; Engineer Gouge and his fireman, Edwin Humes, of the head freight engine, and a passenger, William H. Stevenson, of Toledo, Ohio. Edwin Humes lived in Cambridge, this county, the other fireman and the engineers in Meadville. I was in that town soon after the accident occurred, and the scenes on the streets and at the depot I shall long remember, as I was at the depot when the wounded were brought in. I left Meadville that afternoon about 4 P. M. on the accommodation train for Jamestown, N. Y., where I again visited relatives and friends. My aged aunt, Mary Ann Simmons, is still living and quite well. On the following day (Sabbath) I had the pleasure of attending in the morning the Baptist Church, in company with Mr. and Mrs. F. Simmons, and in the evening, with other relatives, went to the Methodist Episcopal Church to hear Rev. A. C. Ellis, who was for three years pastor of the First Methodist Episcopal Church of Meadville. The text chosen was: Days speak, and the multitude of years teach wisdom. The old year a friend, the new year a stranger. I had listened with profit to Mr. Ellis' sermons in Meadville, and his preachings on funeral occacasions, his remarks leaving a lasting impression on the minds of his hearers, and so it was with me on the present occasion. I thought surely days teach. What a lesson in yesterday, the last day of the year and to some the last day of life! How swift we are borne on Time's rapid pinions to the end of life, and to "that bourne whence no traveler returns!" What awful moments must they have been to those who knew those ill-fated trains were hastening to destruction, and realized that they could do nothing to prevent them! No wonder there was a suspense and a growing "deadly pale" until the worst was known. Then came a relief, a reaction, and the sudden thought that there was something to do, to care for the wounded and the dead. So all the days in the year teach us a lesson of wisdom; let us learn something from every day's experience. After hearing an excellent sermon, I stayed over night with my relative, Mr. F. Colt, and Monday being a legal holiday I availed myself of it by visiting kindred and friends in Jamestown. Toward evening the following incident occurred: Having expressed a desire to visit Thompson Burns, at Frewsburgh, five miles distant, I was told I could go in the bus which runs from Jamestown to that place at 4 P. M. But on arriving at the Sherman House I learned it had left a little before four o'clock. I then thought of going by rail, but found I would have to change cars, which would prevent me getting to my destination till a late hour at night. Yet I thought to myself there was another way whereby to solve the question: If I was in Meadville and wanted to go home I would think nothing of walking five miles to get there. Now I am in Jamestown, and as it might be a long time before I would have another opportunity of spending a night with Mr. Burns' family, certainly I would walk to Frewsburgh for such a pleasure, which I did, and was well repaid. While there, however, I was informed that they had received a dispatch from Meadville announcing the death of Redding Burns, and that the funeral would occur on Wednesday at 2 P. M. (Redding was a brother of Thompson Burns who lived three miles northeast of Meadville, on the old Turnpike Road). On Tuesday morning, January 3, Thompson Burns and I took passage by bus for Jamestown, whence, after transacting my business there and dining at Aunt Mary Ann Simmons', we departed by the afternoon train for Meadville where we arrived at 7 P. M. Mr. Burns remained over night in Meadville with a relative, whilst I had continued my journey on foot, arriving home before nine o'clock. More to follow, David

Information from Second Souvenirs, by Francis C. Waid, 1890, pp. 188-230 Extracts from his diary 1887 August 17, 1887--My wife and I were favored with an invitation to attend the fiftieth anniversary of the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Falkenburg, of Woodcock Township. They live but two miles from our home, and Mr. Falkenburg has resided on the same farm from my earliest recollection. This contented and honored couple have passed their three-score-and-ten, Mr. Falkenburg being aged seventy-five and his wife seventy-one. Fifty years of married life are attained by only a few of the human family, and it is fitting that such an event should be duly celebrated by a "golden wedding." What added to our pleasure, and I may say surprise, was meeting among the eighty or so guests, two of my old schoolmates, William Densmore, of Erie, Penn., and John Y. Gilmore, editor of the Sugar Bowl and Farm Journal, New Orleans, La., the latter being accompanied by his youngest son and daughter, all three having arrived here yesterday evening, on a visit to Mr. Gilmore. We were, in fact, as much pleased and surprised as when we met J. Y. Gilmore and daughter at the residence of his brother, William, in Minnesota, in September, 1881. Where friends and kinsmen meet Enjoyment seems complete. This date reminds me of what occurred one year ago to-day. I received 300 copies of my SOUVENIR from my publishers, Messrs. Warner, Beers & Co., Chicago, for free distribution, nearly all of which have been disposed of, Mr. Falkenburg accepting of one. His friendship to our family began with my parents before I was born. There is happiness in trying to please an aged friend; like the "golden wedding," age demands our best respects. August 23, 1887--My wife and I had the pleasure of visiting Mr. and Mrs. J. F. Breed, whose home is within less than two miles of ours; our acquaintance dating back to my early recollections. This worthy couple, who are nearing the close of the fifty-fourth year of their married life ( Mr. and Mrs. Breed were married September 12, 1833. Indeed I was surprised when Mrs. Breed said they were married in 1833 the year I was born in. "What!" I exclaimed, "You have been married nearly as long as I have lived!" They are still (December 28, 1889) living, and I hope they may see many more years of married life), came here from Massachusetts in 1838; and our visit was full of interest and pleasure in hearing them talk of the many incidents of days gone by. My parents and Mr. Breed were friends, often exchanging work on their farms. I understand Mr. Breed is now in his seventy-seventh year, and Mrs. Breed in her seventy-first. They have led a very industrious life, and bear their ages remarkably well. September 1 to 10, 1887--[My son Guinnip and I make a tour to New York, Long Branch and Essex (Conn.), an account of which will be found at page 63.] September 12, 1887--William B. Trevey; pastor of the Methodist Episcopal Church, Saegerstown Circuit, Meadville District, died at the Methodist Episcopal parsonage in Saegerstown, above date, at the age of about thirty-two years. His remains were taken to Moundsville, W. Va., for interment. It was my privilege and pleasure to form an acquaintance with Brother Trevey about four years ago, and this Christian friendship has increased in strength ever since until his departure to the "Better Land." Mr. Trevey was attending Allegheny College in the fall of 1883, when he came out to State Road with Brother Allen, who was at that time our pastor. Presiding Elder Brother Merchant also came along, as he was desirous of changing pastors at State Road in order to favor Brother Allen, who seemed to have more work at State Street than he could accomplish, especially as he had sickness in the family. I have always loved our Elder, for he labored to make things harmonize. He wished not only the consent of Brother Allen and Brother Trevey, but also of each society, and when Brother Trevey preached to us we could say how we liked him. After others had given their opinion, I remember I was called on for an expression as to how I would favor the change, both men being present, and my reply was to this effect: "This reminds me of the presidential election; I voted for James G. Blaine, but I intend to prove loyal to our Government if Cleveland becomes President." I know I love Brother Allen; his sermons have done me good, and I have listened also with pleasure and profit to Brother Trevey. The latter had filled the appointment at State Road nearly two years, and had about completed his second year at Saegerstown and Blooming Valley, where we heard him so frequently that he seems as still our pastor. Blooming Valley is only one mile east of us, and here Brother Trevey preached every second Sabbath afternoon, so we had the opportunity of attending, even if we had preaching at State Road on the same day in the forenoon. The last two visits Brother Trevey paid us were immediately prior to his illness, the one being on the occasion of my wife's sickness, and the other soon thereafter (in August), when he was accompanied by our pastor, Mr. Miller, which was his last appearance in our home. My wife and I, however, called to see him just two weeks to a day before he died, and then we had our last conversation on earth. At that time there seemed to be hopes of his recovery. I recollect saying to him: "You expect to get well." "Yes," he replied, "I think my time to go home has not come yet," and as we shook hands at parting he said, "Come again." Two weeks from that Monday his spirit fled. Brother Trevey was, I think, one of those even-tempered men, well calculated to win the good-will of all, and the Meadville Tribune, in its obituary notice, says of him: "He had an army of friends, whom he had won in four years." He was fond of flowers, and frequently alluded to them in his sermons. I never knew him fail to interest the Sunday-school scholars when addressing them, his love for children being a marked characteristic. Many of Mr. Trevey's friends have now in their possession his photograph, as also that of his wife, both being excellent likenesses. Brother Trevey, in giving his testimony for Christ, says: "I was converted in early childhood, so that my whole life has been given to Him." How few, even Christians, have a record like this! A whole life given to Christ! No wonder Brother William B. Trevey's influence will scent like the rose when its leaves are faded and the stalk is dead. He and his wife always had many warm friends here, who, like myself, appreciate their pictures (husband and wife being taken together), of which a large number have been circulated since Mr. Trevey's death. September 17, 1887--While busy with my youngest son, cutting and shocking corn, I was surprised and much pleased when Emmet Densmore, my old school-mate, drove into the field where we were cutting corn. Many years had slipped away since we had met, and there was joy in that voice when he called out: "France, take these pumpkins out of the way or I will have to drive over them!" Then the friendly look and shaking of hands which followed brought pleasure and satisfaction in full. "Where do you live, Emmet?" I inquired. "In New York City." "Had I known it last week when I was there," said I, "I would have gone to see you." As Mr. Densmore's visit to these parts was on business, and he had merely called to see us, our interview was but brief. I rode with him from the field to the house, and had an agreeable chat with him as long as he could stay. Before leaving I presented him with a copy of the SOUVENIR, for which he expressed many thanks, and since his return to New York we have received from him a copy of a magazine entitled Earnest Words, edited by Emmet Densmore and Helen Densmore. I have had many pleasant interviews and social talks with friend Emmet. In the early days of oildom on Oil Creek, when roads were bad, on the Tar Farm I was pleased to meet my old school-mate, with whom I tarried over night, and had a "Merry Christmas" (December 25, 1863). I had taken a load of produce from home to Oil Creek with an ox team (and by the way, I don't want to brag when I say that I had a good ox team, an excellent pair of cattle on the farm and remarkably good travelers on the road). I thought them too good, after a hard day's work, to endure the hardship of crossing Oil Creek three or four times, with ice floating, and the water quite high, in order to get to Mr. Densmore's. But we made it! And it was then I was glad to see Emmet. He befriended me; purchased my entire load (except a few articles sent to C. R. Slocum), the amount paid being $61.95. Produce was then high. Well, one trip satisfied me at the time, but since then my capacity for pleasure, I think, has been greater, and I will not go back on that event; yet I believe I was better pleased when I saw Emmet coming to see me in the cornfield, and heard his familiar voice when he called out about the" pumpkins." If there was no money transaction on that occasion, there was at any rate abundant proof of our friendship (I met Mr. Densmore again, February 2,1889). More to follow, David

