F 
 
 QUAKER HILL 
 
 (LOCAL HISTOBY; 
 
 S E R I E S 
 
 VI I L IRicbarb ©sborn/ 
 a IReminiscence. 
 
 MARGARET B. MONAHAN. 
 
Class. 
 Book 
 
 Q^nM -] 
 
RICHARD OSBORN 
 
 A REMINISCENCE. 
 Second Edition 
 
 BY 
 
 MARGARET B. MONAHAN. 
 
 READ AT THE FOURTH ANNUAL MEETING OF THl 
 
 QUAKER HILL CONFERENCE, SEPTEMBER THE 
 
 SIXTH, NINETEEN HUNDRED AND TWO. 
 
 Published by the Quaker Hill Conference Association 
 
 Quaker Hill, New York 
 
 1902 
 
PuDllcations 
 
 Of the Quaker Hii,!, Conference Association 
 
 A Critical Study of the Bible, by the Rev. Newton M. 
 Hall of Springfield, Mass. 
 
 The Relation of the Church at Home to the Church 
 Abroad, by Rev, George William Knox, D.D., of New York. 
 
 A Tenable Theory of Biblical Inspiration, by Prof. 
 Irving Francis Wood, Ph.D., of Northampton, Mass. 
 
 The Boole Parmer, by Edward H. Jenkins, Ph.D., of 
 New Haven, Conn. 
 
 LOCAIv HISTORY SERIES 
 
 David Irish— A Memoir, by his daughter, Mrs. Phoebe 
 T. Wanzer of Quaker Hill, N. Y. 
 
 Quaker Hill in the Eighteenth Century, by Rev. Warren 
 
 H. Wilson of Brooklyn, N. Y. 
 
 Quaker Hill in the Nineteenth Century, by Rev. Warren 
 H. Wilson of Brooklyn, N. Y. (Second Edition) 
 
 Hiram B. Jones and His School, by Rev. Edward t,. 
 Chichester of Quaker Hill, N. Y. 
 
 Richard Osborn— A Reminiscence, by Margaret B. Mon- 
 ahan of Quaker Hill, N. Y. (Second Edition). 
 
 Albert J. Akin— A Tribute, by Rev. Warren H. Wilson of 
 Brooklyn, N. Y. 
 
 Ancient Homes and Early Days at Quaker Hill, by 
 
 Amanda Akin Stearns of Quaker Hill, N. Y. 
 
 Thomas Taber and Edward Shove— a Reminiscence, by 
 
 Rev. Benjamin Shove of New York. 
 
 Some Glimpses of the Past, by Alicia Hopkins Taber of 
 Pawling. N. Y. 
 
 The Purchase Meeting, by James Wood of Mt. Kisco, 
 N. Y. 
 
 • • 
 
 In Loving Remembrance 4f A"" Hayes, by Mrs. Warren 
 H. Wilson of Brooklyn, N. Y.-. 
 
 Washington's Headquarters at Predericksburgh, by 
 
 I^ewis S. Patrick of Marinette, Wis. 
 
 Historical Landmarks in the Town of Sherman, by 
 
 Ruth Rogers, Sherman, Conn. 
 
 Any one of these publications may be had by addressing 
 the Secretary, Rev. Bertram A. Warren. 
 
 Quaker Hill. N.Y. 
 
 Price Ten Cents. Twelve Cents Postpaid. 
 
 Gift 
 
 Pub'- 
 
To My Good Friends 
 Richard and Roby Osborn, 
 
 Who have never varied in their loving 
 kindness toward me, since I came 
 twelve years ago, a stranger, to 
 dwell in their midst; and who, in 
 my hour of greatest need, brought 
 to me the veritable *'cup of cold 
 water' ' in the name of our common 
 discipleship, I dedicate the follow- 
 ing pages. 
 
 Quaker Hill, September 6th, 1902. 
 
RICHARD OSBORN 
 
 A REMINISCENCE 
 
 Quaker Hii^l has been described as "a 
 place which is all length and no breadth." 
 This is but an epigrammatic way of saying 
 that in miles its length is to its width, as 
 six is to one. 
 
