£^S\ 
 
 ■
 
 LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
 AT URBANA-CHAMPAICN 
 
 917.7361 
 B78£ 
 
 111. Hist. Surv .
 
 Martha Catherine Bigham 
 1885
 
 Life 
 
 in 
 
 Chatswottli 
 
 i 865- i 885 
 
 By 
 CATHERINE BIGHAM BRODE 
 
 Howard S. Brode, Publisher 
 
 2425 Washington Avenue, 
 
 Santa Monica, California 
 
 1946
 
 Copyright, 1946, by 
 Howard S. Brode 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Printed by the Highland Press 
 Hollywood 28, California
 
 . 
 
 
 i 
 
 To 
 My Dear Patient Howard 
 
 "Who loves me yet 
 As well as when 
 My locks were jet."
 
 PREFACE 
 
 This collection of sketches depicts the home and 
 community life of the common people of a village and 
 surrounding country in central Illinois during the child- 
 hood of the author. The period covered is approximately 
 from 1865 to 1885 and the matter presented is a faithful 
 portrayal of the way our people lived some four score 
 years ago. The book includes not only an account of one 
 home and its furnishings and the activities of its inmates, 
 but there is also presented in story and description an 
 account of the educational and religious life of the home 
 and community, the recreations of the people and 
 accounts of some individuals, wise and otherwise, who 
 played their parts in the life of the community. The 
 events recorded are real but the names of the people are 
 for the most part fictitious. 
 
 The author, Catherine Bigham Brode was born on a 
 farm near El Paso, Illinois, January 30, 1865, and died at 
 her home in Santa Monica, California, March 14, 1946. 
 Her childhood days were spent at Chatsworth, Illinois, 
 not far from her birthplace. She graduated from the 
 newly established high school in Chatsworth and then at- 
 tended and graduated from the Illinois State Normal 
 University at Normal, Illinois. After teaching four years 
 in the public schools of Seattle, Washington, she married
 
 Howard Stidham Brode and lived for forty years in 
 Walla Walla, Washington, where her husband was Pro- 
 fessor of Biology in Whitman College. In this community 
 she was an active member of numerous social and edu- 
 cational organizations. In later years she became inter- 
 ested in genealogy and published "Ludlow-Ross Gene- 
 alogy" in 1932. She has since that time collected extensive 
 notes on numerous related families which as yet have 
 not been published. 
 
 Howard Stidham Brode 
 Santa Monica, Calif. 
 May, 1946.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PREFACE 7 
 
 INTRODUCTION n 
 
 Earliest Recollections 12 
 
 The Church 17 
 
 Early School Days 21 
 
 The Settlers 23 
 
 Hospitality 26 
 
 Labor 30 
 
 Life On the Farm — Work 33 
 
 Inside the Home — The Kitchen . . . 37 
 
 The Parlor 42 
 
 The Bedroom Furniture 45 
 
 Clothing 47 
 
 Education 50 
 
 Reading in the Home 58 
 
 Home Surroundings 59 
 
 Pastimes 65 
 
 The Fourth of July 71 
 
 Grandmother Bigham 75 
 
 Uncle Dee 77 
 
 Cousin Jane 79 
 
 The Sabbath Day 80 
 
 Memories That Linger 83 
 
 Village Vignettes 85 
 
 The Wreck 90 
 
 Conclusion 91
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 I have been reading the "History of Chatsworth," the 
 home of my childhood. The book is a thin volume of but 
 forty pages, yet it covers a period of eighty years. Small 
 wonder that its record of events, especially of the early 
 years is very much abridged so that I was left with a 
 feeling that here was a story without an adequate 
 beginning. But the little book did something to me. Sud- 
 denly I found myself at the door of the little brown house 
 that was the home of my earliest memories. Opening 
 this door, I saw the other doors, four of them, that led 
 from the hall to the different parts of the house. Each was 
 painted a clear yellow that, after the fashion of the day, 
 was overlaid in a darker shade, with many lines and 
 curves in imitation of the natural grain of wood. In one 
 unusually fantastic figure, the painter had placed his 
 initials, (J. V. A.), showing that he, at least, considered 
 the results of his labor worthy of recogntion. High on one 
 side of the hall, well out of reach of little hands, father's 
 gun hung. On the opposite wall a long row of cloaks and 
 coats revealed that in this house were children as many 
 as it could hold. 
 
 Putting my hand on the shining brown china knob of 
 the parlor door, I stood for some time just as I had in 
 the long ago when, as a timid child, I had there been torn 
 by two emotions, a desire to be a part of the social group 
 within and the dread of facing strangers. I knew all the
 
 12 Life In Chats worth 
 
 questions I should have to answer, "What is your name?" 
 "How old are you?" "Do you go to school?" and some- 
 times, "Did the teacher whip you today?" or "Will you 
 give me one of your curls?" Then the gay chatter and 
 merry laughter within overcame my timidity and I 
 opened the door. As my memory led me inside the parlor 
 I came face to face with many people and events that had 
 not been a conscious part of my thought for many 
 decades. Here, and in the larger home that replaced the 
 little brown house, Grandmother found her story. 
 
 Mollie, a child of that long ago, once said to her fun- 
 loving father, "Papa, my tongue is sore," "Ah, you have 
 been telling a lie," said he. "But Papa, it was sore before 
 that," was her reply. Not many of us would acknowledge 
 our shortcomings in Mollie's frank and innocent manner. 
 The few remaining ones who make up my picture of 
 Chatsworth will, I am sure, smile with me over the record 
 of the mistakes, foibles and pleasures of Mollie's time. 
 
 Earliest Recollections 
 
 Chatsworth is in the heart of Illinois in the territory 
 drained by the river of the same name. The prairie on 
 which it was built was unusually flat. The drainage was 
 poor. A few miles to the east lay a great swamp. Almost 
 my first recollection is of attacks of ague that left no 
 member of the family immune. Between shaking with 
 cold and burning with fever, we were a sorry lot, yet
 
 Earliest Recollections 13 
 
 the bitterest memory of those miserable times is rather of 
 the remedy that we were forced to take, a drink made 
 from the umbelliferous head of a prairie weed that in 
 homely vernacular was called Bitter Jim. In a few years 
 the government drained the great swamp and chills and 
 fever were banished, but I recall earning my first dollar 
 and at the same time gleefully taking satisfaction out of 
 the poor Bitter Jim plants as I ruthlessly snipped off their 
 heads for an uncle who had moved to another ague 
 stricken part of the West. 
 
 When very young, I became aware that whenever 
 out of doors in the sunshine, whether at work or play, I 
 was never alone, for always beside me was my shadow, 
 growing taller or shorter with the passing hours. It fas- 
 cinated me and its persistence did not always please me. 
 
 On the prairie, on the way home from school one day, 
 I attempted to outwit my haunting companion and in 
 this, my first remembered battle with nature, I learned 
 something that all men, sooner or later have to accept — 
 that it is useless to try to circumvent some things in 
 nature. Running homeward, my sunbonnet flying in the 
 wind, I noticed the longer, slimmer little girl, my shadow, 
 beside me, keeping pace with each hurrying step. "I'll 
 run away from you," I said, but as I quickened my pace, 
 so did the dark child beside me. When I stopped, she 
 stopped. Quickly I turned and retraced my steps. She 
 followed my every move. Angered and baffled, I pulled
 
 14 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 my sunbonnet over my face and ran home to tell Mother 
 all about it and be comforted, although still puzzled, 
 and while not understanding all the why of things, I did 
 comprehend that where the sun shines there always are 
 shadows. Did you ever, when a child, try to run away 
 from your shadow? 
 
 Another encounter with a bit of nature, this a happy 
 one, born of fancy came suddenly back to mind upon 
 hearing a present-day radio announcer, after extolling the 
 virtues of a modern mattress, invite his listeners to "sleep 
 on a cloud." At once I was carried back seventy years, 
 and I am on the hay-rack on the way to the farm with 
 Father. On the way home, lying on top of the fragrant 
 hay that shut out all other signs of earth, I delight in the 
 great white clouds that float across the sky. Their odd 
 shapes intrigue me. Here are swans with long curving 
 necks ; there is a turtle and following it, a great herd of 
 elephants. The elephants are fearsome creatures. The 
 swans too closely resemble the hissing geese that disturb 
 our play in the farmyard, but those other great billowy 
 clouds that are haystacks of white cotton always invite us 
 to come up and sail away and after circling the earth 
 to "sleep on a cloud." 
 
 In winter on frosty mornings as we followed the 
 path across the prairie, each weed was a fascinating 
 wreath of precious gems of wonderful shapes. I often
 
 Earliest Recollections 15 
 
 loitered by the way, studying them with more eagerness 
 than I usually managed to give to the lessons we were 
 supposed to learn in school. In my earliest school days, the 
 present school child may believe it or not, it was not con- 
 sidered a serious offence to be tardy, so I was not haunted 
 by the fear of the teacher's displeasure and perhaps my 
 time was well spent. 
 
 The most vivid recollection of events that happened 
 during my first year in school is of the death of a little 
 schoolmate. The Methodist Church stood across the yard 
 from the school house. Because Tina was in our class, we 
 little six year olds were all taken here to the funeral and 
 put in the "Amen Corners." The parents sat on the front 
 seat beside the coffin. I can still see the mother rocking 
 back and forth and hear her moaning. Her grief was con- 
 tagious and soon we were all weeping with her, and alas, 
 I recall that I had no handkerchief; all I could do was 
 to bury my face in the skirt of my Sunday dress. After 
 the sermon, we were taken past the corpse and we looked 
 at Tina's white face through a little window in the lid 
 of the coffin. The next day we brought cloves whose stems 
 we stuck into an apple until the entire surface was cov- 
 ered by clove buds. This, Miss M. took to the mother 
 "to keep forever." My mother told me years later that it 
 took considerable ingenuity on her part to keep me from 
 continually playing that my doll was dying while I sat 
 by weeping and singing :
 
 1 6 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 "They are going down the valley, the deep dark valley, 
 We'll see their faces nevermore. 33 
 
 There is still much to be desired in the practice of laying 
 away our dead, but I am grateful that little children are 
 now saved from such experiences. 
 
 This Methodist Church was also the scene of my first 
 triumph. A traveling Singing School Master conducted a 
 class here after school hours and we were permitted to 
 attend. A prize was offered to the pupil who should make 
 the most progress. At the close of the session I was given 
 the prize, a little purse full of pennies. I was certainly 
 a proud youngster. It must have been all of fifty 
 years after that my older sister, Carrie, told me that the 
 singing master had confided to father that though she 
 deserved the prize there were so many of her age who 
 would be jealous that he chose to give it to the little one 
 of the family. Thus was my pride's bubble pricked. I 
 recall another church experience that happened when we 
 were guests of the Baptist congregation one warm sum- 
 mer evening. Our older sister, Carrie, had removed her 
 long black silk mitts. Soon after the sermon began Bess 
 noticed a little black line extending out from under 
 Carrie's trailing hooped skirts. Pointing to the floor, she 
 touched her sister, who thinking she had dropped her 
 mitts, stooped quickly and grasped — a dog's tail ! A 
 sharp little yelp, a stifled scream, with not altogether
 
 The Church 17 
 
 suppressed giggles from the rest of the family, and we 
 were in disgrace again. Mr. Ogburn's dog, Tip, knowing 
 that he would not be allowed to stay if he were discovered 
 by the family, had sought a safe place with his next best 
 friend. 
 
 Most of the embarrassing moments that brought our 
 family into the lime light occurred when we were visitors 
 in other churches, but the most painful personal exper- 
 ience of my youth happened within the walls of my own 
 church. One evening when the organist was unexpectedly 
 absent I was prevailed upon to play the accompaniment 
 for the opening hymn. We had not reached the end of the 
 first stanza when poor Charlie Zike fell to the floor in a 
 fit. That was my first and last appearance in public in the 
 role of a musician. 
 
 The Church 
 
 All of our family were Presbyterians. The church 
 building was an ugly, two story affair; the auditorium 
 occupied the upper floor. The lower floor was divided into 
 a number of rooms that were used for Sunday School and 
 for social gatherings. The building was originally con- 
 structed for the use of the Academy, which was under the 
 supervision of the church. Later, when a fine new public 
 school was built, the Academy was closed. Some of the 
 books left over from the Academy were stored in an 
 unused room. These proved a veritable treasure-house for
 
 1 8 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 book-hungry children. I remember among them AEsop's 
 Fables, which was read and reread until it fell to pieces. 
 Our church services were conducted with dignity but 
 one evening just after the minister had finished his 
 sermon Levi, the village halfwit, marched in and took a 
 place in the front pew. When the reading of the closing 
 hymn was concluded, he rose and said, "Wull, fur my 
 part, I'd ruther sing 'Shall We Gather At The River'." 
 The startled minister looked at him for a moment then, 
 turning to the choir, said, "Very well, let us sing 'Shall 
 We Gather At The River'." The choir struggled through 
 that song with no help from the congregation. 
 
 Not long after Levi's visit other visitors disturbed the 
 usual decorum of our services. One morning when Pastor 
 McAfee was almost through with his sermon, a young 
 couple came in and moving up the aisle, took seats 
 directly before the minister. They had been married the 
 week before and were dressed in their wedding finery, 
 she in a trailing gray costume, he in a fine coat, striped 
 trousers, white vest and gloves. As soon as the minister 
 finished his discourse, without waiting for the closing 
 hymn and benediction, they rose, slowly passed down the 
 aisle and out of the church. It was soon learned that 
 before coming to us they had been at the Baptist Church 
 and after leaving us they went to the Methodist Meeting 
 House. Not long ago I came upon the statement that 
 such church visitations were customary in some commun-
 
 The Church 19 
 
 ities a generation or two before. This probably was a 
 vestigium from a practice that prevailed in New England 
 Colonial days, where on the Sabbath following a wed- 
 ding the bridal couple solemnly arose in the midst of the 
 service and turned around and around before the 
 congregation. 
 
