Margaret E. Morrison, writings on early Carroll Co OH settlements

A few typographical errors occur. It has been said that it takes several editions to eliminate all mistakes of a book in print, grammatical

expression, and whatnot; and as this is the first issue, it is not so bad. We think every one can easily understand what is meant.

     On Friday, September 13th, 1850, a little girl came into the house of a Godly Scotch-Irish couple living in the village of
New Hagerstown, Carroll County, Ohio. The father[3] was American born, but could trace his ancestry back to the Stuarts
of Scotland. The mother[4] was born in Ireland, coming to America when she was eleven years of age. They came to Ohio
from Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania[5]. They settled first in Tuscarawas County, where the oldest child[6], a son was
born in 1837. Shortly afterwards they moved to Carroll County, where they lived for forty years; that is, some of the family,
and occupied the same house, except for a short time during which the family home was being repaired.

     The father was the "village blacksmith," a good man and, like his predecessor, made famous by Longfellow's poem, "He
went on Sunday to the church and sat among his boys. He heard the parson pray and preach." It was told of him that when
the dirt and grime were washed away, he was often taken for a preacher. There were five members of the family when the little
girl made her appearance. They were named respectively: Samuel M., Martha B., John T., Nance E.[7], and Mary J.[8] and the
little girl was named Margaret E. She grew up, as all do, in the atmosphere of a loving, Christian home. Almost the only recollection
she had of her father was upon the day of his funeral when she was about three years old and her oldest sister lifted her up to look
upon his face for the last time. The same sister told her how fond he was of her, how he held her in his arms, rocking her and
singing the dear old familiar hymns of Isaac Watts.

     Another child had come into the home, a son named Alexander J., who was only three months old at the time of the father's
death. There was nothing unusual nor striking in her early years. She was fond of music and early learned to sing. She also loved
books, and it is related of her that one day as she was holding a book and pretending to read, some one observed that the book
was upside down, and told her so. "Oh." she said, "I read heels foremost." She learned to read early, and before starting to school
at the ageof five, had read through McGuffey's First Reader. Her childhood and school days were happy ones. She was a regular
attendant at the old schoolhouse on the hill and having a very retentive memory, made good progress in learning, especially in spelling;
and, when on Friday afternoons, as was the custom then, the time was spent in spelling, she was always the first one chosen by the
captain. She was not a model pupil, nor the teacher's pet, for she was too full of fun and eager to talk to always please the teacher,
but was commended for knowing her lessons. In those early days, the pleasures were simple, but various. In summer the girls would
build play houses, modeled after the home, carpet them with the green, velvety moss brought from the adjacent woods, furnish the
home-made cupboards with broken, discarded dishes brought from home, and then play at keeping house. The cups and saucers
were acorns. Then, as now, the girls skipped the rope and had much the same games. In the evenings the boys and girls of the
neighborhood gathered together in front of one's home, on the beaten-down, hard earthen pavement (no concrete pavement then),
and played the same old games as now. In the winter they rode on sleds, snowballed, waded in the snow, and made photographs
therein. Oh, those were the happy days! Then at night there were writing schools, literary societies, and spelling bees. As they grew
older and aped the ways of the older folk, one leap year Margaret and her chum, Mary, made bold enough to ask two of the neighbor
boys if they could see them home; but they, more timid and perhaps afraid of the laughter of others, started to run, and the girls
catching hold of their coat-tails, ran too until they reached their homes.

     The mother of the little girl was a wonderful woman--not great as the world calls great, not blessed with much of this world's
goods, and her education limited. She was blessed by Nature and grace, with a large fund of good, Christian common sense, and
impressed one favorably as one who knew. She was a great reader, a good talker, and active in all home and community duties. She
was one how "lived by the side of the road and was a friend to man." Her home was always open to all, and was the rendezvous of
the young people. Like the only woman called great in the Bible, she had a prophet's chamber in her home, and when traveling
ministers came to preach, they found a home there. She was a helper to her pastor, one upon whom he could always rely. Early left
a widow with seven children, she brought them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Early were they sent to Sabbath school
and church, and whenever possible, she went with them. Three times a day a blessing was asked upon the food, and night and morning
she gathered her family together for family prayers. The children were taught to pray, read the Bible, and learn the catechism. On Sabbath afternoons they remained at home, no gadding about, but reading some good literature; and in the evening the mother examined them
in the catechism--and later the children rose up and called her blessed. All were members of their father's and mother's church, the
Presbyterian. Left alone as she was, she had to work hard to provide for her family, and many were the sacrifices she made for them,
and I am glad to pay this tardy tribute to her memory.

