Report on a Very Distant Cousin

Cousin Clark figures in the first part of my ancestor John Andrews’ memoirs, four years older than John, who was adopted into the family when John was around five years old. From John’s descriptions of him, he seemed to be an agreeable companion, nice to his cousin, obedient to his aunt and uncle and very intelligent. I couldn’t find him on our family tree—but because John’s mother was a Butler and Clark was her nephew, he had to be Clark Butler. We don’t have much detail about her siblings, and I wondered where he fit in, so I jumped on Ancestry.com and looked up all the records I could find about him and his family.

Clark Allyn Butler was born in Posey County, Indiana, either the latter part of 1826 or the early part of 1827 (John says Clark is four years older, and the various censuses that record his age support a birth in the latter months of 1826 through early 1827). His parents were Marcus Butler, younger brother of Elizabeth (John’s mother), and Anna Allyn. Marcus Butler had been born in May 1794 in Heath, Franklin County, Massachusetts, one of the younger children of a very large family. Anna was the daughter of a couple who had moved to Indiana Territory, where Anna had been born about 1797. Anna and Marcus met in Posey County, Indiana, and married there on 20 December 1820. Their only child seems to have been Clark. Maybe there were miscarriages or other children who died young, but we don’t know. According to one researcher, Marcus wrote a will that was probated starting in February 1827, so he had died some time not too long before that. We don’t know if he lived to see Clark’s birth or not. Anna died about three years later, according to unconfirmed records, leaving little Clark an orphan.

John Andrews wrote about his cousin: “In my sixth year Father became guardian to a cousin, Clark Butler, 4 years my senior, and after a few years we pursued the same studies together.” This would have been about 1836; if Clark’s mother passed away some years previously, Clark must have been living with other relatives. Anna Allyn Butler may have lived longer than reported; perhaps Clark was orphaned at age 8 or 9 instead of age 3. They were in the same neighborhood, and as Clark’s aunt was Elizabeth Butler Andrews, and her husband, Anson Seeley Andrews, was known to be a generous man, it seems natural that Clark would have found a home with these close relatives. [Quotes and all specific descriptions come from Memoirs of John Andrews pp 3–6.]

Clark went to school with John at the neighborhood school in Farmersville. He seems to have been a good scholar; at least he got into no trouble that John recounted. The school burned down one night after a troubled meeting that had been called on account of a severe thrashing a boy had received at the hands of the schoolteacher. The teacher was fined, the school burned, and school after that was held in an empty house on the Andrews farm, and then in the church across the lane from the farm for a time. Mr Andrews, disapproving of the teacher’s methods, withdrew his nephew and son and sent them to the seminary in Mt Vernon, 3½ miles to the south, where they learned not only English grammar and rhetoric, but algebra, geometry, and Latin.

The boys started for school before 7 a.m. in good weather, and earlier on the days when it was their turn to sweep and make fires, which all the male students took turns doing. On those days Clark and John took turns going the extra half mile to get the key. In December they would find the stars shining still when they left for school, and if either of them had to stay late to finish schoolwork, the other would wait and they would get home after dark. Back at home they often found that Mother Andrews had hot, fresh cornbread waiting for them for a treat.

They learned farming in the summers from Mr Andrews and went to school in the winters, sometimes only for a three-month term if that was all that was available. They each stayed in school until they were past 20 years old, no doubt gaining an extensive and valuable education.

When Clark was 20, gold was discovered in California, and soon the Gold Rush was on, with a number of young men in the immediate vicinity determined to go and seek their fortunes. Clark decided to go too. In 1850 the census taker found him living in Placerville, California, one of the larger mining towns in El Dorado County, working as a miner. He had about $350 worth of real estate, the census reported, so he had apparently been successful enough in finding gold to buy property.

When Clark got home to Posey County, he worked for his relatives again, even though he had made good money in California. After Mr Andrews died in 1854, the farm was divided among John and his two younger siblings, Seth and Harriet. Their mother and Seth decided they wanted to sell and move to Wisconsin, so John and Harriet also sold their portions. Part of the farm was bought by one of Mr Andrews’ nephews, Anson Seeley Osborne, and Clark lived with him and his family and worked as a farm hand until he married.

Clark met Elzina (or Alzina) Black there in Posey County. Alzina was ten years younger than Clark, born in Posey County and probably not noticed by him until he came back from California. They were married 21 February 1861 in Mount Vernon, Posey County, Indiana. Clark soon bought a farm and they settled down to rearing a family in Black Township.

They had the following children, all born in Black Township, Posey County, Indiana:

• Jessie Belle Butler, born in August 1862; died 20 October 1907, age 45.
• Minnie Grace Butler, born in 1864 and died in 1865.
• Marcus Butler, born 31 August 1866; married Nettie Utley 24 June 1912; died 7 November 1945.
• John Black Butler, born in 1868; died in 1889.
• Margaret W (Maggie), born 21 February 1871; appeared on the 1880 census and died probably before 1890.
• Samuel Arthur Butler, born 3 October 1875; married Ida Bell French 15 January 1910; died 18 March 1932, age 56.

When the census taker came around in 1870, Clark and Elzina were living on their own farm in Posey County. Clark was 43 and Alzina 33. The farm and property’s worth was over $4500, so they were prospering. They had a daughter and two sons living then: Jessie Belle, Marcus, and John Black.

Ten years later the family had grown, but sadly for them all, in 1879 Alzina had died at the age of only 42. Jessie Belle, at age 17, was probably taking care of the younger children and keeping house for them all.

Clark continued to prosper in his farming; his daughter Jessie Belle kept house for him until he died, and his sons helped on the farm until Mark took it over. Sadly, John Black Butler died in 1889 at the age of 20 or 21.

Clark A Butler died on 8 January 1893 at home. His death is recorded in Book H-2 on page 35 of the record compiled by the Indiana Works Progress Administration during the Great Depression. He was about 66 years old.

Jessie never married; she kept house for her brothers Mark and Arthur after their father died. The 1900 Census shows the three of them living together in the farmhouse in Black Township in Posey County where they had all been born. The brothers are farmers.

After Jessie Belle died in 1907, Arthur got married in January 1910 to Ida Belle French. The 1910 Census shows that Arthur and Ida Belle were living with Mark in the family farmhouse in Black Township. By 1920 Arthur and Ida Belle had their own home, with their two children, Eileen and Naurice, and Ida’s parents living with them. Their third child, a daughter, died young, and they had another daughter a few years later. Sadly, Arthur developed early-onset dementia, probably Alzheimer’s Disease, and died at age 56. He had done well enough that he and Ida Belle owned their own home free and clear when he died, and she was well provided for.

Marcus, who went by Mark, married Nettie Utley when he was 46 years old, on 24 June 1912. They had no children. He had developed his farm into a dairy farm and was very successful. Mark died when he was 79, of severe lung congestion, on 7th November 1945. Nettie died three years after Mark.

The family continues through the descendants of Samuel Arthur Butler.

The Memoirs of John Andrews, Part 2

Here is Part 1 of the Memoirs of John Andrews.

Relatives and Travels

My father was born in Bethel town, Fairfield county, Connecticut, in the year 1786. He was the older of three brothers: himself, Anson Seeley; Seth; and John Lyman; and two sisters, Mary and Julia. On reaching maturity, he evidently in the division of the estate sold his interest in it to his brothers, taking the proceeds and after teaching school for a few terms, entered into some mercantile business in New York City.

General store of the 1820s, Shelburne Museum, Vermont

After some years in this, for reasons of his own he went west, and in the year 1818, the year that Indiana added its star to the galaxy on the grandest flag the world has ever known—he bought a small tract of land direct from the United States Government, the patent deed issued and signed by then-President of the United States [James Monroe] or his Secretary. I think he was fortunate enough to find that some squatter had cleared up a small piece as it was all timber, and certainly he had a hard job facing him; but as he was a resourceful man, he accomplished his purpose and in a few years must have been getting returns for his investment and labor. The property was situated three and one half miles from Mount Vernon on the beautiful Ohio river, at this place one mile wide.

Ohio River flatboat

Mount Vernon at that time could have been only a very small village, but by its situation commanded the market, small though it was, of a large section of the country. This county’s peculiar situation, bounded on the south by the Ohio and on the west by the Wabash, made its capitol, Mount Vernon, conspicuous as a shipping place and also as a market for the produce growing in the vicinity of these streams and their tributaries, the merchants buying from the farmers and forwarding it to seaboard by means of flatboats, before the advent of steamboats. It was then a common sight to see this mode of transportation floating down with the current, aided at times by the sweep of immense oars.

New Orleans was then, as now, the seaboard market to a vast extent of territory and it was by means of these boats that for many years the products of these lands found the way to market. But I am getting off the track, getting ahead of my story as some of this should have come in later.

Father’s farm was bounded on the east by the State road from Mount Vernon to New Harmony, quite a noted place at this time and for quite a while after, and was situated on the Wabash River some fifteen miles north of Mount Vernon. On the south it was bounded by an earth road intersecting the State road at the southeast corner of the farm. Near this corner in time a number of houses and shops were built, and of course it must have a name. As most of the people in the immediate vicinity were from the eastern states, it got to be known far and near as “Yankee Town” with a great many. This name was spoken in a sneering way, as the majority of the population throughout the county were from the southern states, except in the immediate vicinity of this settlement. Father must have soon got his farm in working order and [was] realizing fair returns from it, for in a few years he built a very nice roomy house, quite a way back from both the east and south roads.