Information from Second Souvenirs, by Francis C. Waid, 1890, pp. 188-230 Extracts from his diary 1887 Sunday, March 13--Went to church to-day with Mr. and Mrs. Robert A. Fergerson. On Monday following, on our way home, we attended, in company with our cousins, the funeral of John Parks, in Kerrtown, Rev. A. C. Ellis, of the First Methodist Episcopal Church of Meadville, being the officiating minister. His remarks, though brief, were very good and appropriate, and whatever else of his discourse might be forgotten, by repetition he impressed these words on his hearers: "We all preach our own funeral sermons in life." No matter what may be said over our remains ere being forever hidden from view, the truth is manifest that we all preach our own funeral sermons in life. We are prone rather to inquire how a person may have lived than how he may have died, although the dying are included in this life--the last act in the great drama. So our study should be how to die, not how to live. Mr. Parks was Mrs. Fergerson's uncle, and he died at the age of seventy-seven years. On coming through Meadville we called on our lifelong friend, Henry Smith, who resides near the top of the town hill, where Avery Oaks formerly lived. Henry and I did many a day's work together, and he helped to build our house. I can safely say that for aught I know we have enjoyed unbroken friendship from childhood. Before corn-planters were introduced here, and even since, Henry and I have dropped corn many a day together, and he had the credit of dropping straight rows of corn,, which I tried to imitate, and was often chosen "second dropper." March 20, 1887--James Wygant, born April 10, 1824, and died March 17, 1887, at his home in Blooming Valley, was buried to-day. The funeral services were held in the Methodist Episcopal Church, which was filled to the doors, the attendance being so large that twice I gave my seat up to accommodate others; by special request however, I was seated with the family of the deceased, much to my gratification. Rev. William B. Trevy was the officiating brother. James Wygant was well known in this county, and when I get his obituary I will probably write more concerning him. He was converted at State Road Methodist Episcopal Church during the wonderful revival in the winter of 1850-51. Although over nine years older than myself, he frequently claimed to be my age, we having both set out on our Christian journey about the same time. And there is something more in this than a mere passing thought. The living within a mile of each other ever since our conversion, and the enjoying together Christian fellowship and friendship, had endeared us to each other, which is one reason why I wish to pay a tribute of respect to his memory. In life he was my friend, and I have often appreciated his advice, and listened with profit to his many funeral (In his obituary it is stated he had preached over 344 funeral sermons) and other sermons. I regarded him as one of the most accommodating men in Blooming Valley, not infrequently making unselfish sacrifices to others, and I remember it was often said: "If you want an accommodation, go to Brother Wygant." When I was a young man I used to visit his home frequently, for my "girl" (who is now my wife) boarded there at the time she was going to school. James Wygant was twice married; on the first occasion, September 18, 1844, to Lucretia B. Halley, and the second time April 6, 1854, to Maria E. Cutler, of Randolph Township, Crawford County. His first wife died October 29, 1853, and his remains now rest beside her in Blooming Valley Cemetery. Our last visit with Brother Wygant's family before he was prostrated with sickness, was December 15, 1886; but the last time I talked with him was on Tuesday evening, March 15, 1887, two days before he died, and I heard him repeat this verse on awakening from a short sleep: "Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are, While on His breast I lean my head And breathe my life out sweetly there." Brother George Floyd and Robert Teasdale were present, also Dr. I. T. Akin, while I was there. The last words Mr. Wygant uttered were from the well-known beautiful hymn: "Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee; E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me, Still all my song shall be, nearer my God to Thee, Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee." Our family Bible, which was rebound, having been in daily use since 1852, was bought from Rev. James Wygant who was colporteur that year. March 24, 1887--When I and my family returned home in the evening from Meadville, in the midst of a storm, we were most agreeably surprised to find awaiting us Mr. and Mrs. Gilmore, of Dakota, who had arrived but a few minutes before we got home. Joy does not always wait till morning; on this occasion it came in the evening. We were truly glad to meet our old friends, whom we had visited in September, 1881, when they were living near St. Charles, Minn. There were four of us who enjoyed that visit: Mr. and Mrs. G. W. Cutshall and Mr. and Mrs. Francis C. Waid. At the time spoken of we had been visiting our brother-in-law, Willis Masiker, who lives at Lansing, Iowa; and from his place we drove by hired team to Pine Island, Goodhue Co., Minn., in order that we might have a better view of the country than could be got by rail. At Pine Island we visited Warren W. Cutshall and Victor Sterling, and on our way thither we stopped at Chester, Olmsted County, where we had the pleasure of dining with our friend and old acquaintance, Hon. Thomas W. Phelps. On our return trip we took dinner with Eleazer Phelps, at his residence in Rochester, Minn., after which we drove to William Gilmore's and made our long-to-be-remembered visit; I call it so, as it proved to be one of the most fortunate visits we made in this entire trip. We expected to meet only William Gilmore and his family at his home, but imagine our pleasant surprise when we learned that J. Y. Gilmore and his daughter were there, from New Orleans. To have met my old school-mate anywhere in the West would have been a surprise to me; but to unexpectedly find him at his brother's was to me a genuine pleasure, which I heartily enjoyed. As I have said, this occurred in 1881. On March 25, 1887, we were favored with the company at our home of Mrs. Gilmore (mother of William and J. Y.), who is now in her eighty-sixth year; also of Mr. and Mrs. G. W. Cutshall, and Mr. and Mrs. Gaylord Smith, the last two named being near neighbors--altogether a very happy reunion. William Gilmore was in the Mexican War, and was personally acquainted, I believe, with Gen. Zachary Taylor, having served on guard duty under him. During the Presidental campaign of 1848, Gen. Taylor came to Meadville, where, with many others I had the honor of shaking hands with him, and here Mr. Gilmore was introduced to the General with whom he had a long chat. March 31, 1887--Success does not always depend on our own exertions. After we have done all in our physical power to bring about certain results, and have seemingly failed, there is yet not alone hope of success for us, if in the proper path of duty, but even a certainty of victory if we will take our case to the Lord in prayer. "Prayer is appointed to convey the blessings God designs to give." We may mark out our way, but should always ask his approval. "Man proposes, God disposes." My experience of this day is not the first demonstrated in my life. A similar experience came to me December 14, 1886, and I could recall many others; but I will forbear. I have just spoken of Hope. How thankful we ought to be for that