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   I will start my story back in Illinois. After father died it devolved on me, at the age of nine years, to run the farm and make a home for mother and four younger children. And right here, I would say, is where my schooling ended. This I continued to do till I was enmeshed in Cupid's net. Laboring under the theory that no house is big enough for two families, I decided to vacate and let another brother run the place for mother. About then a longing desire for a farm of my own gripped me. I turned my longing eyes toward Kansas and announced my intention of migrating thither. Then it was that wife's father showed up and said, "No, sir, you can't take my girl to Kansas and starve her. Come to Milwaukee and there launch your career." I went and spent the winter of 1870-71 in the city of barley and beer. Then I made another announcement to the effect that I was no city chap and was going west for a homestead. I began outfitting my prairie schooner, and when it was completed I had $75 left. At this time I learned of one Charley Downs, who was going to Nebraska. My father-in-law knew him and as I was determined to go west, he wanted me to have company, and as he was acquainted with the Downs introduced me to him. Downs seemed glad to have me go with him, so I gave up Kansas and turned my eyes toward Nebraska. We each had a team and wagon. Father-in-law thought best for me to leave my wife until I had explored the great unknown. He said I would be back in six months. I told him if he saw me in ten years he would have to come to Nebraska to do it. So under these favorable (?) circumstances I set out for my new Eldorado, with my friend, bound as we thought, for Grand Island, Nebraska.
   Hearing favorable reports from Boone county we left the trail at Columbus and headed for the northwest. As we drove along the farther we got from Columbus the fewer the settlers became. There was not a house at St. Edward. Albion was not on the map at all. That old house by the ice plant was all of what was then called Hammond. It was built in the center of Section 22, so as to hold down four claims. There were seven or eight men living, or rather staying in this house. The lumber for it was donated by generous citizens of Columbus. At Fremont we had left our teams, all but mine, and the five of us came up here together, viz: Green, McIntyre, Downs, Selby and Pete Momenee of Minnesota. The other four of us were from Milwaukee, hence the reason the valley at Maple Center was called Milwaukee Valley. We did not tarry at Hammond but pushed on out west to this valley. arriving May 20, 1871. I took my claim where I lived so many years, W1/2, NWI/4 and SWI/4 of

20-20-6. Downs took the place now owned by Ed Woodworth, McIntyre took the Walrath place. Momenee the Atwood timber claim and Selby took the Ben Peters place. The men of this party have all gone hence long ago, except the writer. Mrs. Downs is still living in Oregon bale and hearty.
   We lost no time in getting our homesteod (sic) papers. In eight days after we left Fremont we came here located our claims and had our papers from Grand Island, dated May 25, 1871. Up to this time there were not more than 12 to 15 homesteads taken in the county. There were none at all on the Cedar and as for Plum Creek it was unexplored. I imagine right along here that it will tax the imagination of the average young settler to conceive how the country looked. Oh yes, there was grass but no trees. So if you would burn all the buildings it would not make the country look like it did then. You would have to wipe away all the trees, all the fencing and make one great grass plat with not a foot of fallow land. No friendly spring or well with windmill to quench your thirst. It was certainly a poor prospect for making a living. No town to run to and no money to spend if there had been one. No Albion, no St. Edward, no Genoa save an Indian settlement, nothing till you reached Columbus and no railroad to reach it with. No auto, no carriage, only oxen and wagon and they made two miles per hour -- maybe.
   But here we were and the struggle for existence commenced. We had to have shelter, so I helped Downs build his house on what is now Ed Woodworth's grove. It was 12x16 ft, eight foot posts. Tar paper was tacked on the studding and sheeting nailed on this. Not a very warm building, I assure you, but better than nothing. We hauled the material on two loads from Fremont. What is now left of this old building Ed Woodworth is using for a hen house and I am not sure but it is better than when first built. It has been improved since then with weather boards and plaster. Meanwhile Mrs. Downs and little girl arrived. Existence and subsistence were two big words to the homesteader. Mrs. Green being in Milwaukee, left me free to go and get work, so I went to Fremont the summer and fall of '71 and hired out to do any kind of work I could find to do, while Downs held down his claim and mine. We split 50-50 on my wages. Don't forget right here that Fremont was a long way off in those days. The weary days of toil dragged along. Winter came. There was no grain in the county. It became evident that our horses must be traded for oxen so Downs, Momenee and I took our teams to Fremont to trade. We found a butcher who had some fat oxen he was going to kill, so we traded with him. I got to boot a pony and a Texas heifer. Downs got a 300-pound fat hog, dressed. Momenee only got an even trade of long horned Texas cattle. This trade was made in Fremont while our claims

