SKETCHES of the LIFE OF JOHN PATCHIN

by John Patchin

I was born in Newbury, Geauga County, Ohio, on the 8th day of December, 1820.
My father, Eleazer Patchin, was born in Fairfield, Connecticut on February 
18, 1772.  He told me but little in regard to his father.  I only remember one inci-
dent.  In 1758 General Putnam, with a few hundred troops, was sent to watch the 
hostile French and Indians in the neighborhood of Ticonderoga.  Returning from 
his expedition he was surprised by a body of the enemy and a severe battle en-
sued.  Putnam was taken prisoner though our troops finally gained the victory.  
The battle was fought man to man.  The Indians took their places each one behind 
a tree, and picked off our men with their rifles as they could find opportunity.  
Our troops had to adopt the same mode of warfare.  Grandfather found himself 
opposed to an Indian warrior about four rods distant.  Bending his head to one 
side to get a view of his enemy, the Indian fired.  The bullet, passing between his 
head and the tree, cut bark from the tree and a lock of hair from grandfather's 
head.  The Indian's rifle being now empty, grandfather ran quickly to the tree that 
sheltered him, while the Indian ran for a safer shelter, which however he never 
reached, for a well aimed bullet from the white man's rifle gave him his final 
quietus.  Such is the savagery of war.
In the war of the revolution the British sent a marauding army into Connecti-
cut which laid waste the country and burned several thriving villages.  Among the 
villages was Fairfield, my father's native place.  When the British approached the 
people were panic stricken.  There was great bustle and confusion in the hurry of 
everybody to secure what goods they could and hasten to some place where the 
redcoats would not find them.
Grandpa's family shared in the general panic.  They picked up some of their 
most necessary articles and were in a hurry to be going when they missed the lad, 
Eleazer.
They called him, "Eleazer, come quick."
No answer. "Look him up in a hurry. "
Upstairs, downstairs, down cellar, out in the barn, behind the pigpen, "Can't 
find the child anywhere."
"What can we do? The British will be here in half an hour."
"We must go without him."
Just then a sister, passing near a large inverted potash kettle, heard some 
noise that induced her to turn it partly up, and there the heroic youth was discov-
ered, safely hidden away where the British could not find him.  He was soon hur-
rying with the rest to a place of safety.
When father was a young man he learned the trade of a carpenter.  He 
worked at his trade several years doing considerable work in the city of New 
York.
October 27, 1796 he was married to Betsy Tomlinson, daughter of Deacon 
Levi Tomlinson, of Derby, Connecticut.  The Tomlinsons were formerly the pos-
sessors of considerable wealth, but lost heavily by Spanish privateers in the time 
of the revolution.  The government of the U. S. preferred claim against Spain for 
damages done to our citizens.  These claims were allowed and quite a sum was 
apportioned to the company with which grandfather was connected.  But court 
expenses and lawyer's fees reduced the amount, and the heirs being numerous, no 
one of them received a very large portion.
My grandfather Tomlinson was a man of sterling principles and of decided 
piety.  His kindred, of whom I knew quite a number, were men and women of 
similar character.  My mother was his eldest daughter.  She was born November 
30, 1775.  She was twenty years of age when she and father were married in 1796.  
Mother was a woman of superior worth.  She became a Christian in youth and a 
spirit of earnest piety was manifest ever after in her life.  She remained steadfast in 
the faith as taught by her father and continued a member of the orthodox church 
to the day of her death.  I remember hearing her say when I was a boy that it was 
her earnest prayer that she might live to see all her children become Christians, a 
prayer which was answered, though she waited for the answer many years.  In 
1832 Father and four of my brothers were hopefully converted in a protracted 
meeting held in Clarenden, conducted by Rev. Lucius Foote.  The rest of us pro-
fessed religion at various times.
Mother was remarkable for her industry and for the amount of work she ac-
complished.  For many years she carded the wool and tow, hatcheled the flax, 
spun the yarn and thread, wove the cloth to clothe her large family.  My sister 
Abagail, my only sister who lived to maturity, was married young, so she could 
not have aided mother much in household work.  The principal help mother had 
in the house was a girl, Sarah Hamilton, adopted by our folks when she was quite 
young.  With her help mother managed to get along with the work required in our 
large family.  Three meals a day for eight hearty boys required no little work.  The 
husband and eight boys must have shirts, pants, vests, coats, and overcoats, 
woolen in winter, linen in summer, all from cloth woven by her own hand on her 
own loom. "She took wool and flax and worked willingly with her hands.  She 
rose also while it was yet night and gave meat to her household." During the short 
days, she had breakfast by candlelight. "She laid her hands to the spindle and her 
hand held the distaff.  She looked well to the ways of her household and ate not 
the bread of idleness.  Her children rose up and called her blessed, her husband 
also and he praised her.”  “She was truly a virtuous woman and her price was far 
above rubies."
There were born to my Parents eleven children.  Nine sons and two daugh-
ters, namely 
Levi			Born July 31, 1797		Died in Chardon
								Age 79
Linson T.		Born February 25, 1799	Died in Newbury
								Age 54.
Abagail			Born January 25, 1801	Died in Wadsworth
								Age 43.
David			Born February 21, 1803	Died in Troy, Ohio
								Age 37.
George			Born January 29, 1805	Died in Burton
								Age 8 months.
George			Born August 30, 1806	Died in Magnolia, Wisconsin
								Age 70.
Horatio			Born November 2, 1808	Died in Newbury,
								Age 36.
Daniel T.		Born September 21, 1810	Died in Pendleton, Oregon,
								Age 78.
Betsy Amelia		Born November 21, 1814.	Died in Newbury,
								Age 6.
Augustus Eleazer	Born November 21, 1817	Lives in Wyocena, Wisconsin.

John			Born December 28, 1820	Lives in Manchester, Michigan.

One of my brothers, during a portion of his life, became addicted to the use 
of intoxicating drinks.  But he entirely gave up the practice and became a total ab-
stainer like the rest of us for several years before he died.  It is a great pleasure to 
me, the remembrance of the lives and characters of my beloved brothers and sis-
ter.  I think they were all honorable and upright, and we have not to blush with 
shame at the remembrance of anything mean or dishonorable in any of them.
The place of my birth was a double log cabin in the northeast portion of the 
township of Newbury.  Father and mother with their five children moved from 
Connecticut to the western reserve in 1807.  Their coming west was due to the 
preference of my mother.  Father had an opportunity to settle down at his trade in 
the city of New York.  He submitted the question to mother whether they should 
locate in the great city or go west and make a home in the wilderness.  On account 
of her family she preferred the perils of the wilderness to the perils of the city.  So 
they came west.  They brought their goods in wagons drawn by oxen and were 
forty days on the road.  They were in company with several other families, among 
them John Ford and his wife and their son Seabury, afterward governor of Ohio.
These families located in Burton Township.  Burton is about twenty miles 
east of Cleveland.  The Cuyahoga River flows through the township.  In the early 
settlement this river was a dull, sluggish stream, its continuous overflow covering 
many thousand acres with stagnant water and spreading a great deal of sickness 
throughout the surrounding country.
 Father had been to Burton the year before and selected his land.  He had put 
up his log cabin, cleared off some land, raised some grain, that his family might 
have food and shelter when they should come.  Very welcome must have been the 
sight of their cabin home after their forty days' ride in their wagon.  But the task 
remained of clearing up the farm.  The land was heavily timbered.  Beech and ma-
ple trees were most numerous.  They were magnificent in size and height.  But 
they were surpassed in size and overtopped in height by the majestic oak and 
chestnut and whitewood which grew in scores upon almost every side.  But very 
little of this splendid growth of the forest could be utilized.  It had to be reduced to 
ashes.  The land was needed to produce grain and grass for man and beast.  It is to 
be regretted that so much valuable timber should be destroyed, but there was no 
help for it.
After about ten years when father had his farm mostly cleared, grandfather 
Tomlinson, with grandmother and five unmarried daughters, came on from Con-
necticut.  He did not feel up to the task of clearing up a new farm, and he per-
suaded father to sell his farm, while father moved onto a new lot of 300 acres in 
North Newbury.  Father always felt that he made a great sacrifice to please his 
father-in-law.  But he put up a double log house, moved his family into it and 
commenced the work of clearing up another heavy timbered farm.
