HISTORY OF PARKER.

IT has been impossible to trace the ancestry, or nationality, back of Edward Parker, who first appeared upon the records of the New Haven Colony January 4th, 1643, at which time he and seven others were fined 3s. 4d. each "for totall defect in armes." At a general court held the July previous, "Itt is ordered thatt every male, fro' 16 yeares olde to sixty, wthin this jurisdicto' shall be forthwth furnished of a good gun or muskett, a pound of good pouder, 4 fathom of match for a match lock, and 5 or 6 good flints, fitted for every fyre lock, and 4 pound of pistoll bulletts fitted to their guns, and so continue furnished from time to time, vnder the penalty of 10s. fine vpon every defect in any of the forenamed perliculars."

From the difference between the legal fine and the amount assessed, I infer that Edward and party had but recently arrived in the colony. The next record of him is July 1st, 1644, when he took the "oath of fidelity," with all the members of the colony. According to the reckoning, then, this was six months after the fine was imposed, as the change from one year to another was in the spring.

John Potter and wife were members of the original company which, under Davenport and Eaton, settled New Haven, Conn., in 1638. John died, and about the first of July 1646, his widow--Elizabeth--and Edward Parker were married. From the Colonial Records of New Haven it appears that she had three children by her first husband-two sons and a daughter-so it would be natural to suppose that Edward was not a 1young man at the time of his marriage. At his death John Potter must have possessed some property; for though no record of a will or appraisement of his estate is found, a record of court, under date of July 7th, 1646, says: "Edw Parker & his wife prsented their desires to the court to invest JnO Potter's two sons in the right of their father's land & howse, and declared themselve willing to bestow a heyfer of a yeare old on Hannah, & deliuer it presently for her vse, & so to be improved as a stock for her, &c, as P a perticular writting in the hand of the secrettarie made and signed by both of them before the governour, deputy governour, & magistrate."

"At a Court held at Newhaven the 7th Sep. 1647 Edward Parker being warned to the court for rates dew to the treasurer, some pt before he marryed the widdow, and some part since, Edw Parker promysed pay for what is dew since he marryed the widdow, in corne shortlye, & for that before John Potters death dew, it was respitted."

Edward Parker seems to have been employed as a planter, as well as a butcher, and he must have had some influence in the colony; for the record shows that he was one of the two men representing New Haven, who arrested the notorious Thomas Baxter at Fairfield, and conveyed him with others-who opposed the arrest-to New Haven, in 1653. He was also cognizant of and aided in keeping secreted the Regicides Goff and Whalley, who were secreted near New Haven from May 15th to June 11th, 1661.

That he was a man of thrift is evident from the inventory of his estate, taken the 27th of June, 1662, and which was returned to court on the 25th day of May, 1663, and amounted to the sum of 124 lb, 00s, 00d.

John Parker was Edward's second child, and eldest son. In 1670 he, with his brothers-in-law, John Hall and Samuel Cook, were members of the company of about one hundred persons - men, women and children - that made the settlement at Wallingford. This new settlement was some twelve miles from New Haven, and was situated on land that belonged to the New Haven Colony. It was established in April; and as John was not married until November, he probably made it his home during the summer at one or the other of his sisters. Years passed on, and we find his name prominent in the management of church and colonial affairs. In 1693 he was one of the two who were chosen to oversee the educational interests of the colony, and employ a teacher. In 1697 he was chosen as one of a committee of two to locate and establish highways. In 1707 and 1708 he represented Wallingford in the General Assembly. In 1708 his name appears as one of the committee who called and settled the Rev. Mr. Whittelsey as pastor; and it is a matter of record that the success which his ability and industry achieved caused the locality where he resided, which was about two miles from the present town, to be called the Parker farms.

Eliphalet Parker was John's seventh child and third son. His family consisted of eleven children, ten living to maturity and marrying. His youngest son, Benjamin, bought three acres of land with "house, barn and orcharding thereon" from Timothy Moses of Simsbury, March 27th, 1751. In the deed Moses calls it "my home lot." As Benjamin was married the following June, and the record says, "removed to Simsbury," he probably commenced housekeeping at once on the property bought from Moses, which was on the east side of the river in Simsbury, near the hamlet of Weatogue. Subsequently he purchased more land, until he possessed thirty acres. In 1769 he sold and removed to Hartland, where he purchased 101 acres from James Smith. The deed to this purchase bears date of April 10th, 1769. The church records at East Hartland show that "Benjamin Parker and wife were admitted to the church by letter from Simsbury March 12th, 1775." It was while residing here that he served in the Revolution, a record of which appears hereafter; and his son, Benjamin, Jr., went from, and returned here and died. In 1778 he removed to Barkhamsted, where he passed the balance of his life. Barkhamsted records show that "he presented to the church, March 1st, 1787, a pint cup to be used and improved by the church at the communion; for which he received the thanks of the church." October 22d, 1795, he was appointed deacon. He held this office until March, 1801, when, on account of failing sight, he resigned, and his son, Lovel, was appointed to fill the vacancy.

I have wondered many times how our ancestors achieved the success they did, when I realize the obstacles they had to meet and overcome. With the knowledge and conveniences we possess, one would in this day feel like giving up in despair; and I think we are prone to give them too little credit for what they did accomplish, and criticise them too harshly for what now seems to us like superstition, egotism, and religious intolerance. When I visited the spots where had been the homes of my ancestors, partially realizing what they had done to secure a competence, and hand down to posterity an unblemished reputation, I felt like repeating the scripture recorded by Moses, "Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground." It is a pleasure to venerate all who have lived useful lives in this world; and this feeling, when coupled with the affection we naturally bestow upon our ancestors, gives almost a sacredness to their memories. We now have almost nothing by which to cherish them except abstract memory and an opportunity to occasionally view the places which once "knew them;" for imagination can furnish no satisfactory substitute for a portrait. We little realize the advantages we possess, and can only partially do so when we have an opportunity to contrast them with what were attainable one hundred years or more ago.

Could our own fathers have stood looking at "the old home in Barkhamsted," as Cousin Rufus and I did, on a beautiful June morning, they could have voiced Cowper's lines:

"Where once we dwelt, our name is heard no more;

Children not thine, have trod my nursery floor:

* * * * * *

Tis now become a history little known

That once we called this pastoral house our own."

Our fathers threw the weight of their influence in the balance on the side of freedom during the Revolution, and handed down a noble record, sealed with their blood, which bore fruit. Their children became active abolitionists, and it is now an open secret that Linus Parker maintained a station on the underground railroad. James Truesdale, who married Orpha Parker, was mobbed by his own townsmen for encouraging and supporting abolition principles; while the other members of the family, each in his own way, aided what he considered a righteous crusade against Human Slavery. When civil war endangered the government, many sons of these noble sires, emulating the example set by their fathers, responded to their country's call. Faithfully they served, supported and encouraged by loved ones at home; until death released them from duty; broken health compelled the acceptance of a discharge; or bright winged peace again hovered over our country.

My father, Lovel Elon Parker, was a man of but few words, yet was excellent company; for he possessed a well balanced mind which he had stored with useful information. For many years he served the people of the township as a Justice of the Peace; and commanded the respect of all for his ability, and quiet, but fearless integrity. As a Deacon of the church to which he belonged, his record is one of faithfulness in the performance of every known duty; and no man in the community was more respected for religious consistency. In build he was tall and spare; but with a wiry make-up which gave him great physical endurance until middle life, when as a result of exposure, and over work, he contracted chronic bronchitis; which eventually was the cause of his death. His later years were years of industry, but the labor was light.

In early life, my mother had improved unusually good advantages for that day, in securing an education; had prepared herself for, and for several years before her marriage had taught at Kinsman, a select school for young ladies. In many respects she possessed a remarkable mind; for in her old age she would for hours repeat from mem1ory, poetry, and other literature, which she had been familiar with in early life. She was proud for her children; and labored hard to secure for them the opportunities for obtaining good educations.

In build she was of medium height, and solid in appearance, though not large. Father and mother were both close Bible students; father devoting his attention mostly to the New Testament; while mother delighted in the histories and denunciations of the old.

After father's death she chose to live with her only surviving daughter - Louisa who resided in Cleveland, Ohio; but returned to her old home again in July, 1890, and remained there with me until her death. She died November 9th, 1892, and rests by father's side in the Hayes cemetery, in Wayne.

IN MEMORIAM.

CLAUDIUS LOVEL PARKER, the subject of this brief memoir, was born December 30, 1845. His father's name was Lovel Elon Parker; his mother's maiden name was Lucy Caroline Andrews.

His early life was spent on the farm, with such opportunities as were afforded by the district school and academy. When eighteen years of age he united with the Congregational Church in Wayne, which was then under the pastorate of Rev. Heman Geer. Being very ambitious to excel in his studies, he commenced a preparatory course for college under the teaching of Rev. J. Wright, of Gustavus, O. He was an ardent, hard-working, successful student, showing a mind of more than ordinary intellectual ability. Completing his course at Gustavus, he proceeded to Hudson College, where he spent one term.

It was during his stay in Hudson that "our boys in blue" were homeward bound, and he let no opportunity pass to greet their return, for he was loyal to the core.

His brother Newton's return, after three years of army life at the front, enabled Claudius to carry out a long cherished wish; a college course at Oberlin. He graduated with honor in 1870, after five years of study and teaching. Some eighteen months were then spent at the Observatory in Allegheny, Pa. During a part of this time he was in charge; and while so communication was established between the Observatory and railroads by which the time was furnished regularly for railroad use. The observations and computations necessary for obtaining the correct time were made every day, and to anyone familiar with this matter the responsibility is apparent. The next two years were occupied mostly in mechanical work.

September 12, 1873, he was married to Miss Jennie E., daughter of Horatio Woodworth of West Williamsfield, which union proved a happy one in every respect. One year later he established himself at Allegheny, Pa., where he spent two years in the law office of his cousin, G. H. Christy, of Pittsburg, when he was admitted to the bar.

He continued in this office until Thursday, July 26, 1883, when he was violently attacked with fever, and four days of intense suffering closed his earthly career. On Sunday, when told by his physician that if he continued to sink so rapidly he could not live till morning, he exhibited calmness and composure, bade an affectionate farewell to the dear ones around him, and to all friends and acquaintances he said: "Tell them I die a Christian."

To show the esteem in which he was held we subjoin the following brief letter from the Professor of Pittsburg University:

To George H. Christy, Esq.,

My Dear Sir: I have this morning read in the Dispatch a notice of the sudden death of my greatly esteemed friend, C. L. Parker. Nothing could be more unexpected. More than twelve years I have known and highly esteemed him for his superior intelligence, his sharp, discriminating mind, his frank nature, and his amiable disposition. He was no ordinary man. On my return I shall miss his kindly face and his genial greeting. Please extend to his deeply afflicted widow my warmest sympathy, for a kind, loving husband, and devoted father, has been taken away.

Most truly yours,

GEORGE WOODS.

.His remains were brought to West Williamsfield for interment. A large number of sympathizing friends were waiting at the depot, where a procession was formed and accompanied him to the cemetery where appropriate services were conducted by Revs. Dickinson and Vance.

The above was printed in the Jefferson Gazette of August 17, 1883. Rev. Dickinson was the resident pastor at West Williamsfield, Rev. Vance at Kinsman.

Photo of C.L. Parker (NOT SHOWN)

Photo of L.E. Parker (NOT SHOWN)

RECOLLECTIONS.

DEDICATED TO CLAUDIUS L. PARKER, BY HIS FATHER, LOVEL ELON PARKER.

WAYNE, Nov. 23, 1877.

It is because you have requested it that I write, not to perpetuate my memory; for I feel like adopting the language of the poet:

"Let me live, unseen, unknown,

Unlamented let me die;

Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lie."

You cannot see the surroundings of my youthful days, that make them interesting to me, as I can; nor can I present them to you. The old school house; my youthful companions; the house in which we lived; the river, running nearly south by our house, on the west; the gristmill, sawmill, and button factory one-half mile south.

Our house was eight or ten rods from the bank of the river, opposite the dam that turned the water to the mills; two story in front, running back to one story, and fronting to the west. If I get time I will make you a draft of the house, and its surroundings. There used to be a pond of water, south and west, on which we took much pleasure in the winter, sliding. We filled it up by plowing and scraping, some years before we left the place. My personal recollections go back to 1803. I was then three years old. The schoolhouse was about one-fourth of a mile north from our house on a hill, in plain sight. I thought it would be nice to have a play with the children, so I stole away and had a good time until they were called in for afternoon.