     The village boasted of an Academy, founded in 1837 by the Godly men of the church. It was a great advantage to the neighborhood,
and she counted among its Professors many able men; and was well patronized by people for many miles around. This mother sent all her children to the Academy, after finishing school in the public school, and thus they were enabled to secure a good education and developed
into a teaching family, six of the seven becoming successful teachers--some of them at a very early age, and the eldest and youngest
daughters not only taught in the public schools, but in the Academy as well.

     The years rolled on and brought the Civil War. The two elder sons, who had left home and were teaching in the western part of
the State, enlisted in the Union Army, one as Captain, the other as Orderly Sergeant. They fought at Fort Donelson, Shiloh and other
places; later were transferred to a gunboat and were in the vicinity of Vicksburgh, at the time of the surrender. The older son[9] was
wounded, took sick with pneumonia, and his life was sacrificed for his country. He was then a Major. The other son[10] served through
the three years, re-enlisted, became a Captain, and at the close of the war returned home. After a short time at home, he, with other
pioneers, went to the new State of Kansas, where they founded a town. He was active in all the affairs of his adopted State, was a
member of the State Legislature, and finally died in Kansas. The wife and three children remain.

     During the war, in 1864, the second daughter[11] married a well-to-do man[12] of her own village who owned a farm on the outskirts.
She lived at this place until her death. Only one of this family is now living[13]. The oldest daughter[14] married a Presbyterian minister
who preached in Ohio for seven years, then removed to Pennsylvania, where he served the same charge forty years, then retired. Just
prior to the 50th anniversary of their marriage, he was called home, and his grave is in the cemetery where two former pastors had served
the same church the same length of time. His wife survived him about seven years; then God called her. Five children survive.

     But two of the family remain, the youngest daughter--the writer--and the youngest son[15]. This daughter is the "other little girl," and
she is so thankful to the Heavenly Father that her home was in this family and that her life has been spared so long, and has been such a
happy one. Before she was eighteen she became a teacher and always found pleasure in the work. She loved it, and had many pleasant experiences which would be interesting to record, if there were time. She made many friends and has the blessed assurance that she has
helped many among whom she worked to lead a better life. She feels greatly indebted to many of her old pastors for the lessons they
taught her in early life, which have helped to influence her later life. She taught different public schools in Carroll, Tuscarawas and Harrison counties, Ohio; then for several years in the New Hagerstown Academy, which she left to become the wife of a Presbyterian minister[16],
to share his work in bringing souls to Christ. The life was a trying one, but had many pleasures and rewards. The work began in Ohio,
our native State, then among the warm-hearted Nebraska people, back in Ohio, then to Pennsylvania, and back to Ohio. She worked in missionary societies--local church societies; and feels grateful that she was permitted to do so, and her prayer is that her work was not in
vain. In 1921, her husband was not;--for God took him while he was still in the prime of his usefulness. Since then, she has passed through many trials, but not alone, for God has been kind to her, and her three children do all possible for her comfort and happiness. She and
daughter live together in Shadyside, Ohio.

     The youngest son[17] of the parent family is a good Christian man. For years he has been an elder in the Presbyterian Church, and
his one aim is to serve God and advance His Kingdom. His wife[18] is dead, and he has left a fine family of four.

