THE DIARY OF

HARRIET EDNA PARKER

GLENDENNING

December 2000

This addition to the Kuehn Family Notebook happened because of the research and generosity of three of our special cousins.

Thanks most of all to Nancy Glendenning Kitzler, granddaughter of Bert Glendenning. Nancy lives in Eureka, South Dakota, with her husband Wolfgang Kitzler and their four daughters. She has spent countless hours transcribing the diary you are about to read, and now she is transcribing the many diaries that Bert filled. You might remember Bert for the travelogue he wrote entitled From South Dakota to California. I have excerpted Nancy’s transcription of 243 pages to the version you have. If you want to read the complete diary, please ask. In addition, Nancy sent me several original photos of my Grandma Kuehn and her family.

And thanks to Mike McGuiness of Sacramento, California, who is Jennie Glendenning’s great-grandson. Mike borrowed a microfilm from the South Dakota State Historical Society that contained the Arlington Sun from 12/1/1891 to 12/14/1893 and from 1/1/1895 to 12/28/1895 and from 1/02/1902 to 5/18/1906, and then he transcribed all articles, however small, relating to the Glendenning, Kuehn, and related families. Mike also sent me numerous old photographs of Glendennings and Kuehns.

Finally, thanks to Barbara Logan Harding of Valley View, Texas, for the decades of research she has done on Glendenning genealogy. Barbara’s great-grandfather was Robert Glendenning, John Glendenning’s brother. When John’s first wife, Mary Ann Brown Glendenning, died shortly after giving birth to Jennie, it was Robert and his wife Susan who took the newborn Jennie into their home and cared for her for over a year until, as you will see, they tearfully gave her back to John and Hattie, his second wife.

I have corrected much of Hattie’s grammar, spelling, capitalization, and punctuation so that you will not be distracted by those errors. Actually I believe you will get to know Hattie and her families better because of my tidiness. I have occasionally inserted words and sentences [in brackets] for clarification.

I hope each of you enjoy reading Harriet Edna Parker Glendenning’s diary as much as I have enjoyed putting it together. And Merry Christmas,

John Kuehn

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

John Glendenning (1827-1892), farmer and Sunday School teacher

Mary Ann Brown (1846-1869), formerly a servant to the Glendenning family, later

John’s wife

Mary Elizabeth Wood Glendenning (1866-1956), their daughter, and your

Grandma Kuehn if you were born before 1947, otherwise your Great-

Grandma Kuehn if you were born in the 1950s or 1960s, or even your

Great-Great-Grandma Kuehn if you were born in the 1970s, 80s, or 90s.

(I checked this as carefully as I could.) She was first called Woody, later

Lizzie.

John Henry Wood Glendenning (1867), their son who died in infancy, called

Johnnie

Jane Ann Glendenning (1869-1934), their daughter, always known as Jennie

 

Harriet Edna Parker (1848-1919), formerly a teacher, later John Glendenning’s second

wife, always known as Hattie. She is the writer of this diary.

Frederick William Glendenning (1870-1946), their son, called Freddie, later

Fred

John Norman Glendenning (1871-1949), their second son, first called Normie,

later John

George Herbert Glendenning (1875-1962), their third son, first called

Bertie, later Bert

Eva Jane Glendenning (1880-1906), their daughter, always called Eva

 

 

 

SCENES

Shullsburg, Wisconsin

Arlington, South Dakota

 

October 24, 1864, Schullsburg, Wisconsin

Was my 16th birthday, washed that day, and in the evening went to singing school. Just before going to bed dear kind Father handed me a package telling me to open it, and what should it be but a nice diary for which I felt very grateful, and also that same evening he asked me if I would like to go down and see Aunt Hattie’s. I replied, "Yes, I guess I should," and accordingly preparations were made for my departure. Father and Mother went to town to get some things for me the day before I started. It was snowing like sixty, but they kindly went on never heeding the fast and falling snow or any other inconvenience. They at last came home (the dear father and mother that they are) bringing me just the things I most wished for, which were a new delaine [woolen] dress, pair of new shoes, blue scarf, set of real nice skeletons, pair of gloves, and a nice brown veil.

February 15, 1865

The day was very snowy. I had some cotton yarn and was crocheting Mother a tidy [decorative covering for the arm or back of a chair], and I thought I could finish that and have a good visit with Grandma too. Grandma was up to Aunt Cynthia’s, so the next day Aunt Mary and I went up to get her in the sleigh and had a nice ride, which I enjoyed even if it was snowing hard. We were so snugly tucked up in a blanket and buffalo robe and a great big umbrella that we could hardly get cold or a bit of snow on us.

February 26, 1865

God be thanked. Father thinks he is safe from the draft. God is a never-failing friend in every time of need.

March 4, 1865

This is the day of President Lincoln’s inauguration. How thankful we should be to have so good a man for president.

April 4, 1865

It has been bright awhile and then cloudy awhile. Richmond is taken and the cannons peal forth their glad notes of rejoicing over the great victory God has given. Cannons can be heard from almost every town around. Hark! There goes one now.

April 12, 1865

Today began the log cabin quilt I pieced and pieced and blocked. I hear the drums beat and the cannons peal forth in tones of rejoicing at the glorious defeat of Lee and his army. May the war soon be ended.

April 15, 1865

It is reported that Lincoln and Seward were murdered last night. May the Lord grant it may be all for the best. [A co-conspirator of John Wilkes Booth did shoot Secretary of State William H. Seward shortly after Booth shot Lincoln, but Seward recovered from the wound and served out his term under new President Andrew Johnson.]

April 19, 1865

Mr. Lincoln was buried today. Dr. Lee made a speech on the subject. Stores were closed and little business was done. O how we mourn the loss of him who was our president.

October 24, 1865

A cloudy, lonesome day it has been and it is my birthday. Nothing at all has happened today. The girls gave me a queer "bonnie" present of a soldier doll in a many-colored bag. And tonight dear good Mother, for that she is, gave me 0 cents for she would give me some of her money if she had it, but she has but 5 cents.

January 11, 1866

Ice is everywhere. I stayed at home and colored ribbons and my old shawl. Father took some apples to town and paid the taxes.

January 26, 1866

Had a ride all the way with Pa and Ma to school. They went to Mr. Glendenning’s and didn’t get home until dark. I had to stay awhile after school for arithmetic. Miss Johnson visited the school on purpose to hear my composition (of course).

April 6, 1866

I have really applied for a teaching certificate.

April 12, 1866

Well, I am a school ma’am indeed, or at least pretty nearly one. Father was over to Mr. Lavery’s and got the contract. I feel almost afraid to begin, but I want to too. The 7th of next month is the time for beginning. It seems so like a dream.

May 2, 1866

The girls and I went over to the school and whitewashed whatever needed it and blacked the stove. We got so tired. A little boy came and rapped on the door, and I asked him to come and help me, and then he ran away.

May 4, 1866

I’m here all alone and feel sort of lonesome and sad, yes sad. The sighing of the wind, the crowing of our old noisy rooster, the buzzing of the flies, even the pretty birds with their merry songs make me sad. The wind is whistling through the house. It makes sweet, sweet music yet is so lonesome. Why I am lonesome I hardly know, but I’m thinking of school and how I will get along, so I can’t help it. "Life is earnest. Life is real. Life is not an empty dream."

May 7, 1866

O it is so funny that I’m really a school ma’am. Well, ‘tis the first day and I have got along finely, I think. There were fifteen scholars. There was Annie V, Mary T, Jane R and Henrietta too. I had hoped she wasn’t coming.

Friday, May 18, 1866

There weren’t hardly any scholars. We didn’t have any compositions because of it.

[insert pic of Glendenning school]

May 22, 1866

There was a little rain this morning. O dear, it isn’t all fun teaching though. I am not discouraged.

June 12, 1866

I didn’t get along very well at school. There were 28 scholars.

June 14, 1866

It has been a beautiful day. I got along at school real nice today. It was so pretty tonight after sunset. I like to teach school just the best kind.

July 24, 1866

Mary Ann Glendenning was here with her little baby, Mary Elizabeth.