My mother was born in Massachusetts, one of the younger of a large family of both sexes. Her name was Elizabeth Butler. She left there with an older sister and her sister’s husband, Samuel Phillips, going to New York state and teaching school there for some time, and then journeying with them—her sister and husband—to Indiana, where they settled and commenced farming on some land adjoining Father’s and were his nearest neighbors, the state road on the east of Father’s merely dividing the two properties. Thus Father and Mother could not help becoming acquainted and eventually they were married, and at once went to live in the house prepared for them. In this house I was born, and lived in it until I was united to the blessed partner of my life.

In this union of my parents my father secured a model helpmate and my mother a provident husband. In the meantime Father was improving his farm, clearing more land, and gradually investing his means in livestock: cattle, hogs, and sheep, paying particular attention to milk cows. From the latter he soon derived a profit in the making and sale of cheese. In that for a long time he had no competition. He set his price at ten cents per pound, and that price was maintained for many years and was the largest source of his income. Here is where Mother came in as his most efficient helper. She saw to the milking, until more help was needed for that, and made and cared for the cheese. As time passed and work expanded, more help had to be employed. At the age of eight I became an assistant in milking, having two cows to milk night and morning, and seeing the cows to and from the pasture in summer. In winter [we had] only milk enough for butter and home use.

Another source of income which will seem incredible in these times of high cost of living was by taking boarders at one dollar per week and that included washing also, and at that price for many years a few boarders were cared for. A few students, sometimes from a distance, paid in work nights, mornings, and Saturdays.

In 1839 he built a combined house for a dwelling and store on the southeast corner of the farm at the crossroads, and he and Mother in the spring of 1840 went to New York and Bethel, Connecticut, to visit relatives and buy goods for the store, leaving an old lady we had learned to call “Granny” in charge of the house, and a cousin, Fred Phillips, to care for the farm and stock and keep up the cheese making, etc.

They [Father and Mother] were gone three months. On their return the store was stocked up and a clerk installed. I imagine this venture did not pan out very well, as probably too much credit was given. Anyway, after perhaps two years it was given up, with a large number of notes of hand [i.e., I.O.U.s from the neighbors] as the assets. As there was but little money to pay with, Father had to put his wits to work in order to get his due. Here is where his resourcefulness came in. Employing some in clearing up land and cutting wood, others in the different processes of making bricks, in building and burning the brick kiln, and after in building a brick basement barn, a brick annex to the house, and other jobs as they occurred, in this way in the course of two or three years he “cleared up the docket” and added much to the convenience and value of the farm.

House built later on the foundation of the 1839 house built by Anson Seeley Andrews. Photograph by Ernest John Andrews, October 1927.

Rear view of the red brick barn built on Anson Seeley Andrews’ farm in 1844 using bricks made in his own kiln. The barn was located about 200 feet west of the old home. Photograph by Ernest John Andrews, October 1927.


Up to 1850, although a triweekly mail by stage coach passed from Mount Vernon to Princeton 40 miles north, we received our mail at Mount Vernon. There was a common query—Why not try for a post office here?—and there was a decided movement in that direction. First a name and after various suggestions it was generally conceded that Farmersville was the most appropriate, and with that name we applied to the P.O. Department for an office, and after some correspondence and delay the demand was granted and Joseph Phillips was appointed Post Master. For a time he received and distributed the mail from his house. On account of his moving away, another was appointed and office removed to the store.

The store at this time was successfully operating on a cooperate plan which had been discussed and thoroughly worked out by Father and Eben Ellis, and soon quite a number in the vicinity took an interest and stock in the concern. Both the store and P.O. proved successful for a number of years.

In 1851 my sister Harriet and I went to New York and Connecticut. I had once been to Louisville by boat for a few days, but with that exception, we had never been away from home any distance. Our journey was made by boat from Cincinnati, thence to Cleveland by R.R. on the first cars we had ever seen, then by boat to Erie, cars to Buffalo, stopping off then to visit Niagara Falls, then to Albany, and down the Hudson River R.R. to New York, and Brooklyn, where we met for the first time some of our cousins, Mrs. May Taylor and her sister Miss Harriet Osborn. They were sisters of A.S. Osborn who had come west some years before, and had a farm adjoining ours on the south.

After some days there we went to Bethel, Connecticut, cousin Harriet accompanying us. We found there a host of relatives, near and distant, two brothers of Father, Seth and John Lyman and their families, and here we spent several pleasant weeks, seeing Danbury, Bridgeport, and New Haven, in each of these places finding relatives. Around here were many small factories, mostly hat and comb, and some quite extensive ones in large industries. Here for the first time we saw pictures taken by the then-recent process of Daguerre, and of course we had to sit for ours. It was a long ways from the instantaneous process of the present. [See an article on daguerreotype here.]

Returning to New York and Brooklyn, we were helped in sightseeing by some of our business relatives, Mr. Taylor, Mary Osborne’s husband, who had a hat store on Broadway, another cousin Andrews who dealt in clothing, etc., also on Broadway, and Samuel And]rews who, although a graduate of Yale College, and the only one of my kindred that I heard of who did, drove a dray to support his family , and perhaps he was more successful than his brothers. Those, Samuel, Anson, and a younger brother, were sons of John Lyman Andrews. Years after I met Anson at a small town in Peoria County, Illinois, not far from Galesburg, interested in some railroad work and farming. There was two sisters; the elder, Harriet, married a Universalist preacher, S.C. Buckley. She died a few years later and then Hannah married the same man and lived in Galesburg. I spent one day with them in 1886 and have never heard from them since. [A dray was a low, flatbed wagon without sides, pulled by mules or draft horses, for the transport of all kinds of goods. A drayman was a very low-skilled laborer.]

While [we were] in New York, a World’s Fair was in progress, the second one of that kind I think that had ever been promoted. The year previous, London, England, had a fair. It was held in a very large building almost entirely covered with glass, and was called the Crystal Palace, and the New York building was a replica of that. In one building there was a great many things on exhibition that were new to me, interesting and useful. The typewriter was a novelty and a wonder to most everyone, sewing machines and other household appliances, agricultural machinery in variety, such as plows, cultivators, mowing machines, reapers, etc. [The London Exhibition was in 1851; the New York in 1853. He was probably mistaken in remembering the exact year he and Harriet went east.]

A very early typewriting machine

Having wandered somewhat will now bid good-bye to our eastern relatives and to New York sightseeing, and take the homeward trail. We go by boat to Philadelphia, and after [a] short stop on to Washington. After being satisfied with sightseeing there, we take the cars for Wheeling, nearly the limits of navigation on the Ohio River, and at this, our last change, we take a boat for Mount Vernon. After a pleasant ride down that grand river, in due time, after a three months’ absence, we gladly reach home and find all well.

A steamboat on the Ohio River at Cincinnati being loaded

Here is a little post of the daguerreotypes that I found!
And here is Part 3, Farm Inventions, Politics, and Business.

The Memoirs of John Andrews, Part 1

I inherited a typescript of the following memoirs written by my great-great grandfather at the request of one of his sons about 1920. John Andrews was born 1 April 1831 near what came to be known as Farmersville, Posey County, Indiana. He lived until 1922, dying at the age of 91 with a clear mind. His memory is remarkable and the details of his early life quite interesting to anyone who is interested in folk history. In transcribing the typescript, I changed punctuation and added words marked with square brackets. I also decided to put notes in square brackets where explanation might be helpful. Here is his story.
*****

School Days, 1835 to 1850

Procrastination is one of my sins. Had I commenced this memoir when my hand was steady, my eyes clear, and brain active, it is possible I could have made it interesting to those who desire to read it, and surely it would have been more pleasant to write it.

Folk portrait of sister and brother in 1840

I was born on the first day of April 1831. My sister Harriet was born some 19 months later. An older sister had passed away before or soon after my birth. My sister [Harriet] was afflicted with some trouble pertaining to female childhood, I know not what, and Father had a little wagon made, and a maid in Mother’s employ was accustomed to pull her about in it, and my first distinct memory was accompanying [them], trudging along beside. I was probably between three and four years old.

[John’s sister Ann was 20 months old when John was born and nearly 3 when she died 17 July 1832. Harriet was 18 months younger than John. Brother Seth was born when John was a month shy of 6 years old. The family lived in Posey County, at the southern tip of Indiana.]

I have no memory when I learned to read or when I first went to school, but it was surely long before a child would be enrolled as a scholar now. But I have a distinct memory of my first school and of some incidents that occurred there, and of my first teacher. I was perhaps between four or five years; the school house was heated by a large open stove. A lot of the little fellows like myself sitting around it dangling our feet from backless benches, when one day the teacher called me out and with a flat ruler in his hand took one of my hands and gave me three spats in my palm, the only time I was ever chastised in school. Why he did it, I never knew, some boyish squabble perhaps. I was too spunky to cry but turned with a smile to my grinning companions.

After two years this teacher, whose name was Felsch, left, [and] another took his place. This was many years before free schools came; the county was divided into districts with trustees to employ teachers and see to other necessary details. Often it would be only for three months. That was a term and sometimes that was the limit for school that year. If the teacher gave satisfaction he would be retained longer. Parents or guardians paid a stipulated price for each scholar enrolled. Thus my schooling went on until I was nine years old, except what Father and Mother taught me in the meantime. About this time my sister had fully regained her health, and having an active mind, our study in some branches was the same in after years. Father had taught me English grammar and I never studied it in school. In fact some of my early teachers could teach only reading, writing, and spelling.

In my sixth year Father became guardian to a cousin, Clark Butler, 4 years my senior, and after a few years we pursued the same studies together.

When I was nine years old we had a teacher for two or three terms who apparently found it necessary to instill knowledge into our youthful brains by the application of long hickory switches to wake up our dullard minds, and there were some who often felt its tingling over their shoulders. Whether it was that I was smarter than some of those who quite often had a taste of the gad, it never fell on me, but an occasional twist of the ears was the extent of my punishment.

