Sauk County, Wisconsin - Chapter 22: Memories of Greenfield Town, 1918

Early Days in Greenfieu> (by Mrs. L. H. Palmer) - Town Appropriately Named - First White Settlers - Mrs. Garrison, Shrewd Promoter - Village op Garrison - Indian Tales - Mills - Railroad Nearly Came - Town op Greenfield (by E. D. Jackson) - Pioneer Teachers op the Town - Home Life by Examples - Farm, a Manufactory - First Successful Apple Growing in the State - Religious Life and Camp Meetings - Death of Little Ones - The Wilkinsons - Hunting and Fishing - Songs of the German Farmers - Memories of Vanished Men and Women.

The Town of Greenfield is one of the sections of Sauk County which has passed down the lanes of local history quietly and contentedly. It has no postoffice centers, no railroads, no large industries and little what would be called present-day aggressiveness; yet as much has been written of its good people and the serene beautiful country within its bounds as of any other part of the county, and as Greenfield is typical of rather an unusual phase of American prosperity and contentment, several reminiscent papers are reproduced.

The Town of Greenfield formed a part of Brooklin (now Baraboo), until 1853, when it was set apart and a preliminary meeting was held April 5th, at the home of John Munroe, where the first executive board was elected. Leonard Thompson, chairman ; Hiram Bailey and Isaac V. Mack, side members; clerk, A. F. Kellogg; treasurer, Amos Johnson; town school superintendent, C. W. Kellogg; assessor, Nathan Dennison. The first ten years the names Thompson, Bailey, Mack, Kellogg, Johnson, Dennison, Hoege, Clark, Barstow, Simonds, Palmer and Tucker, appear most frequently as members of the executive board. That they governed wisely and well was proven by the spirit of peace and thrift that hovered over the town at all times.

well-wooded bluffs, hemming in as they do the beautiful Baraboo River as it takes its winding eourse through the center of the town and flows off through the Lower Narrows on its way to the Wisconsin, will agree that the town is appropriately named, though, I believe, Mr. Dennison named it in honor of his old home in Vermont.

Edwin Johnson, the first white settler, built a log cabin and started a shoeshop in 1841, where J. E. Savage now resides, about one mile east of Baraboo. It must have been a very primitive affair and poorly patronized, as the next settler was Richard Clark, who built a bachelor cabin the next spring, where C. L. Pearson now has a home. His family consisted of nearly 100 hogs, and an old horse named Nell. His son, Thomas, came the following spring and located on the farm now owned by H. C. Langdon. In 1843 he purchased a pair of 18-inch burr millstones and erected a grist mill, as it was then called, near where the old red schoolhouse was afterward built. Farther up the Prothero (now Jeffries) Creek, Mason Prothero built and operated a sawmill, and still farther up he built a mill for turning hard wood. He afterwards sold the sawmill to A. Lezart. In 1843 Loran Cowles settled on section 33. He was the first probate judge in Sttuk County and one of his sons, Dr. Charles Cowles, was the first physician in the Baraboo Valley. His daughter, Mrs. Schaffer, was the first person to die, and left a baby, Mary, who was the first white child born in Greenfield. In 1845 Moses Nulph and Aaron Nelson located, followed by Job Barstow and Wm. Eikey in 1846. The year 1847 brought several families, namely, Simeon Crandle, Sr., Thomas Risley, John Sanborn, Andrew Garrison, John McGee, Abrara Hocge, Thomas Jones, Mr. Denison and Geo. W. Tucker, who was the second settler east of what is now known as Tucker's bridge.

In 1848 Andrew Garrison died on the plains enroute to California and O. V. Troop, a relative, came from New Brunswick to assist Mrs. Garrison in her many business enterprises. Mrs. Garrison was a brilliant, unscrupulous woman, with a strong personality, very successful in hoodwinking all classes, from the professor to the laboring man. She spent large sums of other people's money sinking deep shafts to prospect for copper, lead and gold, and very nearly succeeded in getting a stock company formed with a heavy capital, to work the mines that she was in hopes of finding. She started a pottery on her farm and caused considerable excitement, claiming to have had the clay analyzed and that a fine grade of china could he made from it. The clay, however, proved not to be of any value and thus another one of her bubbles burst. O. V.

Troop at her instigation built a dam across the Baraboo River on her laud and erected a sawmill, which did some business for a time, but was washed out by a spring freshet and owing to the opposition of the farmers up the river on account of the damage done by the backwater, the dam was never rebuilt.