October 9, 1866

I went to town with some grapes and bought me a new delaine dress, brown and blue.

December 18, 1866

I went to town and got, O wonderful to tell, an accordion. Nobody knows it but Mother and Eva. I gave $3.50 for it. O ‘tis going to be fun for Christmas. I am so glad. I got a new calico dress too.

February 1867

"To a Friend"

How shall I write of the young and fair,

That one with blue eyes and lightish hair.

He whom I played with in childish years,

How can I think without starting the tears.

How fondly at morning I looked for his face.

I wondered should I sit next to his place.

I know that I loved him, I cannot tell why.

Then we ne’er thought of the change so near by.

He never quite spoke out his love to me,

But to dream that he thought it fondly did I.

There are many more things that I might tell,

But on only a few more will I now dwell.

How my dear schoolmate went to war.

‘Tis true, no bullet touched him there,

But the hand of his sickness laid him low,

And to his home he now thought to go.

He came, but O how changed was his face.

How little was left of his boyish grace.

He lingered here but a little while

To cheer them with his kindly smile.

Although the earth was clothed in green

And all on earth was fair to be seen.

The sweet June days were warm and dry.

His father, his mother, his sisters were neigh.

At last it came, that dreaded hour,

And he was called to a heavenly bower.

The place that was filled with joy and mirth

Now was the saddest one on earth.

O how I wept as I looked at the form.

The one I had loved as if in a charm.

‘Twas in a lonely spot and wild,

Close by a murmuring river’s side.

The happy birds sing on without care,

Not knowing or caring who he is buried there.

The world moves on as it did before,

But O I have missed him o’er and o’er.

And as long as time lasts I will not forget

The friend of my youth, my friend Robert.

March 27, 1867

It is bright and clear, but the snow is deep. I had just got through scrubbing when who should come along but Laura and Em. Laura wants me to go on over and get the Glendenning school.

March 28, 1867

Little did I think yesterday that I would apply for the Glendenning school. I went. I haven’t it engaged yet, but will know tomorrow.

March 29, 1867

Mr. Glendenning told Father I might have the school. I am real glad.

April 1, 1867

O I wonder if I shall get a certificate and if I will like the school. How like a dream it is. It seems but yesterday I was a little schoolgirl and was building fairy castles on being a school ma’am, but now it is a dream no longer. I can hardly make it seem real. It seems such a little while ago.

April 5, 1867

This morning Mr. Brown, a dentist, came here and pulled Ma’s teeth all out. She is going to have a new set. ‘Tis so muddy. Pa took me down to examination in the wagon. The questions were so hard, but Jenny said, "Never mind, we’ll get a certificate anyway."

Sunday, April 7, 1867

I’m afraid to go and teach.

Monday, April 8, 1867

I have taught school one day. Father took me over to Mr. Glendenning’s. They said I might board here. I am so glad for I know Mary Ann. There were just nine scholars. It is such a nice, tidy little schoolhouse. It has good desks and a real nice chair.

Tuesday, April 9, 1867

There is an old Scotchman staying here tonight. He has got a watch to sell for ten dollars. I wish I had it. I like to stay here at the Glendenning’s real well.

April 10, 1867

O I feel so nice. I just get along the best kind. I had 15 new scholars. Ellie and Louisa Randall, they are such pretty little girls. I got the fire made without a bit of trouble.

April 11, 1867

I like to stay here real well. I like Mary Ann and John the best kind. I just think the children up to school the best ones I ever saw. They are so good I don’t have a bit of trouble.

[insert pic of Mary’s Ann’s birthhouse & of her mother + explan]

April 23, 1867

I made a new rule about whispering so it hasn’t been such a buzz as it has been.

April 24, 1867

I have got along at school just great. That rule does finely. It is so much stiller.

April 25, 1867

I get along real well at school. A few youngsters had to stay after school for whispering. I intend to have them walk straight this summer.

April 27, 1867

It’s a lovely, bright, clear day. What should the silly old Scotchman do this morning but ask me to go to Darlington with him. "The fresh air would do you good." I told him I got plenty of that last night. The old coot must be half crazy to think I care enough about him to go to Darlington with him. I’m half mad at him for his nonsense.

May 2, 1867

It has been bright but cold, not a bit like spring. And sure the old Scotsman is here tonight, and they are trying very hard to plague me about the old fellow. He is a good man, but so queer and Scotchy. I ran into the bedroom when he came. But "Where is the teacher?" was very soon asked. Well, I paid the old gent for the watch. He was very much obliged indeed. O such laughs as we had talking about him. I got along real well today. John is writing an order in contract for a month’s wages.

Tuesday, May 14, 1867

There was a lovely rainbow tonight. I just wish I didn’t board at Mary Ann’s because she is so sick so much. But I mustn’t give up now.

May 31, 1867

I got along so nicely today. They all had pieces, but three. There were 16 today and then we sang. ‘Tis such a pleasant little school and ‘tis more than half out. They bring flowers every morning. We have a pretty bunch in the pail, our little two-quart. The prairie is just blue with violets.

Wednesday, June 5, 1867

It hasn’t been quite as hot as yesterday. O my sakes, I had a visitor, Mr. Randall. He came in the morning with the children and stayed till nearly one. He said he was very much pleased with the school. I hardly knew what to do, so I did just as I always do, sang multiplication just the same. He is quite a sociable man. He taught here last winter.

Thursday, June 6, 1867

Had 16 scholars. Little Ruthie Glendenning comes now. She is a dear little one. She lays her head in my lap everyday and goes to sleep.

Saturday, June 8, 1867

Well, we got up about two. Something has happened. What was I ever such a goose to come here for?

Saturday, June 9, 1867

Mary Ann is real sick. She has a nice little boy. Ever so many folks have been here. I am real tired. I can’t write much. There are folks sitting up.

Wednesday, June 12, 1867

O how awful it was tonight. I had to run as hard as I could for John, and he was gone after the cows too, to tell him to come. They thought Mary Ann was dying. I could hardly speak when I got there. All John’s folks came over, Robert, Henry, his father and Jane.

June 13, 1867

They surely thought Mary Ann would die, but she is better now. I am so glad. Dr. Barry came yesterday and gave her some medicine.

June 14, 1867

I have had 27-28 scholars three days now. I don’t like so many. I don’t like Georgie Glendenning a bit. I get along very well though. So many folks come to see Mary Ann every day.

Thursday, June 21, 1867

I didn’t feel one bit nice at school today. The scholars were laughing all the time nearly or cutting up some way. I made Benji sit in my chair. It made George awful mad. I found Lizzie Brown at Mary Ann’s. Had a nice chat with her. She came on horseback. She has been sick and looking so pale. I stitched John Bell’s coat on our little machine.

Thursday, July 11, 1867

Next Thursday I will be free. I am kind of tired. They are beginning to be hard to manage a little. I guess they think school is so near out they must cut up a little before it is out. I had 30 scholars today. I don’t like so many, but I must keep a good-natured face on, though it won’t be for long. John has gone to Apple River and taken Mary Elizabeth. She wanted to go real bad. She had on a little red sunbonnet. Mary Ann went to see her ma.

Sunday, July 14, 1867

I walked to meeting and took some peas and strawberries and currants to Mary Ann in my basket. O I had a gay ride, you better think, over to John’s with John, his father, Jim and Harry.

Wednesday, July 17, 1867

‘Tis really the last day. It doesn’t seem a great while since I began, though ‘tis almost four months. The girls fixed up the schoolhouse real pretty. They wove leaves together and looped them clear around the room and lilies too. Flora got the most head marks in her class. I gave her a porte monnaie [purse] and Louisa a fairy book for marks in her class. There were about 35 scholars there in the afternoon. I’m real glad to be going home now for a visit.

Thursday, July 18, 1867

I got my fifty dollars yesterday and so I thought I would have my mind easy and went and paid all my debts in town. Got a few little presents for the little cousins, two little china cups for Willie and George, a rattle for Anna, Angie and Hattie each a handkerchief, DeWitt some candy. I must spry around and get ready to go home tomorrow.

Saturday, August 3, 1867

Mr. Glendenning’s folks want me to go and stay awhile with them and help in harvest. I hate to go, but Ma thinks I had better.

