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the river. He finally retired to a hundred-acre farm, away out in the country. But the city soon surrounded him, absorbed his land, and stretched its arm for more. The house that he built in the suburbs, and in which he died in 1851, is known as 394 Woodland avenue. His daughter, Mrs. Severance, whom I knew more than forty years ago as a young and comely widow, occupies the house with her children and grandchildren, and when I saw her a few days ago, living in that patriarchal way, with and for her children, I did not need the injunction of the apostle to “honor widows who are widows indeed."

After about a week spent in Cleveland I went to Akron. My first boarding place there was in the family of General Northrop. He had just closed a term of service in the Ohio legislature from the Medina district ; had come there and erected the shell of a house, and was keeping a few boarders. He told me that he had bought his lot of General Simon Perkins of Warren, who owned a large portion of the land in the village. General Perkins, as you know, was the father of the Perkins family that we know so well and esteem so highly, both here and elsewhere on the Reserve.

I need not call your attention to this family group; you know it well. There is a striking resemblance in all the portraits. Perhaps the most remarkable thing is that even the third generation has not learned to squander the paternal estates.

At the house of General Northrop I saw another distinguished citizen of Warren-Leicester King, a man who ten years later I had the pleasure of voting for for governor of Ohio. There were several men, who have since been prominent citizens of Cleveland, came to Akron during the year that I lived there. A young doctor came there from Rochester, N. Y., and hung out the name of Horace A. Ackley. When I left there the next spring he was still there, but did not remain very long. When the Medical College was organized at Willoughby he became a member of the faculty. I remember the Cleveland Herald spoke of him as a young but ardent lover of his profession, and I think that if there ever was a man who loved to use the scalpel and the saw and the forceps it was Dr. Ackley. Stories of Dr. A. are always in order. A little circumstance was said to have taken place in Columbus with which he was connected that I do not remember to have seen

in print. A large anaconda that had been exhibited around the country was taken sick, and shuffled off the mortal coil in Columbus. The doctor happening to be there at the time, procured the carcass of the defunct reptile, and had it placed in a whisky barrel with a sufficient amount of whisky to preserve the specimen, and it was left in an exposed situation awaiting shipment to Cleveland. Some old veterans with a strong appetite for whisky, and a characteristic disregard for snakes, got around it, and drained it dry, leaving his snakeship without any visible means of support. The story arrived in Cleveland in due time without loss or damage, but whether the snake ever came to hand I do not know.

There was another man, a lawyer, who flourished in Cleveland a few years—Seth F. Hurd. He came to Akron from Massachusetts in the winter of 1835, and finding it necessary to raise the wind in some way, he blossomed out as a lecturer on grammar. I was interested in that subject, being the teacher of the district school in Akron that winter, and I joined his class. He was a genial fellow, a good talker and one of the best story-tellers that I ever saw. In 1840 he was our best log cabin orator, and after he left Cleveland he had a great reputation as a stump speaker.

I think it was under the inspiration of one of his log cabin speeches that I saw our old friend James A. Briggs shy that peculiar shaped old cloth cap of his so high in air that I feared he would never see it again. But it could not be lost in that way, and it continued to adorn the classic brow of its owner for a long time after Mr. Briggs achieved his first success in life in this city. And although he has lived long in Brooklyn, N. Y., it is greatly to his credit that he has not forgotten Cleveland ; and also that he has not forgotten to identify himself with every wise effort for the moral and intellectual improvement of mankind. And speaking of caps reminds me that owing to the fact that my range of vision, physically as well as mentally, is not as broad as that of some men, I have been in the habit of recognizing men more by their caps than by their countenances. It is only a few days ago that I saw at a little distance a portly looking gentleman who looked like an old acquaintance except for his unfamiliar head covering, but on his nearer approach I found it was none other than Sam Adams without his blue cap. The public will feel a sense of loss if that cap is permanently retired. I hope that is not the case; at least that it has not gone beyond the reach of the Historical Society. I mean no disrespect to the cap or to its owner, especially the cap, for it is one that Bismarck himself might be proud to wear. My personal acquaintance with Mr. Adams has been slight, but I have known something of him ever since he and his cousin Joe were boys in his father's family on Bolivar street. And when Joe Adams first began to be seen around the old court house, mingling with such men as Payne, and Wade, and Rice, and Conger, and Foot, and Hoyt, and Tom Bolton, and Reub Hitchcock and the rest, I thought he was about as unpromising a specimen as I ever saw. But appearances are often deceitful.

There was another man who had a little history that came to my knowledge during my first summer in Ohio. I saw him occasionally come riding into the village of Akron on horseback. His name was Dorsey Vere, or Veers. He was a substantial looking farmer and lived in the township of Northfield. He was pointed out to me as a suspected murderer. A man who had been working for him had disappeared suddenly and mysteriously, under circumstances that led to the arrest of Veers as his murderer. He had a trial, or an examination, and was acquitted for lack of evidence, there being no proof that the man was killed ; but most people thought that Veers was guilty.

Many years passed. Veers became on old man, when the sequel of the story was published in a Cleveland paper. The man supposed to have been murdered was an Englishman, and was seized with a sudden desire to visit his old home, and he left without disclosing his intention to anyone.