While all this was going on Mrs. Garrison originated and platted the Village of Garrisonville. The stakes that were used to mark the boundaries of the lots, and the cellars of some of the houses that were built, were still in existence within the memory of the writer. She also established and conducted a ferry across the Baraboo River. As she lived some distance from the river it was necessary for her to provide some means of notifying her when people wished to cross. She solved the problem by hanging a cow's horn converted into a whistle, on a nearby tree. When she succeeded in getting her town platted, she took the plat to Milwaukee, where she succeeded in selling one-fifth of the town site for $5,000, by representing that the town lay at the head of navigation of the Baraboo River and that there was a fine water power at that place, all of which was true. She also persuaded Doctor Delametes of Cleveland, Ohio, that it would be a paying proposition to build a medical college in Garrisonville, but when lie came and looked into the matter he found he had been badly humbugged, and he returned home a sadder though wiser man.

The best laid plans of men and mice will sometimes "gang astray," so it was with Mrs. Garrison's. The river was never used for navigation and Baraboo developed so rapidly that Garrisonville was soon deserted, though there had been a hotel and several houses erected and Mrs. Garrison conducted a general store at her home for some time. Mrs. Garrison, after living a long and eventful life, died a number of years ago in Chicago, suffering for the common necessities of life.

The first school was established in 1850 and was taught by Miss Van Valkcnbcrg at the home of Job Barstow. The following year District No. 1 was organized, covering a much larger territory than it does at present, as settlers were few and scattered. The first schoolhou.se was made of logs but was soon replaced by a frame building, which served for school purposes until about twenty years ago, when it was moved to a nearby farm and serves the purpose of a granary, and a larger building stands on the old place and is still known as the "Eikey schoolhouse."

The old pioneers thus early laid the foundation for the high educational standard that has always been maintained in Greenfield. There have been numbers of teachers, town and county superintendents, assemblymen and a state senator who received all or nearly all their early education in the schools of our town.

The Indiana were an ever present source of worry ami annoyance with the good housewives in those early days. They were generally good natured, hut at times, having imbibed too freely of the white man's firewater, they were inclined to be rather ugly. We have heard our grandmother tell an experience, that, to say the least, was rather unpleasant. Some Indians and their squaws stopped at the house and wanted something to eat. She told them that she had no bread baked, showing them the dough in the pans as proof of her statement. The Indians were drunk and ugly and told her to make some bread, and sat down in the kitchen to see that she did it. She, with three small children, was alone, and of course could do nothing but obey orders. While waiting for the bread the Indians went to sleep, and the squaws immediately arose to the occasion, secured the guns and knives from the Indians, hid them under their blankets; telling grandmother that "fool Indian not hurt white woman now," hurried away as fast as possible, not waiting for their portion of the bread. When the Indians awoke they took the bread and decamped, much to grandmother's relief.

Greenfield was a favorite camping ground for the Indians on their migratory trips across the country from Baraboo to Dekorra, the trail crossing the Baraboo on the rapids at the point where Garrisonville was located. They hunted, fished, and cultivated fields of corn, tobacco, melons, beans and pumpkins. Traces of some of their cornfields could still be found a few years ago. The Indians have left behind them as mementoes of a rapidly vanishing race caches or places where they stored food, mounds of several forms, the most important being the Man Mound, the only one of its kind in existence. It has been purchased by the Sauk County Historical Society, the State Archaeological Society, and the Landmarks Committee of Wisconsin Federation of Women's Clubs, together with a small plot of ground adjoining which we hope to convert into a pleasure park, thus preserving the mound and furnishing a pleasant place for holding picnics. There have been found many fine specimens of their handicraft, such as arrow heads, points, spears, hammers and axes, showing in many instances very superior workmanship.

The first church to be erecled was built by the Lutherans on section 18 in the southern part of the town, and the next was built by the Evangelical Association of North America, one-half mile east of Tucker's Bridge, in 1882. From the first settlement of the town, religious services have been conducted in the schoolhouses of the several districts.

Fruit growing became a leading industry in very early times. Judge James A. Clark started a nursery on the farm now owned by S. S. Pearson, and was the first to introduce the Duchess apple into Wisconsin. One of the Duchess trees that he set out lived until a year ago. It is to be regretted that a piece of that old tree was not used to frame a photograph of Judge Clark for the Historical Society; as he certainly deserves to be remembered for starting an enterprise that has been as beneficial to a community as fruit culture has to the farmers of Greenfield.