Thursday, August 22, 1867

The baby is sick. Mary Ann took little Johnny to the doctor. She went with Sarah. She has the headache. They are all through binding now. I guess they are glad.

Friday, August 23, 1867

I like Mary Ann real well. She gave me such a pretty little cushion.

Monday, August 26, 1867

I am sitting here writing, waiting for them to come to supper. Mary Ann is rocking Mary Elizabeth. It sounds like fall. The crickets are chirping. The flowers are very gay and pretty a way out here. But they too look like fall is coming, and the hills look so nice and still and pretty.

Tuesday, August 27, 1867

One week from today and we will be through here. I don’t think I will be so very glad for Mary Ann and I are almost like two sisters. We get the work done and then sit and have a nice talk. I have had real pleasant times here.

Thursday, August 29, 1867

Mary Ann and Mary Elizabeth and Johnny are to her mother’s. I went part way to help carry the children.

November 17, 1867

O you dear old diary, how little did I think I would forget you so long and leave you rolled up and never write a word since last August….

When I came away from Mary Ann’s, she made me promise to go to their picnic. So John came over with the team and I went only in the afternoon. It rained and poured down and then came a rush to the schoolhouse. O how crowded it was. Charlie worked over at John’s quite awhile after I left there. And one bright moonshining night he was longer than usual coming home. When he came he said, "The baby’s dead." It seemed so sudden, so unreal. I could not believe it. True, but so it was that darling baby boy with his bright blue eyes and little cunning ways was now lying still and cold in the cold embrace of death. Do I say cold embrace? And is not the Savior with his loving arms ready to send some beautiful angel to welcome this little lamb to its happy home in heaven. "Dear little babe, it was gone to rest." For nothing can harm it more. It was buried Sunday. I went over to see Mary Ann about two weeks after. She thinks it was all for the best.

March 11, 1868, Shullsburg, Wisconsin

O how nice it is to have friends, true friends. I wonder how anybody feels without friends. I have spent just as pleasant a week as one could wish for at Mary Ann and John’s. I feel just as if I were home there. Mary Ann would give me a dollar. She said I must take it for a present. They both were sorry I could not stay longer than a week. They said it seemed such a short time. Mary Elizabeth is so pretty. Her hair is light and just as curly. Her eyes dark and cheeks red and very white skin and a pretty high forehead. Mary Ann had two quiltings, one for the girls and one for the old ladies.

May 1, 1868, Byron, Illinois

Well, here I am at Aunt Hattie’s. It seems kind of funny I’m down here to teach school and not at the Glendenning school.

Wednesday, June 24, 1868

I saw a steamboat on the Rock River today, the first one I ever saw in my life.

June 25, 1868

A good rule, or more than one. Have the scholars get their lessons well, whether they like to or not, but show them that ‘tis for their good, not the teacher’s, that they are studying. Let everyone whether large or small, every scholar, know they must mind. Show it in your actions. Carry it in your face. It seems hard at first, but really in the long run you will be loved better, respected more, and be better suited yourself too. Not that you are to be cross all the time, not by any means. You have to speak sharp some times, but do it only when necessary. Be just as kind as you can and make them all love you.

I tell you I have had a time with Mr. Philo Chase this morning. It first began about definitions. He was at the head of the class and I put out the last definition instead of the first. He didn’t like that very well, and he read rather low afterwards, and I didn’t say anything at first. He read a word I didn’t understand. I asked him to read it again. He wouldn’t say it at first and acted rather saucy, so I gave him two minutes to take it or take some punishment. He read it through. Then he acted mad after he went to his seat. I told all the boys to take their books and go to studying. He didn’t stir at first, then took all his books and piled them out of his desk. I guess he was going to try and run away. I said, "Philo, you have been a naughty boy. You may make up your mind to be a good one in a few minutes or take a good whipping." He said he would behave.

July 12, 1868

School will be out in just two weeks. O I feel as if I have done so little good this summer somehow. I wish to serve my heavenly Father. I wish to do just right, but I don’t believe anybody likes me. I haven’t a winning way with me. I don’t think the children at school like me much. I felt quite sure I was liked by most, but I have been too proud. I have wanted too much praise. I shall pray to the dear Father more earnestly to guide me in the right and help me do some good.

Saturday, July 18, 1868, at the schoolhouse

I have a little time today, and I’m going to put down a few little rules to help me when I teach again. Make all the rules for the term on the second day, not wait till they get to cutting up. It is a real good way to give merits for not whispering, one every night. And when they get twenty, give them a card. I tried it last summer and they all liked it. But if some whisper every day, keep them after school and tell them how much better it would be not to whisper and see if they won’t promise to do it better.

Always try to be early myself and then write every scholar’s name on the blackboard that comes tardy if he has no good excuse. Let the girls have a recess first at a quarter after ten in the morning and a quarter after two in the p.m., then let the boys have a quarter of an hour and have them be prompt about coming in and not hanging on ever so long after the bell has rung.

Have them write and recite pieces every two weeks, if they will, without too much trouble. Open school in the morning by reading the Testament and praying and then singing some Sabbath School piece. Sing the first thing in the afternoon and just before school closes. I have not had much singing, but I mean to next time I teach if nothing happens.

If the scholar acts kind of naughty, don’t overlook it for once and let him think you didn’t see him, for he will grow bolder instead of better. "Prevention is better than a cure." Have them raise their hands if they want to ask a question and not ask out loud. Makes the school so much stiller to do so. And have them take turns about passing water, first a boy, then a girl.

December 26, 1868, Shullsburg, Wisconsin

Dear Grandma, the good grandma that she is, sent me a pair of sheets to begin housekeeping with, which isn’t much use, I’m thinking, for I’m very much afraid I shall be an old maid (but I had rather not).

Monday, February 15, 1869

I am upstairs with my clean dress on and just through washing and thought I would just sit down and pour out a woeful tale that nobody should ever see. I feel more like laughing at myself for it now than anything else, for things don’t seem half as bad as they did a few minutes ago. Though I was going to say for one thing I wish I was married. I believe I do too. Maybe I would get tired of my husband just as I do most other things. I don’t believe I would though. I mean a nice, kind man that you could tell every thought you had whether ‘twas a little foolish or not. One that would be sorry and glad when you were. A man you could love with all your heart. I wouldn’t care how poor a man might be if I loved him, but would work with all my might to help him.

This is exactly the way I feel. I think perhaps it is not right that I ever should be married sometimes. Maybe I would be happy and in my happiness forget God. I’m afraid I might have to be an old maid. Dear knows I would give a good deal not to be. But I have prayed that God will direct me and make me say "Thy will be done" if it is best. So I know He will.

Dear Diary, I have told you more than I would any living person. I know you well and that with you my secrets are safe. I think it makes me feel so much better to talk exactly as I feel once in a while, which is not very often. Adieu for the present.

Wednesday, February 24, 1869

My little brother Georgie is such a funny little fellow. He asks questions almost continually if we will let him. He is quite loving too and very sensitive. He remembers a good many things he is told. I think he is kind of smart. I do hope he will grow up a good man.

March 4, 1869

This is the inauguration day on which General Grant is to be made president.

Sunday, March 14, 1869

Dr. William Ross, a noted temperance lecturer, spoke at our church this morning. His subject was the ten lost tribes of Israel showing drunkenness led them astray, and Dr. Ross supposed they were likely the Indians. I liked the lecture very well. Sunday evening the subject was the wine miracle showing how Jesus only made the water into wine as it was poured off, not leaving it to ferment. I think this lecture was very good, better than this morning’s.

Monday, March 22, 1869

O dear, how bad I feel. Mr. Dixon has been here and wants me to take the place in the court house where Laura is teaching, if she resigns, which she may do. I am sure I don’t know what to do. And then Mother seems so anxious to have me get away from home and is always saying I am dissatisfied if I say a word about not liking anything and wonders if I don’t want to go to Iowa or Kansas or somewhere. It seems to me I am a great nuisance to everybody if I am to Mother. She says it is for my good, so she says. But it does make me feel bad to hear her say so. I think I will go to Iowa before many months and perhaps I will please all the family. I don’t want to be in anybody’s way, but as I am born, I must. It is hard, very hard to say and believe these words. They have cost me bitter tears.

