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It was engaged at Ezra Chapel on July 28th, and later at the battle of Jonesboro. On the 1st of September it reached Lovejoy, and on the 3d of October engaged the enemy in pursuit of Hood. On the 12th of November it started on the march to the sea. On the 29th of November it engaged the enemy at Griswoldville, Georgia ; on the 8th of De- cember engaging the enemy at Little Oghuchu River; on December 21st it entered Savannah, and was present at the capture of Columbia, South Carolina, on the 15th day of February, ; on the 25th day of March it was at the battle of Bentonville, North Carolina, thence moved to Goldsboro, thence to Richmond, Virginia, thence to Washington City, and was on the grand parade and re- view.

It was mustered out of service on the 9th day of June, , at Washington City. The regiment sustained losses of forty-six killed, one hundred and forty-six wounded, one hundred and forty-nine died of disease. It marched three thousand miles, lost three color bearers in assault on 15th and 27th of June, Mahan commanding.

Company A was recruited in Greene county, with Spen- cer L. Bryan captain ; Merritt C. Taylor, first lieutenant, and Addison C. Sanders, second lieutenant. The regi- ment left Indianapolis September 16th, and proceeded through Kentucky to Nicholsonville. On the 6th it marched southward, passing through Tazewell and across Clinch River, Clinch Mountain, and Holsten River, and entered Morristown on the 8th.

On the 10th it reached Blue Spring, where it met the enemy and drove them for fifteen miles. Then the regiment moved to Greenville. On November 6th it marched to Ball's Gap, where it suffered greatly from the want of food and cloth- ing, so. During the winter of and until their term of service expired, they were in the moun- tains of east Tennessee, marching almost shoeless over rough roads, and endured many hardships. This was the last organized company formed in Greene county.

Before this time many of the boys of the county had gone into other regiments, and after this time some went as recruits to the regiments already formed, some as substitutes for drafted men, and some were allured into other counties on account of the local bounties offered. Sixty-nine years ago, October 20, , the parents of the writer, with their family of an even half dozen boys, came in wagons from Niagara county, New York, by way of Indianapolis, to Greene county, Indiana. The state was only twenty-three years old, new and wild, and Indianapolis was less than twenty years old, with a population of less than two thousand; the first state house was then new and was the pride of all the state.

Sixty-nine years ago was eight years before the first railroad was built in the state, and thirty years be- fore the first railroad was built in Greene county. How vast the difference! The first telegraph line in the county was in Prior to that date all messages had to go and come by the old horseback mail routes, through the dense woods and wild prairies, as best the way could be found from one point to another, since all the roads went the nearest way and on the best ground, regardless of lines, and all rivers and small streams had to be ferried or forded.

Costly bridges have long since taken the place of cheap ferry boats and puncheon bridges. This same land, after ditching and tiling, is now the best land in the county. At the date re- ferred to not one-half of the land in the county had been entered, and not one-tenth part had been fenced for cul- tivation. Land was cheap and there were thousands of acres of the best land in the county on the market waiting for buyers. It is notable that the last entries of land was the best land in the county, and this also held good in most all parts of the state.

Labor was cheap, and the average farm hand could get only about five or six dol- lars a month, working from ten to twelve hours a day, in clearing and plowing among the trees and stumps, a thing that but few farmers have to do now, all of which was hard work in the strictest sense of the term, and he who saved his hard earnings could have at the end of the year money enough laid by to enter forty acres of congress land and some to spare at five dollars a month, and many a young man in this way secured a farm that made him and his chosen life partner a pleasant home and a good living in their old age.

Now, the same grade is worth five or six dollars a hundred feet. Not sixty years ago the biggest and best poplar, white-oak and walnut trees would sell from one to two dollars a tree, according to the locality ; they would now be worth twenty-five or fifty dollars a tree. Most of the houses in the county were log houses and required but little lumber in the building, and many were built without any kind of lumber in the construc- tion, some without nails or glass.

The old-time puncheon floors and clapboard doors were common, and were a great saving in the lumber in the log cabin homes of the early settlers. All the first houses of the early settlers were built in this way for many years, as the nearest place to get lumber was at Vincennes, Terre Haute, or Indian- apolis, and until waterpower saw-mills sprung up on the creeks, early in the twenties, the first of which was the grist and saw-mill of Colonel Levi Fellows on Plummer creek in Plummer township, now Taylor township, that supplied the lumber for the country for many miles around and also made the meal and flour, doing away with the hominy block, the hand mills and horse mills that cracked the com from which "dodger" and pone bread were made.

Oxen were then used for heavy hauling more than horses. Two horses or two yoke of oxen would pay the price of forty acres of con- gress land, or four hundred and fifty acres of swamp land. Who wouldn't wish for the prices and times of sixty or seventy years ago, when a very little monev had to go a long way? When the average farmer's tax for a whole year was about five or six dollars— not one- twentieth part of what it is now? And this was when men were honest and grafting was scarcely known.