desire of some good that "springs eternal in the human breast!" Without it man's life would be almost a blank. It is true hope may be deceitful, but yet there is pleasure in cherishing it. Peacock speaks of "Those blest days when life was new, And hope was false but love was true." In the darkest hours of distress and despair, when all else has deserted us, sweet hope remains. It is a balm for every condition of life--" The miserable have no other medicine, but only hope;" it is the Divinity ever stirring within us. Byron thus apostrophizes Hope: "Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life, The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray." My son, Guinnip P., has been married four years today, and has been living since then, with exception of a short time, on the old farm. I have received an interesting letter from Mr. J. F. Hamilton, dated Muddy Creek, Loudon County, Tenn., March 29, 1887, a portion of which will be found in the Appendix. This letter commences with general news, including an account of the sale of Col. Easiley's estate, with a pressing invitation for Frank and his wife, and myself and my wife to visit his family, and attend the sale on May 5, 1887. Mr. Hamilton was Frank's nearest neighbor, and had lived on Col. Easiley's farm several years. We had the pleasure of forming the family's acquaintance and visiting them when we were at our son's place, in October, 1883. April 4:, 1887--I copy from my personal journal the following: November 11, 1852. May I remember my teacher, Mr. S. S. Sears; may I ever hold his name dear to me, and should it please God to spare my life until I reach that place among men where I may be the means, in the hand of Him who has created me, of doing good to all my fellows around me, I still wish to remember Mr. Sears, who has been and now is so kind to me. I may read these lines long hereafter, and I will always hold his name dear to me. lie has treated me well, and labored hard to instruct me, for which I give him my sincere thanks, this being all I have to give, though not all he deserves. The following certificate was written by Mr. Sears and handed to me: November 11, 1852. To whomsoever it may concern: Sir: I take pleasure in recommending to you Francis C. Waid as a young man every way capable of teaching a common school, and well calculated to win the esteem of both parents and scholars. S. S. SEARS, Teacher of Waterford Academy, Erie County, Pa. Although Mr. Sears has passed from earth, and his family are living far from here, in the West, yet as soon as I learn their address I intend to send them a SOUVENIR with our best wishes. April 5, 1887--To-day I and my youngest son, Fred. F., were near the northwest corner of the farm, in the hollow, and close by the site where many years ago stood a saw-mill, cutting and splitting into firewood (for our fire-place is still in use) an old three-prong-forked pine log, that once lay in the mill-yard, on the side hill, probably over forty years ago--indeed it may have been cut fifty years ago. While thus occupied my thoughts again became retrospective, flying back with magic speed to days of long ago. I remembered of my twin brother and myself visiting this old saw-mill when we were little boys, when everything to our young senses had grand proportions. And I also remember that one time when my twin brother and I were there, we found our uncle, Washington Waid, sawing. The mill, in those days, stood on what was known as the "Goodwill Farm," on a little creek or run that meandered between hills on either side, steep and lofty, more so below the mill than above it, the valley or fiat being quite narrow. It was then all woodland, but now there is no timber except below the old mill site, and this and the sugar bush, probably 100 rods east of this, include all the woodland on this farm. So working away with my hands, cutting and splitting this old pine log, and at the same time conjuring up visions of the past in my equally busy mind, I felt, indeed, happy, and was ready to pity any man who had his health and could not enjoy farm life, the oldest and best occupation among men. On it all mankind depend. The "king himself is fed on the herb of the field." In its day the saw-mill, just referred to, did considerable business; but when I cast ray eyes on the limited bit of territory where lay the source of its water-power, I wonder the mill was ever built on so small a stream. This creek was the output of some neighboring springs, namely: The Pitcher Spring (now on the James Harris Farm), a little over a mile southeast of the mill; a second one about three-fourths of a mile southwest, on Jabez Goodrich's farm (now on our farm); a third one on James Douglass' farm, which united with some other springs in that locality; and a fourth one, distant from the mill less than half a mile, and located on the east side of our 100-acre meadow. Several years after the mill had ceased to do business, Justus Goodwill began the erection of another one, constructing the dam farther up the stream; but after doing some work on it he abandoned it, and Ira C. Waid bought the property. April 8, l887--To-day we attended the funeral of an only child of Harry Roudebush, Ida by name, who, had she lived till June 30, this year, would have been four years old. Services were conducted in the Methodist Episcopal Church, Blooming Valley, by Rev. Mr. Thompson, of Guy's Mills, and friends and relatives whom we had not seen for a long time were present. Among them were Bigler Roudebush, son of my aunt, Clarissa U., and uncle, George Roudebush (Bigler lives at Erie, Penn., and his wife we met for the first time at this funeral), also Mr. and Mrs. Charles Gilmore, from Bradford, Penn., and Mrs. Scott, from Dakota. Some time after this funeral Mr. and Mrs. Bigler Roudebush sent me a photograph of one of my dearest aunts--my father's youngest sister, Mrs. Clarissa U. Roudebush--and her youngest son, Bigler, whom she is represented holding in her arms when a child. Bigler is now (1887) a young man, married, and in the employment of William Densmore, who is engaged extensively in the manufacturing of flour in Erie, Penn. We had likenesses of his father and mother sent to us after the death of my parents, which we prize highly, and this to be supplemented by the one sent by my cousin, Bigler Roudebush, was indeed an agreeable surprise. If this comes in the nature of a complimentary return for a single copy of my SOUVENIR, the pleasure to me is such that I believe I will never regret the labor and expense incurred in trying to benefit a thousand or more of my kindred and friends in the same way. I wish my liberality to be commensurate with my means, and may it be influenced by Divine help in the various channels wherein I shall accomplish the most good. How I love this great truth written for our good: God loveth a cheerful giver. Life is worth living when He rules our motive. Take my yoke upon you, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light. How heavy our burdens would be without his aid, how easy with it! It was not taught by Him in vain, The merciful shah peace obtain; But they who to the end endure, Will find His promise fixed and sure. 'Twas eighteen hundred fifty-one, This Christian course had then begun, The Bible truth which makes all free, Then proved a blessing unto me. My years have very sweetly flown, When in search of truth alone; And while working in the field, His word to me did comfort yield. Contented now by day or night, For His landmarks are in sight, Which point me to His favor given, And lead me upward unto Heaven. F. C. Waid More to follow, David