Tuesday, March 30, 1869

This morning I started bright and early to visit Mary Ann. I found her only pretty well and real glad to see me. She and John both are the same true friends as ever. I do think little Woody is so interesting too. She talks funny and still ‘tis sensible. She knows all her letters and she is but three. She is a petted little chicken.

April 25, 1869

Father and I went over to Glendenning’s to meeting and then down to see Mary Ann. O how pale and sick she does look. I am so sorry for her. She can’t get any large girl to help her so she wants me to go. So I suppose I’ll have to. I wouldn’t care much if the house were cleaned.

May 1, 1869

O what sad, sad news I have to tell you, my dear, dear friend. Mary Ann has this day gone to dwell where the flowers are never dying and where they shall be sick no more. When Charlie came home he said, "Mary Ann is dead." It shot me like an arrow. I was weak and faint and could not think it so. Dear girl, she has been sick so much it never seemed she would die now. I cried when I heard it first, but now my eyes are dry, and O how hard and unfeeling I must appear. But O how I should have flown to her this morning if I could have thought her so near her grave. I thought I would first, then something held me back. I cannot make it seem true even now. O what will poor little Woody do without her ma. If I had only gone and heard her dying words and kissed her a sweet goodbye, I could have born it better. But now ‘tis too late and why will I leave things undone I should do.

Monday, May 3, 1869

How happy the birds sang, how bright the sun shone. It seemed as if nature was too gay for so sad a day as this. Mother, Allie, George, Father and I went to the funeral. I did not feel sad nor could I realize in the least she was gone until I looked around and saw the hearse coming, coming for her. My feelings gave way and my tears flowed freely. I could have sobbed aloud. I could scarcely speak when I got there and as I looked around over the house that had so lately been hers, I thought how I should miss her. I wept again that "one so lovely should have a life so brief."

But her friends mourn not without hope, for they can truly say ‘she has only gone before." Yes, she died happy and only wished to live for her dear little Woody and her helpless little babe that cost her her life. That dear little thing will die though, I am afraid. It is so little. I couldn’t help but cry as I gazed on the poor little motherless one and kissed its little cheeks, but Susan and Robert Glendenning are going to take it, and it will have good care from them, I think.

May 13, 1869

I stopped in and had a talk with dear Mrs. Reynard [the minister’s wife] about going to John’s. I told her all about how he had asked Father about my going and that I had written to him and said no. That I had this morning received a letter from him saying how sorry he was I took that view of the subject and that he was not willing to give me up. I gave her his letter to read and asked her advice. She sat and thought for awhile and then said I should go and that it seemed as if providence had thrown it in my path and that it was my duty to make up my mind to do right whatever the consequences. I feel so much better since talking with her. I think a great deal of her advice. Maybe it is as she says. I had better go. ‘Tis the last thing I should have thought of a few weeks ago.

Wednesday, May 19, 1869

We were all chatting away when Georgie came to the door and said, "Mr. Glendenning has come." I was almost as if struck. I wrote to him I would go any time he came, but somehow it took me all by surprise after all. I somehow thought he would get somebody else and wouldn’t need me. But I will not murmur at it. I believe I will do right to go.

And I did go and here I am in one of the little bedrooms. Tillie [the dog] has just hopped in bed. I hope, O I do hope I may not bring reproach on the name of Christ by taking the step I have. Not that I think we will either of us do wrong, but the folks may say wrong things about us, and thus our good be evil spoken of. If it were not for little Woody and her dear mother’s sake, I should never have thought of coming here to keep house for John. No, not if he was the best man in the world and everyone in it said so. But I have come and for her dear mother’s sake, I will try to teach Woody what is right as long as I am here, which I don’t know how long ‘twill be. The little one seemed so glad to see me as she ran out to meet us, her and Tillie.

Thursday, May 20, 1869

Well, my life has begun here. It has rained just all day. John has hardly been outdoors. It seems funny to be keeping house for him as it seems yet I am really doing it for Woody and her ma. He is a real sociable, loving kind of a man.

When I looked on this empty lonesome house and thought I should never see Mary Ann once more, I wept tears, yes, bitter tears to think I should never see her happy and smiling, welcoming me as I came to her house as I so often used to. I really and truly loved her, aye almost as a sister. She was so kind, so good, but now she has gone to receive her happy reward in heaven where she is sweetly resting from all her trials and weariness now. Farewell, dear Mary Ann.

Friday, May 21, 1869

Harry was here this morning again, and Jane was here two or three hours this afternoon. I was so glad she came. She helped me put away poor dear Mary Ann’s things. John took them all out of the box and said he wished I would fix them. I laid them all away, each one seeming a sacred thing. I had a real nice little talk with Jane afterwards. She said she was real glad I had come here and thought I would like it very well after awhile. I don’t know. I think it will be pretty lonely. I am so glad Jane is pleased I have come, for I imagined all the time she wasn’t. Maybe it’s because I asked God to make folk willing I should come and not talk about it. "But who is it that can harm us if we be followers of that which is good?" Anyway, we should ever remember this when things look dark around us.

May 22, 1869

O I felt so kind of out of patience with John this morning. He kept poking around in the house and didn’t go out to work. He would help me churn too, but I didn’t want him too. I felt almost mad. I thought he had better go outdoors and attend to his own work instead of staying in here and talking and watching me all the time.

I cut off little Woody’s hair this morning. She looks so sweet and pretty now. I love the dear little thing. John is real kind to me, kinder than I like almost, though he never does anything more than talk.

Sunday night, May 23, 1869

I was real mean to darling Woody today. I hardly spoke to her or touched her, little patient lamb, and dear John, how much I like them both. I must say "dear" for I do like him so much. I wonder if he likes me as much. I pray the dear Father in heaven will help me comfort him and do all I can for Woody too for he is such a good man.

We went up to the schoolhouse tonight. John came with me. He is so thoughtful about everything, so afraid my feet will get wet or something or other be wrong. O I feel so real tonight. I didn’t feel as if everybody was staring at me for they were all so kind, shaking hands and asking me to come and see them. My dear old scholars flocked around me so anxious for a word or a kiss.

Monday, May 24, 1869

I washed, ironed, scrubbed, made pies, biscuits and bread today, and Woody went up with Harry to Jane’s and stayed most all day, so Tillie and I had nothing to do but work. When John came home I was ironing and the bread was baking for supper. It wasn’t quite done so he sat down and we had a real good talk about Mary Ann and a good many things. He is so noble, kind and good in his talk, so confiding and yet not one particle silly. O how I hate silliness. But he asked me if I am tired after doing such a big day’s work and seems to notice every little thing I do. Just exactly like (well, I will tell you, Diary, though maybe ‘tis wrong) that dear man I wrote about once before then wishing to know such a man, little dreaming to find John Glendenning that man. I feel so contented, so happy, there is scarcely one thing I wish for more to make me happy except to call him mine. But "Thy will and not mine be done." Dear Father above, I never in the least way by word or look intimate such thoughts to a single living soul, nor will I soon, if ever.

Wednesday, May 26, 1869

O how bright the sun shone this morning as John, Woody and I went riding. I went home, John to town, Woody to her grandma’s. We had a real nice talk going and coming. He seems to think my opinion of some service and listens to every word I say and notices every motion I make, I believe. (I do think he likes me.)

I walked to town from home (he wanted to take me), but I didn’t want him to. Then coming back I stopped in to Mrs. Reynard’s. She said she thought I was just doing my duty and hoped I got along nicely and that she was coming to see me sometime.

Saturday, May 29, 1869

O how very bright the sun shone this morning. John, Tillie and Woody went down to wash sheep, or rather John did. When he came back he was awful wet and asked me to get some dry things. I did and asked if there was anything else. He said, "No, lovey," I thought. I wonder if he did. That is one of his pet names for Woody. And the other night when we were coming home Woody was lying with her head on my lap asleep, and the wagon kind of jolted as long as we went down a hollow, which made me jump, but in an instant an arm gently encircled my waist but only for a moment. I was surprised yet did not speak. Yet that touch, so brief and tender, awoke a thousand slumbering feelings in my breast. And then came the question, does he really care for me? Is he beginning to love me? He leaves everything in my hands that is about Woody and the house. He looks at me so lovingly, it seems to me, and talks so confidentially I must say I love him anyway. I can’t help it.

