Jerauld County, South Dakota - The whole text, 1909 (part 10 of 10)

The last article is an attempt to trace one of the old roads that led from the town to the seminary and on, northwest, into the country, in the old days, before the railroad came to Wessington Springs.

The Evening Glow

The County Commissioners had a problem before them - what was to fie done with Granny Smith. Uncle Jimmie Smith had been suddenly released from his hard and unequal struggle with the world, and was fiaving the first quiet rest of the whole seventy years of his life, so poor old Granny was left entirely alone, with no one of kin nearer than her old home in England.

Some strange fate had tempted these two childless and friendless old people some ten years before to come to the new country of South Dakota, where "land was to be had for the taking and all the dreams of a carefree existence realized." It had been a hard struggle all along - there fiad been crop failures, misfortunes with the stock, the cattle and horses which had not succumbed to the rigors of the new climate and the insufficient food, had been taken to satisfy mortgages, so that Uncle Jimmie's widow found herself with a partially cultivated quarter-section of land, two horses, four cows, a few chickens, and various pieces of machinery needed in carrying on the work of the farm. Plainly enough she could not care for herself - there was no one to care for her. This new county in a new state had nothing in the nature of poorhouse-^besider she was not a pauper, but the owner of a farm, and its equipment, however meager.

Accordingly the suggestion had been made to the county authorities that her farm be turned over to them under condition that she be cared for during her lifetime. After much discussion and many trying visits from the old lady, the decision was made to accept the bequest, and work was immediately begun upon a suitable dwelling within the borders of the town of Walsington Falls, the county seat. One room, 12x14 feet, comprised the house, but what a paradise it seemed to Granny. She could scarcely be called prepossessing, yet the little old face, crisscrossed by many wrinkles, the faded blue eyes, with no trace of softening brow or lash, seemed to grow youthful as she watched over the building of this new home. Here for the first time in her life she was to experience the joy and freedom of being mistress of a home. Jimmie had been master and mistress both all these years, and while she had grown well accustomed to that state of affairs, there was considerable excitement over the new era.

Now, also, for the first time in her life sh$ was allowed to handle money - actually to make purchases upon her own responsibility. A small * sum was allowed her each month for her living, and while at first the joy of possession with privilege of spending, involved her in difficulties - even in financial embarrassment - yet what could one expect of a child of sixty-eight, with those years of repression behind her.

The tiny home was soon arranged - bed in one corner, table, holding her Bible and one or two other books, beside it, with the two rocking chairs disposed at the foot, beside the south window, - this end was parlor and bed room. The stove - a range - occupied the middle of the room, giving heat to the parlor, and furnishing opportunity for the necessary work of the kitchen, which was in the opposite end of the room. The dining table, with its lonely chair, stood beside the north window, on the line between the divisions, and through windows and door to east, south and west streamed the warm prairie sun and the fresh prairie breeze.

The new situation brought many pleasures and undreamed of privileges to the little old lady, but her chief delight soon grew to be "going to church/' The little home was near church and parsonage, and the sound of the bells always found her ready, and her seat the first one filled. The minister, however stormy the day, was always sure of one good listener, and soon grew to depend upon that wrinkled, upturned face, puckered with anxiety as she tried to follow him wherever he wandered. Unconsciously, in his effort to make his message clear and simple for this untutored soul, he grew into greater strength, and his people remarked upon a steady improvement, little dreaming that it came about through the presence of the little black figure, well, to the front of the room, and always there.

She, in turn grew to feel the importance of her positon and to assume a responsibility in the direction of the church affairs to an unwonted degree. At one of the minor meetings in the absence of the pastor, she had even pronounced the benediction, but after a quiet explanation from the preacher, she had not again attempted that, confining herself to matters more closely within her sphere.

"What's the use a-wastin' time that away," he would growl, "horses that 'ave been worked 'ard h'all the week shoudn't ort to be druv on Sunday - h'anyow don't see what you want to go fur. - Notice the folks that's so hanxious to go to church 're no better 'n them 'at stay at 'ome. Didn't h'old Bill Lawson, who was alius going to church, sell me seed flax as was more'n 'alf mustard, chargin' me fur the best flax?"

All these things were forgotten now, however, ( and Granny often sighed and wished "poor Jimmie" could have been with her to enjoy the church meetings.