I got over the fence and went east through the lots, turning south into a meadow we called "the Roberts meadow," thence around into our "south lot," thence west into the blacksmith shop, and, lying down on the forge, went to sleep. I was missed in the afternoon, and search was made. They sent to the schoolhouse; the scholars told them where I was last seen; they went through the lots, but no boy was found, nor heard to respond to their calls.

About sundown someone went to the shop, and there I was on the forge, and fast asleep. They awoke me and took me to the house rejoicing over the lost sheep, found safe. I can recollect many things that took place as time passed on. The total eclipse in 1806. I was at school; it was so dark we could not see to study, so the teacher let us go out to see it. I can now see how it looked, and then I compared it to Miss Naomi's umbrella, and I can now think of no better comparison. The circumference was brighter than the center, giving it a hollow appearance; hens went to roost, stars shone and dew fell. It was after one p.m. when it came on, and some going to work in the fields, without extra clothing to protect them, took colds which caused sickness in some cases. Mother, having no daughter to help her, one of the boys was left on Mondays, and at other times when needed, to help her, and carry the dinner to the field when work was being done on the north farm. Living near the schoolhouse, we were sent to school summer and winter, until we were old enough to help in the field. Reading and writing were the principal branches taught in our district schools then. The winter of 1815 our teacher wanted me to study arithmetic. We were to have a three months' school, and one or two weeks had already passed. Father gave his consent, and, not knowing how to add correctly, I commenced with "Daboll." At the close of the school I had got to "Double fellowship," receiving the applaudits of teacher and visiting committee. To supply ourselves with hats, we trapped and caught fur, with which we bought wool hats for winter, braiding straw ourselves, which mother sewed together for our summer hats. We fished in the winter considerable. The ice on the frozen-river would be as clear as glass, and when of sufficient strength to carry a man, we cut holes in the ice about eighteen by thirty-six inches in size, making three or four, across the stream, depending on its width. The hooks which were used were fastened to the end of a pole eight or ten feet long. Two, or four such hooks were welded together, and drawn down some six or eight inches long, with their backs together, so a fish could be hooked out with either side. Placing one person at each hole with a hook, the others would go above, or below, and drive the fish toward the holes, when the men at the holes would hook them out onto the ice, sometimes catching a bushel basket full in a little while.

The morning of the memorable "Cold Friday," father, with three of us boys, went for fish while mother prepared the breakfast. The cold was so intense we soon returned, and stopped a little while at the shop to recover from the stupor and numbness, caused by the cold. Once I helped cousins Benjamin, and Moses Brown, drive a flock of sheep from Barkhamsted to Wintonbury (now Bloomfield), their home.

I walked the entire distance both ways. They were to pay me for helping them, but made no move to do so until I was starting for home, when I asked for it and then Benjamin gave me a shilling. We drove the sheep on Friday; I stayed with them Saturday and Sunday, and returned Monday. In returning I lost my way once, and had a mile or two extra traveling to get right.

I got home about two p.m. and found that father and brother David had gone fishing up what was called Roaring brook. I started out, but went up "Uncle Medy's brook" and fished. I went up the brook quite a ways, and caught nearly as many fish as father and David did. When I got back home that night, I was sick, and tired enough.

Our home was quite pleasant, good society, and kind neighbors. I love to think of those kind friends; those steep hills I used to walk over after the cows; the pond opposite our house; and, in the dark spring nights, listening to the thundering noise, made by the cakes of ice as they tumbled over the dam, breaking, and falling into the waters below. This is no fancy tale; those scenes are written in Memory's book, and are as plain in my mind as though witnessed but yesterday. My grandfather, Benjamin Parker, exchanged his farm in Simsbury for land in Hartland, I think, about the time of the Revolution. After a time, the title to his land was disputed, and was settled at law, the title being secured to him; but, you know something of the effect on a man's pocketbook facing a law suit produces, so he thought best to exchange again for lands in Barkhamsted Hollow, joining Hartland on the north. Losing his eyesight, he gave up the management of business to father and Uncle Joel. Grandfather was about medium height and heft, somewhat round shouldered, but of stout frame. His features were fair, and his disposition pleasant and agreeable. He was active and industrious, and after losing his sight, he and grandmother made their home with father. Grandfather was a blacksmith by trade, and his principal employment after he became blind, was making horseshoe nails in the shop.

He had worn a place in the face of his anvil where he plated the nails. He would forge one out, cool and feel of it until he had succeeded in making one to suit him; then would go on making others almost exactly like the sample as long as he could work. Father used to say that grandfather in this way made better nails than he himself could. I remember well the last work grandfather did. It was carrying water for butchering, from a brook some rods away. By a neckyoke he carried two pails at once, and persisted in carrying after he was told there was water enough. That night he was taken sick, but if I remember correctly, lived about two weeks. He died in 1807, and was buried in the old burying ground in Barkhamsted. He had been a deacon of the church, but when he had lost his sight he resigned, and father was elected to serve in his place.

Mercy Parker, my grandmother, was, I think, a little under medium height, and rather spare in old age; but in middle life she might have been more fleshy. She was fair, agreeable, of pleasant address, cheerful, prudent, and economical. After grandfather's death, she went to live with uncle Joel; and dying a few years after, was buried by the side of grandfather.

Father and uncle Joel held and worked their lands in common, dividing crops in the field. Each managed for himself and was responsible for his own debts, only. They bought more land; a farm of fifty acres, one mile south from the old farm. Uncle Joel lived on the north farm, and father on the south farm. Three or four years before they emigrated to Ohio, they chose men to draw lines, and say how they should divide. These men gave father the south farm, and a portion of the north farm; uncle made some complaint-thought he should have more. Father told him he would give him one hundred dollars if he would exchange places with him; but uncle said no. Father's part of the old farm was west of the river and included, I think, the most of the sugarbush. When I was quite young a company was formed in Granby, about twelve miles from where we lived, to come to Ohio. They exchanged their lands in Granby for land in Tallmadge, Ohio. Father went to Granby to see them, thinking some of going with them: but did not like the prospect, so did not join the company. After he and uncle Joel had divided, there was a chance to sell what they both owned of the old farm, so they sold it; father receiving, I think, one thousand dollars for his share.

In 1815, after the old farm was sold, uncle decided to come to the Western Reserve and see "The Far West" as it was then called. Uncle had talked of it for a long time. Father had talked with others and felt satisfied to try the new country without the expense of a trip with uncle, who made the journey on horseback, and visited Vernon, Hartford and perhaps Hudson, Ohio. He returned well pleased, brought back samples of the soil, and made a favorable report. Soon after his return they decided to try the new country. Father went to Hartford, Conn., and, stopping at a public house on his way home, met there a man by the name of, I think, Oliver Phelps, who asked him if he knew of a small farm in his section for sale. He did; his was for sale, the man came, looked at, and bought it for twelve hundred dollars; then we made preparations for moving.

Father fitted up a wagon, by taking cart wheels for hind wheels, getting grandfather Hart to make forward wheels, and gearing to match, doing the ironing off himself. Two yoke of oxen, with a horse for leader made the team, nothing breaking nor giving way in all our journey. We also had a one horse wagon with a seat hung on wooden springs, in which father, mother and Orpha rode, carrying provisions, &c. We boys took turns driving the team, while those not thus employed amused themselves in various ways, often hunting in the woods along the road, thus supplying us with fresh meat.

Our family consisted of father, mother, Orpha, Linus, Benjamin, David, Rufus, and myself. Noyes did not come until the next year. Uncle Joel had two yoke of oxen, a wagon not as heavy as ours-it was broken several times-and a one horse wagon. Uncle's family consisted largely of girls, so he hired Gamaliel Wilcox to drive his team. Both families together numbered eighteen in all. We started August 8th, 1816. Many friends and neighbors gathered to bid us a last goodbye. We were full of hope, but warm tears were shed as we said farewell to those loved ones, and turned our eyes forever from our dear old home. They tell me that time has made but little change: the same old house where we were born, and raised to manhood, nearly; the same fields and rocks over which our boyish feet clambered; the same old hills, valleys and streams are all there as we left them. In my memory, every rock, field and hillside is as near and familiar, as real and lifelike today, as it was that summer's day a half a century ago. All the memories and associations of my childhood home are cherished as sacred; for they seem to me a part of my youthful self and my parents. It was afternoon on Thursday when we started, but we did not get out of Barkhamsted until the next day. We took "the north route," passing through Springfield, Mass., Albany, Rochester and Buffalo, N.Y.; down French creek, to Meadville, Pa., through Greenville, Pa., to Vernon, Ohio; arriving there Sept. 20th, 1816. Mother was fifty years old the day we landed in Vernon.

We went into an old log house one mile east from the center of Vernon, which was owned by Eber Clark, father of Ralza Clark, where we remained five weeks; during which time we cleared about five acres of an old windfall which had grown up to briars and elders and sowed it to wheat; cut some rowen for hay on Clark Giddings' farm in Kinsman, and some in other places. While we were doing this, father was looking for a place we might call home. He thought most favorably of Kinsman and bought eighteen acres of Mr. Kinsman which was located on Stratton's Creek, and had been reserved for a "water privilege." It was this privilege that induced him to buy and locate in Kinsman. Adjoining this privilege was a farm of fifty acres, partly improved, having on it an old log house, barn and stillhouse, which he also bought. The stillhouse was run for a time after we took possession, we having nothing to do with it; however. The farm was purchased from Aleck Mathews and is situated in the north part of the village of Kinsman, on the west side of the north and south center, or Meadville road and nearly opposite the junction of the center and Jamestown roads.

At this point the center road dips into the hollow, or basin of Stratton's creek along its west bank, or hill. The log house was on the brow of this hill overlooking the road. The hill was quite steep and a dugway wagon road led down the hill from the house to the main or center road.

The house was a few rods north from the one now occupied by Rufus H. Parker. The Jamestown road leads from the center road across the hollow of Stratton's Creek; up its east bank in a northeasterly direction until it strikes the center line of the town1ship; thence due east into Pennsylvania. The mill privilege which father bought, was located on the Jamestown road where it crosses Stratton hollow. North of this road the banks or hills on either side of the stream are high and approach near enough together to afford a desirable position for building dams for water power. The farm, and water privilege of eighteen acres, were near together and very conveniently located.

On a cold, wet, uncomfortable day, late in October, 1816, we again took up our line of march. Leaving our stopping place in Vernon, we came up the east side of the Pymatuning creek, halting for a few minutes at the store of Esquire Andrews, thence down the hill, across Stratton's creek to the center road; thence north about a mile to "our home in the new world." In appearance it was most unhomelike. It was three p.m. when we arrived, and the occupant - a Mr. Brainard - had made no move to vacate.

Things were tumbled up and tumbled out. Brainard sent for Mr. Gillis, who came with a wagon and team, and we helped to load up and send them off as quickly as possible. It was cold and wet; the floor of the house was covered with mud and water, which we cleaned out as well as we could. Father, mother and Orpha accepted an invitation to pass the first night at Esquire Allen's.

Brainard was too lazy to provide wood for fuel, so he would bring in rails, put one end into the fire, and push them up as they burned. There had been a porch floor in front of the house, which he had burned for fuel, leaving only the logs on which the floor was laid, and the hogs had made their bed between the logs. Mr. Brainard said he never before lived where it was so hard to get wood as there. While they were getting away, some of us took our axes and chopped down an oak tree, the top falling into the door yard and breaking up so that with very little chopping we had good wood enough in the door yard to last us for a week. It was a dry, girdled tree, and there were enough more like it near by to last several years. The next day we began to fix the house inside and out. We split puncheons for the porch floor, making it comfortable getting in and out. Access to the loft, or chamber, was by a ladder on the outside, and through a small hole. We stopped the hole and moved the ladder inside; made a trap door through which we went into the chamber, and found it a much more comfortable arrangement on a cold winter's night. After putting the house in habitable order, we proceeded to fix up a shop to work in.