were here, which measured with the lightning (?) speed of an ox team and present facilities, would be like going to Kansas City or New Orleans.
   Up to this time we knew nothing of Nebraska blizzards. We were led to believe the weather was always mild. While we were hugging this delusion a storm set in which lasted eight days. Downs, fearing the safety of his family, which he had left all alone in the mansion aforesaid, with no neighbors nearer than Atwood's, started for home. He rode a snowplow to Columbus. which took two days, then was three more days reaching home. To his delight he found the family safe. When the storm abated there was about a foot of snow all over, but the wind kept it moving very disagreeably. Momenee and I decided to leave Downs' wagon and put the two yoke of oxen on my wagon. So I led out and Momenee followed. I had to lead the oxen, so of course had to walk and break the road. Mom's team would follow my trail, so he got to ride. On the 31st day of December 1871, this outfit camped a little east of Columbus. We had tried to get in for the night at several places, but were refused. I sorely rebelled at this heartless treatment. Never before nor since did I ever feel so much like doing violence. Of course I am glad now I did not. But that cold night, with snow all over and the wind keeping it on the move, and no one to show us pity, we drove alongside a friendly hay stack. We pulled hay for our cattle, which had to stand in the storm tied to the wagon. We pulled till we made a little shelter and a bed for ourselves then crawled in to sleep and bide the coming of another day. It came and we crawled out of a snow bank, shook the snow off and started on our way. No good hot buckwheat cakes and syrup to cheer us on the start either. What food we had was frozen solid. Strange to say, we did not suffer with cold that night. As all things come to an end, so did this journey. Our oxen were so nearly exhausted we left Mom's wagon and put all three yoke on mine, and came on home. We never stopped for dinner, but pushed on our way as fast as we could. But when we got here there was scarcely anything you would call civilization and NOTHING to live on.
   The next thing of importance was the arrival of Mrs. Green, in February 1872. I would not say that her arrival had anything to do with the weather but the weather did have something to do with her arrival. She was eight days coming from Columbus to Hammond, now Albion. She started out with a mail carrier, changed to another outfit, got lost three times and finally landed at Downs' at the unseemly hour of midnight. Where she was hearitly (sic) welcomed. I guess that's going SOME -- but not much. You folks who like flights of imagination, try to imagine the feeling of this bride of a few months who had always lived in a city and enjoyed the comforts and blessings of plenty in a good 35