In the spring of the writer entered the last forty-acre tract of canal land at two dollars and fifty cents an acre in Fair Play township, and the first year's tax was ninety-three cents, and the cry was hard times. Sixty-nine years ago there were only two mail routes in the country and those were horseback routes, and only once a week.

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What pay the mail carrier and post- master received is not known to the writer; it is not likely that any of them got to be immensely rich. So meager was the pay of the postoffices that postmasters had to be almost drafted into service. The postage on a single letter as twenty-five cents. The writer has a few let- ters bearing the date of that have the mark of twenty-five cents, which he is keeping as a relic of olden times. There were no stamps or envelopes in use at that riti. Paying the postage by the receiver was termed "lifting a letter.

The price of a day's work on a farm was twenty-five cents, working from sunrise until sunset, two and one- half bushels of corn at ten cents would, either of them, pay the desired twenty-five, cents for postage, and when the contents were scanned and found to be a dun for a debt long past due, or "I take my pen in hand to inform you that I am well and hope these few lines will find you en- joying the same blessing," the feeling toward the writer can better be imagined than told, after the payment of the twenty-five cents.

At the date referred to there wasn't a frame church or school house in the county, and but very few frame houses of any kind. Point Commerce, Fair Play, Bloom- field, Scotland, Newberry and Linton were the only towns in the county, and the entire population was scarcely over two or three hundred. The old court house at Bloomfield was then new,' and served for many years as a meeting house for all denominations. The first church in the county was built in Linton in Meth- odist , where an organization had been made in Such is the history of the first church in the county as given by the late Samuel Baldwin Harrah, one of the first settlers at Linton, a lifelong member of the Methodist Episcopal church.

Nancy Fincher, yet a resident of Linton, and who is nearing the century mark, is the only person left that was a member at the time of the building of the first church in the county, which was at Linton in The early preachers had many difficulties to over- come, as but few of them were college graduates or pol- ished scholars, so also with the early teachers, and they well earned the scanty pay they labored hard for.

Min- isters generally preached for the good of the soul and for whatever the people saw fit to give them. The early settlers kindly tendered the use of their log cabin homes to the preachers of all denominations for preaching, and all other meetings, and in the winter for night spelling schools. Times have changed somewhat in the last sixty years or more, and those whom we knew in those good old days are about all gone home.

Prior to all schools were subscription, and for a term of about three months each winter, and the ruling price was one dollar or one dollar and fifty cents a stu- dent, according to the teacher and his or her qualifica- tions. We used to have some good teachers and some very poor ones. The opportunities for good schools were poor and many neighborhoods had no schools. In the summer of two brothers and the writer, who was then under eight years old, attended a three months' school in an old log house that was but lit- tle better than a rail pen, so far as comfort was concerned, the house being without chinking or "daubing," an open- ing was made for a door, but no door, two openings were made for windows, but no sash or glass were in them.

A school day was all day long-, and the days were very long for us tow-headed, barefooted chil- dren where we sat and wearily swung our-bare feet and legs all the day, while mosquitoes were not forgetful of us in plying their bills on our bare feet and legs, thus re- minding us that they, too, had to live. We had light that shone in on us between the logs of the house on all sides ; we had to rule our paper by hand, and write with goose- quill pens; we had no charts, globes, blackboards or maps, and but little of anything to make school interest- ing or instructive.

Our teacher was a good Christian woman and we all loved her as we did our mothers.

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She went to heaven a long time ago. Of those who attended that school there yet live two besides myself. After this school there was a period of six years that myself and the rest of our family had no schooling except what our mother gave us at home, for the reason that no schools were near enough for us to attend, which proved a calamity to us.

At the end of the six years a cheap log house was built two and one-half miles away, after the blacksmith shop style, as most all school houses were then built. Here we attended school again after a vacation of six years. This was 1 in the fall of As a fair sample of how cheap many of the first school houses of the county were, one in Washington township, built by the lowest bidder for fifty-nine dollars, of the blacksmith shop style, is called to mind.

The early farmers had hard times and dark days in more ways than one, while they had sunshine and flowers in other ways. This the writer knows something about from actual experience. Sixty-nine years ago there was but one buggy in the county. The axles were wooden and with linchpins, the same as the old-time wagons had. But few of the fann- ers could afford a wagon, but many of them had a sub- stitute which they called a truck wagon, a description of which would be too much to give in print.

The old- time farmers well recollect what a truck wagon was. Many of the old settlers came here from Tennessee and North Carolina, and many of them moved all their household goods on pack horses, not including chairs, ta- bles and bedsteads. It cost more to raise one bushel of corn or wheat sixty years ago than it costs now to raise four or five of either, yet in many ways we lived far bet- ter than we do now, and we had our "side range," so called, for all kinds of stock, and the man that didn't own a foot of land had the same right and privileges that all big land owners had, and no one dared to molest him in his God-given right — a right that no poor man can now enjoy.