 Whatever the purpose of the work of women in the 
 church economy, the children saw but one reason for it ; 
 that was to provide good times and good eats for them. 
 Raising money for the pastor's salary or buying new 
 lamps for the auditorium had nothing to do with it. In 
 the autumn we looked forward to the annual oyster sup- 
 per ; oysters were a rare treat in the home. In the spring 
 for weeks the strawberry festival was eagerly anticipated. 
 At first only strawberries and cake were served but later 
 there was ice cream, which was altogether unknown in 
 the home. We first made its acquaintance on the Fourth 
 of July when we each had all of ten cents to spend as 
 we pleased. Occasionally other "sociables" were held. 
 "Spelling Bees" were often held in the church. They 
 were certain to bring out all the people. Much good- 
 natured fun followed the fall of the mighty. There were 
 also Debating Societies in which active participation was 
 limited to the men, although the women and children 
 were permitted to attend. My only memory of this 
 society, called the Lyceum, is of seeing a man vigorously 
 waving a tattered bill, a ten cent paper piece, before the
 
 20 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 audience, while displaying his powers of oratory. High 
 finance was then as now of interest to all men, and as 
 incomprehensible. Singing schools were sometimes held 
 here. One, I recall, was conducted by the Leslies of 
 Chicago. Later a wonderful cantata, "Queen Esther," 
 was given. It was directed by a leader from abroad, but 
 home talent was trained for the chorus and solo parts. 
 Those were thrilling days for the participants. 
 
 Our Sunday School picnics were held in Oliver's 
 Grove, about five miles from town. The children were 
 taken in farm wagons, the older members rode in spring 
 wagons, while an occasional group went in style in a 
 carriage. There was no planned entertainment. We 
 played games, climbed trees, strolled about the woods or 
 waded in the little stream, waiting for the big event of 
 the day, the dinner. There were no tables. The table- 
 cloths were spread on the ground and we may believe 
 the earth did the groaning, at least until the abundant 
 food that was always provided had been consumed. Then 
 audible groans echoed through the woods, the loudest 
 chorus coming from the corner where the boys congre- 
 gated, but it is doubtful if any one who participated in 
 those feasts was entirely comfortable for a time. 
 
 It must be clearly evident that the church formed the 
 center of most of our social activities and for some of us 
 it also drew the circumference about our lives in general. 
 In our family, dancing and card playing were frowned
 
 Early School Days 21 
 
 upon and we missed some of the opportunities for enter- 
 tainment that many of our friends enjoyed. I am sure 
 that the wishes of our parents were respected while we 
 remained at home. If our mother ever had discovered a 
 pack of cards under her roof she, I am certain, would 
 have followed the example of the mother of a schoolmate 
 of mine who, discovering a deck one day, took the fire- 
 tongs to consign them to the flames, refusing to contam- 
 inate her fingers by touching that device of the "Evil 
 One. 55 
 
 Early School Days 
 
 Memory does not reveal any glorification of the 
 proverbially happy school days. There are recollections of 
 teachers beloved and otherwise, a picture of the brilliant 
 boy who always had the answer ready before the rest of 
 us could get the problem written out on our slates. There 
 were the Friday afternoon "speakings 55 when we were 
 permitted to wear our best dresses and when the mothers 
 and fathers appeared and sometimes participated in the 
 programs. The few experiences of early school days that 
 come to mind are not particularly pleasing, still it may 
 be taken for granted that they were only the exceptions in 
 the life of an ordinarily happy child. 
 
 One day a sudden downpour kept me from going 
 home for my lunch. Just before the afternoon session 
 beean, my sister brought it to me. I was a hearty
 
 22 Life In Chats worth 
 
 youngster and did not relish going without food until four 
 o'clock, so I tried to hide under my desk and eat my 
 lunch unseen, but the teacher spied me and compelled 
 me to bring my box to her desk. She opened it and seeing 
 a glass of jelly she fed it to me, even scraping the bottom 
 of the glass. As I gulped down spoonful after spoonful, I 
 swallowed all the pride I ever had possessed. It was years 
 before I again relished jelly. Soon after this, an epidemic 
 of measles visited the town and I was one of the victims. 
 When Doctor Baker came to see me he tried to console 
 me by saying that he had about fifty other patients and 
 Miss Kane, our teacher, was the worst sufferer. That was 
 one time that misery did not love its company. 
 
 The whipping of Will Lane became an historic event, 
 not that it differed in any degree from others that were 
 almost daily occurrences in those days but the subsequent 
 events served to make it memorable. The principal, Mr. 
 Chase, came into the room and took a seat beside the 
 desk. Miss Scott called Will to her and gave him the usual 
 punishment inflicted on the disobedient, not sparing the 
 rod, hoping to help a spoiled child. In the afternoon 
 Will's seat was vacant and soon the village constable 
 appeared and read a mysterious paper to Miss Scott. She 
 seemed to be much disturbed. Calling five of us to her 
 desk, she dismissed the class and told us that she had 
 been arrested for whipping Will and we were to go with 
 her to court and tell there just what had happened. The
 
 Early School Days 23 
 
 trial lasted three days and long into the nights. The court 
 room was crowded ; there was much excitement. On the 
 evening of the second day, the lawyers were bitterly 
 wrangling. One of them called the other "A son of 
 
 a ." Instantly the place was in an uproar. The 
 
 offending lawyer pulled a pistol but was quickly disarmed 
 by bystanders. Finally when things quieted down, the trial 
 was resumed. Father usually came for me each evening, 
 but that night there was a special service in our church 
 conducted by a distinguished visitor, and Father, thinking 
 that it was his duty to accompany the minister who was a 
 guest in our home, arranged with a neighbor to see me 
 safely home. The family and the guest were in the parlor, 
 when I burst in and, too excited to be abashed by the 
 presence of a stranger, related the whole story of the 
 courtroom performance, not deleting one letter of the 
 strange word that had so angered the lawyer. My mother 
 with a look of horror on her face waved me to a corner 
 and soon I was sent to bed. I must add that after all, the 
 judge ruled out my testimony because of my tender years, 
 for I was only nine years old. As to the trial — the jury 
 disagreed. One juror persistently voted for the plaintiff. 
 It was rumored that he had been given extra fine meals 
 all through the trial by the lawyer for the prosecution. 
 
 The Settlers 
 There were a few settlers among the founders of
 
 24 
 
 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 Chatsworth who came directly from England and a 
 group of industrious Germans who were dependable 
 citizens, but the majority of the pioneer settlers were 
 descendants of the early Colonial immigrants. Perhaps in 
 contrast with the experiences of their forebears who 
 colonized the New England and Middle Atlantic States 
 their lives were tame and uneventful, yet nevertheless 
 they experienced hardships and met difficulties that their 
 contemporaries who remained in the East escaped. Some 
 of them came directly from the Atlantic Coast States, 
 others from Ohio where their immediate ancestors had 
 lived through times as perilous as had those of Colonial 
 days, but instead of making a long trek on foot or on 
 horseback over the mountains and through forests, some- 
 times enduring shipwreck on the turbulent Ohio, they 
 came into the town of Chatsworth on a train and strangely 
 enough, some of them came from the west. In the early 
 days of the Illinois settlement many came by way of the 
 Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, going up the Illinois to the 
 center of the state. After the close of the Civil War the 
 railroad, crossing the state from east to west, was fin- 
 ished, and a number of these earlier settlers moved to the 
 newly opened lands to the east. This railroad, the Toledo, 
 Peoria and Warsaw, was often called the "Tip Up and 
 Wait," a name that needs no explanation. 
 
 The case of my father may have been typical. Coming 
 West from Ohio in the fifties, he bought land east of the
 
 The Settlers 25 
 
 Illinois River. After the first hard years of the Civil War 
 period, with good crops and excellent prices he pros- 
 pered. Thinking to find a better opportunity to educate 
 his children, he sold his property and bought land in and 
 near the new town of Chatsworth, where the Academy 
 had already been opened. He also purchased a farm 
 about a mile from the village and to do this he borrowed 
 some money. Then the panic of 1873, followed by the 
 unprecedented failure of crops, nearly ruined him. Al- 
 though we children did not realize it, we went through 
 typically hard times. I remember my mother's sorrowful 
 face as she asked us to do without butter, for every ounce 
 must be sold to meet the ten per cent interest due to the 
 Boston uncle. This was not usury. That rate of interest 
 was common up to the end of the century. I think that 
 we did not suffer seriously from the lack of butter in our 
 diet. We were not deprived of it for a long time and we 
 always had plenty of skim milk to drink. Cottage cheese 
 too was a common dish. We took our own corn and 
 wheat to the mill to be ground, retaining all of their good 
 food values. The long slow cooking of the corn meal 
 brought out all its rich sweet taste. When, as was often 
 the case, we had a supper of mush and milk, it was 
 always planned to have enough left over to fry for break- 
 fast. Golden brown slices served with sausage was a 
 breakfast fit for a king or a peasant. 
 
 Perhaps we had in our garden more than the ordinary
 
 26 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 varieties of vegetables, for beginning with asparagus, 
 there was always something fresh during the growing sea- 
 son, and that was true too of the fruits. One vegetable 
 that was raised to feed the horses because it was said to 
 make their coats glossy was carrots, but we never thought 
 of eating them. Nobody knew that what was good for 
 the horses might be good for us too, that they might make 
 our eyes brighter and our curls more shiny. I am certain 
 that we children were never hungry except in the way 
 that healthy growing children always are, but I do recall 
 a keen sense of deprivation in the matter of clothes. As the 
 third downward step in a row of girls my parents did not 
 buy me a new dress until I was nearly ten years old. I did 
 have one, that was a gift, but of that I shall tell you later. 
 
 Hospitality 
 
 Whatever else was lacking in those pioneer homes, 
 there was one thing that never failed; that was hospi- 
 tality. Grandmother used to say that they kept a Preach- 
 er's Hotel in Ohio. The example of our grandparents 
 was certainly the pattern followed by our parents. One 
 minister, the first of my recollection, had snowy white 
 hair and always dressed in shining black broadcloth. He 
 never failed to ask us to recite the catechism. Another, 
 moving from one charge to another with his family, had 
 all of his worldly goods piled on the wagon with them. 
 During the years following there was a long train of
 
 Hospitality 27 
 
 such visitations. Only once do I recall that the measure 
 of hospitality that usually overflowed was drained dry. 
 A new pastor had been called to the church. Father, as 
 clerk of the session, had carried on the correspondence 
 and, as was usually the case, he invited Mr. Himes and 
 his wife to stay with us until they were settled in the 
 parsonage. They came, but no furniture arrived. The 
 weeks went by and still it did not come. After more than 
 a month with us, another elder took them in and went 
 through the same experience. Then they moved on to 
 the home of a third elder. Finally when it was suggested 
 that they might be comfortable in the hotel, almost 
 immediately their furniture arrived. They had purposely 
 delayed its shipment, thinking to profit by living off 
 the congregation, but they never were successful in win- 
 ning the esteem and cooperation of their parishioners. 
 This minister was the author of what we children called 
 the "Popcorn Blessing." In winter apples were a regular 
 bedtime snack. They were often supplemented by pop- 
 corn or popcorn balls. One morning after all the family 
 were assembled at the breakfast table, Father called upon 
 Mr. Himes to say grace. He coughed and choked but 
 finally managed to say a few words. His red face and 
 confused manner emphasized the embarrassment which 
 puzzled all of us, until later a young member of the 
 household revealed that in passing through the parlor 
 on his way to the table, Mr. Himes had taken a generous
 
 28 Life In Ghatsworth 
 
 piece of a popcorn ball that he had not fully disposed 
 of when called upon to ask the blessing. He grew very 
 fond of our breakfast cakes that were something new to 
 him. After the depression days were over Father made 
 a practice of sending to western New York for sacks of 
 buckwheat flour and cans of maple syrup each fall. This 
 combination certainly won the minister's approval. He 
 often said, when asked to have another cake, "I don't 
 know how many I have had but I will take another." 
 We knew the story of another minister who had made the 
 same remark about biscuit and had been greeted by a 
 piping little voice "I do, I counted them." We had been 
 warned not to duplicate that performance, but that did 
 not keep us from making a mental enumeration of the 
 cakes the minister stowed away. 
 
 Those days were not far removed from the Civil 
 War. When visitors were with us, as we gathered about 
 the fireside on winter evenings, the conversation almost 
 invariably turned to that strife and the stirring days 
 preceding it. Even the soldiers seemed to prefer to talk 
 about the causes that led up to the war, rather than the 
 conflict itself. The great senatorial debates, the Dred 
 Scott Decision, the Missouri Compromise and the Lin- 
 coln-Douglas debates were all subjects of discussion and 
 were a part of our education long before we opened a 
 text-book of history. It was always a great moment when 
 Father told of his opportunity to see Lincoln when he was
 
 Hospitality 29 
 
 on his way to Freeport to take part in the famous debates. 
 
 There was one occasional visitor in our home who 
 fascinated me and at the same time filled me with terror. 
 Mr. Henry, a Civil War veteran who lived at the county 
 seat, was a deputy sheriff. He had formerly lived in the 
 Western Settlement near Father and he took it for granted 
 that he would find a welcome in our home whenever 
 business called him to our town. I recall only two things 
 about him. He wore a long blue overcoat with a flowing 
 cape and when he took that off, in place of a good right 
 hand, a sharp, cruel-looking hook extended out from 
 his sleeve. I had never before seen a mutilated person, 
 and in spite of my father's complete acceptance of him, 
 I never outgrew my fear of him. Later I became accus- 
 tomed to seeing another soldier who had lost a part of a 
 leg hobbling about on a wooden stump, but nothing else 
 in my childhood days ever so completely upset my equa- 
 nimity as that shining hook protruding from the soldier's 
 sleeve. I have no doubt that Mr. Henry was a kindly 
 gentleman, but he passed from the scene before I reached 
 the years of understanding and today as he came into 
 the picture again, I found him still in the company of 
 that curious creature with forked and hooked appen- 
 dages, whose acquaintance I had made in the pictorial 
 borders of the Big Book on the parlor table. 
 
