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Excerpts from Souvenir Submitted by David M. Waid |
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1888.
May 11 and 12, 1888--I think a few lines concerning the
"CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION of the Settlement of Crawford County and
Founding of the City of Meadville" will not be out of place here, for
it was a most important event in the history of this locality; and as I
have just returned from the two-days' celebration I will write concerning
it while it is fresh in my memory.
In the early afternoon of the 11th occurred the industrial parade,
representing the various trades, industries and professions of the city
and county. After the parade,
which was a success, a shower of rain fell that interfered sadly with the
band concert in Diamond Park. The
literary exercises in the evening at the Academy of Music were marked by
good taste and force in the rendering of the addresses, and showed high
attainments on the part of the participants.
The historical address was full of interest to all who heard it,
and a finely rendered ballad, "George Washington," by the
College Glee Club, was provocative of much applause.
The rooms of the Historical Society in the library building were
open during the progress of the Centennial, a courtesy much appreciated.
At 7 A. M., May 12, a salute of one hundred guns was fired, and
there was a loud ringing of bells, calling forth the people to the
planting Of the centennial oak on Diamond Park.
The tree was placed on the southern half of the park near the
dividing walk. May it stand for many years as a memorial of this day and as
a reminder to future generations to guard well their liberties, that they,
too, may celebrate successive Centennials with their country's heritage of
freedom still secure. The
Pioneer monument standing at the north end of the park was unveiled in the
presence of a throng of many thousand people, among whom were the children
of the public schools who sang "America."
I had witnessed many notable scenes on Diamond Park, or the
"Old Diamond" as we called it, but none of my boyhood's sights
impressed me as did this scene on the morning of which I write.
The Crawford County Centennial was a most interesting affair to the
inhabitants of this section of Pennsylvania.
The county's population is now estimated at 85,000, while that of
the city is put at 10,000.
I have to record a sad accident that occurred on the first evening
of the celebration, when George Williams, a
special policeman, was accidentally shot dead.
He was in his thirty-eighth year, and I knew him as a boy when he
attended our Sabbath-school at State Road.
His father, Ethan Williams, was an
active member of the church during many years of his lifetime.
Returning to the subject of the monument I would say that it bears
an inscription to the purport that it was erected May 12, 1888, to mark
the history of Crawford County and the founding of Meadville.
It is an ornament to the city and an object of great interest to
visiting strangers. It was a
great pleasure to me to contribute $100 toward the Centennial fund, as it
was no less a gratification to aid in such a way as I could the
publication and distribution of our Centennial pamphlet which contains
much of interest concerning our county, and is a strong promoter of its
welfare. The following letter I received from my respected friend, Mr.
S. B. Dick, one of the vice-presidents of the Centennial
Celebration. MEADVILLE, Penn., May 5, 1888. F. C. Waid, Esq.
My Dear Sir: I am
requested by the Centennial Executive Committee to express to you their
hearty appreciation of your generous gift to the Centennial Memorial.
The following resolution expressive of our appreciation of your
subscription, and the feelings which prompted it, was passed unanimously
at the last meeting of the Committee:
Resolved, That the generous contribution of
Mr. F. C. Waid to the Centennial fund Calls for special recognition
on the part of the Centennial Executive Committee, and that our thanks be
extended to Mr. Waid. Yours very truly, S. B. DICK, Vice-President.
I love a book and my friends, and in subscribing to one I help the
other. The wide distribution
of this work has brought much love and friendship to my door; the good
work began before Christmas, and still goes on.
The good spirit that is within a man who contemplates doing
anything, says: "Ought I
to do this?" while
another spirit queries: "Can
I do this?" Reasoning
upon this line of thought, I decided a question for myself not long ago.
A few days before my birthday, Col. S. B.
Dick, whom I met in Meadville, said:
"Frank, now is a good time to subscribe for the monument
fund." "Yes,"
I replied, "but I will take a little time to consider about
it.." "All right,
that is precisely what I want you to do," said the Colonel, in
answer, and then we parted. I
think the right man had spoken to me on the subject, and I did not have to
think over it long before I was decided.