One of the duties of the teachers in those days was to convert goose quills into pens and keep them in repair until worn out and exchanged. It is likely that the Declaration of Independence was written with the quill and perhaps also the Constitution was thus transcribed, and would it not be in harmony and justly so if the emancipation of four million slaves accomplished by the pen of Abe Lincoln, had been written by this agency? But this is perhaps a vain hope as metallic pens had then taken the place in the march of progress of the feathery quill. It is said that the cackling of geese once saved Rome. So the goose has played its part in human progress. This is wandering, yet sometimes it is pleasant to step aside from the main line and cull a flower from the fragrant bloom by the roadside.

An incident during this term of school that likely, subconsciously at least, had quite an influence on my life—in the study of arithmetic I had reached vulgar fractions and a problem soon appeared that at first appeared beyond my ability to solve. After some effort to do so I sought the aid of the teacher. Whether he would not or could not explain it I do not know. He had a key—a duplicate of the arithmetic with the examples explained—and probably this one was not included. Anyway after several attempts failed to get help, I determined myself to solve it. I worked at it for one week, and behold it was accomplished. Fractions had no more terrors for me.

This teacher was sued by the father of one of the boys he had severely thrashed and was fined one cent. Soon after that a school meeting was called and it proved a stormy one, and that night the school house burned down, whether by accident or design was not known.

After the burning of the school house, school was kept for a while in a vacant house on our farm and later in a church nearby. But conditions did not suit Father and soon after the fiasco, he took my cousin Clark and me to a school in Mount Vernon. It was several years before we attended the home school again. It was now 1841, I was ten years old. We found the school in Mount Vernon on our advent there kept in an old one room building packed full of scholars, but room was made for us. The first day was an epoch in my life—everyone but Clark perfect strangers, as was the teacher. Our studies were designated and no doubt we “Country Jakes” had the benefit of many sinister smiles and whispered jibes. The day passed. Just as the sun was preparing to don his night robes I was called up and given an example to demonstrate on the black board. It was my first appearance before that august body and my futile attempt to erase an example with my hand raised a snicker. That put the “ginger” in me. I found the sponge, cleared the board and my example soon took the place of the one obliterated. Soon school was dismissed. Darkness was stealing over the earth, and we had 3½ miles to foot it home.

Clark and I soon got in the stride and nervousness soon wore off in school, and on the playground we were accepted as good fellows.

Our teacher here was a well-educated man and as Father wished us to take Latin as one of our studies, soon we were conjugating amo and declining penna through its alternating changes from nominative to ablative. In addition we had geometry hitched on to our arithmetic. As we were put in classes we were behind in some of them and it was hard to catch up.

When we entered this school the town was building a brick two story house which they called “The Seminary,” and as soon as it was finished we moved from our crowded room to a commodious one on the second floor of this building. The Seminary was situated on rising ground on the northern end of the town which shortened our daily walk one-half mile each way. The school room was a fine one, fitted up with seats and desks for two, and heated in winter by a fireplace in one end and a stove in the middle. There was a small recitation room that was used also for storing our wraps, etc. The morning session commenced with reading by turns a chapter in the Bible and prayer by the teacher.

Original Mount Vernon Seminary, 204 F Street, NW

It was the winter term of 1841 that we entered there. It was the boys’ job to sweep, make fires, etc. in turn. In winter Clark and I had to be on the road by seven o’clock, and when our turn came to sweep and fire up, we had to start earlier, and after reaching the building one of us had to go one-half mile to get the key. In the short days of winter the stars would be showing, but if it were not raining a short hour would bring us home to a glorious feast of rich corn bread that Mother knew well how to make, baked in a skillet before the open fire, covered with a lid and red hot coals raked out from a generous fire on top, and underneath. When we reached home wet to the skin, as sometimes we did, that corn bread and a rich bowl of milk made a feast for the gods. This was before the advent of the cook stove. There was a large oven built at the side of the large fire place that Mother used for white bread, pastry, etc.

The teacher here was named Knap. A part of the routine of school work was declamation and composition on alternate Friday afternoons. The boys had to go up on the elevated stand, face the audience and deliver an oration. This at first was a fearful experience, but I soon got so that I enjoyed the situation. The girls as well as boys had to hand in compositions for correction.

Winter passed, spring and summer came and went once, twice, and a new teacher named Collins was installed with his wife as assistant. I turned 14 in 1845. This year sister Harriet was taken out of the home school and went with us to Mount Vernon during summer. We all rode back and forth in a buggy, and after that Harriet and a cousin named Sophronia Phillips (an aunt of Flora) who had lived with us for some time were boarded near the school.

Having now reached the age to help on the farm my studies through the summer were much broken up.

Schoolhouse in Farmersville, sketch by Anne Doane

In the meantime a new schoolhouse was built on the site of the burned one in Farmersville, and fitted with seats and desks, it was a great improvement over the old arrangement. Having secured the services of Mr. Welche for the new school, we never returned to Mount Vernon.

In 1846 the war with Mexico began and a number of my acquaintances volunteered and went, but all of them that I knew except one, who died there, returned. The organizing of a company and a regiment in Mt. Vernon made quite a stir. I do not know that this regiment ever was in battle, but the second in command, Alvin P. Hovey, was afterwards made Brigadier General under Grant at Vicksburg, and afterwards he was Governor of Indiana. He was a native of Posey County. [More information about Posey County military matters and Alvin P. Hovey can be found at this website.]

I was 16 now—I worked on the farm summers and went to school in winter.

This fall we had a new teacher by the name of P.K. Dibbler, and in one respect he was the best I ever had—and he had a crowded school. Quite a number of pupils from a distance took advantage of the opportunity as it was better than they could get at home, although they had to pay extra. He was also a preacher. His salary of 400 dollars was considerably increased by his preaching and outside students. He was an athlete and enjoyed the playground as much as the boys, and this added to his favor with most of the boys. But there was always carping then, and before his time expired there was trouble. He was accused of partiality by some and a hot fight—verbal—took place. As a result, at the end of his second term he quit teaching and went into other business.

Yet there was an episode in this last term perhaps worth recording. The schoolhouse was on a large corner lot and as the national holiday was near at hand, it was decided to have a celebration. The house had two front doors, one for the boys and one for the girls, and in front we built a stage, and with a bolt of domestic [a length of cotton cloth] we made a large awning, and in front we arranged tables and prepared eatables. After some songs by Clark, who was a good singer, I was called on to read the immortal Declaration, and then Mr. Dibbler gave a patriotic address. We enjoyed the feast. The platform in front was for staging a play at night. The house doors behind made a convenient dressing and retiring room. I do not remember what the play was, but we had to have a darky [a common term then that we do not endorse now] and we had a good substitute in one of the boys, and a few girls were included. A number of my old schoolmates from the Mt. Vernon school came out, and as the patriotic fever increased some were induced to declaim their former school orations.

On the whole it was a success and well done. This ended Mr. Dibbler’s term, but he was followed by another well-educated man, by name Murry, and I passed the next winter in school attending two terms of three months each.

About this time, 1848, the discovery of gold in California became for a time the absorbing topic, and in the following year the gold fever raged all over the land, as bad as the late epidemic of flu—a very poor comparison. [He was writing this just after the 1918 influenza pandemic.] A company was organized at Farmersville and some others in the county. Ox and mule teams were secured, large wagons prepared and in due time joined the long trail across the plains. Six months passed ere they reached the gold mines. Many of the animals died, and on the whole not a few of the men and women. A sad ending to many.

A few months later quite a large company went via Panama and were becalmed at Acapulco for several months, but they reached the end after five months. Many were financed, the option a divide of one half of the proceeds. Generally they secured enough to pay expenses and some over, but very few made any very rich strikes. Some returned after two or three years, others made California their home. In another place some of the gold digging will be specialized.

In 1850 a Mr. Howard, a highly educated man, found his way to Farmersville. He had a wife and 10 year old boy. He bought a large lot on which was a very nice cottage and a large shop. But all his life he had been a scholar and a teacher, with an intimate knowledge of Latin and Greek. He was as ignorant of the proper application of labor to get results from either land or machines. They brought all the way from England a lot of tools where better could have been had here. I helped him some in his planting, his little haying, etc. He had a horse that had not been used much and I think he had never graduated in horse handling as there is no doubt he had in Greek. In the fall of 1850 he was hired to teach the winter school, and that was a job he was surely able to do. He was a scholar, an expert in many branches, a wonderful penman, and in drawing, the picture of any article in view came out at the end of his pencil.

One bright winter morning soon after school opening, a girl came in with a bright smile and elastic step and seated herself by my sister Harriet. I was soon attracted by her handsome appearance, the bright eyes illuminating a very intelligent countenance. At the time I thought her to be some fifteen or sixteen years old, but long years after that I found out she had outstripped her age by several years in height. [The girl was just 10 years old at the time.] After a while I became interested in and inquired her name and obtained it from my seat mate. I also noticed that Mr. Howard was soon attracted to her, giving especial attention that looked very much like partiality. One of the studies she essayed as well as some of the rest of us was drawing. I do not think any of us would ever have produced or created any remarkable result in that direction, but from opportunity to see some of her work afterwards, I am very sure she would never have been able to astound the world with any artistic delineation, and would say here that none of the rest of us would have achieved immortality in that line and for that matter in any other.

What was the attraction that led Mr. Howard from London to Indiana I never knew. He seemed very satisfied with the change and cheerfully accepted the conditions he encountered. He and Father were congenial and often met in social intercourse. He taught but one term there but in the fall following he secured a situation in a military school in Kentucky and soon after left for that purpose. Some correspondence was kept up for a time but afterwards he was changed from the Kentucky Academy to Washington, and now we will bid him good-bye. We heard of him quite often for some time.