Next to church going she most delighted in visiting - spending the day with her new acquaintances of the town or country near by. Her ten years residence within a few miles of the town had not made for her as many friends as the first year in her new home. She believed, without having heard it said, that she who would have friends, must show herself friendly, and so much of her time was spent in "visitations."

One bright, brisk morning in December, while the most of the town folks were still leisurely breakfasting, the quaint little figure in black shawl and hood started for a long day at the home of Mrs. Douglas. It was a hard walk - two miles over frozen country roads, with no chance of a ride, for all the teams were bound for the village. It was a breathless old lady with red cheeks and blurred eyes who surprised Mrs. Douglass as she was skimming the milk for the calves' breakfast.

"Goodness, Grandma Smith, how you stratled me. You must be frozen after that long walk against the cold wind. Come in and sit by the fire - put your feet right in the oven and get them warm, while I make you a cup of tea," said Mrs. Douglass, as she bustled about helping remove the old lady's wraps, getting a newspaper to shield her face from the too ardent fire, and bringing out tea pot and caddy.

"O, we're early birds down here, grandma, and today Malcolm is going up north for seed corn, so he wanted to be off in good season. You know how short the days are."

Good Mrs. Douglass said nothing of her plan to accompany Malcolm and visit a distant neighbor on the way. She was accustomed to Granny's unexpected appearances.

"I declare," she had said to a friend whom Granny was also fond of visiting, "sometimes when the day's plans are so upset I feel like telling her she must send me word before coming, but that face - so unconscious that there can be anything more important than her entertainment - closes my lips ; I cannot bear to see the joy die out. Think how few her pleasures are at best."

So not a hint of frustrated plans appeared in her cordial manner, and when Malcolm rushed in with the cry, "All ready soon's I hitch up," on his lips her warning glance and shake of the head told him his journey must be made without her.

Malcolm was a prime favorite, and his gay greeting, "Hello, grandma, where'd you get those dandy red cheeks? The girls don't stand any show when you're around," met with broad smiles and a "Just 'ear that now. Don't 'e love to flatter the h'old ladies though?"

"No sir ! I never flatter. You know, grandma," sitting down close be ode her, "I always thought," but the rest of the sentence was finished m her ear and lost to all others. The effect was overpowering, for she laughed until she coughed and choked and wound up in a wild gale of cackles and gurgles.

"Go on now," she gasped, with tears streaming down her face, as Malcolm, seizing a doughnut in each hand, kissed his mother goodbye and was off with a parting wave to her. "Aint 'e the greatest - alius 'as the gay word for h'everybody - sech a pranker."

Then, and her eyes took on a faraway look, she said, "You know, Mis Douglass, that dear boy do make me think o' my poor dear Jimmie more and more h'every time I see 'im."

Mrs. Douglass looked amused, for Uncle Jimmie, the gruff, surly old man, wasting few words, pleasant or otherwise on anyone, seemed endlessly remote from her bright-faced boy, whose cheery presence and q*uick wit brightened not only the home but the whole neighborhood.

Yes, ' granny went on reflectively, " 'e cerinly do make me think o' Jimmie in 'is talk and hactions. Yes, hand in 'is looks too - that red 'air do remind me of Jimmie's ginger whiskers."

Mrs. Douglass laughed heartily. "Well Malcolm's hair is inclined to be gingery, and he is certainly the spice of our family. We will miss him sadly when he is off to school next month."

"Poor granny, how quickly all remembrance of disappointment and hardship has vanished," thought Mrs. Douglass, "she is enjoying Uncle Jimmie more in his death than she ever did in his life."

It was true, - the great alchemist Time had cast a pleasing glow over the past, eliminating all the gloom and shadows. To his widow now Jimmie Smith had grown into the likeness of all one could desire, and Malcolm's attractive face and manner personified to her all that she would ask for her husband.

Mrs. Douglas broke into her reverie by saying, "Now, grandma, shall we go into the other room and get to work? I have a comforter on the frames and while we visit I will try to tie it off. Yes, you may help if you wish, if it is not too hard for you."

A big base burner made this room comfortable. The bright sunlight flooded- it through the south windows, and added almost a feeling of summer, which could only be dissipated by a glance at the wintry landscape outside. An organ brought from the east stood in one corner, neai it a bookcase, fashioned by Mrs. Douglass' own clever hands, and filled with well selected works. A roomy table, holding the big lamp, was well littered with books and magazines. Neighbors said, "Those Douglasses will never be rich. Look at the money they spend for books and papers. Why their magazines must cost them $10 a year. Think of getting a different magazine for each of them six children. It's reckless waste."