There was an old spring house south and west from the house, about ten by twelve feet in size, which we rigged up and went to work. House furniture was scarce. Father bought from Mr. Brainard for one dollar the arm chair which we call "mother's chair," and we have it yet. Benjamin, Linus and I made chairs for ourselves. Before we left Connecticut, Linus worked with a Mr. Cannon - who was a noted edge tool maker -making axes and other edge tools, so he had some knowledge of working and tempering steel. I had to blow the bellows and strike, and soon we had plenty of work, receiving for our pay anything that helped us in living. Provisions were high; wheat two dollars per bushel; pork, twenty dollars per barrel. There was a light fall of snow the Sabbath after we came to Kinsman. Esquire Andrews called; he, with two of his daughters -one of them was afterward your mother - had started for meeting up north. Father, Benjamin, Linus and I accompanied them, and when we came home the bushes were loaded with the falling snow. Our first experience in hunting deer was during the following week. Benjamin, Linus and I went to the woods, and in a favorite resort for deer, southwest from the old meeting house, Benjamin saw two deer in their beds. He fired at one; it jumped and ran about half way around him and fell. Benjamin was soon there. The deer was still kicking; so he closed in and cut the deer's hamstrings. On being asked why he did so, he replied with a merited air of importance, "It is the old hunter's rule." He had shot the deer through the heart. and how to get it home was the question. It was decided that I must go for the old mare and wagon, while they got the elephant-it looked in our eyes nearly as large as one - up to the State Road. I started at my best speed, found father at home, who helped me hitch up and went with me. Just where the town hall now stands at the corner made by the center road and the one leading to the old meeting house, we met Benjamin and Linus. They had cut a pole, tied the deer's legs together, run the pole through, and carried it so far-more than a mile-on their shoulders. Benjamin, as well as the rest of us, learned afterwards that "the old hunter's rule" was much the best way, i.e., drag it on the snow or ground by the head. We loaded it into the wagon and took it home. It proved to be a fine, fat doe, one year old, and helped us much in the way of meat. Father hired Young Butler, a half blood Indian, to kill some deer for us. He came to the shop about noon one day dragging a deer, ate some dinner, went out between the Meadville, and State roads, and before sundown had killed five deer for us, besides the one he had dragged in. We dried the hams, and salted the rest, thus supplying us with meat for the first winter. Deer were plenty then, and often came to the barn at night to eat hay with the cattle, for we could see their tracks in the morning. Brother Linus and I worked in the shop. We were awakened one morning the last week in December by the roaring and crackling of fire, and found our shop in flames; an ax standing by the door was all that was saved. Brother David had five hens and a rooster occupying the loft of the shop. He started from his bed at the alarm of "fire," came out but half dressed crying, "My hens are all burned up!" Soon the rooster called out, "We're all here," and you may judge the change it made in David when he found it true. The winter was so mild, compared with what we had been accustomed to in Connecticut, that we thought it very nice. Pleasant weather continued through the early winter, then snow fell about eight or ten inches deep. We built a new shop at the foot of the hill, nearer the road; sent to Pittsburg for a bellows, which cost us thirty dollars, and in four weeks after the fire were ready for work again. Esquire Allen and Dr. Peter Allen helped us much by bringing us work from Pennsylvania. When the ground was dry enough we started the plow. As we were plowing one day one of our oxen showed signs of sickness; his eyes were swollen, and discharged blood. We turned him out, and the next day he died. Father held a note against Eber Clark of Vernon. Clark had a yoke of black oxen, handsome, and good, which he offered to father, but at an extravagant price, considering father's loss and necessity his opportunity. Father took them as the best he could do to realize on the note; but I do not now remember the price. At times we went to the woods, but could not take much time for hunting, for we had to work for a living. Benjamin was the best shot, and his skill with the rifle was soon known far and near. Some of us would take a circuit around a deer - we knew their regular runways - and, following on its track, would drive it up to Benjamin, who was stationed where the deer was expected to pass, and when it appeared he would shoot it. We got a good many in this way, but I was not a lucky hunter, and never killed a deer in my life. I think father killed one with "the old gun," but Benjamin and Linus used rifles.

I can say but little about "the old gun." It was reported to have been made by a man by the name of Hill, in England, and that it was brought to this country by some of the first settlers. I do not know how it came into father's possession. We were told that father's brother Benjamin carried it while serving in the Revolution. Father also served in the war about three months and carried this gun, and he gave it to me because I was named "Lovel" for him. I can give you but a brief sketch of our beginning in our new home. The chairs we made were bottomed with splints; they have gone with the days that have passed. We thought them a luxury, and they were, as compared with a board placed on a block, which we had been using. Our losses were severe; so we had to practice economy in every way. The horse we drove to lead the oxen died soon after we came; the five acres of wheat we sowed in Vernon were not worth harvesting. We all went down there the next summer to cut it, but returned without striking a blow, so we lost our labor in clearing off the brush, fencing, plowing and seeding. We had good health, however, and a will to work, so we did not suffer as those who were sick, and scant of means. Brother Noyes remained in Connecticut one year after we left, to perfect himself in the making of scythes and other edge tools, which he was learning with a Mr. Pierce of Enfield. He came in 1817, driving a one horse wagon, and the last day of his journey was in company with Judge Asa Haynes, all landing at our house. After Noyes came we commenced building the trip-hammer shop. A dam was built across the hollow, north of the Jamestown road; the race followed the west hill or bank, and emptied into the channel of the creek, south of the road. The shop stood just north of the Jamestown, and a few roads east from the center road. When the shop was finished and in operation, father gave the land and privilege, with what he had put into the building, to Noyes, Benjamin, and Linus, as their share of his estate. They worked in company, and at one time had five forges in blast, supplying people in Western Pennsylvania and the Reserve with edge tools.

Each of the boys had in time a dwelling near the shop, were married and raised sons and daughters. They kept journeymen and apprentices, besides giving employment to many more in various ways. The names of some who learned their trades there I can remember: Joshua Fobes, James Truesdale, Henry McKinnie, Eli Bushnell, William Webber, Solomon Dilly, James Fletcher, Lucius Gillett and others I do not now recall. C. Herrick was teamster; he would load with cheese to Bell Font, bringing back iron. Such times as they had repairing the dam, after a freshet! Those were busy days, and by sunrise you might hear the rapid strokes of the triphammer for miles away on either side. There was some courting and coquetting: John Christy ordered a hay knife; several times he went for it and called to see Orpha, so the boys had it very trite that "John had cut James Truesdale out with a hay knife." In the spring when the fish were running, the boys would open the gates and let the water run in the race below the shop for two or three hours at night; the fish would swim up against the swift current and when they thought enough fish were in the race they would shut off the water and gather up the fish by the basketful. In time, Noyes thought that as he had a family growing up, he had better go for himself, so they agreed to dissolve partnership. Benjamin and Linus continued to work in partnership for some time longer, when Linus retired, leaving Benjamin sole owner. Linus commenced building what is now called "the lower grist mill." A saw mill had previously been built by father and the boys, which was burned in the night by catching fire from fishermen's torches. This also was located on Stratton's creek. In the fall of 1839, I went with brother Linus to Cleveland to buy gearing and machinery for the grist mill, and the next Monday after our return he was taken sick with a fever, having been exposed in Cleveland. One week later, I went down to work on the mill - my home being then in Wayne - feeling not at all well. At night I felt so much worse I returned home and had a run of fever. I was restored to health; brother lived three weeks and died, Oct. 3rd, 1839, aged 41 years.

I did not recover sufficiently to see him again before his death. Brother Linus was a man of marked ability; the business man of the family, and the principal one in making the work move on successfully. As a son, a brother, and a Christian man, too much cannot be said in his praise, his powers, both of his mind and heart, were in many respects remarkable; he was a leader in church and society; a man to be followed and imitated by all who would strive to live noble lives in the sight of God and man; and the most fitting tribute I can now pay to the memory of my brother, is my prayer that my children may be like him. His death caused a great change, and was the breaking up of our family in Kinsman. But few are left to tell the history of what was done. The mill was finished by the administrator, and stands today, grinding for those who wish without telling who was its originator. If this life is all; if death is all there is to the hereafter; what profit is there to man in life, or glory to God in his death?

Brother Benjamin continued to do some work in the shop, but it was little, when compared with what had been done before Linus' death.

Faint traces of the barn remain, and the channel of the race may still be traced, but the shop, with its scenes of industry and activity, are of the past and will be soon forgotten.

I will now go back and speak more particularly of my own employment, as you have requested me to do. Sometime after we came to Ohio, uncle Jerry Hart - mother's youngest brother - came with his family, and settled in Wayne, on the creek road, one mile north of the east and west center road. He was a carpenter and joiner by trade, and early in 1821-I think February-was doing some work on brother's house. I thought I would like building houses better than making axes, so I agreed to work with him two years for one hundred dollars. He wanted me to commence about the middle of April; I would not be twenty-one until the fourth of June; he said he would choose to have me commence in April, and go home during haying to make out my time. Father agreed to this, so I went to work with him April 16th, 1821, and when our folks were ready for haying I went home, working there until haying and harvesting were finished, when, there being one week's work more for me to do to make out my time, father gave me that, and I returned to my carpenter work with Uncle Jerry. Our work was mostly building barns. We would put up and inclose the frames before haying and finish them off afterwards. Winters we worked in the shop, and when my time was up, uncle was owing me sixty dollars. I had in the two years spent but forty dollars for clothing and incidentals.

I then hired to a Mr. Smith who was living in Kinsman, for ten months at twelve dollars per month, building a house for Daniel Allen. With him I had a good opportunity for studying drafting and doing good work, which I diligently improved, perfecting myself, both in workmanship and the principles of my trade, and I afterwards found this experience of great benefit to me.

After this, I went to work again with Uncle Jerry building a house for Esq. Jonathan Tuttle, and a barn for Samuel Tuttle, in Williamsfield. My first earnings were spent for tools and clothing. I had some money to spare however, which I invested in notes drawing interest. Father and mother wanted me to take the management of the farm, and provide for them. I consented, hired a man to work the farm, and continued my work at my trade.

I was working for brother Noyes in Bloomfield, building a triphammer shop there, when David came over and said that father and mother wanted him to make some arrangement with me, so he could come home to live.

David was reticent, I knew not what to think of it, so the next morning I went home. My parents said David had been talking with them, making proposals that he would get married and come home and work the farm. They had told him if he could make arrangements with me, they would consent. This let new light on the matter; David made me an offer; I accepted and was by myself again. David married Lucy Perkins and lived with father and mother two or three years, when he sold out to brother Linus and his family still own and occupy the place. Father and mother lived with them until father's death, when mother came to live with me in Wayne.

After finishing brother Noyes' work, I engaged to work in company with a man whose name was Clark, making plows. We built a small foundry at the center of Bloomfield and did our own casting. By acquaintance I found him to be a man I did not care to continue in business with, so after one year I sold out, taking my pay in plows. I then made a pattern, went to Eaton's furnace in Wethersfield for my castings and put the wood to them, making my home with brother Linus in Kinsman. After finishing my plow business, I worked with Abram Griffin one year, building a house for Seth Perkins and one for Esq. Beman. While at work in Bloomfield, I bought seventy-five acres of land from Esq. Brown, in the northwest part of the town and was to pay for it in part with cows. We took cows in part payment from Mr. Perkins and Mr. Beman, and my share I turned to meet my obligation to Esq. Brown. August, September, October and a part of

November, 1828, I worked on the court house in Warren, Warren County, Pa., receiving one dollar per day. Returning from there to Kinsman, I walked the entire distance in one day; there was a wet snow on the ground, which with the mud made walking bad, so I got very tired. While working in Bloomfield, I repeatedly walked from Kinsman to my work - some fifteen miles - and hewed three hundred feet of timber for my day's work. Those were days of hard labor.

The summer of 1829, I worked for Elam Jones at the center of Hartford. January 21st, 1830, I was married to Miss Statira, daughter of Samuel Jones of Wayne. The Jones family had formerly been neighbors of ours in Barkhamsted. The spring of 1830 we commenced keeping house, in a house belonging to brother David. Sometime after selling out to brother Linus he had bought this place, which was east from father's, on the Jamestown road. I had bought seventy-five acres joining David's which was wild and unimproved. It was land that Mrs. Kinsman had given to the Presbyterian society of Kinsman and I was to pay for it by work on the new meeting house.

During the summer of 1830, I worked on a house for Esq. Burnham and one for brother Linus. In 1831 I built a small house for myself, buying a small corner from brother David on which to set it, as my land was all unimproved, and, also had five acres of my land "chopped."

The summer of 1832 I worked on the meeting house in Kinsman, moving into a small house near by and boarding hands who were at work on the meeting house. I sold my land in Bloomfield and in Kinsman, and after I had finished work on the meeting house, we moved to Wayne. The summer of 1833, I worked for Esq. Andrews, who was afterwards your grandfather. In 1834 I bought fifty acres of land from Alvin Fobes in Wayne, on the east side of the Hayes road and one mile east from the center. There were no buildings on the land, though considerable of it had been improved.

I bought a small house, moved it onto the land, fitted it up comfortable to live in and afterwards built a barn. I also built a house for Flavel Jones, who was my brother-in-law and a barn for Horace Giddings.

The summer of 1834 I worked for George Hezlep, at the center of Gustavus. This was the best lob I had ever had.