I knew that when the spirit asked:
"Ought you to do this?"
the answer came readily and promptly:
"Yes." And
in a day or two I experienced a double pleasure, that of celebrating my
birthday and giving the money toward the monument.
On that day I addressed a letter to Col. Dick and the Centennial
committee, and enclosed my check for $100.
I gave this money, my reader, because I love the ,county which gave
me birth. When traveling at a distance through strange and beautiful
places, my heart has always turned yearningly toward my home.
There are many associations connected with home life that have
endeared me to it. The
feeling of love for home is one common to all mankind, and he who does not
have it must in some way be morally estray. As I have written above, I subscribed cheerfully to this
fund, for I wish always to promote Crawford County's welfare.
Here rests the dust of my dead kindred; here my parents and
grandparents lived and died. It
is a locality teeming with memories of pioneer life, of hardships and
early struggles. I, as a
descendant, feel that I have a share in those early times, and I trust
that posterity will be imbued with the same spirit to the extent that will
make them guard ever the interests of Crawford County.
Before closing this subject I may say that I was appointed by the
Centennial Executive Committee a vice-president of the committee, of which
I was advised by a letter from the chairman of Committee of Arrangements,
of which the following is a copy: MEADVILLE, PA., May 7, 1888. F. C. Waid, Esq.
Dear Sir: You are
appointed by the Centennial Executive Committee, a vice-president of the
Committee.
It is hoped that you will be able to attend the exercises to be
held in the Academy of Music, May 11 and 12.
Executive Committee badges will be supplied by Major
D. V. Derickson. Yours very truly, A. M. FULLER, Chairman,
Committee of Arrangements.
June 5, 1888--When walking along Park
Avenue, in Meadville, to-day, I met Francis Fox,
a mechanic, with whom I am acquainted, and after a hearty greeting,
noticing that he held some tools in his hand, I said:
"Those tools indicate that you are on your way to work."
"Yes," he said, "I am going to help tear down the
old academy." This
answer struck me with surprise, for I had no idea that the time-honored
institution of learning, the Meadville Academy, would be demolished.
Before I left town I walked through Market Street, and found Mr.
Fox and his men at work removing the old structure which was built in
1826, nearly seven years before I was born.
I had lived to see the old Cowen School in our rural district
removed to give place to a larger and better building.
It was afterward converted into a dwelling, and as I have passed it
I have always looked into it with pleasure born of recollection.
The old academy in Meadville is another bright spot in the past.
How well I remember my instructors, T. F.
Thickstum and S. P. Bates, both of
whom are still living. I
attended but one term at the academy, and that was in the fall of 1853,
but even a step in the direction of learning is not lost.
I have looked upon the academy since then as an old friend, and I
find that many others viewed it in the same light, for on the morning when
it was being taken down, many had gathered to bid it good-by.
The work of destruction occupied several days, during which time,
the youth, middle-aged and those in more advanced years, looked upon the
work, while memories of the days spent within its old and well-loved halls
filled their minds and warmed their hearts.
History tells us that there were two other buildings used as
academies in Meadville prior to 1826, both of which are yet standing.
One is at the corner of Chestnut and Liberty Streets, and the other
near by upon the latter thoroughfare.
The first step toward securing an academy was made in 1800.
June 17, 1888--On this day died Mrs. Thomas Chipman,
aged seventy-seven years. Her
husband is still living, at the age of seventy-nine.
I have known this aged couple for many years, their residence being
the second Cowen schoolhouse, which, in my youth, I attended as a scholar
and in which shortly after I was a teacher.
It is situated at the foot of Schoolhouse Hill.
The north point of the cross roads forms the corner of Blooming
Valley Cemetery, a plot of seven acres.
The portion near the Chipman residence descends to the north and
northeast and form Schoolhouse Hill.
On its summit stands the largest monument in the cemetery, erected
to the memory of Henry B. Baxter, born
December 17, 1827, died July 4, 1882.