     As said before, The Other Little Girl early learned to read. In those days children started to school at the age of five, and before then
she had read McGuffey's First Reader, and could repeat "See the fox," "I like to see a little dog," "Twinkle, twinkle, little star," and others
of like nature. One of the first books was "Mother Goose's Rhymes," gotten up in rebus style; and she was early introduced to "The New England Primer," with the picture on the front of John Rogers being burnt at the stake, and inside, the alphabet illustrated with pictures and rhymes conveying to youthful minds such lessons as "In Adam's fall, we sinned all," and "Zaccheus he did climb a tree, his Lord to see,"
and others between. The same book furnished the knowledge of "Who was the first man?" "The oldest man?" "The wisest man?" "The
meekest man?" and so forth, which knowledge was never forgotten, and proved of much profit. She was early taught "Now I lay me"
and "The Lord's Prayer" and to read the Bible and study the catechism; and before she was nine, had conquered both "The Child's" and
"The Shorter Catechisms" which the good mother insisted on her learning. IT was done with much opposition and sometimes with tears,
but how many times since she has had occasion to thank the dear mother, for it has proved a mine of Scriptural information, doctrine and comfort. She early read "The Pilgrim's Progress," but could not always understand John Bunyan's figures of speech. She was enraptured
with "The Scottish Chiefs," which the Scotch-Irish mother early allowed her to read, and was on of the mother's favorite books.; and she
could explain and make clear many things found in it. But candor compels me to say that not all of her readings were of this strictly orthodox kind. She never cared much for fairy tales, but did like "The Arabian Nights," "Robinson Crusoe" and "Swiss Family Robinson," and I must confess that some writings, known in those days as "Yellow back," she liked. Also wild Indian tales and tales of adventure, but I am free
to say that none of those tales ever left as bad impressions as some of the so-called popular fiction of today. The school she attended, for
she grew up in the same village where she was born, was typical of the public schools of the day, undraded, and made up of children of
every age and type, from the abecedarian to the few who aspired to History and the higher branches. One room, one school-teacher--
sometimes male, sometimes female, some good, some not so good, some liked, some disliked, very little equipment for work, nothing
done to make it attractive; yet, in defiance of all, much good was done.

     McGuffey's Spellers and Readers were used, and I want to pay a tribute to them in passing. I have never seen better, and the
lessons learned from the Readers abide with us forever. Ray's Arithmetic, Pinneo's Grammar, and I do not recall whose Geography,
but all were expected to be able to find the States, name and locate capitals, rivers, lakes and bays, no matter how small nor in what
division of the world; and the little girl can still remember the thrill when Lake Tehad was correctly placed in Africa and the desert of
Gobi in Asia, and not vice versa. Every day was full. The little ones had to be taught their letters, and when it came to spelling and reading
there were almost as many classes as pupils; and when it came to other branches, it was not much better. There was not much time for
the higher branches, but those who wanted them made good headway in spite of difficulties. Of course, there were the dull scholars, the
"I don't care" scholars; but, all things considered, progress was made. The old school-house stood at the upper end of the old pastor's
apple orchard, and in the summer time it was often granted as a reward of merit to the best scholars, one or two at a time could be given permission to withdraw from the school-room, betake themselves unto the orchard and oh! what a pleasure it was to climb a tree, ensconce oneself amid the leafy branches of a tree, book in hand presumably for the purpose of studying, but at any rate--rest, look about and hear
the birds sing.

      Perhaps I should say something about the early home of "The Other Little Girl." Not quite like Rome, seated on her seven hills, yet
the village was surrounded by seven hills, all of some height, but one especially was called "The Big Hill," and was a gathering place for
the young people on summer evenings The village was a small one. In its palmist days it might have boasted a population of two or three hundred. It was founded a good many years ago by a sturdy set of Presbyterians who preserved their traditional love for church and school,
and early in its existence it had both. It was founded long before the advent of the iron horse in its neighborhood, but was on the highway traveled by the farmers of Pennsylvania, to a port on the canal a few miles farther on, where their grain was shipped on the canal and carried
to its destination. Even in the little girl's time, some of those large, old Conestoga wagons loaded with grain and drawn by from six to eight strong, beautiful horses, decorated with gaudy harness and ringing bells, would drive through the village to the shipping port, causing much excitement.     There was one long street leading north and south, which was intersected by three short ones. At the southern extremity there was an old Baptist church building where services had been held by a resident of the village, but in the little girl's time no service was held in it. At the other extremity was a cooper shop. On the right and on the left a few yards away was God's acre, where "the rude forefathers of the hamlet slept."

     Across the street in another direction from the store and well, spoken of, stood a large building, the room on the corner being used
for a store and the rest of the building as a dwelling-house. A house stood opposite that building and the little girl's home between which
the street ran, but there were no residences, and the end of the street was called "the common." Whether it in any way resembled the
Boston common, I know not, but both had one thing in common--cow paths crossed them both. It was often use as a playground and,
being a shorter way to the church, was often used in that way. About the middle of the long street a run came trickling down, ran under
a bridge, on through a meadow, emptying into Conotton creek below town, on its way to the sea. Near the run stood a house, and very
near it was the tannery, a mysterious place to children. The third cross street was at the upper end of the street, and on one end of it
were two or three homes. The other end was the road to the adjoining village. A house stood on each corner; one of the at one time
housed a store and was also a residence.

