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Excerpts from Souvenir Submitted by David M. Waid |
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1887
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 loadof 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).
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.
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