I dream of him. I think of him and he is ever in my thoughts, and he is continually praising up things I do and telling me not to work too hard. I was telling him about Monday. He said, "Hattie, you must not do so again, that is too much." And tonight after we sat down to the table he picked up my diary and hid it, pretending he was going to read it. I always liked him since I was acquainted with him. But now seeing so much of him, finding him so much more tender, kind and noble, I can offer no excuse but just say, I do love him.

Maybe he doesn’t care a straw for me though for when Lett is here he talks to her most all the time and just about the same he does to me. I wonder, O I wonder what my future will really be. Little Woody and I grow warmer friends every day. She minds everything I tell her almost without any trouble. She has been out so many times today and brought me in a bunch of yellow flowers.

Sunday, May 30, 1869

Dear little Woody went up by the barns and picked flowers. She is such a sweet innocent little pussy, one can’t help but love her. I went up to meeting tonight and I just made up my mind I would not go again very soon. I just dread Sunday to come. Most everybody stares at me if I go to the schoolhouse, seems to me, and if I don’t, something will have to be said about that.

Thursday, June 3, 1869

I just got to thinking as I sat here alone how folks might say I came here to see John and a thousand other things, till I was just as nervous as could be. But I can assure you, dear Diary, if nobody else knows it, that ‘twas not on his account I came. I might have lived to be an old maid one hundred years old before I would come here and try to catch him as some may perhaps think, but I will tell you just how it is.

At home I enjoyed myself very much sometimes, but somehow the thought wore on me and worried me that I was doing little or no good, at least so it seemed to me. I still kept on trying to do good, but was not satisfied with what I did and prayed to God to give me some work to do wherever it might be, or whatever, only something for Him for I might surely know I was doing something. But as I told John last night, I was surprised that he wanted me to come here. But still as I heard it, here is some work to do.

Little Woody may be taught much that is good. And I believe the first and sweetest thought was that I might teach a little prayer to her. So I came, and here I am now, and hope and pray that God may teach me a plain way and make my duty clear about staying, going away and everything else. John brought Woody some candy and gave me some as he most always does.

Saturday, June 5, 1869

Breakfast is on the table and I am kneeling by it writing. O how fair a picture does nature present this morning. The emerald grass is wet with morning dew shining like so many beads. Birds are singing beautifully. Woody went to bed real early last night and John and I sat up quite awhile after and had such a nice confidential little talk. Nothing about getting married or anything silly, nor was he, nor is he. If he were, I should almost hate him, I believe.

But as it is my love grows stronger, deeper, truer all the time. ‘Tis not of the kind that feels like jumping up and saying, "My darling Johnnie, how I love you." No, it is a different love altogether. One that makes good, pure, noble feelings arise and desires to do and be good. I wonder if he loves me. I know he likes me. Dear Woody is such a sweet little girl.

Sunday, June 6, 1869

‘Tis evening now, quiet evening. I am alone for Woody has gone to bed and John to meeting. He didn’t want to go at all, but I told him to. He was so afraid that I would be scared. I know he loves me almost now and I almost feel wrong to be here, sort of tempting him to tell me, so as it seems. Though I am quite indifferent and do not try to make him like me. But his eyes speak love, and his actions are tender. I feel that I must fly away home and stay there sometimes for fear we may do or say something foolish and cause talk.

Now tonight he had Woody in his arms and came and sat down real close beside me, and I didn’t hop up and run away as I should have done had it been anybody else. And then we got to talking about rings and he took hold of my hand to feel how big it was and held it a minute or two. Now I didn’t jerk that away either. Was it right, or was it not? I know I love him as I never loved anyone before, and I hope God will forgive me if it is wrong.

Tuesday, June 8, 1869

Dear Diary, I have just been reading you over and noticing how gradually and almost unconsciously this affair, which must end somewhere, is progressing. Well, not unconscious either for I am sure I have had a little love tale to write every day. I know it. I have still another this morning.

Woody went to sleep early again when I sat here by the table sewing awhile and he was across the room. He got up and looked outdoors, sat on the door step, then sat down by the table close to me and laid his hand on my shoulder and smoothed my hair. He took hold of my ear and said how little it was and then said I had better have it pierced and let him get me some earrings. I guess I would let him, wouldn’t I now. I never took any notice of what he said.

I love him O so fondly, almost passionately, still I try to act kind of distant. I can’t tell how much I do. No words can express how deep my love is. I want to tell him so, or act as if I did at least. But that cannot be for now at least. He was talking about my diary and said he would like to read it or have me read it to him sometime. Ah, I guess so, and he may wait for awhile too.

O Diary, how foolish you are. I am almost tempted to burn you up, but I talk to you and tell you things I dare not tell to any living body, so I tell you all I wish to. I ask the dear Savior to guide me each day, and I know He will.

Friday, June 11, 1869

Dear Diary, could I but express my mingled feelings of surprise and pleasure to you this morning, I know you could not but be glad with me. I have all along told you everything so freely. I suppose it will be no harm to tell you this.

Well, darling Woody was quietly rocked and sung to sleep and had a story about the angels and Jesus. She asked such strange sweet questions, the dear one. I almost fear she is too good, pretty and pure for this earth. I was so lonely without her yesterday. I didn’t know I loved her so much till she was gone awhile.

But what I was going to tell is this. I was sitting by the table sewing and John by the window nearly all evening when he drew his chair not far from mine and took my hand to look at it, and I let him hold it. And we sat thus for two or three minutes when he suddenly put both his arms around me and held me tightly and passionately to his breast. I didn’t speak or move. Somehow I felt as if I must jump away, and yet I couldn’t.

I could not think what to say and could not be displeased with him, and I thought of Mary Ann and spoke to him of her. He said it was not forgetting her if he did love me. He said, "Hattie, I love you so much, I could not help but tell you." So I did not say much, but there we sat side by side him ever and anon pressing loving kisses on my brow. O the sweet love. The deep unutterable love that involuntarily sprang up from my very soul.

I acted kind of distant for all that. Then he asked me if I would rather have the light out. I don’t know what I said, but he blew it out because it was getting so late and folks might remark about it. Then he said, "Sit in my lap," and I did ever so long with my arms around his neck, and I kissed him too. O ‘twas so sweet to feel trust in him and to know and feel his love and to know he was mine, all mine, and that he would love me as long as life should last. O I truly thank God for the love of this good true man and pray that I may be worthy of it.

We had a long talk. I can’t tell half of what we said. He gave me ten dollars yesterday, and I wanted him to tell me just how much I was getting a month and how long I was hired for. He said any price I should ask and about staying, why stay all of your life. I don’t know scarcely what I said. I didn’t know what to say at all to that as I told him last night. I don’t know how he can love me. "How can anyone help but love such a pure noble character as you are, pure as the very snow." I said I didn’t think I was that.

O what will Mother say. We are not going to tell anybody for a good while though. I am not ready. O but may I live so that no reproach may be brought on the name of Christ is my most earnest prayer. Sweet as love is, I feel like doing nothing but pleasing God and I need much of God’s help, all of it, to guide me. I hope and pray that I have not done wrong.

Saturday, June 12, 1869

O how inexpressibly sweet is my love for John. Each hour I realize more what a priceless treasure God has given to my care. That is this true dear man’s love. One thing that makes it so sweet is that I feel it comes in answer to prayer right from God. Dear Diary, I cannot tell of this pure, tender growing love to this darling man. As he pressed a passionate kiss on my blushing face last night, he said, "This is the first time I ever kissed a school ma’am."

Sunday, June 13, 1869

John came and sat down by me and wouldn’t let me write and kept teasing me to read my diary to him. I said, O no, I didn’t want to, but at last consented and jumped in his lap with his arm around me and read it to him. I didn’t want to because he might think it was silly, but he said I will not think anything you do is silly. So I took courage and proceeded with blushing, nevertheless.