 The Family Bible has disappeared from the home. 
 Perhaps you never saw one. It was a big volume about
 
 30 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 the size of the unabridged dictionary. Its cover, often of 
 embossed leather, was ornamented with black and red 
 scrolls and lettering. Between the Old and New Testa- 
 ments were blank pages where the family births, mar- 
 riages and deaths were recorded. Some of the pages were 
 ornamented with pictures of Biblical characters, Adam 
 and Eve in the garden with the apple tree and Satan, 
 Abraham with his son and a lamb, Moses with the Ten 
 Commandments, and many another character whose 
 story is unfolded in the book. 
 
 Labor 
 
 There were few social distinctions in our town; all 
 were workers. Among the discarded books in the Acad- 
 emy was a volume of orations. One, that I still hold in 
 memory, began: "The dignity of labor! Consider its 
 achievements. Dismayed by no difficulty, shrinking from 
 no exertion, exhausted by no struggle, ever eager in its 
 persevering promotion of human happiness, clamorous 
 labor knocks with its hundred hands at the golden gates 
 of the morning, proclaiming each day through succeeding 
 centuries fresh benefactions for the world." The machine 
 has in a measure robbed both labor and the laborer of 
 that dignity. In that, perhaps may be found one cause 
 for the unrest of today. In all of our town I recall but 
 two exceptions, among the men, who could not be 
 counted as workers, in field, or office or store. A preacher,
 
 Labor 31 
 
 electioneering for a public office, once was asked if he 
 were not a minister. He replied "Yes, but I'm not a 
 preacher to hurt." Tom Nolan was one of those who 
 never did anything "to hurt." Today I cannot say 
 whether it was sheer laziness that put Tom and his family 
 in the impoverished class or whether the lack of sufficient 
 nourishment might have accounted for their shiftlessness. 
 If Tom was one of a half dozen men working in the straw- 
 berry acres, he would soon be lagging behind the others, 
 and that was true of every other task he attempted to do. 
 The family was always borrowing. They were often just 
 out of tea, and when they returned it, there was never 
 an amount equal to what they had borrowed. Finally 
 one neighbor, Mrs. Hunter, bought a pound of tea, put 
 it in a can and labeled it "For Tom's folks." Then when 
 they asked for tea she took it from that can and whatever 
 they brought back was put in the same can. When the 
 can held less than one fourth of the pound and they 
 came for more, she showed them the can, told them that 
 it contained all that they had returned of the pound they 
 had borrowed. Then giving them the can she told them 
 not to return it. They did not try to borrow tea of her 
 again but were not deterred from asking for other things. 
 The other exception to the rule that all were workers 
 was altogether different. He was our one gentleman of 
 leisure, Mr. Ogburn. His brother, the president of the 
 Illinois Central Railroad, had large possessions in and
 
 32 Life In Chats worth 
 
 about Chatsworth and Mr. Ogburn had come here to 
 sell these properties. Finding pleasant surroundings and 
 congenial associates, he spent the rest of his days here. 
 I think I am right in saying that no one ever saw him 
 do a day's work. He kept horses for his carriage, and a 
 few chickens and did what other men called chores, but 
 I never heard of his tackling but one job and that he did 
 only to show how it should be done. Those were golden 
 days for passes for anyone connected with railroad people. 
 The Ogburns had annual passes on the brother's road 
 and just a hint brought others on any road where they 
 chose to travel. My sister Carrie was a favorite with them 
 and they often got passes for her to travel with them. 
 Once when Mrs. Ogburn wanted to see Barnum's Circus 
 in Chicago, she took Carrie along and after seeing the 
 circus, she bought a loaf of bread and came home, travel- 
 ing altogether about 200 miles. In the years of automobile 
 travel that trip was a daily occurrence until we entered 
 the present war, but fifty years ago it was the talk of the 
 town. One day when the Ogburns came to see us, Mr. 
 Ogburn was complimented on his new suit. He con- 
 fessed that he had bought it in a store, but he had had 
 Mrs. Ogburn carefully press the creases out of the 
 trousers so that the suit would not be recognized as 
 "store clothes." Men's clothing began to be manufac- 
 tured some time before the decades of my tale, but that 
 was an innovation that did not meet with ready accept-
 
 Life O n the Farm — Work 33 
 
 ance, particularly in pioneer communities and in this 
 instance Mr. Ogburn's pride walked hand in hand with 
 his prejudice. 
 
 Life On the Farm — Work 
 
 One winter Father went to the county-seat with some 
 of his neighbors. The morning after his return he 
 solemnly told us that we had been moved to the country. 
 Father was not ordinarily accustomed to joking with us. 
 We had been taught to think that what he said was "so 
 even if it wasn't so," but now all the evidence about us 
 beclouded his statement. Here we were in the same old 
 home with its familiar walls and furnishings; glancing 
 through the windows, we saw the same trees and shrubs 
 about us and beyond only the well known homes of old 
 neighbors. But we were not kept long in a wild state of 
 uncertainty. 
 
 The town limits extended through the center of the 
 farms, and the neighbors, feeling that they were receiving 
 no benefits from residence in the town, petitioned the 
 county authorities to move the line to the road running 
 before their places and the petition had been granted. 
 
 But the change from being town's people to being 
 country folks, made no difference in our life on the farm. 
 There was the same endless round of work from early 
 morning until late at night during the growing season 
 and until the last ear of corn was garnered in the fall.
 
 34 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 To the minister we said, "Man's chief end is to glorify 
 God and enjoy him forever." In retrospect the chief end 
 of life on the farm was work, without these qualifying 
 adjectives. We were taught that work was "man's 
 appointed lot" and in general, we accepted the admon- 
 ition of the closing line of the hymn, to "work and mur- 
 mur not," although there were always certain tasks over 
 which we grumbled. 
 
 I have a very clear picture of Father holding aloft the 
 baby of the year, its more than yard long dress floating 
 toward the floor, while he recited to it the little poem, 
 
 "The Lark is up to meet the sun. 
 The bee is on the wing. 
 The ant its labor has begun. 
 The woods with music ring. 
 
 Shall birds and bees and ants be wise 
 While I my moments waste? 
 Oh let me with the morning rise 
 And to my duties haste." 
 
 Thus from the cradle up we learned respect for work 
 in this and a multitude of proverbs, precepts, poems and 
 songs. Just one poem from "the other side of the ledger" 
 comes to mind. This, "The Plaint of the Farmer's Wife," 
 recounted the hard tasks that were the lot of a woman
 
 Life On the Farm — Work 35 
 
 on the farm through long hours and months until in 
 despair she cries, 
 
 "/ wish that I were dead and buried in a 
 
 row 
 With a cabbage at my head and at my feet 
 
 a hoe. 
 But I can't die, I have no time, 'twould 
 
 take a day or two 
 And stop the plow, so I must wait till the 
 busy days are through" 
 I think that the hearty cheers that met this recitation 
 when Bess gave it for our benefit, were meant for the 
 tragic tones and eloquent gestures that accompanied it. 
 She had just been taking elocution lessons. We had not 
 then learned to call speaking a piece, a reading. 
 
 The first work that I recall doing on the farm was 
 picking potato bugs. That was not an unpleasant task. 
 It was a real pleasure to put a lady bird upon the backs 
 of our hands and after reciting the couplet, 
 
 "Lady bird, Lady bird, fly away home. 
 Tour house is on fire, your children will burn. 
 
 i> 
 
 then to waft her on her way. We recognized the potato 
 bug as a first cousin of our little friend, and only the fact 
 that we should be deprived of one of our staple foods, if 
 the bugs were permitted to feast on the potatoes, made
 
 36 Life In Chats worth 
 
 it seem right to destroy them. Armed with tin cans that 
 held a little kerosene, we children were each given a row 
 to clean. The honors went to the one who collected the 
 most bugs and left the cleanest row. 
 
 My next venture ended in disgrace. It was after the 
 panic of 1873. Father must have been desperate, for he 
 put me on the corn-planter and attempted to have me 
 pull a lever that opened the box where the seed-corn was 
 placed. He tried to get me to keep time to sober march- 
 ing beats, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4. I must have been in a gay 
 mood for sprightly waltz time was my only tempo that 
 day, and I never hit the right spot, so I was soon put off 
 and my brother yet younger was put in my place. He was 
 a success much to my chagrin. When that corn had rip- 
 ened the same little brother got up early one morning and 
 put a load of corn into the crib before anyone else was 
 about. When praised for his work he said, "It's a good 
 thnig that I did not die when I was a baby. Nobody 
 would know how smart I am." 
 
 That was the only bit of field work on the farm that 
 I ever attempted, but the garden kept us continually busy 
 all through the season and especially in the long summer 
 vacations. At first the small strawberry crop was easily 
 handled but not long before we older ones left home, 
 several acres were added and help in harvesting that crop 
 had to be found in the town. Cherry picking was a de- 
 light. It was fun to climb to the top of the tallest trees, to
 
 Inside the Home — The Kitchen 37 
 
 answer the chattering robins that considered that we 
 had entered their own special preserves. We would fill 
 our buckets time and again with the beautiful fruit, until 
 the bushel baskets overflowed. An occasional tumble that 
 never resulted in broken limbs for the children, but often 
 hurt the trees, were only incidents in the day. The cherry 
 crop was hardly harvested before the currants and goose- 
 berries were ready. Their picking was more prosaic. Then 
 the caneberries both red and black followed in a pro- 
 longed season that kept us busy until the summer had 
 almost ended. Occasionally we went into the orchard to 
 get a basket of apples for making apple pies, or the apple 
 sauce that was so good with hot biscuit. We never helped 
 in harvesting the winter apples, perhaps because of the 
 special care required to keep them fit for storage, or 
 perhaps because their harvest time came after we were 
 back in school. We certainly participated in the disposal 
 of many of the rows and rows of barrels of beautiful fruit 
 that filled the storage cellar. 
 
 Inside the Home — The Kitchen 
 
 The years of the Nineteenth Century following the 
 close of the Civil War have sometimes been called "the 
 comfortable era of American life." The question of 
 Slavery that had dominated thought and action for so 
 long was settled, and other great changes in political and 
 religious thinking that followed, did not yet disturb the
 
 38 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 ordinarily tranquil life of the period. If the events that 
 were to culminate in the tragic wars of today, were cast- 
 ing their shadows, they were passed by unnoticed, and it 
 may truly be said that that was a period of untroubled 
 thinking. But, recalling the absence of all labor-saving 
 devices in the home, it must be evident that the title 
 "comfortable era" does not refer to things physical. 
 
 The young housewife of today, enjoying her immacu- 
 late kitchen with its gleaming white electric stove and 
 refrigerator, in possession too of a multiple of magic time 
 savers, probably has no conception of the kitchens of 
 eighty years ago. Perhaps she will go with me back into 
 the center of the home of my childhood — the kitchen. 
 
 There, standing well out from the wall, with a com- 
 bined coal bin and kindling box behind it, is the big black 
 cast iron stove. No matter how diligently it had been 
 polished, it left smudges on aprons and dresses. The top, 
 warped after years of service, permitted the smoke from 
 the soft coal fuel to escape and blacken the great iron 
 kettles in which much of the food for the family was 
 cooked. Perhaps my mother enjoyed her stove. I am not 
 certain that there was one in the home of her childhood, 
 a pioneer settlement in western New York. I did hear her 
 tell many times of the long hours spent twice a week in 
 preparing food that was baked in the great outdoor brick 
 oven adjacent to the house. "Pipe stoves" had not become
 
 Inside the Home — The Kitchen 39 
 
 so common even in communities farther east but that 
 they were still especially mentioned in wills. 
 
 Among the kettles was one of copper, but it was 
 rarely used. Most of the iron kettles had graceful vaselike 
 shapes. One among them that had perfectly straight sides 
 possessed a wonderfully smooth inside surface. There 
 were no convenient boxes of cleaning powder. Dust, 
 scraped from an old brick, was applied to a rough spot, 
 sometimes with a cloth or a dampened corn-cob. 
 
 The sink stood next to a window on one side of the 
 room. It was a water tight wooden box with cupboards 
 for pots and pans underneath. At one end was the pump 
 that brought the water from the cistern under one cor- 
 ner of the house. The drain pipe from the sink went 
 through the floor and outer wall. The waste water poured 
 out onto the top of the ground that here fortunately 
 sloped away from the house. Those pipes with the one 
 that brought the rainwater from the wooden troughs 
 along the eaves of the roof were the only bits of plumb- 
 ing on the farm. 
 
 There was no breakfast nook with places for four. 
 Instead a large table that usually was set for ten filled 
 one end of the room. There was no shining linoleum on 
 the floor. The bare boards of soft wood required frequent 
 scrubbings and early acquired a multitude of malignant 
 splinters. 
 
 That kitchen furnished all of the food for the family.
 
 40 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 I have but one memory of going to the bakery. One Sat- 
 urday while mother entertained friends in the parlor, we 
 made their children happy in the kitchen feeding them 
 bread and honey. After they had departed we discovered 
 that all of the bread that mother had prepared for the 
 family for the week-end had disappeared and we were 
 dispatched to the bakery. 
 
 One thing is certain — the snowy white ranges of 
 today never turn out more toothsome loaves nor more 
 appetizing pies than did the old black stoves of that yes- 
 terday. There has been an improvement in cake making, 
 baking powder was not then in common use. There was 
 more guess work in combining soda with cream of tartar 
 or sour milk, and the results were not uniformly good. 
 
 Cleaning the lamps was a kitchen task. They required 
 daily care. They must be filled with kerosene and their 
 wicks had to be carefully trimmed to prevent "wings" 
 that would quickly blacken the chimneys. I shall tell you 
 more about these lamps later. 
 
