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Excerpts from Souvenir Submitted by David M. Waid |
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1887
March 31, 1887--Success does not always depend on our own
exertions. After we have done
all in our physical power to bring about certain results, and have
seemingly failed, there is yet not alone hope of success for us, if in the
proper path of duty, but even a certainty of victory if we will take our
case to the Lord in prayer. "Prayer
is appointed to convey the blessings God designs to give."
We may mark out our way, but should always ask his approval.
"Man proposes, God disposes."
My experience of this day is not the first demonstrated in my life. A similar experience came to me December 14, 1886, and I
could recall many others; but I will forbear.
I have just spoken of Hope. How
thankful we ought to be for that desire of some good that "springs
eternal in the human breast!" Without
it man's life would be almost a blank.
It is true hope may be deceitful, but yet there is pleasure in
cherishing it. Peacock speaks
of "Those blest days when life was
new, And hope was false but love was
true." In the darkest hours of distress and despair, when all else
has deserted us, sweet hope remains.
It is a balm for every condition of life--" The miserable have
no other medicine, but only hope;" it is the Divinity ever stirring
within us. Byron thus
apostrophizes Hope: "Be thou the rainbow to the
storms of life, The evening beam that smiles the
clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic
ray." My son, Guinnip P., has been
married four years today, and has been living since then, with exception
of a short time, on the old farm.
I have received an interesting letter from
Mr. J. F. Hamilton, dated Muddy Creek, Loudon County, Tenn., March
29, 1887, a portion of which will be found in the Appendix.
This letter commences with general news, including an account of
the sale of Col. Easiley's estate, with a
pressing invitation for Frank and his wife,
and myself and my wife to visit his family, and attend the sale on May 5,
1887. Mr. Hamilton was
Frank's nearest neighbor, and had lived on Col. Easiley's farm several
years. We had the pleasure of
forming the family's acquaintance and visiting them when we were at our
son's place, in October, 1883.
April 4:, 1887--I copy from my personal journal the following:
November 11, 1852. May
I remember my teacher, Mr. S. S. Sears; may I
ever hold his name dear to me, and should it please God to spare my life
until I reach that place among men where I may be the means, in the hand
of Him who has created me, of doing good to all my fellows around me, I
still wish to remember Mr. Sears, who has been and now is so kind to me.
I may read these lines long hereafter, and I will always hold his
name dear to me. He has
treated me well, and labored hard to instruct me, for which I give him my
sincere thanks, this being all I have to give, though not all he deserves.
The following certificate was written by Mr. Sears and handed to
me:
November 11, 1852. To whomsoever it may concern: Sir: I take pleasure in recommending to you Francis
C. Waid as a young man every way capable of teaching a common
school, and well calculated to win the esteem of both parents and
scholars. S. S. SEARS, Teacher of Waterford Academy, Erie County, Pa.
Although Mr. Sears has passed from
earth, and his family are living far from here, in the West, yet as soon
as I learn their address I intend to send them a SOUVENIR with our best
wishes.
April 5, 1887--To-day I and my youngest son, Fred.
F., were near the northwest corner of the farm, in the hollow, and
close by the site where many years ago stood a saw-mill, cutting and
splitting into firewood (for our fire-place is still in use) an old
three-prong-forked pine log, that once lay in the mill-yard, on the side
hill, probably over forty years ago--indeed it may have been cut fifty
years ago. While thus
occupied my thoughts again became retrospective, flying back with magic
speed to days of long ago. I
remembered of my twin brother and myself visiting this old saw-mill when
we were little boys, when everything to our young senses had grand
proportions. And I also remember that one time when my twin brother and I
were there, we found our uncle, Washington Waid,
sawing. The mill, in those days, stood on what was known as the
"Goodwill Farm," on a little creek or run that meandered between
hills on either side, steep and lofty, more so below the mill than above
it, the valley or fiat being quite narrow.
It was then all woodland, but now there is no timber except below
the old mill site, and this and the sugar bush, probably 100 rods east of
this, include all the woodland on this farm.
So working away with my hands, cutting and splitting this old pine
log, and at the same time conjuring up visions of the past in my equally
busy mind, I felt, indeed, happy, and was ready to pity any man who had
his health and could not enjoy farm life, the oldest and best occupation
among men. On it all mankind
depend. The "king
himself is fed on the herb of the field."
In its day the saw-mill, just referred to, did considerable
business; but when I cast ray eyes on the limited bit of territory where
lay the source of its water-power, I wonder the mill was ever built on so
small a stream. This creek was the output of some neighboring springs,
namely: The Pitcher Spring
(now on the James Harris Farm), a little over
a mile southeast of the mill; a second one about three-fourths of a mile
southwest, on Jabez Goodrich's farm (now on
our farm); a third one on James Douglass'
farm, which united with some other springs in that locality; and a fourth
one, distant from the mill less than half a mile, and located on the east
side of our 100-acre meadow. Several years after the mill had ceased to do business, Justus
Goodwill began the erection of another one, constructing the dam
farther up the stream; but after doing some work on it he abandoned it,
and Ira C. Waid bought the property.
April 8, l887--To-day we attended the funeral of an only child of Harry
Roudebush, Ida by name, who, had she
lived till June 30, this year, would have been four years old.