Grandma seized upon some of the recent publications - Mrs. Douglass noticed she selected those belonging to the younger children - and looked through the pictures, but talk was more to her taste, and soon needles were threaded and she prepared to do her share of both talk and work. Mrs. Douglass was a safe companion. Under her kindly thought and suggestion, harsh criticism and unneighborly gossip were changed into harmless and friendly feeling.

"Well, Mis Douglass, did you 'ear 'ow cut up Mis Jack Thompson was when she got to church last Sunday mornin', a leetle late o' course, and found that Mattie Garraway up playin' the orgin in her place? You know Mis Thompson thinks that Mattie's tryin' to git in as organist, and , all them Garraways are jest pushin' her for'd." sionally be late to church, and I know she is glad to have Mattie there to take her place when she is detained. It is so kind of her to give her talent freely and we should appreciate it."

"Well now, mebbe that's so, 'course I don't know nothin' about it, but that's the way it was handled to me," said granny, her mind easily diverted and ready to think good will to men, if somebody would only suggest it to her."

"Didn't you think Brother Norvell preached a powerful sermon week ago on the mistakes o' Cain? I tell you I couldn't help a thinkin' o' Mr. Miller and the spite he holds agin that good Mr. Grayson. You know for a long time 'e wouldn't come to church at h'all, 'e was so mad. 'I went right hup to im after meetin' and said 'h'l tell you that ort to be a strong example to h'us these days, sez I, not to hate our brotherin, but before h'l could say h'anything more 'e jest grunted and walked h'away. H'l tell ye Mis Douglass, that man's powerful sot, and if 'e haint watchin' i's steps e'll fall in the mud," finished granny with a pious look.

''Well, we must remember that Mr. Miller has not had the advantages of some and while he is very decided in his opinions and does not easily forgive, yet he is a kind neighbor and thoughtful of those less fortunate than himself."

"That's so," agreed granny again, reminded of his many visits to her door with vegetables from his well stocked pit, a chicken or a fresh piece of meat, "H'l alius did say that man 'ad a good 'art in 'is stummick. There's something good about h 'anyone as has a warm thought for the widders and fatherless."

"Who's Moses? Well now you knew I named that cat Moses, didn't ye? Didn't h'll tell ye 'bout findin' 'im down in the Big Gulch sort o' caught in an old basket right in the runway? His yowls was gettin' feeble an' guess 'e begun to give up 'ope. I wonder I never told you about that. Anyhow, cause o' findin' h'im that way I called 'im Moses, and 'es as much comfort to me as h'ever the real Moses was to old Pharaoh way down in Egypt. 'E'll be at the door waitin' for me when i git 'ome," continued the old lady as she fastened the thick black shawl about her.

"Here, grandma, is something I've been intending for you and 1 think it will be a comfort during the cold trip home. I noticed your face was not well protected this morning and this thick veil you will find very

"Jest wait a minit, Mis Douglas, 'fore you tie that, there s something I want to speak about. You know they've decided to have another tree Christmas eve in the church like they did last year. Now if you really want to give that veil to me, and I certainly would be hawful thankful foi it, would you mind 'angin' it hon the Christmas tree instidr know every year it seems all the folks gits somethink on that tree but me and its right lonesome settin' there jest lookin' on. I had some though o' makin' up somethink and 'angin' a little parcel h on fer myself, course no one would a knowed I done it, but seein' 's your g.vm me this so near Christmas I reely would enjoy it a heap more if it came on the tre<Mrs. Douglass showed no amusement at the odd request and assured granny that she could quite understand the feeling, but ins.sted upon her

Wea,The^ sudden'1 appearance of Mr. Douglas with *e announcement that he found it necessary to go to town and granny could nde cut short conversation and nothing more was said about the Christmas tree.

Granny's face was as eager as any about her, and she had quite forgotten the disappointment of past years when Santa Claus in loud tones announced "Grandma Smith," holding high a large white parcel. Then a moment later another, this time a tiny one. The old lady's surprise am* delight were touching. At each call she would rise and bow her thanks to the princely benefactor, greeting the bearer of the gift with outstretched arms. By the time the tree was stripped she was almost hidden beneath her gifts and so overcome she could only sit quietly with tears running down her withered cheeks.