Some time in the late '40s Win. Eikey and Wm. Bassett established a sawmill on Leambro Creek (better known as Jackson's Creek), at the northwest corner of section 36. They sold out in 1858 to S. Stimetz who continued the business for a number of years. Mr. Stimetz sold the property to Robert Prentice, who converted it into a flour and feed mill, selling it to his son Andrew, who did a thriving business until somewhere about 1885, when he sold it to Chas. Falkenstine, who still owns the mill and does a thriving business. II. W. Konkel owns a flour, feed and saw mill farther up the creek and though the plant was burned down two years ago he rebuilt and is doing a fine business.

Wm. Eikey, the first white settler east of Tucker's Bridge, located on section 25 because of a fine lime ledge that cropped out at that place. He was a mason by trade and knew the value of good lime. He constructed a kiln and for many years burned all the lime used in this part of the country. This lime was stronger than the magnesian lime, and although it was fine for stone work, it was not liked as well for plastering, as it was rather dark.

In 1855 John Dean, who was in the wool business in Baraboo, purchased a part of section 4 lying south of the Baraboo River. He thought by ditching two small creeks together he could get sufficient water power to operate a mill for the manufacture of woolen goods. He moved a building out from Manchester to near where Lewis Schreiber's residence now stands; he installed the machinery and got everything ready for work, but the water proved insufficient and the project had to be abandoned. He moved the building back to its old place for a time, but finally deciding that he needed a barn moved it back to nearly the same place. The farm was sold soon after and divided into three parts, and the building was again moved and found a final resting place on a substantial basement and is used for a barn by A. Fry.

In the latter half of the '60s the hop fever struck Greenfield in a very violent form. The epidemic spread rapidly until 1868, when the price of hops dropped from 65 cents to 4 cents per pound with a suddenness that made those interested dizzy. Nearly every one went out of the business at once and it has never been revived.

The farmers were badly handicapped from the first by not having a convenient market for their produce. For a number of years all of their produce had to be drawn by teams to Madison and their supplies brought back in the same manner. It was an expensive, tiresome trip and many times by the time the expenses of the trip were paid the amount left to buy home comforts was discouragingly small. Matters were helped very much when there was a railroad put through Portage, but still it was a long drive and quite inconvenient, especially when stock was to be handled.

The farmers were very anxious for a railroad through Baraboo and when the Baraboo Air Line Railroad Company was organized they gladly pledged themselves to bonds for $5,000, believing that the road would cross the southwest corner of the town. When the road was finally laid the Air Line had been consolidated with the Chicago and Northwestern and did not cross Greenfield at all. The people were greatly disappointed, but paid the bonds, although a neighboring town succeeded in avoiding payment on some technicality of law.

Greenfield has always been quite a dairy section and the first cheese factory was a stock company in 1875. The members were Amos Johnson, John Munroe, O. H. Cook, Seth McGilvria, A. F. and C. W. Kellogg, Joseph Palmer, Henry Bradbury, Peter Wilkinson and John Dean. With a capital of $2,200 they purchased an acre of land, erected a building, and carried on a very successful business for several years. The property is now owned by L. A. Johnson, and the building is used for a town hall.

The Town of Greenfield is one of the beauty spots of Sauk County. It is doubtful if its equal can anywhere be found for scenery that defies description. The view to the east from the high ground on the Fairfield Road north of Baraboo, presents this favored locality in all its entrancing loveliness. In the foreground is Peck's Prairie fading away toward Caledonia in the foot hills of Pine Bluff that seems to lord it over the surrounding country. On either side are the bluffs that require only a little imagination to lift them into the likeness of the Alps or our own Sierras; and softly stealing its way along willow embowered shores, is the silver thread of the charming Baraboo, soon to be lost to our view past the Narrows that open on the great marsh toward Portage City.

The level or prairie country of this valley, was first chosen for settlement by the pioneers fifty or more years ago; they were largely New York folks with all the advanced ideas that, origin implies. The broken country eastward had to wait until the Germans came. In short, the bluffs especially, remained Government land long after the farms in the valley began to feel the exhaustion of repeated cropping. But immigra- tion, and poverty which so commonly attends, finally clothed the bluffs with beautiful farms. None but the very poor would go there at first. They worked for wages or on shares on the valley farms until enabled to carry on their own, which had been rescued from the stony hand of nature by unremitting toil. The natural growth of trees made log houses and barns. The loose stones made permanent fences. The soil was good, and that proved the success of those worthy settlers. Moreover, its elevation above the early frost line saved their corn and garden in midsummer freshness when all were cut down in the valley below. A mixed population of Germans, Irish, English and other nationalities besides our own, found lodgement here and converted what at first seems worthless ground, into a very Garden of Eden as it is today.