In May, 1839, my dear wife was taken sick. All was done that skill and attention could do. The ninth day of her sickness, May 23d, she was taken from me. The nine years we had lived together were pleasant years, for her aim was to make all happy. Small in stature, a mind to meet the wants of all about her so far as she was able, her loss caused sorrow and mourning that none know, save those who have experienced it. In 1835, I think, we made a public profession of religion by uniting with the First Congregational Church of Wayne. She died the death of a Christian and lives with the redeemed. In June, 1839, I commenced work for brother Linus, putting up a frame for a grist mill in Kinsman, making my home with Father Jones in Wayne. I worked the best I could. At times I would become insensible to all that was passing around me, 'till there would be a prompting to move, I then would go to work again. At length the frame was put up and inclosed. Mr. Bailey, the millwright, commenced fitting the mill, and I worked with him as under-workman. In September, as I have stated, brother and I went to Cleveland to get castings, etc. Brother's death stopped the work on the mill for that season, but it was finished the next year by the administrator.

June 24, 1840, I was married to Lucy Caroline, daughter of John Andrews of Kinsman. I have spoken of him several times as Esquire Andrews, and we commenced keeping house soon after on my farm in Wayne, where we have since lived. After my second marriage, my work was mostly small jobs away, or at home in my shop. I built the house we now live in, and worked the farm mostly with hired help. In 1850 a neighbor hired a man to do some mowing for him with his Ketchum machine. Seeing it operate I conceived the idea of a two-wheeled machine with a jointed, or flexible cutterbar. I went to work and built one with wooden power wheels. The wheels were not heavy enough to give sufficient power to the machinery, but, by putting weight on the frame, it would mow, I then made a pattern for cast wheels and built a machine that mowed well. Not understanding the patent laws, I did not secure the right. Others afterwards did. Altman & Miller, and George Dolph secured patents for certain features of my invention. Time has passed on; you are acquainted with the events of later years and I will not repeat them. If I live until the 4th of June next, I shall be 78 years old, living where I first bought in Wayne. I have added more land to my first purchase, so in all there are now 95 acres. I am enjoying comfortable health and have the comforts of life.

Since writing what I have you request me to write more particularly of my parents. My father was of medium height, weighing, I should think, 160 pounds in middle life. He was a blacksmith by trade, quick in motion, and to understand and execute. He was quite sensitive, yet had such control of himself that he rarely got angry. When he was about 40 years of age he was severely hurt while shoeing a horse, so he was never able to do much hard work again. He told the man when he had finished the shoeing that he had better have killed his horse and paid him for it than have done the job. After that he did but little custom work. In the winter, as he was able, he would make hoes. Uncle Joel would help him plate them out, and when the roads were good he would sell them, mostly in Canton and Simsbury, leaving some with merchants to pay for needed groceries and dry goods. Others he sold to farmers, taking rye or other grain. He was a good manager and supported his large family without incumbrance or debt. Grandfather, also, was a blacksmith; a mechanical genius is in the blood of the family. Father's sons were all mechanics; Noyes, Benjamin and Linus blacksmiths; I chose to work in wood; David, stone and brick. Rufus worked at blacksmithing a while, but feeling it to be his duty to work more directly to save the souls of his fellow men, he prepared himself and was licensed as a minister of the gospel by the Methodist denomination.

We had but one sister, Orpha, who had to stay at home the most of the time and work, but used what advantages she had for education, so that when she was old enough she could teach a common school. She has been married twice, and is now a widow. Her first husband was James Truesdale; the second, Elijah Bond. After the death of her first husband, she sold out in Canfield, O., and bought the house next north from ours in Wayne, where she lived until her second marriage, when she returned to Canfield. My mother in middle age was quite fleshy, of medium height, energetic, managing her house well, not much given to trade, but on one occasion a peddler came along and, taking a liking to the large dog we had, bid her for a trade. He had a small dog, and offered mother a tin tea canister to swap dogs with him. Mother traded dogs; the one we got proved to be a good one, the one she let go was good for nothing.

After a year or two her dog took sick and died. There was mourning for that dog, and I think father nor mother never owned another. Father trapped considerable, and his fame for trapping foxes was known far and wide. He died in Kinsman, July 3, 1842, aged 80 years, and was buried by the side of your uncle Linus, in the burying ground by the Presbyterian church. Mother died at our house in Wayne the same month and day of month as father, July 3, 1850, aged 84 years, and was buried by the side of her husband. Of grandfather's family I must speak briefly. The children were: Olive, Abigail, Sarah, Eunice, Lovel, Benjamin and Joel. I cannot name them in the order of their ages. Olive married Oliver Hitchcock, a Congregational minister, who was settled as pastor in a town toward Litchfield, Conn. They moved to Truxton, N.Y., about 1808, I think. Before they moved they sometimes visited us in Barkhamsted, and when we were coming to Ohio we stopped with them at Truxton, I think, four days. Abigail married Benjamin Brown. His sons, Benjamin and Moses, were drum makers, and often came to Barkhamsted for timber, and sheep for pelts. I once helped them drive some sheep, as I have written before. Their drums were in good demand in 1812. We made their home a stopping place going to and returning from Hartford.

Sarah married Daniel Rose of Granville, Mass. He was a butcher by trade, and they lived perhaps a mile and a half south from us in Barkhamsted, on the west side of the river. She raised a large and respectable family, and did a noble work. Some of their descendants are now prominent in society. We often visited with them. Their children were: Marquis, Lovel, Sarah, Abner, Francis, Parker, Daniel and Loren. Daniel came to the Reserve to visit and see the country a year after we came. He returned and came again with Abner and Loren, ready for work. They located on what is now the Spellman farm, on the creek road, north of Uncle Jerry's, in Wayne; built a double log house and made ready for their parents and Abner's family, who came in the spring of 1819. They lived on the creek road for some time, but eventually settled north and east from the center of Williamsfield. Parker Rose came to Ohio some years later, and finally settled in Pennsylvania.

My aunt Eunice married Stephen Parker; we were never able to trace any relationship between his family and ours. He lived in Smyrna, N.Y, and we stopped with them a week, on our way to Ohio. We were there the night of August. 20th; there was a heavy frost that night, killing corn, potatoes, etc. During the day some flakes of snow were flying, but it cleared at night with a heavy frost.

Benjamin Parker, father's brother, was in the Army of the Revolution and died soon after coming home, aged about 20 years. Uncle Joel Parker married mother's sister, Abigail Hart and lived on the north farm, the one first purchased by grandfather in Barkhamsted. This farm of about 100 acres, was taken by grandfather in a wild state and cleared, leaving perhaps 30 acres unimproved. The south farm where we lived, was mostly cleared when we bought it. Uncle Joel's children were Moses, Loly, Abigail, Caroline, Joel, Hannah, Harriet and Levi. The first year in Ohio, uncle rented and worked the farm of Dr. Jeremiah Wilcox, about one-half mile below the center of Vernon, O., on the north and south center road.

I think the next September they moved to Wayne and located on the creek road between uncle Jerry Hart's, and the Rose's; their house stood a little north from where Morris Spellman now lives, on the west side of the road. The house was built of logs, perhaps before they went there, but I think they commenced the "clearing" and improved several acres.

We often visited back and forth, for before coming to Ohio, we had been very much as one family. They came to Gillis' mill for grinding and to our shop for blacksmithing. They lived on that place for eight or ten years and from there they went to Andover, O., one mile south and one mile east from the center. Uncle died there May 29, 1845, aged 77 years and was buried in the yard at Andover Center. After his death, the family removed to the east part of Kinsman and stayed there awhile; I think they then went to Pennsylvania, where aunt Abigail died February 27th, 1866, aged 87 years and was buried by the side of her husband in Andover. Some of the family are now living in Kinsman; and of their family, Loly married Wilcox Akins and settled at Burghill in Vernon. Moses married Catherine Christy and settled in the east part of Kinsman. Abigail married Andrew Christy, who was a brother of Catherine and John, and settled in Kinsman. Caroline married a Burchard and settled near Meadville, Pa. Joel married and went west, also Levi. Hannah married a Mr. Root and settled near the center of Andover. Harriet married and settled in Pennsylvania.

Of our ancestry prior to grandfather Benjamin, I can say but little. Father told us that it was handed down in the family that "three brothers came from Wales, two went north, he thought to Maine, while one, our ancestor, stopped in Connecticut. All trace of the two brothers who went north has been lost.

The record of our fathers which you sent, came last evening, also a picture. It's value to me cannot be estimated, for kindness from our children is like water to a thirsty soul. I am filled with thoughts of my childhood and of our old home in Barkhamsted. I never expect to visit the scenes of my youth; it is the memory of my dear father and mother that remains most clearly in my mind and I look forward with hope and joy to the time when I shall be with them again, in the home of the redeemed, which our Savior has prepared, where there will be no more parting and no more death.

Your father,

LOVEL E. PARKER.

"The Old man sat in his elbow chair;

"His locks were thin and gray;

"Memory, that faithful friend was there,

"And she, in querulous tones did say,

"Has't thou not lost with careless key,

"Something I had intrusted to thee?

"His pausing answer was sad and low;

"It may be so-it may be so;

"The lock to my casket is worn and weak,

"And time, with a plunderer's eye doth seek,

"Something I miss, but I cannot say,

"What it is he has stolen away;

"But the gems thou didst give me when life was new,

"Here they are all told and true,

"Diamonds and rubies of changeless hue."

Mother.

These lines by Mrs. Sigourney, were written by mother, at the foot of father's manuscript. I will add a few pages written by my mother, for me, of recollections of herself and others. She has written much more than father and embraced a larger range of subjects. I add these pages principally because of what she says of grandfather and grandmother Parker.

CLAUDIUS L. PARKER.

We were married June 24th, 1840. Quite a number of friends from Ashtabula county were invited and they all came except grandpa and grandma Jones. There was uncle Calvin Andrews and his wife aunt Eliza: Linus H. Jones, who was groomsman, Flavel Jones and wife - she was uncle Jerry Hart's daughter, Anson Jones and lady, Albert Hayes and Sarah Parker-she was attending school at Hartford at the time; brother Lyman was in Hudson, Claudius had two students and they devoted the forenoon to gathering wild strawberries; we had three broad platters of the fruit on the table. Sister Hannah came early bringing George and Lucy; most of my home pupils had invitations of long standing and were on hand.

When the company broke up father remarked, "Well, it's been pretty much of a Harrison meeting." Mr. Eldred was the officiating clergyman. That evening we walked to the Thursday evening prayer meeting; the next morning a load of goods and furniture preceded us. We called on mother Parker, as she had not felt well enough to come to our wedding. Father Parker came, also Mrs. Linus Parker, (whose husband died a few weeks previous to sister Fanny's death), Benjamin and wife, David and wife, Truesdale and wife (Orpha), Dr. Best and wife, besides a raft of cousins and school girls. David's folks lived in Wayne, but had stayed over night in Kinsman, so we had them for company.

When we came on the Hayes road we caught sight of the load of goods. Brother Claudius was the driver. Soon it commenced to sprinkle. Aunt Eliza had prepared dinner, but we declined on account of the threatening weather. Dr. Best had vacated the house only a few days before, was on hand when we drove in and assisted in unloading before the heavy rain. We had a powerful flood, rained hard nearly all the afternoon. Just before dark it held up and Claudius drove home. David's folks stayed some hours and Abigail helped me in arranging things. The house was "empty, swept and garnished." It was an easy task to set up a bedstead, spread a carpet and get supper for two. Albert Hayes came the next morning making three. Only two weeks till we made our first visit home. It was the 4th of July. The celebration was in the church and all the family had gone save Louisa and little Fanny.

We drove home by Noyes Parker's and brought Henry-then seven years old-with us. He and Le Mira had lived here before Statira died. After haying Mr. Parker hired Erastus Foster to help quarry stone for the new house. I took Lucy Andrews-cousin Mary Ann's little girl- the first winter for company.

Our men were in the woods getting out lumber for building. Louisa was married the last day of October, 1840, and the next morning brother Claudius left to commence his theological studies at Lane Seminary. Mr. Parker and I accompanied him to Youngstown. He left us there and we went on to Canfield. On our way back we called at father Andrews', but stopped for dinner at Dea. Parker's. Grandpa had brought in string beans, grandma wanted more, so I went to the garden with him and Elon visited with his mother. Of course they were glad to hear from Orpha. Mr. Truesdale could only move about with the aid of crutches. The next season they came to Kinsman and also to Wayne, father and mother Parker coming at the same time, so our house was full that night. David and Rufus with their families were here in the afternoon. In the spring of 1841, we hired a man for the summer, also Aunt Harriet sent Rufus-uncle Linus' only son-to live here. Emily Rayn came to live with us and I gave her lessons in grammar and arithmetic.

