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P I O N E E R   A N D   P E R S O N A L

R E M I N I S C E N C E S.
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I am requested to give some reminiscences of the early settlement of Kirtland and the neighboring townships. I am not very well prepared for the task, having no records to refer to, and considering the fact that I was but little over five years old when I came to Kirtland, and that over seventy-eight years have elapsed since that time, some allowance must be made for the frailty of human memory. My father had traded his farm in Massachusetts with Joshua Stow, of Middleton, Conn. for 680 acres of land in New Connecticut, or the Connecticut Western Reserve, and now know generally as the Reserve. I have often been asked why Northeastern Ohio is called the Reserve. The answer in brief is, that the charters of the original colonies from the English crown clashed and overlapped each other. Virginia's charter covered nearly half the North American continent; Connecticut's charted extended to the Pacific ocean, covering a large part of New York, Pennsylvania, and the northern part of Ohio. After the revolution the colonies, then states in the Union, ceded to the general government all their western lands, except that Virginia reserved a portion of land in southern Ohio, which she had promised to her soldiers as a bounty. These lands are known as the Virginia military lands, and Connecticut reserved a portion of her lands in Ohio -- beginning at a point where latitude 42nd north crosses the west line of Pennsylvania to Lake Erie, and west 120 miles, containing between three and four million acres. A half million acres of these lands from the west end of the Reserve were given to the city of New London, on account of the burning of that city by the British, lead by the traitor Arnold. These were called the "Fire Lands" in an early day, but the name has become obsolete and forgotten. The balance of the Reserve was sold to the Connecticut Land Company for one millions two hundred thousand dollars, which went into the common school fund of Connecticut. 

But to return from this digression to pioneer times. My father arrived in Unionville late in May; left his family with Deacon Martin (an old neighbor of his in Massachusetts), while he selected his lands. He had his choice of the south tract in Madison, the south tract in Kirtland, and the township of Stow in Portage county. He selected lots 88, 89, 90 and parts of lots 82 and 87, in Kirtland. Some two hundred acres of these lands were for John Morse, father of the later Col. John F. Morse, who was to have joined us in the spring. He then moved his family to Mentor and put up with Judge Clapp while he built a cabin on his selection at what is now known as Peck's Corners, seven miles distant

by the old Chillicothe road. This road was cut out by General Paine at government expense, the only road then from Northeastern Ohio to Chillicothe, the capital of Ohio at the time. It left the ridge road at Judge Clapp's, running into a southwesterly direction to the Martindale farm in Kirtland; thence in a southeast to a point east of the Holbrook farm, now owned by George Sleemin, thence southwest to intersect the present road a little south of the north line of Chester township. My father in after years got an alteration of this road, running it from Chester down by Peck's Corners to Kirtland Flats; thence in a northeasterly direction to intersect the ridge road at the Sawyer farm in Mentor, a little west of the site of the old Avenue House -- thereby shortening the distance and getting better ground for a road. While in Mentor at Judge Clapp's, many Indians passed going west. They seemed to understand that war was impending with Great Britain long before we did, and did not mean to be caught in Eastern Ohio and Pennsylvania with an American force between them and other western tribes and British allies. After we moved into Kirtland there was a camp of Indians about two miles from us, just over the line in Chester, on land now owned by Hezekiah Bassett, but they very soon left. 

In the future number I will give what I know about the early settlement and pioneer life in Kirtland and neighboring townships, which is probably about as much as Horace Greeley knew about farming, but I have not the faculty that he had of telling what I don't know or do know and making it interesting.

 

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The war of 1812 nearly put a stop to farther settlement of what is now Lake county. Madison I think was more thickly settled at that time than any other township of the county, and Unionville as large as Painesville. The names that I recollect were Nathan Warner, Sr., and Nathan, Jr., Judge Tappan, Potter, and the old gentleman Cunningham, his sons Amos, Artemas and Cyrus, and their cousin Cush. Cunningham, Ladd, Brewster, Turney, Wheeler (who afterwards represented Geagua county in the Legislature), and Mixer. Perry was then an almost unbroken wilderness. Although one of the best townships of land on the lake shore, for some reason it did not settle as early as the other townships. I remember none of its inhabitants at that early day. In Painesville there were General Paine, General King, Eli Bond, Uri Seeley, Sessions, Captain Skinner, Hall, Sam Butler, Williams, Frank Paine, Mr. Pepoon and sons. In Concord there were Benai Jones, father of Mrs. Jonathan Goldsmith (who died a few years ago at over 100 years of age). Goldsmith and family came from Berkshire county, Mass., in company with us, both with ox and teams, thirty two days on the road. There were Nye and Blish, father of Benjamin and Zenas Blish. Zenas enlisted in the war of 1812, and was supposed to have been killed, and was not heard from for several years after the close of the war. In the meantime the old gentleman died, leaving the farm to Benjamin. I recollect Benjamin coming to our house to get father to survey out the farm and divide it. He said that Zenas had come home -- that Zenas wanted a farm just as much as he did. Father went and divided the farm, one-half being deeded to Zenas -- showing that the almighty dollar did not then estrange

brethren and friends as it does now, although the mighty dollar was painfully scarce in those days.

Probably the first settler in Mentor were Charles Parker and Ebenezer Merry. They began the ridge road and the lake. Merry's opening was known as the Merry lot for years afterwards. Parker was one of the assistants in surveying the Reserve. They were not permanent residents, but left in 1811 or 1812, and went farther west. Truman Griswold came at an early day. He was quite a hunter and trapper, and did much to rid this section of wolves, which were very dangerous and troublesome at that time. A man by the name of Fobes lived on the farm now owned by John Warren. He had several girls which I thought were very handsome. Judge Clapp had a large farm. Charles Prentiss now owns the party lying north of the road. On the site of the old log house south of the road now stands a fine framed house. I do not know the present owner's name. I think Warren Corning was the next settler west. He was a man of much enterprise and public spirit. He had been there some years -- kept tavern, and I suppose dispensed good liquors. He built and operated a distillery on his own premises, also one in Kirtland a few years later. He did not mean that the early settlers should suffer for the want of spirituous comforts, which were then considered a part of the necessaries of life. There was a distillery operated by a Mr. Fox between Corning's and Chagrin, now Willoughby, and a brewery a little west of Willoughby, and a peach brandy still in the village. As there was then no foreign demand for whiskey, these establishments gave our sparse settlers a good supply -- perhaps four times as much per capita as consumed now. There were several other settlers in West Mentor. I recollect only a Mr. Bacon, Abel Russell and several boys, nearly young men, and Mr. Jonathan Russell. It is related of him that he took a bushel of what on his horse to pay his bill, mounted his horse, took his girl on behind and went to Painesville to a dance. There were three ways of attending dance and merry-making parties -- go on horseback with the girl behind, or with a yoke of cattle and sled, summer or winter, or go on foot. The first was the most genteel, and a horse that would carry double was invaluable. My father had one that would not carry double, and it detracted very much from its value. In my next I will tell you what little I know about Chagrin.

 

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At Willoughby (then Chagrin) there was a settlement, and had been for several years. Christopher Colson, Lewis Abbott, Humphrey and Wirt, Samuel and Noah Wirt and their mother. I do not recollect the old gentleman, and think he was not living at that time. They had been there for some years and had quite a large peach orchard in bearing. In 1813 or 1813 I went there with my brother, then 14 or 15 years old, for a load of peaches. We went with an ox team and sled, the only vehicle our roads were fitted for. I think we got them for the picking up. I recollect the old lady's going out to show us where we could find the best. The next year the peaches were made into brandy. Noah Worden settled on the farm now occupied by his sons, down the river from the village. Holly Tanner lived a mile or so above the village, and still further up

the river was a Mr. Judd, Lowell Eames and a Mr. Freer. Mr. Judd and Eames were great hunters, often killing deer or elk in our neighborhood, taking the hides and what meat they could carry home and giving us the balance, which was of great help to us, as none of our folks were hunters, and too poor to even own a gun. Charles Parker had built a house and made some improvements at the mouth of the river. I think he was in the employ of the Connecticut Land Company. He did some work in Kirtland on the farm now owned by Guy Smith, but built no house on it. A man by the name of Cook, I think, owned property at the mouth of the river and at the village, but died, leaving it to his relatives. There were but a few families in the west part of Willoughby; names not recollected. 

In the southeast corner of Chester there was a settlement made as early as 1802 by Justus Minor, his brother John, his sons Philo and Origen, his sons-in-law Harvey and John Sheffield, a Mr. Nettleton and a Mr. Baird. Dr. Wm. N. Hudson settled at what is now known as Chester X Roads. These I believe are all that settled in Chester previous to the war of 1812. Dr. Hudson, some years before the war of the rebellion, moved to southern Ohio and was killed by Morgan's raiders as they passed through Ohio. Some years previous to 1811 a tornado passed over the south part of Chester, leveling everything in its course. A tree fell on the cabin of John Minor, killing him instantly. He had placed the children under sleepers, their being no floor, and they were uninjured. The summer of 1816 was very cold and but little corn ripened. I recollect Harvey Sheffield being at our house and saying that he had not hoed his corn, he "scrupled" its getting ripe. The word "scruple" was new to me, and caused considerable study and inquiry to ascertain its meaning. The next spring the Sheffields and others went to Tuscarawas county to buy corn, their families subsisting in their absence on roots; principally on leeks or wild onions, which were very nutritious but of a very disagreeable flavor, tainting the breath and giving it to the milk of cows that foraged on them a sickening smell and unpalatable flavor. 

We often hear the remark that the rich are growing richer and the poor are growing poorer, which is not true. It is true that the rich are much better off than forty, fifty or sixty years ago; but the condition of the poor has also greatly improved, and the poor of today have more of the necessaries, comforts and luxuries of life than the rich had in the first thirty or forty years of the settlement of the Western Reserve. My father, as I before stated, moved into Kirtland early in July, 1811. There was one family in the township. John Moore, living on the farm now owned and occupied by Reuben P. Harmon. He soon left. Peter French came from Mentor and settled at Kirtland Flats. John Parris settled a half mile south, on the farm now owned by George Frank. Isaac Morley and Titus Billing built their cabin on the farm of the late Hercules Carrel. John Moore, Sr., his son Isaac, then a lad of 19, and his daughter Rebecca, built their cabin where the Baptist church now stands. I think the mother was not living. In the spring came William Griffith, his father Amasa Griffith, Barzilla Millard, Thomas Fuller and Jonathan Maynard. Mr. Fuller was a millwright, or worker of stone; he dressed out several mill-stones from

granite boulders, which he found with grit suitable for that purpose. One of his makes lies by the roadside near the residence of the late Isaac Long. Mr. Fuller went to Fullertown, built mills and a carding machine, giving his name to the village.

Of all the names that I mentioned as being here before the war of 1812, so far as I know, but only two remain -- Augustus Pepoon, of Painesville, and myself. All have gone to the unknown land; their graves scattered far and wide, and their descendants of the third and fourth generation only remain. How sad the reflection; the friends of my youth and most of the friends of my riper years are gone, and I am left waiting the summons to move.
 