Services were conducted in the Methodist Episcopal Church, Blooming
Valley, by Rev. Mr. Thompson, of Guy's Mills,
and friends and relatives whom we had not seen for a long time were
present. Among them were Bigler
Roudebush, son of my aunt, Clarissa U., and
uncle, George Roudebush (Bigler lives at
Erie, Penn., and his wife we met for the first time at this funeral), also
Mr. and Mrs. Charles Gilmore, from Bradford,
Penn., and Mrs. Scott, from Dakota.
Some time after this funeral Mr. and Mrs.
Bigler Roudebush sent me a photograph of one of my dearest
aunts--my father's youngest sister, Mrs. Clarissa U. Roudebush--and her
youngest son, Bigler, whom she is represented holding in her arms when a
child. Bigler is now (1887) a
young man, married, and in the employment of William
Densmore, who is engaged extensively in the manufacturing of flour
in Erie, Penn. We had
likenesses of his father and mother sent to us after the death of my
parents, which we prize highly, and this to be supplemented by the one
sent by my cousin, Bigler Roudebush, was
indeed an agreeable surprise. If
this comes in the nature of a complimentary return for a single copy of my
SOUVENIR, the pleasure to me is such that I believe I will never regret
the labor and expense incurred in trying to benefit a thousand or more of
my kindred and friends in the same way.
I wish my liberality to be commensurate with my means, and may it
be influenced by Divine help in the various channels wherein I shall
accomplish the most good. How
I love this great truth written for our good:
God loveth a cheerful giver. Life
is worth living when He rules our motive.
Take my yoke upon you, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
How heavy our burdens would be without his aid, how easy with it! It was not taught by Him in vain, The merciful shah peace obtain; But they who to the end endure, Will find His promise fixed and sure. 'Twas eighteen hundred fifty-one, This Christian course had then begun, The Bible truth which makes all free, Then proved a blessing unto me. My years have very sweetly flown, When in search of truth alone; And while working in the field, His word to me did comfort yield. Contented now by day or night, For His landmarks are in sight, Which point me to His favor given, And lead me upward unto Heaven.
F. C. Waid
May 20, 1887--Ephraim Smith, a farmer,
who moved in the spring of 1853 from Randolph Township, this county, to
Lee County, Iowa, thence years afterward to New London, Henry Co., same
State, is at present on a visit, after an absence of thirty-four years, to
relatives and friends here.
Twice I met him and his family in Iowa, namely in the fall of 1860,
when visiting my brother, George N., and in
November, 1880, when my brother, just mentioned, G.
W. Cutshall and myself paid him a visit.
Ephraim Smith (Ephraim Smith is still
living (December 28, 1889) at Rundell's, this county.
He went West, then returned, preferring Crawford County to his
former home, where to spend the rest of his life) is the only member of
his family now living; his wife, Emeline,
died October 27, 1885, at the age of sixty-nine years and nine months, and
is interred in the cemetery at New London, Iowa.
Mr. Smith is now aged three-score-and-ten years, having been born
March 2, 1817, in Greene County, N. Y., and as he himself says this is
probably his last visit, as he is in but indifferent health. At his request, before leaving our home, I had the pleasure
of handing him a copy of my SOUVENIR.
William Robins died to-day at his home
in Blooming Valley, aged, I believe, about eighty.
He was postmaster for several years at Blooming Valley.
May 25, 1887--Although I have seen my fifty-fourth birthday, I have
never sought office. Not long
since I was pleased to learn through the newspapers that C.
R. Slocum is a candidate for the office of prothonotary, and no one
could I more heartily support, as I told him when he dropped in on us for
a social visit this evening. The time was when we spent many hours in each other's
company, but nowadays we meet so seldom that it is more like a renewal of
old friendship than otherwise.
May 29--After the taking up of a collection at State Road Church to
pay the presiding elder's claim, it was found to be about $3 short, and
this amount I gave with the remark to our pastor that I would like to see
him accomplish whatever he undertook. The following incident I here mention for two reasons: It is, in my opinion, not only due to the memory or, the late lamented Rev. James Wygant, but it is the last compliment paid me in my presence at State Road Society, a short time prior to Mr. Wygant's sickness and death. At the close of the meeting the question of finance was brought up in connection with our pastor's salary; and here I will remark that I fear we were not only slow sometimes, but delinquent in meeting our obligations. Brother Wygant once said: "I have known my friend [referring to F. C. Waid], after paying his share of the disbursements, hand over $50 more toward meeting the expenses and paying the preacher's claim, rather than see them go unpaid." If there is any honor in contracting a debt, I certainly think there is in paying it. Render to all their dues, and who is more worthy than our minister. The workman is worthy of his hire. I ought to be liberal in supporting the Gospel, for all the good it has done for me has never yet been fully told. There is so much evil in the world that we ought to be sleepless in our efforts to infuse all the good we can. Our natural propensity or disposition is to evil, and evil is a habit. Alas! "the chains of habit are generally too small to be felt, till they are too strong to be broken." All good alone is the ideal, good and evil both are the real. "The ideal is older than the real," writes Richter, "There were spotless angels before there were fallen angels." I often think as Benjamin Franklin did when, after reading Thomas Paine's manuscript on infidelity, he said to him: "Do not unchain the tiger; let no other eye see it; burn it. If the world is so bad with religion, what would it be without it?"
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