Greenfield was rightly named by Nathan Dennison, one of the early settlers, after his Greenfield, Massachusetts, home. The schools of this town have always been of special interest. As far back as when 0. Phelps taught in the Eiky District it was even so. His enthusiasm would often take him to a great rock well upon the Pine Bluff back of the schoolhouse, from which commanding platform the whole locality would resound with oratory as he declaimed the masterpieces of eloquence. To do this in the biting air of winter time meant the genuine spirit of what these productions stood for. The poor man was afflicted like many of the early inhabitants with fever and ague, which at times almost robbed him of energy, when he would fall asleep during school hours on some pupil's desk. At such times, the pranks of the latter would be shown in sprinkling his face with cold water that awakened, but never in time to discover the guilty one. This man loved books and learning. He afterwards became wealthy from hops, and escaped before the crash. For a time he lived with his family in Baraboo and made his home welcome to all his former pupils, even giving them books from his library as presents. It is said that he was the victim of mob violence in New Orleans on account of the mysterious death of his wife, of which he was suspected, I am fain to believe, wrongfully.

Another noted teacher in those early days was William Rhodes, a bachelor past middle life. He came from Pennsylvania and was a typical teacher of olden time. He knew only the English branches, but these he could teach better than is usually done at the present time. His summers were usually devoted to farm work with some of his friends in the neighborhood. Darius Palmer also taught here in the early days to the great satisfaction of all ; a man of native growth and spotless reputation, with a sincere relish for learning which made him almost one with the pupils in study. Space almost forbids the mention of any of a long list of lady teachers of varying excellence who graced with their presence the summer terms during those far away days.

The home life in those days is best understood by examples of families. None have left a pleasanter impression in person and surroundings than that of Isaac Palmer, brother of the teacher and for many years the town supervisor. The family lived between the river and the bold south bluff on a large farm of wonderfully diversified resources. They had besides the usual grain products, honey, maple sugar of home make, apples at a time when apple growing in Wisconsin was a problem almost unsolved. Abundance of everything to eat and wear, and mostly of home production, best describes the Palmer home. In those days deer were plentiful on the hills and venison was a common food here in the winter time. But I must not omit the description of the pater and mater familias of this typical Greenfield home of the early days. He was tall and lanky, a regular old Abe Lincoln of a man, but he was manly every inch, else he could not have represented the town so long as its supervisor. He was public spirited, interested in education, industrious to a fault, which brought on maladies almost too great to bear. He could lay a wall of masonry, as well as make all the butter on the farm, to the great relief of his faithful spouse. In sickness among poor or well to do, lie was a willing watcher and nurse. He was temperate in his habits at a time when Roper's Distillery, over the bluffs near Merrimack, furnished the doubtful help in haying time and harvest to many of the field workers in exchange for a few bushels of rye or corn. But the wife of this man was a jewel of the first water. Her heart was boundless. Not a child in the neighborhood but found her good company. She never grew old. Of a strong frame, a brunette, she had a pleasant eye that helped out the most winning expression you ever met; she went about her daily tasks, a veritable helpmeet.

They were New England people and, of course, must have all the latest improvements. But what vexation they occasioned. How she shed bitter tears more than once in trying to operate the latest Singer sewing machine. None of the neighborhood gossip was ever traced to her door, which I aver covers about all that can be said in praise of any of her sex.

In those days strictly housekeeping was not all of a housewife's sphere of activity - the ordinary farm was almost a manufacturing plant which required attention to many details. Had the agricultural society offered prizes for the best housekeeping, this good woman would scarcely have entered the competition, for she was too candid to appear different than she was. There were many others, though, who would have puzzled the judges in making the award, and which would doubtless have been divided between several ; it might have been Mesdames Peter Cooper,

Austin Tucker, Jno. Monroe, Geo. W. Tucker, Wm. Carrol on the south bluff, Nathan Dennison or a score of other ladies who kept their homes like the busy bees, waxlike in absolute order and tidiness.