By this time I had learned [that] the name of the young miss specialized was Mirinda Piper and that her father was a Baptist minister who I had heard a number of times. He had a circle of churches in his charge, visiting each monthly with two day services Saturday and Sunday. Here I will note what will seem odd, especially in the cities—that the country churches then had two front doors and one back door, and as the congregation arrived, the men entered one door and women the other and took seats apart. In case one wished to leave, as was often the case in the prolonged service, they had the back door by which to escape without disturbing the audience. About the time referred to, Mr. Piper’s congregation, through his supervision, built quite a large building for that time and fashioned as above specified.

The interest Mirinda had aroused in my mind continued, and in later years continued in a union of interests via marriage, and for more than sixty years through sunshine and storm, we have happily passed. We have been blessed with three noble boys, two of whom now minister to our wants and comforts.

Here is Part 2 of the Memoirs of John Andrews.

Mirinda’s Missing Letters

John Andrews came of age in April 1852 and in the next several years seemed to make no effort to go courting, so his family began to worry and to tease him about finding someone with whom to share his life. To their efforts John returned an enigmatical reply, “I’m waiting for my girl to grow up.”

He did not tell anyone that the winter of 1851 he had seen a girl in his one-room school and had known inside himself that she was the one he would marry—eventually, for when he had seen her, she was not quite 11 years old. He couldn’t talk about it. He knew his family and friends would tease him, and more importantly, his mother might not like it that the girl was so very young. He waited, keeping track of the Piper family through their numerous moves around Indiana, Kentucky, and Illinois, until Mirinda Piper had turned seventeen.

Before approaching Mirinda herself, he asked her father’s permission to write to her. Permission was granted, and Mirinda was surprised to receive a letter from John. Apparently her parents did not discuss it with her. She wrote back directly:

Lincoln August 18 – ’57 

Mr Andrews

I received your letter a few days since, and was much surprised on receiving a letter from one whom I supposed, had forgotten there was such a person in existence as myself. Although surprised I have not forgotten my schoolmates, and I must say I have spent some of the happiest hours of my life in the old schoolhouse at Farmersville. You speak of a correspondence, there are many cases where I would consider it objectionable, but I cannot think there would be anything improper in a friendly interchange of thought. Although my personal acquaintance with you has been slight, I have long been acquainted with your character, and have never heard anything about you that was not calculated to win respect; if such was not the case, I would hesitate very much before admitting a correspondence, let me assure you. You may think it strange that I have not answered you sooner, your letter was directed to the wrong place, and it was a mere accident that I ever received it. My address is Lincoln Logan Co,, Illinois.

Yours with respect, 
Mirinda Piper. 

Mr John Andrews.

This is a wonderful letter. Mirinda is modest, careful for her reputation, yet friendly and open. It is interesting that she had taken notice of a young man and had remembered him through the intervening years although they had been together in that school for only a short three months, and she had been so young and he so much older at the time.

The correspondence went on through that autumn and the next winter and spring. In June John came to visit the Piper family, and he asked Mirinda to marry him. She said yes, and her next letter after he had gone home is full of her happiness and anticipation. They were married the first day of autumn in 1858.

We once had all of Mirinda’s letters; somehow John’s were not saved. My dad gave them to me to read when I was a teenager. Being completely hooked on romance stories at the time, I was enthralled with this courtship-by-mail. During the course of the courtship, John asked Mirinda for a picture, and he sent her a daguerreotype that he had had taken of himself. She immediately went and had her own daguerreotype done and sent it back to him. My father let me have the two daguerreotypes to sit on my desk, and I studied them as I did my homework. When I put together my first book of remembrance about my life and heritage, I carefully inserted this first letter into an archival sleeve along with a picture of John and Mirinda sitting together when they were very elderly. It was one of my most treasured pages in the book.

Some decades later my father told me he had traded the letters and daguerreotypes to his cousin Winona for a clock that had belonged to John Andrews’s father. It was supposed to have been the clock that had been bought as a wedding gift in early 1828.

I had become good friends with Winona as a young woman, and we had visited and traded family history materials back and forth. But when I heard about the trade, I was dismayed. Ever since my high school days when I had been their temporary custodian, I had thought of those letters and daguerreotypes as “mine.” Since the letter in my book of remembrance was still there, I still have that original. My aunt told me she has another one, given her by my father at some point in time. I am thankful that he broke up the set, so to speak, if it means we still have two letters!

My dad gave me the clock. One night I saw a clock on Antiques Roadshow that was said to be from the period of around 1830, and it did not look anything like my clock. I looked it up on the internet. It was not the 1828 clock. The model is from around 1875. I love clocks, but this one gave me mixed feelings. I had no idea now whether it was even an Andrews clock. I supposed it was; Winona had said it had been in the Andrews home, and she had lived there, so she had known. My dad’s supposition that it had been in the Farmersville, Indiana Andrews home was clearly incorrect. It had instead been in the Rockford, Illinois Andrews home, probably bought by John and Mirinda at some point. But I mourned the letters. I meant to ask Winona to photocopy them all for me.

And then I heard from her that she had donated them to a tiny museum in southern Indiana very near Farmersville, along with the dagguereotypes and some other papers. My husband and son and I took a trip to that area and decided to add a look at the museum and the Farmersville Andrews farm to our itinerary. We found the museum after a phone call to Winona for specific directions, but it was closed, and we were unable to stay an extra few days until it was open again. We also found the farm and inspected the cemetery graves of John Andrews’s father and sister that were there.

Winona died about seven years ago. I meant to ask the museum about getting copies of the letters and dagguereotypes, but by the time I tried to look up the phone number, the museum had closed for good, and I have not been successful at finding out what happened to its contents.

All I have are tiny poor-quality scans of the dagguereotypes and typewritten transcripts of the letters that my dad had made before he let them go out of his hands.

Where are the originals now? I wonder.

The Lost Daggeureotypes

*************

Here are my transcriptions of the transcriptions (nothing like 3rd hand stuff, right?):

Lincoln, September 14th, 1857

Mr. Andrews:

I received yours of the 1st and was much interested with your account of the fair. I certainly should have admired those paintings very much, as I am a great admirer of such things. You ask if I ever draw any now. I do sometimes, but I have not improved much in pencil drawing. I use crayon on mochromatic board. I like it very much better. I have some few pieces, but they are such poor specimens I would not wish anyone to see them that was a judge of such things. We had a county fair here at Lincoln, last week. I attended one day. Everything passed off well. I think they are a great benefit to a country when they are well managed; but of course a county fair is a very small affair to what a National fair is.

I do not wish you to think I weary of your letters; although I do not write long letters myself, I am always pleased to receive a long letter from a friend.

In your first letter you ask permission to call upon me. I grant your request, but I think by your letter you will be disappointed when you see me. I think you have overrated me. As I have nothing more of interest to write, I will close.

Yours with respect

Mirinda Piper.

Mr. John Andrews.

Lincoln, Ill., Oct. 5, ’57

Mr. Andrews:

In reply to yours of the 21st I will say that your description of the prairie state was much better than I could have given it; if there is any subject that I grow enthusiastic about it is the beauty of these prairies. Lincoln, the county seat of this county, is situated on the Chicago, Alton and St. Louis railroad; it is a flourishing little town where four years ago there was nothing to be seen but unbroken prairie, now there is between twelve and fourteen hundred inhabitants, five churches, seven or eight stores, besides quite a number of shops of every kind. We live one mile from Lincoln on what I think a very pretty farm. One half mile from our house is Salt creek, a beautiful stream, which never dries up at any time of the year. There is a large hill just this side of the creek, and there is the most lovely view from the hill that I ever saw. It is true, we have not the improvements on our place that many of the Indiana farmers have, still there is yet time for improvements. The farmers here seem to have no other wish but the acquire money and lands, and they often neglect the improvement of their homes, and sometimes their minds; but this is a new country and is fast improving, and it will not always be so. Illinois will certainly surpass every other state in the Union, she has so many advantages, such great resources, the soil is fertile, and there is an almost boundless extent of territory.

It is true, we can judge some of the present by the past but not always. My opportunities, since I saw you, have been limited, owing to various causes. If you will permit me, I will copy a few lines from an obscure author, which is not much read, but I think is somewhat applicable to this case.

“Why should the gay bird see the flower?
That grows neath the cottage eaves,
There are finer blooms in the neighboring tower,
All twined with the rich green leaves.”

Now I think this is quite a long letter considering the writer; if I had anything more of consequence to write I certainly would keep on, but as I have not I think best to quit.

Respectfully yours,
Mirinda Piper.

Mr. John Andrews.


In the summer of 1857, John Andrews proposed to his brother-in-law, James Hinkley, that they go to Illinois and buy a farm and start a large orchard, as the fruit business then looked promising. About the first of November 1857, they went to Washington County, Illinois, near DuBois, and bought 165 acres at $15 an acre. While in Illinois, John Andrews went to Lincoln and visited the Pipers.

Lincoln, Nov. 26th, 1857

Mr. Andrews:

You crave an early answer – well, really, I do not know whether you deserve one or not, but I accept your apology, for like yourself, I have been much occupied since you left which made the hours seem much shorter than they otherwise would have done. Your letter gave me pleasure but do you judge others by yourself when you say “the longer delayed, etc.”?

There are very few young gentlemen that find the city a dull place; often they enjoy nothing better and go headlong into every temptation and allurement that promises so much pleasure but, which in the end, proves to be only pain.

I must confess I felt some hesitation in corresponding before we had met (at least for so long) for I thought on further acquaintance your impressions would be very different from what they were heretofore; and you must know if I had not had the most perfect confidence in you I never would have answered your first letter, as I did; but it seems from your letter that you have not changed your opinion and I have not had reason to change mine. I cannot have any objection to a correspondence which has not been unpleasant, at least to me.