     The village, like all villages, had its eccentric characters--good, sensible people, but with a strain of the peculiar in them. There
was the gossip, the Bedminster, the one who attended to others' business, and the town joker. One of these characters was
"Ca_ie[19] Robert," an old gentleman who, like any other old people, lived in the past, forgetting the present and the future. He was
a garrulous old gentleman, who, by his constant references to what he had seen and known in his youth became somewhat monotonous
to all hearers. He was constantly referring to "the good old days" and bemoaning the present, forgetting that the wise man said, "Say
not thus, that the former days were better than these, for thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this."

     Next door to where the little girl lived, lived a family of father, mother and four sons. There had been a daughter, but she was
taken away while young, and as this family almost adopted the little girl, their home was her second home. The father was an Irishman,
small, quick, witty, and often sarcastic. He had a small grocery store in one room of the house and the village post-office occupied one
corner of it. Here was the gathering place for all, and many jokes were exchanged while waiting for the mail to be distributed. Never
did candy taste like the red and white striped sticks in the jars on his shelves; and oh, the sticks of licorice and licorice drops! This man
was "Uncle Johnny[20]" to everybody, and his good wife was known as "Aunt Hannah[21];" and many testified that never were such ginger-cakes made and eaten as she doled out to chance buyers. One of the boys[22] was of rather rovish disposition and, at times,
sorely vexed his father with his vagaries. When the father could stand it no longer, he would say: "Joseph, the time has come when we
must part." And Joseph would say: "Where do you think you will go, Pop!" That would end it for the time. "Uncle Johnny" kept bees,
and the day they swarmed was one of the red-letter days for the little girl. He would tie up his face and head in a green beige veil, put
on gloves and sally forth, bell in hand, ringing it till the bees became disgusted and settled down on one of the apple trees in the garden.
And the remembrance of these apple trees thrills me yet. Some of them hung over into the little girl's garden, and in the spring what
beauty and fragrance were shared; and when the time for fruitage came it was an unwritten law that all that fell on our side were ours--and
how delicious the fruit was!

     Strange to say, another character was Irish, and his name, too, was "Johnny." He was a tailor, and was a regular Irish dandy, with
his stiff starched shirt, collar and cuffs, dapper clothes, and stovepipe hat, stepping briskly along with his small feet daintily encased in
shining shoes, and his step indicated that it would be easy for him to change to a jig or a Highland fling.

     Another Irishman! But his name was "Billy" and a shoemaker. He was a jolly, good natured fellow--always a "hail fellow-well-met"
with everybody, and a great joker and singer; and it was a delight to hear his rollicking voice singing Irish songs. But alas! he had learned
to love whiskey, and was often under its influence, and, though not quarrelsome, it only unloosed his tongue and made more of a wag
of him than ever. But the parents did not like to see their boys in his shop, for he would put the bottle to his neighbor's lips. Speaking of
him reminds me of another--a young man, son of a Baptist minister, bright, well-educated, with a beautiful voice, and such a knowledge
of music, that he made a wonderful teacher. He, too, unfortunately, fell under the power of drink. He made many efforts to reform, but
alas! too often broke over and yielded to temptation. At last, he united with the church, and did well for several years. At his death the
veil was drawn over all his misdeeds and mistakes, and all hoped that the Lord had taken him away from further temptation.

     There were two sisters, not spinsters either, who made themselves self-appointed mentors over the actions of the younger set, and
the girl who laughed too loudly or was seen walking the street with a young man, or to the young man who with a flourish drove his buggy
to a girl's door to go riding. As said before, there were many good singers, and much was made of music. Among the leaders in the music
was "Uncle Benny," who trained choirs for many years. He was a good man as well as a good singer. He was an elder in the church for
many years, was a Sabbath school teacher, and well liked by everybody, and it was a pleasure to hear his rich, tenor voice in song.