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My oldest brother was married and had two children. He left his family at Mr. Potter's, in Madison, until the beginning of winter. Not getting his house ready for occupancy, he moved in with us for the winter. His oldest child, a daughter of 4 years of age, sickened and died during the winter, and we buried her in the woods at what is now South Kirtland cemetery -- the first white person buried in Kirtland. The war of 1812 put a stop to all further immigration to the Reserve, and some that were here left. It was a time of great alarm, especially after the surrender of Detroit to Hull. There seemed to be nothing to prevent the British and Indians from coming down the lake, both by land and water, pillaging, marauding and destroying everything on the southern shore. There was a call for all capable of bearing arms to congregate at Sandusky in order to make a stand against the expected invaders. My oldest brother and James Newton, a cousin who was stopping at our house, volunteered and went as far as Sandusky. In the meantime General Harrison, with Kentucky and Indiana troops, had pushed forward, defeating an Indian attack at Tippecanoe, and succeeded in reaching Fort Meigs, where he was besieged by a greater superior force of British and Indians, but by good generalship succeeded in repulsing and scattering the Indians. Colonel Croghan also stood a siege at Fort Stephenson, near Sandusky, but repulsed the attack disastrously to the allies. The Indians were discouraged, deserted, and the British retired to safer quarters. There being no farther danger in that quarter, our volunteers returned. James Newton came home sick and afterwards died, and we buried him beside our little girl in the South Kirtland cemetery. 

Our next great scare was at the time of Perry's victory. We distinctly heard the cannonading. The sound seemed to be the right of Cleveland and a little farther off, and we thought it must be a naval battle. Should the British be victorious, there was nothing to prevent them from landing at Cleveland and ravaging the whole lake shore with impunity. It was several days before our fears were allayed by news of the result.

Another source of perhaps greater danger to us than the British were the rattlesnakes, which were very numerous and required great cautiousness and watchfulness to avoid them and kill them when found, which we considered our bounden duty. I never know of but one to escape. My brother (younger than myself) and I were playing out in the choppings. Two large trees had been

felled and lay parallel. He mounted the top end of one and I the other, for a race to see which one could reach the butt end first. When fifteen or twenty feet from the end a large rattlesnake coiled up the log sunning himself. I was too near and under too much headway to stop, and I gave a jump and went over him. I never did better jumping, but think my last step before jumping and my first step after must have been within easy reach of his snakeship, as they will nearly spring their whole length. I think he must have been asleep, or I should have been bitten. When I stopped and looked around he was slipping off the log down among the brush and weeds. We let him go and put for the house. Some time afterwards we burned the bush, and among the brands found a hollow stick, with a rattlesnake in it burned at both ends. I hoped that it might be the one that gave me the scare. A few years later they were hunted in the spring of the year as they came out of their dens. On the Gildersleeve mountain twenty-three were killed in one day, and they soon became extinct. In 1831 one was killed in the east part of the township, which I believe was the last ever seen in this region.
 

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One more snake story. Joshua Stow, the proprietor of the south tract in Kirtland, occasionally visited us. He was a good talker and story-teller. He claimed to be very fond of rattlesnake meat; that it was better and taster of finer flavor than any meat, and as delicious as the Southern people consider the opossum -- said that when they were surveying the Reserve he acted as cook. One day he got a fine rattlesnake and killed several squirrels, dressed them, cut out the squirrel's backs and substituted a suitable length of the snake. General Moses Cleveland, who gave his name to the city of Cleveland, partook of the snake and praised it very much -- had never eaten squirrels so sweet and tender and of so fine a flavor. The next morning Stow showed him the squirrel's backs and the ends of the snake. The general did not relish the joke quite so well as he did the snake the night before.

Wolves were plentiful and made the nights hideous with their howling. On a still, cold night we could hear them in two or three different directions; one or two would make noise enough for a dozen. My father was at Kirtland Flats late one evening, and Mr. French advised him not to go home till morning, as there were wolves in the swamp. The fine bottom land just southwest of the brick house at the Flats was most of it a swamp, with a thick growth of young hemlock timber, where the wolves often congregated - but father came home. There was a light snow on the ground in the morning, and tracks showed that three wolves had followed him home and passed several times around the house. Some years later there was a great wolf hunt, participated in by citizens of several townships. Lines were formed around a large scope of country by stationing men at suitable distances apart, all to march in toward a common center, which was in the southeast part of Chester township. They were to make such noise by blowing horns and other means, so as to drive the wolves together. I was too young to participate in the hunt, but ten or a dozen of the hunters tarried at our house on their return from the hunt.

Their report was that several wolves had been seen and shot at, but broke through the lines, and none had been secured. From their actions the hunters seemed to have taken with them large rations of whisky. One of them stepped to the door and shot one of our hens, which incensed me very much, as we had so few domesticated animals that each had an individual interested and seemed like one of the family. But my indignation was soon turned to laughter. We had an old cat, an excellent mouser, who to show her superior skill as a hunter to our two-legged visitors, brought in a live mouse and laid it down at the feet of Jesse Ames, a lad of some 18 or 20 years. The mouse, not badly hurt, seeing a chance to escape, darted up his trousers. By the way he yelled and jumped about was enough to provoke laughter at a funeral. The mouse, with his sharp claws, worked its way to the waistband, when his friends interfered, stripped off his clothes and released him from his unwelcome visitor. We heard afterwards that one or two dead wolves had been found, and they soon disappeared, and their nightly serenades were but seldom heard.

There were some bears in the woods then, and I suppose they were more dangerous than the wolves, and did us more damage. They killed a hog for us one evening near the house. We heard the squealing and the next morning found the remains. I think there must have been two bears to have devoured so much. My sister taught school in Painesville. One day she and the older scholars stayed after school to clean out the room, and it was nearly dark when they left, the girls going one way and she the other, alone. In a short piece of woods she heard steps behind her, and looking around she saw a large bear following her. She faced him, opening and shutting her umbrella several times. The bear hesitated, and finally turned into the brush, when she made good time to her boarding house. There were some wildcats in the woods then. Ariel Corning, son of Warren Corning, of Mentor, had a battle with one in their still-house. He succeeded in killing it, which made quite a hero of him.
 

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About 1819 or 1820, the year I do not recollect, Benj. Wright was hung at Chardon for the murder of Mr. Warner -- I think the father of Zophar Warner, of Willoughby. Executions were then public and there was an immense crowd. It seemed that most of the men, many of the ladies, and all of the boys in Geauga county, wanted to see the execution. Jason Clark, father of D. C. Clark, of your village, was captain of the guard. He was a tall, well proportioned man, of fine presence, dressed in his uniform, with a tall plume, making a fine appearance. He came with a yoke of oxen and sled, bringing several women. The execution took place a half mile or more south of the village, in a hollow, where the crowd standing on higher ground, had a good view. When the prisoner was brought out of jail he had a few rods to walk to the conveyance which took him to the gallows. He immediately changed his step to conform to the music of fife and drum, which were playing the dead march. That act, and his pale and rather mild looking face, gave me much sympathy for him. I could not see the terrible murderer I was looking for. After ascending the scaffold there was a delay of half an hour or more; I

suppose with his spiritual advisor. A hollow square was formed by the guards around the gallows, so large that we heard nothing that was said. Several persons became noisy from strong drink, among them Ariel Corning, of Mentor, a bright and promising young man, but from constant use of liquor had become dissipated. He spent the time of delay going around among the ladies, urging them to intercede with the sheriff and have him put the rope under the man's arms; he would hang so much easier; it would not be half so cruel as to put it around his neck. When the drop fell there were two or three feet of slack rope, and I think his neck must have been broken. There was no struggle; just a slight trembling of the feet. James R Ford, I believe, was sheriff at the time. I have never had any desire to see another hanging; the looks of that pale, sad face will not be forgotten while my memory lasts. Friends, I understood, took the body home for burial, and the crowd mostly returned to the village. The men seemed very thirsty, or wanted to take something to efface the scene they had witnessed. When Captain Clark started for home with his load of women, walking beside his oxen with rather unsteady step, with a long ox goad in his hand, the change of command of men to that of oxen was so ludicrous that it caused some cheering and merriment. 

I do not think that I have overdrawn the prevalence of liquor drinking in the early settlement of this country. Whisky was cheap, and could be obtained for labor or most any kind of produce; no temperance society had ever been heard of, or any effort to restrain or lessen its use, and many excuses could be made for the early settlers. They had left good homes, with the conveniences and comforts of civilization, and placed themselves here in the woods, with neighbors few and far between, with but few of the comforts of life; with the herculean task of hewing out a farm from the dense forests, and the long years it must take to obtain a comfortable home; it seemed to them to require something to stimulate and nerve them for the task, and give them courage to face the battle of life which was before them. 

At the close of the war, in 1815, emigrants began to arrive. John Morse and his son, John F., came in the fall of 1815 and built a log house, and returned to Massachusetts for his family; John F remaining in Madison to attend school. In the spring of 1816 the family came out, and we had a neighbor but a half mile away. They came in company with David Wilson, who settled in Mentor, and with him came three or four young men by the name of Viall; smart, active young men, who settled in Willoughby. Jacob, I believe, afterwards served two or three terms as sheriff of Lake county. In 1815 Marshall Bronson came to Kirtland. He had purchased the east half of the Root tract, or tract No. 2, bounded on the west by the Chillicothe road as it now runs. He paid but little if anything down, and sold it all out in a year or two, mostly on credit. He failed to pay for it, and it fell back to Root or his heirs, and those who purchased the Bronson lost all they had paid him, and so had to buy it again of the rightful owner. Many of them left; Bronson got into difficulty with some of his purchasers, and was finally sent to the penitentiary for a short time. I have been told that on his release he went to Michigan, where he made a raise and became quite noted, giving his name to a place called Bronson.

There came from New Hampshire quite a colony and bought of Bronson -- Stephen Ames and his three sons, Jeremiah, David and Ezra; two sons-in-law, Aaron and Joseph Metcalf; his brother-in-law, a Mr. Buel, and son or nephew, and Reuben Melcalf, twin brother to Aaron, who was never married, and lies buried in South Kirtland cemetery. Afterward came Samuel, Moses and Levi. They were all large, stout men; their descendants do not quite come up to the old stock in size, except Enos, who now resides in Kirtland village. Abel Ames, brother of Stephen, came a year or so later. Stephen Ames' house stood where Simeon Carter now lives. He was township treasurer for many years, and at his house elections were held and township business transacted. I believe that none of the Ames descendants remain in this section, except those of the daughter, who married Aaron Metcalf. There were the Gores, Godard, Craw, Robert Parks, Leman Bronson, brother of Marshall, and others, who left on Bronson's failure. About 1816-17 came Thomas Morley, Sr., and his son, Alfred; David Holbrook, Samuel Tomblinson, Amos Wheeler and his sons, David and Samuel; Alfred Witter, John Goodale, Aretas Marble, Henry Markell and his five sons -- John, Peter, Benjamin, Nicholas and James (John was afterward one of the associate judges of Lake county.), Josiah Jones, Robert Blair, Samuel Wilson and others. In 1818 the township settled very rapidly. Card & Holmes built a grist mill at the Flats; James Boyden put up a cloth-dressing and wool-carding establishment; Warren Corning built a distillery and Isaac Chatfield started a blacksmith shop, all within a year or two of that time. Claudius Stanard bought all of the middle tract west of the Chillicothe road and gave farms to his three sons and son- in-law, Jos. Robison, and sold the balance to Reuben Beeman, Edward and Abram Gilleti, Gideon McNutt, Jacob Lafter, and others. But few of their descendants remain in Lake county -- Elijah Smith, Newel K Whitney, Timothy D Martindale, Jason Randall, Jeduthan Ladd, Noah Durrin, Sylvester Russell, A. C. Russell, but I cannot remember them all. 