 Thus it is that Quaker Hill cannot be 
 called a village or hamlet; being only one 
 long street, with houses and farms on either 
 side. The South, or Hotel end, hardly 
 knows there is a beautiful North or farm- 
 ing end ; the North hears but vaguely and 
 infrequently of the South ; while the Middle 
 Distance maintains a courteous bowing 
 acquaintance with both. Each little section 
 has its own ways, its own traditions ; the 
 community of interest which inheres in a 
 place having a central rallying point is 
 lacking. This remoteness of living tends 
 naturally to segregation; whether in time 
 
to come, there may be found interests 
 strong enough to cause Quaker Hill people 
 to become a solidarity, is a question; and 
 in the answer to that question lies Quaker 
 Hill's future. 
 
 Its past, however, is its own, and what 
 a past it is. From the time the Oblong 
 was settled, about 1730, by Friends from 
 Rhode Island, until a comparatively recent 
 date, the Old Meeting House was the 
 Jerusalem of the Hill people, "whither the 
 tribes went up to the testimony of the 
 Lord;" and to this day it attracts, as 
 nothing else in our midst can do. 
 
 There was no lack of unity in the days 
 when those strong, upright, uncomprom- 
 ising men and women sought and found, 
 on this hill top, and in this building, their 
 heart's desire — "freedom to worship God," 
 and in the shadow of the Old Meeting 
 House, lived out their lives of plain living 
 and high thinking. Plain even to austerity 
 was the living, rugged and difficult the 
 conditions of existence; high indeed the 
 thinking which turned out the pioneers of 
 many of the advance movements of the 
 last century and a half, and made it pos- 
 sible to say of old Quaker Hill, "this or 
 
 8 
 
that great enterprise for the upHfting of 
 God's creatures was born there." 
 
 Here Hved, loved and died, sturdy, God- 
 fearing men and women ; here they thought, 
 prayed, testified, they were granted visions, 
 they did their utmost endeavor for God 
 and their right, and finally, dying, they 
 were gathered to their fathers, and laid to 
 rest beneath the sod at the western end 
 of the plot of ground upon which the 
 Meeting House stands. Tlie turf grows 
 green above them; ''no storied urn, or 
 monumental bust" marks their resting- 
 place; but they left their mark not only 
 upon this community, but upon the times 
 in which they lived. 
 
 Up the highway, to the northward, on 
 the west side of the road, stands a com- 
 fortable farm house, gable end to the street. 
 It is the site of the old Osborn place, where 
 six generations of that name have lived, 
 and one is still living, and where Richard 
 Osborn and his father were born. Of these 
 six generations, not a man has ever been 
 known to use spirituous liquors, or tobacco, 
 to indulge in any profanity, or to be guilty 
 of a dishonest action. 
 
 The situation of the old place is excel- 
 
lent; sheltered from the violence of north- 
 east storms, yet open to the southern sun 
 and the pleasant western breezes, and com- 
 manding a beautiful view of the distant 
 Catskill Mountains. An abundant spring 
 of delicious soft water adds value to the 
 place. Here, from Rhode Island, in 1760, 
 came Paul Osborn, and his wife, Elizabeth. 
 He was the first of that name in the Ob- 
 long, as it was then called. His nephew, 
 Isaac, followed him some four years later. 
 The house in which they took up their 
 abode, was built of hand hewn timber, 
 pinned together with oaken pins ; a story 
 and a half in height at the East end, with 
 roof sloping long and low at the other, and 
 one huge chimney in the middle, round 
 which clustered three fireplaces, in as 
 many different rooms. These were all the 
 heating facilities the house afforded its 
 inmates, but 
 
 "Blow high, blow low, no winds that blow, 
 Could quench their hearth fires' ruddy glow." 
 
 The ''great room with the bed room at- 
 tached," as it is called in a contemporaneous 
 document, and the kitchen, had each its 
 cavernous fireplace, into which were rolled 
 
 10 
 
great logs from the forests that covered 
 the hills ; but of the "chambers above" these 
 rooms, of which the same document goes 
 on to speak, imagination fails to picture the 
 iciness during an old-fashioned Quaker Hill 
 winter, 
 
 This was at about the time when New 
 York City, under the governorship of 
 Mynheer Rip Van Dam, had grown phe- 
 nominally, till it numbered almost eight 
 thousand inhabitants, and its northern sub- 
 urbs nearly reached Nassau street. New 
 York State was a (more or less) loyal 
 British colony ; George the Third was still 
 Prince of Wales, and the War of the 
 Revolution was in the shadowy future. 
 