After I had read it, he said he thought a thousand times more of me than before and pressed me O so closely to his heart and held me there printing such warm kisses on my lips and said ‘twas the best diary he ever heard in his life. Wasn’t that something for my dear old darling who never says anything but what he means it.

Friday, June 18, 1869

We had a real long talk about when we should be married and where and the wedding trip and Father’s and Mother’s consent, but we hardly decided about any of those things. O how confiding, loving and good my darling old lover is. And to think he is to be my husband seems too good to be true. O that I may prove to be a faithful, loving wife and mother as well, for Woody will be mine too.

[Hattie calls John "my dear old darling," and in fact though Hattie is still 20 years old, John is 42.]

Monday, June 21, 1869

I haven’t had one single kiss today. I don’t know how to do without one either. Somebody is always near so we can’t get alone. O what would I do if he wouldn’t love me nor ever kiss and caress me anymore. Life would be a burden too heavy to be born, I fear.

Wednesday, June 23, 1869

Woody and I went up by the fence to look for strawberries. Dear little one, she was so pleased. O how I do love her. Down deep in my heart I really did want to go to the fair with John and would have liked nothing better than to have gone in his dear company and enjoyed myself. But I don’t want folks saying he is running around with the girls, and I don’t think it would be right so soon after Mary Ann has gone.

Sunday, June 27, 1869

It has been very rainy today, or this morning, so nobody went to church. Lett and John went tonight. When they came back I was rocking Woody to sleep and he came and kissed her half a dozen times and then looked up as quick to see if Lett was looking and gave me a smack too. I wonder if she saw us.

Friday, July 2, 1869

Laura and I took tea at Susan Glendenning’s. She had a nice supper. O how sweet that little baby of John’s is. I wonder if I will take it. I’m willing to if John wants me to, and Susan will part with it.

August 23, 1869

O dear me, can I stay here two months more? I had a long talk with John about going home. He said I could go home if I chose, of course, but he says he would never think of having anyone else in the house but me to take care of Woody. He could get along most anyway, but for Woody’s sake he could not do it, nor can I, fear the thought. He says if I go off he will sell everything and not think of our getting married this fall, not for a year or two. He thinks for Woody’s sake ‘twould be better to be married sooner and so do I. If it was not for her, I would never have thought of marrying him in six months after her mother’s death as I have promised to do.

Sunday, October 24, 1869

Twenty-one today. Can it be? And how the years rush by. Today a little girl, tomorrow as it were a sober, thoughtful woman, almost a wife. How short the time, since I a little girl, it seems now, though then at thirteen it seemed old. Dear good Mother gave me a new dress and let me have a party and was so kind and good. Never more will I be under her loving care. I cannot realize it, but my dear John means all to me, and I feel that I can take his arm and walk lovingly through life and that if I do have to leave Mother, I have much in him.

O as I look back on all the years of my life, how evil they seem, how little good I have done. It seems to me if I had those years to live over again, I would live so much better, do so much more good. But farewell, departed years, gone are ye now fled on the bright wings of departed time.

What shall the record be of the next year? O that it may be better than the past. I hope God will help me. Time! How swiftly dost thou wing thy ceaseless flight. Today we are babes upon a mother’s knee, tomorrow we are toiling side by side with earth’s busiest workers taking our place among the ranks, which as we thought, seemed so far away a few years ago. We weave no bright dreams of when we shall be grown, for now we call ourselves so.

Yes, twenty-one years have flown o’er my head. Ah, can it be that I the mother’s girl and home girl am to leave my early home forever to be my darling John’s wife? But dear friends have seemed dearer, sweeter than ever before and heaven also nearer since John told me of his love and asked me to be his for life.

[The following undated passages were written from memory by Hattie some years after they happened, between November 3, 1869, and March 13, 1871.]

We were married in Darlington at the parsonage, November 3, 1869, Wednesday, by Reverend Leonard, about 3 in the afternoon. It was a sober, cloudy day, but there was sunshine in my heart as John took my hand. And his right hand clasped my right as we stood there promising to love, honor and obey till death do us part to each other, the world, and to God. How solemn and strange it seemed and I almost cried. I almost worship John I fear. I do so dearly love him. But I fear I love him too much many times and God not enough and that God will need to punish us for it.

I am not writing this at the time it happened for then I was too happy to write and got tired of writing diaries somehow. And now writing this after quite a long time I wish I hadn’t neglected it. How brightly did the river gleam and what a charmed look did the hills, the rugged rocky hills covered here and there with evergreens and all things, what a charm they were on the November day when we looked at them together. John said it made him think so much of where he was born.

[insert pic of Glen house]

[John Glendenning was born at Tyndall House on the Till River in Norham, Northumberland, England about 10 miles southwest of Berwick on the North Sea and just south of the Scottish border. During the years the Glendennings lived there, their father was probably a tenant farmer on a large estate. This picture of Tyndall House was taken by Burr Adams, and the lady standing by the lane is Margaret (Mark) Glendenning Adams, Burr’s wife and daughter of John Norman Glendenning.

The Glendenning family left Liverpool on the ship Adriatic on July 5, 1854, and landed in New York. They soon settled in Lafayette Township near Shullsburg, Wisconsin. Before 1871 they spelled their name Glendinning.]

Some myrtles in front of Rev. Mr. Leonard’s house I shall never forget. Most all of the flowers were gone, but these little myrtle leaves looked up so green and fresh they seemed to speak to me amid the other dead and rustling leaves and flowers. After we were married we went and tried to get our pictures taken, but ‘twas too cloudy and dark. John bought me a lot of candy and some sleeve buttons. He hasn’t given me a ring yet, but he has promised to.

We came to our house which was ready furnished, of course. We did not go on any wedding trip. We thought we wouldn’t. It was my notion to be married in Darlington. None of our folks were there. We had peaches and cream for supper. In a few days we went over home. Dear Mother and Father like John so much and are pleased with my choice of a husband.

And so I am a mother for I am to act in place of an own mother to this little three and a half year old girl that God has given unto me. John says, "She could not love her own mother better." Well, this is at last my life’s work. I mean to do the very best I can.

How strange Woody always likes me so well. When she was a baby and I was teaching here, she would let me rock her to sleep before her own mother. She is such a little thing for stories, and many a one I do tell her. She plays with her dolly and cat a great deal. She is hardly ever noisy like other children. I taught her to read at home. She finished her primer and first reader before I sent her to school. She was seven when I first took her hand and led her one snowy April day and read in the second reader. Maggie White taught that summer. How well I remember that morning. She only went about six weeks and then I heard her lessons at home and gave her a seat and shelf in our bedroom and bouquet on the window and tried to get her to like to study at home.

And now of little Jennie. Deprived of a mother when only five hours old, she was kindly cared for by Susan and Robert until she was thirteen months old. They would not part with her when we were married seven months before. I thought maybe they would never give her up. I often felt as if I must have her and call her ours, and I could hardly keep from going and snatching her up and bearing her away. But I did one thing and that was pray. Then one day of their own accord they sent word to us that we might claim her as our own. O how my heart leaped for joy and I thanked God. It was the last day of May, 1870. John went with joyful steps on his glad errand. How eager and expectant I was to clasp her in my arms for was this not rightfully her home and place. Was not my mother heart crying out for her, longing to love and care for her always as the dear child of my dead friend and darling husband and for her own sweet little self.

I kept looking and longing and wondering and thinking maybe they wouldn’t really give her up till by and by I saw John coming with the wee little thing in his arms. My, how glad I was. My heart was most too full for utterance. I ran out to the gate and spoke and told her to come to mama and she held out her dear little hands and laughed. I took her off towards the stable down on the path out of sight and then my pent up tears burst forth. Tears. I hardly knew why I cried, but tears for very joy and the sudden real sense of responsibility of another little soul entrusted to my care lent unto us. John seemed so pleased to have her here. Woody, I am sorry to say, seemed jealous and unhappy, but after awhile she seemed to love her.