 Cleaning the chimneys was a particularly hard task 
 as they grew taller and sometimes slimmer. We were con- 
 stantly warned of the danger of explosions and woe be to 
 the custodian of the lamps who failed to fill them before 
 darkness descended. They would then have to be taken 
 out of doors and filled by the scant light that shone 
 through a window.
 
 Inside the Home — The Kitchen 41 
 
 The one task belonging to the kitchen that I remem- 
 ber with the sharpest pang is the ironing. The washings 
 were often done by a woman who came from the town, 
 but the ironings fell to the lot of the girls. At one time 
 they were assigned to my sister Bess, next older, and me. 
 We would take turns in dividing the great washings 
 into piles as evenly matched as possible, one making the 
 divisions, while the other had the choice of the piles. 
 Usually we made very fair divisions, but once on a very 
 hot day, when I had to make the division, I put all of the 
 hard things in one group and, manipulating the piles so 
 that they appeared to be equal, I called Bess to make her 
 choice. She took the basket containing the smooth ironing 
 and I was left with all the shirts and beruffled petticoats. 
 Those petticoats, yards around, adorned with deep 
 ruffles that were edged with smaller ruffles which 
 in turn often had as an edging another ruffling of 
 tiny lace, and all stiffly starched ! When worn we 
 may have considered them "things of beauty and joys 
 forever," but on the ironing board they were nothing but 
 a nightmare! I labored throughout all the long day, 
 without complaining too, for I could blame no one but 
 myself. Even on the warmest day a constant fire had to 
 be kept burning to keep the irons on the top of the stove 
 uniformly hot. The larger ones were heavy to handle. The 
 ironing surface had to be constantly polished to remove 
 the traces of smoke that never failed to be found on them.
 
 42 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 A piece of beeswax wrapped in cloth was used for the 
 purpose and was always at hand. 
 
 The Parlor 
 
 I imagine that the first floor covering on our parlor 
 was a rag carpet but my earliest recollection is of an 
 ingrain carpet put down over a layer of straw. There was 
 nothing formal about the furnishings of this room — no 
 horsehair covered sofa and chairs such as we saw in the 
 homes of some of our friends. Father's combined bookcase 
 and desk stood in one corner. It would be a prized pos- 
 session in the home today. Grandfather's ladder-backed 
 hickory rocker with its splint-bottom seat, stood in winter 
 before the big Franklin open-faced stove. The only fuel 
 used was a very soft coal that was smoky and odor- 
 iferous. It was fascinating though to watch it burning as 
 the bubbling oil and gas made miniature volcanoes, 
 throwing up red, green and purple columns that faded 
 away into smoke before disappearing up the chimney. 
 
 Few homes in the second decade of the history of our 
 town were without a cottage organ. Most of them were 
 very ornate creations towering high above the keyboard, 
 with numerous brackets for lamps and vases and com- 
 partments for hymnals and sheet music. In striking con- 
 trast, our instrument had a perfectly plain case; it was 
 of beautifully polished rosewood. The only ornaments 
 were the fluted columns that supported the keyboard.
 
 1 
 
 - 
 
 f 
 
 
 4 ii" \ 
 
 CHAIR AND CRADLE 
 Used by Five or more Generations of the Family. (See pages 42, 43.)
 
 The Parlor 43 
 
 Another piece of furniture that was seldom absent from 
 the room was the cradle. It too had been brought from 
 the East where other generations had occupied it. It had 
 no hood and was larger than most of the cradles of the 
 day. Its body was a rectangular boxlike affair made of 
 walnut. The top rail of the sides was supported by rows of 
 spindles. The bottom was made of two removable boards. 
 When on occasion it was vacated by the occupant of the 
 year it was eagerly seized by two or three older children 
 who removed the mattress and one of the boards, and 
 climbing in and sitting on the remaining board with feet 
 touching the floor, the rockers and foot power took them 
 off on a merry trip all around their little world. If some- 
 times the action was a little too energetic and they were 
 sent spinning head over heels, the chariot was soon 
 righted and they were up and off again for another trip. 
 
 A table stood before the east window with the big 
 Bible and the plush-covered album upon it. On the wall, 
 suspended from big china-headed nails by heavy red 
 woolen knitted and tasseled cords, hung portraits of our 
 grandparents. Over the mantel were large steel engrav- 
 ings entitled "Our Hope" and "Our Joy." On the man- 
 tel stood the old clock and numerous other prized pos- 
 sessions. Among them was a red china hen sitting on a 
 brown nest. For a time a glass globe protected a large 
 bouquet of wax flowers, but after the heat of many sum-
 
 44 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 mers and winters had caused some of them to slip from 
 their stems, they disappeared. 
 
 As the end of the Autumn days drew near, Grand- 
 mother always added a receptacle of "spills" to the man- 
 tel's miscellaneous collection. She remembered the time 
 before matches were invented. She recalled too, their 
 exorbitant price in the early days and although matches 
 were very common at this time, they never became a 
 common thing to her. 
 
 When the first fires were lighted in the Franklin 
 stove, she had a holder full of these spills or lamplighters 
 as they were more commonly called, ready for the mantel. 
 She made them by wrapping a narrow piece of paper 
 round and round upon itself until she had a slender cone 
 twelve or fifteen inches long. Grandmother was always 
 pleased to have a brightly colored piece of glazed paper 
 for her spills, but that was not at all common. When the 
 end of the day drew near, we often sat before the fire, 
 where the changing shapes and colors of the flames 
 always were a delight and when darkness had fallen it 
 was an easy thing to put the end of a spill into the glow- 
 ing coals and quickly transfer the flame to a waiting 
 lamp. 
 
 The kerosene lamps were of many shapes and sizes. 
 There were little flatbottomed ones with side handles. 
 These we carried down cellar, into dark corners and
 
 The Bedroom Furniture 45 
 
 when going upstairs to bed. There were taller ones with 
 standards, and later bracket lamps, whose brass frames 
 were fastened to the walls. These had mirrored concave 
 reflectors. There were lamps with tall chimneys that had 
 opaque glass shades, and finally a hanging lamp with 
 an ornate frame, swung from the center of the ceiling. 
 This could be raised and lowered at will and was con- 
 sidered a great innovation. 
 
 The Bedroom Furniture 
 
 The bedroom furniture was distinctive. There were a 
 number of beautiful cherry bureaus and highboys. 
 Grandmother had a lovely cherry sewing table in her 
 room with drop leaves and two drawers. A picture of 
 Martha Washington in her snowy white cap hung above 
 it and on the opposite wall were photographs of Grand- 
 mother's nine brothers and sisters who lived to reach 
 maturity. These were in bewilderingly decorated frames. 
 
 The chief article of furniture was the bed. There 
 were no springs for beds then. Sometimes supports for 
 mattresses were made by lacing ropes back and forth 
 around pegs set in the sides of the bed, but generally 
 wooden slats were laid across from side to side and 
 on these the mattress was laid. There were some hair 
 mattresses in use then but ours were straw filled ticks over 
 which a feather bed was placed. I do recall an occasional
 
 46 Life In Chats worth 
 
 tick filled with the soft inner husks of corn, that had 
 been coarsely shredded with forks. 
 
 The filling of the ticks was an important event. After 
 they had been freshly washed, they were taken to the 
 barnyard and laid on a carpeting of clean straw. Then 
 they were filled through an opening in the middle of one 
 side. The fresh straw was diligently pushed into the cor- 
 ners, then the center was filled with all it would hold and 
 the slit was carefully buttoned. 
 
 Sometimes these distended ticks resembled bucking 
 bronchos and occasionally for a few nights acted like 
 them for many a thump and a thud, followed by a wail 
 revealed that some child had been deposited on the 
 floor. But a further manipulation of the straw for a few 
 days tamed the bronchos and the mattress became a 
 place where the tired child and the work-weary adult 
 could rest. 
 
 But whatever the mattresses lacked of modern com- 
 fort, those beds were a delight to the eye. Their home- 
 made coverlids and quilts are the choicest possessions of 
 their present-day owners. When Mother's bed had on its 
 best dress it displayed an appliqued quilt in the Rose 
 and Wreath pattern, a graceful wreath, extending from 
 a rich rose. One had to look closely to see the tiny stitches 
 of the overall quilted pattern. Grandmother had two 
 coverlids that had been woven by her father. One was 
 made of red, blue and black wool, the other, the prettier
 
 Clothing 47 
 
 was blue and white. There were plenty of gay patchwork 
 quilts for all the beds, even the low bed that during the 
 day rested under Mother's bed, had its pretty covering. 
 It was the trundle-bed that at night was "trundled" out 
 for the little ones too young to be far away from her 
 protection. 
 
 Clothing 
 
 My recollections do not go back to the time when 
 we were without a sewing machine, that "great emanci- 
 pator of women." Among the things that were in Mother's 
 "dowry chest" were pillow-beres (pillow-cases) that had 
 not only rufflings about the open ends but also down the 
 sides and across the closed ends, all hemmed by hand. 
 Her wedding dress and petticoat too were hand made. 
 The wedding skirt of a fine muslin was open down the 
 front, while the petticoat beneath she had embroidered to 
 the waist. The other breadths of this full petticoat had a 
 nine-inch embroidered border. 
 
 The machine certainly was a powerful ally in opening 
 the door to women's freedom and the pattern deserves 
 a large place beside it. Butterick made his invention in 
 1 87 1, sometime before I began to take an interest in dress- 
 making. It is still a mystery to me how clothing was cut 
 before patterns were available. I do recall one dress- 
 maker who refused to use a pattern, claiming she could
 
 48 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 get a better fit by simply looking at her customer before 
 cutting out the garment. 
 
 In my early days, waists were generally tight fitting. 
 They were lined with drilling or cambric. A series of 
 darts took up the fullness at the waist. These were rein- 
 forced with a casing that held strips of whalebone. Skirts 
 often consisted of several breadths gathered at the waist. 
 The same style persisted for years for matrons and the 
 dresses could be worn for many seasons, without giving 
 the owner an uncomfortable feeling that her shiny black 
 silk was outmoded. 
 
 All feminine clothing, with the exception of shoes and 
 hats, was made in the home. For winter our woolen stock- 
 ings, mittens and hoods were knitted. Our long red 
 flannel underwear reached from our ankles and wrists to 
 the neck. In adolescent years, corsets were inflicted upon 
 us. We wore long sleeved corset covers over these. We did 
 not go by the calendar and lay aside our flannels on a 
 particular date but when it was decided that the season 
 warranted the change, we donned long muslin chemises 
 and panties. Pantalettes had disappeared from view 
 before my day. A picture of my oldest sister, taken a little 
 earlier reveals her pretty pantalettes. Soon hoopskirts 
 became the vogue. I acquired them at about the time I 
 had my first new dress and in a few years the bustle was 
 an indispensable part of our attire. When now I see chil- 
 dren of that age with rouged lips, painted cheeks and
 
 APPLIQUE QUILT 
 
 Rose and Wreath Design in colors of red and green on white. Made by 
 Roseann Traxler Bigham. (See page 46.)
 
 Clothing 49 
 
 bleached hair, and feel inclined to criticise I say, "Hoop- 
 skirts and bustles" and subside. It required endless 
 patience to acquire the art of sitting down gracefully in 
 hoops. Cousin Nancy, who came from Chicago to visit 
 us, delighted to make her skirts fly swiftly upward and 
 as quickly return to their proper place. All accidental 
 of course. She had recently returned from a girls' finish- 
 ing school in Philadelphia and declared that she learned 
 the trick there. 
 
 For a long time our shoes were made by the village 
 cobbler. I suppose that they were made of calfskin but 
 the memory of those stiff heavy shoes makes me want to 
 claim that they were made of cowhide. They lasted a long 
 time and although they were always made to allow for 
 some growth, sometimes our rapid development was not 
 anticipated, and as one of the victims, I am testifying that 
 we had "growing-pains," notwithstanding the doctors 
 nowadays declare that there are no such things. 
 
 In summer, our everyday head coverings were sun- 
 bonnets. Grandmother had one with removable paste- 
 board slats. Sometimes they were made of pretty dainty 
 material and were very becoming. Little straw sailors that 
 lasted for several years were reserved for Sunday wear 
 and for special occasions. 
 
 Perhaps because of less interest in masculine fashions, 
 I recall but a few things about men's clothing peculiar to 
 those times. The old schoolmaster wore trousers that were
 
 50 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 fashioned after those of his Colonial fathers, except that 
 his were long. On dress occasions Father donned a dickey, 
 a false shirt front with a stiff collar. He had too, a 
 brocaded satin vest and in a bandbox in his closet there 
 was a tall stiff beaver hat. I do not remember seeing him 
 wear this hat. 
 
 Education 
 
 The education of the settlers of Chatsworth was very 
 limited but it was representative of that of most eastern 
 communities of the day. A few men had attended college 
 for a short time, but only an occasional minister had com- 
 pleted a college course. Some of them enjoyed exhibiting 
 their superior training. Sometimes when reading the 
 Lessons for the Day from the Old and New Testaments, 
 they recited the original Greek and Hebrew and then 
 gave their own translations of the passages, calling them 
 the literal meanings. The text of the sermon received 
 the same treatment. One parson always had four divisions 
 for his sermon: Firstly, Secondly, Thirdly, and Finally 
 my brethren. The last words were eagerly awaited by the 
 youngsters, but no one relaxed for we knew that we still 
 had to listen to a fourth of the discourse. 
 
 At that time higher education for women did not 
 exist and had rarely been suggested. In some places there 
 were separate female seminaries but more often the girls 
 attended private community schools.
 
 Education 51 
 
 The education of the children of Chatsworth followed 
 the pattern of that of their parents for a time. School days 
 for some of them began in the Presbyterian Academy 
 which after a few years was discontinued. A decade after 
 the first large school building was opened, an addition of 
 two large rooms was needed to accommodate all of the 
 children. Then the upper grade began to be called the 
 high school. That was opened in the Autumn of 1876. 
 When the work on the farms was over a large number of 
 students came in from the surrounding country. The room 
 that had been full, now overflowed, and the children in 
 the lowest class were sent back to another room. We were 
 still counted as enrolled in the high school and did go 
 back into that room for some recitations but there was 
 much weeping over the demotion. 
 