The young men, headed by Malcolm, escorted her and her treasures home, and after giving three cheers for "Grandma Smith, the most popular girl in town," left her table piled high to spend the rest of the night opening and enjoying her parcels. Even Moses was not forgotten, for one little packet bearing the inscription, "For Moses, - Merry Christmas," proved to be a beautiful red bow for his neck.

The next Sunday as soon as the sermon was ended Grandma rose in her place and said "I hask your pardon, Brother Norvell, for gittin' up now, but if I don't tell these folks my thanks I can't stand it. Nothink 1 can ever say will let you know what my feelins 'as been sence Christmas eve. I know now 'ow the Prodigal Son felt when 'e came 'ome, and I jest wish I 'ad a fatted calf to give h'every one o' ye. God bless ye."

The joy of the Christmas time remained a never failing delight as the days went by, and everyone she met must needs hear of the comfort and pleasure she had enjoyed. Different ones, however, noticed as time went on, and the bracing cold winds yielded to the milder breath of spring that grandma was not as active - seemed content to be dreamily at home with the faded blue eyes fixed upon the waving grass growing green upon the hillside. To all inquiries, however, she returned the same answer: "Never was sick in my life - -don't know why I should be now. - Jest a leetle tired 's all, or else I've got spring fever."

One Sunday evening she was not in her accustomed seat at the service the first time she had missed in her four years of town life, and Mrs. Douglass went to learn if she was sick.

"No, not a mite sick, Mis Douglass, jest a bit tired, and somehow tonight when the bell rang it said, 'set and rest, set and rest,' instid of 'come to church, come to church,' as it alius 'as afore. Ben thinkin' a 'eap o' poor dear Jimmie tonight. You know I believe that poor man used to git hawful tired with 'is work, but 'e never said nothink about it. I've worried some about 'im sence I've ben a livin' here, the way 'e used to go on about things, never went to church nor took no intrust, but settin' here tonight it come to me that it's all right. Poor Jimmie never ad no chance at h'anythink but 'ard work sence 'e was born, never had anybody to look arter him till 'e got me, and praps I want much 'elp. I was jest a wishin' 'e could ha ben 'ere to 'ave enjoyed this Christmas with me. I know there never was a Christmas like it afore."

"No, there haint nothink you can do fer me. I haint sick - jest a leetle tired. I'll be all right in the mornin'. Good night, Miss Douglas, Pm cornin' down one of these days for a good visit."

The next morning the neighbors, noticing an unusual quiet about the little home, went in - the door was never locked. Granny was lying quietly, still resting, with a smile of great content upon her old worn face.

They carried her to her beloved church, in accordance with her oft expressed wish and the minister spoke simply, telling of the inspiration her faithfulness had been to him, drawing lessons of courage and helpfulness from the simple, homely life for all his people. "These closing years," he said, "have been like the golden glow of the sunset, breaking through the clouds after a gloomy day, casting its softening reflection over the day that is past and forecasting the glory to come."

Twelve o'clock - midnight, and all was well. The street presented the appearance of a city in the night watches when the police are asleep. 1 he last tired laborer had gone to his couch and to the refreshing slumber earned by honest toil.

The full moon from behind great banks of fleecy clouds was flooding the earth with a faint light that slightly relieved the darkness of the hour. Large objects were dimly visible a few feet away.

Insomnia, superinduced by heat and the manifold cares of city government, caused the burgomaster to leave his bed and wander forth upon the deserted streets. The air was still, and listen as he might, not a sound could his overwrought nerves distinguish ; yet there was vibration, noise, sound, something like tbe moaning of the forest, or the sullen indistinguishable roar of the ocean in calm: B. was feeling, rather than hearing, the great speechless voice of the prairie - the never-still noise of silence.

A half hour the B. stood, resting his hand against the liberty pole that stands, and has stood for years, in the center of the square at the crossing of the main streets of the town. His head was bent, his gaze fixed upon the ground at his feet. He was absorbed in thought of the many cares laid upon him.

Suddenly B. felt, rather than heard, that someone was approaching. He raised his head and looked about. From the direction of the Willard Hotel a man was approaching, distinguishable through the darkness by his long beard and flowing locks, both of which were snowy white. The stranger made no sound as he came along the street. He advanced with rapid steps straight to the waiting magistrate and when almost within reach of arm, came to a sudden halt.