home. Cold, yes it was cold! I am sure the winter of '71-72 was the worst and coldest I had ever experienced, and I almost wonder yet we did not freeze, just in that little shack so poorly built and not a wind break anywhere. But we got through the winter and hailed with joy the coming of spring.
   Along in April I set about building our little sod log shanty no (sic) the claim. This was to 16x20. I went over on the Cedar to get my ridge poles, three of them. Near Loretto were some oaks in the gulches. You can see some little ones there yet. Here I split some rails for rafters. I gathered some willow brush to lay over them. With the sod walls laid, the ridge poles well bedded, rafters on, brush and hay next, we were ready for the sod roof. This was of matched sod with joints well packed with clay. It was a dandy and never leaked a drop the first year. Then I shaved the walls smooth and put on a plaster of clay and ashes. We had a door in the east side with a half window in it, a half window in the south end and a full window in the west side of 8x10 glass, dirt floor, but had two planks along side the bed to stand on. This was a nice city bed and prized very highly by the owner. In one end of the house was an oat bin. Every cent in cash that was put in this house was $10. Into this we moved in June, 1872. No millionaire was ever happier than we were. It was our home and we had lots of it compared with the hospitality we were forced to accept from the Downs. Besides, the cold winter had passed away with other disagreeable memories and beautiful June with it (sic) flowers and freshness was here. There are charms about the wild prairies, even if we did see hard times. Up to this time we had to haul the water in barrels from the Beaver. But now that we had a house, we soon had a well. Yes, and we had fleas by the million. But what of that? We had a home of our own. But what is home with no food. So I had to go to Fremont again to seek employment to provide some food. Wife stayed to hold down the claim. Downs did some work for me and again we split 50-50 on my earnings. I wasn't getting rich very fast, neither was I enjoying the society of my bride very much -- me in Fremont and she here. But we were hoping. But I returned after a few months to enjoy my home and my wife.
   It can't always be bliss, so the scene changes a little. Spring comes once more and so did the rain. Last year our roof was perfect, but now it sprung a leak. I put more dirt on but still it leaked. More dirt and more leak. Every rain it leaked more, regardless of the dirt I piled on. The deluge came one night and the flood poured through. The floor was muddy. The water soaked -- yes, soaked and ran clear through that nice bed and Mrs. Green sat on it and lifted up her voice and wept all night through and mingled her tears with the flood of waters. It may be funny now, but that night there was not much humor

in it. I tried to speak words of comfort but I know now they were feeble. I told her to cheer up, that we would retire from the farm at 50. It didn't look then like we would have anything to retire on in 27 years. But I made good and that is why we left the farm when we did -- just because I promised her I would and I did not want to break my promise. She was good to do her part and help me, so I thought it was due her for me to come to town with her. But to return to the house again. The next day after the flood I took my oil soaked horse blankets and pitched them tent fashion over the bed so that it never got wet again. Then as soon as I could the next year I got boards and made a roof over the sod one. That sod roof was 20 inches thick, but it leaked just the same.
   This soddy was a school house also. For two years. Mrs. Green ran a school in her home, thus helping the children away out here on the frontier get an education. The first school house was built in Pleasant Valley, about Dist. 7. Mrs. Green was the first teacher. I would take her over on Monday morning and go after her Friday evenings. The other days she was busy washing, baking and getting ready to go back to school. During the week I got along as best I could batching. She even let children stay with us who lived so far they could not attend the school. While we never had any children of our own, yet we always had children in our home, in all eleven, and none ran away. Five stayed with us until they were married. Are you wondering how we cared for them in our cramped quarters? Do you remember the oat bin spoken of? The children slept on the oats -- a good bed it was too! Yes, many a stranger has shared that bed with the children. And at times when it overflowed, we carried in hay and made beds on the floor. Next morning this would have to be carried out so the cook could get busy. No one was ever turned away from lodging and no one ever went away hungry from our home.
   The first real money I ever made on the claim was in 1873; I had a fine looking piece of corn -- 10 acres. N. J. Myers had a field of 40 acres a little below town. The grasshoppers descended on his and ate it all up. He came over to my place and saw mine. It sure did look fine. He asked me what I would take for half interest in it. I said ten cents. He handed me a 10 cent shin plaster. In a few days the hoppers came and cleaned it completely. That was all I made that year, so had to go back to Fremont to work another fall. But I have that shin plaster yet.

   Read at a dinner given by county members of the Nebraska Territorial Pioneers held February 1, 1922.