She helped me for her board. From that second summer we averaged eleven in the family daily. The summer of 1842, father Parker died. David was plastering our house; word was sent from Kinsman that father had been failing for nearly a week; brothers went down together and did not return till their father had left them. Newton was six months old. Sabbath following was "communion" in Kinsman. The hour of funeral service was 5 p.m. Many relatives from Williamsfield and Wayne had gathered at the residence of the deceased at an early hour. As the day was declining, there were tokens of rain. Mr. Eldred came at length and delivered a discourse from the text "All the days of my appointed time will I wait till my change come."

Before the service closed the heavens grew black, everyone was in haste to find shelter. As the procession was passing my father's house, mother sent out a big shawl and an umbrella by Mary Reeve, who took the baby into the house. When we reached the church it poured in torrents. John Kinsman and brother Lyman were there, and we all sought shelter. After waiting in the vestibule till nearly dark the rain subsided, so those few accompanying proceeded with the interment. The next morning the sons met in Mother Parker's room. She produced the will, asking to have it read in the presence of the family. All seemed to be satisfied. Mother was henceforth to have her home with us; she came soon after and lived seven years, departing this life the same month and day, July 3d, that father did. There was the same drenching rain on Monday, July 4th, but the funeral was to take place the next day, July 5th. Aunt Orpha and her children rode down with Mr. Lord, our minister. Father Andrews and Auntie Perkins were the only ones in waiting at the burying ground, and I accompanied them home. Maria Reeve was with us that summer; she and Aunt Orpha relieved me of much care.

Hannah, our youngest, was six months old and was a lovely child. Her grandmother was proud of her; said Hannah looked like her little ones. Mother was very fair in her old age; no doubt she was handsome in early life. When Lovel Parker went to hire her to help his mother Mr. Hart said, "Why don't you take her for life?" so when it was settled in their own minds and consent was asked. "I did not think you would take me up so soon," was the reply.

One evening grandma had come from her room and was conversing about early times and old acquaintances, when your father put in, "Yes, many a time I've seen you and father stealing up the mountain on the old mare, on your way to Mr. Eells' to get the knot tied." In a moment she assumed her sternest tone in reply, "You were not there, how should you know anything about it?" Once when her father had made an evening call and the boys had been having their own fun, as he was leaving he paused to say, "Hannah, I think you are the crossest spoken woman I've seen this many a day." There was nothing silly or foolish about mother; she was kind, but stern at times in her address. Orpha said, "Mother always would have good victuals." I can see more resemblance to her in the family than to her husband. As she rested on her staves, bending over the coffin that Sabbath afternoon, she said, "You have been a good husband to me," and she was a good mother.

Always, in every prayer, she made especial mention of her grandchildren. A weekly prayer meeting for females was sustained in her room in Kinsman. As a deacon and a delegate Father Parker was often appointed to represent the church when his home was in Barkhamsted, and he was always happy when mother could accompany him. He said they were sure to assign him a good place if his wife was with him. She, too, could appreciate the good cheer, especially the unclerical boyishness of ministers off duty.

When I was eight years old, my father, coming in of a cold morning from the north barn, would speak of seeing Dea. Parker out examining his fox traps. Once, coming from school in the autumn, mother had a pailful of pigeons, neatly dressed, a present from Dea. Parker.

Grandma Andrews died just six months before Grandma Parker. Your father's and your mother's parents sleep in the same graveyard; they worshipped in the same sanctuary. Their influence has been far reaching, not only at home but in distant places. If you could have known Linus as my sisters, Fanny and Louisa, knew him. He taught a Bible class for years, and was an able and acceptable worker in all our religious gatherings.

Lucy CAROLINE PARKER.

NOTE.- By my father's first marriage he was brother-in-law to Linus, Flavel and Anson Jones; also Dr. Best and H. F. Giddings.

L. N. PARKER.

Residence of Linus Parker, Kinsman, Ohio, Taken 1854

AN EPISTLE TO POSTERITY.

BY RUFUS H. PARKER.

SEVERAL years since, C. L. Parker, a son of Elon Parker, compiled a genealogy of the Parker family up to the time they emigrated to Ohio. This paper was lost. My cousin, L. N. Parker, and myself bent our efforts to reproduce the lost history. Reliable material proved to be very limited, but from what we could secure we have compiled our lineage.

Not long after completing this part of our work, the Claudius Parker record was found. The two records substantially agree.

In our researches we found a paper written by Elon Parker, which afforded us a reliable connecting link and was very valuable and interesting.

Could our progenitors each have left a similar record, their value to us would have been incalculable. They were a brave, patriotic, religious and virtuous set of men, and to let the memory of such people die is an injustice to them and an injury to their posterity. I am the only Parker living who can, from memory and personal observation, give an account of the early history of the family after their coming to Ohio.

Taking this view of the matter, in connection with the urgent solicitations of Cousin L. N. Parker, I will relate a few incidents which are graven on my memory and may possibly be of interest to others long after I have crossed "the silent river." My earliest recollections are of the double log house in which we lived, and of the framed "lean-to" in which grandfather and grandmother Parker lived. A part of the log house was the one in which the family first settled when they moved to Kinsman. It stood on the north bank of a ravine, a few rods from my present residence, and no trace of it is now left to mark its location.

In it was the old-fashioned fireplace, not less than five feet in length and three in depth, built of brick and stone into the second story, or loft, of the house and topped out with sticks of wood, which were about three feet long, and split to about two inches square. These were built up like a pen and plastered inside and out with clay mortar. In the fireplace was the long, iron crane, with its hooks and trammels, the andirons upon which the fire was laid, and by its side the long, iron shovel, tongs and toasting iron, with the hand hook that hung on the wall, all manufactured in our own shop. The broad stone hearth, the huge back log, with a smaller one on top, a large forestick on the andirons, with the three sticks of green wood above and a dry wood fire between. A pile of dry wood occupied the space at the right of the fireplace, while at its left was a bench for the water pail, with the extra pots, kettles, etc., underneath. The cast iron bake-kettle with its iron cover, in which was baked the delicious rye and Indian bread, the roasted Neshannock potatoes, raked from the hot ashes, the long handled frying pan, the large round griddle, on which buckwheat cakes were baked; the cloth holder, that hung by a loop from a nail; the broad mantel, supported by the front stone of the fireplace, on which stood the tallow dips in high iron candlesticks, and the wood splinters with which to light them; the hand bellows; the large brick oven to the left of the fireplace, capacious enough to supply the wants of twenty men, and men enough around the house at meal time to consume the supply. Later came the "tin reflector," which was then supposed to be the ne plus ultra of human invention. (Note. A tin reflector was a tin oven placed in front of the fire in the fireplace.) Underneath the floor was a hole in the ground which was used for a cellar and was entered through a trap door and down a ladder. Outside the house was the V-shaped ash leach, with its dugout trough to catch the lye, from which was made the soap for family use. All these scenes are indelibly stamped upon my memory, and many of the articles mentioned were luxuries and possessed but by few families at that time. Very few of them are now in use, and it will not be long before all of them will have passed from the memory of the oldest inhabitant.

My father was a manufacturer of edge tools and had in his employ a number of young men who lived at our house. The party was a jolly one as it circled around a huge fire in the wide fireplace on winter evenings. Sharp jokes were given and taken, without malice or mercy, and woe be to the one who could not keep up his end.

My position was sure to be on the knee of William Webber, who would point out to me objects to be seen in the fire and never seemed to tire of answering my numerous questions. It was on his knee I was taught to whistle, which fact my friends have never ceased to regret. He whistled out of one corner of his mouth, and I learned to whistle from the same corner of my mouth. He taught me also how to take the advantage in lifting heavy bundles of iron, run in foot races, wrestle and perform other feats of skill and strength, in all of which I excelled, and won for him many a wager. I have often heard my mother say, "The water bucket was never empty, the fire never burned low, nor was she allowed to lift heavy pots and kettles when William was in the house," and it was such acts of kindness that won my mother's gratitude. If he had a failing it was in his rollicking, jolly, don't care disposition. After leaving my father's employ, he got into bad company and was led astray. He sent to father for assistance, and without knowing that father had already decided to go, mother urged him to hasten to William's relief. He was saved, went West a changed man, became an influential citizen and served his State in the Legislature with credit. Before the evening circle was broken, father would read a chapter from the Bible, sing a hymn in which all joined, and thank God in earnest prayer for all his blessings. Mother then put me into my trundle bed, and kneeling by its side we would repeat the child's prayer, "Now lay me down to sleep." Calvin Smith was the farmer. I can see him now as he would go out to work with the oxen hitched to the cart, in which was the wooden mould board plow and a < shaped harrow. He became a man of influence in the religious world. North of the house stood the double log barn, with a threshing floor in the center, where the cart, sled, plows and other farming tools were housed when not in use. Grandfather always insisted that tools not worth housing were not worth having, and he had a place for everything and everything must be in its place.

In the east end of the barn was the stable. It was so low that a horse could not enter without crouching, and the feeding was done from the threshing floor. The roof of the barn, as well as that of the house, was covered with oak clapboards, split and shaved by hand and held in place by long logs fastened lengthwise of the roof and crosswise on the shingle. In 1830 this barn was torn down and used for firewood after a 30 by 40-foot modern structure had been erected on the hill, about ten rods west from my present residence. This barn also has been torn down and the timbers worked into the one now in use. Grandfather and I worked the old house up into firewood, and I think I never disliked any work I have ever done as much as I did chopping those dry, hard logs into stove wood. The well, or spring as it was termed, was in the upper end of the ravine, not many feet west of the log house. It was then 13 feet deep, and an abundance of water flowed over the top at all seasons of the year. Since the adjoining lands have been cleared, the well goes dry in summer and has gradually filled with stones and mud, so that but for my recollections all trace of it would be lost. Twenty feet down the ravine, where some large willow trees now stand, was another spring, over which was built a spring house that was aristocratic in proportions and architecture for the times. The roof all sloped one way and nearly touched the bank into which the spring house was set. This roof afforded me an improvised toboggan slide, on which I spent many happy days before the origin of numerous scratches on my hands and face, and holes in my clothes was discovered. I had observed my father moving huge grindstones by placing a roller under one edge, so I experimented with a roller under one end of a plank and the experiment proved a success. There was just enough danger in this rattle te-bang descent to make the sport exhilarating to a boy of my age, 4 years. I was admonished with the rod to discontinue these exploits, and it is unnecessary for me to say they were discontinued promptly. I have but slight recollections of my father further than that he was very fond of his family, particularly of his son, of whom he had great expectations, and no time nor pains were spared in teaching me that obedience to my Heavenly Father as well as to my earthly parents was necessary if I wished to be happy, and now in old age, I have reached threescore and ten, as I look back to those happy days, there never arises a doubt in my mind that those early instructions, tempered with love and fervent prayer, have kept me from yielding to many of the temptations which surround every young man. My father had extensive plans by which his family would have been benefited, had he been permitted to live, and not the least was the education of his son. He died when I was but eleven years old, and well do I remember his last words to me. "Rufus, you will be a good boy and take good care of your mother and sister. God bless you; good-bye."

He exacted no promise but the trust he reposed in me has been the guiding star of my life. The most vivid recollections I have of my father are connected with a journey I made with him to Meadville, Pa., when I was four years old. We started one afternoon with Gaff and Bill, a pair of fine sorrel horses hitched to a wagon load of axes. We reached Hartstown before dark and put up for the night at the Martsall House, then one of the leading hotels of the country, but now a dilapidated tumble down building with no indications of hospitality. After supper we crossed the street to Benjamin Ewing's store. Father had given me a boy's ax and suggested if I wanted some pocket money, I might sell the ax to Mr. Ewing; I did, receiving 62 1/2 cents for it. This was my first business transaction, and also the first money that I had to call my own. I felt richer then than at any other time in my life since, and Mr. Ewing was my hero. Father sold several dozen axes here and more to a Mr. Farr, at Evansburg, where we took dinner the next day, arriving at Meadville late in the evening and putting up at the Barton House. One of Mr. Barton's sons-Link Barton-afterwards learned edge tool making with father. We spent the evening at Mr. McFarland's store, where the remainder of the axes were disposed of, father receiving in payment part money and the balance in groceries. This store was so vividly pictured in my memory that when entering it sixty years later, everything seemed as familiar as though I had been there every day during that time. On this trip father bought a set of green Windsor chairs, that were very aristocratic for the times; they are still doing service.

