DIARY  OF
ELIZABETH PRUDENCE WAKELEY PATCHIN 

Manchester, Feb. 1889	My daughter has expressed a desire that I will 
write a sketch of my life.  I cannot think it would be interesting to anyone if written 
in detail.  But an outline might be a good exercise for my memory and useful to my 
children.
I learned from my parents that I was born in New Hartford, a suburb of Utica, 
Oneida Co., N.Y.  July 4, 1820 was the date of my birth.  My parents were both 
born and reared in Connecticut.  My mother was left motherless at the age of 
three years.  Her father, Henry Thompson, I infer was not a strong man although a 
member of the Presbyterian Church and morally upright.  He lacked judgment and 
was unable to train and direct his motherless children.  Her mother was a Stodard 
and descended from old Solomon Stodard.  Anthony Stodard, who preached 40 
years in Woodbury, Conn., was my mother's great grandfather and cousin of 
Jonathan Edwards.  Thus it appears that there were both religion and intellect in 
the family line of my mother.  She was brought up in the Presbyterian Church.  
Her father, at his marriage, had started with wealth and high position, but lost both 
and his children were not only deprived of a mother but of advantages for educa-
tion and of the position in society they should have inherited.
On the 27th of August, 1846, the day after my graduation from Oberlin Col-
lege, I was married to John Patchin, who graduated from the same class with me.  
We had been engaged a year and a half.  Was this the initiatory step to a 
teacher’s life for which I had been preparing?
Feb. 27, 1854		I have felt rather unusually depressed in spirit today, 
and a burden of care has rested upon my mind.  I have allowed myself to think 
upon our present situation and our prospects for the future with a growing family 
and a salary of three or four hundred dollars, not promptly paid.  The prospects 
seem dark.  True, God will direct the steps of His children.
July 30, 1854		A third daughter was added to our family, Florence 
Amelia.
April 14, 1855		Night, silent night, is again brooding over the earth.  
Week after week with all its record of events, joyous and humiliating, closes and 
my weekly account is sealed up and sent before me to await my coming at the 
judgment.  I cannot deny myself the privilege of appropriating a few of the fleeting 
moments to reflection.  The little restless babe has sunk to the quiet slumber of 
infancy, Franky, weary of her play, has been placed by a mother's hand upon the 
little couch for which she was so impatient, and Lottie slumbers at her side.  Oh, 
could night to the mother bring release from care, or Saturday night ever find her 
labor done, how grateful would be the rest to her overtaxed mind, but husband's 
socks must be darned and the children's clothes put in readiness for the Sabbath.
May 11, 1856		Again have I sought and taken in hand my long ne-
glected diary.  Since I last penned a few thoughts here what a varied succession 
of events and experiences I might have recorded.  On the 11th of January a son, 
Charles Henry, was born here in Lodi.  The kind hand of Providence has led me 
thus far and has spared my life through a time of perils, and continued to me 
many mercies and blessings for which I fear I am not sufficiently thankful.  During 
the past winter and spring I have thought that I was making some progress in the 
divine life, but, Oh, how unsatisfactory has been my experience.
May 9, 1858		I have thought to write a little in my journal today.  I 
have been spending a week in Grass Lake where I met many kind and familiar 
friends.  There is no place where I feel so much at home as there.  Shall we return 
there is a question which has often been proposed to us, and which has caused 
us many an anxious thought.  May the Lord direct.  Today I am at home.  Hus-
band has gone to Exchange, and I have had no opportunity to get to church.  This 
afternoon the children and Susan went to the schoolhouse to meeting.  I missed 
little Florence and, on looking out, saw her tripping over the green meadow, bas-
ket in hand, in search of flowers.  Dear, gentle little Flora may thy search for flow-
ers along the pathway of life in after years be successful!  Thou wilt not always be 
led by a mother's loving hand, but may the Heavenly Father lead thee, my pre-
cious lamb, into green pastures and beside still waters.  I went to join the dear 
child.  We took a walk and gathered a basket of blue violets, meadow pinks, but-
tercups and bath flowers.
May 22, 1858		I have been, this morning, indulging in a walk in the 
fields.  How pleasant is the country at this season of the year.  The fields are ar-
rayed in the liveliest green and spangled with the golden dandelions, the wild vio-
lets and innumerable flowers.  Why should the heart be sad while all Nature is 
joyful?  Husband is spending the week in Adrian.  I am contemplating a short visit 
to Wisconsin.
June 25, 1858		Returned from Wisconsin today.  Had a very pleasant 
visit but felt anxious about the dear children whom I had left behind.  Franky had 
not been well when I left and I thought of her almost constantly until I heard from 
home.  I found that she had been unwell and wished for her mother.  I found my 
husband sick when I returned.
July 4, 1858		This is my 38th birthday, and I am constrained to take 
a note in passing.  More than half of my life has passed even should the three 
score and ten be allotted me.  Thirty eight years of my life, what do I find recorded 
there?  What have I gleaned from the experience of the past?  Once I looked for-
ward with bright anticipation to life upon earth.  Those hopes have slowly expired.  
Only their remembrance lends a brightness to the past.  I find myself past the me-
ridian of life unnoted and unknown save in my own private circle.  Yet what have I 
gleaned from the experience of the past? Regret for neglected opportunities of 
making my loved ones better and happier, regret for the many failures in my soul 
struggles with the adversary, but no regret that my early dreams have never been 
realized.  What have I gained?  Wisdom, I trust, for the future, for I realize that I 
may still look forward to the future, not with the aspirations of youth, but with un-
bounded confidence that I may yet gain the victory.
July 11, 1858		Husband is in Grass Lake today.  Lotty and Franky, 
with Susan, have gone to Sabbath School.  Little Florie has been trying to read in 
her book for the little ones, by looking at the pictures.  My days are gliding peace-
fully.
Aug. 1, 1858		It is Sabbath eve.  All have retired to rest.  It has been 
communion today.  I think I realize that these precious opportunities are passing 
and I soon shall have enjoyed the last on earth.  Perhaps I have already.  We had 
a family prayer meeting this evening.  Lotty united with us and I hope the dear 
child is a Christian.  Franky is very tender and sensitive upon the subject of relig-
ion.  May the Great Shepherd guard and protect these little lambs from the snares 
and perils of this wicked world.  They are sheltered beneath the paternal roof.  I 
have placed them in their little beds, have heard them say their prayers and 
hymns and they rest safely, but it will not always be thus.
Sept. 8, 1858		Husband is spending the week in Detroit, attending the 
meeting of the A.B.C.F.M.  My girl left me last week and I am here alone with my 
children.  This has been a very busy day with us.  We have been picking elderber-
ries.  Three little pairs of hands picked them over, and with baking, coloring, etc.  I 
spent most of the day.  I am making a carpet of rags which occupies most of my 
time not employed with housework.  I find that my thoughts are more engrossed 
with my household matters than formerly.
I have arranged a little bed for the children below with me.  It is lonely here at 
night but I try to commend myself and the little ones to the watchful care of a kind 
Heavenly Father.
Nov. 21, 1858		This fall has been to us a memorable season.  Three 
weeks since we moved into the new parsonage.  Kind friends assisted me in set-
tling.  The front chamber, a very nice and comfortable room, was made ready for 
me.  My old parlor carpet just fitted the floor.  The house is not very well furnished, 
but we get along comfortably.
Twelve days since a little son, John Wakeley, came to claim our love and 
care, bringing occasion for gratitude to the Great Disposer of events.  We wel-
come him to the place in our hearts and home of the little one who has passed 
away.  Yet, nevertheless, precious is the memory of our darling angel Charley.  
Some painful lessons has my perverse heart learned from my Heavenly Father's 
discipline.  My old friend, Laura Haviland, was with me nearly two weeks, and a 
very kind and efficient nurse she proved to be.  Mrs. W. was with us a few days, a 
stirring, energetic woman ready to devote her energies where she can be useful.  
Thus passes life away.  One scene is added after another in the brief drama which 
will soon close forever.
July 22, 1859		This morning I took my husband to Ann Arbor to take 
the cars for the west.  I have been very busy for two or three days preparing his 
clothes.  He expects to be away about four weeks.  We rose early and took 
breakfast at the Maynard's.  I felt some disturbance about my husband as he is 
not very well, but I have no solicitude about the results of his journey.
July 24, 1859		It is Sabbath morning and late in consequence of being 
disturbed by the children during the night.  Milked the cow, have taken care of the 
baby, and after breakfast and prayers, while baby is sleeping, have retired to the 
upper front chamber to spend a few moments with my diary.  From the window by 
which I am writing is a beautiful view of golden harvests, green meadows, waving 
corn, orchards promising plenty, and all the luxuriance of summer, while around 
me is a girdle of forest trees, some near, some distant, a beautiful border to a 
lovely picture.  Of what have I to complain?  I have a nice and comfortable dwell-
ing.  My dear husband is greatly beloved by his people.  My children are all that I 
could desire as far as nature's gifts are concerned.  Shall we be called to leave 
this place?  It would require quite an inducement to cause us to decide that ques-
tion in the affirmative.
August 25, 1859		I have an almost unconquerable aversion to 
writing, but I think my many cares and the weak state of my nerves account for 
this.  It is five weeks since my husband went away.  I have got along with Polly 
and the children.  I have kept up good courage and have experienced some trials.  
Polly has been sick some of the time and not well any of the time, peevish and 
unhappy.  I have not patience enough.  The cattle occasionally have broken into 
the garden and caused trouble.  This morning I went through the wet grass to milk 
the cow, came in, changed my clothes, and was eating my breakfast when word 
came that she was in the garden.  I took Franky and went down.  I found her in the 
back of the garden dispatching the sweet corn, and had a long chase through the 
wet grass and weeds to eject her through the gate, came in and changed my 
clothes again, all without losing my patience.
Here I was interrupted by the return of my husband from his journey west.  
During his absence I had a pleasant and eventful visit from my brother Eleazer.
Jan. 15, 1860		We had a very busy and interesting time during the 
holidays.  On Christmas, or rather the Friday before, we had a wood-bee.  The 
friends manifested a very commendable interest in assisting their pastor in this 
department of his labor and left a large and very nice supply of wood, probably 
sufficient for the year.  On the next Wednesday a surprise.
We had been invited away to dinner.  Mr. P. had a call to go to see a sick 
child after dinner.  I prepared to go with him, but was persuaded to return home 
with Mr. and Mrs. N.  On my return I found the house occupied with some of the 
old people in the community, apparently very much at home and enjoying them-
selves.  On being introduced to the kitchen, I found the old cook stove removed 
and a new one in its place.  All passed off very pleasantly.
On Friday before New Year the friends made a donation in the form of an 
oyster supper.  Company not very large in consequence of other parties about 
and the night was intensely cold.  On the Thursday evening preceding we at-
tended  a wedding.  On the next Tuesday eve the young people made a donation 
which passed off very pleasantly.  Since then we have been visiting and receiving 
company.  Husband has had a very ardent invitation to go to Chelsea.
January 29, 1860		The time is rapidly passing.  Occupied as I am 
from day to day with family duties, exercised with many cares I have seldom lei-
sure to write in my journal.  I have thought much of late of my dear little Charlie.  
His fourth birthday has just. passed.  Tears fill my eyes as I think of the dear babe 
that tarried  with me for a brief season and then departed to be no more.
	July 1, 1860		But man wears a burden of care and of grief
				While plucking the cluster and binding the sheaf.
Summer in all her glory is here and a more beautiful summer never blessed 
the earth.  My home is a quiet, secluded spot overlooking a picturesque and lovely 
landscape of promising orchards and fields of golden grain.  The fragrant clover 
already falling beneath the reaper, gardens of plenty, stately farm houses adorned 
with flowers and shrubbery, all conspire to delight the senses and subdue the 
restless spirit to repose.  There, too, is my dear husband, pleasant and helpful, 
and my little children, happy in their health, innocence and mirth.  I have good 
domestic help.  Why should I not be happy?
A few days since we had a wedding here.  The bride was the pretty Janet A., 
a lovely, domestic girl that I had ever admired since my first acquaintance with 
her.  Last year a young man, a stranger, came to her father's.  He spent most of 
the time in her family.  Her beauty and her many domestic virtues could not fail to 
win his regard.  He has won her from another to whom she was engaged.  He has 
taken her from her home and her enraged father has forbidden her return.  O, how 
sadly are spent her first days of married life.  Will he for whom she has thus aban-
doned all remember the sacrifice she has made and compensate her for all that 
she has lost?
July 4, 1860		It has come at last, my fortieth birthday.
August 31, 1860		The summer of 1860 is passed.  Thenceforth, to 
me as to all, it will be but a memory numbered with my departed summers.  In the 
language of the gifted poetess I would ask, "And unto me glad Summer, what hast 
thou brought to me?"  Many anxious and many peaceful hours.  It has brought 
precious evidences of an affection that fourteen years of married life have left un-
changed.  It has developed promises for the future of my dear children.  And it has 
brought to my home and heart another being (William Edward) to share in my 
cares and toils and anxieties and unwearied affection.  Dear little babe, already 
the bright eyes beam with intelligence and he turns to me for the sympathy that 
only a mother can bestow.  It has brought valuable lessons in life's disciplines.  I 
have been sitting on the front piazza in the moonlight alone.  Peaceful and pleas-
ant was the scene.  I would ever remember it.
January 2l, 1861		And here I have opened my journal for another 
of those sad records which impress upon the heart the unwelcome lessons of life's 
uncertainty, and make us feel that for us the drama of earth is closing.
O, it is hard to record the death of my only sister.  The second death in my 
father's family.  It was a pure and unchanging affection which united us.  No jeal-
ousy or envy or ill will ever existed between us.  She was nearly five years 
younger than I and in her early life I had felt for her the anxiety of an older sister.  
She was endowed by nature with an intellect of no common order.  She learned 
readily and was very active in all practical duties.  She had a glowing imagination 
and an innate love of the beautiful, but poverty and some of the severe disciplines 
of life brought to bear during her early years upon an exceedingly sensitive and 
shrinking spirit.  Notwithstanding these adverse circumstances hers was a char-
acter of uncommon loveliness.  Those who knew her best loved her most.  Her 
sudden departure has brought desolation to many a heart.  O, the unspeakable 
sorrow of her husband, of her aged parents, and the great overshadowing be-
reavement of her poor little children.  Her marriage was apparently a very happy 
one; her home was pleasant.  She has gone in the prime of her life, taken from 
many blessings, leaving her children motherless.    March 10, 1861       I have 
been greatly surprised during the past week by a visit from my brother Winchester.  
He returned from Pike's Peak in great haste upon learning of the death of his wife.  
He is taking his dear little boy to Connecticut to school.
April 10, 1861		Life is passing very pleasantly with us at present.  I am 
getting along without a girl.  My work is rather hard but by own girls are a great 
help to me.  This week I did a two weeks washing.  It was enormous.
There is to be a Sabbath School celebration in Jackson in about two weeks.  
I have been revolving in my mind the question, can I go?
June 2, 1861		After much hesitation I concluded to go to Jackson.  
Mrs. Q. was to come and stay with the children nights.  Lottie was a most efficient 
help in getting myself and the baby ready.  I could not have gone without her en-
couragement.  We started on Monday afternoon, took the cars at Ann Arbor, and 
arrived in Grass Lake in the midst of a violent shower.  Met a few friends at Bro. 
Davis to consult with us about returning to Grass Lake.  It was hard to refuse 
them.
On Tuesday morn we took the cars for Jackson.  Found a committee at the 
depot waiting to receive us with the delegates.  We inquired for Mr. Gandy's.  The 
committee took us into an omnibus and we rode a long distance through the 
streets and stopped before a small white house.  Here we found Mrs. Gandy.  It 
was strange to meet her there, whom we had for so long a time been accustomed 
to see in the old brown house beyond the woods.