"Don't know me, eh? Forgotten me so quick, have you? Well, sir, I at one time knew you very well, and you knew me very well, too. I was once the best friend you had, but so is the way of the world. A good friend is forgotten so soon as he is powerless to help."

"Don't worry, Mr. Aldeman, I am one of a very large family, and but few of us are remembered, except by an individual, now and then. We are hailed with joy and bell ringing when we come, but the bells peal just as loudly at our funerals, for another member of the family is always at hand to try what he can do for men."

"But who are you?" repeated the burgomaster, "from your aged appearance you must be tired and in need of rest. Why did you not stop at the hotel yonder? Where are you going? Why are you out at this hour?"

"I might put the same question to you, for it is the time when you and your family are wont to take their rest. But as for me and my family, no one of them ever yet was tired, though they have been numbered by thousands. They never sleep and never rest. I have come to look over the place where I lived and to see what my brothers have done for the people, every one of whom I knew so well. Will you pilot me about the place? I see many changes have occurred since I left. I came in on the old stage road that George Pratt traveled when he carried the mail for Bert Orr from Plankinton to Huron. Bert Orr had a livery stable here, you know, and Pratt rode in an open buggy summer and winter, carrying an umbrella over him to keep off the sun in hot weather, and in front of him to keep off the wind when it was cold. I think there are some here yet, who rode with him in that old buggy."

"No matter how I came," said the mysterious stranger. "I got here on the old stage road ; I came through the Bateman gulch, that is what we used to call it before the Chicago preacher got hold of it. I climbed over or crawled through wire fences that now cross the road, till I got up on the hill. I find that the cemetery has spread out and increased in population, as well as the town. It is but a few rods east of the old road, so I went over there to look about a bit. It's a sightly spot and could be made very beautiful but will never be attractive. A few houses about forty rods west of the road have been built since I was here. Then I followed along this way till I came to a woven wire fence. I climbed that a couple of times and finally bumped up against the southwest corner of a lumber yard that has the name of Fullerton painted on the long building which forms part of the inclosure. Then I went to the hotel built by Mrs. Spears and Jesse, away back there in the '80s. I saw a nice thrifty bush of yellow roses growing on the south side of the hotel. I remember when the good woman put the little sprout there and gave it the name of the great president of the W. C. T. U. Mrs. Spears always called it the Willard rose. I wonder how many of your people remember the bush and its name, though I warrant you all admire it and its blossoms at the return of each June time. But I want to visit the Barrett gulch, where Uncle Peter and Aunt Sarah kept the Elmer postoffice, before the town was large enough to claim an office and change its name.

"Ha ! ha !" laughed the stranger ; "don't worry, but go with me and I will show you that I can follow the old trail in a night darker than this.""

Starting from the liberty pole, the stranger, with wonderful strength for one so' old, hurried the alderman west, down Main street a few yards, remarking that the hill was not as steep as when he lived in W., then turned to the right.

"They didn't have any stones in the street when I lived here," said the old man, as he stumbled on to the cement sidewalk. "But what's this?" he exlaimed, as he ran against a building. "I am in the road, sure Has some one put a building in the road? 'Tisn't the post office? No,

"That ye .couldn't do. You might have laid out a new one, but the old one can't be moved. That's why I know I can follow it. Come on, we'll go round the house and get in the road beyond it. Now, turn to the left," he said, as they got to the northeast corner of the drug store, "and we'll find the road again. Thunder !" he exclaimed, as he and the magistrate plumped together down against another building. "What they got here ?"

"It's in the road and we've a right to step on it," said the old man, testily. "Come on, what next? Is the bridge gone?" he asked, as he plunged into the creek, dragging the burgomaster after him.

"Moved it, I suppose. Why don't they put their buildings by the side of the road, as they did in Boston, instead of fnaking a new way every time a man wants to build a house. Now what?" the stranger inquired, as they came to the corner of a good sized structure.

"Well, I vum ! Took pains to put everything in the road, didn't they. I remember that Alf Thompson put up a. barn just beyond here, once, and put the corner of it in the usual traveled road. He made a bath house, too, but he had the good sense to put that on the east side of the creek behind the barn. He made the bath house of stone, but it fell down, fiat as the walls of Jericho. Frank Whitney bought the barn, and also a house that Wm. Bremner had built on the west side of the highway. They haven't been moved out into the road, have they? No? Well they seem to have been the only people who had any regard for the rights of the traveling public. But, now, look there !" exclaimed the old man, when they had gained the top of the creek bank, "if Whitney's haven't run the corner of their fence across the old wagon track.

