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Excerpts from Souvenir Submitted by David M. Waid |
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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 occasionally.--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 doing, 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.
December 11, 1886--This morning, after hearing of the death of our
esteemed neighbor, Mr. McCullough, 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 listening 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.
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 to 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. Slocum'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.
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