In 1819 there were ninety-seven males that were old enough to vote. For many years nearly all of our clothing was manufactured at home; the women spun and wove our flax for our shirts, sheets and pantaloons for summer wear, and for winter-wear they spun and wove the wool, and it was fulled, colored and dressed by Boyden for ladies' wear; it was generally half wood and half flax, called linsey woolsey. For very nice dresses, it was all wool, stripped or checked, and finished and pressed, by Boyden, the clothier. For footwear we used but little in summer; most of the men, all of the children and some of the women going barefoot. In the fall of the year we procured a side of sole leather, one of cowhide and sometimes a calfskin, had a shoemaker come to the house with his kit of tools and make up the shoes for the family. Boots were seldom worn; leggings of cloth, tied from the knees down and to the shoe, kept out the snow as well as bootlegs. The hides of all our creatures that were slaughtered were taken to the tannery and tanned upon shares, the tanner taking one-half. Our head-gear was mostly straw for children, both summer and winter; the men frequently aspiring to coonskin caps. The ladies' bonnets generally projected forward six inches or more, to protect from the rays of the sun and

the wind. A few years later Naverino bonnets became quite fashionable, being made of pasteboard, colored and stamped to represent leghorn. They looked quite pretty when new, and had the merit of being cheap, but were not very safe when caught out in a shower, as they were cut to shape and pasted together. I once saw a lady caught in a shower on her way to a party at Painesville. The brim was down on her shoulders and the projecting front hung down on her breast like a child's bib. But at the time, in larger towns, like Willoughby or Painesville, the people dressed better, but few of the men going barefoot and many of them wore broadcloth and soft shirts.
 

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From 1816 to 1820 the neighboring townships settled up equally as fast as Kirtland. I can only give the names of some of the most prominent business men. I think there had been some dry goods sold in Painesville previous to the war. If I recollect aright, Franklin Paine had a small stock of goods, but Wm. Latimer brought in the first general stock. The citizens of South Kirtland put up an ashery building at Peck's Corners, and Latimer bought all our ashes and manufactured them into black salts. He paid for them in goods, the price being four cents for field and seven for house ashes. He kept a stock of ironware, which was a great help to us, as most of the people had brought with them scant supplies of cooking utensils, and for sugar making, kettles were indispensable. B.F. Tracy had a large stock of goods for those times. A Mr. Patridge started a factory for the manufacture of hats and Mr. Croft made chairs. I recollect going there with an ox team for a load of splint-bottomed chairs. Before that we used benches and stools. It was an all day's drive to Painesville and back with an ox team. Mentor had become quite thickly settled on the ridge road and south of it. North the wide strip of wet lands was unsettled and there were but few settlers on the lake shore. Mr. Hopkins was a very early settler at what was called Hopkins' Marsh. He once told me, when I made an appraisal of Mentor township in 1846, that the site of the first house he built was more than forty rods out in the lake. I found lots that were originally one hundred acres reduced to seventy by the encroachment of the lake. The mouth of Grand River was once at Hopkins' Marsh, but the lake encroached upon the land until it reached the bend of the river at Fairport and made that the mouth. The bed of the river below became partially filled and made an impassable swamp, rendering access to the Headlands impossible except at Fairport and sometimes at Hopkins' Marsh. Some of the names that call to mind in Mentor were Kerrs, Carrolls, Ingersolls, Proutys, Hodges, Rexfords, Goodells, Daniels, Munsons, Dickeys, and E. Ward, a Methodist clergyman. 

In Willoughby there were the Cards, Christies, Woolseys, Carn the tailor, the Sharpes, Colsons, Miller, and others. I don't know when and by whom the Willoughby mills were built, but think they may have been built previous to 1811; but our first milling was done at Painesville, and the few boards used about our first log house for floors and shelves came from Painesville.

The first goods sold in Willoughby were by Thomas Card, the large landholder in the township. Samuel Wilson went from Kirtland to Willoughby. He was a good business man and did much for the improvement of the village. In the years past, Willoughby has drawn from Kirtland many of its best citizens -- Wilson, Dowen, Barber, Bunnell, Yaxley, Damon, Roberts, Rockafellow, S. Fowls and others. In fact, Kirtland seems to be a good township to emigrate from, for Kirtlanders are found all through the Western States, as far as California and Salt Lake. 

I had but little acquaintance with the south and west parts of Willoughby, until 1846. At that time I visited all the landholders in the township, and may hereafter give some recollections as late as that date. There are a few more names that I call to mind -- Brown, Carrel, Nash and brother, Luke Coverty, Levi and Solomon Marble, David Rudd, Tarbell and Jones. Chester township settled very rapidly. About 1817-18, four or five Gillmores, as many Scotts, several Nortons, and Silas Tanner -- all related by blood or marriage; Reuben Hulbert and three sons, Stephen I, Bassett, Amos Saterlee, Charles Odell, Samuel Adams, Oliver Ranney and others. The early settlers of Chester were of a more permanent class than those of Kirtland, and there are but few families in Chester now that are not more or less related to the Gillmores and Scotts by birth or marriage.

Chardon, the county seat of Geauga, was settled at a later date than any of the adjoining townships. At the close of the war of 1813 some four or five families had settled near the square -- Edward Paine, Samuel Phelps and the Canfields. The square was donated by Peter Chardon Brooks for the county seat of Geauga county, on condition that it be called after his second name - Chardon. After 1816, it settled up rapidly, but for a long time early settlers -- three or four Kings, who settled on the road to Kirtland Flats and gave it the name of King street. Elder Collins, two or three Smith. One of the Smith sons, 15 years old, was lost in the woods, and although diligent search for him was made, he was never found. The next spring a lock of hair; buttons and a bit of clothing were found, showing that he had been devoured by some wild beast. There were three or four Bentons, Rider, David Bruce, Eleazar Paine, Levi Edson, Sylvester Hoyt, Thomas Metcalf and Ralph Cowles.
 

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In an early volume of Geauga records I recently ran across an interesting document. It is headed, "Articles of Association of the Mentor Library Company," and is practically the constitution of this ancient society. It provides for officers, elections, etc., and that the capital stock shall not exceed 2,500 shares of $2.50 each, which stock "shall be disposed of under the direction and superintendence of the president and trustees, to be applied to the purchase of books, maps & c., for the benefit of said company." It is dated February 22, 1819, and was "approved June 4th, 1819. George Tod, President Com. Pleas, 3d Circuit;" and again, "Approved March 10th, 1820. Calvin Pease, Peter Hitchcock, Judges of the Supreme Court."

The names and the above reference to books and maps alone give a clue to its aims and aspirations. Perhaps your interesting correspondent, "C.G.C.," can tell us more of its rise and fall, while many of your readers will revive old memories at a glance at its three dozen signatures:

Christopher Crary Clark Parker Orris Clapp David Wilson Garrett Bras Warren Corning Ralph Pecon Thomas Carrel, Jr. Luman Bronson Moses Kerr Abel Russell Peter French John Bras Wm. Griffith Joseph Sawyer Noah Wert John M. Henderson Gideon Riggs   PAINESVILLE, Feburary 14.

Benjamin Blish, Jr. Benjamin Hopkins Stephen Bassett Sylvester Russell Jonathan Goldsmith David Vial Isaac More Asa Hall Jonathan Root Ebenezer Nye Nathaniel E. Matthews Samuel Hopkins David Jewett James Boyden Daniel Kerr Erastus Crary Oliver A. Crary Jonathan Russell

 

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It is an old saying that one-half of the world does not know how the other half lives. It is equally true that the present generation does not know how the preceding generation lived. Let us take a peep at the home life and surroundings of the early settlers. Their log houses were made of ax architecture, that tool being the only one necessary in their construction. Their general size was sixteen or eighteen feet wide by twenty-two or twenty-four feet long, inside measure. The door was in the front side, about the middle of the building. Some had a back door on the opposite side. At one end seven or eight feet of the logs were cut out about six feet high, and the opening filled with a stone wall. On this wall at each end was laid a timber sufficiently large to support the chimney to the fire chamber floor beam, about four feet from the end of the house and some two feet higher than the wall. On these timbers and wall the chimney was built with flat sticks, some two or three inches wide, laid up in clay mortar and plastered outside and in with the same. The chimney narrowed as it went up out of the peak of the room, from six by four to three by two, giving a good light from above to the fireplace below, where it was very much needed. A wooden crane stool at one end of the fireplace, with an arm sufficiently long to reach to the other end of the fireplace. A trammel or other device was used to hang the pot or kettle, and to raise or lower it as occasion required. In the fireplace was a large back log, five or six feet long, and smaller wood could be piled on to warm the whole house and a considerable portion of the outdoors above the chimney. Our cooking utensils consisted of a five-pail brass kettle, an eight-quart brass kettle, a one-pail iron pot, an iron tea-kettle, and a frying-pan with an iron handle three or four feet long. Our bread was

baked in a Dutch oven out of doors. Probably we were well off for cooking utensils as most of our neighbors. For light we had greased paper windows by the side of the door and from the chimney above. For a buttery a few shelves in one corner of the room by the fireplace, and a chest brought from Massachusetts, had to answer. The opposite corner was occupied by a ladder for access to the chamber, until we could get lumber for stairs. For a cellar we had a trap door in the floor and a small hole dug in the ground for stowing a few vegetables out of the way of frost. Our supply of table furniture was very scant, especially of plates, from breakage on the road. We had five or six pewter plates of English manufacture; they would not do to cut on, as it scratched them; so it became the duty of the cook to cut the meat in small pieces and dish it out to us with a spoon. When Mr. Gillmore came to Chester, in 1811, he had a lathe for turning wooden bowls and plates, called trenchers. The spaces between the logs of our houses were chinked on the inside with pieces of wood and plastered on the outside with clay mortar. The building was carried up some four or five feet above the chamber floor, then each side log drawn in about three feet, each rounded as it went up to the peak. These side logs, lying horizontal, answered for rafters to lay the shingles upon, or shakes, as they were called. The shingles were about four feet long, and generally split out of white oak, the wider and thinner, the better. These, if laid about three thicknesses, and weighted down with heavy poles to keep them in place, make a very good roof. The chamber was all one room, and answered for storage of corn, spinning wheels, and all the traps, barrels and household goods that were not in daily use, besides lodging-room for the young folks. The hearth, some six by eight, was of clay, pounded down hard and made smooth, five or six inches lower than the floor. When we found flat quarry stones they were laid on the clay, bringing the hearth up even with the floor. This the women folks thought a great improvement, and much more cleanly, as the hearth could be swept without raising a cloud of clay-dust. Our brooms were all splint brooms, home manufacture. The back end of the room was partitioned off into two bedrooms, originally by blankets hung up around the beds -- a rack overhead, with numerous poles for drying pumpkins, and numerous pegs driven in the logs all around the room for hanging up clothing, seed corn, red peppers, dried beef, and other articles too numerous to mention.

