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