Information from Second Souvenirs, by Francis C. Waid, 1890, pp. 188-230 Extracts from his diary 1887 January 1--Made one of a New Year's party, held at the home of Mr. Clark Ellis, who reminded me, while at dinner, where he and I had dined last New Year's Day. It was with my aunt, Mary Ann Simmons, in Jamestown, N. Y., and I said to Mr. Ellis, that I would like to take supper with her this evening, although it was already two o'clock. So, after dinner, his son, Edmond, drove me in a cutter to Meadville (distant about three and one-half miles), which we reached just in time for me to catch the train for Jamestown, whither I traveled in company with my neighbor, Newton S. Chase. Here I took supper with my relatives, and enjoyed another opportunity of calling on my friends and spending two or three days in the town. On the following Sunday forenoon we heard Elder Peate, of the Methodist Episcopal Church, hold forth, and in the evening we listened with pleasure to Dr. G. W. Towsend, who spoke on the subject of Temperance. On Monday, after attending to some business, I returned home, having entered on the duties of the New Year in my usual way, combining pleasure with business, both of which worked harmoniously together, with satisfactory results. Sunday, January 9--After service at the State Road Methodist Episcopal Church, which I attended this morning, our preacher, Mr. Miller, announced the death of Mrs. Olmstead, an aged lady, the funeral to be held at 1:30 P. M., from Mead Corners, three miles south of State Road Church. Mrs. Waid and I attended, and on our way called on Brother Roberts, with whom we took dinner. During Mrs. Roberts' sickness, which was of about a year's duration, we visited her frequently, and I think I will ever remember the words of encouragement and advice we received from that good sister. In retrospect, I think of that lifelong acquaintance, and of the blessed privilege Brother Roberts and I sought out together in the good way (his wife being a member of the church at the same time)--the privilege we have for thirty-six years enjoyed, of worshiping God in the same house. I do not think I could name another person in our society at present whom I have met in church as often as I have David Roberts. Of the large number that congregated for prayer and praise thirty-six years ago, but few are now left; some have crossed the river to the "better land," and many others are scattered over this wide country, some being in the "Far West." January 27, 1887--Much of the enjoyment and pleasure of life comes to us sometimes in a single day. Today we have had the company of friends and kindred whom we love so well, and the intercourse brought pleasure and happiness, seemingly enough for one day. But more was in store for us, for when my son Fred returned from Meadville with our mail, I received two letters, one from Prof. Samuel P. Bates, of Meadville, and the other from Mr. J. Y. Gilmore, which threw yet another ray of sunshine in the midst of my family circle. These letters both appear in full in the Appendix to this volume. The one from Prof. Bates has endeared to me the recollections of bygone, happy, boyhood days spent with him, whom I have known since we attended Meadville Academy together in the fall of 1853--thirty-six years ago; and I also gratefully remember the kind act of Hon. S. B. Dick, in being instrumental in having a copy of my SOUVENIR placed in the hands of the Library, Art and Historical Association. I love my honored and respected friend, Mr. J. Y. Gilmore, none the less because he leads an active, laborious and useful life, as his letter states. Such a man is deserving of all he calculates on, and my sincere desire is that not only Mr. J. Y. Gilmore, but all who strive for success may legitimately attain the height of their ambition, and ultimately enjoy such repose as he speaks of. With the man who does right life becomes better day by day, as he gels farther from the cradle and nearer to the grave. What could please us more, as we near the close of life's journey, than the enjoyment of the company of our best friends. January 29, 1887--This is another red-letter day in my Diary. Being the sixty-ninth anniversary of the birth of Mr. John Braymer, of Mead Township, Crawford County, a farmer whom we have known and valued as an upright citizen from our earliest recollection, a goodly company of over forty assembled to join in the celebration, my wife and myself being among the number. We were pleased to see his brother, David, present, also hale and hearty (We were also present at the celebration of the seventy-second birthday of David Braymer, held October 13, 1887, on which occasion he was presented with a silent rocking-chair, Three brothers and one sister were present. Mr Braymer resides with his son, Ezra, on the homestead). Although these two brothers were considerably in advance of my own age, yet I knew their father, Andrew Braymer, well; and I remember when I and my twin brother were boys going with father to assist Mr. Braymer (who was at that time pathmaster or supervisor in Mead Township). We were working on what is known as Meeting House (or Hamilton) Hill, west of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and from the brow of the upper hill (as we term it) we rolled, with the help of several yoke of oxen, a great stone, or rock, that for a long time had been an obstruction, down the hill a short distance and off to the north side of the road to near the ditch, where it yet lies. Few men, if any, have passed that big stone oftener than the writer of this incident. Shakespeare speaks of there being "sermons in stones;" and that old landmark lying by the roadside, inanimate and dumb, a potent witness to the acts of men long since dead and gone, could read us a moral lesson more forcible and convincing than any pulpit oratory. Not long after this Mr. Leland Meachum, living on Town Hill near Meadville, formed a "bee," inviting everyone along the State Road within several miles to assemble on the Fourth of July, and spend the day in improving the public highway at a point on Town Hill, about halfway down the hill (near the corner of Greendale Cemetery) where the road was given a bend in order to avoid a deep ravine. On that day the people began filling in the gulf, and by special efforts on the part of good citizens the grand object is at present nearly accomplished. But since that time the hill has been graded and much improved, its entire length, and the road straightened where the curve was. I have had opportunities since then to help improve the road at other points, and I will here conclude this reference by remarking that the community always seemed to be divided into a majority, who were bent on pleasure, and a minority, who were always seeking ways and means to benefit the public. I hope the reader will not charge me with undue pretentiousness when in this connection I say that I usually found myself in the ranks of the minority. I am glad I was taught to do good in more than one way. I have attempted to speak of the amount of blessings that has come to me while walking in the path of duty. Good deeds done for the benefit of others are like the boomerang, which after being thrown at an object returns unaided to the person throwing it, with this difference, however, the boomerang only returns itself, good deeds make returns with grand interest. The principle which led me to a wise choice for the improvement of my time had its origin in my boyhood. As several gentlemen, not long since, were passing the Goodrich Farm, purchased only about two years ago (in 1885), one of them remarked: "Industry is a fortune of itself," while a second one said: "I wish you would prove it to us." "Well," replied the first speaker, "do you remember this old farm as it was about two years ago? Look at it now," calling attention to the field on the north side of State Road, containing sixty-six acres all fenced, with stumps and stones removed, rough ground leveled, an old pasture field of fifteen or twenty acres plowed, some of it a second time, and seeded to meadow. Passing on down the hill this gentleman, referring to the improvements on the farm on the south side of the road, remarked: "That large quantity of stove wood, corded up so nicely along the road and in the yard, was cut down there in the wood lot, where it had apparently been abandoned on account of the immense thicket of undergrowth timber and brush." Then to cap the climax as they came down to the flat (to what was known as the corduroy or long bridge), there appeared to their view a three-cornered five-acre piece of land, once separate from the Goodrich Farm, but bought by Mr. A. S. Goodrich of Hugh Hamilton, for pasture and water privilege. Now a portion of this bit of land had never been completely cleared--many logs, small trees and a large amount of brush still remaining, and a portion of the flat often covered with water, when it came into my possession. "Who would have thought of clearing this land except F. C. Waid!" exclaimed the first speaker of the party. "Then," quickly remarked number two, "it is F. C. Waid and Industry who have made the improvements on the farm." For the general improvement on this farm, however, credit is due my eldest son, who lives on the farm, and the rest of my family. A good motto for a farmer is this one, of which Benjamin Franklin is the author: Plough deep while sluggards sleep. Not boastingly, but simply as something that may be of interest to my many farmer friends, I here present a statement of the income or products of the farm referred to for the year 1886: About forty tons of hay, three hundred bushels of potatoes, ten hundred bushels of oats, about five hundred bushels of ears of corn. The fruit crop was about as follows: Apples and plums, good crop; blue damson plums, estimated at ten to twelve bushels; and apples, probably three hundred bushels. In order to show to some extent the income derived from this farm the first year we had it (1885), I will here recount some conversation I had, late in the fall of that year, with my son, Frank, who is in charge of the farm, which he worked on shares, giving me a portion of what the land would yield. In speaking about the products and their value, Frank said to me: "I will give yon six per cent interest [$264] on the money invested in the farm for your share of the crops." I confess this rather astonished me, for it takes good farming--nothing short of prudence, industry and economy--to make a farm pay six per cent interest on its value, and I did not expect this when I bought the farm. Kind reader, the blessings of this life should call forth gratitude and praise to the Giver of all good, who rewards our labors and crowns the year with His blessings. I believe in an overruling Providence, who not only governs the nations on earth, as spoken of in His Word, but also the affairs of individuals. What did David mean when he said: The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord? Then again: All things work together for good to them that love God. The working of all things for good may be to us a mystery. How a blade of grass grows is a mystery, but grow it does. It is a pleasant thing, and delightful to the eye, to look on the green-clad fields in early spring, and behold, with admiration, the growing grass; but sweeter, far, is it to have faith in His promises, which brings us peace. The All-wise Creator knows our wants before we ask them, and He has the means, and will devise the way, whereby our wants, if real, shall be met, if we live in harmony with Him. And it is His prerogative to give or withhold as He may deem best for our good, just as an earthly father would treat a child whom he loves. If a dutiful child follows the advice of his parents, how much more should he not obey Him? February 21, 1887--In a letter from George M. Burdett, of Lenoir's, Loudon Co., Tenn., of above date, he says: "I write to thank you for your kindly remembrance of me and my family during your visit to East Tennessee.'' My wife and I, during our visit to the South, and while staying with our son near Mr. Burdett's place, were kindly invited to call on the latter's family, which invitation we accepted, and in company with our daughter-in-law we enjoyed a remarkably pleasant visit, one long to be remembered by us; and in the distribution of the SOUVENIR we wished to remind them that we claimed them as friends. I will here, in this connection, say a few words about the farming land I saw in the Valley of the Tennessee, between Knoxville and Lenoir's. How much poor land there may be adjoining the river I do not know, but I found some good and some very good land on Col. Easiley's farm. The greatest amount of good land, however, is to be found on the very large farm of Mr. Lenoir. The island embracing 117 acres, lying at the mouth of the Little Tennessee River, where it empties into the Tennessee River, a short distance from the station at Lenoir's, contains, perhaps, some of the best soil along the river. February 25--This day Rev. M. Miller, our respected pastor, accompanied by his daughter, Miss Ada, paid us a very agreeable visit. I find not only pleasure, but profit, in listening to our teachers who instruct in the good way. Sunday, March 6, 1887--This beautiful day I spent with relatives and friends in Jamestown, N. Y., and again enjoyed the privilege of attending church with them. At 11 A. M., in company with F. Simmons and family, I went to the Baptist Church, where we listened to a very interesting discourse, delivered by Rev. Harvey, his subject being "Church Work," and what had been done during the past five years, this being his first Sabbath of his sixth year. Among other things, he stated that the church, both temporally and spiritually, was prospering well; that eighteen new members had been received into the fold that day; that in 1882 the membership numbered 317, and in March, 1887, it numbered 424, being an increase of over 100. The church property, he said, was much improved and out of debt, their growth not being rapid, but like that of a tree--slow and solid. At 3 P. M. we attended the funeral of William H. Devoe (who died at the age of seventy-eight years), Rev. J. D. Townsand officiating. In the evening Mr. Simmons and I went to the Independent Congregational Church, where we again heard Mr. Townsand. At the close of his sermon he referred to the severe illness of Henry Ward Beecher, who had received a paralytic stroke (Henry Ward Beecher died at half-past nine, on the morning of March 8,1887). Among the great men whose memory I love, stands in the front rank Henry Ward Beecher. If my memory serves me right, I heard him lecture about ten years ago, in the Opera House at Meadville, the subject being: "The Burdens and Wastes of Society." Many good things he said, and worthy to be remembered, among them: "A sick man is not a burden to society, for he will either die or get well; but a lazy man is a burden." "A boy is reared to fill some occupation in life, but a girl is raised to get married." He also interpreted some passages of Scripture, making them very clear to me. March 12, 1887--To-day my wife and I went to see kindred at the old homestead, and found Uncle Robert Morehead on this his eighty-fifth birthday, his general health being pretty good. He conversed with us freely, remarking that he had done a good many "chores" this winter, and was able to split a good share of the firewood. More to follow, David