 

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I did not quite finish our surroundings and discomforts in my last. One great trouble was the want of light. Our two greased paper windows gave but poor light in clear weather, and on dark and cloudy days were almost worthless. But these windows were only temporary. Our glass came from Pittsburg by wagons, and was of poor quality, thin, and much of it lost by breakage on the road. The price was very high, and much of the time it could not be obtained at any price. At night, our resource for light was the tallow dip, which would give but just enough light to make darkness visible, and we had to be very prudent in their use, as there were not beef cattle enough slaughtered to half supply the inhabitants with candles. When the candles gave out, we tired a cotton rag around a button, gathering it around the eye of the button, letting

it stick up a half inch or more, set it in a saucer, filling the saucer with lard. It would take two or three lamps of this kind to make darkness visible. Our next resource for light, and perhaps the most important one, was hickory bark. We kept a supply on hand, and, by occasionally feeding the fire with this, it made a better light for a half dozen to read by than the tallow dip.

I am under obligations to your correspondent, "B," for the ancient document in regard to the Mentor Library Association. Think that I should have forgotten it, though it was a very important institution for us at that time. The people had brought with them but little reading matter -- a few school books, the Bible and hymn book, were about the extent. There were no newspapers taken in Kirtland, and probably but few in Willoughby or Mentor. The late Eber D. Howe, editor of the Cleveland Herald, went through weekly on horseback as far as Painesville, and delivered his papers to the subscribers, probably having some subscribers at Willoughby and Mentor. Reading matter was at a premium, and the library gave us great joy, and helped us to while away many hours that would have been sad or monotonous. The collection of books was a valuable one for that day, largely composed of history, astronomy, biography, and perhaps some lighter reading. Of the thirty-six signatures to that document, one lived in Chester, ten in Kirtland, four or five in Willoughby, four or five in Concord, and the balance in Mentor. Probably not one of them is now living. Oliver A. Crary, twenty-one years old, I think was the youngest signer by several years, and he, if now living, would be ninety-two years old. When or how the library died, or what became of the books, I am not able to say. I went to Kentucky in 1825, returning in 1831. It was in good condition when I left. When I returned it had ceased to exist, and I have no recollection of hearing any mention made of it. 

The great wonder to me is, how the people raised the money to buy books, for times were extremely hard -- no money in circulation. There had been slight, if any, improvement since 1817 and 1818, when it was almost impossible to raise money to pay taxes, or take a letter from the postoffice. There would then have been a crash and breakdown of all business if there had been any business here to crash and break down. Such a crash as we had twenty years later, in 1837 and 1838, or twenty years later, in 1857 and 1858, and twenty years later, in 1877 and 1878, and probably shall have twenty years later, in 1897 and 1898. Twenty years seems to be the life of a business generation. Twenty years of increasing prosperity cause extravagance. The people buy more goods, run into debt, the money is drained out of the country and goes to Europe to pay for the goods, hard times follow, and a general crash and stagnation of business is the result.

 

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Your correspondent's little notice of the organization of the "Mentor Library Association" called up some very early and pleasant recollections of mine connected with it. The books were kept at Judge Clapp's most of the time while I knew anything about it -- say, from 1826 to 1830 -- as I now recall it. I don't think there were over two hundred volumes in it, mostly good solid

reading for mature minds. Not a romance (we called them "novels" in those days) in it, unless it was Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield." Many at that time did not believe in reading or permitting their children to read that kind of literature. I remember a few of the volumes in that collection -- Addisons Spectator, Cook's Voyages, Riley's Narrative, and Priest's Wonders of Nature -- the last two of which I read. As a little boy I was often sent out to exchange books before I was big enough to want to read them. With oats at fifteen, corn at twenty-five, and whisky at from seventeen to nineteen-cents per gallon, that little library told all strangers of the tastes, intelligence, self-sacrifices, of the early settlers in that heavily timbered country. We question if there is a good a selection of books now in Mentor or Kirtland, for the number, as that was. Henry Clapp should be able to name the many of the volumes, and also when the association was dissolved or abandoned. 

When I am writing upon these early recollections, I want to ask your correspondent, Mr. C. G. Crary, whose letters I read with great pleasure, and, when completed, hope they will be printed in pamphlet form, if he remembers or can repeat any part of a song composed of about as many verses as there were settlers in Kirtland? Each man had his verse. Of course they were too personal, and hit too hard, to be printed in any paper; but there were written copies in existence as late as 1829. I once heard William Carroll and Colonel Ames sing a few of the verses, and asked my father if they had a verse about him. He said they had, and repeated it to me. It did not sound much like something that were sung. Cyrus Millard, of Chagrin Falls, upon enquiry, told me this fall that he remembered hearing parts of it, but could not repeat a line. All we could dig out of the couplet about the old Disciple church at Mentor -- and while Sidney Rigdon was preparing them for the Book of Mormon -- long since torn down. It ran thus:

"A one story meeting house without any steeple.
 A roguish priest and foolish people." Who wrote it no one knows, but he now merits the credit given a prophet. It is a pity for those who want the early history of Kirtland that they cannot call back to life, as they were in their palmiest days, Colonel Ames, William Carroll, Philo Ingersoll, and Ariel Corning. What they could not tell of early Kirtland would not be worth knowing. We hope some one may yet be able to furnish your paper with that song.

CLINTON ILL.                                    CLIFTON MORE. 

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To illustrate the scarcity of money in 1817, 1818 and 1819, I will relate a boy's story, which may be considered very credible to us. A show was advertised at Willoughby, consisting of two lions only. There were five of us boys in the neighborhood -- Amos and William Witter, Harvey Morse, myself, and a brother nearly three years younger. We all wanted to see the lions. On consultation and getting together our cash deposits, we found that twelve and one-quarter cents was the extent of our available funds -- one six and a fourth cent piece and six copper cents, lacking one-fourth of a cent of the admission

fee for chaps our age. We dared not call upon our parents for help, as we knew that if they had a few shillings on hand they were liable to have a letter in the postoffice at Painesville, and must have twenty-five cents to get it. We remembered the old saying, that where there is a will there is a way. We knew that we had the will, but cared but little whether the way should correspond with the injunction to render to Caesar the things that were Caesar's or not. We wanted to see the lions, and concluded to go, hoping by some hook or crook to get sight of them. My father had a horse, I think the only one then in the south part of Kirtland. He was a good, able-bodied horse, a little past his prime, good and kind in every place except that he would not carry two persons on his back at the same time. This detracted very much from his value. He was really worth only about half a horse -- that is, a horse that would carry double would be worth two such horses, for our purposes. But we concluded to take him and hitch the horse and go on, so we all got our proper share of riding. When we arrived at Willoughby we gave Amos Witter all of the money, he being quick to see the chances, of genial disposition, and would soon be on familiar terms with the showman, ready to run errands, or give advice or suggestions how to manage the show. He paid his fare and went in. It was not long before he came out with a pail of water. When it was filled he took one side of the pail and I the other, and walked in unquestioned. Another of our party was smuggled in. When the lions were fed meat, one watched his opportunity and slipped in unobserved behind the doorkeeper's back; and my brother, being small of age, with a little help crawled under the tent. So we all got sight of the lions, and came home highly elated with our success. We did not wish to ride and tie, but let my short-legged brother ride all the way, and kept together to talk the matter over. We came to the conclusion that the showmen were greatly indebted to us. We had increased their receipts to the amount of twelve and a quarter cents, had assisted them in watering and feeding the lions, given them much good advice and many suggestions for their future guidance. To be sure, we had seen their lions, but had not damaged them or their lions to the value of a cent, and we resolved that they owed us at least a vote of thanks. But for fear that they might look upon it in a different light, and want to argue the question, we forebore saying anything to them about it.

 

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Kirtland has never been able to support a physician. Doctor Lacy was our first. He stayed a few months but go no calls; then went to Portage county, where he got a good practice, and became quite noted for his skill. Since then Doctors Walsh, Hanson, Donovan, Williams, Fuller, Cowdery, Whitley, Howe, Lamb, Bennet, Luce and others; but none of them made it profitable, and most of the time Kirtland has been dependent on Willoughby and Chester for calomel and jalap. Chester, unlike Kirtland, has had but few doctors, but they, like their citizens, came to stay -- Hudson, Johnson, Sheldon and Lyman. Doctor Lyman came there a young man. More than a generation of hard service has frosted his head, and must admonish him to shirk the heaviest labor off upon the shoulders of his son, who is following his profession.

The first physician in Willoughby, I think, was Doctor Henderson, followed by Doctors Brainard, Card, Storm, Davis, Fletcher, Clark, Moore and others. In 1821 or 1822 there was an epidemic of malignant dysentery, which prevailed throughout the country. Kirtland suffered severely. There were twenty-two or twenty-three deaths in the township. Doctor Brainard was our principal physician. In Painesville, I think, Doctor Matthews was the pioneer physician. His successors that I can now call to mine were Livingstone, Rosa, Card, Palmer, Beardslee, Brown, Root, Seymour. All but the last two have passed over the dark waters.

The first lawyer that I have any recollection of was Noah D. Matoon. My father once paid him a small fee, which was the only fee that I ever heard of his paying to a lawyer. In my recollection of the bar of Painesville, it was composed of Hitchcock, Perkins, Bissel, Tinker, Axtell, Bosworth, Palmer, Burrows and others. All but the last mentioned have gone to that bourne from which no traveler returns. I understand a half dozen or more younger men are striving to fill their places; whether they will do so is a problem for the future to solve. The bar of Willoughby is not noted for its numbers or its brilliancy of oratory. But for legal advice and counsel, the wants of the peace-loving citizens of Willoughby have been fully supplied. Lapham, Sterling, Komar, Tuttle and Clark are all that I now recall. 

I am under obligations to your Illinois correspondent for bringing to mind one great source of pleasure and enjoyment that we had in those early days from the singing of songs. We had quite a good supply of home poetic talent. Their poetry would hardly compare with that of Scott, Longfellow or Tennyson, but was very expressive, and fitted the occasion -- and the individual for whom it was intended -- with much precision and force. When Congress raised their wages from four to six dollars a day, there was much excitement, which ended in song. Each prominent member had a verse. I only remember the verse to Henry Clay, who was then speaker of the House. It ran thus:

"There was Clay in the Chair,
With his flax-colored hair,
Signing the tax bills cheerily, O!
Six dollars a day, six dollars a day,
Six dollars a day is the dandy, O!" Our religious people also dabbed some in poetry. Willard Edson used to sing a song or hymn, one verse of which, I think, will satisfy my readers:

"We'll chase the devil around the stump,
Glory! Halleluja!
And give him a kick at every jump,
Glory! Halleluja!" It was quite common at that time to apply secular music to hymns. Father Duniwell claimed that he had taken many good tunes from the devil and given them to the Lord. We had then many excellent song singers. Peter Westbrook and Sylvester Cortis I thought were the best, but we had a dozen or more that would excel in song singing our best musicians. Practice makes perfect. We then

had no pianos, organs, melodeons, accordions, or even mouth organs, and song singing was our only recourse for music, and was cultivated and practiced much more than at the present day; and our trainings, holidays, house raisings and bees did not seem to be well furnished without some soul-stirring and mirth-provoking songs.

I hope we shall hear more from your Clinton, Illinois correspondent. Living so near the center of gravity (Kirtland Flats), I think his mind must be stored with many incidents and anecdotes that would be interesting.