     The old Pastor[23] has been spoken of, but it may not be amiss to say more of him. Like Barnabas, he was a good man and full of
the Holy Ghost. In his earlier years, before coming to the village, he had been a missionary among the Indians, and he continued to be a missionary all his life. What is very rare, no one was ever known to say a harmful word of him. "None knew him but to love him; none
named him but to praise." Even the village sot once said of him, "If ever there was a saint on earth, he was one." He loved children, and
they loved him. Never thought of going out of their way lest he should meet them, for he always met them with a smile and kind word,
and always managed before he left them to drop a word that would lead them to think of God and their duty to Him--and all without cant
or studied effect. Such was the good old Pastor. He lived to a good old age and came to his grave "full of years and like a shock of corn,
fully ripe." His wife[24] was a worth helpmate. A refined, cultured English woman, who looked well to the ways of her house, yet found
time to be a friend to the humble people among whom they lived. As one instance, the little girl remembers of her mother telling that in the summer on Sabbath day she would clean up her family of little boys and send them to Sabbath school barefooted, that there might not be
too much difference between their appearance and the other village boys. They brought up a fine family. Only one is left, a son. He
devoted his life to teaching and witnessing for Christ; and in many ways, is a replica of his father. His students are scattered all over the
United States, and some in other lands, and all speak well of him and attribute much of their well-doing to his faithful counsels.

     The next pastor was a different kind of man, a good man, stern, inflexible, and had no particular love for sinners. He was well
educated, a better scholar perhaps, but was not so lovable. He served for a time as Chaplain during the Civil War. He and his wife both
taught in the Academy and were both good instructors.

     Among the many good people of the community was one who was always "Uncle Frank[25]" to our family. While not blood relations,
the families were very closely related. They came about the same time to the new home in Ohio from the same neighborhood in Pennsylvania, and Uncle Frank's name was the same as the maiden name of the little girl's mother; and one of her brothers married a sister of his, and
the families were closely akin to each other. Uncle Frank owned a farm near the village, not more than a mile away, and scarcely ever did
he come to the village without bringing something to "Aunt Sarah," as the little girl's mother was known in his family. Potatoes, apples,
and the Spitzbergen Rambos, and other choice varieties, known to us in those days; buckwheat; and at butchering time, choice morsels of
both pork and beef found their way into her home. His was a pleasant and hospitable home, and it was always a great pleasure to be allowed
to visit there, helping with the work on the farm, picking apples, gathering stones off the fields to build fences, and in many other pleasant
ways, spending the time; and at meal time, around the well-filled table, partaking, among the other good things of the delicious biscuit Aunt Caroline[26] was famed for making.

     The road to the house led up a hill, and about half way to the top was a large, flat stone which was always called "Grand-mother's Stone," for his aged mother[27] made her home with him, and in her trips to the village when she reached this stone she was ready to rest, as were
many of the younger generation. The house was plain, but comfortable, and before the door stood a large tree, with spreading branches,
and to its boughs was fastened a swing, which was a pleasure to all children. The spring and spring-house were under the shade of another
tree, and, like David of old, some of us are tempted to wish that one would bring us a drink from the well of Bethlehem. The garden was
full of old-fashioned flowers--larkspur, peonies, Jacob's ladder, Easter flowers, holly-hocks, lilacs, snowballs, and others. Do you wonder
that we liked to go there! There were many other good people in the community that I would like to speak of, but time and space forbid.
     There were a few outstanding days in the village, and one of the most important was that on which the closing exercises of the Academy took place. There were no commencements in those days, no baccalaureate sermons, no alumni banquets, but I am free to confess that,
then as now, there was a freshening up of costumes; and the ever old and new question of "What shall I wear?" These occasions were
called Exhibitions, whether because of the new gowns exhibited or the learning they had gleaned during the year; but at all events, they were memorable occasions, and did give room to the friends to congratulate themselves when orations, essays, declamations, debates, and music, were rendered by those chosen for the occasion. And these were comparable to those given today. On one occasion a young lady prepared
and read an essay in Latin, something not often done in these days. Sometimes these occasions were held on the lawn in the rear of the Academy building. A large platform would be erected, and there would be seated the notables, the teachers, members of the Board, and performers. Rough board seats would be placed on the ground for the accommodation of the spectators, of whom there were many.

     Other times they were held in the church, which gave a better chance for decoration. Days before, some of the boys would go on the
train several miles where could be found pine trees. These would be brought in, and then what a jolly time both boys and girls would have making wreaths of the pine boughs and festooning the walls of the church. An added decoration was made by using red oil calico and white muslin which had been cut into narrow strips, then raveled out, until only a few threads remained, when they were twisted together and
formed into beautiful trimmings for the dandeliers. That was before the advent of electric light, gas, and even oil, and home-made tallow
dips furnished the illuminating power. (Think of it, twentieth century boys and girls!) Abundance of home-grown and wild flowers graced
the place until the old church became a bower of beauty.