I admit I was mistaken in regard to your being reserved and distant. It was for the want of acquaintance. I now think very differently.

Many thanks for your little present, the pen. True, it wields a great power in the hand of those disposed to make good of it, but we cannot have good without evil, and I often think a great deal of the literature of the present day is worse than none. We were all much pleased with your visit; for as a friend of mine often remarks, we have many visitors but very little company. We have been experiencing some of the delights of a northern winter; the ground is covered with snow and the wind has been howling and shrieking around, trying to find a place to enter, but the weather has moderated some now and I hope we shall have some more fine weather this fall.

Pray do not be uneasy about the length of your letters. You ought to be thankful you have something to write!

I remain yours with respect,
Mirinda Piper.

Mr. Andrews

Lincoln, Dec. 20, 1857

Respected Sir:

I hardly know how to begin my letter—but I suppose it is very little difference so it is commenced some way.

I was much pleased to hear of the marriage of Mr. Duckworth to Miss Erwin, all of “Posey county” but will add I have not the honor of their acquaintance.

It is truly distressing to hear of so many being carried off with the “matrimonial epidemic”, but I rejoice to say it is not so here, I have not heard of a wedding for quite a long time.

The weather is quite pleasant now and looks as if it would stay so, but very likely before two days the ground will be frozen and the snow feathering down as if it would take revenge on us for having such a fine time.

We are having some carpenter work done to our house and it is not impossible that we may have a gate to our yard fence; interesting news, is it not?

The health of the people is very good at this time. Asa has not entirely recovered from his sickness but I think he is mending now.

Christmas will soon be here, but I suppose it will pass off as usual, without any accident or noise, except the firing of a few guns at Lincoln and Postville and the shouts of some enthusiastic little boys. Then will come the new year with all its unknown changes. How many joys, sorrows and anxieties do we pass through in one short year. How little do we know at the beginning of a year what will befall us before another year rolls round. We may have passed away to that unknown world from whence no traveler ever returns.

But I will not weary you with moralizing. I have warned you of the evils that may be expected to arise from choosing so dull a correspondent, but I see I make no impression on you. I resign you to your fate. As there is room for improvement, it is to be hoped that, dull as I am, I may improve.

You speak of writing—well, I will write again if it is any pleasure to you, for I am always happy if I am giving others pleasure, especially if I am receiving a share at the same time myself.

I believe I have exhausted my very fertile imagination so I will bid you good bye for the present.

I remain                              
very respectfully yours,
Mirinda Piper

Mr. John Andrews

******************************
There are twenty more letters to go! Here is the next installment: Missing Letters of Mirinda Piper, part 2.

A Little Trip into the Past

I spent a week in the Chicago area this month and looked up the house that once had belonged to my great-grandfather Ernest John Andrews, a patent attorney with an office downtown in the Monadnock Building in Chicago. I pulled out a piece he had written in a nostalgic mood after having gone with his wife on a little trip around Illinois and into southern Indiana to visit scenes important to his father and grandfather during their lifetimes. He wrote it for his children, Fred, Roger, Helen Andrews Hinkley, and Glenn, and their cousins, John B., Rex B., Elizabeth Andrews French, Mae B., and Charles Francis Andrews. But I think it may be of interest to more than just his descendants. He is an interesting writer, and as I want to make this information available to all the descendants of Asa Norton, Asa Piper, and Anson Seeley Andrews, here it is.
*********

The Dominions of Our Ancestors

I am sending a copy of this article to each of the grandchildren of my father so that each may have a record, of some portion at least, of the lives of some of their ancestors, not only for their own use, but to preserve and hand down to others.

It is becoming more and more desirable to have sources of information of this nature with reference to our ancestors. There are many who, at some time in their lives, are particularly interested in matters of this nature and they will be unable to obtain much information that this article contains if it is not preserved in some form. Merely as illustrating what I have in mind I will say that, much as I need the money for other uses, yet I would gladly pay a hundred dollars merely for a good photograph of your great grandfather Andrews [Note: In 2015 his $100 would be worth more than $1300]. This is only one little item of my ancestry and yet it shows how highly I would prize the information of this article if I had no other sources for such information.

The article is not intended for pleasant reading; much of it may not be at all interesting and may be omitted. But there are certain portions that no doubt will be of interest and that you will, I think, find well worth a careful consideration. Perhaps a few suggestions will clarify my meaning.

You have all been intimately acquainted with your grandfather Andrews. In a general way, you know of his character and manner of living and his relations to others. This article tells much with reference to his boyhood days, years before you were born, and hence, in a way, it completes your knowledge of his life.

As to your grandfather’s character, if all were as he was, we would have no need for police or jailers, and little need for courts. We would have no need for sumptuary laws. The present controversy over the eighteenth amendment would have no place in our lives. Life perhaps would be too easy, too free from troubles to be good for the race, but certainly it would add much to the satisfaction of living.

While it may not have impressed you particularly, yet one of the strongest impressions that I have of your grandfather Andrews is as to his constant employment at something worthwhile. I have often felt, and even now, looking back over a period of sixty years, I still feel that your grandfather was the hardest working man that I have ever known. Not a drudge, not a slave, but always actively carrying out some useful plan. He took delight in his work and for sixty years or more, I presume he averaged at least ten or twelve hours a day, mainly at manual work, not excepting Sundays. While on Sundays he changed his work, more or less, from his vocation to his avocations, yet he was always usefully engaged.

He was always looking to the future, planning and building for that which was to come.

I should like to have you know of these things and to know something of your great grandfather Andrews, particularly some of the facts contained in this article. He was very much like your grandfather.

I am sure there is nothing more stabilizing in our lives than such knowledge as this. Not that any of you need stabilizing particularly, but there often come times in our lives when we need, in order to give to the world the best that is in us, the stabilizing effect that comes from the knowledge of a long line of worthy ancestors. And this I would like you to have.

****** ****** ****** ******

Ernest John Andrews' home in Lombard, Illinois,
from April 1913 through April 1939. Afterward,
Helen Andrews Hinkley owned this home.

On October 9, 1927, your mother and I started on our trip to Crawford County, Illinois, where many of your ancestors lived, and to Posey County, Indiana, where others lived. We drove down the Dixie Highway to Paris, Illinois the first day, and stayed all night at the Cherry Croft house, just beyond the center of Paris where the Dixie Highway turns to the east.

The next morning we drove down to Robinson, the County Seat of Crawford County, where we stopped several hours while I searched the records of the county court and circuit court for deeds, wills, and the like.

[I omitted the table of records that he found; if anyone wants it, let me know!]

Of these parties, Asa Norton was your great great grandfather and Thoda and Reuben Norton were his brothers. Polly Norton as his wife. Her maiden name was Mary Belknap. L.D. Norton was Asa Norton’s son. Benjamin Norton was Asa’s nephew. Beverly Bradley Piper was Asa’s son-in-law (your grandmother’s father). Sally, the wife of Avery Tobey referred to, was Asa Norton’s sister, and Sewell Goodridge was the husband of Asa’s sister Lydia, while William N. Norton was Asa’s son (your grandmother’s uncle).

I was unable to complete my search at Robinson owing to the closing of the offices and a further search should be made to obtain records of the entry of the land of Asa Norton in 1819. Apparently, these entries were not recorded during the period that I searched, but they were undoubtedly recorded later as the law requires such records in order to give good title to the land. Also, copies of more important deeds should be examined for interesting facts. These papers were very voluminous. I expected to be able to complete this work on the return trip but failed to do so.

We left Robinson about noon and went straight east some eight miles to Palestine, where about 1815 a fort was built as a protection against the Indians. Palestine was the old county seat of Crawford County. Then, leaving the southeast corner of Palestine across a bridge, we rode to Heathville, some twelve miles away. Heathville was the town of these Nortons and Pipers in those early days and is now the nearest town of what I have called our Ancestral Dominions of Crawford County. The road to Heathville from Palestine is also the road to Russellville, some eight miles further on, and it was a well travelled road, but neither paved nor well graded, at least during portions of the way. The surrounding country was largely clay soil and poor farm land, much of it being covered with underbrush and used for pasture. It is no such land as is to be found in northern Illinois.

At Heathville we inquired of the only store as to where the Nortons lived. The grandchildren are still living on the old Norton farm that was entered in 1819. I was referred to the neighboring garage with the statement that William N. Norton, whose house we were seeking, drove by not long before to the garage. I inquired at the garage and was directed to the Norton house and was told that William Norton had left but a short time before and that we would probably overtake him. Never having seen Mr. Norton, we carefully scrutinized the cars as we drove along. We overtook none that seemed to be Mr. Norton’s, though we did pass a man who was walking, whom we afterwards found out was Mr. Norton. Owing to the failure of the garage man to tell us that he was then working on Mr. Norton’s car and that Mr. Norton was walking home, we passed him just outside of Heathville and he was obliged to walk over two miles home when we should have been delighted to take him in our car. This merely goes to show how a little clarity smoothes life’s pathway.

We drove about two miles south from Heathville on the Russellville road and then turned west on a dirt road, and a quarter mile further, struck a little bridge and the lane leading to the north up to Mr. Norton’s house. We drove up a very steep hill to the house and met Mrs. Norton, who informed us that the old Asa Norton house was on the other side of the road. So we drove back and up another steep hill just south of the bridge and south of William Norton’s house to the house now occupied by Horace B. Norton, where we met him and his wife.

It was on this hill that Asa Norton built his house over one hundred years ago. This house was burned before 1888 and on the old foundation a new house was built, and it is here that Asa’s grandson Horace now lives. The old barns also were all gone. But the hills still remain. The Norton house was perched high up on a hill because, while on his way to this locality, Asa found the country along the Wabash River flooded and all of the low land covered with water; to avoid such floods he built his house on a high hill.