 Life in the Osborn homestead was like 
 that of any colonial yeoman, as farmers 
 were then designated. By the aid of cum- 
 brous implements of old country pattern, 
 they tilled the fertile, productive fields, 
 after they had cleared them of timber, and 
 marketed such of their produce as they did 
 not consume. Of wagons and such con- 
 veniences there were none, all journeying 
 being done on horseback, all transporting 
 of goods by means of saddle bags. 
 
 Within doors the women spun wool and 
 
 II 
 
flax, and wove homespun on hand looms. 
 They dipped or *'run" candles of their 
 sheep's tallow, and by their light, or that 
 of the great wood fires, knit stockings of 
 the wool of those same sheep. They 
 cooked over the big logs, with hook and 
 crane, and baked, in the great brick oven, 
 loaves of "rie" and Indian, sweet, crisp, 
 wholesome, dehcious. But in these labors 
 the mistress of the house, Elizabeth, could 
 not share; for forty years she was blind. 
 Yet did this affliction but endear her to 
 her husband, a glimpse of whose loving 
 tenderness we catch, in reading the provi- 
 sions made in his will, for the well-being, 
 comfort and convenience of his ''dearly be- 
 loved wife, Elizabeth." And the cares and 
 duties of her household did not lapse, but 
 were lifted and carried for her by one Mary 
 Reynold, in such wise as to satisfy both 
 Elizabeth and her husband, for he calls 
 Mary "my esteemed friend; having had 
 some knowledge of her good conduct in 
 my family." 
 
 To "friends traveling on truth's ac- 
 count," the doors of the old house always 
 swung wide. Paul Osborn kept open house 
 for "his friends, the people called Quakers," 
 
 12 
 
during his lifetime, and his will provides 
 in the most minute and careful manner for 
 his wife, ''the better to qualifye her to keep 
 a house of entertainment for friends." She 
 is to have ''half his movabel estate," the 
 yearly interest on a considerable sum of 
 money, and also "speshues," (whatever that 
 may be,) of "wheat, Indian corn, rie, oats, 
 sheeps woll, cotton woll, molesses, coflFe, 
 chocolate, turneps, and potates," all to be 
 "good and marchantable." Isaac Osborn, 
 his executor, is to provide "a sufficiency of 
 firewood, cutt fit for the fire, likewise to 
 draw the same, and make the fiers." Also, 
 "a good milch cow in the Spring, and the 
 same in the Fall," and "he shall keep the 
 said cow well in the winter season at the 
 barn with good hay, and in the summer 
 season he shall keep her well with grass, 
 handy for the conveniency of milking." All 
 these things to be for his "dearly beloved 
 wife Elizabeth, during her nateral life," 
 and after her, in less measure, "the same 
 to be to Mary Reynold." The "littel 
 meadow in lot 29," he gives Isaac Osborn, 
 "that he shall keep well all horses of friends 
 my wife shall send him;" and should Isaac 
 "neglect the injunctions herein enjoined," 
 
 13 
 
and cease to keep such house of entertain- 
 ment for friends, then his right to certain 
 legacies "shall decend and revolve to them, 
 him or her that shall truely fulfil them." 
 And all his lands in the latter case, Paul 
 gives to the "yearly meeting for Friends, 
 those people called Quakers, of Philadel- 
 phia." It is needless to say to those for 
 whom the name, Osborn, is a synonym for 
 rectitude, that the "injunctions herein en- 
 joined" were carried out to the letter by 
 the nephew. 
 
 Such was the "plain living" of Paul 
 Osborn ; in his "high thinking" consisted 
 his life. At this time the Oblong Meeting 
 was a power. On First Days the Meeting 
 House was filled with a devout throng of 
 worshippers, many of them coming from 
 great distances, walking barefoot and carry- 
 ing their shoes in their hands. In this as- 
 semblage Paul Osborn spoke, from time to 
 time. No record of his testimonies is left; 
 but one may imagine the form they would 
 take during the restless excitement and 
 suspense of pre-Revolutionary days, as well 
 as when, a little later, the presence in the 
 meetings of uniformed soldiers served to 
 point the moral of his words. There is 
 
 14 
 
extant no connected story of his life; some 
 of its more important dates even, are miss- 
 ing. He emerges at intervals from the 
 shadowy past, through the medium of dis- 
 connected anecdotes, but all of those por- 
 tray marked traits of individuality. There 
 is something gigantic about this fine, 
 strongly marked, individual character; he 
 might have sat for the portrait of Valiant- 
 for-Truth, in Bunyan's immortal allegory. 
 