     Early on the morning of the appointed day, groups of people came--all roads leading to the church. Old students came by the score,
and it was a truly gala day; and how important and anxious were those chosen to perform; also the feeling of pride in the friends! It was
the time for renewing old friendships and the making of new ones, and many romances had their origin there. "Aunt Hannah" would have
on sale some of her favorite ginger-cakes, and here and there you would see walking or standing by, groups of old and young people, who
still evidently enjoyed these delicacies. The people were rather conservative in those days and inclined to favor the old order of things
rather than change to any new-fangled ideas. The little girl remembers of hearing of a former student who after leaving there, went to a
higher institution and came back on one of those occasions a full-fledged doctor. That was innovation number one, and in itself was
sufficient; but when she appeared on the scene dressed in bloomers, imagine, if you can, the consternation. The good old ladies who had
known her in earlier days were nonplussed and scarcely knew what to do or to say. Many ominous shakes of the head were made and
such sentences as these were heard: "I always liked Becky and thought she was a good, sensible girl--but--I do not know." "Did you ever!"
"I wonder what next." And so on. And some were even afraid to speak to her, lest they should seem to be countenancing such deviations
from the conventional.

     Then, too, butchering day was a wonderful time! Very early on this morning, if on no other, all were astir. A huge fire was built
and stones piled in it; a large kettle filled with water was near; and when the stones were thoroughly heated, they were thrown into it
to boil up; and after the skillful marksman had used his rifle, the reverberations of which sounded like thunder in the youngster's ears,
the body of the animal was plunged into the kettle and the work proceeded, until its finish, when the women had rendered the lard, and
the men had cut up the animals and part of the meat had been run through the sausage grinder which turned out the sausage that, later
with real buckwheat cakes, made a breakfast fit for a king, or any one else for that matter. The rest being cut up and salted down, made
the meat for the coming year.

     Thrashing was another important event. Although living in a village, the surrounding farms came close to the edge, and many
had near friends on the farms, and would be invited to come and see the thrashing being done. The huge, lumbering machine would
pull up, giving such a thrill as not even the sight of a railroad train would in those days, or the huge, fast-going automobile of today
does. All the men and boys of the neighborhood were there, and there seemed to be something for each one to do. The smoke would
belch forth from the engine, the feeders would pour in the sheaves at one place, and at another would come, the clean grain and chaff.
The grain would be stored in bags and hauled away, and where in the morning was seen the huge stack of grain, nothing remained but
straw. And the dinner!--neighbors were there to help, and the tables running the length of the kitchen groaned under the abundance of good things to eat.

     Another day stands out distinctly; during the heated campaign for Governor between John Brough and C.L. Vallandingham, when
there was so many political meetings held throughout the State. On the occasion to which I refer, one of these was arranged to be held
in Carrollton, our county seat, about twelve miles away. The political leaders had been busy for several days working up a demonstration,
and early in the morning of the great day a hay wagon, comfortably fitted up and drawn by thirty-six of the finest horses in the community, decked with fine trappings, and each one with a rider, drove into the village. Soon the wagon was filled with thirty-six of the brightest and
fairest of the young ladies of the community, among them one of the sisters of the little girl. They were all dressed in white, with the
national colors as decorations, and made a fine appearance. Of course, there were flags and music, and such a demonstration could not
fail to bring out the curious and interested from all the parties, and so amid much hilarity and excitement they were off to enjoy a glorious
day.

     After reading some things in the foregoing, one might infer that the village was not altogether dry. It was not. It must be remembered
that this was a long time before the era of prohibition and in the days of the open saloon. While this village did not have a saloon, one a
mile away from it had, and then, as now, those badly wanting strong drink could get it. The majority were strict teetotalers, and when
the Women's Crusade was on good mothers of the town lent their aid, prayed, sang, and plead with the saloon keepers, and succeeded
in having the liquor destroyed.

     The little girl, grown to maturity then, has a very vivid recollection of having stood on picket duty one night; and with what fear it
was done. There are many other pleasant personal recollections which would be interesting; but as all can not be given, none will be
undertaken. The self-imposed task of the little girl is done. It has been a labor of love--done, I must confess, from a selfish motive--to
revive old, old associations and friendships, and leave to her children some idea of the days of yore.