But these were not all the hard workers in that community. None could rival John Monroe, whose farm bordered on the river and was crossed by the highway of the Baraboo. By sheer toil, he was able to build a commodious farm house with barn of ample size at a time when old ones were yet habitable. But the times also favored, lie could realize $2.50 a bushel for wheat grown with enormous yield, on the river bottom lands one year. No man was ever more worthy the fruit of his toil. I have sometimes thought that he almost sacrificed himself to work. I think it may be safely said that no unkind word ever escaped his lips. He had always a genial greeting for young and old. As his spouse is still blessing the earth by living, I shall save her the pain of recounting her excellence till later.

In the list of downright workers, Allen Barstow is certainly entitled to a high place, though his object was not so much what we call property, as means of recreation. He wanted and enjoyed the finest carriage the day afforded, while most of his neighbors rode in lumber and farm wagons because they must. His vehicle of beauty was earned by gathering from the surrounding domain hickory hoop poles, which the flouij mills of P. A. Basset and the barrel factory run in connection, at Baraboo, provided a ready and remunerative market. Gilbert Harmon must not be overlooked among the knights of industry. By night and day he literally wrung from the tight grip of nature a fine farm on the foot hills of the great south bluffs, and not content with conquering there, provided almost a city home near Baraboo. What a lesson these patient workers have been to the young men of Greenfield, showing that however small the beginning, unremitting toil and economy will win out as they should. Mention has been made of the long-time supervisor. Albert Kellogg was the long-time town clerk, and a good one, too. The" men of that day had the knack of choosing the right man for the place and kept on choosing him. Such was Albert Kellogg, the typical' gentleman farmer, always in trim personally, and likewise all his belongings; scarcely if ever seen at work, yet with work always done, and in season, too, and life no drudgery. It always seemed as if he took life easier, with less friction than others, which was pleasing to behold. He should have lived to be a centenarian according to the latest view of not worrying. But we had eccentric people also. Need I mention the New York City farmer, Van Pelt, as one? Well, T think he would pass as such, the funniest man in town, but didn't know it. If John Monroe and Albert Kellogg had everything tidy and in season, he had the opposite. It was his way to let the house run itself, as well as the fields. What if the hay and grain almost rotted in the shock and later in the stack? It was his way. Hut in justice it must be said he seemed to enjoy it. Though in person reminding one of the ghost of famine, he had enough to supply his modest wants, and managed always to have a good location for farming of his kind.

I think that to Greenfield belongs the honor of having first made apple growing in Wisconsin a success. While the Palmers did their part, especially Darius, to Alonzo Butterfield belongs the laurel wreath in this race for victory. Just around the north bluffs of the valley near the Narrows, he won his success. His father before him had done something praiseworthy in that direction, but Alonzo reaped the advantage of all previous efforts.

But we had notable people in other ways in those days. Need 1 mention George W. Tucker? Not to those over fifty. He was a born genius in- animal industry. He could perform successful surgical operations on our domestic animals that would put many of our later-day surgeons to blush. He never had the advantage of the schools in his profession, but was himself a whole medical college. I must not omit either his talent for telling stories that interested the young. In this field, he would shine in the presence of Bret Harte or any other of the short -story celebrities. Above all, he was a good neighbor. All he had, time, personal effort, possessions, were at the disposal of his neighbors. He gave the site for a cemetery from his modest farm.

The religious life of those days was mostly in the keeping of the Methodists. The sehoolhouses were the meeting houses and many an itinerant, elder of that persuasion made himself familiar to believers as well as the non-believers. Protracted meetings that were really protracted, afforded opportunity to many a family to pass the long winter evenings. One word must justly be said of the religious life of those days ; for the most part it was sincere, in sharp contrast with the present. Who ever doubted the genuine religion of Peter Cooper, who shed it all about him, not only in speech, but in kindly deeds? Early on the winter morns, driving a double sleigh load of boys and girls, was no

- In justice to those who early made efforts at fruit growing it should he stated that Judge James A. Clark introduced the Duchess apple and set out the first tree of this variety in the state. Isaac and Darius Palmer were the first in the town to go into the orchard business, raising apples for commercial purposes. Lewis Butterfield early engaged also in apple culture and had a fine orchard. Alonzo Butterfield was the son of Lewis Butterfield.

infrequent occurrence with him. With a stately presence, he had the refined features of a woman, and woe be it to him who dared to overstep the bounds of what was right and proper as he saw it. Methinks we have a place for more such men in the present time. The Adventists also labored in this field and held many camp meetings, always well attended.