Does anyone have information on Ransom L. Himebaugh ,son of Joseph Himebaugh and his second wife, Susan Sherred? I believe that he was born in 1855 in Venango,Pa. Any information will be most appreciated. A Searching Granddaughter Kay

Does anyone have information on Lewis R. Himebaugh born in 1852 near Venango, Crawford Co., Pa ? He is said to have been a furniture maker. He is the adoptive Father of my Grandmother, Jessie Geneva. She was born in Nov. 1884 in Buffalo New York. He is the son of Joseph Himebaugh and second wife, Susan Sherred. Any help will be most appreciated! Thanks in advance. Kay

Please be patient with David Waid's transcriptions. The book is thick, not indexed, but very interesting Sandy Roche Schroeder (SamiWV) slschroe@intrepid.net Volunteer for Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness http://www.rootsweb.com/~tnraogk/index.htm

Hi, I would like to exchange info with descendants of any Rockwells in Crawford County. Thanks. Mark Rockwell Fairfax Station, VA rockwell@tst.tracor.com

Dear List Members: You came through one other time last week when I was looking for the Alcorns in Crawford, Pa. For this I am greatly appreciative. I received several responses that were right on it! The stories that came with these look ups were wonderful. Don't you think it would be a good idea if there were some children's books written and illustrated with some of these wonderful stories? I am now looking for James Newton Alcorn who was born in Venango County, Pennsylvania, b. February 27, 1832, m. Mariah Elizabeth Mahale who was born in Vermont. We believe he later moved to Dayton, Washington then to Walla Walla. Mariah was from Holland. James and Mariah had the following children: Edward Wilson, Emma, William "Will" Orville, Robert Austin, Flora, Mary Lillian, George Ralph, Anna, Birtha, and Lillian Alcorn. Sharon California

Hello, Hate to ask but are there any mentions of the MORRIS in Meadville, or Fairfield in the book? Vanda vanda444@aol.com

This probably will sound crazy but, is there by some remote chance an index book for those buried in this huge cemetary. If so, could someone please inform me where it might be found or how I might persuade someone to do a look-up on the Burns'es that are there. Thank You, John Burns

Information from Second Souvenirs, by Francis C. Waid, 1890, pp. 165-188 Extracts from his diary 1886. October 9, 1886--At 6:30 P. M. to-day I took train "No. 4" at Meadville for Jamestown, N. Y., arriving there at 8:35 P. M. Went direct to my aunt, Mary Ann Simmons, after having a social visit with aunt and Clara Mosher, and Addie Whicher and her son Archie (aged sixteen) from Mount Vernon, Jefferson Co., Ill., whom I had not seen for many years, and whom on this occasion I had especially come to see. I was truly glad to meet them. In years gone by, some twenty or more, when my cousin Addie was at home in Jamestown, she would answer my letters, and for quite a number of years we kept up a correspondence, in which way we became more familiarly acquainted than we otherwise would have been, or than I did with other members of the family. Yet during her long absence since her marriage, and after living in Jamestown, and then going to Illinois some eight or ten years ago, we had not written to each other. During this time, however, she had made one visit home to her folks, though I had not the pleasure of visiting her. During that evening I was informed by Clara that Lizzie, Henry's wife, was very sick, not expected to live. Some three weeks prior to the present date she had returned from Buffalo, where she had been visiting relatives, and was not feeling very well, yet not complaining; nor (as I understand) did her friends feel alarmed about her condition, until a short time before her death, which occurred about 11 A. M, October 10, 1886. On Sunday Archie Whicher and I attended the Methodist Episcopal Church, where we heard a sermon delivered by Elder Peate, with whom I have been acquainted many years. I think he is doing a grand work for the Lord as well as for the people of Jamestown. When I was there last March the society were still holding their meetings in the old church. I take this opportunity of saying that on March 28, 1886, I was in Jamestown and enjoyed with my friends one of the best seasons of grace and favor in the Lord in hearing Elder Peate's sermon and the Sunday-school exercises. It was not only a Bethel to me but to all present, and the Sunday-school exercises, under the favor and blessing of the Lord, I fully admit I have never found excelled. And now to be permitted to share a similar one in their new church is certainly enough to pour happiness into a Christian's mind. On returning from church, I was told the sad news of Lizzie Simmons' death. I then deferred my return home until after the funeral, which took place on Tuesday following at 11 A. M., from their home. I went from Jamestown to Ashville and attended the funeral with my cousin, Leander Simmons, whose good wife remained at home to care for her sick daughter. It is about a nine-miles' drive to Henry's, and probably about thirteen to Levant, where the remains were interred. I would here give pen utterance to a few more thoughts suggested by this sad event. How true it is "we all do fade as a leaf." And at this season, "the melancholy days, the saddest of the year," when countless leaves are fading and falling, are we not reminded of the shortness of human life? If we view it from this standpoint, and ask ourselves what the period of life of a single leaf is, the answer is applicable to our own case--one short summer. Our days are as grass that groweth up in the morning; it is cut down and withereth: or like a flower of the field, the wind passeth over it and it is gone, the place thereof knowelh it no more. And how true also are the words of the poet Young, in his "Night Thoughts:" "Earth's highest station ends in ' Here he lies,' And 'Dust to dust,' concludes her noblest song." The speaker at Lizzie's funeral said in his opening remarks: "We are here today to honor the dead and comfort the living." I thought to myself, who would not pay a tribute of respect in honoring the memory of one who had so faithfully performed the duties of life, and left a record more valuable than anything this earth can afford. She was a member of the Baptist Church for many years, and if my memory is correct, was in her forty-fourth year when she died. She is interred beside her parents in Levant Cemetery, where stands a fine Scotch granite monument, erected (so I am informed) at a cost of about $1,000. But the memorial left to the memory of every true man or woman will live when the monument left to perpetuate that memory shall have passed away. I do not wonder it is said in the Blessed Book: Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his. The memory of the just is blessed, but the name of the wicked shall rot. On returning home from Jamestown, October 13, I inquired after Mr. Jacob Cole, one of our neighbors, who had been very ill for several weeks, and my wife's reply was that he was failing, although there were still some hopes of his recovery. This was on Wednesday, and on the following Saturday, October 16, he died, in his seventy-third year, I believe. The funeral services, which were held at the Methodist Episcopal Church, Blooming Valley, on the following Monday, were largely attended, Rev. Mr. Sprague, of Meadville, officiating. The remains were interred in the cemetery at Blooming Valley. How often and yet how true is this saying: "Friend after friend departs;" and in the language of inspiration: "The mourners go about the streets." Then, again, on October 20, my wife and I attended the funeral of Lina Masiker, second wife of Avery W. Masiker (my brother-in-law), who lives in Oil Creek Township, Crawford County, Penn., near Bethel Methodist Episcopal Church, and where the funeral was held. Rev. Thomas Berry preached the sermon, the text being: Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his. Then LIVE THE LIFE OF THE RIGHTEOUS. The remains were interred in the beautiful rural Henderson Cemetery, on a hill located within less than a mile from the church. Mr. and Mrs. Masiker were married last November. We had the pleasure of but one visit or short interview with them, which took place last March. There are some people whom we are privileged to meet but once in a lifetime, and yet who leave an impression on our minds for good, never to be effaced. Such was the effect of our visit with Lina Masiker. I am inclined, before leaving this subject, to say a few words about another departed friend and relative. "Death loves a shining mark." I refer to Hulda Chipman, a girl who attended school in the Goodwill District, at that time a school district of Woodcock Township. [The district has long since been divided, and the people in the portion in which we live, on the State road, send their children to Blooming Valley school.] I taught two terms of winter school in this district, 1853-54 and 1854-55. One day, I remember, our school was visited by our friend C. R. Slocum, who delivered a short address to the school, after which he said to me that he could select not only the best-looking scholar, but also the smartest and most intelligent one. I told him I thought he would require more than one visit to find the "most intelligent," but he said not. "Will you tell me if I should guess it?" Thinking he would fail in his guess, I replied, "Yes." He immediately said "Hulda," and my reply was, "You need not guess again, for a person who had visited our school previously said there were some very intelligent-looking scholars, and as the most intelligent chose the same one as you did." Hulda Chipman, her brother Edward, and many others I could name, not only of the school I am speaking of, but also of the Moore and Hatch schools in Mead Township, and of the Blooming Valley schools in Woodcock Township, have long since passed to their rest and been numbered with the dead. Many of them, as well as some of my old teachers, are interred in Blooming Valley Cemetery. "Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care, The opening bud to Heav'n conveyed, And bade it blossom there." More to follow, David

