Souvenir Main Page

Excerpts from Souvenir

Submitted by David M. Waid 

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.

        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.