 During a visit of a party of "friends 
 traveling on truth's account," from Eng- 
 land, he felt moved to journey with them, 
 to preach and teach, and when they left, 
 he too rode away, on horseback, setting his 
 face toward the Carolinas, which in due 
 time he reached, and whence after many 
 months he returned; but no record of this 
 most interesting journey has been preserved. 
 On his homeward way, he arrived at length, 
 on First Day, within a few miles of Quaker 
 Hill. *'The road winds upward all the 
 way," from the Connecticut valley, shut in 
 by leafy fragrant woods, until the top of 
 the hill is reached, when there suddenly 
 bursts upon the view a vision to quicken 
 the heart — the everlasting hills, stretching 
 for miles along the horizon. As Paul Os- 
 
 15 
 
born, reaching the crest of the hill, beheld 
 this harbinger of home, he was met by a 
 minister of another denomination, who, 
 reining in his horse, called Paul to account 
 for infringing the sacredness of the Con- 
 necticut Sabbath, by traveling on that day. 
 It would have been quite within reason for 
 Paul to urge the fact of his wife's affliction 
 — her blindness — in extenuation of his 
 haste — but humor is a prerogative of every 
 Osborn, so he gravely replied, without en- 
 tering into particulars, that he was but 
 hastening home to his wife, who had not 
 seen him for forty years; whereupon he 
 was allowed to go on his way rejoicing by 
 the solemn busybody in other men's matters. 
 In 1776 the war cloud that had muttered 
 and lowered over the Colonies broke; and 
 the next year the tide of war surged up 
 and down the Harlem valley. One First 
 Day morning, in the mellow October days 
 of that year, the worshipping stillness of 
 the Friends' Meeting was broken by the 
 tramp of horses, and the jangling of spurs, 
 as a band of soldiers rode up, dismounted 
 and entered the building. They remained 
 quiet and reverent, till the handshaking of 
 the elders closed the meeting; then the 
 
 16 
 
commanding officer rose, and in the name of 
 the Continental Congress took possession of 
 the building for a hospital for the troops, 
 and as such it was used all that winter. 
 After this, meetings were held in the ''great 
 room" in the house of Paul Osborn, and 
 were often frequented by soldiers stationed 
 in the place, who listened attentively to the 
 speaking, and left quietly at the close of 
 meeting. 
 
 In 1780, four years after the beginning 
 of the Revolutionary war, Paul Osborn 
 died, and was buried on his own land, and 
 no man knoweth of his sepulchre at this 
 day, and no stone marks the spot. But 
 "e'en in his ashes live his wonted fires," 
 and he being dead yet speaketh. 
 
 His nephew Isaac, next in descent, was 
 born in 1743, in Salem, Massachusetts, 
 where he remained till he followed Paul 
 Osborn to Quaker Hill. As a youth he 
 lived through that most curious and dread- 
 ful manifestation of superstitution and 
 cruelty, the Salem Witchcraft. It natur- 
 ally made a deep impression on his mind, 
 susceptible as it must have been at that 
 period. Doubtless he had many a gruesome 
 tale to tell, on winter nights, when the stars 
 
 17 
 
sparkled brighter and brighter as the bitter 
 cold silently strengthened, or when snow 
 flew, and the wind howled round the house, 
 and up and down the great chimney throat, 
 while the fire in the "great room" snapped 
 defiance to the cold. Of these stories un- 
 fortunately, only one, and that slight and 
 vague, has been preserved ; namely, that ot 
 a young girl's being seen to hold a rifle, 
 straight and steady poised upon the tip of 
 her extended forefinger. 
 
 His wife Mary Irish died, leaving him 
 two children, Paul and Phoebe; and he 
 never married again, though often advised 
 to do so, giving as a reason that "he thought 
 too much of his children." He was a sturdy, 
 robust man, of fine physique; his hair was 
 snow white from his youth, and he was a 
 stranger to all efl'eminacy. After the death 
 of his wife, he took up his abode in the east 
 end of the old house, and slept in the bed- 
 room attached to the great room. With the 
 mercury ranging several degrees below zero 
 for days at a time, and no fire in the room, 
 it would seem to the present generation a 
 veritable "chamber of horrors." The only 
 mitigation of the cold of the room came 
 by means of the warming pan, a brass re- 
 
 i8 
 
ceptacle for hot coals, set on a long handle, 
 filled from the live embers of the hearth, 
 and thrust, all glowing with grateful heat, 
 between the "homespun" flannel sheets. 
 But even this luxury was eschewed by the 
 rugged old man, who, until near the close 
 of his life, did not allow the warming pan 
 to be brought him, saying **he could not 
 sleep so warm." 
 
