Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1886-03-18
CHAPTER I.
MYSELF.

| M\V4R HyA eighteen, failed first
| sNxyS$Ig[. IN in business, next in
| 9sH@AGN.H> YEhealth, and finally
@sHyNl/<sldied My mo ther
laHZssDst1Iss then kept boarders"
S W to support the family,
and | kept her in rack of anxiety until
| was twenty-one, since she saw me growing
up without trade or profession, and idling
! away my time with no apparent anxiety to
be anything but boy.
In some respects this was true. l did wish
that boyhood and youth could remain for
| ever since all the manhood, or rather ma
turity, about me seemed humdrum affair,
| full of care and vexation and the older people
| grew the less fun" they had in the world
wished, and even for time thought that
things would always remain as they We're,
that the ''old men" of my youth would al
ways remain about so old and no older, and
when | heard that William Lopez, the first
playmate of my infancy, was engaged to be
married to Fannie Lugar, it seemed to me q
piece of audacity as well as a serious innova-
| ton on the established order of things.
Gradually it dawned upon me that must
cut loose from tops, marbles, kites and quail
traps, march out into the world and do some
thing for living. did so grudgingly. In
deed, held on to my boyish ways and sports
Years after my companions had laid them
aside forever, donned frock coats, high stand
ing collars, gaudy neckties, tight boots, and
deemed themselves proper little men--as they
We're.
| commenced doing for myself with .
series OF resolves to be something great, IL
not good. | was week a general, tLe
next an actor the third an orator, finally q
sea captain awoke from these dreams to
ind cfnl t,x ~ r.
bread of idleness, parent and sundry rels
tives meantime broadly limiting that it was
high time | should do something
applied to certain solid men of the village
as to the choice of profession. thought il
might raise me in their estimation so to con-
suit them. They might see that l was in
earnest to set seriously to work about life's
business. knew that my reputation already
was none of the best, because | was one of a
set, perhaps the leader, whose pranks at night
had gained with the staid villagers an I'M
favorable notoriety. We rang door bells,
changed store signs, impounded stray horses
in impromptu stables built in the middle of
the street at night of empty dry goods boxes,
raised false alarms of fire, and did many
other things Din cases amounting to outrages
on property which boys at a certain period
consider it remarkably clever to do, and
which may be the only means of venting their
surplus energy.
In SO applying to the influential men of the
village I had also fond hope they might
help me to a situation. My father had been
their peer in business. / was not stranger
My family and theirs had long dwelt in the
same town. The hope was natural
But there was no proffer of the help 1
craved. They talked well and wisely, gave
me much good advice in a general way,
and seemed to think that any occupation or
calling | might adopt would be well for me
if l stuck to it."
had then such profound respect for the
Judgment of these men that deemed they
had, in telling me nothing, told me some
thing valuable, and that | had done a good
thing in consulting them. But, practically,
found myself exactly where / was before
my interviews, to wit: nowhere.
In the midst of my fluctuations as to the
choice of profession, the California gold
fever of 1S49 broke out The problem was
solved. ] would go to California and be-
come a gold digger There was something
fascinating in the idea of digging for gold,
much more SO than digging potatoes,
though the difference between the two is not
worth mentioning.
The fever seized most of the village youth
VI my own dSG. "a SNIP WAS uGt1u out,
former whaling vessel 1t was not so much
OF an undertaking for our people to make
the long, dreary voyage around Cape Horn
to California. Two-thirds of the crew and
Passengers of the Ann Mary Ann had made
the trip before.
Seventy, all told, were to sail in that ship.
Matured men, young men and boys, taken
Ill together, constituting the flower of the
village
The Sunday before sailing the pastor of
the Presbyterian church preached us fare
well sermon The church was crowded The
seventy about to sail felt themselves the at
fractions of the hour, as they were.
The younger men and boys came in a body
and occupied pews by themselves We went
full of excitement and anticipation We
were the novelties of the hour We could
give but a moments fitting thought to the
sadness of the grieving mothers we were to
leave behind. We neither realized nor ap-
preciated their many little daily cares for us.
We hustled about with all the importance of
fiedglings, proud of our pin feathers, and re-
garding them quite as good as matured plum
age. 1t was an impressive occasion-not so
much to me then, but as | see it now-sadly.
solemnly impressive, since it was for SO many
the final departure, not merely from homes.
relatives, friends and associations, but also
IN so many cases from our interest in them
| and their interest in us-a hard saying, but
true. Gone week. and memory is fresh
with those who leave and those who are left:
a month"; and the raw, bleeding wounds of
| separation and tearing asunder barely COM
mence to heal; six months, and new events.
| situations, associations, circumstances com
mence the process of deadening grief; year,
and we wonder where is the heart hunger of
q twelvemonth past; two years, and our
| friend is a memory; five years, dream,
with possibly half dozen new personalities
standing between us and her or him
| Boys sat in those pews who were to return
gray headed battered and worn from a
rough encounter with the world of the
! farthest weSt-who at their next attendance
in that church would look in vain for the
deacons or prominent church members now
standing erect during prayer time, after the
| fashion which still fingered in the rural
Presbyterian churches of that day. Other
| boys of that gathering, and of these the
majority, were never to return. Their let
| tiers home, at first voluminous, were to les
/ sen in size, while the lapses of time between
! each would increase. Searching for time
ever receding further in the distance, they
were to wander and become entirely lost to
| home and friends in the remoter regions of
| the west Then unknown, unnamed, UNI
thought of. discouraged. reckless weary.
if.er pride> and spirit broken, they were 20
| fill nameless graves on lone hillsides thou
sands of miles away, or else hurriedly buried
in the crowded city, their bones would be
rs hurriedly turned up ferv years after as
| the population extended its limits and dug
| and plowed its way through waste land and
| cemetery.
/, in company with several of my associ-
ates, We're grouped that evening about the
| Seftons front door. There were three of the
Seton sisters Blanche the eldest; Mary and
Phoebe. The Sections was a favorite resort
for our set of young folk The parents
were plain, easy going people, and allowed
US more privileges at their house than we
could find elsewhere. The sisters were always
lat home" for company, and the old people
allowed them pretty much their own way.
Other parents We're not so accommodating.
Socially their houses were colder, and if we
called Ma generally came and sat in the
parlor while we were present, and Ma in
the estimation of at least one person, if not
two, at such times was very much out of
place. The Seton girls parlor in winter and
their front door ''stoopn in summer were ia
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