It was here that your great great grandfather fought his battle with nature as a farmer; it was here also that he was a member of the State Legislature and a Justice of the Peace; and it is here that his descendants have been since. It was in this neighborhood too, that Asa’s daughter Delia Deborah Norton, your great grandmother, married your great grandfather Beverly Bradley Piper, and it was here that she spent substantially all of her life as she was only three years old in 1817 when Asa Norton moved his family from Norwich, New York, finally arriving in Crawford County in 1819.

It was here also that your grandmother Andrews spent some of the most joyful years of her life, and where her grandfather, Asa Piper, also settled on a farm a century ago. His farm and house were just southeast of the corner where we turned from the Russellville road to the Norton place. It was here, too, that your grandmother’s father was raised, and in later years, after he was married to Delia Deborah Norton, their farm adjoined on the west that of her father, Asa Norton. Your grandmother Andrews not only lived there during a part of her childhood days, but in after years she often visited at her grandfather Asa Norton’s place, until the time she and your grandfather moved to Rockford, Illinois, in 1861.

We spent the afternoon with William and Horace Norton and their wives. We went down into the old Asa Norton basement and saw the old walls that were built by him over a hundred years ago. That is all of his handiwork that is left. But in the house is an old clock still going that was saved from the fire. And there is an old life-sized painting of Asa Norton, painted before he left for the west in 1817. He was certainly a fine looking man, and dressed in the frills of those days, he far surpasses any of you so far as elegance in clothes is concerned. The picture was injured by the fire, but was restored.

We went back to William Norton’s house, up on the hill across the road, and went northwest over to the old cemetery on Asa Norton’s farm. Here lie buried Asa Norton and his wife Mary Belknap, his son Wellington Bertolf Norton, his brother Thoda Norton, his son William N. Norton, and his daughter Mirinda Norton Parker, after whom your grandmother, Mirinda Parker’s niece, was named, and many others. Asa Norton’s grave bears no stone. It was his own wish that his grave be unmarked. The place, however, is marked sufficiently for recognition, lying immediately north of his wife’s grave. On her stone is the inscription, “Mary, wife of Asa Norton, died March 18, 1850, age 69 yrs, 6 ms, and 17 dys.” She was born in 1780. Asa Norton was born in 1781 and his wife was born the year before. This, I understand, was a sensitive point for your great great grandfather, to be a year younger than his wife. He was a very dignified man, straight as an arrow, having been a soldier for many years. Presumably it detracted from his idea of dignity to have a wife who was older than himself. A large cedar tree grows over the grave of Mary Norton, a tree perhaps seventy-five years old.

From the cemetery, we went back to the house and drove west on the road about a quarter of a mile to the corner, and then turned north and went by a schoolhouse, where once was located the old log schoolhouse that was also used as the church of the Pipers and the Nortons. The log building is gone now. But it was here that your great grandfather Beverly Bradley Piper gained his secular and religious training and where he was converted and where he preached, probably, for the first time.

It was here too, that Andrew Jackson Norton attended school and church and was converted and preached. Andrew Jackson Norton was a nephew of Asa Norton, and for fifty years he preached as a Predestinarian Baptist all over Illinois and Iowa. I have a copy of his diary in which he tells how he was converted from an aimless, drifting boy to an intense Fundamentalist, and how he spent all of his days preaching the gospel without pay other than as his parishioners produced. His account of his conversion is the most illuminating description of this nature that I have ever seen, probably because it is sincere and he seeks to tell the facts just as he experienced them. His soul was gripped by the horrors of Hell which were as real and vivid to him as is our conception of each coming day. He was an ignorant man, with practically no education except what he obtained at home, but he was sincere and intense and was firmly convinced of the literal truth of the Bible from the first page to the last. Much as we may disagree with the beliefs of such men as this, yet in their days they were needed and we must not only have for them great admiration, but must feel that it is owing much to them that our country is now blessed with the great masses of men and women whose characters can withstand the pressure of modern life.

It was in this schoolhouse also that Andrew Jackson Norton was married in 1839 by the Justice of the Peace, Asa Norton. And it was here that your great grandfather and great grandmother Piper were married in 1833 by the same Justice. So it was that this old log schoolhouse witnessed some of the most important events of our ancestors’ lives.

From the schoolhouse we went a quarter of a mile north and turned at right angles east, where within a half a mile we struck a right angled bend in the road to the north. Just to the right of this bend was an old house built by Sewell Goodridge and his wife, over a hundred years ago. Sewell Goodridge’s wife Lydia was a sister of Asa Norton, and hence, your grandmother’s great aunt. It was in and around this house that many of the happiest hours of your grandmother’s life were spent. The house is now occupied by an old bachelor, and as was to be expected, was in disorder and decay. The building itself is run down and uncared for, and the interior was dreary indeed. But as we entered the north front door, on the opposite wall we saw, in a niche in the wall built for the purpose at the time the house was built, a large cuckoo clock. There, for over one hundred years, this old cuckoo clock has stood, six feet or more high and a foot or more wide, running by weights over pulleys, and still running correctly. But the cuckoo is dead. This clock was a familiar and interesting sight to your grandmother.

To the left of this was the old china closet in which Lydia Goodridge kept many valuable dishes, about which I have often heard your grandmother speak. In the next room, the parlor, was another old clock that is thought to be nearly a hundred years old, standing on the mantle, two or three feet high and a foot or more wide. There were two fireplaces back-to-back in the wall between the two rooms. In the southwest corner of the parlor was another large cabinet, empty now but presumably in those early days containing valuable clothing, dishes, and the like.

Having heard so much about priceless articles and papers found in old buildings such as this, we ventured up into the attic. But the attic was nearly vacant; the floor seemed to be covered an inch thick with dust and old scraps of paper, and there was nothing to indicate any hidden treasures. We left with the thought that poor Aunt Lydia, the aristocrat of the Norton family, would have turned in her grave if she could have known of the condition of her beloved home.

It was in this old house that Andrew Jackson Norton spent his youth. His father, Benjamin Norton, was Asa’s older brother. Benjamin’s wife died in 1819 and he married again in 1823 when Andrew Jackson was five years old. In the meantime Benjamin’s other children were scattered. At the time of his wife’s death, five children were living, four boys and one girl, and seven were dead. Three boys died in accidents—one a knife entered his brain, one drowned, and one was scalded to death. Andrew Jackson went to live with his Aunt Lydia Goodridge who had no children of her own. He lived with this aunt and uncle until of age; he married while living there and afterwards built a house of his own not far away. He married Miss Mary Jeffers on December 19, 1839.

Going on, then, beyond the bend in the road to the north about one hundred rods, we struck the Hagan house where Sally Tobey Hagan and her husband live. Sally Tobey Hagan is the granddaughter of Avery Tobey and his wife, Sally Norton. Sally Norton was Asa Norton’s younger sister, nineteen years younger than he and a year or two younger than their sister, Lydia Goodridge.

The old house built by Avery and Sally Tobey was still standing, but had been moved to the back end of the lot and was a wreck, all ready to fall to pieces. We did not visit the old Tobey graveyard that is on the Tobey farm, as our time was limited, but I shall certainly one of these days visit this cemetery where good old Aunt Lydia and Aunt Sally and other kindred are buried.

Away off to the northeast from this Tobey house we could see the houses that mark the places where Andrew Jackson Norton had built his log cabin when first married, and nearer, where his Uncle Thoda Norton lived, and where his cousin Louis D. Norton lived.

From this old Norton headquarters we drove down the east-west road to the north-south Russellville road and passed the old Asa Piper farm on the east and down to Russellville, about six miles away. Here we stopped at the store of D.T. Beckes. He is the husband of Edna, daughter of Horace B. Norton. Mr. Beckes was not at the store, but we were directed to the Beckes house, which was built by Horace B. Norton and is the finest house in Russellville. Here we met Edna and she showed us the deed of Andrew Jackson, President of the United States, to William Noble Norton, Edna’s grandfather, dated September 1, 1834, conveying the west half of the northeast quarter of Section nineteen, Township five, north of range ten west, Palestine, containing eighty acres. This is the deed of the old farm entered by Asa Norton in 1819.

From Russellville we drove some ten miles southeast to the Wabash River and down the river several miles to the Vincennes bridge where we crossed over to Vincennes, Indiana, and spent the night. In Vincennes the following morning, we passed the location of the old Sackville Fort, later known as Fort Vincennes, and from there we went south to Evansville, Indiana, on the Ohio River. From here we went west some twenty-five miles to Mt. Vernon, Posey County, Indiana.