After some little time spent in England he returned to this country, going directly to Michigan, where he continued to reside. Mr. Veers during all this time had been quietly, but diligently searching for bim. His efforts were finally successful and his character was rescued from all taint of crime.

I learned also, during my first summer in Ohio, the important fact that Cleveland is six miles from Newburgh. I remember taking up a little book at the house of a friend in Akron, called a Gazetteer of the State of Ohio. I distinctly remember that under the head of Cleveland, there was this item : “A post town six miles from Newburgh.”

This was probably the origin of that quaint description of the location of Cleveland, generally supposed to have originated with some envious quill driver of Sandusky. If it was supposed that it would always maintain that respectful distance from Newburgh, but the expectation has not been realized.

Among those who lived on the west side fifty years ago, within the limits of what soon after became the City of Ohio, were Richard Lord and Josiah Barber, the largest land owners in that locality, Charles Taylor, the owner of the “Taylor Farm,” the Tyler brothers—Benjamin L., Samuel, Lorenzo, Frederick, De Los and Daniel-Charles Winslow, Dr. C. E. Hill, Daniel Sanford, Erastus Tisdale, Wm. B. Castle, Henry and Marshal S. Castle, Edward Bronson, David Griffith, Daniel Baxton, J. F. Taintor, Ezekiel Folsom, Gilman Folsom, Levi Beebee, S. H. Sheldon, Dr. B. Sheldon, Dr. Amos Pearson, H. A. Hurlbut, H. B. and John E. Hurlbut, H. N. Barstow, Isaac L. Hewitt. These are all gone.

Judge Barber was the grandfather of the Josiah Barber known to this generation, and who has died since our last meeting ; also the grandfather of Mrs. D. P. Rhodes, and great grandfather of Mrs. M. A. Hanna, and of Robert and James Rhodes, well known business men. His memory is held in the greatest respect by all who krew him. Mr. and Mrs. Lord were also equally respected, and the same can be said of most of the others I have mentioned. Of the survivors of that period there are Geo. L. Chapman, Samuel Colahan, C. L. Russell, Dewitt C. Taylor, J. H. Sargent, Edgar Slaght, Daniel Mallery, Ambrose Anthony, L. L. Davis, H. G. Towsend, Chittenden Lewis, Ezra Honeywell, Moses C. Sufkin, B. F. Dexter, John Beverlin, J. A. Redington, N. K. McDole, C. C. Stevens, Richard Redrup, Robert Sanderson, Mrs. D. T. Rhodes, her sister, Mrs. Hatch, Mrs. S. H. Sheldon, Mrs. D. Sanford, and perhaps many others who were children at that time.

In 1840 the Liberty party was formed. There were a few here of that despised class called Abolitionists, who voted that ticket. On the east side of the river I can only remember the names of John M. Sterling, Milo Hickox, R. H. Blackmer, and Deacon Hamlin. In Ohio City there were ten, Lyman Crowl (the worst Abolitionist in the city), S. H. Sheldon, Dr. B. Sheldon, Dr. J. A. Sayles, J. F. Taintor, Wm. War

mington, W. P. Taft, Uriah Taylor, Thomas List, and myself. Of that number there are three still living. Mr. Taylor and Mr. List were at that time working in the pattern shop of the Cuyahoga Steam Furnace company. Mr. Taylor has retired some years ago, but Mr. List is still there and is foreman of that shop. It is remarkable, as it shows that although he was "a fool and a fanatic” then-like all the rest of us—he is now a level-headed man, enjoying the confidence of that old, and conservative institution. I have never complained of the curses we received in those days, but I have often thought that when the people of this country had finally struggled up to our standpoint, and adopted every principle that we advocated, they might have given us credit for a little sagacity, or even statesmanship, if we had dared to claim it, and abated somewhat of the absurd prejudice against the Abolitionist. In this connection I am glad to be able to say, that although we voted for James G. Birney for President, our candidate for member of congress from this district was the man whom everybody loved, Sherlock J. Andrews. We are continually being reminded of the shortness of life, and the narrowness of the space between the cradle and the graye. But if we measure time by its results, and the memorials it leaves behind it, the last half century does not seem short or unimportant. When I came to Ohio, in 1834, Cuyahoga county contained about 12,000 inhabitants. There was not a mile of railroad in the state. Andrew Jackson was President, in the middle of his second term. John C. Calhoun was preaching nullification in South Carolina, northern ministers were preaching the nullification of God's law in its application to human slavery. William the IV was king of Great Britain. Victoria was a blooming girl of fifteen, under the watchful care of her excellent mother, the dutchess of Kent. James A. Garfield was a little child of three years, out in the woods of Orange township. Many of us were grown to manhood before he was born, and yet he bas come and gone. But though he is gone he is not lost to us, for it was not possible for the vile assassin to rob the world of the glory of such a life, or the influence of such an example. Very early in my life I became dissatisfied with the men who were being worshiped by the great political parties of that day, and after I became a voter I passed through eight presidential crises before my candidate was elected. But

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