North of this lot lies the grave of Hulda
Baxter, nee Chipman, the wife of
Wallace Baxter.
She was the daughter of Mrs. Chipman, whose funeral my brother and
I attended to-day, June 19, 1888. Mrs.
Chipman is interred at the foot of her daughter's grave, and within a few
rods of her home. I do not remember having ever before attended a funeral where
the interment was so close to the deceased's residence. The Changes from joy to sorrow and from sorrow to joy are
ever occurring in this transitory life.
One day we follow a friend to the silent grave, and the next we are
cheered by a visit from a long absent, yet dear relative.
The day following Mrs. Chipman's funeral, while working busily in
the field, I heard a voice evidently addressing me, saying:
"You are going to let me come way out here after you, are
you?" I recognized the
voice before seeing the speaker, and going toward him I said:
"Willis Masiker, I knew your voice before I saw you, although
you have been absent so many years. Perhaps,
however, it is a good thing that we visited you as that visit probably
aided memory." My
visitor was my wife's brother who went to Lansing, Iowa, thirty-two years
ago, and had not since visited his old home.
My wife's illness was the prime cause of his coming at this time.
On this day as Eliza had felt better she was driven to the old
homestead, and there her brother and I followed, and we all dined with my
son, Guinnip.
During the afternoon Willis and I visited Blooming Valley Cemetery
where we looked upon his father's grave.
Leaving the cemetery we went to the home of Moses
Masiker for supper, after which, as we drove slowly home, we passed
the old Masiker homestead with its well-tilled farm, where Willis spent
his happy childhood and where I with my bride so often visited her
parents.
July 2, 1888--Meeting with old friends is sweet, but parting is
sadness itself. To-day, after
a visit of twelve days, Willis leaves for his home.
When he came here this morning to see his sister he spoke of the
fact that whenever he approached the house he found me working.
I told him that in my youth I had asked for a busy life; I obtained
it, liked it and did not propose to give it up.
We passed into the parlor, where, upon her sick couch lay his
sister bearing her sufferings so patiently.
Willis had spoken to me of the fear
that he might never see her again. I
saw their pathetic parting and heard the whispered goodby as they
seperated never to meet again in this world.
The joy that had lightened their faces during his visit had now
departed, and sorrow dwelt in its place.
But hold one moment; I read something in their faces that means
more than joy--it is HOPE--hope of a meeting in the blessed hereafter that
brings that look of peace. My dear wife died on the fourth, and was buried on the fifth.
My sorrow is too great to
write of the circumstances at present, but at seine future date I will
endeavor to say a few words about my great affliction (On March 26, 1889,
Mr. Waid has in his diary some retrospective thoughts anent his wife's
death [Editor.]).
Soon after the death of Eliza I wrote
to Willis Masiker, and in reply he said that
he was not at all surprised to hear of his sister's death, that he knew
she must die at the time of this sorrowful parting, and that the time of
her death on the morning of July 4 was just two hours after he had reached
home.
The Commencement Exercises of Allegheny College occurred to-day,
there being twenty-six graduates, seven young ladies and nineteen young
men ready to go into the world to better its condition.
Gen. James A. Beaver, Governor of
Pennsylvania, was present and delivered an address.
I had heard Gen. Beaver before, but was glad of this additional
opportunity. All the
exercises pleased me greatly. The
Governor spoke in terms of praise of Allegheny College, and said that
instead of concentrating the institutions of learning in Pennsylvania into
one grand university, he was in favor of doubling their number.
Before relating the events of interest that occurred while on a
trip to Jamestown and Chautauqua, N. Y., early in August of this year, I
wish to speak of the peculiar circumstances under which the journey was
taken. I remember when I left
home first, as a boy, just what my feelings were at the parting with the
dear ones, and how I anticipated great pleasure in relating my experiences
upon my return. I was but a
boy, and the journey was but a short one, merely extending to Orange
County, N. Y., where I was to assist in driving a drove of cattle, yet to
me it seemed of the utmost importance, and I mingled not a little romance
in my thoughts of what was to befall me on the way.