 The high school group was a motley crowd. There 
 were several young men with full beards, young ladies in 
 trailing dresses, children of all ages. I record without 
 blushing that I often sat on the principal's lap in the 
 school room. I did not blush then and I am certain that 
 the older girls and boys did not ridicule me, for I was 
 only eleven years old and the principal was an old, grey- 
 bearded man. He was a veritable Pied Piper with little 
 children. Whenever he appeared on the school grounds, 
 he was immediately surrounded by children eager to be 
 taken up in his arms or, missing that, to clasp a vacant 
 finger, while all who could seized hold of his long coat 
 
 y* UF ALL, ub»
 
 52 Life In Chats worth 
 
 tails. I could not remember the time when he had not, 
 on occasion, taken me in his arms and held me on his 
 knee. 
 
 At the close of that year, the new school board 
 decided that it was time for a change. Mr. Chase's sym- 
 pathetic nature and understanding of children could not 
 overcome the fact that his own education had been very 
 limited. For several years, each fall saw a new man in the 
 principal's place. This was a decided disadvantage, for 
 they seemed to agree that it was the proper thing to begin 
 at the beginning of the text-books. The pupils lost inter- 
 est and precious time was wasted. Then a new leader, 
 who stayed with us for several years, took up the work. 
 He planned and followed a regular course of study, intro- 
 ducing Latin and other high school subjects. Under him 
 we read the first books of Caesar, studied Algebra and 
 Trigonometry, Ancient History and "Steele's Natural 
 Philosophy" and Physiology. I do not recall a regular 
 course in English Literature, but for a time Mr. Sherman 
 met with a group of students in the evenings when we 
 read from some English and American authors, Burns, 
 Tennyson and Hawthorne were included. Later he held 
 classes in Cicero and in "Haven's Mental Philosophy" 
 after school hours for a small group. 
 
 The first class graduated in 1881. I was in this class 
 but an opportunity to go to a western state to teach took 
 me from home early in the spring. I returned in time to
 
 Education 53 
 
 graduate the next year. Our class motto was Vestigia nulla 
 retrorsum. A favorite subject for the consideration of the 
 sweet girl graduate of that period was "Beyond the Alps 
 lies Italy," but that had been appropriated by one of the 
 girls of the first graduating class, so we were limited to 
 such subjects as "So on our heels a fresh perfection 
 treads." None of the older children of Chatsworth had 
 the opportunity of securing a college education, but a 
 few of the younger children were given that privilege. 
 
 Young men ambitious to become lawyers, sought the 
 opportunity to read law in the office of some practicing 
 attorney. They paid for the privilege, at least in part, by 
 doing the menial work about the office and routine 
 clerical work. After they were sufficiently well-grounded 
 in the fundamentals of Blackstone, in the eyes of their 
 mentors, they took an examination at the county seat and 
 were usually admitted to the bar. Their preceptors were 
 often very proud of them. I recall one attorney whose 
 photograph, surrounded by his "boys," occupied a con- 
 spicuous place in his home. 
 
 The training of the two physicians who cared for the 
 ills and accidents of our villagers is not on record, but 
 there is no doubt that their medical education was 
 limited. Twenty-five years after the founding of the town, 
 medical schools still advertised as requirements, "a read- 
 ing knowledge of English" and "two terms of five months 
 each" was often the limit of attendance requirements in a
 
 54 Life In Chats worth 
 
 school of medicine, the interim between the terms being 
 spent in the office of a practicing physician. The entire 
 medical training was still sometimes gained in a doctor's 
 office, where the student read medicine, kept the accounts, 
 cared for the office and the horse and occasionally 
 assisted in ministering to patients. 
 
 The history of medicine reveals that doctors of a cer- 
 tain period were often shocked by some medical practice 
 common a half-century earlier. An illustration of this 
 may be found in the consideration given to obstetrics 
 before 1850. To attend at a birth was often considered 
 beneath the dignity of a physician and was usually left 
 to midwives. The death rate of both mothers and infants 
 was indeed shocking. On visiting the home of ancestors 
 in the East not long ago, we found in the family burial 
 plot, great grandfather's four sons, each of whom had two 
 wives, the first wives died early. It is of record that some 
 of them died in childbirth or shortly after and doubtless 
 all of them did. 
 
 This present day records the most wonderful advances 
 in the history of medicine, as for instance in the eradica- 
 tion of the scourge of typhoid fever. There has been a 
 marked decrease in tuberculosis also, but there is still 
 great room for improvement in its treatment and care. 
 Just after the close of the early years of my story, an older 
 sister entered The Illinois Training School for Nurses. On 
 occasional visits to the old home, she preached and prac-
 
 Education 55 
 
 ticed such precepts as "Carelessness is criminal, dirt inex- 
 cusable, nothing is clean that can be made cleaner." If 
 that precept were applied in handling tuberculosis 
 patients today, it would not be long before that disease 
 could be conquered. 
 
 It is not possible for me now to distinguish between 
 the remedies and practices of our doctors and those 
 originating in the home or coming from neighbors. When 
 a "cold on the lungs" developed, a plaster of flaxseed or 
 mustard was applied to the chest. Occasionally an onion 
 poultice was used. At the same time flaxseed syrup was 
 taken. Bitter Jim, the ague remedy, was always ready 
 during the chills and fever season. Once Grandmother 
 roasted an onion and removing its heart put my infected 
 toe in its place. The onion certainly was clean and sterile. 
 The warmth and moisture gave relief from pain. At least, 
 in spite of the treatment, the toe survived. 
 
 Our first vaccinations were performed by a neighbor 
 who used a scab from a recently vaccinated arm. They 
 all "took" with no ill effects, and with less suffering than 
 resulted from later vaccinations given by the doctor when 
 an epidemic of smallpox developed. Then many were 
 seriously ill from the vaccinations. 
 
 We were not dosed with sulphur and molasses 
 although that was a common spring remedy with many 
 families. Perhaps the consumption of the many barrels of
 
 56 Life In Chats worth 
 
 apples stored in our cellar saved us from the need of such 
 a nostrum. We did get an occasional cup of catnip tea, 
 but we were spared sassafras. When contagious diseases 
 visited the community, we did not wear bags of asafoe- 
 tida, but we shared in its imaginary virtues, and were con- 
 stantly aware of its vileness for it was to be found on 
 every side in the school room. Sometimes a child would 
 appear with its throat swathed in a woolen stocking, only 
 lately removed from the foot of the sufferer. Some hidden 
 potency was supposed to reside in it. Sometimes it was a 
 hole-y remedy. At other times the throat was enveloped 
 in a red flannel bandage that held in place strips of pork. 
 I doubt if any virtue was claimed for the color. The 
 "scrap bag" always contained plenty of that material 
 after the red flannel winter underwear was made. A child 
 with a badly infected ankle sat for hours with the foot in a 
 pail of buttermilk, a treatment that was repeated for 
 many days. The sore healed without leaving a scar. 
 There were many other homely remedies used for various 
 ills. I remember picking leaf buds from a tree we called 
 "Balm of Gilead" for the doctor. He occasionally came 
 to the farm for the roots of rhubarb, which we called 
 pieplant. 
 
 One of his trips is associated in my mind with an 
 Indian visitation, false to be sure, but it left as vivid a 
 memory as any actual happening. One morning, playing
 
 Education 57 
 
 with my brother, Willie, under the willows by the brook, 
 I spied a tall figure striding over the prairie, with a shin- 
 ing instrument in his hand. Fear of Indians had always 
 possessed me and now I was certain that the approaching 
 figure was indeed a savage holding his frightful toma- 
 hawk ready to destroy us. Taking Willie by the hand I 
 rushed to the house, screaming "An Indian is after us," 
 and still dragging the reluctant brother, I crawled under 
 the bed and would not come out until the hearty voice of 
 the doctor called, "Come out from under that bed. I am 
 your friend, Doctor Baker." He had come with a shining 
 new trowel to get some herb that he knew was growing 
 in our garden, and my "terrible Indian" proved to be my 
 old doctor. 
 
 I cannot now account for my childhood fear of In- 
 dians. They had gone from our part of the state a few 
 years earlier, but one of the recurring dreams of my 
 childhood was of attacks by bands of frightful Indians. 
 Perhaps I had unconsciously learned the stories of our 
 early Ohio ancestors. They had lived through the bloody 
 times preceding Wayne's Victory and later for a few 
 years continued to suffer from marauding groups after 
 the family had moved a short distance from Cincinnati. I 
 am certain that my parents did not purposely inflict these 
 tales upon us for I had reached maturity before I really 
 learned of those tragic times in the family life.
 
 58 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 Reading In the Home 
 
 Besides the bookcase full of religious books, we were 
 never without the "Herald and Presbyter," a religious 
 paper published "back home" (in Cincinnati) and in 
 good time we had also the "Chicago Interior," that gave 
 us news of churches in the middle West. These were 
 read religiously in more than one sense, even including 
 the death notices, that often contained notes about people 
 well known to our elders. Their names had become 
 familiar to us through the years and we mourned their 
 passing with our parents. 
 
 We had the "Weekly Chicago Inter Ocean," a 
 Republican paper, and about 1880 we began to take the 
 daily. In the seventies we added a few novels and stories 
 to our collection of books. One that Father read aloud 
 was, "The Hoosier Schoolmaster." Many jokes from its 
 pages became a part of our daily conversation. If some 
 one told a tall story it "came from the 'tatered side of his 
 head." This illustrates how simple the little things were 
 that provoked laughter in those days. 
 
 Later, cheap editions of standard works gave us 
 the opportunity to become familiar with more than brief 
 selections from the best English and American writers. 
 Many poets were included. 
 
 Through our friendship with the Ogburns we had the 
 privilege of reading the "Atlantic" and all of the Harper
 
 Home Surroundings 59 
 
 publications, the Weekly, the Bazaar and the Monthly. 
 In our teens, we occasionally borrowed books that we 
 read after we were supposed to be asleep. Well remem- 
 bered are Mary J. Holmes' "Tempest and Sunshine" 
 and Augusta J. Evans' "St. Elmo." I imagine they are not 
 even mentioned in a modern book on Literature, but we 
 found them very exciting. 
 
 Home Surroundings 
 
 The home where the years of my childhood were 
 spent, had a beautiful setting. There was an almost imper- 
 ceptible rise from the public road to the center of the acres 
 where the house stood. It was surrounded by an unusual 
 collection of ornamental and shade trees. Beyond and 
 around the house lot lay the gardens and meadows, the 
 orchards and walnut groves, with the grain fields lying 
 back of these. The road from the public highway passed 
 under the shade of arching elms and spreading maples. 
 It ended in a large curve before the doorway. Here in 
 the half circle and on either side of the road were many 
 varieties of contrasting evergreens, pines, firs, and larches, 
 lightened by plantings of low growing trees and shrubs. 
 Among these were arbor vitaes and junipers, the slender, 
 straight and weeping white birches, smoke trees, red buds, 
 mountain ashes with their bright red berries, old fash- 
 ioned snowballs and sweet scented syringas. The original 
 owner claimed that the place had been laid out by an
 
 60 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 experienced landscape gardener. As the years progressed 
 this claim seemed to be verified, for the placing and spac- 
 ing of the trees must have been done by a master hand. 
 Only rarely was it necessary to remove trees because of 
 over crowding, many of them becoming specimens 
 worthy of the poet's praise. 
 
 This place was home not only for us but for the birds. 
 The trees, with their many different types of foliage, of 
 varying density, afforded homes for hundreds of birds 
 of many varieties. Most of the birds found on the prairies 
 and woodlands of the western plains were among them. 
 It would be of no value to catalogue them, but there are 
 some that are almost as much a part of the home picture 
 as the old clock on the mantel. 
 
 One of the first favorites was the wren, whose song 
 delighted us. We could often come up to their nests with- 
 out disturbing the brooding mother. Her sharp, unblink- 
 ing little eyes kept watch of our every motion, while her 
 tail made such quick and regular movements that one 
 youngster said "The mamma wren winks at us with her 
 tail." I have never accepted the name that is sometimes 
 applied to a small, self-effacing woman, "a house wren," 
 for on occasion the wren can scold and their movements 
 remind one of the "flirt" of the olden days. Another fav- 
 orite was the catbird, that should have had a better name, 
 for while it imitates the cat calls, it is a pretty bird and 
 its individual songs are sweet and colorful.
 
 Home Surroundings 61 
 
 The gay orioles with their strange nests were only 
 occasional visitors, there were always many thrushes and 
 sparrows, swallows also, with their curious mud nests 
 tucked away under the eaves of the barn. They delighted 
 to fly about the barnyard in flocks, darting and skimming 
 about. Among predatory birds that made the place their 
 home were varieties of owls. Other visitors were the 
 hawks whose approach was announced by the strange cry 
 of the mother hens calling the chickens to seek the shelter 
 of their wings. The swift swoop of the hawks was a strik- 
 ing contrast to the lazy motion of the eagles that some- 
 times soared high above us. Often their motion seemed 
 to be made without effort. 
 