John said Susan cried as she gave Jennie up. I don’t see how she could help it either, Jennie was so sweet. I wonder what Mary Ann would say at my having her little ones. I dreamed one night she was an angel and that she came into the bedroom and stood still and smiled on me. I thought Jennie and Lizzie were both sleeping together. I turned down the bedclothes and said, "Here are the little darlings," and she looked so pleased, but neither spoke nor moved and then vanished. I could see her so plain for days it seemed, like a real vision of sight. It cheered me many times to think of her smile. God orders all. Jennie is just about six now and a kind, helpful and loving little dear she still is.

[photo of Jennie and Woody]

And now I will say some few words of my first born child, my son, my darling, Freddie. When I realized I was really a mother, that I had a little baby of my own and dear John’s, what an almost sacred, holy feeling came over me, and that God had come very near to me, even nearer than before, and that I loved Him more for this sweet, sweet trust committed to my care and keeping that I cannot half express my feelings. They were too deep somehow, pure and lovely. I suppose in my life I shall never feel so again.

Freddie had his cunning little looks in the short pink and white dresses which Papa bought him. His sweet little innocent blue eyes, light silvery hair, whitest skin, rosy cheeks, plump dear little arms and shoulders, and O was music ever so sweet as his little voice. Freddie does so much love flowers, now and always did. Before he could do much but creep, he would go out by the house and pick his little treasure, hands full of wild daisies, and come crawling in over the stones and give them to me and say "Mama, Mama" so pretty.

Freddie came into this world about 6 in the evening, Tuesday, a bright lovely day, August 10, 1870. How pleased Lizzie seemed of baby. Jennie was too small to notice him much, but such an inseparable pair they were when older, roaming around together hand in hand, picking violets and buttercups and playing so prettily together.

My baby boy has changed me so much. I feel so different somehow, as if I belonged more to John and still I love our folks with a dearer love, and everybody. Now Freddie is four years old and a noble, truthful darling, straight forward little, kind, helpful son he is. He and little Normie make a sweet picture. Sometimes he talks up so pretty and loving to little Normie and is so kind.

And little Normie, dove, ‘tis your turn. Your sweet little face began to smile the day after you came to us, November 21, 1871, a Tuesday, at about half past six. Such a pretty little smile. Your little blue eyes were so bright too. Sweet darling one, and now little Freddie has a brother and now we have two darling sons. Normie was about four months old when my folks went to Iowa, so he hasn’t seen them much. He does love babies so much, and God will soon answer his little prayer.

August 10, 1871

How great is a mother’s love. How thankful I am to share in such. How great a work a mother is. How much of good may she do, aye of evil also by doing too much here or leaving undone there.

January 1, 1873

I rode Lizzie, Jennie, Freddie and baby on the little sled. Made them some little tarts. I was going to make them each a rag dolly, dear little pets, but their Aunt Jane and Susan came in awhile and took up my time.

Sunday, August 10, 1873

When we came home Lizzie had the dinner most ready. I made a birthday cake trimmed with frosting and candy. I gave Freddie a little picture and his papa bought a slate. We had gooseberry preserves too and a nice bouquet or two, a tiny one in Freddie’s vase and one in Lizzie’s. She gathered them.

Saturday, August 16, 1873

The dainty milkweed upon the prairie, the butterfly upon the wind, the fields filled with shocked grain. How our hearts should go out in thankfulness for such plenty as we are surrounded with.

March 14, 1874

Lizzie is eight years old today. ‘Tis a bright day. She is getting to be quite a big girl and a good help to me. I think she grows some better as she grows older. She is getting along nicely with her studies. Her pa bought a new third reader for her and I made her a nice little journal and a pretty cake trimmed with frosting and candy.

Jennie’s Birthday, May 1, 1874

We had a nice cake trimmed with candy and frosting. I fixed Jennie her rag Rosa over a little to surprise her. I gave her a hen too. She calls it Lady. I can hardly think she is five. She is a sweet, loveable little dear. She has no own mother. How kind and good I must be to her.

July 4, 1874

Sister Eva is here this year. Normie and I stayed home to get dinner. The rest went to town to look around awhile. We set the table under the maples. Normie and I got a lovely bouquet of lilies and other flowers. The table looked real pretty with frosted cake, flowers, flags, raisins, pie, oysters, squash, beans, nuts and candy, and then we sang "Home Sweet Home," "Red, White and Blue," "Shall We Gather at the River" and other pieces. Had quite a nice time.

July 10, 1874

Well, we really went. John and I got our pictures taken today together. Fred and Normie, with curled hair and dresses on, hold of hands. I took John’s arm, had on my hat and furs. Jennie and Lizzie together, their hair was curled. Ev and Freddie had one together, but it was not good. Ours looked pretty well.

[insert pic of Jennie & Lizzie]

July 21, 1874

Lizzie has gone away today. How odd it seems. She went with sister Eva to Grampa’s near Rockford this morning. I want to love her more and do better by her, poor little motherless girl, and she remembers her own ma too, though she was but three when her ma died. Ah, Hattie, Hattie, you are not as loving and kind to Lizzie as you ought to be, now are you? If you were in her place, O I am afraid not. There is not enough of love in my words and actions when I really wish to do her good. I am afraid I have made myself let her go visiting down there now, and I hope it will be a happy nice time to her, and that she will grow less fretful and a better, wiser little girl. God help both her and me through life.

We had such a nice time and ride today. We started about half past five to the station. O how pretty a picture lay before us on either hand as we rode along. The green corn, yellow grain, pretty woods, pretty cozy houses, flowers sparkling with dew in the early morning. O ‘twas so nice, and Eva and all of us there. We got to Apple River an hour before time so the children had a good time watching the trains come and go, saw the telegraph mail bags, and ran around the depot so happily. They looked so nice all of them, little birds, with their light clothes. Eva looked so nice with her blue veil and pretty brown dress, blue ribbon and her bright eyes.

Auntie’s train came pretty soon, but John went and bought some peanuts and candy before that and weighed us. Then we all went on the cars. I wanted to let the children see inside of them as they never had before. It was only for an instant though. We jumped off and said good-bye through a window to Auntie and Lizzie, and then the cars moved off.

August 4, 1874

We all went to Darlington, that is, John Freddie, Normie, Jennie and I. John and I had to go about that land we have just bought from Robert, and I let the children go to see the show come in. John, Normie and I expected to go in Robert’s carriage and Freddie and Jennie to play with Robbie and Minnie, but I thought they just as well might go. The procession was very pretty, little ponies, bandwagon, man in den with lions and tigers, camels and elephants and the show wagons were so pretty. The children enjoyed the sight, the first wild animals they ever saw. We were going in for the show, but it was too late when our business was done.

John bought soda, apples, peaches. We had apples and fried cakes for our dinner and peaches and cream for supper. How pretty Darlington is. But O how sad I was as I saw Add Townsend taking a man with his hands manacled to jail. I could hardly keep from crying somehow. We drove right through the river. That amazed the children considerably.

Saturday, December 5, 1874

How I thank God for my children and husband. Little Normie is such a good loving little thing. Asks questions and talks so pretty. Freddie comes and whispers things to me so nice. Jennie is so kind to Freddie. Lizzie is careful and thoughtful sometimes.

January 1875

The winter is passing as on wings. Lizzie wrote her first composition the other day, and she is just 9 years old. She doesn’t play with the others much, but likes to write, sew or read generally better than be with them.

March 29, 1875

How bright the sun does shine this morning and how nicely the snowbanks are melting off. The cattle are quietly eating on the pasture hillside. It will be almost one week, it will be one tomorrow, since a dear little baby boy was sent to us. A chubby, blue-eyed, dark haired little pettie. O how pleased little Normie was in the morning. Papa laid him beside his new little brother while asleep. Freddie and Normie sleep in the little trundle bed at the foot of our bed.

May 14, 1875

John was just in here and we were talking awhile and I said, "What shall we call the baby?" "Sure, let’s name him for sure now." We have been talking about calling him George for our Georgie and John’s brother and Herbert or Bertie for short. John said, "Call him that if you are a mind to." So I guess we will. He is such a blue-eyed little laughing thing. O how sweet and knowing he does look. Dear little Bertie.