In May we attended the annual association in Ann Arbor.  We had a pleasant 
visit at Mr. Bodwell's.  I took Lottie and the baby.
June 16, 1861		Another of my summers in all its beauty is passing.  It 
is to me a pleasant summer.  I have never enjoyed one more.  And the summer of 
my life is passing rapidly.  Soon the Autumn will come with its bleak wind, its 
storms and desolation.  I must work while the sun shines, for soon my season of 
labor will be over.  Yesterday was my brother Eleazer's birthday.
June 30, 1861		I feel like writing on this Sabbath afternoon.  I will take 
my book here to this west kitchen window where I can look upon the sunbeams 
glimmering through the trees in the yard and the grass beneath, variegated with 
sunlight and shadows.  Beneath a tree sits that child of nature, my little Flora.  She 
has a cup in her hand and has been gathering strawberries, or rather, a few 
stunted things which she thinks quite a prize.  Little Johnny comes to the window 
and wants me to take him in.  Baby Willie has been rather troublesome.  He is not 
very well.
The times are so hard and money so scarce that husband thought it neces-
sary to dismiss our hired girl.  I fear it will indeed be hard times for us.
August 18, 1861		Another beautiful Sabbath day is wearing away.  
I have made it a day of rest after the toils and cares of the week are passed.  I had 
considerable company during the week.  We went on an excursion to W. Lake 
with some friends from Ann Arbor.  I formed some new acquaintances and re-
newed some old ones.  Also a visit to Mr. Sheldon's.  We met there a minister and 
his wife from Boston, and a teacher and his wife from Detroit, connections of the 
family where we visited.  We have considerable refined and intelligent society and 
I find myself constantly embarrassed and reflecting upon myself for want of a cer-
tain taste and sense of propriety in matters of dress and deportment.  These 
things always did embarrass me, but my circumstances and employment are not 
very favorable to the cultivation of the graces.  I have but little leisure for thought 
upon such considerations.
The land is filled with consternation and mourning.  Civil war with all its hor-
rors, so long a matter of conjecture, is now an appalling reality.  What will be the 
termination we can but dimly conjecture.
October 9, 1861		The past week has been an eventful period in 
my history.  In company with my husband I have visited for the first time thefalls of 
Niagara.  The railroad conductors offering so very cheap excursion tickets through 
Canada I thought best to avail ourselves of the opportunity.  We had agreeable 
company and a delightful time.  We arrived at the suspension bridge late in the 
evening.  Notwithstanding some nervous apprehensions which I had felt at the 
prospect of crossing the bridge yet I crossed over on the cars with a perfect feel-
ing of security.  In fact every condition of fear was lost in astonishment at the view 
of that stupendous work of art.
We took lodgings at the Monteagle house where we were sumptuously en-
tertained.  The next morning I arose early and from the building caught the first 
view of the falls.  After breakfast we walked on our excursion.  Every view of the 
falls, the river and the banks was delightful.  I hope I shall never forget it.
Feb. 2, 1862		The past three months have been to me an eventful 
period in my personal history.  During that period I have visited my aged parents 
and brothers in the west.  I went anticipating an uninterrupted visit, a short stay of 
two or three weeks.  But alas!  I was taken sick and obliged to remain. away from 
my family six weeks.  My poor old mother enjoyed my visit and ministered to my 
necessities in the kindest manner.  Upon the whole I am very glad I made the visit.  
I parted with my poor old mother with no expectations of ever seeing her again in 
this world.  We parted in tears.  O! how anxiously I thought of my family during 
those six weary weeks, but I was permitted to meet them all again under favorable 
circumstances.  With me life moves on quietly but a great dread hangs over me.  
An event is drawing near to which I have been greatly unreconciled.
Feb. 16, 1862		Another Sabbath eve.  Husband with Lottie and the girl 
have gone to the evening meeting.  The little ones are laid away to their evening 
rest.  I have been putting my clothes asoak for the wash and all is quiet once 
more.
We have in progress a series of meetings very interesting.  I have attended a 
few times but find my spiritual perceptions dull, my vision clouded.  During the 
week I have made a few calls with my husband upon some of the converts.  We 
also met a few friends at a dinner party at Mr. Howe's.
July 4, 1862		My 42nd birthday.  Thus time flies, bringing its tribula-
tions, its blessings.  Little did I imagine one short year ago what would be my cir-
cumstances now.  My pleasant home burned down, many things which I thought 
necessary to my comfort and convenience, even to my respectability, things dear 
to me by long association, and the gifts of dear friends are consumed and a 
dreaded event awaits me soon.  This has been a year of trials to me, and I should 
say of blessings too.
Sept. 6, 1863		It has been a long time since the last entry in my jour-
nal.  The past summer has been a very laborious one.  Lottie has been at home 
and I have got along with the six children and the school teacher without extra 
help.
I had only commenced writing when Florie came upstairs to tell me what was 
going on below.  I had sent the little ones into the back room lest they should 
awaken the baby.  Florie went unwillingly.  She told Johnny to go into the buttery 
and help himself.  The little boy in his endeavors pulled a pan of milk over onto 
himself.  Florie in her trouble ran to me when it was all her fault.  I spoke too 
sternly and chidingly to my little girl and had her go and wipe up the slop.  I do not 
bear my trials meekly.  But I try to do my duty by my children.  When I consider all 
my blessings and think of the trials that may come upon me I am filled with peni-
tence and desires to lead a better life --- There, the baby has been awakened in 
spite of all my precautions and I must go.
July 4, 1864		The family have all gone to a picnic today but myself 
and little Allie. (Albert).  I chose to remain home alone to devote this birthday to 
my own reflections.  I have been beguiled by the magazines until this afternoon 
when with an effort I have sought my long neglected diary.
Lottie is away from us this year.  I miss her much and would like to have her 
with me, but I feel that she is better off where she is.  Fannie is improving both in 
acquirements and disposition.  Florie learns well.  I have a great trial and a great 
pleasure in getting along with them and feel that I need to govern myself.
Aug. 24, 1864		We have been exercised some in mind in reference to 
the draft.  What has the Lord in reserve for us?  Will He guide us in the way of 
duty?  Why need I fear?
Oct. 8, 1864		Today my dear husband preached his last sermon 
here in Lodi.  Yes, this part of our lives is finished.  The record of the past nine 
years is written for good or ill.  It must stand.  Soon we are to leave this place.  It 
has been a sad day for the congregation.  Many wept at the thought of being 
separated from their Pastor.  This will be an eventful period in our history.  Did we 
act wisely in leaving Lodi?  It is a question that will often be revolved in our minds 
when far removed from these pleasant scenes.  It is a question our children will 
often ask in the future.  May God in His infinite mercy guide us.
April 16, 1865		Today the funeral sermon of Abraham Lincoln was 
preached in our church.  What a sad day is this for our afflicted nation.  O, when 
will these horrors cease?  Is it not enough for the wretched traitors of this land that 
thousands upon thousands of our bravest and best citizens have been sacrificed 
as victims to their fiendish rebellion?  Now, goaded to desperation by their military 
failures and reverses they have struck down the idol of our nation, and a nation's 
heart is throbbing with grief and indignation.  Infatuated miscreants, you have 
struck down the noble ruler that would have extended to you forgiveness, that 
would have requited mercy for malice, that would have granted amnesty for past 
injuries.  O Lincoln, the great and good, a nation mourns thy untimely departure 
from the midst of its counsels, and future generations will record thy name with 
that of Washington in the annals of history as one that a nation delights to honor.
We have now been six months in Owasso.  I have no reason to complain of 
the place or the people.
July 29, 1865		 One of the sad and eventful periods of my probation 
has transpired this day.  I have just returned from the grave of our dear Frankie.  
Oh, how can I realize that our bright and joyous Fannie, our happy singing bird, 
has left our home forever?  For two weeks past I have watched over her sick bed 
night and day.  With what agony I watched her alarming symptoms.  How I bent 
over her in her hours of delirium.  How gladly would I have spoken the endearing 
words that I denied her in her seasons of health and happiness.  How earnestly I 
prayed for, one more opportunity to tell her how much I loved her.  Alas, the op-
portunity was gone forever.  God has appointed that I should witness her suffer-
ings, her dying strife and see her depart forever.  I have been talking with dear 
Lottie.  She is quite crushed beneath the blow.  God comfort her and sanctify this 
great sorrow to her everlasting good.  Dear Fanny, a happy angel.  O dost thou 
look upon the darkened home thou hast left?  Dost thou know how the hearts that 
loved thee are sorrowing?
August 19, 1865		Three weeks have elapsed since Fannie's bur-
ial, days of sadness.  I try to think of all my consolations, of God's goodness in 
giving us the assurance that she was prepared to go.  I try to think of her as safe 
from earthly care and sorrow, safe with her Savior in the mansions which he has 
prepared.  Yet I have many blessings left.  Lottie is a good girl and industriously 
applies herself to labors and cares for the family regardless of her own pleasure or 
improvement.  The dear little boys are pleasant, loving, troublesome, and happy.  
It is sad for me to think they will never realize their dear departed sister's love and 
kindness to them.
Sept. 17, 1865		A rainy Sabbath spent at home.  Husband with 
little Johnny went to Wisconsin last week.  Since I last wrote I have had a further 
trial of sickness in my family.  Little Allie has been very sick and for a time I 
thought that he, too, would be taken from me.  But he has been spared for which I 
trust I am thankful.
Oct. 31, 1865		Yesterday was dear Fannie's fourteenth birthday, a 
birthday spent in heaven.  O, that one little message might come from that far off 
land to the hearts that so yearn to hear from the dear one that left us three months 
since.  To me those three months have been a long and dreary season, passed in 
grief and tears.
Nov. 29, 1865		Mr. Patchin has gone to the social this eve.  The chil-
dren are all in bed.  Lottie is away from home for a few days.  I trust I am thankful 
she has been spared.
We had a very pleasant surprise and donation last week.  The people here 
are very friendly, but I fear they will think I am not of much account to them.
Jan. 7, 1866		Today was communion in our church.  We united today 
by letter and Lottie for the first time.  Last week Lottie commenced teaching under 
very favorable circumstances.  On Monday we had a very pleasant New Year's 
visit at Mr. Guile's.  The children were all invited and had a very fine time.  Yester-
day Lottie and I went out calling.  We felt relieved when the formal ceremonies 
were over.  I to my own work this winter and get along better than I have ever 
done before.
Feb. 18, 1866		Have just returned from church.  The little ones are in 
bed.  Mr. P. is eating lunch.  Florie as usual is reading.  Lottie has been preparing 
breakfast.  This week has been spent as usual in housework and reading.  I ought 
to be happy and it seems as though I might be if ... Alas that there should ever be 
an if in the way of all earthly happiness.  But thus it is.  I see but little company.  I 
desire but little.  It has been intimated to us that we may be called to return to 
Lodi.  It is associated in my mind with many pleasing and precious memories.  
How much I regret ever having left that pleasant spot -- but we shall never return.
March 18, 1866		The weather has been intensely cold during the 
past week.  Mr. P. has been laboring at St. Johns but returned home on Thursday.  
I have domestic help.  A McF., a very good girl.  Our expenses must necessarily 
be very much restricted.  How we are to meet them I know not.  On a salary of 
$900, of which probably $100 will go for taxes, $50 more for insurance, is yet to 
be made known.  My way is hedged about.  Yet these considerations affect me 
but little.  One great absorbing sorrow occupies my mind to the exclusion of other 
smaller ones.
June 29, 1866		The time since my last entry has been eventful.  I vis-
ited Jackson in May to attend the association, taking with me Allie and Florie.  We 
stayed at Deacon Gravity's and had a very pleasant visit.  We also stopped in 
Lansing.  I was very much pleased with the place.  In June we removed into this 
house.  We have a very pleasant home.  I have domestic help and have not the 
cares and labors that I once had.  My mind has been considerably exercised for 
Lottie in respect to her education.  I am anxious to do the best thing for her but 
fear lest I shall act unwisely and thus prepare the way for regret in the future.
July 15, 1866		I have been getting along without help more than a 
week.  Lottie has gone to Lodi to visit.  The weather is exceedingly warm and 
sometimes I have been very tired but upon the whole I get along very well.  I am 
anxious to go to Wis. to visit my poor old mother once more, but I fear I cannot go 
for Florence has the whooping cough and the little ones are all standing ready to 
take their turn.  My husband has had a most urgent call to return to Lodi, which he 
has seen fit to refuse.  I regret his decision but cannot help it.
July 27, 1866		One year ago tonight since our dear lamented Frankie 
took her departure.  O, the scenes of that sad, sad day!  How they are graven 
upon my memory.
Sept. 30, 1866		Many events of interest have transpired since 
my last record here.  I have been to Wis. with my little Allie and have visited my 
parents and brothers.  I spent a week at my brother Eleazer's.  There the little 
remnant of my father's family met once more.  How changed we are since the time 
when we all dwelt beneath one roof in our childhood's home.  My parents are fee-
ble and old and linger in the shadow of the tomb.  Charles, I thought seemed 
rather sad and reserved.
Sunday Nov. 18, 1866	We are gliding along very quietly at present.  I 
am enjoying a visit from my mother.  She expects to remain during the winter.  I 
have good domestic help at present.  Lottie is attending school.  Florie, I hope, is 
recovering her health.  We find it difficult to meet our expenses and are agitating 
the question of moving again.  Is there to be no rest or quiet for me upon earth?
Jan. 18, 1867		Sabbath eve.  A little season of quiet and rest is again 
allotted me.  Husband and Lottie are at church.  The little ones are at rest in their 
beds and I have sought my long neglected diary.  Another sad record I am called 
to make.  My dear old father has finished his earthly course.  His work is done.  
Henceforth I can think of him only as of one who was but is not.
March 3, 1867		My poor mother is now prostrated upon a bed of 
sickness.  For seven weeks past she has been almost constant care to me and 
sometimes I have thought she would never see Wis. again.  But I believe now her 
life will be spared.
March 24, 1867		This Sabbath I have spent at home as usual in 
reading and in trying to keep the children quiet.  Husband has been in his study 
when out of church.  We are again invited to Grass Lake but can hardly make up 
our minds to go.  I trust the Lord will direct.  I am not reconciled to our having 
come to Owasso.  I do not wish to stay.  The events which have befallen me here 
are working a great change in my feelings.  I would be glad to go on a farm with 
my family.  I long to throw off the responsibility of being a minister's wife and to 
lead a more retired and quiet life.  Perhaps I am wrong in this.  I dare not ask my 
husband to give up the ministry and it would be of no avail if I did.  I sometimes 
fear that I am an unprofitable servant and perhaps will be cut off as a cumberer of 
the ground.
April 29, 1867		This Monday morning I am here alone.  The children 
are all at school but little Allie who is out at play.  My mother left me last week for 
Wisconsin.  Poor old lady!  It seemed hard for her to go.  Mr. P. went with her.  
Yesterday I visited the grave of dear Frankie and saw the gravestone for the first 
time.  Only a little stone with the name, parentage, age and death, and the little 
epitaph, "One of the Redeemer's jewels."  When husband asked me for an in-
scription I thought of the hope she expressed but a short time before her death, 
that God would remember her when he came to make up his jewels.  I believe she 
is one of them.
July 14, 1867		It has been a cool, calm summer day, one of the 
pleasantest of days.  I have spent the Sabbath as usual.  Attended church in the 
morning, have read in the afternoon and tried to keep the children still.  How much 
guiding they need.  July has been an eventful month for me.  My own birthday and 
the birthday of three of my children occurred in July.  The sickness and death of 
dear Fannie also have made the month sacred to me.