And besides this we had all kinds of game and fish that was unmolested by law, and if hog meat or beef ran short, as was sometimes the case, we could go to the woods and lay claim to any part of the game that was in abundance and no one dared to interfere, and if we failed to raise turkeys for the holidays or any other time we could buy a fat turkey for twenty-five cents, and if we did not have the twenty-five cents we could go to the woods and shoot the real wild turkey and have the sport free. The streams and ponds had fish in abundance that we could catch as we pleased.

The heavens swarmed every fall and winter with wild ducks, geese, pigeons and prairie chickens more plentiful than blackbirds, and quail as plentiful as those we read of in Bible times. Sixty-nine years ago we had the real, genuine maple syrup and sugar, luxuries that but few can now have.

The prices were five cents a pound for the sugar and twenty cents a gallon for the syrup. The early settlers lived at home and boarded at the same place, and their latch strings hung on the outside of their doors for all their neighbors alike, and in going to a neighbor's house they rapped on the door and at the same time called out in a loud voice, "Who keeps house?

How's all the folks? They wore their homespun and buckskin suits when and where they pleased. And the young man who was fortunate enough to be the owner of a horse rode to "meetin' " with his best girl behind him with her arm gently twined about her gallant beau, just to keep from falling off, you see, and many a rosy-cheeked bride in this way rode many miles behind her happy husband to the infair, as infairs were then common.

In the long time ago we burned tallow candles, or "dips," as they were then termed, for lights, and in the absence of candles we often burned any kind of soft grease at the end of a rag out of a saucer or other shal- low dish, that made a good substitute for a light. This fact the writer well knows, for he has been there. Jack Maber's history of Greene county, written in , recites the fact that the first white man buried' in Eel River township was interred in a poplar trough made expressly for the occupant.

Josephine Andrews widow of William C. Andrews, one of the founders of Worthington, tells of early coffins made of hickory bark when in the peeling season a tree of sufficient size was selected, the bark chopped around about a foot from the ground and again about six or seven feet higher up the tree. The bark was then split up and down the tree when it was taken off in a whole piece, and so placed in the ground, and spread open enough to take the corpse in, when the bark was again closed up and the burial in a hickory bark coffin was so completed.

This was when there were no saw-mills in the county from which to get lumber for coffins, and this did not require much skill or labor in the making. John Weatherwax used to tell of the making of coffins out of clapboards of white-oak timber. The first saw-mills in the county were the whip saw- mills, but it was a very slow way of making lumber and about the first mill of the kind in the county was operated by Benjamin and Jesse Stafford, brothers, on the farm where now lives Henry C.

After the buildings made of the lum- ber sawed by the first water power saw-mill in the county, lumber of all kinds was cheap, and coffins were cheap, as there was but little material or labor used in the mak- ing. My father was a cabinet maker by trade, so coffin making was a part of his business.

The best grade pop- lar lumber was only fifty cents a hundred feet, so the amount used in making a common-sized coffin cost less than twenty-five cents, and for a child's coffin five or ten cents, to which add the work, and the aitire cost would be about fifty cents or one dollar — no lining, no costly handles, no plates with "Father" or "Mother" engraved on them. The highest priced coffin I ever knew my father to make was six dollars, and he made many for nothing. In the spring of two men came to my father's shop driving a yoke of oxen, hitched to a sled, drawn through the mud.

They wanted a coffin' made as quickly as possible. It was made while they waited and placed on the sled without any kind of covering, and was taken to the house, four miles away, where lay the corpse. After the corpse was laid in the coffin it was again placed on the sled and was so followed to the cemetery by the friends and relatives.

Such funerals were quite common in early times. Contrast the present prices of coffins or caskets with those of fifty or sixty years ago. The early preachers and justices of the peace did not receive much pay for performing marriage ceremonies. Many amusing incidents might be related of early-time weddings, one in particular — that of Robert Inman and Rhoda Wines, the father and mother of the writer's wife, in the early spring of Elisha Cushman, a jus- tice of the peace of Bloomfield, performed the marriage ceremony at the residence of the bride's parents, Mr. Martin Wines, well known, to almost every one in the county, or at Linton known at that time as New Je- rusalem.

The distance from Bloomfield was about fif- teen miles. The justice of the peace rode over in the morning on horseback, married the happy couple, got his horse fed and a good dinner and returned in the evening, and charged fifty cents for his services. Near where Linton now is lived a young man, in the early forties, who concluded it was not best to live longer single.

He started to Bloomfield, the county seat, fifteen miles away, early in the morning and on foot, to get a marriage license. He was without money to pay the fee, but trusted to luck for a credit, as the clerk often trusted his many friends in times of need. So it was with young Moss for that was his name , who went with his trusty gun, and on the way he shot a wild tur- key, which he carried through to the clerk's office and traded it for the license. Jacob Dobbins, a long-time justice of the peace of Richmond township, was never known to charge more than twenty-five cents for a marriage ceremony when at home, and only fifty cents when miles away.