My four older brothers, then all at home, were strong and vigorous young 
men, good workers, and they commenced their warfare on the mighty forest that 
covered the new farm, with ambition and energy.  Many strokes of the axe were 
needed to cut the body of the trees, trim off the limbs, and cut it into logging 
length.  Much heavy pulling by the oxen, and much hard lifting with the hand 
spike, were necessary to make the big log heaps ready for the burning.  But patient 
and persevering hard work was bound to win, and as years went by one ten acre 
lot after another was cleared and planted.  The new, rich soil yielded abundant 
harvest.  I do not think that at any time my father's family suffered for the want of 
comfortable clothing or wholesome food.  Vegetables were easily raised.  Hogs did 
well and often became quite fat on the acorns, beechnuts and chestnuts that were 
very abundant in the woods and were common property and free alike to all.
Wild game was plenty.  Wolves were troublesome in destroying sheep.  The 
settlers would sometimes unite in a wolf hunt.  On such occasions they usually 
succeeded in capturing several.  My oldest brothers killed several, shooting some, 
catching some in traps.  Bears were also quite numerous.  My brother, Levi, killed 
one when he was a boy twelve years old.  It was toward night one day when he 
went out into the woods to get the cows.  As usual he took his gun.  He was about 
a mile from the house.  All at once a bear rose up from behind a log about four 
rods in front of him, stood on his hind legs, put his forepaws on the log and 
looked at my brother inquiringly, as much as to say, "What do you want here?" 
Levi spent little time in musing or debate, but, bringing his gun to bear as well as 
he could, fired at the bear's head.  Having discharged his gun, he threw it on the 
ground, and turned his footsteps homeward with all the speed that youthful agil-
ity could impart, at every step, calling "Ma, Ma," at the top of his voice.  Reaching 
home he told father that he had shot at a bear but did not know whether he had 
hit it or not.  His story was but half believed, the folks suspecting that he might 
have been frightened at a black stump, or perhaps a black calf.  However father 
and the hired man went with him to the place where he said he had shot the bear, 
and found it dead a few rods from the place where it had stood.
Uncle Jo. Haynes, one of our neighbors, was one day at work in the woods.  
Suddenly a bear appeared close to him, evidently with hostile intent.  Uncle Jo 
sprang behind a tree when the bear, close upon him, reared upon his hind legs 
and threw his forelegs around the tree.  Uncle Jo immediately grasped a paw in 
each hand and held bruin fast.  He was a man of unusual strength, and held the 
bear safely so that he could neither scratch nor bite nor run away.  His loud calls 
for help brought a neighbor to his rescue, who easily dispatched his adversary 
with an axe.
Wild turkeys were very numerous.  They went in large flocks.  They were a 
great nuisance about harvest time.  As soon as the grain began to ripen they were 
on hand to claim their share.  Many of them were killed, but they came in such 
numbers that our folks had to keep the younger boys going round the wheat fields 
from day to day to scare them away by blowing tin horns, so saving the crop of 
grain from the crop of the turkeys.
The black and grey squirrels were so numerous as to be great pests to the 
farmers.  Nothing could prevent their destroying many bushels of grain every 
year.  They might well have lived on the nuts that grew abundantly in the woods.  
But they preferred the mixed diet and had no scruples in appropriating the prod-
ucts of human industry.  In the fall when the frost had opened the chestnut burrs, 
there was lively rivalry between the children and the squirrels as to which should 
secure the nuts.  Both were stirring early, and both were diligent in their quest.  
The squirrels were the most numerous and got their full share.  I remember 
counting twenty on one chestnut tree.  Yet they sometimes, without intending to, 
helped the children.  They would often bite off the burrs from the tall trees and let 
them drop on the ground and afterwards come down and secure the nuts.  The 
children who happened along at the right time did not hesitate to turn the squir-
rels' industry to their own profit.  Many a quart basin was filled with nuts which 
the squirrels designed for their own use.  Sometimes the children would find what 
they called a squirrel's nest where the little economists had stowed away quite a 
quantity of nuts for winter use.  These were never left for the squirrels to enjoy.  It 
seems a pity that anyone should be deprived of the legitimate fruits of honest in-
dustry.
When the country was new, northern Ohio was visited every fall by flocks of 
pigeons.  They came from the far South, perhaps Mexico.  When they were mov-
ing far, their flight was high and their numbers must have reached far into the 
millions.  Single flocks passing over would often extend for miles in every direc-
tion.  They were captured in large numbers.  Father had a pigeon net with which 
he sometimes caught several dozen at a single haul.  About ten miles from our 
house was a pigeon roost.  This was a low, swampy piece of ground with some 
large trees, but mostly overgrown with a younger growth from eight to twenty 
feet high.  Here, within a space of two or three miles, the pigeons would gather at 
night from every direction.  Every limb and bush would be covered with them.  
The boys going among them with lanterns could readily take large numbers of 
them, and wagonloads were sometimes caught in a single night.  Perhaps the 
quails that settled around the camp of the Israelites were the same kind of pi-
geons.
The coon, opossum, woodchuck, and the hedgehog were less important 
kinds of game often met with and captured in the early settlement of Geauga 
County.
So it was ordained that in that forest home my life should begin, a life in no 
way remarkable for anything especially wise or great or good, but simply the 
common life of a common man.  And I write for you this story of my life, not be-
cause I think it of great importance, but because you are my children or grand-
children, and it may be of some gratification to you to know a little something 
about me.
My memory reaches back to a very early period of my childhood.  I remem-
ber things that occurred when I was between three and four years old.  My first 
recollections, of course, are of parents and brothers.  My father was forty-eight and 
mother forty-five when I was born.  Father's eyes were very weak, having been 
nearly ruined by harsh medicine ordered by an unskilled physician as a cure for 
inflammation.  For this reason he was never able to do much hard work after my 
remembrance.  Mother lost her teeth while young and never had any after she was 
forty years old.  Hard work and rearing a large family made their marks upon her 
features.  But those who had always known her testified that in her younger days 
she was very beautiful.  She always seemed beautiful to me.
My father was jovial in his disposition.  He had at command a great number 
of laughter provoking anecdotes, which he delighted to relate for the pleasure and 
amusement of company.  I used to take pleasure in hearing his stories.  Especially 
in company when his yarns were received with laughter and approval did I feel a 
sort of pride that my Pa knew so much.
Mother was no singer.  Father could sing some.  I remember one song he 
used to sing to us children.  It was of "The Foxe.”
"THE FOXE"
The old foxe walked out, one moon shiny night,
The moon and the stars, they all shone bright.
Says he, I vaggers I'll go through the town tonight
Before that I do lie down, lie down,
Before that I do lie down.

He went till he came to a farmer's yard
The ducks and the geese they were all afraid,
They wished Mr. Reynard at home would have stayed
But here he's come into the town, the town,
But here he's come into the town.

The old gray goose hopped up on a block,
She stretched up her neck and cried quack, quack,
She says my children let's drive the villain back
For he's no business here in the town, the town,
For he's no business here in the town.

He seized the old gray goose right by the neck,
He gave her a fling right over his back,
Then jumped over the fence and made quick track,
And so fast he jogged out of the town, the town,
And so fast he jogged out of the town.

Then old mother Midnight jumped out of bed,
And out of the window she poked her old head
And cried, My dear Husband, the gray goose is dead,
For the foxe is gone out of the town, the town,
For the foxe is gone out of the town.

I suppose I assumed manhood's distinguishing garments about the usual 
time in life for a little boy to do so, but I recall things that took place before that 
event.  Two or three grownup girls who lived in the neighborhood once took me 
out with them for a walk on the farm.  In passing from one field to another, they 
climbed over the fence, but told me to crawl through.  This I attempted to do.  
Turning my head to one side I thrust it between the two rails near the bottom of 
the fence which I thought were far enough apart to admit of my getting through.  I 
had miscalculated.  The rails were too near together.  I could not work my body 
through, and I could not draw my head back, for I had not sense enough to turn it 
and take it out as I had put it in.  I was in a fix.  The girls were frightened and so 
was I.  One expedient was left me.  I could bawl.  This I proceeded most lustily to 
do.  One of my older brothers not far off heard the doleful sound and hasted to my 
rescue.  With his strong arm he lifted the rails and set me free.
