MEMORIES OF THE 



tie ones into his sleigh, with beds and bedding to keep them 

 warm and such scanty provisions as were at hand with which to 

 feed them on their long wilderness journey, and drove them 

 rapidly and forever away from the scenes of sorrow, trial and 

 terror which had so darkened their young lives at the very 

 threshold. Taken back to the east, they were scattered among 

 their parents' relatives and friends, each bare-handed and alone 

 to make his way in the world. 



Mother found a good home in the family of Deacon Upson, 

 of Camden, N. Y., whose wife was a friend of her mother. They 

 treated her with great kindness and she never ceased to revere 

 their memory, and to tell the many virtues of her foster parents 

 was always her delight. 



After their marriage, father and mother immediately began 

 housekeeping in an old log house built by Stanton Brown on 

 the old home farm, where we were all born and where they 

 lived until 1867, and where for fifty years they labored inces- 

 santly, with varied success, surrounded by warm-hearted neigh- 

 bors as diligent, earnest and poor as themselves. 



That there was little to encourage a man in those days in 

 farming, father seems to have discovered very early. It took 

 nearly a generation to clear off the forest and get the land in 

 shape for anything like decent cultivation, and then needed 

 another generation's time to clear off the stone; in fact, that 

 part has never been completely accomplished. 



There were no markets for farm products within their reach, 

 and for years and years it was simply a question with the first 

 settlers of getting a bare living and making improvements on 

 their places such as could be done by their own labor. Con- 

 trolled by these conditions, father looked for something to do 

 that would pay, while clearing up the farm. 



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