By Henry Baker. We were thirty-two days on the way More days than it now takes hours to travel the same distance, seven hundred and fifty miles. His family cou- nted of my mother and an even half dozen small boys I was then just turned into my eighth year Our parents and half of the boys have been long since passed away.

Here he bought one hundred and twenty acres and entered nfty-e. He arrived at home in just a month, and this was when he was fifty-two years old. Blackberries were just in their prime and he said he had blackberries all along the roadside the entire distance. The day he started from Bloomfield he mailed a letter to my mother saying he was going to start to walk home and he beat the letter through. Most all mail routes then were by horseback. The postage on a single letter was twenty- five cents, the price of two and one-half bushels of corn, or a day's work on a farm.

The postage on all papers was paid by the subscribers. On the 20th of September following. It was very close quarters for a family of eight, after leaving a good house in New York. We had everything to buy and but little to buy with. Corn was ten cents a bushel de- livered ; wheat, twenty-five to thirty-five cents ; oats, ten cents.

Full grown chickens were six and one-half cents apiece. So great was the strife for a little ready cash that the prices looked fabulously small. The winter following was a hard winter and with many deep snows; the roof to our cabin was of clap- boards and weighted down with heavy-weight poles not nailed and was a good roof when there was no snow or rain and not much cold weather. My two oldest brothers had their bed in the loft, where it took lots of clothes to keep from freezing.

I shall never forget one night of an awful snow storm that sent snow all through our cabin, much to our dis- comfort. Next morning when mother had breakfast ready I was sent up the ladder to the loft to call my brothers to breakfast. I found the bed and the loft floor covered with two or three inches of snow, and my brothers sleeping soundly and wholly unconscious of the storm that raged through the night, as they were covered up head and ears.

Before breakfast was over the fire from the old-time fireplace had warmed the loft floor so that the dirty snow water began to trickle down through the loft floor onto everything in the house, in a way that made us almost wish we were back in old New York state again. I assure you it was no place for girls with white dresses.

Morgan County Indiana

I haven't forgotten how often my mother cried over the situation that to her was, almost past endurance. We wintered through as best we could, roasting on one side and freezing on the other. Before the next winter came around my father, with the help of my older broth- ers, turned the chimney the other end up, and made other improvements that were badly needed.

Our land was of a very poor quality, and made us but a poor support ; the timber was first-class, no better anywhere, poplar, white oak, black oak, red oak, black and white walnut, sugar tree and beech, and many other varieties, as good as ever grew anywhere in the state. A large part of the land was good, while some was poor, fit only for fruit of various kinds. The virgin soil yielded bountiful crops of apples and peaches mostly that were not infested with insects that we now have to contend with.

Nearly all the first orchards were raised from the seed plantings, and from which we had good apples ; the yellow Bellflowers, the big Roman- ces, the Baldwins and many other varities that we now rarely see, and the peaches that grew in every fence cor- ner and on every hillside, such as the old Mixon frees and clings, the Indian clings and frees, and almost a countless number that can't be named now.

With the coming of white frost we had the wild grapes and the lusty pawpaws, that would tempt the appetite of an epicure. A little later on we had the hazel- nuts and the big shellbark hickory nuts, that were plenty everywhere, and everybody laid in a good supply for the long winter evenings and cold days, to crack while they cracked jokes and ate the big apples that were laid by for winter use. Less than a mile away was a waterpower saw grist mill, where we got logs sawed for the half, and our corn and heat ground for one-eighth toll, when there was plenty of water to run the mill, and that was generally in the late fall, winter and early spring.

In the summer time there was but little sawing or grinding done for lack of water. Then the only chance was the hand mills, horse mills and hominy blocks that were then common, or a trip to the Vincennes mills, forty-five miles away. That used to take three or four days to make the trip and return.

Milling was often a serious matter to the man who had no team or wagon to go to mill with. It would often be the case that families had to live many weeks in succession without meal or flour — their living being roasting- ears, hominy and potatoes, with wild meat, which was then plentiful. Most of the early dry milling was on horseback, or sleds without snow or on truck wagons drawn by oxen, many, many miles, and in bad roads and often bad weather.

Lumber was all sawed at the half, shingles were hand-made, and all other work. The house is yet standing and in good repair, and is about the oldest frame house in the county. My mother had the first cook stove in our neighborhood, while there were but few anywhere else in the county, consequently nearly all the cooking was done around the old-time fire- places, where our mothers baked the cornpone and corn dodgers that showed the finger prints in the baking — the best bread ever made — the bread that made bone and nerve.