 One bird that never had a place in our affections was 
 the shrike. We called it the butcher bird. They often hung 
 snakes in the branches of the trees. The mourning doves 
 that nested in the willows bordering the north pasture 
 were never disturbed there. The plaintiveness of their call 
 did not seem to belong with their surroundings. In 
 contrast, the sweet songs of the meadow-larks and the 
 cheery notes of the bob-whites, or quails, delighted us. 
 One morning Father came into the house at an unusual 
 hour. His troubled face told us at once that something 
 had happened to distress him. He had a nest in his hands, 
 in it were a number of little birds, hardly bigger than his 
 thumb — baby quails. He had been mowing in the south 
 meadow and had unwittingly killed the mother as she
 
 62 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 brooded over her flock. These quails were beautiful little 
 things, contrasting strangely with the naked awkward 
 little birds that we saw when we occasionally peeked into 
 the nests so common about the house. We tried in vain to 
 keep these little orphans alive, but we never ceased to 
 cherish others that filled the garden and meadows. When 
 the snows of winter covered the seeds that were their 
 ordinary food, we scattered grain for all the winter 
 sojourners, not far from the house and they soon learned 
 to come there without fear. When the sound of guns 
 warned them that uninvited hunters were on the place, 
 often flocks of quail flew up to the house and sometimes 
 filled the porch. 
 
 The birds were so much a part of our life on the farm, 
 we had come to appreciate and love them, and protected 
 their nests. In that day there were no laws protecting the 
 wild birds and their nests. It was quite a common thing 
 for children to rob birds' nests, and after "blowing" the 
 eggs, to make long strings of the shells of many different 
 shapes, sizes and colors. 
 
 There were other forms of life that sometimes 
 occupied the trees. The maples on a clear, warm day in 
 early fall, would suddenly appear to have changed their 
 shades of soft green for the dull browns of late Autumn, 
 for countless millions of brown butterflies covered them. 
 If this is an exaggeration, I am not accountable for it, 
 for five year old Don, the youngest of the family, told us
 
 Home Surroundings 63 
 
 so and when Mother questioned his statement, he 
 repeated it, "Countless millions, I counted them." 
 
 After forty five years of active life on farms, twenty 
 seven of them on this place, father decided to retire and 
 made plans to sell the old home. Only one of the children 
 remained at home, Mary, who survived the precarious 
 years of her childhood only because of the devoted care 
 given to her by our parents. (A care that was later 
 returned to them in full measure until the death of Father 
 at the age of 88 and Mother at 91.) 
 
 The morning after Father had completed the 
 arrangements for the sale of the place, the new owner 
 appeared, ax in hand, and began to cut down a tree. 
 Father at once compelled him to stop and told him to 
 leave and not to return until the months had passed when 
 he could take legal possession. When that time came, 
 the family was far removed from the sound of the blows 
 of the ax that immediately began to echo through the 
 grove until every tree and shrub had been laid low. 
 
 It is incomprehensible how any man could have laid 
 waste that miniature forest. On every hand there were 
 farms where broad acres stretched away, unencumbered 
 by trees, except for a few that shaded the houses, where 
 the hard work of felling the trees and grubbing out their 
 roots, could have been avoided. It is difficult also to 
 understand why the monetary value of the trees should 
 not have been recognized. There were two black walnut
 
 64 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 groves on the place, that in another ten or fifteen years 
 would have brought more than was paid for the farm. 
 The hundreds of migratory birds had gone to their 
 winter homes in the Southland, before the slaughter of 
 the trees began. It is easy to imagine the confusion and 
 distress that came upon them when they returned the 
 following spring to the place where they began life, 
 where they had built their nests and brooded over their 
 young. When the homing instinct told the first small 
 groups of birds, those harbingers of Spring, that they 
 had reached the end of their journey, and they circled 
 over the place where the fresh green springtime foliage 
 should have welcomed them, they saw only the bare, 
 black upturned sod. 
 
 I have seen a mother bird beside her nest of fledgelings 
 which a sudden wind had torn from the tree, wildly 
 fluttering and I have heard her plaintive cries. So, 
 perhaps, in their distress, the returning birds flew bewil- 
 dered over that spot until exhausted they slowly sought 
 the shelter of shaded lanes and near-by hedge rows. And 
 all through the month, that Spring, with each flock of 
 returning birds that little drama was re-enacted. 
 
 The new owner of the farm did not long survive. The 
 place was again sold, and the house moved to the corner 
 nearest Main Street. Many years later, on visiting the 
 old town, I walked along the street in front of the place, 
 and pausing at the spot where the lane had turned to
 
 The Home in Summer. (See page 59.) 
 
 The Home in Winter. (See page 68.)
 
 Pastimes 65 
 
 the house, I looked up the gentle slope and saw only a 
 field of waving corn ! 
 
 Pastimes 
 
 Notwithstanding the subordination of all activities 
 to work, there were seasons when the pressure of farm 
 tasks diminished and times when, because many hands 
 had made light work, we might relax and find pleasure 
 in the company of friends. In the springtime we spent 
 many happy hours by the little brook, playing house- 
 keeping under the willows or fishing for minnows, or 
 we followed up the creek to the meadow south of the 
 orchards, where the native prairie grass was filled with 
 flowers. In summer we rode the horses in the lanes, or 
 if they were working in the fields, the pliant willows made 
 satisfactory substitutes. The abundant shade afforded us 
 many play places and sometimes, when friends from the 
 town were with us, we indulged in pageantry. One Sat- 
 urday afternoon, at the end of a week in which we had 
 witnessed a wedding in the village, we re-enacted that 
 ceremony. In Mother's wedding outfit was a dress of 
 pale blue flowered gauze that was not considered suitable 
 to follow in the wake of her garments made of sterner 
 stuff and be made over into dresses for the girls, so we 
 were permitted to make use of it in our play. The volum- 
 inous skirt yielded material for a long veil as well as a 
 full dress for the bride, Lou, the minister's daughter, a
 
 66 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 pretty blond. One of the older girls took the part of the 
 groom, since no boy of that age would condescend to 
 play with us. Carrie was the minister and she was in the 
 midst of the ceremony when we saw a young man stand- 
 ing among the trees at one side. He was thoroughly 
 enjoying the show. His discovery brought an abrupt end 
 to the performance and he came forward and introduced 
 himself, Frank Turner, a cousin of Mother's. After chat- 
 ting with us for a few minutes and passing on some 
 pretty compliments for the bride, he went on to the 
 house. The romantic atmosphere of the wedding com- 
 bined with the sudden appearance of the handsome 
 young stranger, completely turned the head of the bride, 
 who as soon as the young man had disappeared, heaved 
 a sigh and said, "How does 'Mrs. Frank Turner' sound?" 
 This query was greeted with a burst of laughter, for the 
 import of her remark was clear to all. It was some time 
 before the hapless Lou outgrew her new name, "Mrs. 
 Frank Turner." 
 
 The Autumn was the season that perhaps gave us 
 the most pleasure. Then the air was fragrant with the 
 odor of ripening grapes, the orchards were full of deli- 
 cious apples and after the first sharp frosts there were 
 bushels of walnuts to be had for the gathering. It was a 
 gala time for the friends when they happened in on a 
 day when the cider press was working. With straws, 
 glasses and a brimming pitcher of the fragrant juice,
 
 Pastimes 67 
 
 caught as it flowed from the press, they were indeed 
 happy. 
 
 Sometimes Flo, one of my schoolmates, was one of 
 the visitors. She had a plump figure and bade fair to 
 grow into a buxom maiden, much to the dismay of her 
 slender older sisters, who had experienced little difficulty 
 in achieving the hour glass figure, that the fashion of 
 the day demanded, so even before Flo had reached her 
 teens, she was laced into a corset. While the rest of us 
 were not kept from reaching the limit of our capacity, 
 poor Flo had to call an abrupt halt long before her appe- 
 tite was satisfied. One day she suddenly left the group 
 and went into the house. When she returned, she had 
 discarded her stays. Her dress could no longer be but- 
 toned at the waist, but she had invented a style that 
 no fashion plate ever displayed. An elongated white dia- 
 mond, made from her handkerchief, extended almost 
 half-way around her waist line. With the pitcher almost 
 filled she proved herself the champion of the afternoon. 
 The next morning she appeared properly stayed and 
 supported, assuring us that she would not soon forget 
 her one day of emancipation. 
 
 The approach of Winter brought to an end many 
 outdoor activities on the farm and gave us added 
 opportunity for recreation. 
 
 The coming of a snowstorm was always hailed with 
 delight by the children. Young people who have never
 
 68 Life In Chats worth 
 
 experienced the thrill of playing in snow, have been 
 deprived of one of the great joys of childhood. To this 
 grandmother, who is beginning her ninth decade, recol- 
 lections of the pleasures that the winter sports brought 
 are among the brightest pictures on memory's wall Not 
 long ago a California matron, in her late forties, told 
 me that she had for the first time actually seen and felt 
 snow although she had all of her life looked out at the 
 snowy peaks that rim the Eastern horizon. She had 
 missed much. There are snowstorms and snowstorms, 
 each having its own appeal. There is the snow that 
 begins in the gloaming and when the morning sun awak- 
 ens us every bit of earth is hidden under a blanket of 
 dazzling white. There is the snow that comes in a cold 
 driving wind that is best seen from beside the warm fire- 
 side. It does not appear to come from the sky. Flying 
 along parallel to the earth it seems never to find a resting 
 place. It is a constant surprise to find that any of it 
 remains on the ground. There is the snow that falls when 
 it is hardly cold at all, when there is not a breath of wind, 
 piling up flake on flake, sometimes for days, until occa- 
 sionally the tops of the fences disappear. There are the 
 sharp little snow pellets, half way between snow and 
 hail, that fall but for a short time, and then the great 
 feather flakes that we learn to recognize as heralding the 
 end of the storm. Rarest of all are the exquisite geometric 
 figures whose beauty is seldom equaled in nature. A cold
 
 Pastimes 69 
 
 dark sleeve affords a good background for a study of their 
 unusual and intricate forms. The school child of my day 
 always had his slate that furnished the opportunity to 
 gather and compare these fleeting gems. 
 
 Many were the friendly snowball battles that the 
 snow permitted. The snow men became larger day after 
 day, with wet sticks to which the snow would freeze, 
 making arms, and with coal for eyes, nose and mouth, 
 and occasionally protected by red cap and mittens, they 
 would watch over our play for days. The unblemished 
 snow on either side of the walks became a gallery of 
 intaglio figures, while we waited our turns to guide the 
 hand-sled, or to ride upon it. 
 
 It was not often cold long enough to make good ice 
 for skating, but when that did happen, the brook, flow- 
 ing through the north pasture was the center of attrac- 
 tion for the children of the town. Only a lucky few 
 owned skates, the others, less fortunate, found pleasure 
 in sliding on the smooth ice. 
 
 But the climax of all winter snowtime fun was 
 reached when Father got out the old bob-sled. The sound 
 of merry sleigh bells at the door brought us all out to 
 pile in on the hay that filled the sled box. Under cover 
 of the great buffalo robes we were off to collect a group 
 of friends, and then for a long spin on the country roads. 
 Those were the days before the "one-horse open sleigh"
 
 70 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 had attractions for us. Certainly they were the merriest, 
 happiest times of childhood. 
 
 Sometimes we were permitted to spend the night 
 with friends. In the home of one of these playmates 
 there was a grand parlor. The furniture was covered with 
 a shiny cloth that was woven of horse hair. The picture 
 molding was overlaid with gold leaf. This parlor was 
 seldom used except on state occasions, but we were happy 
 to be allowed to stand in the door occasionally and look 
 into it. One Autumn when we were sent up-stairs to 
 get a pie, we were astonished to see shelves filled with 
 rows of mince pies, enough to last the family all winter. 
 Mrs. Ely, wearing a night cap and carrying a candle, 
 always came to hear us say our prayers and tuck us into 
 bed. Candles were not commonly used in our home and 
 I had never before seen a night cap. 
 
 With us, little attention was paid to the holidays. 
 Perhaps we did not observe these anniversaries as whole- 
 heartedly as some of our neighbors did. After the Christ- 
 mas vacation, when playmates asked, "What did you 
 get for Christmas?" the answer would be, "Oh, some 
 things in my stocking." These "things" often consisted of 
 a stick of striped candy and an orange. Oranges were an 
 unusual treat. While we ate them, Father would some- 
 times tell us of his first Thanksgiving dinner in Illinois 
 in the early 1850's. He was a guest in a home where 
 an abundant dinner was served but after the conclusion
 
 The Fourth of July 71 
 
 of the feast the hostess passed a plate of oranges and 
 told the visitors that they might smell them. The slow 
 river transportation of the day made the shipment of 
 perishable fruit a very difficult thing and oranges were 
 something to be shared as one shares jewels whose 
 beauty may be enjoyed by all who see them. 
 
 The Christmas tree did not have a place in our home 
 when we were children, and there were no Christmas 
 festivities in our church until about the time we left 
 home. 
 
 The Fourth of July 
 
 The one day of the year that was most generally 
 observed as a holiday was the Fourth of July. Then all 
 who were able to walk were on hand for the fun. The 
 farmers from many miles around the town came in for 
 the day. Their lunch baskets of generous size held abun- 
 dant food for their picnic dinners and suppers. There 
 were also many families from neighboring towns, for 
 Chatsworth early acquired a reputation for hospitality 
 and entertainment on this historic day. 
 
 The small boy, who usually found it difficult to obey 
 the summons to get up on an ordinary day, somehow 
 mysteriously was awake before there were any signs of 
 light in the East and the explosion of his firecrackers 
 relieved the head of the house from the necessity of 
 making the usual effort to arouse the household.
 
 72 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 As soon as the daily chores about the place were 
 finished, the younger members of the family were of! to 
 join the crowds that filled the main streets. Each had 
 his precious dime tucked away in a pocket but, fearful 
 that it might disappear, it would be handled every few 
 minutes until the choice between lemonade, ice cream 
 or firecrackers had been made and the responsibility for 
 the money transferred to others. 
 
 The morning exercises began with a parade that was 
 piloted by marshals mounted on the finest steeds obtain- 
 able. Then came the band that had a well deserved 
 reputation for its performances. The mayor, with the 
 orator for the day and other guests followed in the finest 
 carriages the town afforded. A line of other carriages 
 and vehicles of all types and men on horseback completed 
 the procession. 
 