My birthday passed amid the festivities and excitement of the fourth.  Of late 
I have been admonished by pains through my chest and lungs that this earthly 
tabernacle is gradually dissolving and that some time I shall lay down the burden 
of life and depart.
Aug. 18, 1867		I have been trying to realize today that this is the last 
Sabbath that our dear Lottie is to spend at home for some time, perhaps forever.  
How I shall miss her.  I do not know how to get along without her.  Yet I feel that it 
will be for her advantage to go and graduate at Oberlin.  Twenty one years since I 
left that hallowed spot and now I return with my daughter that she may share the 
same privileges.
Sept. 27, 1867		Since I last wrote I have been to Ohio and have 
left my dear Lottie in Oberlin.  I enjoyed my visit very much.  We have great anxi-
ety for Lottie that she may do well.  May God guide us all.
Oct. 27, 1867 		We are very much exercised in reference to a letter 
which we have received from Lottie telling of an offer which she has received and 
an offer of a situation in a family school.  We feel incompetent to advise her, so 
great is our responsibility.  How shall we direct the child?  Had she better give up 
the district school which she has engaged for one which appears to be more ad-
vantageous but seems to be running a greater risk?
Nov. 17, 1867		Lottie concluded to take the district school which has 
caused us much regret.  The reasons were that Mr. W. did not like to give her up 
and she thought that by laboring a great deal harder she could get a little more 
money.  She will probably labor hard this winter and I shall feel very anxious about 
her.  Life glides along very smoothly and evenly with us.
January 19, 1868		A long time has elapsed since my last entry in 
my diary.  The time has all been occupied with varied employments, housework, 
sewing, reading; but little calling and outdoor recreation, and what has concerned 
me most sickness in my family.  Poor little Allie has been to the verge of the grave 
with croup.  For two days and nights I thought he would die.  I felt that I could not 
bear the trial and thought if he were spared I would never complain of anything 
again.  He was spared and I think I am thankful to receive the dear little fellow 
back again.  Willie, too, was sick with a fever, and I have been in poor health 
some of the time.  Lottie is teaching school and I suppose labors hard.  I have 
much sadness on account of Florie.  She has such a stubborn and unhappy tem-
per.  I am at a loss how to account for it.  I look back upon her past life.  Never 
was there a sweeter or more quiet babe or a more affectionate little child.  I sup-
pose I have erred greatly as certainly I have greatly failed in her training.  The fault 
has been mine.
March 15, 1868		We have been exercised much of late upon the 
question of leaving Owasso.  I think Mr. Patchin would like to leave now, but 
where shall we go? I feel a burden of spirit at the thought of the difficulties and tri-
als we may encounter in making a move and I know I should bear the responsibil-
ity for I have been very urgent in the matter and sometimes I have not felt right.  I 
would like to go to Oberlin with the children and spend the summer but probably 
shall not.  I believe it is my sincere desire to be guided by the Lord and to remain 
here if it is his will.
My mother has been very sick this winter.  She is now visiting in Whitewater.  
I would like very much to meet her there as it will probably be my last opportunity 
of seeing her but I do not see how I can go.  I want to visit Lottie and my first duty 
is to her.  Little Allie had another attack of the croup and was very sick.  Dr. 
Phelps has been boarding with us for some time past.  We like him very much.
April 19, 1868		Lottie's twentieth birthday has passed.  How distinctly I 
remember the time when, a beautiful little being so helpless and innocent, she 
was first committed to my care.  How fully I realized that her future happiness I 
was responsible for in a great measure.  My own health was so feeble that I 
thought I had not long to remain.  How could I realize that six more would yet be 
committed to my care and twenty years added to my life.  How I have failed in the 
work upon which I entered with so much confidence.  I have thought I would will-
ingly go back and suffer all and more than I have suffered for the last twenty 
years, for the sake in a measure of retrieving my errors, of being a better mother, 
a more faithful Christian.  But I am sure I would rather die now than to commence 
again as ignorant, as passionate, as undisciplined as then to blunder again and 
suffer again as I have done with no better results.
July 5, 1868		Well, my forth-eighth birthday has passed.  Passed as 
usual amid the noise and jubilation of our nation's birthday.  I did not attend the 
celebration preferring to remain at home but we were invited to eat dinner at the 
Methodist dinner table and accepted.  The question occurs where and how will my 
next birthday be spent?  Husband says he has fully decided to leave Owasso.  I 
am oppressed with the thought that I have been in a great measure perhaps in-
strumental in bringing about this decision.  I know I have not been as patient here 
as I should have been.  I know I have not asked with the greatest submission what 
was the Lord's will in the matter.
August 2, 1868		My husband has been absent one week in Ohio.  
I expect him to be absent another week.  I have got along very well without a girl.  
Florie and I have done the work.  We get along very quietly and pleasantly.  Our 
only trouble is the cow, but she has not troubled us much.  A cloud has hung over 
me some of the time of late.  Poor little Allie was supposed to be bitten be a mad 
cat.  While there has not been much probability of hydrophobia there has been a 
dreadful possibility.  How many dangers threaten that poor child.  I expect Lottie 
home this week.  The question has often arisen is it best for her to remain and 
finish her course or stay at home?  She is away so much.
Sept. 27, 1868		I cannot realize that so much time has elapsed 
since I last wrote.  Since then Lottie has been home to make a visit and has re-
turned.  The dear girl, how closely I watched to note what changes time had 
wrought in one year.  The year has passed pleasantly and profitably and yet with 
her life is working its changes.  The wild gaiety of girlhood is sobered slightly and 
a trace of care sometimes lingers upon the expression of her happy countenance.  
Yes, care has come to her.  Within the past few months she has been called to 
decide for herself the question which relates to her whole after life.  How can one 
so young and inexperienced decide for herself the question so momentous?  
Heaven guide her to the right.  The money question, too, occurs.  Shall she re-
main during the winter and attend to music?  Ah, the expense.
I have visited my poor old mother once more.  How strangely has providence 
dealt with her.  Far away to the west she is spending the remnant of her days.  My 
husband, too, feels the pressure of care.  Ah, could he have realized four years 
ago the trials that awaited him here would he so willingly have left a place where 
he was so much beloved?  I think not.  I, more than anyone else, realize that he is 
changed.  No longer "nothing but a boy" he is compelled to bear the burdens of 
toil and care which he would not recognize as a duty in his younger and better 
days.  Yet how serenely he bears his burdens none but I know.
Oct. 18, 1868		I am called, today, to make a new record in my album.  
My husband closed his labors in Owasso one week ago today.  A new experience 
for him, he has been told that his services were no longer wanted.  After four 
years of self-denying toil for this people during which time we have used our own 
property and he has toiled with his hands towards eking out the meager support 
which they offered him, he is unceremoniously set aside for a more stylish and 
showy man.  The only complaint brought forward is that he is too plain in his man-
ners and dress.  They would have him support himself in elegant style and preach 
splendid sermons for their enjoyment.  It is a consolation to know, however, that 
the great body of the church is indignant at the treatment their minister has re-
ceived and still clings to him with sincere affection.  These are indeed trying times.
Dec. 20, 1868		I see by the date of my last entry that I have not taken 
my journal since my husband left home to try his fortunes in another state.  He left 
nearly two months since.  He is gaining an experience new to him and perhaps it 
is the very discipline which he needs.  I used to wonder at his light-hearted, boyish 
gaiety and think that trouble never came to him.  Then, too, I felt a presentiment 
that at last, or sometime during his probation, sorrow that comes to all would 
overtake him.  Now I wonder that Providence had not sent this discipline in his 
earlier years.  I believe that he needed it in order to prepare him for highest use-
fulness.  He has erred in many things and mistaken an easy temperament and 
native kindness of feeling for self denial and Christian forbearance.  Fluency of 
speech and natural eloquence have answered him for severe study and arduous 
mental toil.  These have been his greatest faults as a Christian and a minister.  I 
know God will not deal severely with him for these.
My anxiety is principally for Lottie.  The dear child is toiling in a district school 
again this winter.  She certainly does not share the want of energy or misman-
agement of her parents.  We are getting along comfortably here at home.
April 11, 1869 		My husband returned a few days since.  We 
shall leave this place in a few days.  This place where I have suffered so much, 
where our poor dear Frankie died and her grave was made, where life's discipline 
has been so severe.  Upon what are we about to enter?  All is uncertain.  Hus-
band has been preaching for three months in Carlinville, Ill. and we are to remove 
thence.
Dec. 5, 1869		The autumn has passed in the performance of a vari-
ety of labors which leaves me but very little leisure for reading or writing.  My 
mother came in October to spend the winter.  I am truly glad to have her with me 
once more.  She talks much of other days and scenes through which she has 
passed and is apparently quite cheerful.  My household cares and labors are quite 
burdensome.  We have, in all, nine in the family including Cousin Charles.  The 
children go to school.  I am anxious about them.  The scholars are so rough and 
many of them vicious.
Jan. 31, 1870		Last week Mr. Patchin started for N.Y. state intending 
to stop in Michigan.  Things are very discouraging as far as the church is con-
cerned.  What the conclusion will be I cannot say.
I have a very good girl in the kitchen now which is a great relief.  The two lit-
tle boys go to school.  Flora and Johnny study at home.  Florie surprised us all by 
reading a poem and having us guess the authorship.  I could hardly believe that 
the really interesting, well-composed poem was from the genius of our little Florie, 
but so it was.
The school house where Lottie teaches (in Carlinville) has given cause for 
apprehension of late that it may fall down over the heads of the children and 
teachers.  I have had a great deal of anxiety about the matter.  Today there is a 
very high wind which increases the danger.
Feb. 27, 1870		Mr. Troup came here last Thursday to visit Lottie.  He 
is a very quiet, unassuming young man, sensitive and plain looking but he bears 
acquaintance.  Already I feel very much attached to him but the four days of his 
stay here have been a season of great anxiety and a bit of sadness on account of 
the perverse disposition Lottie has manifested towards him.  I cannot sanction her 
proceedings in regard to him, or her deportment towards other gentlemen since 
her return from Oberlin.  Truly a mother's anxieties end only with the grave.
Again our plans are laid to move.  We are to leave Carlinville and go to the 
state of N.Y.  I hope and trust this is from the Lord.  I know that in him we may 
trust that he will direct our path.
April 24, 1870		West Bloomfield, N.Y.  I am in a maze when I try to re-
alize that with my family I am here in this place so far from the scenes of the past 
winter.  What a change in the short period of one month.  I have passed on and 
left behind me scenes and friends that were dear to me for a far different home 
and a land of strangers.  What a strange life I am leading.  Yet I would not com-
plain.  I have found kind friends here and a comfortable home.  I believe my great 
desire now is to try to do all I can for this people while I may be permitted to re-
main.  Inwardly my life is not much changed.  There is the same struggle with my 
own nature.  The same difficulty in managing the children.  The weariness of la-
bor, the inefficiency in accomplishing what is needful to be done, the same anxiety 
for the future and anxiety for the children.  I am becoming acquainted quite fast.
June 12, 1870		This has been a day of my usual Sabbath experiences.  
Experiences which I review with regret.  I arise early, prepare my toilet, get ready 
for work.  Florie comes down and asks me about the breakfast.  I give directions.  
She probably makes some remonstrance and prefers some other way.  The boys 
come down, John with his best clothes on, which I tell him he must take off and 
wear his poorer suit after breakfast.  The little boys as wild as colts commence 
their Sabbath day career refusing to comb their hair; hunting for shoes and stock-
ings; will not learn their Sabbath School lesson; are perverse and unmanageable 
until I lose my patience.  John does not want to go after the milk.  Thinks Will 
might go.  I then get them ready for church and find to my regret that I have failed 
in getting every thing ready beforehand.  Thus Satan takes advantage of me.  I 
sometimes feel that I am in circumstances for which I have no fitness.  I think I 
cannot rise equal to the occasion.  Thus my Sabbath privileges are marred.  Thus 
I go lamenting my low state.
July 24, 1870		Amid labors, cares and many anxieties my fiftieth birth-
day has passed.  It was a quiet Fourth here in the country.  The boys sounded 
forth their patriotism with many firecrackers and much noise.  I worked as usual 
with my hands and pondered many things in my heart.  This week with Lottie I 
think of visiting Oberlin once more.
August 14, 1870		I returned from Oberlin one week ago yesterday.  
I had a delightful time such as I never expect to enjoy again this side of the river.  I 
saw more of my class than I ever expected to see again but missed some of the 
old remembered faces.  How can I realize that I am so far along in life?
Dec. 18, 1870		Husband and four of the children are at church this 
evening.  I am alone with little Allie, a gentle, quiet little boy when alone.  In mind 
and disposition he most of any of the children, resembles the dear girl whom the 
Lord took to himself so long ago.  Well, time hastens.  The close of another year 
has almost come.  I am growing old.  My husband is past fifty.  Lottie is maturing 
fast and almost 23.  I have felt of late a great deal of anxiety on her account.  She 
has acted, it seems to me, unwisely in an affair that concerns all her future life.  
Will she not regret her act? But I am trying to commit her unreservedly to her 
Heavenly Father's keeping, trusting that he will prepare her through trials if need 
be for the work he has for her to do in life.  At present I am keeping a girl and try-
ing to do some sewing.
March 12, 1871		This morning, it being stormy, I excused myself 
from attending church.  After the usual confusion of getting the children ready and 
marshaled in order, I had the satisfaction of standing in the door a moment and 
seeing them all walking to church.  A feeling of relief came over me and the 
thought that it was worth all that it has cost brightened my spirit.  I entered the si-
lent house, took a small Bible, opened it carelessly, my mind still occupied with my 
cares, when my eyes rested on the passage in Isaiah 54:11, "O, thou afflicted, 
tossed with tempest and not comforted, behold, I will lay thy stones with fair colors 
and lay thy foundations with sapphires." I read on to the conclusion of the chapter.  
Those glorious promises seemed to meet every want and anxiety of my soul.  The 
thought that the Heavenly Father knows and provides for all my wants and pities 
my sorrows brought tears to my eyes.  O! yes, God is my friend.  I only need to 
trust in him.
April 28, 1871		Time flies, bringing anxieties and blessings.  I am 
thankful for the continued health of my family, the comforts of life, continued confi-
dence and respect of acquaintances, and hope in God.  Lottie will finish her musi-
cal course in the New York Conservatory of Music this summer and then I sup-
pose she will leave us for the west.  There is an effort made to get her in Carlin-
ville again.  I certainly regret that we were so unwise as to come to West 
Bloomfield if it must be the means of separating from our children.  May God guide 
them.
June 11, 1871		As usual I have excused myself from going to church 
Sabbath eve.  I am thus reminded of the fact which I often wonder at, that I am 
changed, greatly changed in some respects since the days that are past.  How 
impatient I once was at being compelled to remain at home to care for the baby.  I 
wonder now why I could not have anticipated the time when baby would need my 
care no longer, when society would have no charms.  Well, let the past go.  My 
time is very much occupied.  Poverty and toil which I hoped I was escaping when 
we fled to this untried country pursue me still.  I see now how vain and unwise was 
the move.  I have a great deal of anxiety about Lottie, the dear child for whom I 
have done so much.  Already she has begun to regret the past.  I pray that she 
may yet be wise and redeem the time.  The boys are growing up.  I have been 
writing to my dear mother.  Poor old lady.
Oct. 1, 1871		Since the last entry in my journal time has brought 
changes.  Another leaf of my experience has been turned.  I am now at home 
without either of my daughters.  The three merry little girls who grew up in my 
home, where are they?  Lottie went to Illinois last July and is now teaching.  I have 
been hardly reconciled.  I miss her so much and I have such anxiety for her.  Her 
position seems so perilous.  I go to her room, look over her papers, her journal 
and letters and weep for her.  She, too, is changing.  She, too, has regrets for her 
past.  Oh, that she might be wise.  Florie is in Ohio attending school.  I trust that 
she is trying to do right.  I have the three boys with me.  I realize that they will 
soon be away from under my influence.  I try to do my duty, but I feel my weak-
ness.  They are so different from the girls.