Information from Second Souvenirs, by Francis C. Waid, 1890, pp. 165-188 Extracts from his diary 1886. December 30--The funeral of my revered friend, George Smith, took place today, services being held in Blooming Valley Methodist Episcopal Church, Rev. Henry Delemater officiating. I was anxious to attend, but absence from home and not returning in time prevented me. On May 17, this year, I had a settlement with Mr. Smith, and he handed me a receipt for which I thanked him with the remark that I had never taken a receipt before from a man of his age. The Pennsylvania Farmer, in speaking of his death says: "Mr. George Smith, one of the oldest men in Crawford County, died Wednesday at his home near Blooming Valley, at the advanced age of ninety-seven years." The death of two other neighbors which occurred last spring I will here also make mention of, the deceased being Mrs. Mary Smith (Robert Smith's wife), and Mrs. Eliza Roberts. Mr. [sic, Mrs.?] Smith died May 25, and is interred in the Smith Burying Ground. Robert Smith, son of William Smith, resides on the old farm once owned by his father, in Mead Township, within about half a mile of our farm, and where I was taken when an infant to be weaned. William (or "Uncle Billy" as I learned to call him) was a good neighbor, and I think I speak the truth when I say that his family and my father's were on most friendly terms, each member of both families imitating the noble example set by their respective heads. Some writer says we should "reverence that which is best in the Universe, and that which is best in ourselves," so I may be pardoned if I refer to an incident of my days of infancy, wherein is illustrated a trait of my character that I am happy to say has not deserted me in all these years. I will relate the occurrence as I have frequently heard it from my parents and others. When the time came for my twin brother and myself to change our diet (that is to eat bread and butter), in order to relieve our mother, who was in rather poor health, and somewhat encumbered with household duties, my mate was selected to be sent to Mr. Smith's. Being so peevish and cross, however, as to mar not only his own happiness but also that of the entire household, he was soon brought home, myself being sent in his place, on trial, and I am pleased to say that it is recorded I was very peaceable, quiet and good-natured. Now this may be giving me more credit than I deserved at the time, or even now, though I can conscientiously say that I have struggled through life in the interests of peace, and in the words of the apostle, to "study quiet." This good characteristic I claim I have inherited from my parents, and it was so visable in my father's life that I was encouraged to cultivate in myself this noble trait. I have often found myself mentally reviewing my many venerable acquaintances who have passed away, and selecting from among them the, to my mind, most peacefully inclined. William Smith had the reputation of being one of the most peaceable men in this community. My acquaintance with him began in my childhood, and with uninterrupted friendship remained up to the day of his death, January 12, 1858. Along with some relatives and dear friends I was present with him at his parting hour, which was one of peace; and I was reminded of the Scripture saying: Great peace have they which love Thy law, and nothing shall offend them. Mrs. Eliza Roberts died June 19, in her sixty-fourth year, and is interred in Greendale Cemetery, at Meadville. She was a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church, as is her husband, David Roberts, who resides about two miles from our place, on the road leading from Hatch Hill to Meadville. Mrs. Roberts was the second daughter of William Williams, one of the early settlers in this section of the county, whose farm on State Road, two and one-half miles east of Meadville, is now owned by Mr. Judd and Hartwell Williams. The date of William Williams' settlement in the county I can not record, but his name appears in a list of tax-payers previous to 1810. Mrs. Eliza Roberts, I believe, always lived in this community. I remember going in my boyhood with my brothers and the Smith boys to pick cherries on the Williams farm, for in those early days farmers who had plenty of fruit allowed their neighbors to help gather it on shares, and we boys found as much enjoyment in it as we have nowadays in an excursion. If I am not mistaken, my acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. Roberts had its commencement several years previous to the noted revival meetings held at State Road Methodist Episcopal Church, nearly throughout the entire winter of 1850-51, where many were brought out of darkness into light, some 200, as estimated, having been saved at that time. During my father's last illness David Roberts and his wife called occasionally to see him; and at one visit, when it was thought my father's mind was failing, as David was shaking hands with him, my mother asked him: "Do you know who it is?" "Yes," replied my father, with a smile of recognition, "I think I do know David Roberts. I would know him if I should not see him for a thousand years." It is well to ever bear in mind that words spoken, good or bad, wise or foolish, often live after us; it is not essential that they should be written or printed to be preserved, for when once engraved on memory's page, they will be more enduring than brass, and will be certain to have their influence on the minds and lives of those who come after us. In governing our tongue we should endeavor to excel, for it is an attribute that in itself is most excellent. Reader, did you ever think that "life and death are in the power of the tongue, and they who love it eat the fruit thereof." How very bitter the fruit of sin; how good the fruit of peace. December 31, 1886--The closing day of a year that has been to Eliza and me, in many respects, a most eventful one. Lewis Slocum (a neighbor) and family, together with my wife and myself, by previous arrangement with Lewis, went to Mosiertown fo pay a visit to the Slocum family--three brothers and one sister of Lewis--including C. R., Robert, Lewis and Caroline (Cochran), all heads of families and life-long acquaintances and old school-mates. This was found to be a most pleasant and profitable way of ending the year 1886, and we feel that the doings of yesterday and today will leave a lasting impression on our memories. I could recall many pleasant scenes and happy hours of bygone days, when similar gatherings occurred at the homes of our parents; and this reunion of today, at the home of C. R. Slocum, was enjoyed, not only as a family gathering, but as a reproduction, so to speak, of the real unbroken friendship possessed by our parents, and inculcated on their children. The evening was spent at Hon. S. Slocun's, and C. R. then remarked that he was fifty-two years old on December 10, the day after my son Guinnip's daughter was born. In my youth and earlier manhood I question if I spent as much time visiting during the holidays as I have this season. Some people transpose the maxim "Business first, pleasure afterward" to "Pleasure first, business afterward;" but in eases of emergency, and until I can get through the rush of both, I can couple them--make a good running team of them, as it were, as I had to do this time, for I have several days' business and pleasure in various ways before me.

Information from Second Souvenirs, by Francis C. Waid, 1890, pp. 165-188 Extracts from his diary 1886. December 11, 1886--This morning, after hearing of the death of our esteemed neighbor, Mr. MeCullough, referred to, I was informed of the birth of my fourth granddaughter, first-born to Guinnip P. and Anna Waid. Until the marriage of my two eldest sons, boys used to prevail in the family, but since then a change has taken place, there having been born six girls (five yet living), no boys, and this relieves me from naming any of my grandchildren. I tell their parents, jocularly, that my name, Francis, is so nearly that of a girl's that if they desire to name a daughter for me they have only to change the "i" into "e"; and if that won't suit, why then they must nurse their patience, and the first boy born to any of them they may name him Francis. There are many things in this world that we hope for but never get, and it is a relief in some cases to express our wants. But perhaps I have said enough about this to have my wants either expressed or understood. December 27--Today we had a visit from my dear niece, Orpha Leonard, and her husband. In the course of conversation at dinner she asked me if I remembered Aunt Maria Lord, who visited my parents when I was in my "teens," and about our "baking the pancakes." I replied I did not, but expressed a desire to hear the story, which she complied with, while I listened attentively. My wife, I think, was more anxious to hear, because both of us enjoyed listelling to what a friend would say about either of us, and especially what took place before our marriage; it was testimony of a nature we could rely on, and would be likely to beget in us greater love for each other. We learned from my niece that one morning, when it was my turn to bake the pancakes (for my twin brother and myself were accustomed in those days to help our mother, by turns, in many of the household duties), mother wanted me to assist, but because we had visitors and I was somewhat bashful, I wished to be excused. When father came in, however, he said to me: "Francis, help bake the pancakes," and although quite a big boy at the time I did as desired. I relate this incident, not because of my reluctance to comply with my mother's wishes, but as an illustration that under trying circumstances I rendered obedience to my parents. If the duty did not smack of pleasure at the time, yet since I have helped to rear a family of my own it brings me conselation now, for I can the more fully appreciate the precept of St. Paul: Children, obey your parents in all things: for this is well pleasing unto the Lord (Col. III: 20.) Some one may ask what I think of a boy doing housework, and my reply is simply that if a boy's parents require him to help within doors, he should do so, and he will find that time will bring its reward. In my own family, the boys (whose lot in life is in one respect similar to my own, having no sister) have helped in many ways to lighten the burdens of household duties for their mother. They know how to cook to some extent rather than go hungry. But I think I hear some skeptical person remark that such domestic training spoils a man for business or farm work. My answer to such is a reference to my father's family--are they working men or not? I will not go back to my father's youth and early manhood, for I take it for granted he was more industrious than any of his sons, but I can not forbear reciting this incident which I have heard him relate. During the first winter after his marriage (1825-26), with two pair of oxen and a sled, he took sixty bushels of wheat from Meadville to Connewango Mills, nine miles below Jamestown, N. Y., and there he and his wife lived. Here with other help he assisted in stocking the mills with logs that winter. On their way home from these mills my parents stopped at Riceville, Crawford Co., Penn., where my eldest brother was born. While speaking of lumbering I would like here to give one instance in my own experience which has been much less than that of my father in that line, although I have done a little in company with him, as well as some for my own account. I remember once helping him to haul a fourteen-feet hemlock log to William Dickson's mill on Woodcock Creek, in my township, which cut into 1,620 feet of lumber, being the largest log I ever assisted in handling! There were three of us and three or four teams, my cousin, Thomas Fergerson, helping us. It was indeed a pleasant duty to assist in hauling that log to the mill. And I may add that my sons are also inclined to try their hand in hauling logs. On December 20, 1886, Frank and Guinnip, each with a good span of horses and a wagon, one loaded with hay, the other with oats, started for Grand Valley, Warren Co., Penn., to engage in hauling logs as my father did over sixty years ago. Frank has had some experience in lumbering as well as farming, and Guinnip can learn. After several days' work in Warren County, they engaged with George Bush, with whom at this writing they are working. December 29, 1886--A visit from Mrs. Matilda Barr and our cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Roudebush, all of Blooming Valley, threw another ray of sunshine around our fireside. It is pleasant for me to be remembered, not only by relatives, but also by some of my old scholars who attended school where I taught in by-gone days. In the winters of 1853-54 and 1855-56 I taught school in the Goodwill District, and today I was asked by one of the lady visitors if I remembered the "treat" I gave the scholars on a certain Christmas (for it was customary in those days to teach on holidays). I replied that I did not think I recollected the incident. "Chestnuts," said the lady; and then she recounted how I distributed them among the scholars, throwing some on the floor for the younger ones to scramble for. It is said that if a day passes of which we can give no account, it may be considered lost. The visit of Mrs. Barr and Mr. and Mrs. Roudebush lasted the greater part of the day, but I found time to assist in digging a grave in the Smith Burying Ground for the oldest man in our community, George Smith, who died today. Had he lived till February 14, 1887, he would have been ninety-six years old. The Smith family of sixteen children, of whom reference is made in my first SOUVENIR, have now all passed away save our nearest neighbor ("Aunt Polly," as she is called) who is in her eighty-fifth year. More to follow, David