In the early days in Ohio everybody drank whiskey.  There were several dis-
tilleries in every county.  There were several hotels in every town, and every hotel 
had its bar.  Sometimes farmers would get it by the barrel, but usually it was 
bought at the distillery by the gallon.  Whiskey was free.  No license nor tax was 
imposed on its manufacture or sale.  It was kept in every house.  Civility required 
that all callers should be treated.  A part of the minister's salary was sometimes 
paid in whiskey.  At all logging bees, raisings and social gatherings, it was a ne-
cessity.  All workers in the fields in haying and harvesting must have a bottle of 
whiskey with them.  I once followed my older brothers to the hay field.  They took 
a few swallows from the bottle to start out on.  I said, "Let me taste.” They prop-
erly refused my request but their prohibition did not prohibit, for when they 
moved several rods, I got at the bottle in the shade of the stump where they had 
placed it, took out the stopple and proceeded to taste.  I tasted too much, for when 
I started to go to my brothers I could not walk straight.  I was drunk.  One of my 
stout brothers took me in his arms and carried me to my mother who directly put 
me to bed till I became sober.  Thus began and ended my career of intemperance.  
Whiskey never overcame me again.
I remember one day when I was a little boy sitting on the floor, building a 
cob house, and mother was sitting at her wheel spinning flax, she said, "John, step 
and shut the door."  I did not like to be interrupted in my play, but I knew I must 
mind.  I did not do it pleasantly.  I went moping sulkily along and gave vent to my 
bad feelings by drawling out, "Darn it all.  I have to do all the housework" I could 
not see what made my mother laugh, or why she should report what I said to the 
rest of the family.  In the years after, I was often reminded of the hardship I en-
dured in my youthful days in being obliged to do all the housework.  It was one of 
the habits of my youth to express a variety of feelings by the expression, "Darn it 
all." This was as far in the way of profanity as I went.  The habit is a vulgar one 
and I gave it up when I was a young man.
I do not think that being the youngest in the family operated either to my 
advantage or disadvantage.  I was not especially babied by father or mother, nor 
was I dominated over in a tyrannical way by my older brothers.  I took my place 
with them and was expected to help in the work as I was able, both indoors and 
out.  I wiped the dishes, brought in wood and chips, drew the water, ran on er-
rands, carried water and lunch to my brothers in the field, and did all such chores 
as boys have to do who are brought up on a farm.  One of my duties was that of 
drawing cider.  Father set out ten acres of the best part of the farm to apple trees 
and peach trees.  The trees were thrifty and produced bountifully.  But a large 
portion of the apples was fit only for cider.  A cider mill was built in the center of 
the orchard, and a great deal of cider was made every year.  In August a barrel or 
two would be made from early apples.  In September and October the windfalls 
were used up, and in November what apples could not be shaken from the trees 
were knocked off with poles, and then gathered into large heaps at the cider mill.  
Sometimes this work would not be finished when winter set in, then piles of ap-
ples would be covered with snow and frozen, to be worked up into cider during 
the January thaw or when winter broke up in March.  Father used to sell the 
greater part of his cider, the usual price being one dollar a barrel.  But every fall he 
would have ten or a dozen barrels stored in the cellar for family use.  No one 
thought there could be any harm in drinking all the cider we wished.  A pitcher of 
cider was constantly on the table, and to keep it replenished required on my part a 
journey to the cellar and back several times a day.  Had I realized then as I have 
since the effects of the use of hard cider, I should probably have said "Darn it all" 
oftener than I did.  The use of hard cider as a beverage like all other alcoholic 
drinks does no good, but real harm.  It makes the drinker cross, injures the eyes, 
especially weak ones, and fosters an appetite for stronger drinks which tend to 
drunkenness and ruin.
When I was five years old I was sent to the district school.  The schoolhouse 
was a little log shanty about a mile from our house.  It was about sixteen feet 
square, covered with shakes, the eaves being about seven feet from the ground.  
There was a stick chimney on one end with a large fireplace.  This fireplace in the 
summer was ornamented with green boughs of maple, beech and hemlock.  In the 
winter, fires were kept burning in it.  On cold days we had to have big fires.  The 
fireplace would admit sticks of wood five or six feet long.  They would often pile 
on logs so large that two or three stout boys were required to bring one in and 
place it on the fire.  Every fall the cracks between the logs of which the house was 
built were plastered over with mortar made of clay dug from the ground nearby.  
The seats for the scholars were made of slabs, the flat side upward, supported by 
wooden legs driven through auger holes, two at each end.  These benches were so 
high that the feet of the smaller children sitting upon them could not reach the 
floor, but were left dangling in the air during school hours.  The backs of the 
scholars rested against the edge of the writing desks which consisted of wide 
whitewood pegs supported by pegs driven into the side of the house.  Men teach-
ers were employed in the winter, women in the summer, the former being paid 
from ten to twenty dollars a month, the latter a dollar a week.
My first teacher was Sally Pratt.  She was an excellent teacher and my prog-
ress in learning to read under her instruction was very gratifying to my parents.  
She gave me a ticket finished up in red and black, which was prized very highly 
and carefully kept until after I was forty years old, when that, with several other 
keepsakes, was burned with our parsonage in Lodi.
One warm day in summer, I was playing with the school children in woods 
near the schoolhouse.  I took off my coat and laid it down somewhere.  When 
playtime was up I could not find it.  Nor could I find it after school, but had to go 
home without it.  Mother scolded me for my carelessness, and said she would 
whip me if I did not find it the next day.  I did not find it.  Mother saw me coming 
home without my coat and as I drew near the house I saw her coming from the 
plum tree with a sprout in her hand.
She said, "Come here John.  You know what I told you."
Yes, I knew.  And as I moved toward her to receive my deserts I expressed 
my feelings by drawling out, "Darn it all."
I noticed a sort of smile steal over her countenance, still she whipped me, but 
not very hard, and the whipping did not do much hurt or much good.
For our exercise and recreation at recess, we used to play goal, ball, and 
wrestling.  I was blessed with exuberant spirits and greatly enjoyed these sports.
When I was old enough to help on the farm, I was kept out of school during 
the summer months, but continued to attend district school for three months in 
the winter till I was sixteen years old.
The spelling school was one feature in the old style of education which the 
scholars greatly enjoyed.  During the winter these spelling schools were held in 
the evening about once a fortnight.  They were well attended by the scholars, and 
by the parents and young people in the community.  Two of the scholars would 
choose sides, naming alternately those whom they regarded the best spellers, until 
the whole school was ranged in two ranks on opposite sides of the house.  Visitors 
who were present often consented to take part in spelling.  As the teacher pro-
nounced a word the leader on one side of the house would spell it; the leader on 
the opposite side would spell the next word, and so they would spell back and 
forth until they had spelled around.  If a word was missed on one side and spelled 
on the other, the side missing had a mark set down against it by someone keeping 
tally.  The side having the fewest marks was declared the victor.  The spelling 
continued about an hour, then a rest of fifteen minutes, then choose sides and spell 
again.  The school usually closed by the scholars standing up and spelling down.
I became very ambitious to excel in this department, and devoted my self to 
the study of the spelling book with such assiduity that I could spell correctly all 
the words in the book.  I became able to spell down not only our own school but 
neighboring schools.
In my boyhood I formed quite a liking for reading history.  The first five 
dollars that I ever earned I spent for Rollin's Ancient History in eight volumes.  I 
have the same volumes yet in my library.  I had a certain cousin, William Hewins, 
who also delighted in reading history.  We often talked over the works we had 
been reading and passed in review the nations of antiquity, and passed judgment 
on the character of their great men - emperors, kings and generals.  I early took 
part in debating schools which the young people in our neighborhood sometimes 
maintained during the winter months.  The Lyceum is a great help to one who in-
tends to be a public speaker.
One summer day I was driving the cows to water.  They were somewhat 
perverse about coming into line and getting under way toward the watering place.  