Another impressive recollection is of the infant school taught by Miss Betsey Cowles, in the old school house that stood on the ground where Rankin's drug store now stands. The same building is occupied by R. K. Hulse as a dwelling house. Our first lesson was in astronomy and the solar system was marked out on the floor with chalk. Jedediah Burnham represented the sun; my sister, Sarah, the earth; Essington Gibson, a comet; I represented Mercury; I do not recollect who represented the moon and other planets. As we followed the lines marked for each one, it conveyed to our minds a good idea of the solar system. For a fuller and more interesting description see "Miss Gilbert's Career," by Dr. Holland. Miss Cowles also taught us the multiplication table by singing it to the tune of Yankee Doodle. Miss Maria Webber was our next teacher, whom we all loved and obeyed; she was followed by a Mr. Brown, who was a tyrant, disliked and disobeyed when possible without fear of punishment, which was not often. Then came Mr. Morse another tyrant; but not long after this a new school house was built on top of the hill, as you go to Hamilton Bros' mill from the west. Uncle Rufus Parker was my first teacher in the new house. I was named for him and received a drab colored beaver hat for that honor. Next came Dwight King, now Rev. Dwight King; Benjamin Allen Jr., and others. My opportunities for acquiring an education were limited and those I did have were not all well improved. My labor was necessary to aid in supporting my mother and sisters. Like all the Parkers, I excelled in arithmetic and geography; could repeat pages of history after reading it twice, but alas, my memory has fled. I was "the best boy in school" under some teachers and a very bad boy under others. The house in which I now reside-1897-was built in 1831-32 and my uncle Elon superintended the work. I was five years old at the time and had made great calculations on seeing it raised; but mother being afraid I might get hurt sent me to school that day as usual. I have never been more disappointed in my life than when I returned from school and saw the building standing to its full height before me; to say I was out of patience would be putting it mildly. Father had intended to finish the house from top to bottom before moving into it, but was prevented by a fire in the dry house. His lumber, as well as considerable of the lumber designed for the C. and P. church was consumed.

New lumber had to be sawed and seasoned. It was late in December when we moved in and then the front rooms were not finished off. The work had been hurried on account of mother's illness; she was not able to sit up; everything from the old house had been moved and put in order in the new one before mother came; four men, one at each corner of her bed carried her to the sled at the door and father carefully drove the oxen up the hill. She was soon in her new home where she spent the remainder of her days and died there June 8th, 1889.

The house remained unchanged until my return from California in 1857, when the front entrance was changed from the east end to the center of the building in the south side. The large chimney stack, which was erected before the days of cook stoves, with its three fireplaces below, two above, and three large ash pits in the cellar connected with the fireplaces above, was taken down, leaving room for a hall. The unfinished rooms were done off, giving us four rooms in the place of two, as before. The west end, or wing, was but one story high and In it was another large chimney stack, with a fireplace nearly as large as the one in the log house, and a brick oven on the right. In the southwest corner of the wing was an entry from which we went into the cellar, which was under the whole house. Stairs to the attic were back of the chimney. On the north side of the large kitchen was a pantry, sinkroom and mother's bedroom. Grandfather and grandmother occupied the room we now use for a sitting room. The inside of the house has been so remodeled that but few would recognize it, but we have made an effort to preserve in a general way the outside appearance as father originally designed it. In all my traveling I have never seen a place quite so pleasant, nor quite so much like home to me as this.

The old ax factory was built in 1818 by Noyes, Benjamin and Linus Parker. It stood on the west bank of Stratton's creek, about five or six rods north of what is now the Jamestown road. The main building was about forty by fifty feet square, ten to twelve feet high, with a long steep roof sloping north and south. The only entrance was by a large, wide door near the center of the west end. On opening the door you descended five or six feet to a platform, which was about twelve feet square, where stood a forge and bellows, anvil, etc. Repairing was principally done at this forge, and here apprentices experimented and gained confidence in themselves. Two feet below was the main floor. To the right, on the south side, was Uncle Benjamin's forge, the most convenient one in the shop; and a description of one will answer for all. These forges were very like those now in use by blacksmiths, only much larger. On each forge was room for the charcoal, and connected to the right end was a wooden trough into which ran a stream of water to keep the tongs cool, which stood in one end. It was into this trough that Uncle Benjamin plunged Truman Phelps, when he boasted that no one in the shop could handle him. The first duty of an apprentice was to blow the bellows, stoke and keep an ample supply of coal on the forge. On a flat stone in front was a small pile of clean sand and occasionally a handful was thrown into the fire, for what purpose I never knew.

A box on the front side of the chimney contained stamps, punches, etc., and a little higher up was a box with a drop cover, where borax for welding purposes was kept. The boss's leather apron, when not in use, hung on the back side of the chimney, and a half barrel of salt water, in which edge tools were plunged after being brought to a desired heat to receive temper, stood between the anvil and the water trough, convenient to both. In front of the anvil stood a heavy, iron sledge with a long hickory handle. Two taps of the boss's hamm'er on the anvil summoned the apprentice, or striker, who must be there ready to strike while the iron was hot. One tap of the hammer gave notice when to begin striking and another when to quit. Wherever the boss's hammer struck there the striker must put his sledge, and it required no small amount of skill to always keep the sledge out of the way of the hammer, especially when quick blows were required, which was always the case when drawing an ax to an edge. In the east end of the building was the waterwheel with its large shaft twenty feet at least in length and three feet or more in diameter. Weight was necessary to prevent the triphammer from throwing the shaft out of its boxing. The triphammer was tilted by iron pins morticed into the shaft at equal distances apart, and as, the shaft revolved, these pins would strike the opposite end of the lever from which the heavy iron hammer was mounted, thus raising the hammer, and the interval between the striking of the pins was sufficient for the hammer to deliver its blow. The more rapidly the shaft revolved the more frequent were the blows; in brief, it was a machine hammer and could do the work of a dozen men. It was the curiosity of the times, and people came from far and near to see Parker's triphammer work. One old lady congratulated herself that "she would no longer have to go over the hill to Mr. Tommy Gillis's mill to get her corn ground." Back of the triphammer was the grindstone, which was also run by water power. The first grindstones used came from Vernon or Hartford, and were five or six feet in diameter. The door of the shop had been made very wide on purpose to let the stone in flatwise, and after they had been placed in position they were made true, and brought to the desired size by a process similar to that used in wood turning. One of the largest stones, while being run at high motion, split in two and fell from the shaft. The grinder had a narrow escape for his life. One-half of this stone is in use as a stepstone at my kitchen door. Later, stones of a smaller size were brought from Cleveland or near there. Quite a number of edge tool makers, who had learned their trade with the Parker Bros., would come with a load of axes once or twice each year to grind, polish and fit them for the market. After grinding, all edge tools were stamped "L. Parker, Cast Steel, Warranted, Ohio," and were taken to the polishing room in the second story, which was reached by a flight of stairs outside, where they were polished, blacked and boxed ready for market. Over-production had not been invented and, strive as best they might, the supply was never equal to the demand. Father's forge was on the north side of the shop, directly opposite Uncle Benjamin's, and near by the triphammer, and at his forge all the fine work of the shop was done. My father was an expert and rapid workman, as was William Webber, who had been taught by father. When it became necessary to fill an order quickly, William would be called from his forge to blow and strike for father, and they worked together as though parts of the same machine. The moment William was not required at the anvil he was at the bellows, and by the time father had finished one ax another was ready. Thus they would work for weeks together, turning out more work than the five other forges combined. Father tempered all edge tools when he was in the shop; at other times Uncle Benjamin did this part of the work with equal skill.

As the trade increased, an addition with two forges was built on the northeast corner. Uncle Eli Bushnell came from Austinburg and occupied it for a time, but it was not many years before he established himself in business in Hartford, Ohio. William Webber's forge was in the north west corner of the main building near father's. On the west side near William's anvil, was a plank bench with the large iron vise attached and on this bench-or table-the drills, dies, taps, &c., were kept. An addition was built in front at the northwest corner, for horse shoeing and other custom work, which was done by a journeyman, but it was not profitable and was soon discontinued. A few feet south of the factory was a large coal house, and once each year this building would be filled with charcoal for general use. No "stone," or bituminous coal, was used by blacksmiths at that time. Uncle Benjamin built a coal house for his own use northwest of the factory; this building is still in use-as a barn-which with the bank of the dam and the tail race, now nearly filled up, is all that remains, except myself, to tell the tale of the largest and most famous works that have ever been established in Kisman township. Long before father's death uncle Noyes had withdrawn from the firm and moved to Bloomfield, Ohio, where he built a similar factory on Grand River. Father was the acknowledged business manager of the works and his ability was never questioned.

He was systematic and decided, and one of the first lessons he taught an apprentice, was, that there was a place for everything and everything must be in its place. He was loved, respected and obeyed by everyone about the shop.

"Uncle Jim Smith," as he was called was a character. Tall, slim, thin and very confident in his own ability; his principal object in life seemed to be to drink whiskey, smoke a pipe and chew tobacco. He was uncouth and repulsive in his appearance, but was necessary to the successful operation of the Parker Brother's ax factory. No one could excel him in burning a coal pit, so once each year he was sent for. He would soon appear and would be sent to the east woods with teams enough to haul the wood that had been cut and dried, and was about four feet long. Smith would not allow any one to assist him in building a pit, for every stick had to stand to rule. He would first build a pen about two feet square and four feet high; then he would set the wood upon end around the pen, carefully leaving openings from the center, or chimney, to the outer edge, placing one tier upon another until the pile was at a proper height, leaving it conical in shape and generally containing thirty or forty cords of wood. Leaves or straw would then be spread over the pile to even the surface, then a layer of strong turf; after which dirt would be thrown on until it would be as near airtight as possible, excepting at the openings. The pit was fired at the openings and center, and in a few hours it would be thoroughly on fire, when all the openings would be closed. If smoke issued from all parts of the pit alike it was an evidence that the pit was evenly fired; if not, openings would be made to draw the fire into that part from which no smoke issued and when evenly fired all openings, except the center chimney would be closed and kept so, for eight or ten days, when the center also would be closed. As holes would occasionally burn through the covering of earth, they were immediately stopped with mud and leaves. Smith would not sleep from the time the chimney was closed until the last bushel of coal was "drawn." A light blue smoke issuing from any part of the pit gave notice that the wood was sufficiently charred. The coal was generally "drawn" at night so any remaining fire might easily be discovered and extinguished. Two or three days would be spent in "drawing" the coal from the pit, after which Smith would disappear with a jug in one hand and a package of tobacco in the other.

Not long after the ax factory was completed a sawmill was built. It stood about thirty feet northwest of where the Fobes and Gunderman flouring mill now stands and water to run this mill was brought from the ax factory dam by a race, traces of which still remain. This mill was burned about 1828 or '30. A larger mill with later improvements succeeded the old one and was supplied with water from a race which was dug on the east bank. The dam to turn the water into the new race-known as the "upper dam"-was built a few rods southwest of the north and south center line of the township. This was the best saw mill ever built on Stratton's creek and of the five formerly operated, not one now remains. In 1838, father and uncle Benjamin dissolved partnership; uncle taking the ax factory, father the water privilege on the east side of the creek. He immediately began erecting what was then called a "grist mill." Uncle Elon Parker superintended the work.

The two brothers went to Cleveland to purchase mill irons and while there they contracted typhoid fever. Father died soon after and the mill was completed the next season by the administrator of the estate and sold to S. A. Potter. As it would be natural to suppose, a strife between the "upper" and "lower" mills occurred. The Gillises owned the "upper" mill and had the advantage of long experience, extended patronage and a reputation for honesty. The "lower" mill had its reputation to earn; and their theory of making flour also differed. The Gillises dressed the face of their stone quite smooth, thus rubbing the grain into a flour which had a soft springy feeling; the "lower" mill stones were kept sharp, which cut the grain into small particles that could easily be felt when rubbed between the fingers. I could never distinguish any difference in the bread made from the flour of either mill, but the Gillises had the better of the contest.

The roller process has superseded all others. Since the timber has been cut away from the banks of the creek the supply of water for mill purposes has diminished the business activity, and the successful hum of machinery will never again be heard in the valley of Stratton's creek, unless the power is created by steam or some other power than water.