 Isaac Osborn was a silent but striking 
 figure in the Friends' Meetings held in the 
 "great room." He never spoke in meeting ; 
 but the man himself attracted more atten- 
 tion from the Continental soldiers present 
 at the meetings, than the speech of some 
 more loquacious friends. At the least ap- 
 proach of restlessness on the part of any 
 one of the soldiers, the others would whis- 
 per, ''Keep still, keep still, — maybe he will 
 preach by and by." 
 
 There was at that time a hat factory situ- 
 ated at the foot of the long hill to the north 
 of the Osborn place, and owned by one 
 Joseph Seelye. When Isaac Osborn was 
 eighty years old he instructed Joseph to 
 make for him a hat, of the approved fuzzy 
 beaver type. This was duly accomplished, 
 to the entire satisfaction of Joseph Seelye, 
 
 19 
 
who said with pardonable pride, when de- 
 livering it to its owner: 
 
 "There Isaac, that is a good hat; it will 
 last thee all the rest of thy life, if thee dies 
 in any sort of season!'' 
 
 One is rejoiced to know that it did not 
 outlast Isaac, but that he lived to order and 
 to wear other hats. He died at the age of 
 ninety-six years and six months, from a 
 fractured skull, the consequence of a fall. 
 
 Of his two children, Paul the elder was 
 the father of Richard Osborn. !No facts 
 about him seem ta be obtainable, except the 
 dates of his birth, in 1782, his marriage to 
 Jemima Titus, in 1806, and finally his 
 death, in 1867. Of traditions, this one sur- 
 vives, a tribute to his mercifulness to the 
 brute creation. A neighbor once remarked 
 that if he had to be a horse, he would like 
 to be Paul Osborn's horse. He had three 
 children, Isaac, William and Richard, all 
 born on the old place. 
 
 Richard Osborn, the present head of the 
 family, was born in 1816. His earliest 
 recollections hover round the room back of 
 the "great room," in which stood an old- 
 time high bedstead of the catafalque order, 
 and of such altitude as to require steps for 
 
 20 
 
its attainment. Under this structure in the 
 daytime was rolled a trundle bed, to be 
 rolled out each night for the accommoda- 
 tion of Richard and his brother William. 
 Opposite to the Meeting House, among the 
 picturesque old willows, stood a little school- 
 house in which was held a Friends' school, 
 and here his school days were passed. 
 
 He was a farmer's son, and as he grew 
 to manhood business and inclination fre- 
 quently carried him northward down the 
 mile-long hill to Dover. At the foot of the 
 hill lived Ira Hoag, who had several 
 daughters, of whom one, Roby, attracted 
 the attention and awakened the interest of 
 Richard Osborn, and presently they were 
 engaged to be married. The wedding took 
 place Nov. 23d, 1842, in the New Meeting 
 House. In the old building, in 1770, their 
 grandparents had been married. 
 
 The day was bright and warm, with the 
 keen tingle of Autumn beneath its softness, 
 and the sparkle of a light snow flurry at 
 nightfall. Richard Osborn and his friend, 
 Daniel Congdon, rising betimes, harnessed 
 the horses, put them to the best carriage, 
 and drove to Dover where the bride and 
 her sister Mary awaited them. Her wed- 
 
 21 
 
ding gown was thick, lustreless silk, of a 
 delightful yellowish olive, her bonnet white. 
 Beneath it her dark hair was smoothly 
 banded, and from its demure shelter her 
 eyes looked gravely out. His vest was a 
 fine tawny brown, of a sprigged pattern, 
 both gown and vest as artistically harmoni- 
 ous as the product of an Eastern loom. 
 Pieces of both are sewn into a patchwork 
 quilt, now a family heirloom. 
 