I became angry and vented my anger at the cows in such words and actions as an-
gry boys are accustomed to do.  But when the cows had been brought to order I 
reflected within myself, "Now, I have allowed myself to get mad at the cows and 
what good has it done?"
"But they acted so!"
“What good did it do to get mad at these cows?"
"No good.  It was a foolish thing to do, to get mad at them, I've seen a good 
many folks get mad.  Did I ever see any good grow out of it?"
"Never."
So I then and there resolved that I would therefore govern my temper and 
never again get mad at anybody or anything.  I have not always carried out this 
resolution to perfection, but I have often recalled it and often have checked the 
rising feeling of anger which else had carried me away.
Mother endeavored faithfully to instill the great truths of life and of the gos-
pel into the minds of her children while they were young.  She brought us up to 
attend church, and taught us the catechism at home, and often talked with us on 
the subject of personal religion.  She united with the Congregational church in 
Burton when she first came to Ohio and retained her membership there while she 
lived.  Our home was about four miles from the church in Burton Square.  Mother 
used to ride horseback to church, and I often rode astride behind her.
The first minister that I remember was the Rev.  Mr. Humphry.  He was a 
brother of President Humphry, and was a grand old man of the old style.  He left 
when I was young and I think was not duly appreciated by the majority of people.  
He was succeeded by the Rev. Dexter Witter, a graduate of Yale and a fine scholar.  
His sermons were well finished productions and were read from manuscripts in a 
clear, pleasant voice, with distinct utterance, easily understood, but never at-
tended by gestures.  He had little talent for pastoral visitation, but he retained his 
position and influence for many years through his excellent sermons and his 
blameless character.
The Sabbath services commenced at half past ten and continued until noon, 
then recess of one hour and Sabbath School, then afternoon services the same as 
forenoon, concluding between two and three o'clock.  Parents and children at-
tended all the services, yet no one thought of complaining that they were weari-
some on account of their length.
There were connected with the church in Burton a number of members of 
superior ability and high reputation.  Among them were Peter Hitchcock and his 
family.  Mr. H. was eminent as a lawyer, and became chief justice of the state of 
Ohio.  His son, Reuben, became celebrated as an able lawyer.  His son, Lawrence, 
was an able preacher and became known as the popular president of Western Re-
serve College.  His son, Peter, remained on the homestead and became widely 
known as a scientific farmer and a prominent politician, being several times sent 
to the Ohio legislature.
Seabury Ford, an eminent lawyer and politician, governor of Ohio, was a 
member of the church and for several years taught the Bible class of which I was a 
member.  Deacons Hotchkiss, Cook and Tomlinson were all men of mark and of 
good repute.
The Burton church was regarded as a strong church, but money was not very 
plenty and they paid their minister only $300 a year.
The truths of the gospel, taught me by my mother and by our minister and 
by religious books, made a deep impression on my mind when I was very young.  
I did not call in question the truths of the gospel as held by evangelical churches, 
but received them with unquestioning faith, and admitted the obligations they 
imposed by devoting myself to the service of the Lord.  In later years I ventured to 
call in question the things taught me in childhood, and tried to give independent 
thought to the claims of Gospel truth to the confidence of mankind.  But after all 
my thinking the conviction is stronger in my mind that the system of truth that we 
call evangelical is worthy of all acceptation as being the very truth of God, and the 
child who early receives these truths therein possesses a treasure of more value 
than all material wealth.
In the fall of 1831 I awoke one morning feeling quite unwell.  Mother called 
me to come down stairs and get ready for breakfast.  I answered that I was sick 
and did not want any breakfast.  She said I had better dress and come down.  
While dressing, I discovered that black spots about the size of a silver quarter 
were coming out thickly all over my body.  When I came down stairs I called 
Mother to look at them.  She was at once greatly alarmed and saw that I was 
threatened with a severe attack of sickness.  It proved to be a severe case of Spot-
ted Typhus fever.  Dr. Goodwin, our family physician living in Burton, was hastily 
sent for.  My disease was of an unusual kind and the doctor was evidently per-
plexed, but one thing he thought he could safely do, prescribe a liberal dose of the 
inevitable calomel.  He attended me faithfully for several days but I continued to 
grow worse and our people nearly gave up all hope of my recovery.  One morning 
when I was very low, one of the neighbors called at our house and very earnestly 
advised our people to change physicians.  He wanted them to employ Dr. Case, an 
eclectic physician who had performed some notable cures in the community.  Fa-
ther and mother were in doubt as to what to do.  They thought highly of Dr. 
Goodwin, feared to displease him, were uncertain whether the new doctor could 
do any better.  Yet they were ready for anything to save their boy.  They finally 
decided to leave it to me, and they would get whatever doctor I preferred.  I was 
as incompetent to decide this question as they were, but when they asked me 
whom I would have, Dr. Case or Dr. Goodwin, I said Dr. Case.  So Dr. Case took 
me in hand.  His treatment was entirely different from Dr. Goodwin's, but the 
medicine that Dr. Goodwin gave was not without its effect.  My mouth was thor-
oughly salivated.  It remained quite sore for weeks after my fever had left me.  Dr. 
Goodwin always insisted that it was this effect of calomel that saved my life.  I 
have never known whether his ideas on this point were correct or not.
One day while I was sick mother asked me if I would like to have Mr. Witter 
come and pray with me.  I said yes.  She then asked why I wished him to pray for 
me.  I answered, "That I might be saved." He came and prayed.  But my heart re-
mained unchanged.  I thought if I should die I wanted to become a Christian, but 
if I could get well I would put off becoming a Christian, that I might enjoy the 
pleasures of sin for a season.  Thus was manifested the total depravity of my heart, 
and my total misapprehension of the nature and influence of true religion.
In a month or two I fully recovered from my dangerous illness.  My vivacity 
of spirits returned and I entered into the youthful pleasures of life in company 
with gay companions.  Yet my sickness left serious impressions on my mind 
which never fully wore off.
The winter of 1832 and 1833 was a time of revival of religion in many places 
in northern Ohio.  A protracted meeting of two weeks' continuance was held in 
Claridon about five miles from my father's house.  My brother, Horatio, then an 
earnest Christian, was living at Claridon and through his influence my father, my 
brothers and I were induced to attend the meeting.  Rev. Lucius C. Foote was the 
evangelist who conducted the meeting and did the preaching.  I think about two 
hundred were fully converted during the two months that the meeting continued.  
Father and my brothers Levi, Linson, Daniel and Augustus were among the con-
verts.  I alone remained unsubdued.
Yet I was very deeply impressed with the truths of the gospel then brought 
before my mind with greater clearness than ever before.  I commenced praying in 
secret and took special pains to attend religious meetings.  But I refused to yield 
wholly to Christ and come out publicly and confess Him before men as the Spirit 
urged me to do.  And thus I became guilty of one of the great follies and sins of 
my life.  Had I then come out decidedly on the Lord's side I should have been a 
better boy and in future years a better man, a better Christian and better minister.
For four years after these meetings I remained at home, working on the farm 
spring, summer and autumn, and attending district school winters.  During these 
years I began to feel an ambition to obtain a better education than could be 
obtained in the district school.  But father was in debt and could not meet the 
expense of sending me away to a high school.  In the summer of 1836 there 
appeared in one of our papers an advertisement of Farmington Academy.  We 
learned that the students might board themselves and enjoy the privileges of an 
academy at very little cost.  Our people could furnish me with provisions and 
homemade clothing, and father thought he would be able to get me the money to 
pay for my books and tuition until I could earn something for myself by teaching 
school.
The academy was located in West Farmington, Trumbull County, about 
fourteen miles from my father's house.  Early in the fall of 1836, I went to 
Farmington to see if I could find an opening for me to enter the school.  I found 
the principal of the Academy, Mr. Daniel Branch, a very agreeable gentleman.  He 
met me with great cordiality, at once manifested a friendly interest in me, and 
helped to obtain a room in the house of Newton Wolcott about a mile from the 
school.  I returned home and at once set about the work of getting ready to go to 
the academy.  I had to have some new clothes from cloth made by my mother's 
own hands, a few school books, a new half barrel to carry some pork in, a little 
frying pan, a small kettle, a few necessary dishes, towels, chairs and table.  With 
this outfit I left home for Farmington Academy to commence my educational 
career.