 

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In the early days of Kirtland the Methodists were more numerous than all the other denominations put together. There were the Standard, Hoffmans, Farleys, Blairs, Hitchcocks, Saterlees, Beardslees, Parks, and many others. The meetings were held at private homes. The Rev. Mr. Hitchcock, a very good speaker, often preached. Father Ward occasionally preached; he was rather eccentric, a man of much ability, and often called upon to officiate on funeral occasions. Their church was organized about 1820. They erected a small building on the corner of Kirtland cemetery. This was burned, and afterwards rebuilt on the same foundation. The society has been decimated by death and removals until there are but a few left in Kirtland, and their church building was sold some time ago to the Grand Army of the Republic, who removed it to their lot, and it is now used as the Post ball.

The Presbyterian Church (now Congregational) was organized about 1818 at the house of Thomas Morley, Sr., and consisted of twelve members, namely: Levi Smith, David Holbrook, Thomas Morley, Russell Hawkins, and their wives, Mrs. John Morse, Mrs. Christopher Crary, Mrs. A. C. Russell, and Mrs. I. N. Skinner. The Revs. Treat and Humphrey officiated. Meetings were held at private houses and in the school building until 1822, when a log church was built on the site of the present Congregational Church. This was burned and a commodious frame church was built on the east side of the road. In 1842 this stood in the path of a cyclone, which raised it from its foundation, turned it a quarter of the way around and dropped it. IT was raised up and underpinned, but could not be quite straightened to stand perpendicular. The same cyclone killed a child of Erastus Wightman, just across the road of the church. In 1859 the present church was built, the old one sold to the Universalists, taken down and removed to Willoughby. The first settled minister was the renowned and very devout missionary, the Rev. Joseph Badger. He was a blue-blooded Presbyterian -- held that our birth, actions, and destiny were known and foreordained by the Almighty from the beginning. He left at the end of the year, whether from the want of sufficient support or from preference of a traveling missionary life, I do not recollect. Up to 1831, except that one year, there was no settled minister. In 1831 Rev. Truman Coe was settled as pastor over the church, and remained with us up to the time of his death. He was a man of much learning and ability, beloved by his people and respected

by all. He died about 1856. Since then Cobb, Fuller, Taylor, Palmer, Bronson, Redinger, Thompson and Dole have filled the pulpit. But the church for the last thirty or forty years has been decimated by death and removals till it is in a feeble condition, and requires help from the Homes Missionary Society. 

The Baptists have never been numerous in Kirtland. In 1850 they built a commodius church and for a few years supported a minister, but death has called home most of their members, and those that are left join with a non-sectarian society who occupy their church, and have been supplied with preachers from Chester, Cleveland and Willoughby, for the last fourteen or fifteen years, without asking to what denomination they belonged. On my return from the South, in 1831, I found the Mormons located in Kirtland. Four or five of our prominent citizens had joined them -- Isaac Morley, Titus Billings, N. K. Whitney, John M. Burk, and Jotham Maynard. The last two I am not quite sure about. Burk had sold his farm some years before, and Maynard's went into the hands of the Mormons. I heard they had joined, but have no recollection of ever seeing them after my return. The minds of Morley and Billings had become somewhat unbalanced on religious subjects previous to the advent of Mormonism in Kirtland. I resolved to have no controversy or words with the Mormons on the subject of their belief -- to deal with and treat them the same as I did the rest of the world. My dealings with them were quite large. I sold them some two hundred dollars worth of lumber, much of it for the Temple. I also sold them my farm, took $275.00 in notes, signed by President Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon, payable in thirty days after demand, which they redeemed without delay of thirty days, much against the will and determination of Rigdon. After I have exhausted all arguments with Rigdon, and given up all hope of success, Smith spoke for the first time and said: "President Rigdon, I have known Mr. Crary for some time, and I believe him to be straight and honorable, and I think we had better redeem his paper." Rigdon then paid the money without another word. Joseph Smith was said to be ignorant and illiterate, but contact with mankind and native ability had given him polished manners, and his language, so far as I was qualified to judge, was correct, forcible, right to the point, and convincing. From my acquaintance and dealings with him, I considered him far superior to the educated Rigdon in intellectual ability. But it would take very strong evidence to convince me that Joseph Smith was not the originator of polygamy in this country. His institution of celestial marriage was the initial, the germ, the bud that blossomed into loathsome polygamy when his followers arrived at Salt Lake, beyond the reach of the law.

 

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In the spring of 1831 there was much excitement over the murder of Sally Russell, daughter of Isaac Russell, a bright girl of some thirteen or fourteen years. She left her home at Brown's Corners to visit a neighbor, some half a mile or so west of Park's Corners. Not returning home at night, and not arriving at the place of her destination, the near neighbors hunted for her during the night. The news spread rapidly during the night, and by nine o'clock the

next morning a large company had assembled at Park's Corners, where she was last seen the day before. We all started off in different directions -- the father requesting us to call Sally gently, as she might be scared by loud or boisterous noise. We had not gone more than fifty rods before she was found. Alva Brown was the first to see her; she lay some four or five rods from the road, at the roots of a large tree. She had been outraged and choked to death, as the finger marks showed. The grief of the father was heart-rendering, and there were few dry eyes in the crowd that soon gathered around her body -- and had the murderer been there, the country might possibly have been saved the expense of a trial. Suspicion immediately fell on a tin peddler, who had passed through the day before toward Chardon. The land was cleared on the south side of the road, and some women a half mile or more to the west saw his wagon standing in the road some time near the place where she was found. The peddlar was arrested, and found to be a young man by the name of Barnes, peddling tin for Eli T. Bruce, of Chardon, who, of course, took an interest in seeing that he had a fair trial. After nearly a year in jail he was tried and acquitted by a jury, but not by the community. At that time the anti-Masonry excitement ran high, and many believed that the acquittal of Barnes was obtained through undue Masonic influence, Eli T. Bruce being a Mason. Barnes' home was in Medina county. It was reported some years after that he had died of remorse, confessing the crime. 

There was considerable excitement some thirty or forty years ago over the burning of Mr. Hoover's house, in the northeast part of Kirtland, in which he was burned to death. He was living with his second wife; had two daughters by his first wife; no children by his second wife. It was said that they did not live happily together. For some reason, the night of the fire she stayed at Mr. McCalls, a quarter mile distant. His two daughters slept upstairs. It seems that he awoke in time to go upstairs, take his two girls and drop them out of the chamber window, and then, overcome by smoke and heat, fell back and was burned. There was some suspicion that his wife knew something of the origin of the fire, but this was discredited by Mr. McCall's people, and the fact that her things were burned in the house, and that ashes had been taken up the day before and placed in the wood-house.

Some years subsequent to Mr. Hoover's death there was a tragedy enacted at the old chair factory. A Mr. Worden and a man by the name of Harrington got into a quarrel, and Harrington struck Worden with a billet of wood, killing him instantly. How the quarrel began, or what the provocations, I do not know. Harrington was arrested and jailed, the neighbors clubbed together and bailed him out; he was subsequently tried and acquitted.

About the same time, in the neighborhood of the chair factory, a young married man (I have lost his name) in felling trees, by some means got his leg taken off at the knee. He tired a ligature around the stub, put on a stick for twister long enough to let one end stick down the length of the missing part of the leg, the other long enough to reach his shoulder, and walked home on one leg and the end of the stick. One of the neighbors, telling me about it not long since, said they were very poor, and, thinking they might need cooked provisions,

went over early in the morning with some, and found the neighbors had preceded him with enough to last the family a week. They were supported during his confinement and doctor's bills paid by the neighbors. There have been four suicides in Kirtland -- R. C. Jerome, a Mr. Jewell, Miss Sophia Speery and Chester Clapp.

I intended to say in a former communication that I remember hearing the song mentioned by your Clinton correspondent sung, but I cannot recall the words. I will add to his list of books in the Mentor library, "Rollins' Ancient History," and I think he must admit one more novel besides the "Vicar of Wakefield," "The Spy," one of Cooper's best. The scenes laid in the revolution correspond with my father's yarns of those times that it seems to me now I then believed every word of it to be true.

 

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About the year 1819 Warren Corning, of Mentor, erected a log distillery at Kirtland Flats. It was thought to be of great benefit and a valuable acquisition; it would call in settlers, increase business, make a market for corn, enable us to obtain whisky easily without paying cash. Another great benefit would be the obtaining of yeast at the still-house better than could be made at home. Baking powder was at that day unknown. Our expectations from the distillery were fully realized but not appreciated. It made it very convenient to get good yeast. I was sent for it once, and, being naturally rather indiscreet, told my mother what I saw and the language I heard there; she concluded that she could get along with home-made yeast after that, and I was sent there no more. It made it convenient to get whisky, but did not increase our home comforts. It made a market for corn, but did not increase our cash receipts. It brought in some inhabitants, but did not improve the morals of the place. It made some business for the magistrates and constables, but did not promote peace, good will, charity, or any of the graces that adorn the present age. From being a blessing, as was hoped, the still-house became an unmitigated curse. It became a resort for a score or more of hard drinkers, holding high and sometimes pugilistic carnival, while some of the their families at home were suffering for the necessities of life. I will say that those who frequented the old still-house were not all from Kirtland; each adjoining township furnished its full quota of those who congregated there, and made night, and sometimes day, hideous with the revelry. I will relate their doings one night: A Methodist brother, whom it was thought had joined the church for a cloak to hide his thievish propensities, was caught one night with a sheep that did not belong to him. He was brought before the church and excommunicated. The still-house habitues, feeling sympathy for his lonely condition, concluded to take him back into the world, set the time, and invited him to attend, which he accordingly did. On so important an occasion there was a large attendance, and with much ceremony he was regularly taken back into the world, and given all the privileges and immunities of an unrepenting sinner. They procured a quantity of codfish, and together with this and whisky, partook of the sacrament and wound up with a kind of love-feast. They did not wash each other's feet, as some sects do, but they painted

each other's eyes black, and put on the head of one of their number into the arch, burning his hair off and disfiguring his face for life.

The old distillery may have been a success financially, but morally and physically it was a failure. The son of the owner, a promising young man, who bid fair to make his mark in the world, from constant use of whisky became a sot, almost mindless. Of the half dozen or more men that operated the still during its existence of thirteen or fourteen years, three of them died from effects of occupation and excessive use of whisky. They were all men in the prime of life, and bid fair, with prudence, to attain a good old age. A young man left the still one cold night, loaded a little too heavy. He lay down for a nap, and, when found, his feet and legs to his knees were frozen. By taking the frost out with cold water I believe his legs were saved, although in a crippled condition. An old gentleman from a neighboring town brought his jug to the still, had it filled, and started for home. He got up in the neighborhood of where Mr. Sleemin now lives, went into the bushes, lay down and died. He was not found for several days, and was too much decayed to remove. A hole was dug beside him and he was rolled in, and his jug after him, to cheer him in his lonely grave. If the spot could be found by digging, some pure whisky nearly fifty years old, might be obtained, which would be valuable in these days of adulterated and poisoned liquor. It would be both interesting and profitable could we know how many years of life had been cut off and shortened by that still-house -- taking those who operated it and those who patronized it, numbering perhaps thousands during the fourteen years of its existence. But this can be known only by Him who numbers the hairs of our head. In 1833 the distillery and fixtures were to be sold, the owner William Carrel, having died. The concern because such a nuisance that the temperance people clubbed together -- ten or twelve of them -- Judge Allen, of Willoughby, bidding it off to them. When sold, Captain Morse told me that he lost only seven dollars, and thought it money well laid out. I should before this have stated that the old log still was burned and replaced by a frame building.