Information from Second Souvenirs, by Francis C. Waid, 1890, pp. 165-188 Extracts from his diary 1886. THANKSGIVING DAY NOVEMBER 25, 1886. "To be good is to be happy." Yesterday, after a faithful day's work plowing on the farm, I came in thinking to myself, "To-morrow will be Thanksgiving Day; how shall I spend it? No meeting or public addresses near home, and roads too bad to permit of going abroad." I was glad an opportunity had presented itself for me to invite my old neighbors, some of the oldest in our community, who are not blessed with much of this world's goods. I have known my, father do similar acts, and that was example enough for me. The three oldest women in our midst referred to were Mrs. Mary Reiser and Mrs. Handley, each in her eighty-fifth year, and Mrs. Maria Long, probably over ninety years old. With these and relatives and other friends in our neighborhood I spent a happy day. I drove to Mrs. Long's in order to get" Aunt" Maria (I call her "aunt" on account of her age), and when I invited her to the dinner she greeted me with a hearty "God bless you!" Then the willingness and pleasure with which the other two ladies tendered their acceptance of the invitation, and the expressions of gratitude they poured out as I took them home, brought me true happiness. It is the active part we take in those things, says St. James, not for doing but in doing, that brings us blessing. I also called to invite Mr. and Mrs. Norris, but found Mrs. Norris quite ill and unable to come; however I had the pleasure of presenting them with a copy of my SOUVENIR, which they seemed to like very much (* These four aged mothers are yet living (December 25,1889), and it is a pleasure to greet them ocoasionally.--F. C. Waid). My only brother, George N., also dined with us. This is one of the many ways to do good and bring happiness, and peace will ever abide with us if we keep the right way. TRUTH, which so often gladdens our hearts, will avail us nothing unless it abide in us. TRUTH will not unite with error; it is ever on the search for more truth, and when found forms a union complete in itself, drawn together as if by some magnetic influence. So if happiness does not dwell with us, it is because we are strangers to it. It would enjoy our company were we only in a condition to enjoy it. The reader may wish to know how a farmer, who has so much to do as Francis C. Waid, can find time, not only to travel, but also to write on his return home, such exhaustive accounts of his several excursions. Some time ago I began writing an account of a trip to Cincinnati and Dayton, jotting down only a little each evening, and the reader will see that I have stopped to sketch down what occurred on November 25, 1886. Yet the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but to them that persevere to the end. November 30, 1880--Another funeral today, that of Anson Chipman, a young man of about twenty-seven years, who died on the 27th instant, near Conneant Lake, in Sadsbury Township, this county, whither he had moved last spring. The funeral services were held at the Methodist Episcopal Church, Blooming Valley. He was an only child, and was reared and lived in this community, his father, Edward Chipman, who died March 25, 1868, and lies buried in Blooming Valley Cemetery, having been not only an old school-mate of mine, but also one of my scholars. The early cutting off of this young man, in the flush of youth and in the bloom of health, is food for reflection. As the pastor said in his remarks at the funeral service: "God speaks to us" in the melancholy event, and we are led to consider the language of inspiration, when the Master said: What I do now thou knowest not: but thou shalt know hereafter. Only a few weeks ago Rev. Mr. Sprague, of Meadville, delivered a discourse at the funeral of an aged man who had reached the three score and ten (or more); but here was a young man, whose general health was good, stricken down after a few days' illness. How changed the scene! It is the Lord's doirg, and it is marvelous in our eyes! "There is a Providence in the fall of a sparrow." This is another lesson to us all, especially to the young man or youth who may think to himself that as he is in good health to-day, he bids fair to live to a good age. But, young man, for aught you or I know, the aged grandfather and grandmother, who were present at Anson Chipman's funeral, may attend ours. The man has never been born who could tell what a day may bring forth. In speaking on the subject of death years ago, with my aged aunt, Temperance Fergerson, I remember making the query: "Is not our chances for life, one as good as another?" "The young may live, the old must die," was her reply. So it is well for all of us, young or old, to ponder on these firings, and be ready when the Master calls us for an account of our stewardship. "Man, like a shadow, vainly walks With fruitless cares oppress'd; He heaps up wealth but can not tell By whom 'twill be possess'd." December 10, 1886--On the 8th of this month Mr. and Mrs. Pember Phillips, of Townville, Crawford County, paid us a pleasant visit. James McCullough died today (10th), in his eighty-fifth year, his wife having preceded him to the grave within two days of exactly two years ago. Both rest in Blooming Valley Cemetery. In this book I make mention of the deaths that occur in our own neighborhood and community, for the reason that we seem to be so often reminded of our final departure. I do not wonder at the inspired writer perpetuating his thoughts in those words: It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting, for the living will lay it to heart. Enjoyment is not all we were placed in this world for; we are frequently called to that place where we are to be taught the greatest lessons of life. Mrs. Melissa G. Scott and her youngest son, from Wentworth, Lake Co., Dak., who are on a visit to kindred and friends here, and were staying with us a short time, left this morning for Meadville. We had the pleasure of a visit from Mrs. Scott about four years ago. She is a sister of my honored and distinguished friend, J. Y. Gilmore, and is an old school-mate of mine. A few days after her visit I presented her with a copy of the SOUVENIR and a photograph of the family, as a memento from her friend, for which she expressed her thanks. More to follow, David

Information from Second Souvenirs, by Francis C. Waid, 1890, pp. 165-188 Extracts from his diary 1886. Sunday, May 22, 1886--Today at 11 A. M. I attended the funeral of William Robins, services being held at the Methodist Episcopal Church, Rev. Henry Delamater, of Meadville, being the officiating minister. In the afternoon, understanding that the funeral of Dr. David Best, who died in Meadville on the 20th, at the age of fifty-nine years, one month and five days, was to take place at 3 P. M., my wife and I drove to Meadville, where we learned that the burial would be on the 23d instead of the 22d. Dr. Best had been in continuous practice in Meadville for thirty-four years. He was a prominent physician, well known and esteemed by his fellowmen. I have frequently thought that to know him was to love him--and I have known him for over thirty years. I cherish his memory as a true friend, one who often greeted me as a brother as we met journeying the pathway of life. Mrs. Waid and I were disappointed as to the funeral, but we took the opportunity of the Sunday afternoon to visit Greendale Cemetery, which lies at the head of Randolph Street, and occupies 100 acres. At the entrance is a handsome stone arch, with a driveway in the center, and on either side of the main entrance are smaller gateways for foot passengers. Over the driveway is inscribed the legend, GREENDALE CEMETERY, 1866. The superintendent's house is on the right hand as you enter, near the arch, and the Huidekoper Vault, the only one at present in the cemetery, excepting the receiving vault, stands a short distance to the left. The largest monument is the one on the burial lot of the Brawley Family, which stands, I think, about thirty-five feet in height. The number interred in this cemetery is, I have been informed, about 4,000, Mrs. Balch having been the first to be buried here (her husband, with whom I was well acquainted, was a bookseller and traveling agent, a man who took a great interest in Sabbath-schools; he was run over by the cars and killed, in Michigan, not many years ago), and my uncle, Joseph Finney, the second, date being December 6, 1853. Many of my relatives and friends lie in this beautiful City of the Dead, and as my wife and I sauntered through it and read so many familiar names on the tombstones, I could not resist copying a few, which I here give the reader: "How loved, how honor'd once avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom forgot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee; 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be." JOHS REYNOLDS, born at Colchester, England, June 18, 1782; immigrated to the United States of America in 1795; died July 23, t871. He was a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost and faith. JANE J., daughter of Andrew Ellicott, wife of John Reynolds, born at Baltimore, June 25, 1778; died November 27, 1845. HON. GAYLORD CHURCH, born August 11, 1811; died Sept. 29, 1869. JOHN DICK, born June 17, 1794; died May 29, 1872. JAMES R. DICK, born April 22, 1801; died February 9, 1875. Rev. E. B. LANE, died 1864, aged 48 years. JOHN FREW, died September 22, 1883, aged 71 years. JAMES B. CHASE, born 1803; died 1877. ALONSON LINDLEY, born March 4, 1799; died May 21, 1881. Father and mother, sweetly they journeyed the pathway of life; together they entered the portals of Heaven. LORENZO D. WILLIAMS, born March 7, 1813; died October 14, 1878: OLIVE T., wife of L. D. Williams, born January 16, 1815; died October 17, 1878 (* While attending college, one of my recitations was in ProLL. D. Williams' class.--F. C. Waid.) HUGH HAMILTON, died March 15, 1869, aged 62 years, 10 months, 22 days: MARIA, wife of Hugh Hamilton, died April 24, 1856, aged 55 years, 3 months, 2 days: LOVINA, second wife of Hugh Hamilton, died December 10, 1879, aged 69 years, 2 months, 6 days. June 5, 1886--Robert E. Slocum and wife (nee Lovantia Gray) paid us a visit, and it was, indeed, quite a surprise to us, as we knew Mrs. Slocum to have been an invalid many years, at times considered past recovery (Although there were favorable hopes of her return to health, she continued to linger until July 10, 1887, when her spirit took flight into the unknown country. She died at Mosiertown, and her remains are interred in Blooming Valley Cemetery, I being present at the interment. Lovantia Gray was a scholar at Blooming Valley school during 1851-2.--F. C. Waid). Mr. Simon Gray, her father, lived in Blooming Valley when I taught the first school there, in the winter of 1851-52; but anterior, even to this, I was acquainted with the family, whom I always loved, and I am sure I can not recall anything that has ever interrupted our friendship. Years ago Mr. Gray and his family removed to Van Buren County, Iowa, where, after revisiting friends and relations here, he died, I believe in 1872. Robert E. Slocum is a.son of Eleazer Slocum, and a brother of C. R., of whom special mention is made in my first SOUVENIR, and there is not a single member of the family whom I do not love and respect, having a lifelong acquaintance with them. Robert lived a number of years in Blooming Valley, and at present resides at Mosiertown, in the same county. August 28 to 31--[My trip to Lake Chautauqua and other places, accompanied by my wife, Eliza; for an account of which see page 50. ] September 21 to 28--[My trip to Cincinnati and Dayton (Ohio), along with my youngest son, Fred F.; for an account of which see page 52.] More to follow, David