The romantic scenery on every hand made these camp meetings very attractive to everybody, especially the lads and lasses who had such fine opportunities to visit. Elder Barnes was the great preacher on these occasions. He knew the Bible by heart, I must say, and could present a very plausible tissue of arguments from stringing together selected passages that satisfied himself as well as his followers. They were good people all, in this denomination, and tried to live the doctrine they heard preached. Later came the church which the Germans preferred. They had gradually encroached on the exclusively New England cast of the community.

Among the early dead to hallow the new cemetery on the Tucker farm was the little son of Mr. Capencr, the music teacher, accidentally drowned one summer evening while swimming with companions in the Baraboo River near the haying fields. Being in the pomp of summer a meeting place for the funeral was improvised of green boughs on the school grounds. Here was about the saddest observance one ever finds; the youth of the unfortunate, the suddenness of his going while in glowing health, and the sharp contrast between the face of nature at that season and the sorrow within, combined to deepen the gloom. It was a Methodist service. The hymn was, "The morning flowers display their sweets and gay their silken leaves unfold."

Still earlier was the death of the little son of the poor old sawyer, Harris, at the Garrisonville sawmill. Abject poverty and destitution were the cause of this. The mill had stopped and of course the sawyer's wages. They lived in a shanty on the hillside, just as good as a mansion during the long bright days of summer, but when the north wind of winter came whistling through the narrows with tooth even sharper than Shakespeare says will the waters warp, then the little barefoot boy was in exile. Shoes were too much of a luxury for the depleted household treasury. But ventures out on sunny days brought on the inevitable cold that deepened into fever. How faithfully the good neighbors took turns watching over the little sufferer during the long winter nights, and fortunate if by great industry sufficient warmth could be provided for comfort! When t lie end came, some chestnut boards from the mill yard were fashioned into a modest receptacle for the little form and in this no one knows t lie spot on the hillside where tender hands laid it away forevermore. In those days before the era of cemeteries, secluded spots for burial were not uncommon, like that of Jesse Cammel, the old blacksmith just opposite the home of Aunt Sarah Wilkinson, smiling with flowers, on the road to Portage. The good Greenfield people always took death so hard, I think because they were so much attached to one another. When the wife of Allen Barstow died in the bloom of early womanhood, the whole town went into mourning, and though in the early springtime with roads almost impassable, the funeral procession required quite an hour to pass on its way to the burial at Baraboo.

But no account of the old Greenfield days would be sufficient without mention of one distinguished family - I mean the Wilkinsons. The pervasive influence of the men and women alike remind one of the historic family of Gracchus in ancient Rome, which by simple gentleness of character in its members was sufficient to sweeten two centuries of strife. Aaron Wilkinson was the founder, a man so pious that he would not have a lightning rod on his buildings for fear of its defying the Almighty. He was a whole church in himself. He needed no latter-day aids such as meeting houses. To him the groves were God's first temples. He dwelt as in the sight of Him who art invisible. What wonder that such a patriarch should have had such offspring? They simply inherited their excellence.

Hunting and fishing were not unknown in those days. The dam at Garrisonville set back the waters of the Baraboo River so that the mouth of almost every creek far above was a good spearing pond for pickerel, catfish, buffalo and suckers. Pine bluff furnished the fat pine for the torches, likewise the long pine knots of decayed trees dug from its outskirts. Many a spring evening in the busy seeding time was spent by the neighbors in this entrancing sport that banished weariness of labor and supplied the families with the finny delicacies. Great schools of catfish with their long fringes of waving feelers about their broad mouths disported themselves in plain sight about the entrance of the little streams, but only to tantalize the wondering eyes of the small boys who could scarce get their elders to believe what were too often stamped, fish stories.