They plowed the land with their wooden mold-board plows and harrowed the ground with their wooden harrows, and harvested with reap hooks and wooden cradles; and cradled the children in sugar troughs and pitched their wheat and hay with wooden pitchforks, while the women and girls spun and wove their flax and wool and made their clothes for every-day wear and Sunday, too.

The happiest days we ever saw in our lives, except in the fall of the year when nearly everybody had the real shaking ague that made the dishes rattle in the chimney corner clapboard cupboard, and the glass rattle in the windows, where there was any glass, as many houses had no glass in them. With many the chill came to stay and did stay a whole year or more.

With the coming of white frosts the chills began to abate, and the rosy tint began to show on the once pallid cheeks of all alike. The cooking stove mentioned cost thirty dollars, the price of three hundred bushels of corn at ten cents a bushel, then the standard price, and Vincennes was, the nearest place to get a stove; and four dollars was the price of a barrel of salt. In the summer of , and many years before, there lived, in fairly good circumstances, in the eastern part of Greene county, on a small farm, an honest man in the person of John Cooper, better known as "Uncle John," a farmer and Campbellite preacher, so called in early times, who preached the gospel on Sundays, and on week days worked the farm he earned the price of in hia early manhood.

The living was made almost entire- ly from his farm, as he was never known to accept a stated salary for his services, but whatever the good peo- ple saw fit to give him was thankfully received, and nothing more. It will be remembered by the old people that many of the early time preachers knew but little about stated salaries ; so it was with Uncle John Cooper. He was noted for his honesty and integrity, and his word and all his acts were in strict accord.

As evidence of this fact, in the summer of he contracted to a farmer a few miles away fifty bushels of corn at twelve and one-half cents a bushel, which at the time was considered the market price, but before the day of delivery came around the price dropped to ten cents a bushel, and the buyer demanded the fall in the price ; not so with Uncle John, for he sternly refused to accept anything but what his contract called for.

Then the buyer refused to take the corn unless it was shelled, although this was not stated in the contract. But as Uncle John was sorely in need of a little ready cash, and not wishing to have hard feelings or a lawsuit, he agreed to comply with the buyer's demand. So he and his two boys shelled the fifty bushels of corn by hand, which re- quired a whole week's time of hard work for the sum of one dollar and twenty-five cents, and five dollars for the corn made a total of six dollars and twenty-five cents. It will be remembered that sixty years ago the county was new and wild, and but few farms were clear of stumps and trees, so that farming could be done with any kind of machinery ; in fact there was no kind of farm- ing machinery then in use, and for many years after, when it cost more labor and time to raise one bushel of corn than it now takes to raise five bushels.

When a day's work on a farm among the stumps was from sunrise until sunset, for twenty-five cents a day, and often for less money for any and all kinds of farm work, except wheat harvest, which was generally about fifty cents a day. True we had many privileges and favors then that we don't have now and never can again. Then a neigh- bor hired to his neighbor to do a day's work or more It was the rule long established to go before breakfast and stay until after dark, thus getting three "square" meals a day and that the best "grub" the country af- forded, and it was good and very good, and the writer w.

Who wouldn't like the sap and the bread, too, made and baked at an old-time fireplace such as was in use over sixty years ago? In the days of my boyhood I saw not a few times cows milked in a gourd. In early times almost every family raised gourds, as they were considered a necessity, and useful in many ways besides for milking in and placing the milk in to raise the cream.

The long-handled or crooked-handled gourd bad a place in the water pail, or bucket, also at the well or spring, thus saving the expense of tin cups or glass, when money to buy them with was so hard to get. The gourd was all right in its place, and it had many places to fill in the homes of the early settlers, and with many it was claimed that the water, milk or cider drunk out of a gourd tasted "a heap" better than out of a tin cup or glass, and the writer believes it, too, especially new sweet cider just from the press, such as we used to have in our boyhood days when the boys and girls went to apple cuttings miles and miles away, and drank cider out of a gourd, as cider was a prime neccessity at all apple "cuttings," and then we played old Sister Phoebe and "weevily wheat," sometimes until the wee hours of the night.

We had a little old cow, we milked her in a gourd and sat it in the comer and "kivered" it with a board, and mother used to tell how she skimmed the milk with a mussel shell. A mussel shell for skimming milk was quite often used, and many of the old women argued that the butter' wouldn't come as quick where a tin skimmer was used as when it was skimmed with a mussel shell. Back in poultry and everything else was cheap. Tame turkeys were cheap and cost but little to raise; wild turkeys were cheaper, and cost nothing but the hunting and the sport was free, hence the price of turkeys sixty years and more ago.

In our boyhood days, twen- ty-five cents would buy many articles of trade and com- merce that couldn't now be bought for twenty-five dol- lars and more. The price of a fat turkey, twenty-five cents, would then buy two acres of marsh land at twelve and one-half cents an acre, land that now is worth fifty to one hundred dollars an acre, and five turkeys would buy an acre of congress land, or ten turkeys would buy an acre of canal land. What if we had as good foresight as we now have hind-sight?