Information from Second Souvenirs, by Francis C. Waid, 1890, pp. 165-188 Extracts from his diary 1886. The common articles of food and clothing are at all times in demand, for are they not the necessaries of life? Yet other things we need for our happiness' sake--friends and home; and how much should we appreciate such blessings. Yet have you ever thought, dear reader, that often the common things of life are valued too highly by us, and not really cared for as they should be? Why? Because they are so common. The rising of the sun is no less beautiful because we have seen it so often; the friend on whom we may have looked so frequently we love the more; so I call attention to some very common things I have met with or observed on life's pathway; very common, I call them, yet not altogether insignificant. Having enjoyed labor on the farm, and taken an occasional trip abroad on business as well as pleasure, I will resume the thread of my narative by first relating that in May, this year, my wife and I received a wedding invitation, of which following is a copy: Mr. and Mrs. Leander Simmons request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their daughter, Florence, to Anson Skinner, Thursday, May 13, 1886, at 8:30 P. M. Ashville, N. Y. In response to this we accordingly made preparations for the journey, and at a late hour of the day (for business and home affairs did not permit an earlier departure) we drove to Meadville depot in time, as we thought, to catch the 3:35 P. M. train, but arrived just too late. My wife not intending to accompany me to the wedding, returned home with the rig. Was I now to give up my intentions? No. The blacksmith who has too many irons in the fire may let some of them burn. My case was this: I wished to be present at the wedding, and I had business in Jamestown (near Ashville) which I could transact, even if I should fail to be at the wedding in time. However, in this instance I would place pleasure first, business afterward--reversing the moral. My last chance to reach Ashville that evening was, I thought, another train known as the Bradford train, or "train No. 9," which would leave Meadville about 6 P. M., and I yet hoped to be in time for the wedding feast. As Goldsmith says: "Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way, And still as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray." But do you know what often accompanies Hope, dear reader? Disappointment. And, alas! this was my experience at that time. When "train No. 9" came in I learned it did not stop at Ashville, but at Jamestown, seven miles beyond; so I could not reach Ashville in the time desired. Yet, though defeated, I would not surrender, and faithfully came to my relief this old maxim, which I had learned in my youth: Never be discouraged. I now decided not to proceed to Jamestown until I should have the pleasure of seeing the happy newly-wedded couple; so I went to my friend Mr. Derby, with whom I have spent many pleasant hours on the farm, and there put up for the night. In the morning I took the early train, arriving at Ashville about 9 A. M., just in time to see those of my relatives who had been at the wedding take my train for Jamestown, and leave me at Ashville; a brief recognition, for, as they were getting on the front platform of the car, I was stepping off at the rear! To Mr. Simmons' house I sped direct, and here I met Mrs. Simmons and her two daughters, Florence and Jennie, with other members of the family, who greeted me pleasantly, with much hand-shaking and many affectionate enquiries--" Where is Eliza [my wife]?" "Have you come to the wedding?" etc., etc. Being introduced to the bride, Mrs. Simmons asked me if I had not met the friends at the depot, to which I replied "Yes;" then saying, "Come this way," she courteously led me to the dining-room, where the contemplation of the good things yet remaining after the feast, together with the numerous wedding presents, brought sufficient pleasure and happiness to me as to more than reward me for the disappointment I had experienced. I felt just like a man stepping into the pay-office to draw his month's wages. But duty called for an onward march, and I had to make preparations to leave after spending a pleasant forenoon with my frimids, and enjoying a social after-dinner visit with my cousin, Leander Simmons, in the beautiful grove which surrounded his home. Here we talked of departed friends and relatives, among them our grandfather, Pember Waid, and our uncles and aunts, whose memories linger in our minds with a fondness my pen fails to describe. This interview was like pure gold; the essence of real friendship collected for a final review, never in this life to be repeated. I do not hesitate to call it the best we ever had. Bidding them adieu for the present, I took my departure from Ashville, crossing the country to Henry Simmons' farm, which is located in New York State, near the State line, between Sugar Grove, Penn., and Busti, N. Y., these places being about five miles apart, and his residence lying about midway between them. Having a desire to see the country which I had never before traveled over, I took my journey on foot, and the eight or nine miles walk was fine, wholesome exercise for me, which I truly enjoyed. After I had traveled about three or four miles, and ascended a long hill, a beautiful view of Lake Chautauqua presented itself to my admiring sight. In the previous summer, when visiting Chautauqua with my wife and friends, we stood by this lake, and were borne over its placid waters. But that was not the view I now enjoyed. I think that to the lonely traveler just emerging from the darkness into the light--from the valley beneath to the hill-top above--as the beautiful Lake Chautauqua bursts upon his sight, presenting an expanse of crystal waters extending from Jamestown, at the foot, to Mayville, at the head, together with the many other surrounding points of interest, the scene is incomparable. Then as I passed on, and shortly before arriving at Henry Simmons' I ascended another eminence, whence the view of the Stillwell Creek valley and surrounding country could be had at a glance. And here again I was refreshed with another new thought. I thanked the Creator that He had permitted me to see this day, and to be cheered by so many pleasing thoughts and beautiful sights, the words of Luther unconsciously occurring to my mind: "God writes the Gospel, not in the Bible alone, but on trees and flowers, and clouds and stars." It was now evening. Descending the hill I came direct to Mr. Simmons' farm, where I found him just leaving the barn for the house, and I surprised him by saluting him before he noticed me, with "How do you do, Henry?" This was my third visit since he was married, having been to see him twice with my wife previous to this occasion. If I mistake not Lizzie Mee and Henry Simmons were married October 12, 1865, and they lived near Levant, seven or eight miles from Jamestown, several years after marriage. It was there we made our first visit; then afterward, during the month of December, 1883, after attending the funeral of Mr. Simmons' father (Uncle Philander Simmons), we visited them where they now live. In Henry Simmons' family there are six children--three girls and three boys--all living. Thoroughly well did we enjoy our visit there, as well as with his brother, Delbert Simmons, the youngest son in Uncle Philander Simmons' family, and who is a merchant in Busti. But, "Time and tide wait for no man." Some one is ever being borne across the River of Death to his long home. "Death's but a path that must be trod If man would ever pass to God." The unbroken family must lose its first member, and this sets us thinking that it matters not how strong the tie is that binds us here, there comes a time when it must be sundered, and we part. I think I shall never forget my visit of May 14, 1886, to that family who so kindly welcomed me, and with so much interest and friendship conversed with me. But how suddenly is the strongest tie broken, that bond "which unites two hearts in one." How wonderful is the wisdom displayed by the allwise Creator, in witholding from our knowledge the time of our departure! "We know what we are, but we know not what we will be;" and we are admonished to be ready. There we were talking and enjoying life so well, little thinking that'ere we should meet again one of our number would be taken. Well do I remember shaking hands with the children, when leaving that home, and bidding "good by," and then my last farewell to their mother. It was our final meeting on earth, for I shall see her no more until I shall have crossed the river that divides "the beautiful land' from ours! "0 Paradise, 0 Paradise, Who doth not crave for rest, Who would not seek the happy land Where they that loved are blest?" More to follow, David

I am Seeking information on Wilson and Redding BURNS families. Wilson was in Crawford County through 1870 but I have been unable to locate in him 1880. Wilson would have been 61 in 1880 and I just hope he lived that long. He had a son, Redding who lived in Oil Creek Township in 1870 with his wife Julia and a daughter. Wilson was in Stuben Township in 1870. He was in Mead Township in 1850 and 1860. Another son, Sylvester had moved to Mckean County by 1877. Wilson may also have moved this way but I still have not found any evidence of this. Wilson BURNS may have had a brother Redding also. Redding was in Woodcock Township in 1870 and moved to Stuben Township by 1880. He lived there until his death in 1882. He had a son Chandler who had remained in Woodcock Township and taken over the family farm. Chandler spent his entire life on the farm to the best of my knowledge. Any help or leads on either of these men would be greatly appreciated.