   I have been asked to relate some incidents of Pioneer Life. I do not know why, but the true old Pioneer does not like to lay bare to the public his most trying experiences, which are the ones the people are most interested in today. In the first place, the Pioneer never acknowledged to any one not even himself that he was poor, so what looks to us as dire poverty, looked to him as riches.
   As I look back I see a little log cabin 12x16, built in Otoe county, the logs hewn flat on the inner surface, and the chinks filled with "cat" and clay (a mixture of straw and clay) and the whole interior of the cabin treated to a coat of white wash, which rubbed off on everyone who touched it.
   My mother can tell you of what the roof was composed, and her experience the first night she spent under it. The roof was shakes laid over rafters covered with a layer of sod, and any person who saw one of our torrential rains knows what happened when the rain washed the dirt through the shakes and streamed into the room below.
   There was one door which had a latch string for a lock. It consisted of a wooden bar on the inside of the door, that fell into a wooden slot on the door jamb with a string attached near the end of the bar; a hole was bored in the door, and the string passed to the outside. Anyone on the outside could pull the string, and raise the latch, and if the one on the inside wished to lock the door, they simply pulled in the string, and it was done.
   For light there was one small half window. Across one end of the room was two bedsteads made of poles, straw ticks then feather bed, and bed clothes laid thereon; a trundle bed or two to shove under them, provided sleeping accommodations for father, mother and five children. If guests arrived, the women slept in the beds, and the men rolled up in a quilt or blanket on the floor, which was Mother Earth. This little cabin was typical of most of the Pioneer homes I was acquainted with.
   For food, there was always plenty of potatoes, pork, beans and flour. Sugar was used sparingly and tea and coffee was scarce. Various substitutes were used for coffee, such as rosted (sic) peas, bran and molasses, etc. The wild plums which grew in those days, were delicious and the choke cherries and even the sorrel was considered good enough for a company pie. Wild grapes picked off the bunches, and dropped into a jar of sorghum molasses, and allowed to work, then used as a sauce or in pies we thought fine. The children used to beg for the apple peelings, whenever mother was fortunate enough to get apples for pies for threshers, and these peelings tasted mighty good.

   Harvest season was a busy time. The grain was cut with a machine where a man sat on one extra seat, and raked each bundle off the platform with a handrake. It was then bound by hand with a straw band. If I remember right, it took eight men to follow a machine. Those were busy days, for the women too a lunch was prepared, and carried to the field at 10 o'clock A. M. and again at 5 P. M., consisting of fried cakes, pie, bread or rolls, and coffee
   All sewing was done by hand, all stockings, underwear, pants and shirts were all home made as well as dresses and aprons. One pair of hands milked the cows, prepared the lunches, got the regular meals, tidied the house and cared for four or five children (we had no kids in those days). Light was furnished by candles which the good wife made also.
   Well do I remember the candle stick and snuffers, and how many times I tried to snuff the candle and put the light out. Our first lantern was a perforated tin affair, with a candle inside. It had a door to let the light out, when you got inside the barn, (No! Shed!) which you carefully opened on the side away from the drafts, after carrying it from the house, under your coat or shawl. Even then, you might have to relight it a half dozen times.
   I wish I had the gift to make you see these prairies, as I can. The grass was so high on the bottom land, that a man could ride horseback through it and not be seen. Quail, prairie chickens, deer and wolves roamed at will through it; some of the wolves, were large gray ones that were known to kill two year old heifers.
   The Indians on their poines (sic) with tent poles fastened to the sides of the ponies traveled Indian file. I never was afraid of the Indians, but those old Indian spotted dogs used to send chills over me. I see that long string or train of perhaps twenty-five covered wagons each drawn by six to twelve yoke of oxen, hauling government freight to Cheyenne and Laramie from Nebraska City. There were other covered wagons followed by tired worn out women and children on foot, going to the promised land. One poor woman sleeps her last sleep, in a now unknown grave, at the four corners north of Mr. McManus. Dying, she was baptised into the Mormon faith, and left to her long sleep.
   I suppose you wonder how we spent our Sundays. No one worked that day (unless they lost track of the days of the week.) I remember once Mr. Webb came to see father and asked why he wasn't working? Father said "because it's Sunday. Mr. Webb replied "I must go right back for Mrs. Webb is preparing to wash." Once my uncle Jos. Thurm came from Nebraska City. and mother had a boiler on the stove. He said "why Margaret do you wash on Sunday?" It soon came off.