 In the early i88o's an ambitious committee planned 
 a parade that is remembered as something unequaled 
 in the history of our Fourth of July celebrations. They 
 invited young women to ride in the procession. Each 
 represented one of the forty states that then formed the 
 Union. They were all dressed in white and were mounted 
 on white horses and each was accompanied by a gentle- 
 man escort, similarly mounted. "Columbia" representing 
 United States, led this part of the procession. Hearty 
 cheers and enthusiastic applause greeted us as we rode
 
 The Fourth of July 73 
 
 along Main Street and on the road leading to the park, 
 where the program for the day was given. 
 
 Today the details of such a procession might be 
 broadcast over the radio and it would be conducted on 
 time as scheduled, but in those days innumerable trifles 
 delayed such performances. We were still in the days 
 of tight lacing and keeping comfortable on a horse while 
 it was moving was impossible, but to be condemned to 
 sit still upon a horse on the side saddle through dragging 
 minutes that lengthened into hours was torture. No self- 
 respecting woman in those days would have thought of 
 sitting astride a horse, but proceeded to drape herself 
 upon the sidesaddle, her long riding habit trailing toward 
 the ground. 
 
 The "States" and their escorts took places behind 
 the speaker's platform and remained there during the 
 program which consisted of music by the band, and 
 choral singing, followed by an oration by "The Honorable 
 Mr. Blank" who was a lawyer or politician from one of 
 the large cities of the state. The oration consisted of an 
 outline of American History from Colonial Days, through 
 the Revolutionary War, the anxious days preceding the 
 Civil War, that tragic event, and its triumphant ending. 
 Repeated applause interrupted the speaker for there 
 were many among the listeners who were still swayed 
 by emotions growing out of that conflict. 
 
 After this long morning in the saddle this participant
 
 74 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 found no attraction in the remainder of the day's pro- 
 gram but after the morning exercises were over the 
 children hurried home to get something to eat and were 
 soon mingling with the crowds waiting for the afternoon 
 performances. These began with a parade of the cali- 
 thumpians, a mock band outfitted with any grotesque 
 thing that could make a noise. The members of this group 
 were dressed in outlandish costumes in keeping with their 
 performances. This was followed by contests and races 
 held along Main Street. These were always found very 
 amusing and exciting. On one such occasion we had 
 difficulty in restraining a guest, a young girl from the 
 city, from joining in the greased pig race. There were 
 barrel races and sack races too, and greased poles to be 
 climbed. Always in the background was the sound of 
 music coming from the numerous dance halls, that in 
 spite of all the other attractions were continually filled 
 until dawn of the next day. 
 
 In the early evening the streets were again filled with 
 crowds waiting for the grand finale of the day, the fire- 
 works. There were no set pieces then, no flaming picture 
 of Washington nor reproduction of our national bird, 
 but there were many pin wheels, rockets and Roman 
 candles that delighted the hearts of the young, who went 
 home satisfied with what they considered was a proper 
 ending for the greatest day of the year.
 
 Grandmother Bigham 75 
 
 Grandmother Bigham 
 
 Grandmother Bigham was one of a family of fourteen 
 children. Both of her grandfathers came to the Miamis 
 before the great Indian Uprisings. Her family, the Rosses, 
 lived for some time in Cincinnati. A journal kept by a 
 resident of that city during the years when Grandmother 
 was a young girl has recently been published. It contains 
 several references to this family. One note says, "There 
 were eight Ross sisters. They were noted for their 
 beauty." That did not surprise me for, in spite of her 
 wrinkled face and thinning curls, Grandmother was beau- 
 tiful in my eyes. Perhaps it was the beauty of the spirit 
 within that made her seem so lovely. 
 
 I was named after Grandmother Bigham. From her 
 too, I inherited left-handedness. Mother despaired of 
 teaching me to knit and sew and do all the other things 
 that were expected of the feminine portion of the house- 
 hold in that day, but Grandmother quickly and easily 
 added these things to my accomplishments. Many happy 
 hours were spent sitting at her knee while acquiring 
 these feminine arts. It cannot be recorded that after 
 learning them I found equal pleasure in their application. 
 Seams sometimes were long and hard, and no matter how 
 often we were warned of the fate of the silly young 
 cricket, knitting woolen stockings on a hot, sticky summer 
 day remained a disagreeable and uncomfortable task.
 
 76 Life In Chats worth 
 
 Grandmother had learned to do one thing with her 
 right hand, and that was to write. On going to school, 
 with neither interference nor suggestion I followed 
 nature's bent and wrote with my left hand. This troubled 
 Grandmother. Once when she was leaving us to spend 
 the winter with sisters in Indiana she told me that if I 
 would learn to write with my right hand and write her 
 a letter with it she would give me a new dress. I had 
 never possessed such a thing and I eagerly applied myself 
 to the task and soon was able to write the promised 
 letter. It was not long before the promised dress arrived, 
 a beautiful shining changeable red and green alpaca. No 
 material possession since that time has held quite the 
 same place in my affections. But the sequel must be 
 told. It was not long before I was again occasionally 
 making use of my left hand in writing and soon it was 
 the every day procedure. Grandmother never spoke to 
 me about it. I had indeed fulfilled the letter of my 
 promise, if I had violated its spirit. I am certain that if 
 she had possessed present day knowledge on the subject, 
 she would have been glad that I did not run the risk 
 of suffering the physical and mental ills that so often 
 accompany that arbitrary practice. 
 
 I always enjoyed being alone with her and I have 
 happy memories of sitting with her on the porch of the 
 little brown house when all the rest of the family were 
 away. With a canopy of wistaria above us, its violet
 
 Uncle Dee 77 
 
 tinted blossoms gently moving in the soft summer wind, 
 we rocked and sang, 
 
 "My days are gliding swiftly by, 
 And I a pilgrim stranger, 
 Would not detain them as they fly, 
 Those hours of toil and danger" 
 
 It is often said of the grandmother of that day, that 
 her fate was to put on a cap and sit in a corner. In our 
 home at least, Grandmother occupied an honored place. 
 
 Uncle Dee 
 
 One Autumn Greatuncle Dee, Grandmother's 
 brother, made us a visit. He was from Boston where, he 
 said, all good Bostonians recognized one authority — 
 Worcester's dictionary. In our schools and homes Web- 
 ster was our guide, so far as we followed any criterion 
 of speech. This did not please Uncle Dee, who told us 
 that when he was at home again, he would send us the 
 one and only proper guide to pronunciation. 
 
 Not many weeks passed before a large box, containing 
 the promised reformer, arrived. Its opening was made a 
 real ceremony. It was not touched until every member 
 of the family was present. The removal of the lid revealed 
 many unanticipated gifts beside the dictionary. Along 
 side of it were six or eight other large volumes, but when 
 either cover was opened, instead of a printed page there
 
 78 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 appeared copies of works of art, plaster miniatures of 
 many of the great works of ancient Greece and Rome. 
 One volume contained the heads of all the Caesars, 
 another was filled with the works of Thorwaldsen. A 
 slender bronze statue of Melpomene and graceful and 
 unusual vases appeared. There were a number of framed 
 pictures, one, the head of a Greek god, a painting (copy) 
 of Leonardo da Vinci's self portrait and striking pictures 
 of Mozart and Beethoven. Included, too, were albums of 
 music and a stack of sheet music. There were bolts of 
 linen and muslin, with a number of partly finished pieces 
 of needlepoint and embroidery with plenty of silk and 
 wool to complete the patterns. These brought joy to the 
 girls of the family. 
 
 This was a strange assortment of things, useful and 
 beautiful, to be dropped into that simple farm house. 
 Perhaps you might think that it was not an appropriate 
 gift, yet it may surely be said that it did us no harm. 
 We had, some years before this, outgrown the little brown 
 house and were in the larger home that replaced it. A 
 piano had been added to the furnishings of the parlor. 
 Carrie, who had a great love of music and much natural 
 ability in rendering it, soon was making us acquainted 
 with many of the classics. 
 
 One album contained the portraits of many of the 
 opera singers of that day with some of the most popular 
 songs they sang. While no one among us essayed to
 
 Cousin Jane 79 
 
 emulate these singers, we did become familiar with some 
 of the operas. The study of the replicas of sculpture that 
 idealized the ancient Greek and Roman mythological 
 heroes added to our knowledge of these characters and 
 of the works of art in which they are portrayed. 
 
 As to the dictionary that prompted the sending of 
 the box — Uncle Dee did not live many years after that 
 visit. If he had been able to come again, I am afraid that 
 he would have been disappointed that we had not 
 profited more from its use. While we made it a constant 
 companion in learning the spelling and meaning of words, 
 it had no marked effect on our Mid-western pronuncia- 
 tion that did not resemble that of the Bostonians. 
 
 Cousin Jane 
 
 Cousin Jane was a welcome visitor in our home for 
 she was a good sport. When her visit happened at 
 threshing time, that event immediately became Jane's 
 party. She entered into the preparations for the meals 
 with such zest that for all of us the drudgery and hard 
 work became fun. She had just learned the unusual 
 deliciousness of corn, fresh from the field, cooked for a 
 few minutes in a kettle of boiling water, then eaten 
 without delay, so she was very sympathetic with the 
 young men who confided to our regular help, that they 
 wanted to eat some of those nice roasting ears but did 
 not dare to attempt to with all those girls around.
 
 80 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 If the threshing crew was working at the farm, their 
 dinner became Jane's picnic. The food packed in clothes 
 baskets and boiler was loaded into the spring-wagon and 
 we were off to the farm, where the coffee was made, and 
 the hot dishes kept warm on the stove in the farmhouse 
 while we prepared to serve the meal in the shade of the 
 grove, in a happy carefree fashion. 
 
 One Sunday evening when Jane was with us and a 
 number of young gentlemen were at the house, we sud- 
 denly decided to go to the church since Jane had never 
 been in a Methodist meeting house. We were a little 
 late in arriving and were ushered to seats in the "Amen 
 Corner." After the sermon and prayer, the minister read 
 the closing hymn and the audience rose to sing, but Jane 
 and I sat still. We were glued to the seat which recently 
 had been varnished. It was a warm evening ; we had on 
 thin dresses; the sticky condition of the varnish held us 
 fast. After the benediction, with careful manipulation, 
 we were released without much damage to our dresses. 
 Throughout the years we have continued to talk about 
 the time we "joined the Methodist Church." 
 
 The Sabbath Day 
 
 Sunday mornings in summer, after the horses had 
 been fed they were led from the barn, two by two, their 
 halters were removed and they were turned into the 
 pasture where the little brook rambled on its way to
 
 THE AUTHOR, 1893 
 
 THE PARLOR — A Corner near the Bay Window Showing Flowers and 
 
 Lamps. (See pages 45, 48.)
 
 The Sabbath Day 8i 
 
 the Vermilion River. Showing not the least weariness 
 from their week's work, they kicked up their heels, some- 
 times purposely pointing them at a neighbor; then they 
 rolled on the soft grass or perhaps in a bare, dusty plot 
 of ground. If they chose the latter place, on getting up 
 they would make inimitable contortions, shaking every 
 muscle of their bodies. It may be that some of the 
 muscle-shaking dances of today owe their origin to a boy 
 or girl who had watched Topsy or Bill take a Sunday 
 morning dust bath. After these preliminary proceedings 
 were over the real fun began. One of the younger 
 horses, perhaps Prince, would start on a mad race to 
 the center of the field where a tall clump of maples 
 grew. One by one the rest of the group fell in line until 
 all were following the leader. Round and round they 
 went in a widening circle, Prince, Fanny, Topsy, Beauty, 
 Democrat, and all the rest of them. Some of them never 
 seemed to tire, but the older ones soon lagged behind 
 and before long they sought the shade of the trees along 
 the lane, while the others whirled away indefinitely. We 
 knew that they were having great fun. I have seen my 
 father watch these animal capers with genuine pleasure. 
 It did not occur to me then but I have often wondered 
 in later years just how he, a fourth generation elder, was 
 reconciled to this desecration of the Sabbath Day. I am 
 confident that if his own children had engaged in such 
 antics they would have been quickly rebuked.
 
 82 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 The observance of the Sabbath was not carried out 
 quite so rigorously in our home as it had been in the 
 preceding generation, yet it was a day set apart distinctly 
 from others. Then, I never saw my mother with a needle 
 in her hand, while on other days of the week, her fingers 
 were always occupied with sewing, knitting, making 
 quilts or hooking rugs, nor did I ever see my father per- 
 form an unnecessary task on the Sabbath. Some of our 
 friends made everything ready for the Sunday meals on 
 Saturday; with us Saturday was a big baking day, but 
 we had our usual hot meals on Sunday. After dinner 
 was over, the older members of the family went off to 
 take long naps. The younger ones, after clearing away 
 the dishes, found suitable books, and sought sequestered 
 nooks for a quiet hour. When the season permitted, a 
 hammock swung between maples, or a comfortable rocker 
 in deep shade, offered pleasant relaxation. In the spring 
 many sights and sounds combined to keep the senses 
 alert. The wind rustled in the leaves above, birds darted 
 across the sky or twittered in the trees, bees buzzed among 
 the gay blossoms, the air was heavy with perfume wafted 
 from the blossoms in the apple orchards near by. But it 
 was on a hot afternoon in late summer that an awareness 
 of the Sabbath stillness would sometimes startle one. Once 
 my little brother, Willie, was playing boisterously in an 
 adjoining room when suddenly all noise ceased. Grand- 
 mother remarked that Willie must be asleep ; instantly a
 
 Memories That Linger 83 
 
 little voice called "Why, Grandmother ! Did you hear a 
 great quiet?" There were times when the Sabbath still- 
 ness on the farm was so great that the auditory nerves 
 were keenly conscious of it. Perhaps we did "hear a great 
 quiet." 
 
 Memories That Linger 
 
 One evening in the Autumn of 1871 Mother called 
 us to come out of doors, and with tears fining her eyes, 
 she pointed to a strange red light in the northern sky 
 and told us that the great city by the lake, Chicago, was 
 burning. The next day she filled and refilled the oven 
 with bread that was dispatched to the devastated city. 
 