Then we were in the neighborhood of your grandfather Andrews’ early home. It was in Mt. Vernon that he attended school and his father’s farm was three miles straight north. I went over to the court house and obtained copies of the following records:

“John Quincy Adams, President of the United States of America. To all to whom these presents shall come, greeting.
“Know ye that, John Andrews of New York, having deposited in the general land office a certificate of the Register of the land office at Vincennes in Indiana,
“Whereby, it appears that full payment has been made for the West one-half of the NorthWest quarter of Section Twenty-Nine in Township Six of range Thirteen west, containing eighty acres of land directed to be sold at Vincennes by the act of Congress entitled An Act providing for the sale of the lands of the United States in the Territory Northwest of the Ohio, and above the mouth of the Kentucky River, unto the said John Andrews and his heirs the half of the quarter lot or section of land above described.
“To have and to hold the said half of the quarter lot or section of land, with the appurtenances, unto the said John Andrews, his heirs and assigns forever.
“In testimony whereof, I have caused these letters to be made Patent, and the seal of the general land office to be hereunto affixed. Given under my hand at the City of Washington, the Seventh day of February in the year of our Lord, one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-seven, and of the Independence of the United States of America, the fifty-second.
“By the President (John Quincy Adams)”
(SEAL)

“James Monroe to Anson S. Andrews of New York.
“SW ¼, Sec. 20, Twsp. 6, Range 13 W, 160 Acres.
“James Monroe, President of the United States of America.
“To all to whom these presents shall come, greeting.
“Know ye that, Anson S. Andrews of New York, having deposited in the general land office a certificate of the Register of the land office at Vincennes in Indiana,
“Whereby it appears that full payment has been made for the SouthWest quarter of Section Twenty in Township Six, South of Range Thirteen West, containing one hundred and sixty acres of the land directed to be sold at Vincennes by the act of Congress entitled An Act providing for the sale of the lands of the United States, in the Territory Northwest of the Ohio, and above the mouth of the Kentucky River, unto the said Anson S. Andrews and his heirs the quarter lot or section of land above described.
“To have and to hold the said quarter lot or section of land with the appurtenances, unto the said Anson S. Andrews, his heirs and assigns forever.
“In testimony whereof, I have caused these letters to be made Patent, and the seal of the general land office to be hereunto affixed. Given under my hand at the City of Washington, the twenty-fifth day of August in the year of our Lord, one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-three, and of the Independence of the United States of America, the forty-eighth.
“By the President (James Monroe)”
(SEAL)

“James Monroe to Anson S. Andrews of New York City.
“E ½, SE ¼, Sec. 19, Twsp. 6, Range 13 W, 80 acres.
“James Monroe, President of the United States of America.
“To all to whom these presents shall come, greeting.
“Know ye that, Anson S. Andrews of New York, having deposited in the general land office a certificate of the Register of the land office at Vincennes in Indiana,
“Whereby it appears that full payment has been made for the East one-half of the SouthEast quarter of Section Nineteen in Township six, Range 13 West, containing eighty acres of the land directed to be sold at Vincennes by the act of Congress entitled An Act providing for the sale of the lands of the United States, in the Territory Northwest of the Ohio, and above the mouth of the Kentucky River, unto the said Anson S. Andrews the quarter lot or section of land above described. “To have and to hold the said quarter lot or section of land with the appurtenances, unto the said Anson S. Andrews, his heirs and assigns forever.
“In testimony whereof, I have caused these letters to be made Patent, and the seal of the general land office to be hereunto affixed. Given under my hand at the City of Washington, the twenty-Fifth day of July in the year of our Lord, one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-three, and of the Independence of the United States of America, the forty-eighth. “By the President (James Monroe)”
(SEAL)


W I L L
Recorded in Book T of Deeds
page 723
“Anson S. Andrews of Black Township in the County of Posey and State of Indiana, do ordain and appoint this my last will and testament in manner and form following.
“That is to say, on this first day of March in the year of our Lord One Thousand, Eight Hundred and Fifty-two,
“To which I have set my hand and affixed my seal binding my heirs and assigns forever.
“I give a bequeath my farm on which I am now residing together with all the rents, profits and benefits arising therefrom to my beloved wife, Elizabeth Andrews.
“To have, hold and enjoy the same for and during the term of her natural life. I also give and bequeath to her, my said wife, all my farm stock, to wit: my neat cattle, horses, sheep and hogs, farming tools and utensils, farm produce, household goods and furniture, and one thousand ($1000) dollars out of my personal estate and effects; my books and other printed matter to be divided equally share and share alike between my wife and children.
“At the death of my beloved wife, I give and bequeath my said farm together with all the rents and profits thereof to my two dear sons, John and Seth, to be equally divided between them share and share alike, or held jointly as they may elect; to be held and possessed by them and their heirs and assigns forever.
“I give and bequeath to my dear daughter Harriet the piece of land I lately bought of John Vanway and described in the deed from him and his wife to me, to be held and possessed by her and her heirs and assigns forever. I also give and bequeath to her Two Thousand, One Hundred Dollars ($2100) out of my personal estate, this she is to receive in such kind or kinds of property that she shall sustain no loss or damage whatever.
“After my debts and all just demands against my estate are settled and paid, I will and direct that the balance and remainder thereof be equally divided share and share alike between my said children. And I do hereby appoint my said wife Elizabeth my executrix and my friends, Anson S. Osborne and Ebenezer Ellis, my executors of this my last will and testament. And I do hereby direct that fifty ($50) dollars be paid to each of my executors out of my estate as a compensation for their services.
“In witness whereof I have hereunto subscribed my name and affixed my seal the day and date first above written.
“(Anson S. Andrews) (SEAL)
“Signed, sealed, published and delivered by the said Anson S. Andrews as and for his last will and testament, in the presence of us who at the request of said Anson S. Andrews and in the presence of each other have hereunto subscribed our names as witnesses.
“(John W. Bishop)
“(Otis Hinkley) (SEAL)
“Recorded November 4, 1854”

[There followed another table of deeds recorded in Mt. Vernon, Indiana, in Black Township. I will be happy to send the table to anyone who asks.]

Of these parties, Anson S. Andrews is your great grandfather; John Andrews is his father, your great great grandfather. He never came out west but lived at Bethel, Connecticut. The Hinkley referred to Otis Hinkley, Wilmer’s great grandfather, who lived at New Harmony, Indiana, twelve miles north of the Andrews farm, and James Hinkley is his son who married Anson S. Andrews’ daughter Harriet. This is the first connection between Helen and Wilmer Hinkley. Anson Seeley Andrews is the great grandfather of both of them. Anson Seeley Osborne was a nephew of Anson Seeley Andrews and lived with him during much of his youth. Beverly Bradley Piper was your great grandfather who lived also in the Norton neighborhood in Crawford County. Elizabeth Andrews was Anson Andrews’ wife and your great grandmother. The et. al. referred to in the Elizabeth Andrews deed was your grandfather Andrews and his brother Seth and his sister Harriet Hinkley.

The search of records at Mt. Vernon was substantially complete but it would be desirable to obtain copies of more of the deeds. For instance, the deed of Elizabeth Andrews et. al., to Worthington Bois, and the deed of John Andrews et. al., to James Acuff. The former deed conveyed the old Anson S. Andrews farm, and the latter deed conveyed the land on which the old mill stood.

There should be a search made to determine the disposition of the land transferred to Anson S. Andrews by Honduras D. Johnson and John T. McKee. The Vanway farm was willed by Anson S. Andrews to his daughter, Harriet Hinkley.

From Mt. Vernon we drove north fifteen miles to New Harmony. The road ran through Farmersville where the Andrews farm was located. As we drove by, I was able to point out to your mother a large number of landmarks from descriptions given me by your grandfather. For instance, the location of the old farm and the farm house and the store and the mill and the schoolhouse and the Baptist church and the old graveyard and other places. But we did not stop.

We reached New Harmony in the evening and went to the house of Julia E. Dransfield, a daughter of Anson S. Osborne and, hence, second cousin of your grandfather Andrews. She lives in the old Otis Hinkley house where Wilmer’s great grandfather lived.

We stayed at New Harmony and vicinity for two days and had a very pleasant visit with Cousin Julia and her adopted daughter, Mary Donald, and Mary’s husband who is the dentist in New Harmony. I cannot here go into the many interesting features of New Harmony. Although having a population of less than one thousand, it is one of the most noted towns in the world from both a scientific and sociological point of view. I have several pamphlets relating to the various interesting features of this town. But that has nothing to do with our Ancestral Dominions. Suffice it to say that we were much pleased not only with the reception given us by our hosts and others, but also by the various buildings and collections and the like which we visited.

With our hosts, we drove down to Farmersville where for thirty-six years your great grandfather was the principal man of the neighborhood. He established the town of Farmersville, or what for a time was known as the “Corners,” by entering with the United States government a section of land surrounding the Corners, being where two main east/west and north/south roads crossed. Of this land, he entered for his own use 320 acres, and the rest was taken up by friends who settled there with him at about the same time.

On our way to Farmersville from New Harmony, we stopped at the old Moore’s Hill Cemetery, about a mile north of the old Andrews farm, on the same side of the road. Here your great grandfather was buried. After some searching, we found his lot in the northwest corner of the cemetery, in the north tier of lots and one tier next to the west. The stone slab was lying on the ground, and adjacent to it was a little stone. The slab bore the inscription, “Anson S. Andrews, died September 28, 1854, in the 69 year of his age.” Having heard that the slab had fallen, I had brought with me a spade, and I dug down and found the pedestal on which the slab had been originally mounted. This pedestal had sunk in the ground over a foot deep and the slab had been broken off flush with the upper surface of the pedestal. I cleaned the broken pieces out of the groove in the pedestal and restored the slab, then straightened out the little stone nearby that bore the inscription, “Ann, daughter of A.S. and E. Andrews, died July 17, 1832, age 2 yr, 11 ms, 8 dys.”

The Andrews grave markers in 2001. They have since been
set into flat concrete frames to preserve them from further decay.

As I stood at my grandfather’s grave that afternoon, I could picture in my mind’s eye the Andrews line, coming over from England in 1633 and slowly drifting westward—from Cambridge, Massachusetts, where Glenn now lives, to Connecticut; from Hartford to Farmington, then to Waterbury, then Danbury; and from there, Anson S. Andrews as a young man went out by himself west to New York state, and thence to Farmersville, Indiana, where his body now lies by the side of his infant daughter. But the line went on, west to southern Illinois, north to northern Illinois and Wisconsin, and with it went his wife who now lies in the old West Side Cemetery in Rockford, Illinois, and beside her lies their son John, your grandfather. And so it goes, from one generation to the next, ever onward, always seeking something better, and usually finding it, leaving many by the wayside in lonely graves.