   Sometimes we went to our nearest neighbors, two miles south-east, or five miles north-west. In winter we went in a home made sleigh. A lot of straw was placed in the bottom of the wagon box, a quilt spread on it, the children laid (in that, with the smaller in the center, quilts spread over all, and securely tucked in. The sleigh or wagon was drawn by oxen. There were no bridges, except on the steam wagon road, and twenty-nine streams were forded. Some of the fords were known as Horses Crossing, Devil's Crossing, Benton Crossing, etc.
   My mother saw the historic old steam wagon, and my father was among the men who ran it out to the J. Sterling Morton farm, where it broke down.
   One day my father and Mr. James Walden had gone to Weeping Water to take a grist to Reed's Mill and get flour. Mother and we little folks were left alone. Father was not sure he would return that night, but we half expected him. We were late doing the chores and as we were working a "halloo" rang out on the other side of the creek. Mother answered it, wondering how father happened to be on that side of the creek. You know there were no roads, not even paths, travelers generally followed the streams, or divides and drove stakes or piled up mounds to guide them back to the starting point. Again came the "halloo" This time mother knew there were more than one, and that they were white people. for they were talking and swearing about the location of the crossing. She hurried to the house with us and took two short handled pitchforks. One she gave to my eldest brother, the other she kept herself. She drew the latchstring in, barricaded the door with everything that was movable, and told brother if they came and broke the door in, to stick the fork in the eyes of one, and she would attack the other. They sat there in fear and trembling all night, for after everything was still she couldn't be sure they were gone. But happily they couldn't find the crossing. They also went to Mrs. Wallen's (Mrs. E. Luff was spending the. night with her) and knocked and knocked. Getting no answer they split the door with a rail and said if they were not allowed to enter, they would "blow the occupants as full of holes as a skimmer." Mrs. Luff said "Let us get under the feather bed for bullets will not go through feathers." This they did with all haste. After a time the men got tired and left. We found out later they were a couple of drunken men who wanted to borrow a light.
   Mothers are the same, in all ages and places. We always had our colored eggs at Easter. Mother saved up all bits of calico that would fade, and at Easter wound them tightly around the eggs and boiled them hard. They were of all colors and striped.

   At Christmas we hung up our stockings and usually found a cluster of raisins, an apple, candy and sometimes an orange in them. Sometimes our parents sang hymns or told us stories of the long ago. Our playthings were few and simple. A bunch of rags for a doll, a top from an empty spool, bows and arrows made from willow twigs and twine (which was made from paper and come to pieces when wet.) We made wonderful houses from corncobs, and spent many happy hours cutting dolls, furniture and clothing from newspapers.
   The mail was brought by stage to Mr. J. R. McKee's, I think where Ed McKee now lives. My uncle Mr. Robert Renold wrote to Washington and had a postoffice located at Goss Floatman's store, which joined Mr. Wallen's residence, on the steam wagon road. He asked that it be named Paisley for his old home town in Scotland. I can remember when Mr. Thomas Wells carried the mail to Paisley postoffice in saddlebags.
   The first wedding I remember was an interesting affair. We all went in a lumber wagon to the home of the bride. When all had assembled there, we were again loaded into wagons, and went to the home of Rev. Vose. Great consternation prevailed when the bridegroom discovered he had left the license in his other coat pocket. After several of the men testified they had seen it, and knew he had it, and after promising they would be sure to send it to Mr. Vose the next day, he consented to proceed with the ceremony, to the great delight of all concerned.
   Young people were much the same in these days, as now, only they went about more in groups. Three or four young men would invite three or four young ladies to go to singing school, or church, all going in one wagon, and good times they surely did have.
   What a young couple considered necessary, to furnish a home depended, on the pocket book, and how little they could do with. I have known some very nice, and happy homes, that started with nothing but a cook stove, some store boxes for table and cupboard and bed on the floor. They are today considered among our most successful people both financially and otherwise.
   The dress of those days would seem strange now. The men wore cowhide boots -- but the least said about our everyday clothes the better. We were not all proud or anxious to be seen in them. I still have a couple of pictures taken in the early days. The first of mother and brother taken in 1860 in Nebraska City by George Hair, the other a seven year old girl, also taken by George Hair in 1869 in Nebraska City.
   The early settlers were as anxious for schools as for the postoffice. The Paisley school district was the 6th to be organized in Otoe county and contained 36 sections in town 9, Range 10 and one-half of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 in town 8 and part of what is now 41