The price of a weekly newspaper at two dollars, with the postage added, would almost take the price of a twenty-five-bushel load of corn, or of eight or ten bushels of wheat or of several fat turkeys. Turkeys, wild and tame, ranged the fields and wood and got fat beyond description on the grasshoppers and beechnuts and acorns. When the writer was married, in , the license fee was one dollar, and not many years before, I think, the fee was fifty cents. Preachers and justices of the peace were often called on to perform the marriage ceremonies on credit.

A young man of the writer's acquaintance, not one hundred mites from Bloomfield, whose funds were a little short, employed David Burcham, an old-time justice of the peace, to marry him, and the day following the young man paid for the ceremony by grubbing on the farm of the justice of the peace.

Some of the old people of Bloomfield well knew Mr. Burcham in the days long gone by. This the writer well knows from actual experience. Samuel R. Cavins was then clerk, and often befriended his many friends in times of need and when funds were short. Sixty years ago the average day wages on the farm was about twenty-five cents, except in harvest time, when the wages were about doubled. Fifty cents would then buy one hundred feet of clear yellow poplar lumber, a better grade than can now be bought for six dollars a hundred.

A hearse was not then in use or thought of. Friends and neighbors kindly tendered their services in digging and filling" the graves. Funeral expenses and doctor bills were then very light as compared with the present times. Many of the early preachers had hard times in car- ing for the wants of the body as well as for the soul. One old preacher whose head is getting white with the frost of many winters tells of living a whole year on one circuit where the sum total paid him was seventeen dollars. One old-time Methodist Episcopal church member boasted that he had paid his quarterage twenty-five cents regularly every three months for "mor'n" thirty years.

The old Methodist Episcopal church at Linton was the first church in the county, and was built in Prior to this date no one went to church, but nearly everybody went to "meeting" not in buggies or surreys but. A reticule was a prime necessity with the old and young women alike to carry the pipe and tobacco in. Many of the old ladies and men, too, of Greene county will recollect this. Levi Fellows, one of the first settlers in Taylor township in , was the owner of the first buggy in the county, but it was called a carriage, and resembled a buggy but had little linchpins, the same as all the old-time wagons had, the front wheels being about half as high as the hind wheels.

It was a dandy. The writer took a ride in this grand old buggy in the summer of , and it was his first buggy ride; he thought it was almost heaven on earth. Isaac Ward, a stonemason, living near the old Rich- land furnace, engaged Col. Levi Fellows to marry him at a fixed day and hour.

The day arrived and the colonel, agreeable to promise, was on time, but the groom failed to put in appearance. It was soon ascertained that Mr. Ward had gone about two miles distant to work at his trade. Two young- men who had come to witness the ceremony were sent posthaste for the groom, while the anxious crowd and expectant bride whiled away the time as best they could. The groom was captured and soon brought to time, and was not slow in explain- ing to the colonel and all parties present that he had forgotten the day.

Daniel Ingersoll and others were in his employ. The colonel had Just been elected or appointed judge, and hadn't yet performed a marriage ceremony. Ingersoll engaged the newly-fledged officer to marry him at the home of his intended at Fair Play. As the wedding was at night all the hands in his employ repaired to the wedding to witness the young officer's first marriage ceremony.

All were top-toe with glee, much to the embarrass- ment of the new officer. The ceremony was gone through with the groom, but when he came to the bride, his con- fusion was too great to proceed further. After a little halt his speech was regained, he told the waiting couple they might take their seats, saying he guessed they were married enough anyway. Alexander Plummer, an old pioneer flatboat man, started down the river to New Orleans on a flatboat from near Gosport and landed on the west bank of White river, near the home of old Thomas Plummer, the home of his intended wife, some two or three miles west of Bloom- field, late in the afternoon in February, Plum- mer at once proceeded to the home of his intended father- in-law, Mr.

A messenger was dispatched to Bloomfield for a license and a justice of the peace and the happy couple were married the same night. Next morning Mr. Plummer bade the wife of less than one day an affection- ate good-bye, and started on down- the river and was gone six weeks. Plummer made honored citizens and lived to a ripe old age. Thomas Plummer, the last one of the family of Alexander Plummer, yet lives in Fair Play township, where he was born and has lived all his life, and is in his seventy-sixth year in Samuel Simons, ex-commissioner and United Brethren preacher, who once lived where Lyons now is, was three times a widower, and each time concluded it was not best for man to live alone, and the last, time a widow of long acquaintance in his neighborhood was the center of his affections, and as old folks' courtships are generally short and mean business, so it was with Uncle Sam, as he was long and familiarly known.

So early one summer morning he repaired to her home and gently rapped at her door. The door was opened, and with a friendly good morning, he was invited to come in and take a chair, to which he answered that he hadn't time and that he came to see if she would marry him. Uncle Sam was bent on business and demanded an answeii in fifteen minutes and said he would sit down on the woodpile in front of her house and wait the time and answer while the good old lady whirled the wheel and drew out the long home-made yarns, for she was spinning when Uncle Sam called to see her.