From the cemetery we went south to the old Corners, and then a quarter of a mile west past the location of the old schoolhouse where your grandfather first went to school and where he first met your grandmother, to the location of the old Baptist church where your great grandfather Piper preached from 1850 to 1853 and where your grandmother attended church and Sunday school as a girl of ten to thirteen. I cannot say that your grandfather and great grandfather attended this church. Your great grandmother Andrews attended church about half a mile west of this on the same side of the east/west road in what was known as the Christian or Campbellite church. But your great grandfather was not a member of any church. Undoubtedly, he and the children more or less attended his wife’s church, and perhaps the Baptist church. But neither he nor his son John, your grandfather, nor his daughter Harriet, nor her husband James Hinkley, nor his father, were orthodox. Seth, the second son of A.S. Andrews, in time joined the church and was one of the staunch members until he died. The present church was built in 1896 on the foundation of the old church of a century ago.

Just across the road north from the church we drove into the lane to the Andrews farmyard and to where the old house had stood. Your grandfather had told me that the house and barns were all burned, he believed, as well as the store and the mill. However, I was delighted to find the old red brick barn still standing. This is a large barn, two stories and a basement, about 60 feet long and 30 feet wide, a magnificent monument to your great grandfather. A photograph of the rear of the barn is attached. The barn was built in 1844 of red bricks made from the clay of the old farm, the brick kiln being located near the barn. Your great grandfather made bricks at that time, which he sold to others, and he built this barn, and an addition to his house, and a sidewalk leading from the house towards the barn, and he lined a dug well with the bricks. The old brick foundation of the house and the sidewalk and the well still remain, but the addition itself has disappeared. Also, the old shop and other sheds and another large barn which were there in the early days have all disappeared, being replaced by other buildings.

Rear view, taken in October 1927, of red brick barn at Farmersville, Indiana,
built in 1844 for Anson Seeley Andrews with bricks made on his farm.
The barn is located about 200 feet west of where the old Andrews’ house is located.

The farm is now owned by Ensley Trafford and his wife. His wife is a great granddaughter of Elisha Phillips, who was one of the settlers there with your great grandfather and who took an eighty acre piece of the original section taken up by your great grandfather. In a talk with Mrs. Trafford, she suggested that I would be interested in calling on John Dave Ellis, who lived half a mile straight south, as he was one of the oldest settlers and would no doubt remember much of interest. We drove over to Mr. Ellis’s house and found him at home and had a very pleasant and interesting conversation with him. He is a typical old farmer of 87 years of age, old enough to be much interested in those early times. Upon meeting him, I asked if he remembered Anson Seeley Andrews. He said that he certainly did and he remembered John Andrews and Mirinda Piper and that John had married Mirinda. When I told him that they were my parents he was much interested and shook my hand warmly and went on to tell about the old times.

Among other things, he said that Anson Andrews was one of the finest men that was ever known in those parts, and he cited several instances of things your great grandfather had done to help establish and develop the neighborhood and to assist others in getting a start. One instance was that Mr. Andrews told a neighbor that he ought to buy a certain farm and the neighbor said that he knew it but didn’t have the money. Your great grandfather said that he had the money and would let his neighbor have it and would charge no interest and wouldn’t ask him for payment. I presume, however, that he knew the man well enough to know that the money would be repaid whether he asked for it or not. Also, I think that John Dave Ellis was inclined to exaggerate a little. Among other things, he stated that Anson Andrews was a very loud talker; that he was pretty deaf during the later years of his life and talked loud enough apparently to hear himself. John Dave’s house was nearly half a mile away from the Andrews house, and yet, John Dave said that he often heard Mr. Andrews talking to his men around the barn when John himself was at home. But in spite of any tendency to exaggerate, it was pleasant to hear these statements made by a neighbor who knew your great grandfather in his lifetime and undoubtedly had heard much about him from other neighbors since his death. John Dave was only fourteen years old when your great grandfather died, so much of his knowledge must have come from older friends and neighbors.

Another thing that John Dave said was that the old Baptist church, located about midway between his house and the old Andrews house, had been cut in two in 1896, when the new one was built, and all of it had been moved onto the Andrews farm; one half of it immediately across the road, and the other half moved onto the old Andrews house foundation and still stood there. This was very interesting news as this was another joining of the Piper and Andrews families; the old church from which your great grandfather Piper so often preached had been moved to the Andrews farm and a portion of it had replaced the old Andrews house.

Front view, taken in October 1927, of the house then standing at Farmersville,
Indiana, on the foundation of the house built by Anson Seeley Andrews about 1830.

In view of this, we drove back to the Andrews house and found that, as he had said, the front part of the old church was on the old foundation. This was clearly indicated by the building itself, the rear portion of the house showing evident signs of having been the front of an old church. The attached picture shows the front wall of the house, built in 1896. While we were there examining the house, the lady living in it called my attention to the old well immediately north of the house, and to the old brick foundation, and to the sidewalk, and we also gave some further consideration to the old brick barn.

This brick barn has a charm for me. It seems to be typical of your great grandfather Andrews. It is typical of the solid basis upon which he always seemed to build. In his younger days he broke away from a rather worn-out New England and went to New York state, and some years later, moved further west to establish himself in a new community. He was laying a foundation for the future; not drifting along as so many do, but planning years ahead; not shirking and taking the easy path, but seeking to mold nature to the benefit of himself, his family, his neighbors, and those who were to come. Many of the glimpses that I have obtained of him by my researches and by talks with his son and others who knew him in life lead me to believe that this was strongly typical of the man, a determination to live his life in a way that would be a benefit to himself and others, building a solid foundation for his life work and for each step in that work. He established a community for himself and for others. He developed a brick kiln and a store and a mill for himself and others, all much needed in that wild western country, and he laid a mental foundation for his children and for those of his neighbors. A school building was the first building that was built at the Corners; he and others sought to establish a seminary there too, which was finally located three miles away at Mt. Vernon. As John Dave Ellis said, he provided money not only for himself, but for others. I have his books showing thousands of dollars loaned out to others. In fact, he did substantially a banking business for the community, the basis for it all carved out of the soil.

A solid basis for life is typical, in general, of the Andrews line. I have gone back some three hundred years and have carefully studied the line and find no exceptions to this. All were solid, substantial, sane men and women. They all built for the future, not for the next world of which they knew nothing, but for this world, doing the best they could to get the most out of the only life of which they could know.

We then drove down to Mt. Vernon and called on two of the granddaughters of Anson Seeley Osborne. They were Rosamond and Esther Osborne, daughters of Lemuel T. Osborne. Esther, now Mrs. Lyman Strack, gave me the deed drawn by your great grandfather and signed by him and your great grandmother, the print of which is attached.

Deed handwritten by Anson S. Andrews, properly acknowledged by him and his wife.

“This indenture made the twentieth day of August in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty five between Anson S. Andrews and Elizabeth Andrews his wife of the township of Black in Posey County and State of Indiana of the first part and Anson S. Osborn of the same place of the second part witnesseth that the said parties of the first part for and in consideration of the sum of three hundred dollars to them duly paid have sold and by these presents do re—i.e., release and forever quit claim unto the said Anson S. Osborn all rights, title, interest, claim and demand whatever which we the releasers have or ought to have in or to one tract of land described and dessignated [sic] as the West half of the North West quarter of Section Number twenty nine of Township Number Six South and Range number thirteen west and lying in the county of Posey and State of Indiana aforesaid — To have and to hold the premises with all their appurtenances unto the said releaser his heirs and assigns forever so that neither we the said releasers nor our heirs nor any other person under us or them shall hereafter have any claim, right or title in or to the premises or any part thereof—but thereupon we and they are by these presents forever bared [sic] and secluded.
“In Witness whereof we have hereunto set our hands and seals the day and date above written
“Signed, Seald and delivered
“In presence of Anson S. Andrews (SEAL)
Elizabeth Andrews (SEAL)”

We also saw Lemuel T. Osborne, the father, for a few moments, and called on Matthew Nelson who lived a block away and who knew much of the early life of your ancestors. His opinion of your great grandfather was much like that of John Dave Ellis, and as he was born after your great grandfather’s death, this opinion was derived entirely from friends and neighbors, and particularly from his father. His father, Turner Nelson, was something of a politician and for many years was the County Recorder of Mt. Vernon. Also, he owned a large farm in the early days adjacent to Farmersville, and of this he sold some sixty acres to your great grandfather Piper, and was the nearest neighbor to Mr. Piper when he was there.

While in Mt. Vernon, we looked up the old seminary where your grandfather Andrews went to school. The building was built in 1841 and is still used for the same general purpose. It is a very substantial-looking brick building and must have been the pride of the town in those early days. Your grandfather started school in Mt. Vernon in an old one-room building “packed full with scholars,” but the new “Seminary” was then being built and as soon as it was finished, your grandfather entered it.

The next day we started towards home but stopped in Lawrenceville, the county seat of Lawrence County, Illinois, where I found records of deeds relating to various Norton relatives . . .

[If anyone wants the table of these deeds for Lawrence County, leave me a note and I will send them.]

From Lawrenceville we went again to Vincennes, Indiana. I looked for records of early deeds there but found only the following: “Grantor Asa Norton; Grantee Barrois Francois; Book DD; Page 327; Comments: Dated February 11, 1826. ¼ of lot 64 in Borough of Vincennes. $45. Sam'l Dillworth, recorder. Vige St.”

From Vincennes we drove to Paris, Illinois, and stayed all night again at the Cherry Croft house, and the next morning, Saturday, October 15, 1927, we arrived home.

Ernest John Andrews
Chicago, November 21, 1927