I then little understood the nature or magnitude of the task I was 
undertaking.  But I was ambitious and wanted to amount to something.  I thought 
I could make a good lawyer, and I knew that a good education was helpful in any 
pursuit in life.  So an education I determined to obtain.
There went with me to Farmington a cousin of mine, Myron T. Hutchinson, 
about my own age, and ambitious to amount to something.  But he lacked stability 
and only remained in school about six months.  He at length relapsed into 
unsteady habits that brought grief to himself and to his friends.
I found in the academy quite a company of young men, twenty or more, 
entering upon their studies with a strong purpose to pursue a college course.  
Only one of them beside myself persevered till he graduated from college.  I 
remained in the academy during the fall, winter, and spring of 1836 and 1837.  
During the winter term there was more than ordinary religious interest in the 
school.  I became thoroughly awakened and fully decided that I would lead a 
religious life.  I have ever since regarded that decision as the wisest I ever made, 
only regretting that I have not carried it out in a life of more consistent piety.
The following summer I spent at home helping our folks on the farm.  The 
next fall I returned to the academy where I pursued my studies until the summer 
of 1838.  Then I came home and spent several months on the farm.  I now had 
sufficient education to teach school.  It was necessary that I should teach to earn 
money to enable me to go on with my studies.  I passed my examination and 
obtained my certificate without any difficulty.  I engaged the district school at the 
city of Troy for $17 per month.
My school commenced about the middle of December and continued three 
months.  In giving satisfaction to parents and children I succeeded tolerably well 
and my scholars made quite good progress.  In the spring instead of returning to 
Farmington as I had purposed, I was persuaded to go to Kirtland and enter the 
academy there.  This was a new institution presided over by Asa D. Lord, a man 
of unusual ability who became quite eminent as a teacher both in Ohio and New 
York State.  Our recitations were at first held in the famous Mormon temple as the 
great majority of the Mormons had left the place, and the few that remained used 
the temple only for an occasional service on the Sabbath.  We abandoned the 
temple after a few months and held our classes in a new building erected for the 
use of the academy.
My studies were Latin, Greek and one or two English branches.  I had fully 
made up my mind to go through college and shaped my studies accordingly.  My 
plan was to teach school winters and study the rest of the year until I should 
complete my college course.  This was quite an undertaking and I little 
comprehended the difficulties that I must overcome in order to succeed.
In 1833 I signed the temperance pledge, a very little thing to do, but I have 
always thought it was of very great advantage to me.
The antislavery agitation began when I was about fourteen years of age.  
Excitement ran high throughout the whole country.  The popular sentiment in my 
father's neighborhood was opposed to the abolitionists.  Judge Stone, one of our 
near neighbors, a man of more than ordinary ability and influence led the public 
sentiment in our town.  A great debate continuing several evenings was held in a 
neighboring schoolhouse.  Judge Stone and some other of our neighbors on one 
side and four young men from Claridon on the other.  Judge Stone framed his 
arguments in favor of slavery with great skill and the young men who opposed 
him did not seem able to overthrow him.  So it seemed to me.  I mastered the 
judge's arguments, was a good deal influenced by them and became quite positive 
in my opposition to the abolitionists.  While I was in Farmington I had some warm 
debates with them there.  I treated them to the ideas I had learned from Judge 
Stone, and they were considerably perplexed in their efforts to bring forward 
satisfactory answers.
I was not readily convinced of the sophistical nature of these arguments, but 
in spite of all reasoning to the contrary, the conviction forced itself into my mind 
that it cannot be right for one man to hold another man as property, and the 
system of human slavery is a violation of the inalienable rights of human nature.  
By the time I went to school in Kirtland I had become decidedly antislavery in my 
mind.
In the fall of 1839 I engaged to teach a district school in the south part of my 
native town of Newbury.  But the people of the town were mostly Universalists 
and learning that I was in the habit of opening my school with prayer, they sent 
their director to visit me and inform me that they did not allow any praying or 
swearing in their school.  They would be glad to have me teach in their school if I 
would give up my purpose to open with prayer.  This I declined to do.  I then 
went to Troy and engaged the same school I had taught the winter before.  My 
scholars seemed glad to see me back again.  I passed the winter with little or no 
trouble and in the spring resumed my studies in Kirtland Academy.
It was the year for the election of president of the U. S. Martin Van Buren of 
the Democratic party, and William Henry Harrison of the Whig party, were the 
opposing candidates.  A great political excitement swept over the land.  It has 
never been equaled before or since.  Everybody, men, women and children, 
seemed on fire with enthusiasm for one side or the other.  It was impossible for a 
young man to escape the contagion.  I became an enthusiastic Whig and gave my 
voice to swell the great national shout for "Tippecanoe and Tyler, too." The 
outcome of it all was that Harrison was elected, and was inaugurated president on 
the fourth of the next March, but died one month after his inauguration.  Tyler 
succeeded to the Presidency and did as much for the Democratic party as he did 
for the Whigs.  Harrison's death and Tyler's treachery inflicted a blow upon the 
Whig party from which it never recovered.  It never again obtained control of our 
national government, except that in 1852 they elected Taylor to the presidency.
Our spring and summer term in Kirtland Academy closed about the middle 
of July 1840.  On the 12th of July while sitting in my boarding house, I saw 
through the window my brother Augustus ride up on horseback in front of the 
house, leading a horse already saddled and bridled.  I hurried to the door and 
asked him, "What is the matter?"
He answered, "Brother David is dead, and I have come for you to attend his 
funeral."
In a few days our term was to close with an exhibition in which I was to take 
a part.  I had prepared an oration of the subject, "Virtue, the Safeguard of 
American Liberty." I was very ambitious to speak my piece.  Could I attend my 
brother's funeral and return in season for the exhibition? I feared not.  Still, of 
course, it was my duty and privilege to attend the funeral.  My brother David 
resided in Troy.  I had been much in his house during the two winters that I 
taught school there.  His family consisted of his wife and one daughter.  He and 
his wife were both very earnest Christians.  Sometimes he was known to continue 
all night in prayer for a revival in his neighborhood.  The blessing he prayed for 
seemed always to be granted after such seasons of prayer.  He died most happily, 
his last words being, "Heaven's gates are opened." The memory of the just is 
blessed.
I returned to Kirtland in season for the exhibition.  Teachers and students 
agreed that it was a very creditable affair.  So teachers and students usually feel on 
all similar occasions.  I returned home and helped on the farm during the summer 
vacation.
My brother Horatio engaged me to teach in the district school at the center of 
Wadsworth.  This was a small village in Medina County, about fifty miles 
southwest of father's house.  Horatio had moved there several years before, where 
he carried on the business of tanner and currier.  My sister Abigail, with her 
husband, Levi Blakesley, and family of three sons and two daughters also lived 
there.  Horatio was the director of the district and it was his duty to hire teachers.  
He hired me for eighteen dollars a month.  There were three or four families in the 
district who were quite hostile toward my brother on account of his religion, he 
being an orthodox Congregationalist and they calling themselves Universalists.  
They were greatly dissatisfied that he had hired his brother to teach their school.  
They determined to make trouble.  They waited quietly four weeks watching, as it 
would seem, for some fault on my part which they could make an excuse for 
turning me out of school.  Finding no fault that they could allege against me they 
all at once took their children out of school on the pretence that I was receiving too 
high wages and I must either leave the school or come down in my price.  I could 
see no good reason for doing either and quietly kept on in the even tenor of my 
way.  After keeping their children out of school about two weeks they sent them 
back again.  Things in the school went on quietly thereafter and I passed through 
the term of four months with no further trouble.
When spring came I used enough of my wages to buy a new suit of clothes, 
broadcloth for the first time in my life.  I also got a new trunk, covered with black 
calfskin, ornamented with brass nails.  I have the same trunk now.  When school 
closed in Wadsworth, I returned to Troy and boarded with my brother David's 
widow and continued my studies with Mr. Abel.
In the summer of 1841, I was persuaded by a friend of mine, Cornelius 
Johnson, to go with him to Oberlin and see what opportunities I could find there.  