Jan. 1, 1872		"Time is winging us away."  On this New Years evening 
I am alone.  The boys, after playing until a few minutes ago, have gone to the 
neighbors to eat molasses candy.  Husband has gone out to attend a wedding.  
Often during today and yesterday have I thought of this old journal.  I must make 
one more record of the time that is flying so swiftly.  Lottie, in the abundance of 
her love and from her small means and her hard earnings, has made expensive 
presents to all of us.  How much I miss the dear girl from my home.  Florie is doing 
nicely in her studies but I sometimes regret having sent her where she is.  She 
has a good deal of trouble in the matter of dress.  Upon the whole her expense is 
considerable and the influence over her, I fear, is not good.  I shall try to get her 
home in the spring.  I had a Christmas present of ten dollars from my kind brother 
Eleazer.  The thought that there are those in the world to whom I am dear is a 
great comfort to me, a light that has followed me on from life's radiant morning.
Feb. 18, 1872		My poor old journal.  Once more I have brought thee 
forth from thy long retirement to trace a few lines, a brief record of my passing life.  
Soon thou wilt be cast aside as rubbish.  These poor records will sink into oblivion 
as will the imperfect life herein commemorated. (Little did she realize that nearly 
one hundred years later a granddaughter would be copying these lines and 
handing them down to her great- and great-great grandchildren.)
I feel that I have much to be thankful for.  My children, although absent, have 
thus far been well and saved from any special misfortune.  At home I have been 
comfortably provided for.  All have been well so far.  Since the first week in Jan. 
we have been enjoying an uninterrupted series of meetings, attended, as we 
think, with some blessed results.  My dear husband has labored as I never knew 
him to labor before.  He has been blessed himself and rejoices in the Divine favor 
which has permitted him to be useful.
July 14, 1872		My family are all at church this eve leaving me a most 
welcome season of solitude.  I am enjoying on the whole a prosperous summer.  
Lottie is with us at present.  I so much enjoy her being with us, but she expects to 
return to the west, where she is engaged to teach music and art in the Illinois In-
dustrial University (later the University of Illinois).  She is the first lady teacher and 
the first music teacher of that institution.  It is hard that I cannot have her with me.  
Florie, too, is with us.  I believe I am thankful for health in my family.
This afternoon a poor drunken blacksmith of the neighborhood came to bor-
row our carriage.  Mr. P. has frequently said that he would not lend that article 
again, but he seemed to be utterly incapable of saying no, poor man.  He hesi-
tated, struggled a little and said yes.  I felt indignant at my poor good natured hus-
band, expressed my mind but that seems to be all that I am able to do.  I talk and 
reproach but do nothing.  There is one of the family I am happy to say has deci-
sion and energy.  Lottie started up, put on her hat, took her parasol, went to the 
man, told him he could not have the buggie.  How came we to have such a child?
This is Willie's birthday.
December 8, 1872   This is my husband's birthday.  This eve I stopped a 
moment to consider whether it is fifty one or fifty two years that we have num-
bered.  I can hardly realize that time has borne us on so far, but the date of our 
birth, 1820, decides the question.  Lottie, dear child, sends us cheerful accounts of 
herself.  She is bravely toiling at her work, making her own way in life.  But youth 
is slipping away from her.  I can only pray God keep and guide her.  Keep and 
guide us all.  The family are all at church this eve except Willie.  Dear boy, how 
quiet and gentle he is when alone.
July 4, 1873		My old, old journal.  I have brought thee out once more 
to record my birthday.  My 52nd year is past.  What can I say in retrospect? One 
more year completed.  Life has glided smoothly.  I hope I am thankful to record 
that nothing serious has befallen any of us and on this birthday my children are all 
with me, as they were one year ago.  Lottie returned from her labors west last 
month.  She is expecting a young gentleman whose acquaintance she formed 
west to visit her.  Florence is improving.  I know that she tries to rule her temper 
and she is happier and wiser than I had feared for her.  As for me, I am trying to 
be content, trying to realize that I am a pilgrim and a stranger.  That my life on 
earth will soon be over.
January 10, 1874		Again I have sought my old journal, the silent 
friend to whom I confide my inmost thoughts.  It has come at last, the message I 
have been dreading.  Last eve a letter from Brother simply and briefly stated, 
"When you hear from me again our dear good mother will have left us." She was 
lying very low and unconscious.  She had been taken with one of the spells to 
which she has been subject and now in all probability this one friend of my whole 
life, the loving, much enduring mother, is sleeping her last dreamless sleep.  Poor 
Mother, what a life of trials was yours, afflictions and sorrows even to the end.  
God, I thank thee for the assurance that for her all trials are passed, that joy in-
terminable now is her recompense for a life of eighty years of sorrow and disci-
pline.
I had been taken up so much with Lottie's affairs that I excused myself from 
going to my poor mother.  Poor Lottie, too, has trouble.  She was to have been 
married on Christmas and was very happy in her prospects but has been disap-
pointed in her dearest hopes.  He who had sought her love and promised to be 
hers through life proved unfaithful and left her a few weeks before the wedding 
was to have taken place.  I have not allowed myself to be cast down by this trial in 
which I sympathize so deeply.  I can leave my darling child in God's holy keeping.
Feb. 22, 1874		What can I say of the winter now drawing to a close? 
Not much, although it has been a winter long to be remembered.
My daughter was to have been married on Christmas.  The brief, bright 
summer had passed all too quickly for her.  Her intended had been here part of 
the summer and had gone.  Lottie was to have gone the week afterward.  She did 
not go quite so early.  She waited about four days.  I parted with her in Rochester.  
She was hopeful and happy.  Her letters came duly after reaching her destination, 
but her spirit seemed troubled.  As the weeks passed I waited anxiously for some 
directions respecting the wedding.  I felt that something was wrong between her 
and her intended.  At last an explanation came.  My fears were realized.  A cloud 
had settled down upon the prospects so bright when she left home.  I will not ex-
plain here the particulars of my daughter's disappointment.  The winter has 
passed.  She is still toiling in her profession.  We have had no wedding and have 
no prospects of any.  I sincerely hope she will never marry Prof. W.  She is bear-
ing her sorrow bravely.  Only for the humiliating attitude in which it placed her be-
fore the world, I think she would care but little.  Her father and I have felt that God 
was meting out to her as she had meted to another, and hope that His discipline is 
leading her into the way of righteousness.
On Jan. 7th my poor old mother was removed from the scenes of time.  How 
much my thought is busy with her past life.
July 5, 1874		Four months since my last entry in this poor old journal.  
Yesterday was my 54th birthday.  It has passed quietly.  I could not bring my mind 
to write yesterday nor today until evening.  I have declined to go to the monthly 
concert and took my journal instead.  I have been lonely this summer.  Lottie has 
decided not to come home which is a sore disappointment.  Florie has not been 
home as yet.  My poor mother's last letter came to me months ago.  I miss the 
kind, loving words from that aged hand more than I had thought I should.  I am 
becoming more and more anxious about my dear boys.  How will they be edu-
cated?  What will they be?  Willie is working out on a farm among rough and 
Godless people.  He dislikes so much to study.  Johnny, too, is working hard, but 
improving his spare time reading and studying.
Sept. 6, 1874		The 54th summer of my life has departed and what is 
the record?  Lottie finally came home for her annual vacation.  I think of her as she 
was one year ago and the change that has come to her hopes and prospects.  I 
think of the contrast.  Her dream of marriage and domestic life has vanished.  Has 
the romance of her youth all fled?  I rejoice that she still seems happy with a 
chastened and unselfish happiness and I am sure God is dealing with her in 
mercy.  She will return to Ill. next week.  Johnny is going with her.  Thus my family 
is scattering and leaving me.  Florie has spent her vacation and returned.  Oh, that 
I could realize that I am soon to be left by all my children and that I knew how to 
make their remaining time at home pleasant and profitable.  I would do all in my 
power for my dear children but I have so little wisdom and grace.
Dec. 20, 1874		The year is nearly gone, a year so silent and unevent-
ful in its happenings that I have floated on with the tide of life scarcely thinking to 
note its progress.  We have continued in health, for which I hope I am thankful.  
My husband preaches to the quiet, good people who require so little of him or of 
me.  We gradually change.  He grows more and more fleshy.  His sermons are 
very much the same.  Our people meet on Sabbath, listen to his sermons re-
spectfully, go away, busy themselves with their quiet pursuits, give regularly to 
their usual objects of benevolence, gradually grow old and one after another is 
gathered to his fathers.
Hiram Taft passed away this last year, his wife the year before.  Josiah Taft 
is apparently near his end.  The church is gradually diminishing and giving way to 
the Catholics.
As for me, I feel that I am growing old.  The shadows are lengthening along 
my pathway as the evening of life draws nigh.  My mind seems busy as ever, but, 
oh how changed its manner of action.  I no longer am planning for the future of 
this life or interesting myself in society about me.  My desire is, not to form new 
friends, but to think of the friends of other years.  More especially, however, is 
thought busy with my early married life.  How often I think of the little daughters 
who came one after another to claim a mother's love and care and who have 
grown up and left me, separated from me and from each other.  One in her early 
grave, another out in the world, toiling for her subsistence, bearing a woman's 
burdens and sorrows, the third preparing to act her part in life.
How precious now seem those privileges and responsibilities against which I 
murmured and so lightly treated.  I sometimes feel that I must go back and do that 
work over which I performed so badly.  But, would I do any better? Perhaps not, 
even with all my past experience.  Well!  Eternity is before us.  Shall we rectify the 
mistakes of time?
Last winter my three boys were at home.  Now John is away at school with 
Lottie.  I have great anxiety for Willie.  He is wild, passionate and reckless, very 
backward as a scholar, disinclined to anything like discipline.  I know I have not 
done my duty by him.
Jan. 10, 1875		Christmas and New Year holidays have come and 
gone.  Flora has been home and spent her vacation and returned to school.  Life 
is going on with us as usual.  Lottie writes that her health continues good, but she 
is getting discontented.  She has been very anxious that I should visit her at the 
university, but I think I will have to give it up for this year.  May the dear girl be 
prospered though evil befall her.  I know not how I could bear it.
John seems to like his school very much.  Thinks he would like to remain 
and pursue a course if he only had funds.  I shall do all I can to give him an op-
portunity.
Arthur and Bird Wakeley visited us during the vacation.  It seems very 
strange to receive a visit from my brother's sons.  They are very well behaved, 
gentlemanly boys.
We had a kind of social and donation visit during the holidays which we en-
joyed very much, but did not receive much pecuniarily.
Josiah Taft died last week.  Mr. Wells died yesterday.  Deaths have been 
very frequent of late.  Men, heads of families, have been taken away during the 
fall and winter.  We are reminded that our turn may come soon.
July 4, 1875		I have had quite a search for this old journal which I 
have not taken up for so long a time.  The thought occurred to me that it will some 
day, perhaps not far distant, be thrown aside with the rubbish of the past.  Some 
thrifty housekeeper, perhaps it may be my own searching and regulating Florence, 
or if not, someone else, will one day consign the poor dilapidated old scrawl to 
oblivion and the only record I have made of my obscure life so that my children in 
time to come may get some glimpse into the inner life of the mother who has 
passed away, will be as though it had never been.
This is my fifty-fifth birthday.  Yesterday the day was publicly celebrated.  
Our ladies got up a dinner and festival and although the celebration was very suc-
cessful it was to me a day of regret and humiliation.  Regret that my life has not 
amounted to more and humiliation perhaps at the insignificant figure I make and 
the small part I take in the affairs of this people.  Well, I have made up my mind to 
ignore pride and accept reproach and contempt as my portion.  Yet the eager, 
ambitious spirit of my youth will some time assert itself.  The least smouldering 
spark of that fitful fire will some time light up the somber character of my present 
uneventful life.
My family is all gathered under the paternal roof this summer, perhaps for 
the last time.  Who knows?  Lottie is making for herself a name and position in life.  
I feel what I cannot express, that she is drifting farther and farther from her 
mother, and so with them all.
I have been looking over this diary and must acknowledge that although the 
records are true they are but a hasty glimpse of my life.  Along side of and under-
lying each record there is another in my mind of fretful words, impatient temper, 
and unfaithful, neglectful performance of duties which were distasteful.  But let us 
forebear.  The record is made.
Dec. 19, 1875		I have thought I would improve this Sabbath morn in 
writing in my diary although my inclination would have me take my book and 
spend the time reading.  I excused myself from attending church this morning on 
account of the very severe weather and I am here alone, a privilege I very much 
enjoy.  I know I attend church on account of the example and influence which I am 
responsible for and not for any benefit to myself.
During the past week we took into our family a poor girl to work for her board 
and go to school.  She comes to us a stranger; said she was an orphan and poor 
and decided to get an education.  I hope we were led by Providence in taking her 
into our family.  She seems to be a girl of good natural abilities, good health and 
spirits, but uncultivated and deficient in many respects.
We are very comfortable this winter.  I still think we ought to be where we 
could give the children better advantages, but time is passing and I must mourn 
my weakness in consenting to come here and bring them.  The course their father 
pursues with them seems to be to give them the reins and interfere with them as 
little as possible.  He hopes they will yet be Christians.  Lottie has just had a con-
cert which was a great success.  Florie will be home to spend the holidays.
Jan. 30, 1876		Thus time passes.  Florence finished her course of 
study and returned last week.  I am very glad to have her at home but she will so 
soon leave to commence her career of teaching.  I presume it will be with her a life 
long vocation.  I am thankful that she has achieved her course of study so suc-
cessfully.
April 23, 1876		I can scarcely believe that more than two months have 
passed since I made the last record in this book.  Time passes quietly but a 
change has come in our prospects.  My husband has decided to leave West 
Bloomfield and go to Chardon in Ohio.  The people here learned the decision with 
deep regret and earnest expostulation.  We had no idea they were so much at-
tached to their minister or would hold on to him so firmly.  They are such a quiet 
people and seemed so indifferent.  I had not been much in favor of leaving and 
have been very much inclined to refuse to go, but did not like to take the respon-
sibility.  It may be best.
Lottie's 28th birthday has passed.  She has her own trials, one of which has 
been the marriage of that great Prof.  Well, I believe God will not permit him to es-
cape his judgment for the grief he has caused one who trusted him.  I expect Lot-
tie home soon.  May Heaven reward her for all her kindness to her family and 
guide her in the right way.  Florie is teaching.
August 19, 1879		Coe Ridge, Ohio.  I do not know why I am less 
disposed to write about the great events of my life than of the everyday trials and 
ordinary reflections.
On the sixth day of this month Lottie, my dear eldest daughter, my helper 
and advisor through all the years of her life, was united in marriage to Levi Francis 
Bickford, in Oberlin.  Mr. P. performed the ceremony.  Do I regret it?  I have en-
couraged it.  I have in past years wished she might be happily married.  But now I 
realize the sad part of the change.  The giving up of the freedom and privileges of 
her single life.  The loss to myself and family of a part of her love and efforts which 
have meant so much to me.  I seem to live over again the trials of my own married 
life step by step and fear that she is treading the same path.  My brave, cheerful 
helper, Lottie.  How can I see her worn with toil, burdened with labors which she 
has not strength to meet and has no taste or love for, while she must perhaps turn 
aside from the pursuits for which she is so eminently fitted.  I would save her from 
my mistakes.  I would spare her from the effects of my example.