Aunt Orpha was an only daughter and the pet of the family. She was affectionate, kind and respectful to everyone, always sympathizing with them in trouble and ready to help. I have often heard my mother say that when she had gone to the extent of her strength and ability, Orpha was sure to come in. She always knew what to do and would do it so cheerfully that mother would soon forget her own trouble. You would scarcely expect to find a coquette in one so kind hearted, nor was she according to the general acceptation of the term; yet she was quite up to the coquette of the present day. The hay knife episode, as related by Uncle Elon, was undoubtedly one of her flirtations, and I will relate another that was no more successful to the suitor. A small, pompous young man of unknown antecedents and doubtful reputation whose name was Gale, came to work for father. He soon became smitten with aunt's charms and asked her to keep company with him. He had planned for this by coming in late to supper and at the time of the request, aunt was picking roasted potatoes out of the hot ashes. She without saying a word hurled a hot one at him, which struck him square in the face and as it struck it flew to atoms covering his face and whiskers with the hot potato. He was very angry and in relating the incident to the boys he said; "I would not have cared if she hadn't thrown that danged hot pertate at me." Mr. Gale made no further advances, and we afterwards learned

Photo of Mrs. Orpha Parker Truesdale Bond. (NOT SHOWN)

that he had a wife and children in Massachusetts. The verdict was that his impertinence received proper treatment. She afterwards married James Truesdale and no man ever had a more devoted wife. After his death she married Elijah Bond, but in a few years was again left a widow. She died at the age of 91 years, esteemed and respected by everyone. Uncle Elon Parker often told me that she was more like my father in disposition and temperament, than any other member of the family.

Uncle James Truesdale and my father were "agents for the underground railroad," and uncle was once mobbed and nearly killed by citizens of Canfield for his abolition proclivities. In another part of our family history it is stated that Grandfather and Grandmother Parker were good, Christian people, influential in church work and other society matters. From personal knowledge I can indorse all that has been said, and with pleasure and pride add some interesting facts to the history. My grandfather was always just, but at times a little quick tempered. He did not exhaust the supply, and there is still some of it remaining in the family. Many a time did he raise his cane over my provoking head, but never once did he strike. My neglect of duty and mischievous tricks would try his patience almost beyond endurance, but his affection for the memory of my father, and the feeling that I was left in his care, influenced him to be more patient with me than I deserved. He had willed all his property to father in consideration of having a home provided for himself and grandmother during their lives. Death prevented father from carrying out the contract, but grandfather's sense of right induced him to make a second will, leaving his property to mother and her four children. The remaining three or four years of his life were devoted to our protection and support, and it is no wonder that with such an example not one of his descendants has ever been convicted of crime or reduced to poverty. I love to sound his praise and relate his exploits. So intent was he to do something to help us that he often went beyond his strength. I can relate many incidents to corroborate this statement, but one will suffice. We had but one horse, Pete by name and, rather than hire another, grandfather attempted to plow the orchard with him alone. My barn stands near where the center of the orchard was; it was long since cut away. Pete was contrary, and grandfather too feeble to bring him to time, so I was put up on to his back, and with a good long apple tree sprout succeeded in making him work. Long before night we all were ready to quit, and grandfather was so completely exhausted that he could not stand without something to support him, so leaning on his trusty thorn bush cane, which was probably a foot longer than those now in use, he hobbled to the house. Three days of such work finished the plowing, and nearly finished grandfather. I think it was the last hard labor he performed, for he died in July of the same year.

I have no vivid recollections of my Grandmother Parker. In her old age she had fallen and injured her hip, from which she never recovered, and was thereby mostly confined to her room. After grandfather's death she lived with Uncle Elon. As far as we have any knowledge, grandfather was the most renowned hunter in the family. I should feel that I had not done justice to his memory if I did not record some of his exploits, and I can speak from personal knowledge, having accompanied him on many of his hunting excursions. He did not hunt foxes with dogs and gun, as is done at the present day, but caught them in traps, using scraps of freshly dried lard or tallow for bait. The revenue from the sale of fox skins supplied him with ammunition and tobacco. I recollect one sly fox which came near outwitting him. We went out one morning to examine the traps and found one of them missing. We followed the trail for two miles or more, when we found the trap fast on a little stub. The only chance the fox had to escape was by amputating his leg, which he did by gnawing it off, and there was a trail of blood where he made his escape. Several years after grandfather caught the same fox again. During this time he had been more than a match for grandfather's cunning, often springing the traps and eating the bait. We knew him by his tracks in the snow, but he was at last outwitted. One trap was set and baited as usual, while others were set around this one in a circle, but without bait. This game was too new for the fox to understand, and early one morning not long after I saw grandfather slowly coming in from the direction of the traps excited and happy, but very tired. I ran to meet him, and found he had the three-legged fox on his back. Grandfather was never tired of telling this story, and if they tell fox stories in Heaven, he is still telling it there. Squirrels were abundant in those days. Often we would go to the woods, and with the gun that he had carried in the Revolutionary war he would not be long in bagging all the game we wanted. He was a fisherman of renown; was also a noted bee hunter, and no one could excel him in catching pigeons, which he did with a net. He would level and mellow a piece of ground, set a long net, which was attached to a spring pole, along one edge. A rope from the pole led to a screen of bushes twenty or thirty feet away. He would sprinkle the mellowed earth with wheat and bait the pigeons for two or three days. The pigeons would become accustomed to the surroundings, and when everything was favorable grandfather would secrete himself behind the screen. Soon a flock of pigeons would settle; he would pull the rope, and hundreds of pigeons would be imprisoned under the net. In this way grandfather furnished material for many a luxurious pigeon pie. These birds, which once were so numerous that many times their flight darkened the sun for hours, have become extinct, and the government has a standing offer for a live specimen. One of the most vivid impressions of my youthful days is of the sugar camp. At that time it contained about forty large, fine maples dotting the valley along the brook to my north line; no more than five or six of them are left to remind us of their usefulness, and, like myself, the time is not far distant when all will be gone. It is a singular circumstance that these trees were all-or nearly all-destroyed by lightning. Every heavy thunder shower near by was sure to claim one for its victim.

The old log house stood on the brow of the hill, overlooking the valley. In early times Jane McLaughlin lived at our house, and her fear during a storm was so great that she would lose all control of herself. Henry McKinney-one of father's apprentices-happened to be in the house during one of the worst of these storms, and seeing how frightened Jane was, he stepped up to her and putting his arms around her, said, "Steady, Lord, my wife don't like thunder." He seemed so willing to protect her that she afterwards consented to become Mrs. McKinney. Grandfather took pride in making a little more sugar from his trees than anyone else did from the same number. It mattered not how attentive I was to business, I was unusually so about sugaring-off time. Grandfather would never allow me, nor anyone else, to taste his sugar until after it was weighed; then

Photo of Harriet Byron Jones Parker (NOT SHOWN)

he became liberal. This was before the day of sappans, and the boiling was done in large kettles hung over a fire which was made between two green logs. The sap was gathered in buckets suspended on a wooden hook, which was connected to a sap yoke; this yoke was fitted to the neck and shoulders, and from each end suspended the hook which carried the bucket. This, with many other conveniences of that day, has passed out of existence, and probably out of the knowledge of most of the present generation. It is an old saying that blood tells, and I fully believe in the theory of "inherited tendencies." We prefer to achieve our own success, and no man ever became very successful in life without having the elements of success within himself. The young man who has his letters of introduction indorsed by a respectable ancestry, is a long way ahead in the start of the one not so fortunate.

I was surprised when traveling in Western Pennsylvania to find so many people who had known my father, and it was a passport to their favor to know that I was a son of Linus Parker. Nearly everyone of the old settlers had an ax, scythe or some other edge tool which was made by father, and had been in use for more than half a century. It was often said to me, "If you are as good a man as your father was, you will succeed." This stimulated my efforts, and I can truthfully say that I have never intentionally wronged anyone. My father grew up in the atmosphere of a large family, and to this fact I ascribe, to some extent, his choosing a business in which there was room for growth. It did grow, and thus drew together a large family, never less than ten persons, and frequently double that number when he found it necessary to the successful operation of his business. He was particularly fortunate in selecting young men of ability and good habits. Nearly all of them became influential citizens, though some of them had a large amount of wild oats to sow before they reached that point. With this class my inclinations ran, and I found more fun with going out with the boys than when I was attending church with father; and was I in this unlike other lads? The wonder is that I should have escaped the evil tendencies that so often follow such a course. Father was influential in all religious work, and was tuneful to a much larger degree than any of his children, unless it should be his daughter Hannah, whom I have been told was quite musical. He was a chorister in the old meeting-house that stood in the grove on the State road, pitching the tune with a pitch pipe, and later with a tuning-fork which he manufactured himself. He was peculiarly gifted in prayer; a very successful Sabbath school teacher, and was one of the charter members of the C. and P. church. He bought the 475 acres of land donated by Mrs. Kinsman to the C. and P. society; also furnished most of the sawed lumber for the new meetinghouse. The land which was donated to the society is that which is now owned by John S. and Fred Allen and Sylvester and John Gillis.

My mother was the third daughter of Elam and Sarah (Hyde) Jones, of Hartford, Ohio. Early in life she was taught to knit, sew and mend. She became so expert that but few could excel her in this line of work. As long as she remained at home her work was to knit, darn and patch for the family, helping her father in the field when needed, while her sisters did the housework. At the age of fifteen she came to Kinsman and attended a school that was taught by Miss Irene Hickcox, in the dwelling house of John Andrews, Esq., boarding in what at that time was known as the Kinsman boarding house. It stood on the Greenville road, about half-way between the Kinsman National Bank and the residence of G. W. Birrell. It was during her school days in Kinsman that she became acquainted with father. She taught a term of school in Vernon, one mile east and one south from the center, on the Kinsman and Orangeville road. At the age of seventeen she married, and immediately began keeping house in a log building which stood a few feet north of where Uncle Benjamin afterwards built a house for himself, and which is now occupied by William Lillie. In this house sister Sarah and I were born, but soon after my birth we moved into the house with grandfather and grandmother, where we lived until this house was built.

The four years spent in the log house were the most unhappy years of her married life, and had it not been for father's love and affectionate care, coupled with the devoted helpfulness which Aunt Orpha rendered, I really believe she would have lost her mind. The large family my father had around him would almost have discouraged an experienced housekeeper, so it was doubly discouraging to mother, for up to the date of her marriage she had never made a loaf of bread, and to add to her discomfiture was the fact that Aunt Susan, Uncle Noyes' wife, who lived just across the road on the bank of the dam was an experienced housekeeper. * * * * * It was during these days of tribulation that William Webber by his kindness won mother's gratitude. Some time after my birth she lost her health and was confined to her bed for, at least, a year. Gradually she gained strength and in course of time resumed the responsibilities of housekeeping. I well recollect the morning Aunt Abigail Parker called me into mother's bedroom to see a little sister "the doctor had brought me." I was disgusted. "I did not want another sister, I wanted a brother." Little did I anticipate that this six or seven pounds of humanity was to go hand-in-hand with me through life, yet such has been the case, and the one aim of her life has been to ease and cheer our mother's declining years. In time another sister, Hannah, was born, after which event mother never again regained her health. For a year at a time she would be confined to her bed, but the vitality she inherited from the Hyde family would assert itself in spite of disease and drugs, so she would again and again be on her feet, anxious and determined to do what she could for her children, for they were all she had to live for. Father's death left her prostrated, and the doctor's visits were a daily occurrence, but her anxiety for her children was a greater restorative than any medicine the doctor could give, and she would soon again be at work. It is strange, indeed, that a boy 11 years old should have no recollection of a sister who was two years older than himself but such is the fact. As I was a romping, blustering boy, and the most of the time out of doors, she did not enter into my life as Uncle Benjamin's boys, Oliver and Hiram, did, who were congenial spirits, and either by consent or stealth we were together the most of the time. Soap-making was another family event and usually came during sugar-making time. Sisters Hannah and Le Mira were little tots of two and four years. The soap maker had carelessly left a bucket of strong lye standing in the pantry, and the children supposing it to be syrup helped themselves. Le Mira discovered the mistake and ran to mother, who was ill and in bed at the time, and gave the alarm, but before anyone could reach Hannah she had swallowed considerable lye. Fortunately Dr. Peter Allen was in the house. He called for vinegar and, by forcing it down the child's throat,

Photo of Hannah P. Parker (NOT SHOWN)

weakened the lye and saved her life, but her throat contracted in healing, so it was some years before she could swallow like other children. The life thus saved developed into one of rare usefulness, not only in educational but religious matters.

