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