Florie is still at home but must leave soon.  It would be a comfort if she could 
remain.  John, I hope, will stay this winter.  The other boys are here.
July 4, 1880		Once more I have sought and taken my old, old diary 
for another birthday record.  My sixtieth birthday finds me again in Grass Lake.  
How different has been my life from what I anticipated when I left here 27 years 
ago.  How could I think that our removal from here was a foolish, senseless be-
ginning of a series of removals and changes that would bring us around here 
again?  Well, here I am, I may say, a sadder and wiser woman..
What a record has been mine, of mistakes, of sins, of humiliations and of 
sorrows.  A record no one would want to read.  Some years ago I made up my 
mind to accept reproach and humiliation as my portion.  I did not realize that I was 
writing a prophecy which during the next five years would be realized, but so it 
was.  Some dark chapters of my experience I shall not record.  Heretofore there 
has been nothing that I was not willing that the world should read and know.  
Great has been my anxiety for my younger children.
Well, the Lord has been good to me.  Blessed be His name.  I have still a 
hope of Heaven.  I am still enjoying many blessings, and am not without hope for 
my children, although they are scattered and beyond my reach.  Not one of them 
has been at home this birthday.  Well, old age is certainly upon me.  The world is 
almost passed with me.  Eternity is just before.  O lord, in thee is all my trust.
Jan. 30, 1883		I arose this morning at 7 o'clock.  Mr. P. had already 
built the fire.  I kneaded up my bread, got breakfast, did up the work.  Will brought 
in the clothes.  I got dinner at 12:30.  Albert went to Leoni.  I cleaned and straight-
ened the cupboard.  Before my work was finished a call from Miss Marian Updike.  
Finished my work about 3.  I read in the newspapers Joseph Cook's speech and 
finished a novel.  Alone.  Knit some this eve.  Gave Will 25 cts. to practice a piece 
of music which he did with all ease.  Husband went to Jackson this morn to lecture 
on Temperance.  Is absent tonight.  The boys have just retired.
Feb. 1, 1883		Arose this morning at 7.  Got breakfast.  Albert was out 
at a dance.  Did not return until 4.  We let him sleep.  Will was away over night.  
Came back after breakfast.  Attended prayers.  I did my ironing.  Starched and did 
up 4 shirts and a pr. cuffs besides my plain clothes.  Boys helped about dinner.  
Got my work done after 3 P.M.  Was very tired.  Changed my dress, sat down and 
read and dozed until 5.  Prayer meeting this evening.  But few attended.  Since 
meeting have written a letter to John.  The boys were out this eve preparing for 
our church entertainment tomorrow eve.
Feb. 4, 1883		On Thursday night Mr. P. was taken sick.  Has not 
been able to be out since Friday eve.  I was not able to attend the entertainment 
on account of the storm.  I was very disappointed.  Will and Al went and took part.  
About 9½ o’clock Florie came in quite unexpectedly having been delayed several 
hours on her way from Cleveland.  Her health is somewhat improved.  Sunday Mr. 
P. was not able to preach.  Will complains of not being well this eve.  Has gone to 
bed.
Feb. 5, 1883		Arose this morn at 6 and concluded to wash.  The 
weather was extremely cold.  The thermometer 15 or 20 degrees below zero, the 
wind blowing fiercely.  I made the fire in the kitchen and dissolved the soap for 
washing, put the clothes asoak and then proceeded to get breakfast.  Will was not 
well and Mr. P. was not able to rise until after breakfast.  Al was complaining but 
helped me about my wash.  We had to melt snow but got the wash out to the line 
about 10½ A.M.
Feb. 10, 1883		Will was sick all day Tuesday with a cold.  Mr. P. very 
much better.  I baked bread.  We made up a bed in the sitting room at night for the 
boys.  Thursday and Friday were very cold.  The roads are so rough with ice that 
people do not like to be out with their horses.  This morning the boys started for 
Manchester with the troupe "Ten Nights in a Bar Room".  It was finally decided to 
go on the cars.  I received a letter from John yesterday.  He is doing well.  Albert 
thinks of going to Texas with Mr. Parsons to care for sheep.  I favor his going.
Feb. 11, 1883 		Today we have had our regular Sabbath services.  Mr. 
P. preached in the morn but did not feel able to conduct services this eve, so he 
has staid at home, a very unusual thing for him.  I am suffering with a cold but 
have attended church and led my Bible class.
Albert has decided to go to Texas.  I was in favor of his going but now that I 
think he is really going I have my doubts and misgivings and fear I was too hasty 
but I know my boys must go out from home and struggle for a subsistence.  Albert 
has a gay and sunny spirit always cheerful, affectionate and kind.  I wish he might 
have a home.  The boys were not very successful in their expedition to Manches-
ter.
Feb. 14, 1883		Yesterday was a memorable day.  We had had word 
from Mrs. Stewart that she would call upon us some day.  Tuesday morning was 
so pleasant I thought she might come, but did not hurry my work or make any 
preparations.  I got my kitchen work done and as I was not feeling very well I sat 
down to rest not having made my bed or changed my dress.  I then lopped down 
upon the lounge when presently someone rushed up the steps and gave the bell a 
powerful ring.  I started up.  Florie opened the door.  Someone inquired if we were 
at home.  Alarmed I looked out.  What an amazing spectacle!  There were people 
in sleighs, people on foot, people coming up the walk and were even at the door.  
Men, women, and children.  I grasped the truth at once.  Michigan Center folks 
were taking us by surprise.  I rushed to my bedroom.  Florie was there asking 
what she should do.  I said “Spread up my bed!”  I went back to meet the laugh-
ing, chattering throng, one and another speaking to me with their hands load ed 
with provisions.  I felt helpless and speechless.  Mr. P. then appeared upon the 
scene and helped things along.  I finally had sense to send them into my bedroom 
and some of them into the parlor and still they came until some 50 or more were 
here.  We finally had a gay time and something of a donation.  They prepared a 
bountiful dinner and left about 4.
Feb. 21, 1883		Albert started for Texas this morning, carrying his 
heavy satchel in his hand, for a long journey to an unknown land and untried 
scenes.  May Heaven protect the dear boy.
March 27, 1883		I see that more than a month has elapsed since 
I wrote in this diary.  Well, let me try to recall the leading events of the month.  The 
weather has been very cold most of the time.  My usual round of duties has occu-
pied my time.  We have heard from Albert.  He got through safely but finds his 
situation and business rather unpleasant.  Has sent home for his best clothes.
John came home about the 20th.  Spent a few days and has gone on his 
expedition of canvassing for books.  How he dreaded to go.  His health is not very 
good and his anxiety for success wears upon him.  But he had decided to under-
take the business and there seemed nothing left for us but to furnish him the 
needed funds and bid him God speed, assuring him that his home would be ready 
to receive him should he fail.  I fear for his health and can only pray that he may 
learn to trust in Providence and live a useful life.
June 17, 1883		How much I have missed by so long neglecting my di-
ary.  Can I take up the broken thread?  In April I attended a meeting in Grand 
Rapids and visited friends there.  On receiving the greetings of my family upon my 
return, the boarder, a young gentleman who had been with us about two weeks 
and whom I left when I went away, came forward with extended hand and greeted 
me cordially.  Evidently he was feeling very much at home and very happy here.  I 
had seen a growing friendship and much sociability between him and Flora.  He 
came here a stranger and she in the kindness of her heart had with much tact and 
delicacy sought to cheer his loneliness and make him forget that he was among 
strangers and in various ways to help him in his work of a book agent.  How well 
she succeeded the sequel shows.  I suppose that now she thinks she has tested 
the wisdom of the admonition, "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers" and no 
doubt thinks she entertained an angel unaware.  But a few days more had passed 
when she told me she was engaged to that same gentleman, Clarence Hunter.  I 
will not write out the story.  The suddenness of the affair at first troubled me very 
much.  I trembled for my confiding, unsophisticated daughter.  The stranger had 
won all her heart.  Would he leave her to disappointment?  I had not then seen 
God's hand in the affair as I see it now.  That he is a sincere Christian I had be-
lieved before.  I think now their love for Christ mutually expressed drew them to-
gether at first.  My suspicions and fears did not leave me until with a burst of elo-
quence so sincere, so unaffected and pathetic, he implored me to trust him, to ac-
cept him as a son asking for the hand of my dear daughter in consideration of his 
great love for her.  I believe she is very happy and I rejoice for her sake that she 
has been chosen by one who is worthy.
Oct. 7, 1883		This has been a very eventful week.  I attended the 
meeting of the A.B.C.F.M. at Detroit.  Was entertained by my dear friends, Mrs. 
Nutting and Mary Evans.  What a delightful time I enjoyed attending the meetings, 
looking about the beautiful city and visiting, and to finish out the pleasant week an 
old friend and pupil, Mrs. Irland, sought us out and urged us to visit her.  There I 
spent Friday night and Saturday.  Under her escort I visited the art loan, a day to 
be remembered.  But then a sense of duty to my family here, a pressure of work 
for the society impelled me to decline her warm invitation to remain over Sabbath.  
I came home last eve and today have taken up my work once more.  We are to 
have missionary society here this week.  We are making out a box for a mission-
ary, a great labor and responsibility for me.  I met our son-in-law Bickford.  I 
should write that our dear daughter and all her family were here for four weeks this 
summer.  We were all together as a family.  When will that occur again?
Feb. 17, 1884		I feel like writing a few lines this eve.  I am here alone.  
Husband has gone to a union meeting in the town hall.  Florie also went.  Will 
went out and Albert has been away most of the afternoon.  John was at home a 
week ago today.  Thus I have my family at home or near by all winter.  I visited 
Lottie in Pontiac this winter.  I have a great anxiety about my three sons.  John 
finishes his law studies this spring but thinks he must engage in selling books this 
summer to earn some money.  I regret this necessity but think and hope it may be 
for the best.
March 30, 1884		Today we had a review exercise in the S.S.  It 
was a success.  Mr. P. is recovering from his cough.  John came home from Ann 
Arbor having successfully completed his law course.  His health is very good.  He 
is perplexed about deciding his course for the summer.  Whether to accept an of-
fer to remain here or to go out and attempt to sell books.  Albert is at home.  Light 
hearted, gay as usual his prospects seem rather gloomy, poor hardworking, kind 
boy.  I am anxious to do for him but know not how.
Apr. 6, 1884		I arose at six, got breakfast, fried potato and toast, 
picked up the clothes to send to the wash, washed dishes, pared and cut a few 
apples and put them out to dry, made my bed, swept, went upstairs, swept the 
chambers and put things in order.  Mr. P. got dinner, mostly boiled pork and 
vegetables.  After dinner washed six pairs of pants, made watermelon pickles, 
took care of dried apples, washed dishes, swept, dressed, lay down a while, read 
the newspaper, set a bread sponge, got supper, ironed Will's pants, kneaded my 
bread.
April 18, 1884		We have been in a great deal of perplexity on John's 
account.  He was nearly distracted with trying to decide whether to go canvassing 
as he had intended or to settle here.  It ended with Father's letting him have $180 
to buy out Jenks, a very foolish thing to do and which John now regrets as he is 
keenly disappointed at seeing how useless it all was.
July 13, 1884		Three months have elapsed since writing last.  Since 
then how much has transpired here at home.  Florie's marriage, with all its atten-
dant anxiety, worry and labor.  The visit of Cousins Eliza Van Etten and her 
daughter Ella.  The departing of Florie with her husband to her new home and my 
own experience of living without her.  I had not realized during all her year of 
preparation for her marriage that she was really going to leave me.  It seems so 
strange and leaves me as lonely as though she had gone suddenly.  And all my 
anxiety for the poor child in her new, untried situation with cares and burdens 
which she seemed so unfitted to bear.  I sometimes feel that I ought to have re-
strained her, but it would have been in vain and would have marred the joy she 
had in anticipation.  I can only leave her with the kind Heavenly Father who orders 
all things well.  My dear Lottie was with me with her children during the prepara-
tions and was a great help to us.  She is going to Chautauqua with her family and 
wishes us to go.  Perhaps I shall.  John has done very well with his law practice.  
Al and Will work in the harvest field.
August 23, 1885		More than a year has passed since my last entry 
in this little journal.  I find my aversion to writing increasing.
The past year has been one of important events and experiences in my life's 
journey.  First there were objections to my husband's remaining here another 
year, but the majority prevailed and we have gone on as usual with our church 
work.  Mr. Bickford has broken up at Pontiac and Lottie and the children were with 
us during the winter.  In the spring they went to Lebanon, Mo.  Albert went to Ohio 
the week of Thanksgiving, was married in December and engaged in business.  
We hope he is doing well.  Florie finished her school after teaching a year and 
finished the first year of her married life, happily as I believe.  John still remains at 
home and practices his profession.  William, poor Will, what shall I say for him?  
Last winter he wanted to go to Boston to study.  We finally sent him to Oberlin 
where he spent one term.  He is here camping at the lake, no nearer the solution 
of the problem of how to get a living.  Brother Eleazer and his family visited us last 
fall.
July 4, 1886		This is my 66th birthday.  This morning attended 
church.  It was communion, and as usual taught my Bible class.  We had a good 
attendance.  A part of the text was "I must work the works of him that sent me 
while it is yet day.  The night cometh when no man can work."  This text I will try to 
take for my motto for the year.  With me the night is coming soon.  How fast the 
birthdays come around.  May the Infinite Father have mercy upon each and every 
one of my children and grandchildren.
Jan. 19, 1887		Four weeks ago today our dear Florie came home 
bringing in her arms the dear little baby Johnny that for six months had been the 
joy and pride of her life.  We had never seen the little one and had anticipated the 
visit for a long time with Florie who had not returned home since her marriage 2½ 
years before.  She came alone with the babe.  They had broken up and the hus-
band had gone west to make a new home.  When she reached here worn and 
weary the little one was not well.  The change, the visiting by the way had been 
too much for him and he drooped.  "He will be better now," said the poor mother, 
"this is just the place for him." "You will not leave here this winter," I said.  Alas for 
human love and human hopes.  Four weeks have passed and I am here alone.  I 
had not wisdom to save the little one.  Nine days of pain for him, of distress and 
anxiety for us and he was gone.  He died with the dying year.  His new year was 
with the angels.  Ours was the saddest we had ever known.  I wept for my poor 
stricken Florie thus sadly bereaved.  I wept, too, when I remembered my own de-
parted little Charlie and my angel Frankie.  A few days more and Florie was in-
formed of the sickness of her husband and on the wings of love and anxiety has 
flown to meet him.  Our poor William has gone with her.  They have gone not 
knowing what awaits them in that distant land except privations and hardships.  
Four weeks: this little page contains my brief record but volumes would not ex-
press all we have felt and suffered.  In eternity we will take up again the broken 
threads of this life.
July 4, 1888		My 68th birthday.  I have many blessings to be thankful 
for.  My husband is still with me.  I have a shelter where I may rest in comfort and 
am not denied the common comforts of life.  I have, too, perhaps as much of the 
esteem and friendship of my associates as is commonly recorded to any person of 
my age.  But my 68 years remind me that years with me are almost numbered.  
Then the savings of all our self denials and hard labor have been swept away 
from want of wisdom and good management or by the interposition of Providence.  
Which shall I say?  And now we have not the means to support our selves in our 
old age and should the labor of my husband come to an end, as soon it must, we 
should be dependent.  He thinks there is no way for us but to keep moving about 
going from one poor church to another still poorer, dragging our household goods 
with us, sacrificing more or less each time.  What little I have I am anxious to save 
for my children.  I would gladly deny myself now that I might benefit them.