It was about sixty miles to Oberlin.  Mr. Johnson was going with a two-horse 
buggy and would carry me and bring me back free of expense.  On our first night 
out, we staid with my uncle, Benjamin Mastic, in the town of Rockport.  The next 
day we started early and reached Oberlin before noon.  We spent two nights and 
two days there.  On our return we staid over night with cousin Levi Tomlinson in 
Ridgeville.  Mr. Johnson only came within fourteen miles of my father's house.  I 
walked that distance, reaching home about midnight.  I found our people, 
especially mother, greatly concerned about me as the report had reached them 
from Troy that I had gone off suddenly with an unreliable man and no one knew 
where I had gone.  I, however, soon set their minds at rest.
I found that I could pursue my studies at Oberlin as cheaply as anywhere 
else and immediately set about getting ready to go there.  Commencement 
occurred in Oberlin the latter part of August.  I planned to be there for that and 
then go on with my studies there till the winter vacation, when I would again 
teach school.  I had money enough left to pay my expenses through the fall term 
by exercising due economy and doing chores to pay part of my board bill.
After commencement I, with several others, was examined by the professors 
and tutors that they might assign me to my proper place in the classes of the 
institution.  The best that I had hoped for was that by studying all the fall and as 
much as possible during the winter I might be admitted to the freshman college 
class in the spring.  But the professors examined me on passages both in Latin and 
Greek with which I happened to be familiar and answered so readily the questions 
they asked that, to my surprise, they admitted me at once to the freshman college 
class.  My folks did not favor the idea of my going to Oberlin.  They much 
preferred that I should go to the Western Reserve College, situated at Hudson.
Oberlin had many zealous friends among the Christian people of the land, 
but was very unpopular with the great majority.  Abolition was as yet quite 
unpopular and Oberlin was decidedly abolition.
The popular sentiment was that the negro was an inferior race and should be 
kept in his proper place.  Oberlin recognized the negro as equal to the white man 
and admitted him on the same terms with the white to all privileges of the 
institution.  This unpopularity was increased by the attitude assumed by many at 
Oberlin on the subject of Christian Perfection, and also on the subject of dietetic 
reform.
President Mahan and quite a number of Oberlin graduates gave undue 
prominence in their preaching to their views of Christian Perfection and assailed 
with great earnestness the views commonly held by Congregational and 
Presbyterian churches.  Some churches were divided and some harm was done in 
other respects by the too zealous thrusting forward of this doctrine.  Prof. Finney 
held to the doctrine but he never favored divisions in the church on account of it, 
and had all others been as judicious as he in its presentation, little harm would 
have come of it.
There were two or three years when dietetic reform was made unduly 
prominent and many persons in Oberlin carried out their notions of 
abstemiousness and simplicity in diet to a ridiculous extreme.  Dietetic reform was 
not nearly so prominent when I went to Oberlin as it had been a year or two 
before.  Still quite a number of families adhered to the Graham system of living 
and banished tea, coffee, meat, and butter and all grease from the table.
Still, the genuine democracy that prevailed at Oberlin, the high type of piety 
in the professors and among the students, their warm cordiality toward young 
men and women who came there to study, and their earnestness and readiness for 
every good work, were so in harmony with my principles and preferences that I 
decided to take my college course there rather than in any other school.  Uncle 
James Herrick offered me a scholarship in Western Reserve if I would go there, 
but I had my mind turned to Oberlin and there I would go.
My first term in college in the fall of 1841 I boarded with tutor Keep doing 
chores in part payment for my board.  When the term closed I went to Middlefield 
in Geauga County, where I gathered together twenty or more young men and 
women into a select school which I taught during the winter.
I had two uncles, Isaac Chatfield and Fabian Beard, residing in Middlefield.  
Both cordially invited me to make my home in their families, as long as I chose.  
Uncle Beard was a deacon in the church and was a man of consistent piety.  His 
wife, my Aunt Alice, mother's sister, was a most excellent Christian woman.  She 
is now in 1889, living in Iowa with her son, Lazarus.  She is 91 years old and the 
only one of Grandpa Tomlinson's family yet alive.  They charged me nothing for 
my board and in various other ways were as kind to me as they could have been 
to their own children.  Two of their children, Lazarus and Mary, attended my 
school as did also two of Uncle Chatfield's, Layfaette and Georgianna.  My profit 
from teaching the select school was about the same that I should have made in the 
district school.
I returned to Oberlin in the spring of 1842 and resumed my studies in the 
freshman class.  I boarded in the college boarding hall.  The price of board was one 
dollar a week.  I had enough money to take me through to the next winter 
vacation only as I met part of my expenses by working a few hours daily as I had 
opportunity.  When I found such opportunities I made it a practice to work three 
hours a day.  The price I received for my labor was six cents an hour.  I think I 
earned some more than that when I chopped wood by the cord as I frequently did.
After boarding in the hall a few weeks I went to board with Squire Fletcher.  
He boarded me for ten shillings a week and gave me the privilege of chopping 
wood by the cord.  I boarded with him till into July and chopped for him fifty or 
sixty cords of wood.
Sometime in July, I went to board in the family of Father Shipard.  He was 
the founder of Oberlin College.  He was a man of preeminent piety and 
manifested superior judgment in many of his enterprises, and he expected and 
thought he received divine guidance in all his undertakings.  He chose the location 
of Oberlin College and also of Olivet College in Michigan.  Still he had some 
eccentric notions and ways.  When I went to live in his family he was a rigid 
Grahamite and did not allow on his table tea or coffee, meat or grease of any kind.  
But Mrs. Shipard was a good cook and prepared different kinds of vegetables in 
such ways as afforded a pleasant variety in our food from one meal to another.  I 
could live on the Graham diet but by my experience of several months I became 
satisfied that it did not promote the best vigor of mind and body.  The old Graham 
system is extinct.  The one valuable thing it has bequeathed to society is Graham 
bread.
Our freshman class in 1842 gave a rhetorical exhibition on the fourth of July.  
We had in our class several ladies and gentlemen of fine ability and our exhibition 
was a success.  I spoke on the subject, "The ruin of nations the result of their vices." 
My speech seemed to please the audience and I received some flattering 
commendations in regard to it.  The notoriety it gave me was of some service 
during my after years in college.
We were required to attend church twice on the Sabbath and once on every 
Thursday in the afternoon.  The services were held in the old college chapel.  Prof. 
Finney and Pres. Mahan did the most of the preaching.  Both were clear reasoners 
and earnest preachers and their discourses were of great benefit to me.
I boarded with Father Shipard till commencement.  I passed the 
examinations satisfactorily and entered the sophomore year the latter part of 
August.  The first term was to continue three months to the winter vacation.  For 
some reason I made up my mind to spend that time with my relatives and study 
by myself instead of in Oberlin with my class.
I decided to go first to Wadsworth and stay several weeks with my sister, 
Mrs. Abigail Blakesley.  Starting early one Saturday morning I thought to walk 
from Oberlin to Wadsworth, a distance of forty miles.  I was helped by securing a 
ride of three or four miles, and a kind-hearted farmer gave me a dinner about 
noon.  When I reached Medina, twelve miles from Wadsworth, I was almost tired 
out.  Still I must reach Wadsworth, for tomorrow was Sunday, and I could not 
spare the money to pay for my keeping till Monday.  So I moved slowly onward.  I 
arrived in Wadsworth about ten o'clock.  I have never been so tired at any other 
time.  I staid there several weeks and then came home to my father's where I 
carried on my college studies until it was time to commence winter school.  I 
taught a select school in Middlefield as I had done the year before, again boarding 
with Uncle Fabian Beard.
When my school closed in the spring of 1843 the roads were so very muddy 
that no one was willing to drive out with a team unless some necessity required it.  
I was perplexed to find any way by which I could get to Oberlin.  Just as I had got 
ready to go if I only could find a conveyance, Cousin Lewis Tomlinson came along 
with a light two horse wagon on his way to his home in Rockport.  He kindly 
offered to carry me to Rockport.  I thankfully accepted his offer.  The mud was so 
deep that the horses had to go on the walk all day.