Time up, he went to the door, and laying one hand on each side of the door and asked what she had concluded to do, to which she replied that she would marry him. The proposi- tion was no sooner accepted than Uncle Sam mounted his horse, and, on double-quick, started to Bloomfield for the license, returning the same day, and the two were married before the sun went down. Although both well advanced in years they lived long to enjoy the sweets of connubial bliss, as reported by a near neighbor. The father claimed as he was the older he should have the use of the coat first, to which the son readily consented.

After the ceremony was over and the usual hand- shaking - and congratulations were ended, the old man shed the coat and the son donned the "linsey-woolsey" and was soon made a happy bridegroom and the four started out with fair prospects for a happy never-ending - honey- moon. A few weeks or months after, the tune changed and Isaiah concluded if "sparing the rod would spoil the child," the same would be applicable with his wife, as he was not slow in frequently applying the birch to her as a gentle reminder that she must be subject to his control.

Not content with his own way of running af- fairs, he hied away to parts 1 unknown, leaving the young wife to stem the storms of life as best she could alone. But like the prodigal son, he found time to repent and return home to his rejected better half, who didn't care to meet with a fond embrace, or have a "fatted calf" killed for the occasion. The repentant asked permission to come into the house and lie down on the floor.

Barnes and... A Conversation Wtih Jon Meacham

The request was granted, and the good wife, to keep his clothes from getting soiled, spread on the floor a home- made tow-linen sheet for him to lie on. The wife, quick to instinct, seized the opportunity, and with a good cudgel proceeded to administer justice to the way- ward husband in such a way as to leave a lasting impres- sion and a call for faithful promises never to desert her or whip her again, if she would only set him at liberty. On the 14th day of April, , Elisha B.

Cush- man, a justice of the peace of Bloomfield, married Rob- ert Inman and Rhoda Wines afterward the father and mother of the writer's wife at the residence of the bride's parents, Mr. Martin Wines, one mile west of where Linton now is. The distance from Bloom- field was about fifteen miles.

Cushman rode over in the morning on horseback, married the happy couple and returned home in the evening and charged fifty cents for his services. The probability is that the justice of the peace had to pay twelve and one-half cents for ferry- age, which reduced the amount to thirty-seven and one- half cents. At that time ten-cent pieces hadn't come into general use.

The wages of a day laborer then was about twenty-five cents, so the justice of the peace was ahead twelve and one-half cents and a good square dinner, such as was common in those days, when every farmer's table was spread with the best "grub" the country afforded in an abundance. Cushman, the justice above mentioned, used to tell of. After the ceremony had been performed the happy groom asked what the fee was, and was told that it was fifty cents.

Not a little embarrassed he hardly knew what to do, as thirty-seven and one-half cents was the sum total of his pile. Bravery cheered him as he handed over the thirty-seven and one-half cents, and with a promise to pay the' remaining twelve and one-half cents, the first time he should see Mr. Cushman, and al- though they only lived a few miles away, it is hardly probable that he ever saw the justice again, as the sum was never paid.

Cavins, who was clerk at the time, said Mr. Cushman came out better than he did, as the licenses were obtained on a credit, and never paid for. Cavins was noted for his generosity, and the poor never went from his door empty-handed. The writer is reminded of a puncheon floor he saw in the eastern part of this, Greene county, where he attended a wedding in the spring of , fifty years ago.

In those days puncheon floors and clapboard doors were quite common, and good poplar timber was plenty, from which the puncheons were mostly made. The puncheons in the floor referred to were just five inches in width, three feet in each puncheon, and two lengths to the room.

The floor showed it had been in use many long years and was as white as soap, sand, water and a hickory broom could make it, for the occasion. The house hadn't a pane of glass in it, and doors stood open all times of the year to afford light. After the ceremony and the usual handshaking was over the blushing groom asked what the charge was and was told that as it was Sunday and the justice of the peace didn't have to come put a mile, he wouldn't charge but twenty-five cents. The fee was paid and the justice of the peace and wife and myself were invited to stay for dinner.

The invitation was cheerfully accepted, and I shall never forget the nice biscuits, fried ham and eggs and tree molasses we had for dinner, and what made the dinner relish the more was that is was all cooked by an old-fashioned fireplace such as was common in those times when not one family in ten wanted or thought they could afford a cookstove and many believed they couldn't make as good bread by a stove as by the old-time fire- places and the writer believes it too, especially the corn- dodgers with the finger prints in it, such as our dear old mothers used to make.