Jan. 7, 1889		I have thought so much about Will.  He went west with 
Florie because they urged him to go and because there seemed to be nothing for 
him to do at home.  He thought he ought to go and help Florie and Clarence.  We 
furnished him the means to go and get started.  He went with them and took up a 
homestead near them.  While driving Clarence's team his gun went off acciden-
tally and inflicted a wound upon his arm.  He had to go to Lamar and spend two 
months under the Dr.’s care.  We paid the bills, thankful that he escaped with his 
arm and his life.  He then built him a little house.  His Father has sent him money 
to live on.
Feb. 3, 1889 Manchester	July last John was married.  He had broken his 
engagement to one of the noblest and most conscientious of girls and married 
Ruth Watkins, a girl whom he did not well know.  Florie and Will are still in Colo-
rado.  Lottie is in California.  Husband and I are here alone for the present.  We 
realize that we are old, yet we have no home and when our time expires here we 
have no idea where we shall stop next.  But our Heavenly Father knows and that 
is the bright outlook.
Last fall I was summoned to Albert's to witness the sickness, death and bur-
ial of dear little Edna.  This was a sad affliction to us all.  This winter I sent $50 of 
my little store to William that he might come home but he has failed to come.
Feb. 10, 1889		Attended church today.  There was a very good con-
gregation.  John  called this afternoon.  He thought Ruth might want to buy the pi-
ano.  I could not ask more than $100.  Do I want to part with it?  The old pain 
comes over me when I think of parting with that instrument.  It is like parting with 
one of my children.  Indeed it is so associated with my children and with my better 
days I feel I cannot give it up except to one of them.  I expected Florie would have 
it.  Poor girl, she gave up all for her husband.
I have been talking to Husband about going back to Grass Lake.  Here is our 
home.  The winter is fast passing.  Never have I dreaded so much that any winter 
should pass.  Here we are comfortable.  Our physical wants are met.  We have a 
pleasant house, a good coal fire, more than plenty of provisions, very good health 
and no bad news has come to us yet.  Why should I take thought for the morrow?
March 17, 1889		Well, the winter is past.  In review I would 
gratefully acknowledge that we have been comfortably provided for.  Comfort, 
health, plenty and quiet have been ours.  But the thought of my children so scat-
tered from us and from each other, poor in circumstances and bearing burdens 
has caused me many tears.  John and Ruth called this afternoon.  He is still as 
usual troubled as to how he is to get along, taken up with the things of this life.  
Read a word from Bickford in the Advance.  I hope he is happy in his new field.
Sept. 29, 1889 Tipton	Have thought to write a few lines in my journal 
but the question comes up why should I write what is of no interest to anyone but 
myself and will never be read by anyone but myself?  We came to this place last 
May, I might say against my will.  Mr. P. had become dissatisfied with Manchester.  
We did not think they would invite him to remain and when at the end of the year 
they voted to request him to stay I preferred to do so, as the thought of moving 
into a new parish was terrible to me, but being invited he came to spend a Sab-
bath and engaged to move here without consulting me.  So here we have been 
the past six months.  I have tried to be cheerful about it and do my duty.  The time 
is soon coming when this work will be done.  I would have preferred to go to Grass 
Lake among friends or to California and settle near Lottie, hoping to get Flora and 
Will there in time.  I think I might be contented here if I could see my children 
sometimes.  I have been in great anxiety about them.  Flora writes that Clarence 
has been sick.  She thought of going to another region on account of his health.  I 
fear they have gone.  It would be a foolish errand.  Will says his crops are drying 
up with the drouth and went to the mountains with another fellow to cut wood.
I have talked and thought so much of going to California.  It has been the 
hope that has sustained me but I think I cannot leave my husband here alone.  It 
seems certain I shall not go this winter.
Dec. 15, 1889		Notwithstanding all my desire and determination to go 
west this fall I am still here in Tipton, restrained, I suppose, from carrying out my 
intentions by a Higher Power.  It now appears very fortunate that I did not go for 
Mr. P. has been sick.  He has had an unusual experience.  For six weeks he has 
been coughing from the result of an epidemic cold.  The cough at first was terrible.  
He was, after two weeks, obliged to give up all work and for three Sabbaths did 
not go into the pulpit.  Today he preached a beautiful sermon but with some diffi-
culty, upon sickness.  His sickness has made my work harder.  My experience 
here has been very strange.  I am isolated, cut off from all my former life.  I feel 
that I have reached almost the end of my life's journey.  My life work is done.  
Perhaps I was placed in this lonely, isolated position that I may have opportunity 
to reflect upon my past.  O, what a failure my life appears as viewed from this 
standpoint.  I feel that my days of usefulness are past.  I am here merely to help 
my husband and not because there is anything here inviting for me.  I am looking 
forward to the time when I must break up and leave here.
Dec. 17, 1889		I have had a peculiar experience today, an attack of 
spitting blood which was quite alarming.  During the first two or four weeks of Mr. 
P.'s sickness I worked beyond my strength, bringing in wood and tending the sit-
ting room fires and bringing water from the cistern.  During that time I was taken  
with a cough and hoarseness.  Today I worked all the forenoon.  After dinner I sat 
down to write a few lines to Will when I commenced spitting blood.  This afternoon 
have remained quiet.  Did not call the Dr.
Dec. 22, 1889		The unfavorable symptoms I last recorded have 
passed away and except for a cough I am in my usual health.  I fear yet for Mr. 
Patchin.  He still coughs badly.  He preached today but his cough troubled him 
and troubled some of the leading members of the church.  I hardly know how to 
advise him.  It seems as though he must stop preaching until he recovers from his 
cough.  I wish we might go away a while and try a change of air.  But I suppose he 
will not think he could leave home.  O, for wisdom to guide in this emergency.  It is 
hard for him to leave this field where he has just commenced work.  It is still 
harder to think he may be laid aside entirely.  It is very sad for me to think his 
splendid voice is failing.  Every thing pertaining to my life seems broken up and 
scattered.  We have no home except this parsonage which we must leave if Mr. 
P.'s health fails.  My children are scattered.  I do not know that we could find ref-
uge with any of them.
Jan. 1, 1890		This is the beginning of another year.  My 70th.  Albert 
and his wife and little boy have been here since Friday.  I urged him to come as 
he is not keeping house and has no regular business.  I thought he could come 
and the opportunity may occur again.  I have made each a present of $5.  Well, all 
I have is for my children.  I shall not need anything much longer.  I have not felt 
well during this week.  Last Sabbath I took Mr. P.'s Bible class in his absence.  It 
was very large.  My experience with it was such I feel that my time for usefulness 
is over.  I never want to teach again.  I feel that I am released.  Pride or vanity or 
whatever my besetting sin may have been is effectually put down.  Mr. P. is gain-
ing.
Jan. 20, 1890		Albert and Alice and their dear little boy have been with 
us 4 weeks.  They return to Ohio this week.  I have been very glad to have them 
here and hope it has been some benefit to them.  Albert is very pleasant in his 
ways, very quiet and reads almost constantly.  I tell him he is making up for lost 
time as he has very little time or chance to read anything when at home.  He 
seems happy.  His wife is a great worker.  Never reads anything.  I hope they will 
get along well.
Sad reports come to us of the poverty and hardships of Flora and Clarence.  
Will is cutting wood in the mountains.  His claim is given up and all his hard work 
and our expenses are lost.  John is in poor health.
March 9, 1890		One week ago today I was in Manchester.  I had 
not seen John since Nov. and as I knew his health had been poor all winter I had 
been anxious to see him.  I went on the cars.  He met me at the depot and took 
me to his home in the hack.  He is in poor health, catarrh has troubled him all 
winter, a cough, nervousness, weakness and lately violent headaches.  I felt very 
sad on his account.  They have a lovely babe.  I must try to leave them all and all 
my other children with their Heavenly Father.  He will never leave or forsake them.
May 25, 1890		Many and varied have been my experiences since last 
I wrote.  John has broken up in Manchester.  His goods are stored to be taken 
away.  His wife and babe are at her father's.  He came home to make us a last 
visit.  Was with us about three weeks.  He talked with us freely of his troubles.  O, 
if I only had the wisdom to advise him.  The only light of hope I have for him is that 
God is leading him, that sorrow will yet work for his good and lead him to a better 
life.
A letter from Flora tells me that she has persuaded Clarence to bring his cat-
tle up to Colorado Springs.  It must be a great deal of trouble.  When will their sky 
brighten?  When will they find a home where they can rest?
July 6, 1890		I am sitting here alone this Sabbath afternoon.  My 
70th birthday passed the 4th of this month.  What my sentiments are or might be I 
will not attempt to describe.  My life work is done.  This world has but little more to 
offer me.  Nothing remains but my children and where are they?  Lottie toiling as 
pastor's wife and struggling to the utmost to care for her children.  Florie with her 
husband and little one and their few cattle their only possessions, mourning for the 
little one that fell by the way as they journeyed west, is striving for a bare subsis-
tence as a pioneer in Colorado.  John, restless and borne down with sorrow and 
broken health, without the strength and support of the Christian, has a very hope-
less and gloomy outlook.  William, my poor unfortunate William, with so many 
bright and winning ways, so many natural gifts that avail him nothing, is chopping 
wood in the mountains of Colorado.  Albert with his little family in Ohio kind, gen-
erous and genial.  Such is my family, now all scattered and gone.  Such are my 
reflections on completing my three score and ten years.
Nov. 2, 1890		My husband has not returned from his afternoon ap-
pointment although it is after six and very dark and he has an appointment for this 
evening.  We have been visiting old friends and places.  We went to Saline in re-
sponse to an invitation from our old friends Mr. and Mrs. Isabel, to spend the Sab-
bath there.  Left here in the morning and took dinner there although the roads 
were rather bad.  We went to Ann Arbor Monday, visited old Mrs. Sheldon, spent 
one night and then went to Lodi over the old road once so familiar.  I tried to rec-
ognize the places along the way.  Not many of them seemed familiar.  The scen-
ery had mostly faded from my mind until we reached the stately mansion of poor 
Jacob Hicks.  I thought of his parents, once our faithful friends, long since gone, 
and the sad history of their beautiful home.  Next was the old Jacobus place and 
the Barns house where we spent three years of our best days and where our little 
Charley was born and died.  The beginning of my sorrows.  But Lodi is so 
changed.  Nearly all of our old friends are gone.  It is full of sad memories for me, 
and saddest of all is the old parsonage that was built for us.  Now a gloomy look-
ing place.  After spending a couple of days there we wended our way back.
I had made up my mind to try to go to California this fall but all of a sudden 
word came from Lottie that they were going to Texas to stay.  Brownwood, Texas.  
This was a sad disappointment for the time being but I suppose it was a happy 
thing for them and I must be reconciled.  Florie's prospects seem to be brighten-
ing.  She has a school to teach and Clarence's health is better.
Jan. 4, 1891		Thus the years go on.  How swiftly, and how little I ac-
complish.  William is with us.  He came quickly in response to the $50 we sent 
him.  After 4 years of absence, bearing the marks of time and of privation, I am 
thankful for his safety.  After all his dangers and narrow escape I acknowledge the 
providential care of my Heavenly Father.
Albert was here and made us a visit.  We are very much exercised upon the 
question of deciding where our home shall be after leaving here.  Not that exactly, 
but we are obliged to decide now whether we shall buy a place in Olmsted or not.  
For a year past we have expected Mr. P. would be wanted as pastor in that 
church and Albert and his wife were very desirous we should get the place and 
they live with us.  Indeed the poor children have quite set their hearts upon it and 
now it is hard to disappoint them.  On the other hand John is desirous we should 
go to his town upon Lake Michigan and there seem to be flattering inducements to 
get property there.  But it would take us away from all our old friends and associ-
ates.  We are praying earnestly for guidance.
April 9, 1891		Time moves on with its changes and developments.  
Since I last wrote, the place in Olmsted that has been the occasion of so much 
thought and planning has been bought and paid for according to agreement.  
Nothing happened to prevent the plan from being carried out.  At the last day al-
most we received $500 from Bickford which he had thought he could not get and 
we had expected to complete the bargain without it.  Then Mr. P. went to Cleve-
land last week and met Mr. Foster by agreement at lawyer Ingersol's office.  All 
was completed greatly to the satisfaction of Mr. F., the seller, and of Albert and his 
wife.  The thought that we have made our children happy is quite a pleasure to us.  
Only we have to think of some of the others whom we would be glad to help and 
whom we hardly expect ever to see.  But since the matter of the place is settled I 
have given up my anxiety and accept the situation hopefully.  Still poverty stares 
us in the face.  We have been obliged to come down on the rent of our place in 
Grass Lake and the church has cut down the salary to almost nothing.
July 4, 1891		This is my 71st birthday.  I have spent the day thus far 
alone with my husband in this lonely place.  We are here alone.  "Far from the 
madding crowd."  The world has but little use for us now.  I am no longer in the 
midst of things, but looking idly on while the world rushes on with its business, its 
cares, its joys and its sorrows.  My children have all left me and are struggling for 
themselves beyond my power to aid them.  I think of my misspent life, of my lost 
opportunities and wonder if it might have been better.  Why have I never realized 
the dreams of my youth?  The dream that I might win a name among the intellec-
tual, the gifted, the honored ones of earth.  I had the opportunity.  I was entrusted 
with some gifts that might have been used for noble ends.  Alas, it might have 
been!
Marriage changes a woman's life.  At the age of 26 at the end of my college 
course, when I had prepared myself for the profession of a teacher or a literary 
career, I met my fate.  I married a fellow student as ignorant of the world, as poor, 
as impractical, and unversed in the duties of married life as myself.  I have seri-
ously questioned, was I in the way of duty?  Did I change my state from right mo-
tives?  I fear not.  I was not attracted to him nor was he attracted to me.  He 
thought he must marry someone educated, religious, plain, and the lot fell upon 
me.  I thought he was a good young man, capable of making his way in the world, 
a fair scholar and with a talent for oratory that might lead him to distinction.  I was 
ambitious in a way.  But I think I was influenced most by the thought that I might 
regret it if I refused the offer of such a companion and help when I was away from 
home and should find myself alone in the unknown world upon which I was about 
to be launched.  I lacked courage and thus I entered upon the duties of wife, 
housekeeper, and mother for which I was wholly unfitted.  When I look back and 
see how poorly I have discharged the duties of minister's wife, and think of my 
unfortunate children and how poorly I have succeeded with them I think how little I 
have amounted to.  How little my education and natural gifts have been used.  
How my husband has spent his life.  I think I had better not have married.  Better 
to have suffered defeat and disappointment alone than to have brought sorrow 
upon others.  All this I acknowledge is my human view.  I can only leave all in the 
hands of the all wise disposer and pray that I may not meet disappointment at last 
when I reach the other shore.
Oct. 4, 1891		We have visited John this fall.  I was very anxious to 
visit him.  We were gladly received both by him and wife.  John, absorbed and 
driven by his business, had but little time and thought to bestow upon us.  He is 
prospering moderately.
Our horse has given out and we have lost him.  Our house in Grass Lake is 
to be vacant, an elephant on our hands.
Nov. 30, 1891		This has been Thanksgiving week.  I have thought it 
would be well to enumerate some of my mercies, a duty which I am too apt to ne-
glect.  First I would acknowledge the blessing of health continued to myself and 
husband even to old age.  The continuation of mental activity such as we have al-
ways enjoyed.  Surely one of the greatest of temporal blessings.  That my hus-
band still earns his living and we have the comforts of life and a home undis-
turbed.  A fair share of friends.  We are not forgotten.  I should be thankful, too, 
that my children are where I can write to them and receive letters from them.  I 
should be thankful that death has not taken any of our family the past year.  And 
more than all else that I have learned to look to God by faith and can in some 
measure trust Him with all my cares and anxieties.
This week I have received an excellent letter from Lottie.  I feel that I must 
see her and her family before another year.