Then the feathered tribe was not missing. In the early springtime, mornings, the whole valley was not only flooded with sunshine driving away the last lingering traces of winter, but the song of the grouse or prairie chicken in mating season fairly flooded it with music also. The continuous bass notes of the male staccatoed with the piping of the hens kept up this strange, weird entertainment till long past sunrise. One spring, the passenger pigeons visited us in such multitudes as not only to threaten the wheatfields newly seeded with having to be done again, but at nightfall, filled every grove, often to breaking down large limhs under the great weight. Every old shotgun and musket capable of throwing shot or fine gravel was brought into use, and how anxiously the assembled neighbors, boys and all, armed like the embattled farmers who fired the shot heard round the world, waited breathlessly in ambush the coming of the feathered host, when upon an agreed signal, a whole volley was fired, each on his chosen duster of victims, whereupon a deafening flutter of wings, and the vast multitude had gone, leaving the ground strewn with the fallen. Many a toothsome dinner the next day rewarded the effort which was nrostly sport after all. And I must not forget "bob white" in the winter time, and how a common wagon or sleigh box, inverted, served as a trap when a long rope was pulled to let it fall over many dozen of these plump little, white-meated creatures, so rare always to the palate. Of course every boy had his deadfall and figure-four trap in the rabbit runs, which afforded enough sport for the trouble and likewise somewhat protected the apple trees from the depredations of these rodents.

And there was other open-air recreation in the winter season. The German bluff dweller had no meadows or hay, so they went to the great marsh to the north. In the winter mornings long processions of ox teams drawing sleds with hay racks could be seen going after the hay that had been cut and stacked on the great marsh. At such times these German farmers would often sing some familiar song of the fatherland, for they were all good singers. No chorus of the latter days has ever to me approached the excellence the melody of that symphony heard in the bright winter mornings swelling up through the frosty valleys of that hill country. The performers were not doing it for pay, but from the fullness of their happy hearts, which even in those days were quite satisfied.

Portage City was the market town in those days. We could hear the long drawn out whistle of the locomotive on the St. Paul line coming over the great marsh to the North, even before we had ever seen how a locomotive looked. It was profusely ornamented with brass trimmings as bright as burnished gold, and in the glistening sunshine was something of a marvelous beauty to behold.

As I close this imperfect and desultory chronicle of the old days in Greenfield, should some inquisitive reader inquire where all the bad people were in those days, my answer is, not in Greenfield. Some they did have over in Columbia County, but very few crossed the Wisconsin

In taking leave of these good old days, let me say that the vanished forms of kind neighbors pass before my eyes again. I sec their kindly faces and hear their gentle voices. I am wondering why I cannot live a life of such sweetness and sincerity as they lived to their dying day. Should I visit the old homes, other faces would greet me and other voices would speak the word of welcome, but I should feel like Washington Irving when he visited England, "As I stepped upon the soil of my forefathers, and felt that I was a stranger in the land."

Mr. Capener was the music teacher for the whole town, and for many winters held singing classes in the various schools. He was an Englishman of mild manners. It is doubtful whether he could have sung a piece of music acceptably, yet, withal, he was a good drill master and laid the foundations well for anyone who had talent to go on.

Then there was the itinerant writing master, Clark, reminding one of an animated pumpkin seed in trousers. He likewise taught his art during the long winter evenings to many who may thank him for their good penmanship. His field of activity widened until almost the whole county was covered by this indefatigable little man.

The amusements in those days were in the wintertime, mostly confined to the spelling schools, surprise parties at the homes, as well as occasional large dancing parties or balls, the latter great occasions, which haunted the imaginations of the lads and lassies long afterwards.

Before this time, the horse race after corn planting, was too common with its liquor and gambling accompaniment, which proved harmful to most of the young men who took part. Their better nature finally asserted itself, and the practice gradually lost interest and died out to the good of the whole community. One horse race left more heart burnings, jealousies, not to say unkind rivalries, than the pretty girls of Greenfield could overcome in a year.

Though the men of Greenfield have mostly concerned us, don't think there are no women of note, and home productions, too. These were Harriet Tucker and Ellen Palmer, who stand out in strong relief above the usual monotony of country life. These two Greenfield girls, although unlike in other respects, were the same in this, that each succeeded in winning more husbands than even the fabled goddesses of antiquity. This may be accounted no slight praise when it is considered that men call themselves pretty good judges of the opposite sex. Without any special help but their own personalties, these two girls stepped out onto the world's highway and were not afraid to run in the race for the supremacy they sought. We instinctively pay homage to genius, if not aptitude. To stand in the presence of either of these women would impress one that such are no common folk. Harriet was a born singer. At sixteen, scarcely the lark or nightingale could surpass in native song. All day long was heard her happy voice before the great wide world had revealed its secrets, no doubt to many unwelcome, just the same as all the rest of mankind. Ellen was intelligence personified. She had no need of books or schools; her active brain was sufficient in every case.