 

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I have before me two ancient documents -- the first quoted is one of the account books kept at the Kirtland distillery. The first charge is dated December 1, 1831, and it virtually closes February 1, 1833, though there are a few charges two or three months later -- covering about fourteen months. There are charges against 138 persons, and, as near as I can judge, about twenty of them consumed a pint of whisky daily. Against one man, living three and a half miles from the still, there were nineteen charges during the last twenty-eight days of January, amounting to a pint per day. Some for a time apparently used a quart a day, while others used not more than a quart a week. Some of the accounts were very sad, showing extreme poverty. One man worked by the day at 50 cents per day to the amount of $9.09; took $5.22 in whisky by the pint and quart; $3.87 went for the support of his family; 22 cents of it for a half bushel of corn meal; 44 cents for a bushel of corn meal; at another time

3 cents for three candles; 2 cents for two at another time; 37 1/2 cents for meat; 50 cents for a hat; the balance in cash 12 1/2 and 25 cents at a time. There were several accounts showing poverty and destitution in which whisky was the main item. A large number of names were on the book that I did not know, but presume a large portion of them belonged in Kirtland. 

The other document referred to is the constitution, by-laws and signatures of the Kirtland Temperance Society. There are 239 signatures attached to the constitution. Among the names are a dozen or fifteen that were considered hard cases, and six whose names are on the still-house book with long columns of pints, quarts and gallons under them. The book has been badly mutilated and much of it is missing, but think the first annual meeting was held October 6, 1830 at which the following votes were taken:

Voted, that no member of this society dispose of grain of any kind to a distiller of whisky. Voted, that the executive committee be and they are hereby directed to enquire into the situation and circumstances of the distillery in this place, and whether some equally profitable and more laudable use may not be made of it.

This vote culminated in the purchase of the still by members of the society, under agreement that it should never again be used as a distillery. The officers of the society were the president, vice president, secretary, and an executive committee of eight ladies and eight gentlemen. The members of the society were closely watched, and if one violated his pledge, a committee was appointed to labor with him and if possible bring him back and induce him to make another trial. It was painful to see what a struggle it was for some of them to break off. Two or three of us went one evening to see the man who went to the still nineteen times in one month for his daily pint of whisky. He was really sick. We carried him some plums, which he ate with a relish -- said they mitigated the distress of his stomach, and thought it he had some chicken's liver a little bitter, it would give him relief. 

The society met quite often and were addressed by able speakers. The names of those mentioned in the records were: Rev. Nathaniel Cole, George Perkins, Dr. Graham, Wm. L. Perkins and Rev. Truman Coe. When failing of a speaker, a sermon on temperance was read from the "National Preacher." The last meeting of the society recorded in the book was held October 6, 1834. John F. Morse, president; Alfred Morley, vice president; George Smith, secretary; S. W. Tinkham, C. G. Crary, Samuel Tomlinson, John Wells, S. R. Ladd, Emma Rockafellow, Julia Morse, Mahitable Loud, Julia Rudd, Harriet Cleveland, Melissa Pierson. Samuel Tomlinson, Truman Coe and Azariah Lyman were appointed delegates to the convention to be held at Cleveland on the 21st inst. Adjourned to two weeks from this evening 6 o'clock.

When or how the temperance society died I can only state from memory, but think that October, 1835, was our last regular meeting, and the society was overslaughed and smothered by the influx of Mormons -- not that they were intemperate,

for I believe they would compare favorably in that respect with a large number of our old citizens. It was reported, however, that they consumed a barrel of wine and other liquors at the dedication of the Temple, enabling some of them to see angels, have visions, prophesy and dream dreams. But many of the temperance workers were driven away, and those that remained let the society die by default. Three of the hard drinkers returned like "the dog to his vomit."

But I firmly believe that the Kirtland temperance society, short lived as it was, did more to reclaim the drunkard, save the moderate drinker and protect the rising generation than the whole Prohibition party of Ohio has ever done or ever will do. Intemperance is a question of morals and should not more be brought into politics than any of the crimes forbidden in the decalogue, for it is the mother and breeder of all the crimes that disgrace mankind. The Prohibition party, by bringing the moral question of temperance down into politics, have divided the temperance forces, antagonized, disgusted and paralyzed all temperance workers, and have united all liquor dealers in one solid body, who, by their great wealth, large profits and lavish use of money, hold the balance of power and can defeat any party that attempts to legislate against their interests. The elections in Iowa, Ohio, and other States last fall prove it.

 

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I received a short time since by mail from a friend in California a work entitled "Temperance and Prohibition," by G. H. Stockham, M.D. It is a very able work, giving the effects of the various kinds of liquor upon the human system; the efforts that have been made in England, Germany, Ireland and the United States to restrain and lessen the evils associated from its use as a beverage, and the poisonous drugs and materials by which it is adulterated. He says: "We have collected facts from Hassel and other eminent chemists, who assert that nine-tenths of all liquors used in the United States are more or less poisoned by drugs. A variety of articles are used in these adulterations, some of which are sugar of lead, capsicum, juniper berries, aloes, logwood, virdigris, strychnine, alum, sulphate of ammonia and sulphuric acid." He says that in the United States more port wine is drank in one year than posses through the custom house in tea; and the same proportion of champagne is used above what the entire district of Champagne produces. The failure of the whole crop of Maderia causes no apparent diminution of the quantity in the market, and the price of Cognac brandy is four times as high in Frances as it is here. He says that since the art of multiplication by adulteration, that dread disease, delirium tremens, is now prevalent in all whisky drinking communities. That the lower grades of whisky are strengthened by the addition of strychnine, which increases the quantity. The more fatal effects among those suffering from delirium tremens are attributed to this cause. He says that pure alcohol is a poison few will doubt. If enough is taken it will destroy life in a short time; its continued use will bring on various diseases of the heart, lungs, kidneys and stomach, fatty degeneration of the heart and hob-nailed liver, so

called, are directly the effects of ardent spirits. Thousands of lives are annually sacrificed to the demon drink. Lives that promised a rich autumnal fruitage have failed in their spring or summer time, leaving desolate once happy homes. The habitual use of beer and portal leads to an increase of bulk, dulls the brain, and the entire organization becomes lethargic. The worst patients that enter the London hospitals are the brewery men. A bruise or scratch, which in others would be insignificant, in them will often fester and mortify. Every medical man dreads a surgical operation on a confirmed beer drinker -- in such cases the mortality is frightful. Probably the English language does not contain a more graphic denunciation of the horrors of intemperance than is found in Mr. Ingersoll's address to a jury in a case where the question of alcohol was concerned. I quote of it from this book: 

"I do not believe that anybody can contemplate the subject without becoming prejudicial against the liquor crime. All we have to do is think of the wrecks on either bank of the stream of death, of the suicides, of the insanity, of the poverty, of the ignorance, of the destitution, of the little children tugging at the faded and weary breasts of mothers, of weeping and despairing wives asking for bread, of the talented men of genius that it has wrecked of those struggling with imaginary serpents produced by the devilish thing. When you think of the jails, of the alms-houses, of the asylums, of the prisons, of the scaffolds on either bank, I do not wonder that every thoughtful man is prejudiced against this damned stuff that is called alcohol. Intemperance cuts down youth in its vigor, manhood in its strength and age in its weakness. It breaks the father's heart, bereaves the doting mother, extinguishes natural affection, erases conjugal loves, blots out filial attachments, blights parental hope, and brings down mourning age in sorrow to the grave. It produces weakness, not strength; sickness, not health; death, not life. It makes wives widows, children orphans, fathers fiends, and all of them paupers and beggars. It feeds rheumatism, nurses goat, welcomes epidemics, invites cholera, imports pestilence and embraces consumption. It covers the land with idleness, misery and crime. It fills your jails, supplies your almshouses and demands your asylums. It engenders controversies, fosters quarrels and cherishes riots. It crowds your penitentiaries and furnishes victims for your scaffolds. It is the life blood of the gambler, the element of the burglar, the prop of the highwayman and the support of the midnight incendiary. It countenances the liar, respects the thief, esteems the blasphemer and honors infamy. It defames benevolence, hates love, scorns virtue, and slanders innocence. It incites the father to butcher his helpless offspring, helps the husband massacre his wife and the child to grind the parricidal axe. It burns up men, consumes women, detests life, curses God and despises heaven. It suborns witnesses, nurses perjury, defiles the jury box and stains the judicial ermine. It degrades the citizen, debases the legislator, dishonors the statesman, and disarms the patriot. It brings shame, not honor; terror, not safety; despair, not hope; misery, not happiness, and with the malevolence of a fiend it calmly surveys its frightful desolution; and unsatisfied with its havoc, it poisons felicity, kills peace, ruins morals, blights confidence, slays reputation and wipes out national honor -- then curses the world and laughs at its ruin. It does all that and more. It murders the soul. It is the son of all villainies and father of all crimes, the mother of abomination, the devil's best friend and God's worst enemy."

Fifty years ago whisky was pure, and so cheap that there was no temptation to adulterate it. The cost of drugs and materials would be more than the increased quantity would be worth. Men could then use it daily, spree it weekly, and live to be fifty, sixty or seventy years old. It is not so now. The

same quantity drank now will kill half our drinking population in a short time. A pint or a half pint would make short work with many now in the prime of life, and there would be great mourning over the "afflictive dispensations of Providence in taking our esteemed friend from his bereaved family," when, in fact, Providence had nothing to do with it. It was the poisoned whisky that killed him. Man is apt to shirk off upon Providence the results of his own sin and folly.

 

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About 1821 or 1822 we had at Kirtland Flats a Fourth of July celebration. It was a very elaborate affair. John F Morse was orator of the day; Josiah Jones read the Declaration of Independence; Isaac Chatfield had charge of the cannon (an old musket); James Bradley and Nathan P Goodale gave the fife and drum music. I do not recollect who was president or marshal of the day, or whether we had any. The speaking took place in Peter French's new barn, which stood where R. B. Green now has a furniture establishment. The tables were set just back of the Damon store buildings. We had some song singing, and I am promised by Mr. Pitcher some of the verses that were used on that occasion, said to have been composed by the orator of the day. I took but little interest in the proceedings, and remember nothing of the speaking or toasts that were drank. My chief interest was after a good time with my mates, and the center of attraction the dinner tables. In those days children always had to wait and sit down at the second table. This detracted very much from our enjoyment on such occasions -- to see our elders sit and chat, sip their tea, and tell stories to prolong their meal, entirely oblivious of the terrible, gnawing pangs of hunger that we were suffering. But the fashion has changed and is vastly improved -- the children are served first and the older ones wait. It gives me not one-tenth part of the pain now to wait an hour for dinner that it did when I was fifteen, and had the stomach of a hyena and the digestion of an ostrich. In every department of knowledge man has greatly improved. The present generation knows a vastly more than the preceding ones. The young men of to-day can safely ignore the old-fogy notion that history repeats itself, or that like causes produces like effects -- that past experience is of any use whatever in forecasting the future. They can now get up fine-spun theories on tariff, finance, and other matters, an figure them out so clearly and with such certainty that there is no need whatever in looking at or taking into account past experiences. Old fogies and their notions are now relegated to oblivion, and of no more use than a last year's almanac.