March 13, 1892		This has been a pleasant day.  Not a large at-
tendance at church.  Husband preached from the text, "God is Love", a new ser-
mon and a very good one.  I led my class of young ladies.
Well, another winter of my life has passed.  I cannot realize that it is the mid-
dle of March.  The weeks pass so uneventfully and with such sameness and I am 
accomplishing so little that I scarcely take any note of time.  Days and weeks 
come and go bearing me on to my final destination.  A winter so peaceful I never 
passed before.  With a cozy house, warm fires, plenty of food, health and strength 
to do my little work, and above all the companionship of my husband, the winter 
has passed away.  I should also enumerate among my comforts freedom from in-
trusion, quiet, so grateful to the aged.  Leisure for reading, which I have improved, 
and we have been spared any startling news.
Our poor Clarence is sick, we fear in a consumption.  Flora has been in an 
agony of fear and anxiety about him.  In her distress and solicitude she has gone 
with him from place to place until their property is spent and left them stranded 
among strangers, almost destitute.  It is cause of thankfulness that the kind Father 
has raised up for them friends in their time of need and has filled their hearts with 
love and trust for Him far beyond all that I could ask or think.
May 15, 1892		Letters from William tell us that he has gone to the 
mines in Cripple Creek, Col.  He, with another fellow, has discovered lead.  They 
have gone in with others, working the ground, digging for what they may find.  He 
is hoping that fortune may come to him at last.  Our children are all in hard straits 
except Lottie.  John has just moved to Traverse City, but is getting no practice, 
trying not to worry.  We have been wanted to stay here another year.  We have 
enough for our own comfort, our health is fairly good.  I have just got my house 
cleaned and have not broken down in the effort.  I am thankful that I am able to 
my work and do something for the children.
June 5, 1892		A great sorrow has come to us in the death of our son-
in-law, Clarence Hunter.  Poor Florie, alone among strangers has been called to 
pass through a deep, deep sea of sorrow.  O, what a sad history is hers.  Eight 
years ago she was married and was very, very happy.  Their engagement and 
marriage was a romance.  It was an affair of mutual love and respect, hallowed by 
consecration to God.  It seemed as though they must prosper, but their eight 
years of misfortune, poverty, toil and hardship have ended in their separation by 
death.  It is one of the mysteries of God.
July 4, 1892		My 72nd birthday is drawing to a close.  It has not 
seemed as much like a birthday as usual.  This morning we did our usual washing.  
Had it on the line at 8 o'clock.  After that an elderly couple came to be united in 
marriage.  Mr. P. had to call in a couple of young ladies as witnesses.  Then we 
got a long letter from Florence which I had been looking for.  She has decided to 
go to Nebraska to teach in a Free Methodist College, to do some missionary work.  
We would have preferred she should have gone to Lottie, but we hope she is 
guided by the Master she is serving.
Oct. 13, 1892		I will try to vary my usual somber records by a little de-
scription of the autumn landscape spread out before me as viewed from my east 
door.  All the brightness of a summer morn is tempered by the most balmy atmos-
phere.  In the shade at the north door the temperature is at 60 degrees.  In the 
sun at the east door there is just warmth to be agreeable.  The genial, gladdening 
sun is pervading all the atmosphere.  The beautiful picture spread out before me 
is so entrancing I leave my Bible study to enjoy it.  Before me, just across the 
highway is the fresh green of the wheat field, beautiful promise of next year's har-
vest.  Just beyond is the corn field, dotted with the standing shocks of the ripe 
corn, the field green with wheat.  On beyond, the strip of green pasture bordered 
by the forest, gay with all the varying hues of autumn, glorious in the sun light.  At 
my left the cemetery with all its white stone monuments and solemn evergreens, 
types of immortality.  Far off in the distance the silvery haze of a bright atmos-
phere, not yet smoky with the hues of Indian summer.  But the bell has rung for 
church.  I must hasten to be ready.
Jan. 1, 1893		And still I am a pilgrim in this mortal state.  Swiftly and 
peacefully my later days are passing.  They have already borne me far beyond the 
limits I had set for myself.  I have been thinking of the time 47 years ago when I 
came to Michigan, a young wife, about three months after my marriage.  We came 
to Raisin, a few miles from here, to teach and take up the duties of life.  I was in 
very poor health at the time, having been very sick with malarial fever at my fa-
ther's in Wisconsin.  I had a hard cough, was emaciated and appeared to be far 
gone with consumption.  I have often asked why I was spared.  But God in mercy 
spared me and with Him I must leave my destiny.
This has been a singular New Years.  The snow storm has prevailed all day 
and prevented a church service.  We have been at home alone.  A peaceful, 
restful day.  My latest news from my children has been a little brighter than I have 
had of late.  Lottie and family are well.  John likes his place and has just lived on 
his income.  Flora, poor unfortunate child, has been visited by the angels of con-
solation and rejoices in the favor of God and the work He has given her to do.  
William just now is earning his living by his music.  Albert and Alice are happy with 
a new daughter.
Feb. 19, 1893     This has been a stormy Sabbath.  Attendance at church 
was small.  It has been a very cold winter, often below zero.  There has been 
more snow than for many years past.  We have had no cutter but have borrowed 
one sometimes.  The landscape from out East door has changed since my last 
description.  All white from the door to the bare and leafless forest.  The cemetery 
has been visited again and again and the forms of some aged pilgrims have been 
laid beneath the snow, while the evergreens, dark and unchanged, stand as sen-
tinels above the silent graves, emblems of immortality.  We have passed a very 
quiet winter, comfortable with all home comforts, but very much alone.  We hear 
occasionally from our children.  None of them prosperous as far as money or 
means of a livelihood is concerned.
March 5, 1893		I have just been perusing the page from this 
journal dated March 13, 1892.  One year has passed and I am here in the same 
place and might make the same record tonight, almost word for word, so quietly 
and evenly my life has glided on.  One great sorrow during the year was the death 
of Clarence and the change in Florie's condition.  In looking back upon the winter 
passed with so much comfort and leisure I feel that I have not accomplished as 
much as I ought to have done, or what I planned to do.  I thought I should copy all 
of my poetry that I have not lost.  This I have not done.  Perhaps I never shall.  I 
have written many letters and have nearly completed an essay on "Christianity 
and Missions", which perhaps I never shall read.  Mr. P. is getting uneasy to go to 
Ohio.  This I dread.  I think they still desire him to remain here.
Nov. 19, 1893		North Olmsted, Ohio.  In reading the last page of this 
fragmentary Journal I find that nine months have elapsed since my last entry.  But 
how changed are my circumstances.  Then I was in my quiet home in Tipton.  
That entry recounts the quiet and comfort of the winter that had passed.  Since 
then I have undergone the trying ordeal of moving, of changing my residence and 
entering upon an untried mode of life.  We have given up the independence of 
keeping house by ourselves.  The stillness and ease so natural to our age has 
been exchanged for a home in our son's family.  We have left all of our old friends 
for a sojourn among strangers.  Into the evening of our lives are prolonged the 
cares and bustle of middle life without its independence.  In this new arrangement 
have we shown want of forethought and practical judgment? Perhaps we were Di-
vinely guided.
This summer has been one of blessings in some respects.  My dear Lottie 
and her family, my stricken daughter and her little boy have been here with us.  I 
was thankful for the visit.  I hope they enjoyed it, but it was so different from what 
it would have been had we been alone.  Another of my blessings was my visit to 
the great World's Fair in Chicago with Lottie and family, and the meeting with my 
brother from Omaha.
The winter is coming.  What will it bring?
Jan. 7, 1894		I have just been reading my last chapter in this journal.  
Why was I led to ask what would the winter bring.  Even then was the shadow fal-
ling upon me from the dark wing of sorrow?  I wonder now how I could have com-
plained or foreboded evil.  I wonder that I was not more thankful when our dear 
son and his family were with us, but the blow has fallen.
Dec. 21 Albert went out with his gun in company with a neighbor about nine 
o'clock.  About three he was brought back dead.  Why should I say more?  I was 
dumb.  The hand of the Lord had fallen heavily upon us.  Today our house is 
desolate.  The room where he and family had greeted us upon our coming here 
seven months ago is stripped and silent.  The son and husband and father returns 
no more.  The family has deserted us.
Jan. 19, 1894		Four weeks ago this evening, only four weeks have I 
reckoned the time, yet it seems ages, a grandmother was seated in the pleasant 
sitting room by the table on which the lamp was burning.  The grandfather was in 
his own room not able to be out.  She was keeping watch over the little children, 
the babe in her cradle, the little boys in their crib, while the father and mother were 
at a neighbor's for a pleasant call.  It was a harmonious family.  Grandparents, the 
son with whom they had cast their lot, his wife and little children.  The parents had 
thought to make this provision for their declining years, so much had the aged fa-
ther entrusted to the beloved son of his old age, his youngest born.  As the young 
people approached the house the cry of the baby hastened them in, and the old 
mother retired to her room.
Where are they now?  I enter that living room darkened and silent.  The 
room is empty.  That young father, the light and joy of that household, is where? 
The distant grave holds that young manly form.  The young wife almost frantic with 
grief, gathered up her little children and her household furnishings, and fled from 
the home in which she had delighted, to the home of her childhood, vainly seeking 
comfort where the sad refrain will be never more, and the aged mother this even-
ing after four weeks, is alone with her memories, feeling that for her and her com-
panion life has but little more to offer.
Florie, my poor Florie, has been with me today.  I am thankful for her.  She 
has weathered the gale.  The storms are hushed and for the present she is an-
chored in the haven of peace.
Feb. 12, 1894		It is Monday morn, a strange time for me to be writing, 
but the house is so still, the storm is raging without, sad reflections are so de-
pressing that I have nerved my self to take counsel with my old journal.  A gloom-
ier winter's day I have never seen.  It is winter without and the winter of my life.  I 
am trying to find comfort in my lonely home.  If there is not sunshine without, there 
is the warmth of my winter fire, there is shelter from the storm.  So in my life.  I 
have withdrawn from the active duties of life to the shelter of God's protecting 
care.
Feb. 25, 1894		My mind has been much impressed of late with 
thoughts of the sorrows of life.  Sorrow, the unwelcome guest, that sooner or later 
enters the life of every one.  A grim accuser, bringing her book of reckoning, she 
sits beside her subject and points with stern rebuke at passages we would gladly 
forget.  Unbidden, she walks with us along life's pathway.  If we accept her and 
listen to her teachings she will leave with us blessings we could obtain from no 
other source.  She attends us even to the gate of the eternal city.  Will she leave 
us there?
The shadows of her wings deepen over my life.  I do not look forward to her 
departure.  Joy has departed.  I do not even pray for happiness.  That must be as 
God wills.  I do ask for happiness for my remaining children, but what can I do for. 
them?
April 15, 1894		This Sabbath eve I am here along.  I have been read-
ing the fore part of this poor journal, some broken records of my past life of the 
last 12 years.  I am reminded of my home life when my children were still with me.  
Of my anxieties for them as they were drifting into manhood, passing the crisis of 
destiny.  I had a mother's anxiety for them, regrets for the past and fears for the 
future.  My dear boys, where are they now?
Alice was with us today and united with the church.  Poor Alice!  I can 
scarcely think of her without tears.  One week ago today her mother was laid in 
the grave.  The strong, helpful, loving mother, upon whom Alice relied, next to her 
husband, for help and comfort.  A few weeks since she had all, husband, mother, 
home, health.  Now all are gone.  Her little, helpless, fatherless children cling to 
her.  O, God, Thou who are the widow's God, the father of the fatherless, have 
this poor, stricken one in Thy holy keeping.
Florie and Ruby were also here.  I do thank God for the grace that has en-
abled her to walk serenely through trials that might have crushed her, but that 
Thou hast sustained her and granted her peace.
Sept. 2, 1894		Another change in my life has taken place.  An event of 
great interest to me.  Our lost William has returned.  He is here with us, and we 
have been made glad.  Poor Alice has just made us a visit.  Her grief is gradually 
yielding to the demands of life.  We are enjoying a visit from our dear cousin Ella 
Hobart.
Nov. 2, 1894		This evening for an hour I am alone and must not ne-
glect the opportunity of writing in my old journal.  So I lay aside the papers I have 
been reading and take my pen.  I am growing older but my burdens are not less-
ening.  Indeed since we have come to this place they have seemed harder to bear 
than ever before.  The burden of old age, and of cares, and labors which we can-
not escape.  I have been obliged to do my house work with but little help and 
much weariness.  Flora has been with us and her little boy, and this fall William.  
What with putting up fruit, canning, pickling, etc. saving odds and ends, my labors 
seem hard.
When our poor Wm. came my thoughts unwillingly took in Alice with all the 
possibilities of their being thrown into such near companionship and drawn by ties 
of sympathy.  But Will had got so far in life I hoped I might not see any further 
change in my family.  A few days since Wm. said a few words to his father which 
awakened all my slumbering suspicions.  He is entangled.  His father spoke dis-
couragingly, set forth the objections, Alice's faults of temperament, the difficulty of 
getting a living on this place, Flora being here, whom we feel bound to help.  The 
poor boy sees the impractical part and is very much cast down.  It seems hard yet 
I do not feel like saying anything more.  It is going to prove another burden.
Dec. 9, 1894		More than a month has passed.  Since then I have 
spent a week in the city at the great Convention of the WCTU.  I staid with my 
niece, Carrie Beardsly and enjoyed my visit very much.  The Bickfords have found 
a new place and are now in Poplar Bluff, Mo.  How much I had wished that they 
might have come near us, but it was not to be.  Well, if they do well I shall be 
content, or ought to be.
Jan. 20, 1895		Our poor unfortunate Alice has been here with her two 
little ones.  It seems she had fully expected to come here as Will's wife and finds 
herself disappointed.  Her old, unnatural father insists upon her leaving him with 
her children.  It seems she became convinced that she was to be disappointed 
about coming here and has decided to put out her children and she herself is to 
go out to try to get work.  This turn of affairs brings great sorrow to me.  Ought we 
not to have encouraged  poor William to bring her here? Are we not preparing for 
ourselves great regrets  when too late for reparation? I feel that this sorrow has 
some meaning for me.
Jan. 30, 1895		Events transpire quickly and with strange results.  The 
feeling I last wrote of, recorded in Jan. so wrought upon me that I induced father 
to give his consent to the marriage.  Will's burden seemed to be lifted somewhat 
but still there were doubts in his mind.  Of course he could not rest until he had 
told her of the change.  What was our surprise to find that she had changed and 
was reluctant to promise to come here.  I still thought she was only making believe 
but after coolly promising marriage she told him to come again for her final an-
swer.  Well, the result has been that, notwithstanding promising and allowing us to 
set the day for the wedding, she has persisted in putting it off, has put out her 
children and has gone to work.
Mar. 3, 1895		Well, another winter has passed.  I cannot say 
smoothly and happily.  In January word came to us of the serious illness of our 
dear absent John, with typhoid fever.  He is still very low and needs the best of 
care.  Ruth has not been very well herself, unable to take such a charge.  Her 
mother, under great difficulties, left her home and went to the relief of those poor 
children.  She has been very kind and efficient.  I hope she may have helpers in 
her time of need.  They have a nurse, a salvation army man, who does all in his 
power for him.  We have to thank a kind Heavenly Father that he has had the best 
of care and, further, that the terrible discipline to which he has been subject has 
led him into the fold of the good Shepherd.  Of late my own health has not been 
good.  I was absent from church several Sabbaths and have scarcely been any-
where, but I will not distrust the care of our Heavenly Father who has cared for us 
all these years.