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Dist. 20. Five whole districts and parts of others have since been formed from the same territory, 63, 65, 77, 85 and 102 are the five Districts.
   Paisley Dist. No. 6 was organized in 1869; my uncle Robert Ronald being Director; Mr. Thomas Wells, Moderator; and Fred W. Strachan, Treasurer. The school house was built on the steam wagon road on land given for a site by Messrs. Wallen and Luff. The house was longer east and west than north and south. There were three windows on the north and three on the south, and the door was in the east. A long bench desk ran the length of the room to the raised platform on the west where the teacher had a small table and a chair. Benches without backs served as seats for the pupils who of course all faced the center of the room. When called to recite we slipped on the bench and crawled under the desk.
   We were well supplied with charts hung on the wall from which we studied our lessons, all lessons being prepared in the school room. The charts served as books for most of the pupils the first term. There were A. B. C. charts, reading charts, multiplication charts, etc. The reading charts contained such sentences as "See the Cat," "see the Rat," "See the Cat catch the Rat." Each new word was printed in red while the remainder was in blue.
   Miss Lucinda Merwin now Mrs. Hughes of California, a sister of our townsman, Mrs. Lem Merwin, was the first teacher. She received something like ($15.00) fifteen dollars per month and boarded around. Mr. H. K. Raymond was superintendent and usually walked when he came to pay his annual visit. This school grew from a few pupils to an attendance of 60 who got most of their education under these conditions.
   I do not know what our modem teachers would do with such a medley of books. There were Hillard's reader, Saunders' Reader and National Reader, about as many text in arithmetic. What a variety of classes, A B C learners, five reading classes, a history class, and arithmetic classes from 1+1=2 to a class in algebra; geography classes, physiology classes and spelling in all its grades.
   Paisley boasted of a number of good spellers (too bad I was not one of them) and what exciting "Spelling Bees" we had. They took the place of the basket ball games of today.
   Mr. Wm. Saunders started the first Sunday School and well I remember the first picnic. We all met at the school house and marched to the big tree near "Wallen's Bridge" where we played such games as drop the handkerchief, or swung till tired. At noon we again formed in line and marched to the school house where the elder women had been busy. I can yet see that old school house immacuately (sic) clean, and the long benches with

white table clothes, the glistening steel knives and forks, the wreaths and boquets (sic) of wild flowers and the green branches; the cake and pies set on whole but sliced ready to serve, and all the other good things. And they were good for we only tasted them once or twice a year. It was beautiful to us children and we were allowed to drink tea from Mrs. Saunders' china cups, which came from England.
   I wore a white dotted swiss dress made from one of mother's but it was my new dress, and a white sunbonnet. That was a red letter day and stands out in memory.
   Later the old school house served as church as well as school where we heard many a good sermon. It also sheltered a singing school and a Good Templar's Lodge, but best of all, as far as I know, all who attended school in the old school house made good in after life, among the first pupils were only a few boys who used profane language or tobacco in any form altho some were brought up in close contact with both, and few played cards.
   But these days are past. Only one of the older people that settled in this immediate neighborhood remains, Mrs. Margaret Ronald Thompson age 86. The territorial settlers with their loneliness (?) and hardships are fast passing away and the whole story of their struggles will never be known.

   Read before Palmyra Woman's Club.