I have received from Mrs. Pitcher one verse of the song composed by the late Colonel Morse, and sung with the other pieces at the Fourth of July celebration above mentioned:

"Columbia's sons and daughters, hail!
Fair Liberty doth here prevail;
In equal rights our lands shall vie
With any land below the sky. The song and the oration were highly complimented and considered very fine, considering his age, eighteen or twenty. In those days song singing was

much practiced, and brought to a high state of perfection. Church music was taught at singing schools. No one ever thought of taking his song book to church. After the reading of the hymn the leader pitched the tune and started off. The congregation -- all that could sing -- would join in, some a note or two too high, others as much too low, and most of them a little behind the leader. Uncultivated people did not mind the discord, and the congregations dispersed feeling spiritually refreshed. They had heard a good sermon, taken part in the worship, and were ready for the week's labors, anticipating a good time next Sabbath in airing their musical talents. Now the singing is mostly done by the choir, and is very artistic -- no discord -- all on time, and is very pleasing to cultivated ears. But whether it touches the heart, and leads to devotional feelings, like the old way, is somewhat doubtful.

I will close this chapter by telling a story. The orator at the above celebration had no ear for music. I believe he could not tell one tune from another, but at eighteen or twenty wished to learn to sing, and attended the singing school. One night, on returning home alone through the woods, he thought it would be a good chance to train his voice, and struck up a high key. His father stepped to the door and heard what he supposed to be wolves, and called the family out to hear them. (In those days, when the wolves howled, we all went to listen to their weird music.) After listening awhile the youngest daughter said, "That is not the sound of wolves; it is John trying to raise and fall the eight notes." Some years later Colonel Morse was in company, when it was proposed that each one should sing a song. When it came to his turn to sing; he told them that he would like to tell a story, and then, if they insisted upon it, he would sing. He then related the above story, and they concluded to dispense with a song from him.

 

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When Mark Twain thought himself a member of President Grant's cabinet he called on the heads of different Departments and advised them that their reports were dry and uninteresting -- that if they would insert occasionally a conundrum, a witty saying, or a funny story, it would make their reports much more readable and interesting to the general public. In looking over my dry reminiscences, I think Mark Twain's advice would be suitable in my case, and will give a few stories.

About 1818 there came a man to father who wanted him to perform a marriage ceremony -- said that he had no money, but would like to come and work to pay him for the job, and said he understood dressing flax. He came and dressed flax two days, and father walked with him over into the edge of Chardon and tied the knot. He was probably about forty, and she, a widow, about the same age.

About 1817 or 1818, Stockwell S. Hilbert, a physician had hung out his shingle at Levi Marble's three miles west of us, in Willoughby. He had become involved in debt, and an execution was against him. He had some business at my father's, who was then justice of the peace. He learned in the evening that the constable was there, and fearing that his horse would be taken, he offered me a half dollar to take his horse down to Marble's and hitch

it in the lane. The temptation was great -- it was more money than I had ever owned, but I was too green to ask pay in advance. I went down well enough, having the company of the horse, but on coming back through the woods, with the hooting of the owls and other strange noises, my hair stood on end, and my coat would have stuck out straight behind if I had had one. When I reached home Hilbert was gone, and I never saw him again. So my dreams of wealth vanished in thin air, and I keenly felt the loss of my bright prospects of anticipated wealth. 

I will give one more story, and not a boy's story, either, as all the parties were men with families. I will only give initials -- D., J., N. and G. I had this story from D., and he was a capital hand at story-telling. He said that N. and J. ran a sugar bush together, and he ran one just across the lot line. Their camps were but a very few rods apart, the sap was crowding, and they had to boil all night. D. went over to N. and J.'s camp, and J. said: "Do you think it safe for us to be out all night without something to ward off the ill effects of the damp night air?" "I think not," said D. "Well," said J., "we have decided that you and I shall go down to Kirtland" (five and a half miles) "and get a jug of whisky, and N, will tend both camps while we are gone." "All right," said D, and off they started. At the still-house they found a congenial company, and had a good time till near midnight, then filled their jug and started home. About half way back they passed a barn. J. said: "Do you suppose C. has any straw in his barn?" "We'll go and see," said D. They found straw bound up, and took as many bundles as they could carry as far as the next house, and placed them against the door so that the straw would fall in on whoever opened the door in the morning. When they got to G.'s house, J. said: "Do you think Brother G.'s doorway is large enough?" "I think it is not," said D. "Well," said J, "he is too indolent and lazy to do it himself, and I think we had better do it for him." So they put down their jug and took his door-yard rail fence and built twice across the road. This done, they then took up their jug and went on, getting to the camp at daylight, where N. had been running from one camp to the other all night. In the morning G. came over to the camp and said, "Brother J., what do you think! some rascally fellows have taken my door-yard fence and run it twice across the road." "They have?" said J. "They ought to be punished. Now, look here; you go and put your fence back -- say nothing about it, keep dark, and it will leak out who did it. They ought to be prosecuted. It is too bad that a person can't sleep nights without his property destroyed in that way." Whether he ever found out who did it, D. did not tell me. 

Weaver's reeds were rather scarce here in an early day, and were kept in constant use either by the owner or those wishing to borrow. Mrs. Stephen Ames had loaned one of hers to a lady living in the northwest part of Chester. When she wanted it she sent Lucinda Foster after it, who went on horseback, and, for company, stopped at Erastus Crary's and took Almeda Crary on behind her, who was eleven years old, Miss Foster three or four years older. Their road lay from Peck's Corners west a little over a mile, thence south two miles (a new road, only underbrushed out, and but little traveled) thence west a mile

or so. They went all right, got the reed, and started back. Their horse was slow, and they were belated. Near the south line of Kirtland is a deep gully and a small brook; the brook had been crossed a number of places up and down the stream. When they got to the brook it had become quite dark and rainy, and they got bewildered at the many crossings. They said they crossed the brook three times. Finally, it became pitch dark, and they gave up in despair. They took the blanket from the horse, laid it by the side of a log, took off their shoes and laid them on the log, so that their friends, when they found the shoes, would know that they had been eaten up by wild beasts, and, as they expressed it, delivered themselves over to the Lord and lay down, but not to sleep, as they heard strange noises during the night, and believed that wild beasts were tramping about through the woods. The next morning they found the road and got to Captain Morse's about ten o'clock, both wet and hungry.

 

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It is not strange, Mr. Editor, that people wishing to accomplish the same object should pursue a directly contrary course to effect the same object? I was forcibly reminded of this fact in my sojourn of a few weeks in South Dakota, during the heat of the campaign for the ratification of their new constitution. All the articles of the constitution, except one, were virtually settled in their favor. The only question was how large shall the majority be? But the article on prohibition was new and elicited a vigorous campaign on the part of its advocates. Led by able speakers, like Judge Moody and others, aided ably and efficiently by the W. C. T. U., they made it plain to all the prohibition was not a partisan question -- urged Republicans and Democrats to vote their respective tickets, but asked all who loved a quiet home, all we deprecate the many crimes and casualties caused by drunkenness, all who felt that Dakota was able to support her government without sharing in the profits of drunkard-making, all who felt unwilling to share in the robbery of the drunkard's wife and children, sending her to the rich man's wash tub for a precarious subsistence, or to the poor house, and her ragged and bare-footed children supperless to bed, to vote for prohibition. Vote now, that no future legislature shall haggle with the run seller for their share of the profits, either by high or low license -- but say to the rumseller, "Thou shalt no put the cup to thy neighbor's lips for gain."

The above is but a faint outline of the arguments used, but they were successful, and South and North Dakota will enter the Union with constitutional prohibition -- the latter, it is true, by a small majority, but all that could be expected from the large proportion of foreigners, who never heard of temperance, much less of prohibition. Mr. Joseph Edwards says it is an American institution, and not known in Europe.

Now, here in Ohio, the Prohibition party is intensely partisan, and seem to think that the only way to succeed and to build up their party is to break down

the two old parties. I have the reading of the "Beacon," which some kind friend sends us -- a rabid partisan sheet -- about two-thirds of it filled with denunciation of the two old parties. The Republican party is represented as calling brewers, distillers, wholesale liquor dealers and saloonists to high seats in conventions, and given lucrative offices to secure the liquor vote. And the Democratic party but little better. A considerable portion of the paper was filled with letters from their speakers, giving glowing accounts of the interesting meetings they were holding and the many converts they were making. But their converts do not materialize at the polls, and the party hardly keeps pace with the increase in population.

A few years ago constitutional prohibition was nearly carried in Ohio; now it would probably be snowed under as badly as in Pennsylvania and other partisan ridden states. The partisan prohibitionists seem to think that if the old parties could be wiped out of existence, prohibition, as a matter of course, would follow. They forget, or ignore, the fact that the liquor interest is unscrupulous -- that it has hundreds of millions invested in the business -- that it will require united strength of all lovers of temperance of every party, sect or creed to effect the extinction of the liquor traffic as a beverage. I believe there are enough temperance people to do it, if not divided and antagonized by partisan rancor. There is one redeeming feature in the many third parties that have arisen and flourished for a few years and died out; they furnish a congenial home for cranks and soreheads who feel that their talents have not been duly appreciated by the party to which they belonged.

 

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Kirtland will be immortalized in history as the site of the Mormon Temple and the first stake of the followers of Joseph Smith. The Temple stands on high land overlooking the valley of the east branch of the Chagrin river. In size it is 50 by 70 feet, two stories high of 20 feet each, with an attic partitioned off into school rooms. It was said that the size and inside finish was according to revelation from the Lord, given to Smith, and to be built of brick; but not succeeding in making good brick, it was changed to that of stone. The stone came from two quarries -- the Stannard quarry, two miles south, a very superior and durable quality of sandstone, and from the Russell quarry, one mile south, a finer-grained stone of a color inclined to purple or slate, but not quite proof against wind and weather. The building is of rough stone, except the corners, windows and door-frames. I think if now examined the fine-grained stone will be found perceptibly decayed and wasted away, and faded to nearly uniform color with the coarser-grained sandstone. The outside of the walls were plastered with a very superior quality of cement, as indestructible as the best quality of stone. Jacob Bump was the master mason, and the Temple will stand for unnumbered ages as a monument to his skill and genius. The inside, after passing through the vestibule, some twelve or fourteen feet, is finished off in one room, with three or four pulpits at each end, each rising a foot or two above and back of the one before it. There were curtains that could be let

down from above to divide the room into four, able to divide the several pulpits from each other. Each pulpit was calculated for three persons, and all lettered in large gilt characters, showing the rank and standing of the occupant. The pulpits at one end were for priests of the Aaronic order; the other end for priests of the Melchisedek order. The Temple was built in 1834, at a cost of about $40,000 by donations. There seemed to be no lack of funds. Money was sent in from the brethren in all parts of the United States. The women are said to have contributed by knitting and otherwise. Property of all kinds were sent in. I one day bought a horse and yoke of oxen that had been donated towards the Temple, and I believe when it was finished there was no debt against it. 

After the building was finished they (the Mormons) started a school, principally, I believe, if not exclusively, for teaching the Hebrew language. They procured several mummies from Egypt and Smith by revelation or interpretation, found some of them to be very distinguished characters and contemporaries of either Aaron, Joseph or Moses. They were not very pleasing objects to look up -- dried skeletons and as black as coal tar. Whether this was from age, the materials for embalming, or were real negroes, I could not tell. They employed a Hebrew teacher, a Jew by the name of Saixas. He was a man of much ability and I presume an excellent teacher of Hebrew. The Rev. Mr. Coe, wishing to visit Connecticut for several weeks, engaged Mr. Saixas to lecture at the Congregational church every Sabbath during his absence. He stipulated that he should not be asked to pray to take any part in the meeting, except to read his lectures. I think I never heard more eloquent and touching language used than in his lectures on Joseph and Moses in Egypt. What the mummies cost I do not know, but have been told that Mr. Andrews paid $800 towards them. What became of them I do not know, but suppose they were taken to Salt Lake.