The grand old poplar trees and log houses with puncheon floors and huge fireplaces, with their pots, skillets and frying pans sitting around, are about all gone, and our dear old mothers, too, are gone, in a space of fifty years. As the season of the year for maple sugar and syrup of the kind we used to have long years ago approaches, when men were honest, and when maple sugar and syrup didn't get into market three months before its season, a :ij good story is in season as told by a doctor who was many years a resident of Indianapolis, and whose reputation for truthfulness and veracity was never doubted.

Many jj of the good citizens of Indianapolis were no doubt ac- quainted with him.

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In the midst of the season for maple syrup an old farmer, wearing a slouch hat and smoking a cob pipe, with his better half, seated in a home-made split-bottom chair, right from the rural district, drove into the city in a rickety old linchpin wagon, drawn by two old horses that compared favorably with the wagon and driver, a type of an old-time, honest farmer. In his wagon were about twenty gallon jugs corked with cobs, the novelty of which attracted the attention of the passers by.

A location was sought close by the sidewalk, where there were many passing. The answer was, "Taste it," and it was tasted, and each with a gusto smack pronounced it all right. A taste and a smack, with an honest wink that it was all right, satisfied the crowd that had formed a circle around the jugs that they had a rare- treat hefore them. A stampede ensued as to which should be the first to get a jug, and the old farmer was kept busy handing out jugs and receiving his pay.

And soon all were gone and several were sadly disappointed at being too late. Hakeem Jeffries D-NY. Mazie Hirono D Hawaii; Rep. Ro Khanna D-CA. Raja Krishnamoorthi D-IL. Mike Quigley D-IL. Jimmy Gomez D-CA. Aired on p ET. Steve Cohen R Tennessee; Rep. David Cicilline D-RI. Ben Cardin D-MD. Adam Schiff D Ca. Aired: p ET. Aired 11a- 12p ET. Hakeem Jeffries D-N. Madeleine Dean D-Penn. Jimmy Gomez D California. Ted Lieu D , Ca. Nukes; Rep.

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Sheila Jackson Lee D Texas. Will 'Pay Dearly' for New Sanctions. Andre Carson of Indiana. Factory to Open by Top Apple Supplier. Adam Schiff. Joaquin Castro. Bush Talk Leadership. Mike Quigley. Requests U. Meeting on North Korea. It not only gives the public performance of the members of the bench but also candidly relates personal traits and incidents in their lives.

This insight into the personal lives of the judges reminds one that they are fallible human beings who, prior to assuming the bench, lived as attorneys and members of their communities. It also reminds one that after assuming the bench the judges are no less members of their communities; that their spouses and children walk the same streets and drive on the same highways as other members of society. Their personal interest in civilized society is as great as any citizen.

Their professional responsibility requires them to render just decisions regardless of personal views or public outcry. For the most part their years of experience afford them the ability to cope with the inevitable public ridicule with a sense of humor and a charitable understanding of the emotional source of such comment. The Resource Guide provides introductions to the period and the subjects covered, including document introductions, activities, maps, timelines, reference materials, various finding aids to help match subject areas with the documents, and two supplemental related documents for each of the twenty-five packet documents.

Document packets each consist of five document reproductions two views each and two supplementary sheets in an envelope. The following volumes present selected public papers from the administrations of governors from through The introductions are valuable resources of the periods covered. History of the rotary jail in Crawfordsville, Indiana, timeline of jails, and treatment of prisoners.

Documents the formation of Indiana from the Northwest Territory, through various stages as Indiana Territory. Includes discussions of finances and slavery. William Henry Harrison's life and career is highlighted in the timeline. Indiana Statehood. Provides details about the process, the people, and the times that led to Indiana's acceptance as the nineteenth state on December 11, Describes how a new constitution came to be called for in the mids, describes the convention, the people who made the constitution, and the differences between the and Indiana constitutions.

Search for a new capital, Part 1. How Indianapolis came to be the capital; Indiana's past capitals; the commission which chose the location. Indianapolis, the Capital, Part 2. The beginnings of Indianapolis and Marion County through the arrival of state government in the fall of Public health science in Indiana at the turn of the 20th century, Dr.

John N. The geography, geology, and natural history of the dunes along Indiana's Lake Michigan shore and the effect on the state's development and public policy. Search IN. Find an IN. Top FAQs. Clair From its inception in until , one woman and men have been members of the Indiana Supreme Court. Madison Indiana's Wendell Willkie burst upon the national political scene in when, apparently out of nowhere, he won the Republican nomination for the presidency and ran against Franklin Roosevelt. Osborn Similar to an obituary, an In Memoriam honors a public figure at death. Bodenhamer and Hon.

Randall T. Kennedy and the Indiana Primary Ray E. Boomhower Marking the 40th anniversary of Kennedy's Indianapolis speech, this book explains what brought the politician to Indiana that day and explores the characters and events of the Indiana Democratic presidential primary in which Kennedy, who was an underdog, had a decisive victory. Dickson, Justice, Indiana Supreme Court Describes Indiana's remarkable constitutional history and legal documents which have served as a "constitution".