"But, wait a minute," he said, "I want to tell you of a funny thing that once happened in that barn back there. A couple of young ladies went into the barn, looking for eggs, I guess, and after looking about the barn floor they dropped through a small hole in the floor down into the basement. After they got done hunting they tried to go out at the east end, but found that the basement door was fastened on the outside, and no way to open it. One of the ladies was smaller than the other and got back up through the hole in the floor without much trouble ; but the largest girl fitted the place pretty snug and it took the combined efforts of both of them, pulling, wiggling, lifting and puffing to get her up on the barn floor again. Then, with a look of blank amazement on her face the smaller one said, "Why didn't I think to go down outside and open the basement door and let you out that way.' "

Then, not stopping to laugh, the old man hurried the squire around the corner of the fence and diagonally across the street. "Another barn right across the track. Whose is this? O, yes! this belongs with the pretty house that Alf Thompson built. Who lives here now ?"

"Stop a minute," said the old man ; "do you see that house over there, on the corner, to the left, across this newfangled street of yours? Who lives there?"

"Well," said the stranger, "that house was brought over the hills from near old 'Tumbledown' - Templeton, they called it until the walls caved in. It was moved over by a young lawyer named Ed. Nordyke. He came along with it all right until he got part way down the hill up yonder, when one wagon broke and the building remained up there quite a while. The owner was unable to get it up or down. He finally gave Alf Thompson $25 to bring it down off the hill to where it now stands. But we must hurry on or we won't reach the gulch tonight."

With an accuracy that seemed almost instinctive, the old man led the way across Fourth street until he arrived in front of a fine looking residence. "Well," he said, "this man has been considerate, anyway. He has put a gate in the road. I don't like to go through the house at this time of night, so we'll go around and take the road beyond. Whose place is this?" said the stranger when they had reached the alley fence.

"Why, yes, I remember him, a good chunk of a boy when I lived here. And this next place was built by Dave Moulton, who had gumption enough to put his buildings beside the road and not in it. Got to climb another fence, I see," as they arrived a few feet east of the northwest corner of the yard. "What's that over there to the right," the stranger inquired as they got into the street again.

The old man had vanished. His disappearance was followed by a splash of water and the alderman heard him crying out, "Say, Mr. Burgomaster, give me a hand, please. I'm in it, whatever it is. What do you call it, anyway?"

"But I didn't look for things of that kind in the road," replied the old fellow as he shook the water from his garments. "What ye have water in it for?"

"Well, I heard the folks talk of water works when I lived here long ago, but I didn't think it would ever come. I didn't think they would ever get further than a "comical" engine.

They passed the ditch and entered the parsonage grounds. "What's this, now," said the stranger, as he stopped to examine something in the track. I declare if it isn't a bunch of flowers growing right in the old road."

They got into the street again and the old man led the way straight north for quite a distance. Suddenly he stopped and again grasped the squire by the arm. "The Seminary!" he exclaimed. "Where is it?" The alderman told the story of the disaster, and the plans for a larger and better building, the walls of which were already going up.

"Look here, burgomaster. You may go on with your new town, made by new people, and built on new plans. You may erase every old land mark, and build new and costly edifices in place of the old, but you can never get into Wessington Springs a people of more sterling worth and higher enterprise than the men and women, boys and girls who for fifteen years traveled, summer and winter, over the old road we have followed tonight, to get knowledge at the feet of J. K. Freeland and his successors ; to listen to the words of wisdom from the great intellects that were brought here, Joseph Cook, Littell, Sanford, Copeland, Hoar, and a hundred others; to attend the commencement exercises that sent many young men and women forth into the world to make it better because of what those few hardy pioneers struggled for and accomplished. I lived among these people and I knew them. You may gather more of wealth and far more of modern improvements, for they were a simple, unpretentious folk, but you will never gather a population with higher ideals of the duties of citizenship than those who, though few in number, sustained the old town.

The old road you and I have followed tonight, should be emblazoned with bright monuments, for it was the road the old town traveled to fame, honor and greatness. This institution will rise higher and continue in growth and influence, but you must never forget that its foundations, laid deep in honor, virtue and sobriety, were planted by the people of another era. I have seen enough. I am content. I am one of the years of time. My number was 1890. Good-bye.''