In any allusion that I have made, or may hereafter make to the Mormons or Mormonism, I intend no reference whatever to the Church or the Latter Day Saints who now occupy the Temple. I have no acquaintance with any of them, but am told that they are good, honest citizens. I should have mentioned that I have received from the Secretary of the Pioneer Association of Lake County his manuscript and records of the pioneer meetings, which he intends to publish in book form. As my remembrances are evanescent, to be read today, destroyed and forgotten tomorrow, I will not detract from the interest in his more permanent and valuable work by quoting from it.

 

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In 1836 the Mormons commenced preparations for a bank. It was to be a mammoth institution, and all who could were to take stock. Many put in all their available funds. For some reason there was a hitch and delay of several weeks. Many who had put in their all suffered for the necessaries of life. To bridge over this delay, and allay the clamor for funds, Smith and Rigdon issued a large quantity of their individual notes, payable thirty days after demand. I think they signed their names as President Joseph Smith and President Sidney

Rigdon. These notes passed current with the faithful, but were handled quite sparingly by outsiders. When the printed bills came, these notes were redeemed with Kirtland Safety Bank notes. Before issuing them, they found that, without a charter from the state, they were violating the law. To obviate this difficulty, they printed with hand type, in very small letters, the word "anti" before "Bank," making it read "Kirtland Safety Society anti-Bank," thinking thus to evade the law. I am not sure but they omitted the "anti" in their later issues. The bank soon collapsed and shut down, and the boxes that purported to contain specie were found to be filled with lead, pot-metal or sand, and the packages of bank bills were found to be strips of newspapers carefully done up -- so said by those who examined. At any rate, the money was gone, and supposed to have been sent to Philadelphia and New York to buy goods, Smith having brought on a large stock of goods, and another large stock was owned by some of the dignitaries of the church.

The years 1834, 1835 and 1836 was a general season of speculation all over the country, and especially so in Kirtland. The city was laid out and platted two miles square, and much of it surveyed into half-acre lots. Lots that first sold for ten, twenty and fifty dollars, soon sold for many hundreds. Men who were not worth a dollar became immensely rich -- on paper. A Mr. Granger -- a relative of Postmaster General Granger, of New York -- also a distant relative of my first wife, boasted that he was the richest Granger that ever trod shoe leather, when at the same time his family was actually suffering for the necessaries of life. 

There were probably nearly 2,000 Mormons in the place in 1837, composed of all classes, good, bad and indifferent. There was a large class of ignorant and fanatical people who placed full confidence in Joseph Smith's revelations and stood ready to execute his bidding, even to the taking of life. Smith was once arrested, taken to Chardon, and tried for inciting his followers to murder Grandison Newell. Marvel C. Davis and a Mr. Lake swore that they were ordered by Smith to assassinate him, and waylaid him for that purpose, but by some mishap failed to fulfill the will of the Lord as revealed by Smith. Mormon testimony not being first class, or by some technical flaw, Smith was acquitted. Then there was a large class of good, honest, quiet, credulous people, some of them quite well off, but they were soon relieved their surplus wealth and reduced to the level of the common herd. There were many who joined to become teachers, priests and missionaries, to make a living without hard labor; and still another small class of sharpers, lawyers, pettifoggers and doctors, who joined hoping to make money out of the concern. The speculation in the city lots had made many of them so rich that they bought farms, paying but little down, and found everybody willing to sell. With means they could have bought every farm in the township. The people all supposed they had got to leave. It was a time of terror. Property was not safe from theft, and many believed that life was not safe with such a crowd, who boasted that they should not hesitate to take life, if the Lord commanded them to do so through the prophet; that they should live off and suck the milk of the Gentiles; that the promise that the saints should inherit the earth was about to be fulfilled, and

that they were the saints. And this crowd, controlled by one man, whom many believed capable of almost any crime which Satan should prompt, is there any wonder that everybody wanted to sell and get away? When their bank failed all their imaginary wealth vanished; their money was gone; their teams were gone; their provisions were gone; their credit was gone; their stores of goods disappeared. No community could be left in more destitute circumstances, and the only alternative was for them to leave -- leave their Temple, their homes, all that they had held dear, and go to, they knew now where. And how to go was a serious question. They had no teams; but fortune for once favored them. A few months after the failure of the bank, all the banks in the country suspended specie payment, which raised their bills about on par with Michigan wildcat money -- much of it like Mormon money -- worth no more than white paper. Runners were sent out with pockets full of Mormon money to buy teams where they could find people not posted on the value of Mormon promises to pay. In 1838 the camp was ready to start, and left in a body, making a string of teams more than a mile long. Many prosecutions for violations of the law were pending, and a judgment against Smith, on which the Temple was sold at public sale some time after they left.

 

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After the Mormons left Kirtland, in 1838, a school was started in the Temple by Nelson Slater, styled the "Western Reserve Teacher's Seminary." It was duly incorporated. The trustees were Seabury Ford, of Burton (afterward Governor of Ohio); Mr. Nichols, of Perry; N. P. Goodell and John W Howden, of Painesville; T. D. Martindale, A. C. Russell, Truman Coe and C. G. Crary, of Kirtland. Governor Ford never acted with the trustees, but patronized the school. Nichols, Goodell and Howden attended one or two trustees' meetings, but the whole management of the seminary devolved on the Kirtland trustees. The Temple was used about a year, and found to be unsuitable for the purpose; the thick, damp walls and high ceiling made it difficult to warm, and the long flight of stairs was objectionable. There was much complaint of sickness, and the death of one lady was attributed to a cold contracted in the building. The trustees then procured the Methodist church for ten years and fitted it up for the school. In 1850 a commodious building was erected at the cost of $1,600. From that time the school gradually failed. High schools were started in all adjoining townships, confining the scholarship exclusively to Kirtland. The last year of the school was on a guarantee subscription by the citizens, which was never paid, the whole loss falling on Crary. At the death of Martindale and Coe, E.G. Bunnell and Demas Bryant were elected trustees, and at the last meeting of the trustees, C. B. Rising was elected trustee, and a vote was taken authorizing C. G. Crary to sell the building and other property belonging to the seminary.

The early students of the W.R.T. Seminary, for intellectual ability, would compare favorably with an equal number of students in any of our colleges and institutions of learning. I will mention a few of them that placed their names high on the roll of fame as educators: Dr. Lord, at the head of the institution for the education of the blind at Columbus for many years, and held a

similar position at Batavia, N.Y., until the time of his death; Dr. Nichols, for many years principal of the girls' industrial home at Delaware, O; Prof. T. W. Harvey, commissioner of schools for Ohio; Geo. E. Howe, principal of the reform farm at Lancaster, O, and now holding a similar position at Meriden, Conn.; M. F. Cowdery, superintendent of schools for Sandusky City. In the military line I mention General Leggett, afterward Commissioner of Patents, now practicing law in Cleveland, and two by the name of Wilcox, given names not remembered, one of them made prisoner by the rebels. Then there is a long list of ministers, lawyers, bankers, and doctors, too numerous to mention, all, so far as I know, strong supporters of the Union during the rebellion, with two or three exceptions. One of the exceptions was Harrison Dodd, who went to Indiana, became the leader of the Golden Circle, a treasonable organization, which was broken up, and if he had been caught at the time he would have been hung.

The lady students were perhaps equally as talented as the gentlemen. I will mention but two or three of them. Mr. Elizabeth Russell Lord assisted her husband in his labors for the blind, and is said to have taught more blind persons to read than any other person in the United States, and was invited by the Queen to visit England to engage in the same philanthropic work. She now holds an important position at Oberlin College. Miss Maria Whiting is lady principal of Knox Seminary, Ill; and I believe that much of the popularity of Geo. E. Howe is due to his wife (sister of Mrs. George Frank, of Kirtland) who by her kindness and motherly care has a restraining influence on the wayward youths, and the most incorrigible dislike to give her pain or cause her trouble.

 

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Found, by a lady in Chardon, April 19, 1890, in an old desk, in a secret drawer, between the leaves of an old account book, ninety-five dollars in Kirtland bank bills, thirty-one in number, consisting of ones, twos, threes, fives, tens and twenty dollar bills. How long they had remained there no one now can tell. The desk once belonged to the old grandfather of the family. How he obtained they, and why he laid them by, we can only imagine. They were all issued in 1837, and the officers of the bank were the officers of the Church of Latter Day Saints, commonly known as Mormons. The bank officers' names, as they appear on the bills, are J. Smith, Cashier; S. Rigdon, President; sometimes J. Smith, Jr., O. Pratt, S. G. Williams, N. R. Whitney, W. Parrish and Omo [sic] O. Hyde and S. Smith, on different bills, and officers. The engraver's names were: Underwood, Bald, Spencer and Hufty, New York and Philadelphia. The name of the bank was the "Kirtland Safety Society Bank." But in 1838 the Mormons began to leave Kirtland for Illinois, and at one time I counted thirty-eight covered wagons on the road south of Aurora Center, going south. They had a large number of horses, probably bought with Kirtland Bank money, and this $95 may have been given for a horse. I think the bank was not a chartered institution from the State of Ohio, but was a society bank, gotten up by the society of Kirtland on their own authority and responsibility.

I remember, at that time and shortly after, there were a great many banks in Ohio, Indiana and other States that issued paper money, not very safe to keep over night. It was called wildcat money. Nearly all of the States issued more or less of it. We used to regard eastern money far better than western generally, yet we had two banks in Ohio that we called good and safe. One was the Bank of Geauga, at Painesville, the other the Western Reserve Bank, at Warren. Afterward we had the State Bank of Ohio, good near home, within the State, known as the "Red Bank," long before the "greenback," that has filled a large a place in the currency of the United States, was known. Now, we hardly look at a bill to see whether it is good or not, only to see the amount; but in wildcat times we dare not take money, unless we had "Thompson's Bank Note Reporter," issued every week, to see if the bills offered were worth more than the paper in blank. Besides the wildcat banks, there was a large per cent of bills in circulation that were counterfeit. There was very little specie then in circulation, and what there was was very likely to be bogus. This generation cannot realize the vast benefit to the people of the United States -- yes, and to the world, -- of our present currency. It is as good as gold the world over, and far more convenient to carry about, doing business. Our greenbacks and National bills are as safe as Uncle Sam's mountain of gold or vault full of specie. Nobody wants to carry around a load of specie when Uncle Sam's promise on paper is just as safe and far more convenient. No one thinks to see what bank it is on, whether issued in Maine or Texas. As soon as he sees the amount he is ready to stuff it into his pockets, not thinking it may be a counterfeit, so few are now in circulation. Old Baron Rothchild of England, said, not long ago, that the United States had the best currency of any nation in the world, and he was probably as good a judge as the world afforded then. Forty years ago, and now, what a change in money matters! The young business man of to day cannot realize it.        H. B.

 

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In looking over the yarns I have been knitting together for a few months past, many stitches have been dropped and I will try to take a few of the most prominent ones. A Mr. B., of Kirtland, obtained work at Fairport, and after a few weeks secured a horse and buggy and a boy to bring