From Rockport I took the stage for Oberlin, but it was nearly midnight when 
the stage reached Elyria and it would go no farther until the next day.  In company 
with three or four others I started for Oberlin on foot.  The roads were muddy and 
the night was dark, but we reached Oberlin at a late hour safe, soiled, wayworn 
and leg weary.  Three or four days passed before I could get my trunk from Elyria.
In the winter and spring of '43 there was great stringency in money matters.  
Many of the banks failed and the bill holders lost their money.  It was difficult to 
get any good money.  Quite a number of my scholars in Middlefield could not pay 
their tuition when school closed.  Several paid in bills of the Railroad Bank of 
Cleveland.  That was considered the safest bank in the state, but while I was on 
my way to Oberlin it collapsed as many other banks were doing, and its bills were 
worthless.  So I found myself in Oberlin in the sophomore class, anxious to go on 
in my college course, but with very little money at my command.  I was tempted 
to give way to discouragement, but finding some opportunities to help myself by 
manual labor I renewed my determination to go forward and pushed on with my 
class through the sophomore year.
Sometime in August, toward the close of my college year a gentleman, 
Harvey Smith, from Michigan, called on me and said that Professor Fairchild had 
advised him to apply to me to take charge of an academy recently started in 
Michigan.  He represented to me that there was a promising field for usefulness 
and for a fair pecuniary compensation.  They could pay me no specific salary but 
the teacher was to receive the tuition of the students.  Mr. Smith wished to engage 
me for a year and for a longer period if at the close of the year it should seem 
desirable.  I finally agreed to accept his proposition and would begin my labors in 
the academy in October.  I would leave college for a year to procure the means to 
enable me to finish the last two years.
The school that I agreed to teach was situated in the town of Raisin, Lenawee 
County, about four miles south of Tecumseh.  It was called Raisin Institute, and 
was on the banks of the River Raisin.  It was often called the Graham School, on 
account of the rigid Graham principles insisted on by the first teacher, P. P. Roots.  
I went to Michigan in September, going on the steamboat Harrison from 
Cleveland to Toledo, thence to Adrian on the cars.  This was my first ride on a 
railroad.
Harvey Smith, the man who engaged me to take charge of Raisin Institute, 
was a bachelor, living with his parents, Daniel Assenah Smith, two miles north of 
Adrian.  I went to their house the same day that I reached Adrian.  They had 
formerly been members of the Society of Friends, but when I first knew them they 
were Wesleyan Methodists.  Daniel Smith was a preacher.  I was naturally 
diffident and experienced some feelings of timidity as I approached their home, 
and realized that I was an entire stranger far from my kindred and acquaintances, 
and about to engage in a work for which I felt very incompetent.  Harvey Smith 
was at home to welcome me, and the old people were so kind and cordial that I at 
once felt myself at home.
The next day I visited the school premises where I was to labor for the 
ensuing year.  I found the school buildings situated on land owned by Charles 
Haviland, brother-in-law of Harvey Smith.  The larger building was for recitations 
and answered the purpose very well.  There were besides, four shanty-like 
buildings built in line with the recitation room.  On the north two shanties, on the 
south two shanties.  Each one was divided into two rooms and each room was 
calculated to accommodate four students.  Students occupying these rooms 
usually boarded themselves, bringing their provisions from home.  Every room 
had a fireplace for warming the room and cooking the meals.  Some of the pupils 
boarded at home, a few others hired their board with families near by.
The first day that I visited the school premises I formed the acquaintance of 
Mrs. Laura S. Haviland, wife of Charles Haviland and sister of Harvey Smith.  The 
family consisted of herself, husband and seven children.  She was a very capable 
woman and was deeply interested in the prosperity of the school.  She was not a 
teacher, but was a great help to me by the counsel she gave to the young ladies 
who were students.  She was decidedly pious and her influence was always on the 
right side.
Soon after I arrived in Michigan I published a number of circulars giving 
notice of the time when our institute would commence.  I opened the school the 
first of October.  Between twenty and thirty young men and women were on hand 
at the opening.  Their number increased somewhat during the term.  The school 
terms were of eleven weeks each.  Tuition was three dollars for the common 
branches, four for the higher.  I taught three terms.  At the close of the third term 
so many of the students were under the necessity of leaving that I deemed it 
expedient to discontinue my school.  The friends in Raisin, interested in the school, 
wished to engage me to go on with the school the ensuing fall, but I was unwilling 
to give up my college course and decided to return to Ohio and let them engage 
another teacher.  I had saved enough money to clothe myself anew and pay my 
college expenses for a year.
I returned home to Newbury to spend the summer in studying and visiting 
until commencement.  This summer of 1844 was a sad period in my life's 
experience.  Before I left Raisin I had learned of the death of my only sister in 
Wadsworth, leaving her husband and four children.  My brother Horatio, then in 
the prime of manhood, thirty-six years of age had come into the old homestead to 
live and to take care of father and mother the rest of their days.  When I reached 
home in June all were in usual health, and well pleased with the prospects far 
future years.  But death came with ruthless footsteps crushing our earthly hopes 
and overthrowing the plans that we thought so wisely laid.  A terrible fever swept 
through my father's neighborhood carrying off large numbers, both old and 
young.  My brother Horatio was one of its victims.  I stood by his dying bed.  I had 
never seen a person die.  The scene was deeply solemn and impressive.  It has 
always remained engraved on my memory.  How weak is human strength! How 
frail is human life! Mother, standing by Horatio's death bed, spoke words of 
submission that I cannot forget.  "I don't know but God will take from me all of my 
children.  If He does He will take no more than rightfully belongs to Him."
My brother Linson was attacked with the same fever but recovered.  Brother 
Augustus had a severe run of the fever but also recovered.  After Horatio's death I 
commenced preparations for returning to Oberlin as the time of commencement 
was near and I wished to enter the junior class at that time.  But my mother was 
suddenly attacked with the fever and I could not leave till we should see how it 
would terminate.  It terminated all too soon.  She had been broken of her rest a 
good deal watching Horatio, Linson and Augustus during their illness, and when 
the fever came to her she had not strength to resist it.  On the night of the 29th of 
August, about midnight one of the watchers called to me, "John, we think that 
your mother cannot live but a little while."
I was soon at her bedside and said, "Mother, are you going to leave us?"
She faintly answered, "Yes."
I then bent over her to hear if possible one more word from her lips.  Not in 
vain did I listen, for I heard her distinctly say, "Grace is sufficient." She did not 
speak again, but these, her last words, still abide in my heart, a treasure more 
precious than gold.
Our good minister, Mr. Witter, preached her funeral sermon.  We buried her 
in a small rural cemetery in the northwest part of the township of Burton.  This 
cemetery lot of about three acres was situated on a slight elevation of ground that 
our folks settled on when they first moved to Ohio.  My grandparents, parents, 
and several of my kindred are buried there.
A few days after mother's funeral I returned to Oberlin and renewed my 
college studies, entering the junior class.  At the close of the fall term, I visited 
Rockport and spent a Sabbath with my uncle, Benjamin Mastic.  He was very 
cordial and friendly.  I preached on the Sabbath to the Rockport Congregational 
Church, then holding meetings in a schoolhouse.  The brethren wished me to 
spend the winter with them.  Though the church could do but little toward my 
support, they would get up a select school and the school and church together 
would afford me adequate pay for my winter's work.  I fell in with this 
arrangement and spent the winter in Rockport, teaching five days a week and 
preaching one sermon every Sabbath, I boarded with Uncle Mastic.  He dealt very 
generously with me and charged me nothing for my board.
In the spring I returned to Oberlin and went on with my class through the 
junior year.  This year was a very pleasant, interesting and profitable one.  
Through grace I made important progress intellectually and spiritually.  I think 
students generally look back on their junior college year with pleasure.
The poetic talent was not given to me but in small measure, and was never 
developed by use.  For a composition in one of our class exercises I wrote the 
following.
TRUST
I have roamed o'er the ocean, have roamed o'er the earth
Mid scenes far remote from the land of my birth;
Arabia's deserts I have trod in despair,
And seen the sirocco in wrath raging there.

On Etna's high summit I have taken my seat
While its murmuring lava rolled red at my feet:
Have seen its wild ragings as it burst forth in ire
Whelming cities in ruin with rivers of fire.