May 25, 1895		Another season of more than two months has passed 
since I last wrote.  Florence and Ruby left early in April for York state.  Since then 
house cleaning with all my other work has occupied my time and thought.  John's 
condition has been very discouraging.  His progress toward health very slow.  Al-
ice has been in Elyria, her children separated.  Little Harvey grieved so much for 
his mother that she has got a place as housekeeper and keeps him with her for 
awhile.
Last week I was in Cleveland three days attending the association.  Staid 
with the Hobarts.  It was a season of enjoyment.
We have been getting up an old people's concert for the past month.  It 
comes off this week.  I cannot expect to ever make another effort of the kind.
June 15, 1895		This evening William was married to Alice.  He brought 
her here.  We had a quiet wedding.  I had worked all day.  Mrs. Warner and Bell 
helped me.  I was sad but tried to be cheerful.
July 4, 1895		I have reached my 75th birthday.  How have I passed 
the day?  Arose this morning about 6, but I had long lain awake thinking of my age 
and how nearly I had reached the bound of my earthly life.  I was called down to 
breakfast.  There were husband, son William, Alice, Florence, Reuben, Russel, 
and little Harvey.  There was no pleasure planned for the day.  All went about their 
usual work.  I picked raspberries from the bushes that poor dear Albert had 
planted.  I thought of how his place is filled.  Alice is again in the home, and the 
little boys.  Where is he gone in his youth, so sincerely missed by his parents, by 
his sister and most of all by Alice.
Nov. 3, 1895		Four months have passed since my last entry on these 
pages.  It seems strange that of all my remarkable experiences during this time, 
not one word is recorded.  First the conduct of Alice after her attempt to commit 
suicide, and all the scandal it brought upon the family.  Then her sickness under 
the doctor's care, after which she got up and went to work.  We hoped she was 
cured of her opium habit and was in her right mind.  I still had suspicions which 
caused me great anxiety.  Then we started for northern Michigan to visit John.  
Flora, dear faithful soul, was here.  We had a delightful journey on the lakes and a 
satisfactory visit.
We were away four weeks, our last Sabbath at Cousin Hobart's.  Monday 
morning Flora met us at Rocky River.  How glad I was to see her coming with the 
old horse and wagon.  She looked worn and tired.  We embarked with her for 
home.  Then came the sequel to that ill-starred marriage of three months.  Alice, 
once the wife of our dear Albert, taken back to our home by our poor unfortunate 
William, the daughter-in-law for whom we had done so much, had, in a fit of anger, 
left our home with her children and all her baggage, household effects, and with-
out a word of apology for any of us, with nothing but hatred for her foolish but fond 
husband and poor abused Flora.  William was almost frantic and actually started 
to leave home unbeknown to anyone.  But we feel that the Lord has delivered us 
thus far.
Dec. 29, 1895		The last Sabbath of this eventful year has passed.  
Christmas was a dull day with us.  We had no company.  Only Will was with us.  
On Christmas eve the church had an entertainment.  Mr. P. and Will went.  I staid 
at home alone.  A nice and valuable comforter was given us by the sewing soci-
ety.  It was a surprise and very gratefully received.
During the present month let me recall the events.  First, a violent wind on 
Sabbath eve, Dec. 1, blew down two large pine trees in our front yard.  A hard 
blow, indeed.  On the 3rd we went, on an invitation, to Stephen Patchin's.  It was a 
surprise got up by their daughter for the wedding anniversary of her parents.  We 
met quite a company.  Spent the next day in Cleveland.
Next item to record is the first running of the electric cars on the Cleveland 
and Elyria road past our premises.  This indeed is an important event.  I often 
think how pleased our poor Albert would have been had he lived to see the event 
which he prophesied and so much wished for.  The 29th of this month was the 
second anniversary of his tragic death.  O, how sad to think of his family as it was 
then and as it is now.
This winter I have had my work to do as usual.  In the past month we have 
had a great task in taking care of our pork and beef.  The warm weather came 
near spoiling it.
March 8, 1896		I am sorry to see that more than two months 
have passed without any record in this humble journal.  Well, the winter has 
passed without much of interest to record.  It has seemed as though the time with 
me is an effort merely to live and keep myself and family well, and make my hus-
band comfortable so that he might work.  I am glad to know that he has been able 
to preach and carry on his ministerial duties.  And I have tried to make for my son 
a home and to have him feel that he has someone to care for him although his 
wife had deserted him.  He has had but little society.  Alice spent most of the win-
ter in Indiana, but has returned with her two boys and is now in the hospital.  We 
have taken little Harvey for the time being.  He is a bright, cheerful little fellow 
somewhat resembling his father.  It is quite a tax upon me but I am thankful to do 
for him.  I have been troubled this winter with my usual cough.  Have been out but 
little.  Florence seems to be very happy this winter.  Lottie, as usual, is over-
whelmed with work.  John is kept occupied with his business.
June 7, 1896		Last week we went to the annual reunion of the old 
Raisin Institute.  The same delightful company which we have met in years past 
greeted us, several of them were our original members.  With what wonder I look 
upon that intelligent, successful, Christian band of men and women who represent 
that old time, unpopular Raisin School.  When I see with what respect and affec-
tion they greet my husband, the joy and pride which might have been mine is sad-
dened by the thought of my foolish attitude toward that school.  I could not enter 
into the spirit of reform and self denial which inspired its founders.  I was too am-
bitious and urged my husband to leave, when I might have laid the foundation of a 
happy life there.
Little Harvey has left us.  His mother came and took him away two weeks 
ago.  Russell is coming tomorrow.  William remained here alone while we were 
away.
July 12, 1896		My 76th birthday has come and gone and left me jour-
neying on to the end of my probation.  The day was spent quietly at home with my 
family.  William went to the city to see a ball game.  Evening the two boys had 
some fire works which their uncle had purchased for them.  Florence, with Reu-
ben, came the 25th of June.  She has been every day picking berries.  This has 
been a very busy, laborious summer for us all.  I have labored beyond my wishes 
if not beyond my strength.  I begin to feel the burden of old age.
Our raspberry crop has been abundant.  Will has been with the crops to the 
market two or three times a week but prices are low, returns small.  This is our 
harvest time.  I am tired with work and care.
I went with Mrs. Warner and Bell to attend the quarterly WCTU.
Oct. 4, 1896		So much has occurred in the history of my life since my 
last entry in this old journal three months since.  Florence and I were getting ready 
as well as we could for our approaching 50th wedding anniversary.  We expected 
Lottie and her family and John and his family and perhaps others.  Our house 
must be put in order.  What with picking berries for market and work indoors poor 
Florie worked very hard.  One Saturday in Aug. I went with her and spent a Sab-
bath at Beula Park at a Christian Alliance Camp Meeting.  Money was very close 
with her.  Poverty seems to run in our family.
The Bickfords came the 18th of August, Tuesday.  John came the next Fri-
day.  So our family had met perhaps for the last time.  Our golden wedding oc-
curred the 27th.  I had not thought of making a demonstration.  I shrank from the 
effort and the notoriety.  But my husband often spoke of it and even proclaimed 
the day publicly in his alumni speech at Oberlin.  Other friends spoke of it and fi-
nally the church claimed the privilege of getting up an entertainment for us.  So it 
came about that we had our relatives from this vicinity and the Congregational 
Church.  Upon the whole a grand time.  My dear, good brother had sent a barrel of 
dishes, a beautiful dinner set.  Other relatives gave silver presents and the church 
36 dollars in gold.  Well, it has past.
William is with us.  Alice has come back from the west and taken rooms with 
her children as near as she could get, about two miles.
Nov. 15, 1896		I am here alone this Sabbath evening.  Husband has 
gone to church.  William is at the piano, practicing.  I hope he is trying to master 
some of the difficulties he has thought were beyond him.  How I have wished and 
waited for his remarkable genius for music to find expression in some way that 
would be profitable for him.  He is very lonely this winter and seldom goes out.
Last week husband and I went to Oberlin to attend a convention and to visit 
our dear friends the Woodruffs, who have suddenly been called to part with the 
husband and father.  He was the real bond of the family which must now be bro-
ken up.  Our lovely Annie is soon to be married and go to California.  Tears came 
to my eyes at the thought of her leaving us.  Thus, I thought, has come to an end 
an idyll that I cherished as relating to my family.  A dream that vanished.  "God 
pity us all who vainly the dreams of youth recall, For of all sad words of tongue or 
pen, the saddest are these, it might have been."
April 18, 1897		I see by my last record that more than five months 
have passed since then.  The winter has been an eventful one, so filled up that I 
have not taken time to write except an occasional letter.  Even now I can only 
commence my record, for I am not alone.  Mrs. Warner is with me.  The rest have 
gone to church.
9:30.  I am alone and will try to continue my writing.  Last fall Frank Bickford 
visited us.  He is attending the Academy in Oberlin.  Alice went to Elyria and left 
the two boys with us.  They were with us most of the winter until Alice got back 
home and took them.  Next the Warner's house burned up turning them all out.  
The sequel was that we took them in to stay over Sabbath, but Mr. Warner was 
taken sick the next morning and they are all here yet.  My parlor and bedroom is 
given up to them while their new house is being built.  How much longer they are 
to remain is uncertain.
Nov. 28, 1897		Seven months have passed since my last entry.  So 
much has transpired since.  First our journey to Michigan and visit with old friends.  
We were away three weeks.  The reunion at Raisin of the old members.  A de-
lightful time.  Next a visit to Tipton.  From there we went to Sharon, Grass Lake, 
Michigan Center and Jackson.  We went to Ann Arbor and Saline and from there 
home.
It was a rare privilege to hold communion with old friends.  I cannot write all 
the changes among those we met, or the visit to the cemetery where Florie's dear 
little Johnny was laid.
During the summer Frank Bickford was with us.  His father and mother, Fred 
and the children all came.  This fall Florence, Reuben and Will are with us.  Mr. P. 
has met with a great misfortune to break his leg.  For nearly four months he has 
been laid aside from preaching and from labor.  He enjoys good health but is en-
tirely unable to help himself.  He has attended church for the last two Sabbaths 
and today preached.  But he will not preach again very soon, perhaps no more.  
His life work perhaps is done.  We are provided for at present.
July 4, 1898		I have once more brought out my old journal on the 
evening of my seventy eighth birthday.  It seems to me that this has been the 
most uninteresting birthday that I have ever known.  Early this morning Mr. P. 
called me to arise and get breakfast.  Flora was out washing.  I had bread to 
knead and set to rising.  I had breakfast to get for seven persons.  Fred Bickford 
had gone for the 4th to the lake.  A young man had come to stay with us over 
Sabbath and stayed to pick berries.  After breakfast I had dishes to wash, bread to 
knead and bake while all went to pick berries.  Had dinner to get.  Flora finished 
washing and went to pick berries.  After dinner I complained of being tired.  Mrs. 
Best, a friend of Flora's who has been here two weeks washed the dishes.  The 
two women were going to a camp meeting and then to Rocky River to a lecture.
Well, I am 78 and am as foolish as ever.  I have not the grace to bear my tri-
als nor the wisdom to avoid them.  Lottie and her family have decided to go to 
Glen Rose, Texas.  This is a trial to me.  One among others.
July 6, 1899		Well, another year has passed since the last entry in 
this journal.  Another birthday has come and gone, and I am in my eightieth year 
and nearing the end of this imperfect book and the end of my life.  The past year 
has been marked by the almost fatal sickness of my husband, bringing so near to 
me a bereavement which I could not bear to think of.  Perhaps it was to prepare 
me for a sorrow which may be very near.  Well, I trust my Heavenly Father is pre-
paring me for the change which I know cannot be far away.  I try to realize that 
God is merciful in sparing us both and caring for us in old age.
This summer my dear Lottie and her family are with us, also William, Flor-
ence and Reuben.  My health is very good.
March 16, 1900		It has seemed a long time since I have taken my 
neglected journal.  But today I am alone and anxious.  It is the time that a divorce 
for William is pending in the court in Cleveland.  He and his father have gone as 
witnesses.
April 22, 1900		This is a beautiful spring day, one of the Sabbaths 
which I feel that I am idling away because I cannot go to church.  Mr. P. last winter 
disposed of our old horse against my wishes and now we have no way to ride.  I 
have not been well for some weeks past but now am better.  Flora has done the 
work.
July 4, 1900		A gracious Providence that has led and shaped my 
destiny this far has brought me to my 80th birthday.  A lease of life far beyond the 
average has been granted to me.  For what purpose is all unknown to me.
On her 80th birthday my poor mother wrote me a letter.  I can think now how 
her heart must have turned to me, her oldest and only remaining daughter.  It was 
a brief retrospect of life, closing with the thought of hope and success for her chil-
dren.  I am writing under different surroundings, but I am a mother and am looking 
back upon my life with its sorrows.  I am at rest in my own home.  My good hus-
band is with me still.  He has dropped out of his life work of preaching and is using 
his remaining strength in working a garden, trusting in the Lord but toiling for a 
subsistence.
My oldest daughter is with us this summer with her family.  My younger 
daughter with her only child is a few miles away.  William has gone with some 
friends for the day.
In looking back upon my past life I feel that marriage turned me aside from 
my natural bent and career prepared for me, to a life in which I have not suc-
ceeded well.  But it is past.  It might have been worse.  What can I look for beyond 
my four score?  I can only trust in my heavenly guide from day to day until my 
change comes.
June 30, 1901		On this the last Sabbath of my 81st year I have thought 
of my old and neglected diary.  This year brings me to the 81st year of my earthly 
career.  A long pilgrimage, an unprofitable service, but, such as it is, the record is 
made.  I feel that my work is done, my time has come and I am only waiting for the 
call that soon or late must come to all.  Except for premonitions of the coming end, 
some lengthening shadows, some sad forebodings, I remain as I have been in this 
home.  One year ago I wrote of my husband.  He was still toiling in his little gar-
den, doing for the comfort of his family some of the accustomed tasks.  This year, 
pale and feeble, he is confined to his house, bearing a disease from which there is 
no hope of recovery, looking to the end of his peaceful, patient and useful life.  
And I?  What is there for me?  In the words of my dear friend Clara, "I am in the 
shadow of a great sorrow."
August 25, 1901		We are here alone and at home this Sabbath 
morning.  I am thinking of the past.  I have finished my morning work and taken 
my magazine, but I cannot read for I am not interested in the present.  I am think-
ing of Sabbath mornings when I was busy getting the children ready for church, 
studying my Sunday School lesson, helping my husband get ready, giving direc-
tions for dinner, getting out of patience sometimes for lack of grace to bear my 
work; but finally getting all ready and setting off to church in which I delighted so 
much.  Now we are here alone.  O!  how different.  Where are they all?  Where are 
my dear little busy helpful children?  Tears, idle tears, forbid my answer.  I some-
times wonder am I the same person that I was 80 years ago? Shall I ever read the 
record that is laid up against me of opportunities passed by, of blessings unappre-
ciated, of words hastily spoken?
Husband, feeble with disease, no longer preaches to the great congregation, 
but thinks he is nearing the golden shore.  Instead of listening to his eloquence 
and instructions I am ministering to his wants, making his remaining days comfort-
able and dreading with nameless fear the days that are surely coming.
Florence and Reuben have gone to visit Lottie in Oberlin.  William is here 
with us.  John is fighting the battles of his profession.  Lottie is laden with care.  
Well, all is in the providence of the great Father who has brought to me so much 
of good.


Less than four months later, on Dec. 11, just after his 81st birthday, John Patchin 
died.  Six months after his death, on the sixth of June, 1902, his wife followed.

[Created by Shel Michaels from document of Claribel L. Bickford, Duarte, California,
 April, 1966.  For data retrieval purposes, note the following: data is on file EWP.DOC printed on Sep-
tember 23, 1994, from Microsoft WORD version 6.0a, on an IBM PC.]