Since then I have had many opportunities to leave home, and have
availed myself of most of them. Many,
many times have Eliza and I alone, or with our children, as the case might
be, left home, the dearest spot on earth to us, and gone forth for the
purpose of visiting friends or places at a distance.
Those were indeed happy days, and my heart beats with gratitude as
I recall them. Blest be the tie that binds us in union here on earth!
but, alas! all earthly
ties are made but to be broken asunder, and now the dear one, the better
half, is no longer here. I
have lived long enough to know what the loss of father and mother means,
and before realizing that I felt poignant grief over the death of my twin
brother; but who can estimate the greatness of the loss of a loving and
true wife. Since July 4, I
have been studying from this new book of experience.
I had heard others tell of loneliness, but what it meant in its
fullest force I did not know until I started to leave home on August 3,
1888. I had hardly realized
my position until now; my mind had been clouded by the shock of my wife's
death; but now the cloud was dissipated, and I felt that I was indeed
alone. In the words of Bunyan:
"The heart must be beaten and bruised, and then the sweet
scent will come out." Upon
this journey Eliza was neither to go with me nor to remain at home; she
had already departed to return no more.
The thought of going away without her overwhelmed me; I hardly knew
how to get ready to go, and my situation and feelings were desolate
indeed. At length the words
of Divine comfort came to me: I
will never leave thee, nor forsake thee, and I took heart and left home
upon my short tour, which was to include Jamestown and Chautauqua.
At Jamestown I saw Mr. F. Simmons, and
spent the night at my cousins', the Colts, with whom my Aunt Mary
Ann resides. My aunt's
mind had been failing for some time, but she gratified me by remembering
me, for, when her daughter, Mrs. Colt, said, "Do you know who this
is?" she replied,
"Yes, it's a gentleman from Meadville; don't you think I know
Francis?" After that she
addressed me as Francis often, somewhat to their surprise.
I reached Chautauqua on Saturday, August 4, at noon, and went to
the house of my friend, Mr. Mathews, on
Ramble Avenue, whence I went, at a later hour, to hear Dr.
Talmage lecture on the subject:
"The School for Scandal."
At eight in the evening there was an entertainment, entitled
"Picturesque America and British America," given by
Philip Philips. On Sunday, August 5, I heard Dr. Talmage preach in the
Amphitheater upon the text: And
through a window in a basket was I let down by the wall, or, as Dr.
Talmage called it "Paul in a basket."
After hearing this eminent clergyman lecture and preach, I was very
desirous to speak to him and shake his hand.
I have read many of his sermons, and once tried to hear him in
Brooklyn, but failed, as the church was closed; and I have always regarded
him as a friend, for I have profited by his work.
I could not resist the temptation, therefore, to attempt to have a
chat with him, and so, when I saw him part from Dr. Vincent, with whom he
walked from the Amphitheater, I approached, and overtaking him said:
"This is Dr. Talmage?"
"Yes," he replied, and then evidently seeing in me a
friend, he extended his hand. After
warm pressure I told him who I was, how much I had enjoyed his sermon and
lecture, and then, calling his attention to the sermon just delivered, I
told him I wished to be like one of the men who held the rope when Paul
was let down from the windows. He
smiled at this and said, that if I would read the sermon I would know
better what holding the rope meant than I would if he described it to me.
The names of the men who held the rope were unknown to the pages of
history, but were written in the Lamb's Book of Life. Their names were written in Heaven, for doing what they
could. I spoke to Dr. Talmage
of my biography and the SOUVENIR, and asked him if I might have the
pleasure of presenting one to him. He
said: "send me a copy," and with a heartfelt "God
bless you," we parted. On
Sunday evening Philip Philips gave an illustrative song service, with
views from the Bible and the life of John Bunyan.
The pictures were beautiful, and the hymns were sweetly sung. Scriptural reading closed the evening service.
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