I have been wrecked on the wild and desolate strand,
Far away from the succor of any kind hand,
Where despairing, forlorn, all hope passed me by,
And I yielded myself up to languish and die.

Thus a poor exiled wanderer, I have roamed far and near,
With few earthly comforts my pathway to cheer,
But ever have found both at home and abroad
'Tis safe, yea, and blessed to trust in my God.

During my junior year I became engaged to Miss Elizabeth P. Wakeley, a 
classmate, and about my own age.  She was a good scholar and her compositions 
both in prose and poetry showed more than ordinary ability.  Our engagement 
was never broken, for which after a lapse of nearly fifty years I can truly say I am 
thankful.  We are now old and the past of our lives has been checkered with joyful 
and sad vicissitudes, but we have been steadfast in our devotion to each other in 
every condition.
At the close of my junior year I returned to Michigan and again took charge 
of Raisin Institute.  Rev. Jeremiah F. Dolbeare had bought the school property and 
lived with his family on the premises.  Mr. Dolbeare and his wife were excellent 
Christian people and sincerely desirous of doing good.  They were conscientious 
in all duties, and in some ways were quite helpful to the teachers.  But Mr. D. had 
some peculiar ways that made him unpopular with the young people, and a 
different style of man would have been more useful in his position.  My relations 
with him were always pleasant.  I agreed with him to return and take charge of 
the school when I had completed my college course.  I bought two acres of land 
adjoining the school grounds and engaged a mechanic to build a small house 
thereon, which should be our home when we returned in the fall.
When the spring term closed I returned to Oberlin to complete my college 
course.  We graduated, Elizabeth and I, with the graduating class on the 26th of 
August.  On the evening of the 27th we were married by Professor Thorne.  For 
our wedding trip we went to Wisconsin to visit Elizabeth's folks who were then 
living in Whitewater.
The season was very sickly, the most sickly ever known in Wisconsin.  
Elizabeth and I both had the chills and fever.  This delayed our return to Michigan 
till late in November.  Western railroads had not then been built and we could 
only reach Michigan by water.  We were fortunate in reaching Milwaukee just in 
time for the last boat that went around the lake that season.  Elizabeth was taken 
with chills and fever on the boat and was scarcely able to continue the journey till 
we reached Raisin.
The friends there were anxiously awaiting our arrival.  We were just in 
season to open our fall term at the appointed time.  We boarded with Mr. 
Dolbeare for a few weeks till our house was completed.  This was done sometime 
in December, when we moved into it and commenced housekeeping.  We 
continued our connection with Raisin Institute two years and a half.  During that 
time two or three excitements occurred in our little community in consequence of 
the visits we received from Southern gentlemen seeking to get possession of their 
fugitive slaves.  A vivid account of their visits is given in Mrs. Haviland's book.
April 15, 1848 we were made glad by the advent into our family of our 
firstborn child, Charlotte Elizabeth.
In the fall of 1848 I obtained a license to preach from the Southern Michigan 
Conference.  I had been preaching for three or four years, but without being 
authorized to do so by any ecclesiastical body.  I had preached to my scholars in 
Raisin, and to the small church in Rockport because necessity seemed laid upon 
me to do so.  I needed no license from my fellow men.  But as the time drew near 
when I prepared to engage in ministerial work in connection with regularly 
organized churches I deemed it proper that I should identify myself with the 
conference in which these churches were associated.
In the spring of 1849 we moved to Wheatland to preach to the 
Congregational Church of Churches Corner in that township.  We only remained 
there one year.  The church of Wheatland was composed of an excellent company 
of Christian men and women.  We became warmly attached to them, and they to 
us.  But as the year was drawing to a close we received an earnest call to go to 
Leoni, Mich. to take charge of the Wesleyan Seminary and also to preach to the 
Congregational Church in that place.  I was led to believe that there was a more 
promising field of usefulness than in Wheatland.  We decided to go and moved to 
Leoni in the spring of 1850.  We stayed there a year.  The trustees of the school 
proposed to appoint me permanent president of their college on the condition that 
I should unite with the Wesleyan Methodist Conference, but I preferred not to 
change my ecclesiastical relations.
I terminated my labors in Leoni and moved to Grass Lake in the spring of 
1851.  I had preached there once in two weeks during the last half of my year in 
Leoni.  The church in Grass Lake was small, somewhat discouraged and not very 
well united.  They were not able to pay me a living salary but I made up the 
deficiency by teaching in the academy for six months in a year for two years.
Our second daughter, Lucy Frances, was born Oct. 30, 1851.
While conducting the academy I taught five days a week and preached three 
sermons each Sabbath, making my labors somewhat severe, but excepting an 
occasional touch of the ague my health was good and I enjoyed my labors.  The 
church became united and increased in numbers and at the end of the second year 
was able to support the minister.  I remained in Grass Lake till the fall of 1855.
Our third daughter, Florence Amelia, was born July 30, 1854.
The society in Grass Lake was unanimous in its desire that I should continue 
with them.  I presume it was an error that I left when I did, but they had an 
unfortunate habit of not paying their subscriptions promptly, and I made that a 
reason for not remaining longer with them.  The third year that I was there they 
built a neat house of worship and appeared to be prospering in every way.  Yet, 
for reasons adequate or inadequate I decided to leave them and in the fall of 1855 
moved to Washtenaw County to preach to a newly organized church in Lodi 
Plains.  This church gave me a cordial welcome and a generous support, and I 
spent nine years very pleasantly and profitably with them.
Here our four boys were born:
		Charles Henry	Jan. 27, 1856
		John Wakeley	Nov. 9, 1858
		William Edward	July 11, 1860
		Albert Augustus	July 14, 1862
During our stay in Lodi we were blessed with several precious revivals and 
the church doubled in membership.  The years spent there were interesting and 
profitable.  I enjoyed excellent opportunities for study, which were not 
unimproved by me.
In 1863 I attended the State Association at Union City.  The brethren honored 
me by choosing me for their moderator.  I received several compliments from 
prominent brethren for the way in which I fulfilled my duty to preach the opening 
sermon.  The large house of the First Congregational Church was crowded and 
many noted men were present from abroad.  The Lord was pleased to help me 
speak and I received many flattering compliments for my sermon.
In the fall of 1856 our little boy, Charles Henry, was taken from us, being 
nine months old.  In the spring of 1862 our parsonage was burned, but the society 
came forward nobly and built a new one better than the old.
We moved to Owasso in the fall of 1864.  The following winter we were 
blessed with a precious revival of religion in which quite a number were happily 
converted and united with the church.  Among the number was our second 
daughter, Lucy Frances.  She was a girl of great promise from whom we hoped 
much, but she was taken with the typhoid fever and died in July, 1865.  Dearly 
beloved Frankie, still thou has a large place in our memory and in our hearts.
Soon after Frankie's death Lottie, our oldest girl, and Albert, our youngest 
boy, were both taken with the fever and were very sick but after several weeks 
both recovered.
I spent four years in Owasso, closing my labors there in the fall of 1868.  The 
church enjoyed marked prosperity during the four years that I was there.  The 
great majority of the church was unwilling that I should leave but the minority 
was permitted to have its own way.
I spent three months, beginning Jan. 1, 1869, preaching to the Presbyterian 
Church in Carlinville, Illinois.  At the end of that time I moved my family thither 
and continued to supply their pulpit till the spring of 1870.  My beloved brother 
Daniel and his family lived there and were members of the church, and the year 
and three months that I spent there were passed very pleasantly indeed.
In the spring of 1870 I received a call to the pastorate of the Congregational 
Church and Society of West Bloomfield, N. Y. I accepted the call and moved there 
with my family in April.  We remained there till the spring of 1876.  The six years 
that I spent in West Bloomfield were the most pleasant and profitable years of my 
life.
LATER PASTORATES
Chardon, Ohio, 1876-1878
Coe Ridge, Ohio (North Olmsted), 1878-1880
Grass Lake, Mich., 1880-?
Michigan Center, ?
Manchester, ?
Tipton, Mich., 1889-1893
North Olmsted, Ohio, 1893-1896
Died in North Olmsted, 1901

[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 JP.DOC printed on September 23, 
1994, from Microsoft WORD version 6.0a, on an IBM PC. ]