She was the light of our home and the pride of our family. By nature she was kind and sympathetic, and no one ever came to her in the hour of their trouble without going away comforted and with a feeling that Hannah Parker was one of God's own children, and her whole life, though short, was worthy of imitation. She was but 14 years of age when I left for California, and the effort she made to secure an education caused her death before my return. I recollect but little of any importance about either of my sisters until after father's death in 1839. Mother was in such poor health that it seemed almost impossible for her to keep the children together. Le Mira went to live with Aunt Sarah Gates, mother's eldest sister, in Hartford, and returned to Kinsman only a short time before I started on my California trip. It was not until after my return that I learned that she was one of the best of sisters. She remained single and we all, especially mother, had reason to be thankful for it, for her kind and affectionate care made mother's last years among the happiest of her life. No daughter could do more for a mother, and no mother could better appreciate such kindness.

I wish to say a little more about the manufacturing and milling interests that have been located in the valley of, Stratton's creek. The busy hum of machinery set in motion by this stream could be heard 313 days in each year. It has been said of this creek "that it stands on end," and one could almost think so in time of high water. Within a distance of less than two miles there have been nine factories and mills, seven of which used the same water before it made its escape into Pymatuning creek. All the necessities of life from the cradle to the grave were produced in this community and the outside world was not necessary to its comfort, but it was a necessity to the outside world. The two grist mills are all that remain of the former activity and they are fast going to decay. In all probability they will never be rebuilt, and from the time they go out of existence to all eternity Stratton's creek may run unmolested until its identity is lost in the ocean.

The men who were at the head of these industries have long since gone to their long home, where they meet neither toil nor trouble, and I alone of all who grew up in the shadow of these industries am left to tell the story of their success and usefulness.

In 1851 I was employed by John Henry of Wayne, O., to sell pumps in "the black swamp," Wood County, O, and while there I became acquainted with several gentlemen who had lately returned from California. Appearances indicated that they were very wealthy and their California stories impressed me with the idea that I, too, might go there and get rich. This new idea took entire possession of me and I began to plan for the trip. I returned to Kinsman in November. Previous to this, in 1850, David W. Gillis and Sheldon Moore had sailed around "the horn" to California, and before the new year came in six of us, viz., David T. Gillis, Joseph Knox, Henry Mathews, John S. Gillis, Uncle Benjamin's son, Hiram, and myself were pledged to make the long journey and stand by each other to the end. Mother was nearly heartbroken when I announced my intention. The story of her struggles to keep the family together until I was able to care for it had no effect in changing my plans; the gold fever would have to run its course, and my arguments that I could make money so much easier and faster there, and my promise to send home money as fast as I made it, did not relieve her anxiety. I really thought I was doing what was best for us all, and to get the money to go with I sold six acres of land to Deacon Allen. In January, 1852, Hiram Parker and Henry Mathews went to Cleveland to secure passage from an agent of the California Steamship Company. No tickets could be had on which we could sail before March 15th, and as we had decided to start February 1st no passage was engaged. Capt. Jones, an old sea captain, who was then residing in Kinsman, gave us letters of introduction to Capt. Briggs of New York, who was his brother-in-law and a shipping agent, and advised us to do whatever Briggs thought best. We also were in correspondence with a son of Capt. Jones, who also was a captain and resided in New York, and who knowing all the circumstances had secured tickets for us, subject to approval, on the Greyhound, a sailing vessel which was to go around Cape Horn. We made a mistake in not accepting his advice, for the Greyhound made the trip to San Francisco in 93 days, while we were more than 200 in getting there. On the 2d of February, 1852, we started in a two-horse wagon for Erie, Pa., the nearest railroad station. Oliver Parker and Thomas Webber went with us that far to drive the team home. I bade my friends good-bye without shedding a tear, so bright were my anticipations. I thought that I should return in less than a year with gold enough to make us all rich and happy, and I could see no cause for sadness. We landed in New York February 6th, and I suppose a greener lot of boys never arrived there. Picture to yourself six young men in a strange city, without an acquaintance and with no knowledge of where they wanted to go, surrounded by hackmen and hotel runners, who pulled and hauled at their baggage determined to have them go with them, and you will see us as we arrived in New York. We were fortunate in meeting a gentleman who piloted us to Capt. Briggs' office, where we presented our letter of introduction.

The Captain sent us to the Sailor's Home to pass the night, with instructions to call again in the morning. Our innocence was ripe; Capt. Briggs saw that he could reap a harvest from it and proceeded to do it in a way that was no credit to his integrity, nor a security to our lives. I was not surprised when I learned that his sons turned out badly, for as I have said before, I believe in "inherited tendencies." We took the advice of Briggs and secured passage on the Sierra Nevada, a new steamer that ran to the Isthmus of Panama. He pointed out to us on the map, the long distance around the Horn and the short distance by the isthmus route; said that we could easily get passage on a sailing vessel at Panama, but he did not say a word about the scarcity of wind on the Pacific coast for propelling sailing vessels, nor of the kind of vessels we would be compelled to sail in; so we trusted in him and took the isthmus route. We sailed from New York on the 12th day of February at three o'clock p. m., on the steamer Sierra Nevada. We had heard that Americans were often assassinated while crossing the isthmus, so we provided ourselves with firearms as a means of protection. We each bought an Allen revolver, or six shooter, to carry in our side pocket. California boys called them "pepper boxes" which was a very appropriate name. The first two or three days out it was very rough, especially so while we were in the Gulf stream and I was the only one in our party who escaped sea sickness. David T. Gillis did not come on deck until the morning of the seventh day-just before landing at Chagres. If a long face and disconsolate look are indicative of sea sickness, he must have been very sick indeed. Thirst accompanies the first days at sea and the second night out we sent a request to the Commodore for ice water. In a few minutes the assistant steward came into the steerage where we were with a pitcher of water. We could here the ice jar against the pitcher, but he charged ten cents a glass, which had to be paid in advance or no water. There was no ice in the pitcher and the sound was caused by the jar of the glass against it. We appointed a committee of two, to enter our complaint to Commodore Wilson in the morning. The Commodore was furious, discharged the culprit who had defrauded us and set him ashore when we landed at Chagres. From that time on we had ice water brought to us every night. Our steamer anchored at the mouth of the Chagres river February 19th, and we were landed in small boats at Chagres, where we were not long in securing passage up the Chagres river, towards Panama, on a boat called San Lorenzo. Bloodthirsty looking natives with oranges, bananas, &c., for sale surrounded us, but we thought our judicious display of revolvers kept them from attacking us.

The San Lorenzo was not unlike other small river steamers, very slow, but safe. We were soon steaming up the river and were delighted with the tropical climate and scenery. The immense growth of vegetation, impenetrable thickets; parrots and monkeys in the trees; alligators in the river; all lent enchantment to the view, for it was all so new and unexpected to us. Seven days before we had left a climate where the thermometer showed ten degrees below zero; here it was 80 above and if a register could have been attached to our delight, it would have marked a still greater change. At dusk the boat was tied to a tree for the night.

Since that time I have traveled, considerable, but never have I experienced so much pleasure from any trip as I did that afternoon on the Chagres river, February 20th. At daylight we were on our way again and at noon were transferred to barges. They were a flat bottomed boat, from twelve to twenty feet long. Runways on each side of a boat furnished room for three or four natives on each side, who with poles propelled the boat up stream and the rate of speed attained was greater than that made by the little river steamer. David T. had learned in New York that it was great sport to shoot alligators in the Chagres river and he boasted much of what he would do when we got there, would shoot them in the eye or some other vulnerable place. Alligators were plenty and he embraced every opportunity to shoot at them, but with disappointing results. One huge fellow lay on the bank near the water sunning himself; David stepped to the bow of the boat and fired; as the "gator" did not move David was sure he had killed him and asked the boatmen to stop; they laughed and talked with both hands and mouth; but let us ashore when we found the "gator" had been dead for several days. David was disappointed but insisted that he would have killed him if he had not been already dead. It is scarcely necessary to say that it was a long time before he heard the last of the "dead gator." In the morning of the second day on the barges, the boatmen asked the men to go ashore, where they marked in the sand that there was a long bend in the river and a short distance across by land to the river again; so leaving one man with the barge to guard our baggage, we started across on a trail cut through the thicket. It was impossible for us to lose our way for we could not penetrate the thicket where no path was cut. On this trail we found the advance gang clearing away the jungle and timber for the Panama railroad. Two white men were superintending a lot of natives; two more were sick with climatic fever in a cloth tent near at hand; and a little further on we counted fifteen or twenty newly made graves. One of the sick men said he expected to join the "silent throng" in a day or two. We learned that not more than one white man out of twenty-five ever got away from the isthmus alive; and these newly made graves, coupled with others soon to be added, caused my first serious reflections since leaving home. I too might become a victim to climatic fever before we got away from Panama. The next morning, February 23rd, we arrived at Gorgona, the head of navigation on the Chagres river and had soon contracted to have our baggage carried to Panama on mules for twenty cents per pound. We decided to walk rather than pay $10 for a ride on a broken down mule; and that night we camped on one of the highest mountains of the isthmus. There were so many natives in sight that we thought it best to display our revolvers, (for we had not reached the point of calling them "pepper boxes") so I was the first one to fire at a mark, which was placed on a large tree, and loud was the laugh when no scratch could be found on the tree as the result of my effort. John Gillis was sure he could hit the mark, but scored failure number two; four others fired with the same result. Years after we learned that the Allen revolvers would not throw a ball with sufficient force to mar the bark on a tree twenty feet away; but we then went to sleep with a consciousness that no one would dare molest us after such a display of firearms. In the morning we were on the road early and when almost half way between where we had camped and Panama, we met the "Betts party." They had left home eight or ten days in advance of us and like us had tickets to the isthmus only. They had listened to discouraging reports at Panama, become disheartened and homesick, and were homeward bound, expecting to catch the steamer New York which lay anchored at Chagres when we arrived there and was the same boat they came on. Every effort was used to induce us to return with them; two of our party were willing to and others undecided, when my opinion was asked. I said no, with a capital N. I had started for California and would go there, or die on the road. David first, next Hiram and soon all joined with me. Here I had serious reflections number two. We made short work of a good-bye hand shake and started on a run, soon catching up with our pack train and arriving at Panama at 12 o'clock February 24th, where we learned that no tickets could be had on a steamer at any price. We also learned that an office would be opened the next morning by Garrison & Co., who would sell tickets on the bark Emily, to San Francisco for $150. We interviewed the agent, who told us that the Emily was a staunch ship and a good sailer; would be provisioned for ninety days and no effort would be spared to make it pleasant for the passengers; and that they expected she would make the trip to San Francisco in forty days. We were elated by the prospect and early the next morning we were on hand to secure our tickets. We found a long line of people ahead of us and were among the last to secure them. There were thousands of people there awaiting an opportunity to get to California; many without money, expecting to work their passage; others with partly enough to pay their way.

This class would eventually return to the States if they lived long enough to get away. A few had money and were awaiting a better opportunity; but so eager were people to get away, we could have sold our tickets for $200 each. We were not billed to sail until March 7th, so we found rooms in the second story of a large unoccupied building where we could board ourselves. The next day after we had secured our tickets and lodgings, we spent in viewing the city. I recollect it as dilapidated, musty and exceedingly filthy. The natives were villainous looking and in appearance nasty in the extreme. The balance of the time until we sailed hung heavy on our hands, which gave us plenty of time for reflection; for we learned that the Emily was an old English bark, heavily laden with coal and had put into Panama hoping to sell it to the Pacific Steamship Company, which she was unable to do; so Garrison & Co., had chartered her to carry 280 passengers to San Francisco. Soon the Ann Smith was chartered by Garrison & Co., and billed to sail four or five days after our departure, tickets $175; and soon another old vessel followed her. Every old vessel on the Pacific coast that could be brought into Panama bay, was chartered by Garrison & Co. and overloaded with human freight, they knowing full well that they had not provisioned them sufficiently to keep the passengers from starvation. Thousands of their victims died and were thrown into the ocean.

When the tide was out Panama bay was one vast sea of mud and rock, miles in extent. We went out one day to gather oysters, not knowing how rapidly the tide came in and were caught by the flood. We were fortunate in getting onto a high rock some 10 or 15 rods from shore, where we were discovered by some native boatmen, who demanded 10 cents each for taking us to shore. We did not accept the proposition, and as the water grew higher their price increased. We grew frightened and were about to close a bargain at 25 cents apiece when an American came with a boat and set us ashore free. We learned later that he was employed to rescue just such fellows as we were who had been caught out. When he reached us the water was up to our knees. Many Americans were daily in the city, and we were very anxious for the 7th of March to come. At the time appointed we went on board and at a glance saw that we had been victimized, but it was months before we had experienced the full extent of the swindle. That afternoon we ran down the bay to the island of Taboga, where several stowaways were put ashore. We felt sorry for the poor fellows, but their condition could not have been worse than ours proved to be. The next morning found us out of sight of land, and it was 90 days before we came in