 Up the long hill to the Meeting House 
 they drove, through the still dreaminess o£ 
 the Indian Summer day, the glory of the 
 hazy, purple hills before them, around them 
 a symphony in sunlit greys and browns, and 
 above, the measureless blue depths of the 
 sky. It was Wednesday, the day of the 
 regular midweek meeting, and the house 
 was crowded. The young couple took their 
 places upon the facing seats, and the meet- 
 ing began. Daniel Haviland was minister 
 and he spoke at length. Then, after a short 
 pause, Richard Osborn and Roby Hoag 
 arose, and, clasping hands, spoke alter- 
 nately the few solemn sentences of the 
 Friends' marriage ceremony, which have 
 united them for sixty years in a union so 
 excellent, so perfect in all respects, that even 
 
the casual observer feels it is not for time 
 only, but for eternity. Then was brought 
 forth the marriage certificate, fairly en- 
 grossed in the bridegroom's own hand, and 
 many names of those present were affixed, 
 after which it was read aloud. This being 
 done, and kindly greetings offered, Richard 
 and Roby Osborn drove back to her home. 
 The wedding was well furnished with 
 guests, and four fat turkeys graced the 
 board that day. Ten years ago, in the 
 beautiful Indian Summer of 1892, and the 
 still more beautiful Indian Summer of two 
 well spent lives, the golden wedding was 
 celebrated, and three of the guests who had 
 been signers of the original certificate, af- 
 fixed their names to the second one, being 
 followed by two sons, a daughter, and five 
 grandchildren. 
 
 Mr, and Mrs. Osborn lived for awhile 
 near what is now called Cass's Corners, 
 and then moved to the site of the present 
 postoffice. Here stood a brick house in 
 which Lafayette had stayed during the me- 
 morable year of 1778; this house they oc- 
 cupied for some years. It was then taken 
 down, and, the bricks being good, they were 
 built into the house Mr. Osborn now occu- 
 
 aj 
 
pies, this latter house being moved down 
 from Seelye Hill. The lumber of which it 
 is built was drawn in the rough from 
 Poughkeepsie, by Joseph Seelye, in 1834. 
 To drive to Poughkeepsie and back in a day 
 was then no uncommon feat, and was once 
 accomplished by Mr. and Mrs. Osborn for 
 the purpose of exchanging a stove, whose 
 draught was imperfect. In 1850 the first 
 whistle of the railroad running through the 
 Harlem Valley was heard, and to the listen- 
 ing ears on Quaker Hill, Mr. Osborn 
 quotes one of his neighbors as saying that 
 ''it had a very pleasant sound." In 1870 
 the Pawling Savings Bank was incorpor- 
 ated, and Mr. Osborn was elected a director, 
 an office he still holds. He was for twenty- 
 one consecutive years clerk of the Nine 
 Partners' Meeting, located at what is now 
 called the village of Millbrook; and he has 
 served as clerk of some Meeting, for, in all, 
 fifty seven years. He has always been, and 
 is to-day, a clearly defined exponent of the 
 faith of his ancestors. Like a silhouette of 
 the olden time, clean cut, distinct, shadow- 
 less, he stands against a chaotic background 
 of modern thought ; decided, uncompromis- 
 ing in his views; but so just, so kind, so 
 
 24 
 
upright, so full of goodness, in short so 
 lovable, if one may be permitted the word, 
 that those who know him are well-nigh won 
 to his opinions, through the strength of his 
 personality. The facts of his life presented 
 to-day, are few, simple, and insufficient to 
 account for the undeniable influence he has 
 wielded in the community. In migratory 
 America, the fact that he is living to-day, 
 with the sixth generation of his name, in 
 the very spot his ancestors took possession 
 of, one hundred and forty- two years ago, 
 gives dignity to his surroundings ; but to 
 himself alone are due the respect, consid- 
 eration and affection which are accorded 
 him by his friends and neighbors. His Hfe 
 is the mellowed fruit of a strenuous ances- 
 tral training ; and he keeps the simplicity of 
 his forefathers without disdaining the 
 larger opportunity of his own day. 
 
 Gone are the days of great fireplaces, and 
 their wood fires ; of hook and crane, of home 
 spinning and weaving, of pillions and saddle 
 bags : we look back at them with a kind of 
 wistful regret for their lost picturesqueness, 
 but with no longing to return to them and 
 their paucity of resource. To-day, the 
 sharp, insistent rasp of the telephone bell 
 
 25 
 
makes incessant, mandatory calls upon the 
 Osborn family, and they may order their 
 stoves, (or their hot water heating plants,) 
 from Poughkeepsie, New York or Chicago, 
 in five minutes. 
 
 Well did the men and women of those 
 past days fulfill their devoir, living up to the 
 light of their times; well shall it be for us 
 of the present dowered age, if we be found, 
 not degenerates, but worthy heritors of a 
 worthy past. 
 
 "Life greatens in these later years; 
 The century's aloe flowers to-oay." 
 
 26 
 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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