 Mother often called us out in the evenings to look 
 at the stars and told us the names of many, with stories 
 of the exploits of the legendary folk that the constella- 
 tions were supposed to resemble. On bright summer 
 evenings and clear, cold winter nights we became familiar 
 with the varying positions of these sky dwellers. 
 
 She made us acquainted too with the wild flowers 
 in their seasons. An old worn copy of Mrs. Lincoln's 
 "Lectures on Botany," with its accompanying Key, a 
 treasure from her Genesee Seminary days, was always 
 at hand. She never failed to identify the strange flowers 
 we brought to her after our infrequent trips to Oliver's 
 Grove. Mother had a great love for growing things, par- 
 ticularly for plants. We were never without flowers in
 
 84 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 the garden and even in the little house an effort was 
 made to keep some flowers in the windows through the 
 winters. This often resulted in tragedy, for an unexpected 
 visit from a cold north wind left nothing of the geran- 
 iums and fuchsias but blackened leaves and drooping 
 stems. After the new home was built and the big hard 
 coal base-burners installed, the bay window was always 
 attractive. Here rubber plants and wax vines flourished 
 with night-blooming cereus, callas and caladiums while 
 stevias, bouvardias, geraniums, fuchsias, and heliotropes 
 added color and fragrance. The flower garden was 
 Mother's particular province but Father put his stamp 
 of approval on it, often suggesting that we could afford 
 to try this or that new creation, so attractively pictured 
 in the Burpee catalogues. 
 
 Visiting Chicago a short time after it had been rebuilt, 
 we went shopping at Marshall Field's. That new store 
 could be lost in the Field's of today, but then it was a 
 place of grandeur, its many aisles bordered by counters 
 that were filled with marvelous things in the eyes of a 
 little country girl. After examining some yardage and 
 inquiring its cost, Mother asked if she took so many 
 yards could she not have it at such and such a price. The 
 clerk went to a man standing near by and in a moment 
 returned and said that would be all right. The habit of 
 bargaining for a price had been an established custom 
 in Mother's day, but before I began shopping for myself
 
 Village Vignettes 85 
 
 it was not a practice in common usage. I do not remember 
 another such incident. 
 
 A few years later, in 1881, on another visit to Chi- 
 cago, an uncle took us to McVicker's Theater to see a 
 wonderful new way of lighting, with electricity, its first 
 use in Chicago. The uncle was a minister and since the 
 theater was "ungodly" we were not permitted to stay 
 for the performance. 
 
 Village Vignettes 
 
 The home of a little chum was not far from the 
 school. It was a beautiful place, a home full of choice 
 things but my memory of the kindly spirit that presided 
 over it is more vivid than is the picture of its material 
 possessions. I have come under the influence of some of 
 the great women of the past generations, among them 
 Frances Willard and Alice Freeman Palmer, and in my 
 thoughts I place the lovely Mrs. Sherman in their com- 
 pany. I had not yet come in contact with Shakespeare, 
 but I learned from hearing her speak that "A voice ever 
 soft, gentle and low" was "an excellent thing in woman," 
 and she exemplified many other gracious qualities that 
 I have learned to know as things to be desired. 
 
 I was a book starved little thing. I have beside me a 
 grandfather's will with an accompanying inventory of 
 his personal belongings. In the list of books are, "Aspasia 
 Vindicated," "Marshall on Sanctification," "Afflicted
 
 86 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 Man's Companion/ 5 and "The Delaware Wagoner 
 Against Paine's Age of Reason." We had in our book- 
 case perhaps more than the usual number of books. 
 Father may have inherited some of these from his ances- 
 tors for most of those on our shelves were on religious 
 subjects, and few of them appealed to a child. When 
 Mrs. Sherman gave me the privilege of reading books 
 from her library, there could not have been a happier 
 child within the borders of the state. The Dottie Dimple 
 and Alcott books became mentally mine and soon I was 
 delving into Miihlbach's "Lives of European Rulers." It 
 was not long until when we were not reading we were im- 
 personating royal figures of history. It was wonderful 
 while accepting homage, to trail sweeping garments of 
 crimson velvet down marble stairways. As I look back on 
 those days and realize how genuinely we lived those other 
 lives, I am thankful that our Marie Antoinette did not lose 
 her head. Mrs. Sherman had two sisters who occasionally 
 visited her. Miss Sallie, who taught my Sunday school 
 class, combined all the good qualities of my story-book 
 heroines. When the news of her marriage became known, 
 one little girl ran home to tell her mother that Miss 
 Sallie had married "Carter's Little Liver Pills." She had 
 indeed married the originator of those little balls of medi- 
 cine, that continue to be advertised, even today. 
 
 Mrs. Thomas, the young doctor's wife, had a keen 
 sense of humor. Her rippling laughter was contagious.
 
 Village Vignettes 87 
 
 One day, soon after a new bakery had been opened, she 
 sent her little son to get a loaf of bread. That was decades 
 before the wrapping of bread began. When Dick came 
 home he said, "Mamma, that new baker is an awful 
 clean man. He wiped all the dirt off of the bread before 
 he gave it to me." Mrs. Thomas had to give the neigh- 
 bors a chance to laugh with her, and soon the story 
 spread all over town. The poor baker was perhaps entirely 
 innocent; he may have brushed a bit of flour from the 
 loaf, but Dick's remark literally drove him out of busi- 
 ness. He closed the bakery and opened a saloon where 
 cleanliness and its close companion godliness were not 
 demanded by his customers. 
 
 Mrs. Dean had been a widow for many years. She 
 always appeared on the streets in deep mourning, her 
 long crepe veil sweeping behind her. About a year after 
 Mr. Gordon's wife died it began to be whispered about 
 that he was courting the widow Dean. Soon she laid 
 aside her mourning garb and appeared in a pretty brown 
 costume. Smiles wreathed her face, her eyes sparkled and 
 all her forlorn years seemed to be behind her. But sud- 
 denly the visits of Mr. Gordon ceased, and for some time 
 the widow was not seen on the streets. When she did 
 venture forth she was again clad in her mourning robes. 
 The burning question then became, "Who is the object 
 of her grief?" 
 
 Mrs. Raymond was another widow, pretty and young.
 
 88 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 Having lost her dog she sent for Levi to bury her pet. 
 When he had finished the task she asked him what he 
 wanted for the work. "Oh, nuthin'," he said, and no 
 amount of persuasion could make him change his mind, 
 so thanking him, she dismissed him. A few days after- 
 ward, answering a knock at the door, she was confronted 
 by Levi who abruptly asked her to go to church with 
 him the next Sunday evening. The astonished widow 
 emphatically refused, whereupon Levi said, "Wull then, 
 you kin give me fifty cents for buryin' the dorg." There 
 were not a few eligible young men who were ready to 
 declare their willingness to pay many times fifty cents 
 for the privilege of escorting her to church, including 
 the sum required to pay the minister to tie the knot, and 
 it was not long before one of them had persuaded her 
 to accompany him. At a Thanksgiving service the pastor, 
 after discoursing on "Reasons for Thankfulness," invited 
 the prayer meeting group to contribute their personal 
 reasons. Levi at once arose and said, "I'm thankful that 
 we aire what we aire." The rest of the group found it 
 impossible to air their views on the subject, and the 
 minister had to finish the evening without help from 
 the company. 
 
 There were other unique characters among the male 
 sex in our town. Mr. Johnson was a craftsman, owning 
 a small shop where he practiced his trade with little 
 competition. When the date for the marriage of his
 
 Village Vignettes 89 
 
 daughter had been set, he went about town asking the 
 families of the editor, the lumberman, the banker, and 
 prominent merchants to witness the ceremony, but he 
 failed to tell his wife about what he had done, until a 
 late hour. When the minister began the service she was 
 still in the kitchen roasting the geese. It was related that 
 she saw the ceremony from the kitchen door, peering 
 over the shoulders of some of the unexpected guests. 
 The next copy of the weekly paper contained a paid 
 notice signed by Mr. Johnson thanking the guests for 
 their "presence and their presents." 
 
 On the corner near the railroad station Mr. Peterson 
 had his woodworking shop. He dreamed great dreams 
 of perfecting a corn husking machine, spending every 
 possible hour in working over his model. At times he 
 would neither eat nor sleep. Then he became deranged 
 and spent long hours in doing incomprehensible things. 
 The school children, fearful but fascinated, peered 
 through the windows of the shop while he, a bottle in 
 one hand and a cork in the other, darted about among 
 the machines, trying to capture the little devils that 
 tormented him. 
 
 Up the next street was the mill where, while the 
 grist was grinding, we looked down into the well where 
 the miller's helper had jumped to his death a short time 
 before, and a new word was added to our vocabulary — 
 suicide. The mill was not far from the twins' corner,
 
 90 Life In Chats worth 
 
 where at one time twins lived in all the corner houses. 
 Not far away from here was the home of little Mrs. 
 Garvin who when told of the death of a neighbor, sighed 
 and said, "So many people have died this year that 
 never died before." 
 
 The Wreck 
 
 One bright August morning, to be exact, August 1 1, 
 1887, a young man started on his way to work, merrily 
 whistling. He had not gone far before he sensed that this 
 was no ordinary morning; he met no one on the walk; 
 no one passed by on the road; there were no friendly 
 greetings from the homes. When he came to the livery 
 stable all was quiet as at midnight. There were no busy 
 men about the lumber yard, no sorrel horse nor spotted 
 dog in sight. He began to wonder if he had mistaken the 
 day. Could it possibly be Sunday? He came to the rail- 
 road station from the rear and passing the end of the 
 building he came upon a sight that fairly froze his blood. 
 There on the platform was a long row of figures, scores 
 of dead men, shrouded in sheets. Stumbling into the 
 station, he asked the cause of that awful sight and was 
 told that the evening before a great excursion train had 
 Over 80 persons were killed and more than 250 were 
 injured. The sound of the fire alarm and the ringing of 
 been wrecked and burned a few miles east of the town, 
 the church bells had brought out all the villagers. They
 
 Conclusion 91 
 
 had worked throughout the long hours of the night, res- 
 cuing the living and removing the dead from the 
 wreckage. The town hall, the school house and one 
 church were filled with the injured and many sufferers 
 were taken into homes. When all had been done that 
 could be done, the weary, exhausted townsmen had gone 
 to their homes at about the hour they usually began their 
 daily tasks. It is easily understandable why the dead 
 were left on the platform; no coffins were available in 
 the town. These had to be brought from the city. The 
 Sabbath calm was not for long. As the news of the 
 disaster spread, the little town was literally swamped 
 with people, many of them coming out of curiosity. Some 
 gathered up big bolts and odd pieces of iron from the 
 burned cars and took them home for souvenirs! The 
 next Sunday evening Union Memorial Services were 
 held in one of the churches. One of the ministers declared 
 that the wreck was a part of God's plan, a punishment 
 for the wickedness of the world ! 
 
 Conclusion 
 
 This tale, while it is a part of "the material of which 
 history is made," should not be considered as a history 
 of Chatsworth. The record of the events in the lives of 
 the exceptional, the eccentric and the unfortunate, and 
 incidents in the daily fives of families or groups cannot 
 be called history. That must present a composite picture
 
 92 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 of the whole. One boy, whose mathematical ability might 
 give him a seat in the "Quiz Kids School," is not repre- 
 sentative. Neither does an account of the sayings and 
 doings of the unfortunate warrant the assumption that 
 he is a fair sample of the community. 
 
 Here is pictured, as memory has revealed it, the simple 
 annals of life in a pioneer town that is typical of such 
 Mid- Western communities in the 6o's and 70's, before 
 the complexities of present-day environments had 
 changed society everywhere, a life in which the home 
 and church were still the center of each family's little 
 world, where affection was deep-rooted, if not demon- 
 strative, a life sober in the main, and yet not lacking on 
 occsion the ability to see the humorous side of things. 
 
 In a word, it may be said that these settlers brought 
 to their new homes the ambitions that their ancestors 
 had cherished. They were plain people imbued with 
 worthy ideals that they strove to implant in the minds 
 of their children. We might expect that this pioneer 
 community would show less advancement than similar 
 towns in well established parts of the East, yet a recently 
 published story of life eighty years ago in a New England 
 village, founded nearly two centuries earlier, strangely 
 parallels this tale. 
 
 The town developed very rapidly. In hardly more 
 than a decade it had attained its maximum growth. As
 
 Conclusion 93 
 
 the children matured, the door to material progress here 
 was closed, and most of the second generation sought 
 the opportunity to make a place for themselves in the 
 larger towns of the state, many of them going to Chicago. 
 When they were well established there, a large number 
 of their parents joined them. All of the doctors, lawyers 
 and bankers left the town, many merchants also. Farmers 
 sold their holdings and yielded to the lure of the city. 
 Those who made a change of residence did not all con- 
 fine themselves to the state of Illinois. They went East, 
 West, North and South, to New England, Florida, to 
 Iowa, Kansas and Nebraska and to all of the Pacific 
 Coast States. Sixty years after the end of my story, a 
 group of ten of the first generation children of Chats- 
 worth were found basking in the sunshine of a Southern 
 California seaside town, two thousand miles from the 
 home of their childhood. It must be admitted that their 
 longevity is not due to their present surroundings; they 
 all made the change of residence after they had retired 
 from active life in other communities. 
 
 Only one of the children of Chatsworth, a musician, 
 became nationally known. For the others, as far as I 
 know, it can be said that they, as a part of that genera- 
 tion, helped in the making of the America of today, add- 
 ing their bit to the progress of the world as substantial, 
 industrious citizens interested in the welfare of the com- 
 munities in which they lived. They were Americans,
 
 94 Life In Chatsworth 
 
 perhaps not thinking the same thoughts their fathers had 
 thought, certainly seeing strange things their fathers had 
 not seen, yet still Americans.