March 14, 1876

Lizzie is ten years old. It doesn’t seem as if she is so old. O Father, help us to love her and Thee more. Aunt Jane gave her a pocket book.

New Year’s Evening, 1877

O it is a lovely night, moonshine over the fair, still earth and falling on the snow. The school has been let out on account of scarlet fever, that dreaded disease that carried death into so many homes in our town. O when I look out on the snow and the moonlight so cold, it makes me think of little graves somehow. But if God sees best to bring mourning to us, O may we say and feel "Thy will be done." Little Normie looks pale and Freddie has not been well for a few days. And now that the girls are home from school, I will need more patience. For somehow it is not near as easy to get along with them as Freddie and Normie.

Sabbath, March 11, 1877

John does seem kinder and more loving than he used to, but I wish he wouldn’t use tobacco. But when God thinks it best, He will make him stop.

February 21, 1879

Sunday before last Lizzie and Jim’s girls and Mr. and Mrs. Netherby joined the church. I hope Lizzie has been a Christian for some time and Freddie, Jennie, Normie and Bertie are trying to be. O how I wish my brothers were Christian. This is Grampa Glendenning’s 83rd birthday. Lizzie gave him a motto.

May 26, 1880

O dear me, how out of sorts I have been today. John doesn’t always talk as kind as I would like, and I am so good for nothing almost sometimes it seems that I get awfully discouraged. But I must trust in God and take fresh courage and "not be weary in well doing," however dubious the way may look. Poor little one that will soon come.

July 21, 1880

O how lovely and cool it is today and bright. Great fleecy clouds sail in the blue sky, flowers are in bloom. ‘Tis lovely summertime now. Some of Berties’s hollyhocks are near as I write and other pretty flowers. John is cutting oats. Little Bertie has just got me to go down and see his little bundles and shocks made of weeds. It is almost night. Freddie and John must go after cows and Jennie set the table. Lizzie has just been tending to the milk. We have quite a lot of chickens this year. I want to sell enough to get my little Bertie, John, Freddie and Jennie a nice Bible. I gave Lizzie one for Christmas.

I hardly know whether it has done our children more good or harm going to school this summer. The teacher is a Catholic and although they learned a good deal from books, I am not altogether pleased with their summer schooling.

July 31, 1880

Well, we have a little dark, blue-eyed, bright looking little daughter. Dear little one. How thankful I am for this precious gift from our heavenly Father. I trust and pray that He will give us love and wisdom to bring up the little darling right. The children are real pleased and so is John. I am glad they are. It was born nearly 12 o’clock Monday night after I finished washing on July 26, 1880. Jane and Susan were here. It was a beautiful day.

Sunday, November 7, 1880

Dear little Eva and I are here alone (we call our darling Eva for sister and Jane for dear Mother. How I hope she will be so good a woman as they both are.)

October 15, 1881

Freddie and John are plowing, little men. In October we bought a new organ. O what a thrill of joy it gave me to play on an organ all I wanted to, but I never shall be a player, I don’t think. How pleased the children were too. I want all the children to play. For myself I do not much care. I am so thankful we have an organ. I hope and pray it may prove a great blessing.

March 17, 1882

John wants very much to go to Dakota. If we can sell our place, I suppose we will go. I like this place where my children were all born, but Lizzie, and have spent so many happy hours.

Newspaper Advertisement, undated

I will sell my farm of 120 acres, situated in the town of Shullsburg, four miles east of the village, one half mile north of the Gratiot and Shullsburg road. The farm is divided into forty acres, one forty pasture, the balance under cultivation—one forty plowed ready for spring. The whole pretty well fenced. The dwelling is a one-story frame containing three rooms and a summer kitchen. An orchard of healthy bearing trees, small fruit, etc. The premises are well watered by never-failing springs and running creek, with water near the house. A most desirable stock farm. This property can be bought on easy terms, as I intend to move west. Apply on premises, or address to John Glendenning, Shullsburg, Wisconsin.

Summer 1882

The drillers are here. How glad and thankful I am that we are to have a well and ‘tis close by the backroom. [The new well will be a selling point as they try to sell the farm.]

October 29, 1882

We have been looking lately at the monster comet when he streams up in the eastern sky at early morn. [Yes, that was Halley’s comet.]

April 29, 1883

Bertie picked such a lot of buttercups yesterday and gave such a nice ball to Freddie for a birthday present and a ribbon to Lizzie. He is most too kind. Lizzie and he went up to the graveyard, and she planted some roses and a lily on her mother’s and little Johnny’s and Aunt Jane’s graves.

June 19, 1883

Lizzie and Jennie are both gone to Shullsburg to graduating exercises. They walked. They have wanted to try walking for a long time. I wonder how long they will like it.

June 26, 1883

Lately Pa, Eva and I went to Dubuque to hear Henry Ward Beecher. Had a real good time most all of the time. The good children kept house real good. As I looked out the car window at the high hills, lovely green grass and trees with the sun shining o’er them, I can hardly describe the hallowed feeling. I thought of my children a great deal. Henry Ward Beecher talked sensibly.

November 21, 1883

Pa expects to start to Dakota to look at land tomorrow. Maybe we will leave this little happy home and go there.

December 27, 1883, Shullsburg, Wisconsin

O the year is growing. One can almost hear his slow footsteps as of an old man. Christmas has come and gone. Changes, changes. This is the last one we ever expect to spend in this little home. This cozy, sheltered nest among the maples and apple trees where all my little babies were born. But it seems God’s will for us to leave, and I mean to not do wrong in grieving for it. Yes, our place is sold to Robert.

We expect to find a home in Dakota in the far west. I do hope and pray above all else we may have better religious privileges than we have heretofore enjoyed, for our sakes and our children mainly. I do want to be near a church. I mean to do the best I can and trust in God for the rest.

Our children all seem happy in giving a gift to each one in the family and we did the same. Pa gave me some slippers, little John a handkerchief, Lizzie, Jennie, Freddie and Bertie together a veil, Eva an apple, all very acceptable and thankfully received. The little children had great times hiding their gifts and waiting for Christmas, looking so happy. How true "’tis more blessed to give than to receive."

I wonder what Father and Mother and the rest were doing Christmas. Last year Freddie, Johnny, Bertie, Eva and I were there with them. Next year I suppose we will try one in Dakota. I do wonder how we will like it there. I hope and pray that God would guide us and lead us just to the place he sees best, where we may do our best work for Him whether it is the easiest way or not. And O I do hope it will do our children good and not harm by taking them away off there where they may not even have the privileges they have here. I live in my children.

March 20, 1884, Council Hill, Illinois

We are waiting for the train to start and I will write a few of my thoughts down here. There it goes and I will wait for it to stop again. Waiting at Dubuque now. Well, here we are waiting at this place and now we are on the road to Dakota. We left our dear little cozy sheltered nook this morning where the wild birds sing their sweet songs amid the leafy trees and the wild flowers bloom. And my little ones were all born and their first sweet words were lisped there and their first steps taken. And where all of our married life has been spent and there are so many pleasant things to remember of this our old home. The friends here have been so kind, our old friends, I mean. They parted with us in tears, many of them, and gave John such a nice secretary and us such a lot of other things beside. But God seems leading us to our new home in Dakota, and I am going to try and like it and make the best of it. John will meet us in a few days at Denver, and we (the six children and I) will visit in Iowa awhile till John sends us word.

June 9, 1884, Denver, Dakota

Here we are in Dakota, Denver our post office, Spring Lake our township. And seems kind of odd to think we are really here at last. We like it very well. I am a little homesick for our little nest where the sweet apple blossoms scent the air each spring and the many plum trees make it look almost heavenly in their snowy bloom. Where the children had each one their own little gardens. And then we had a real pleasant party at our little house on Lizzie’s 18th birthday of nearly all the folks around.

And here we are in Dakota o’er whose broad prairies one can look far away over the lakes and hills. There are so many wild roses and other wild flowers here now.

We had a nice journey out here. We got along splendid. John was waiting at Denver for us. We were glad to see each other and thankful to our heavenly Father to be again a united family. We went to Willie’s and stayed all night, but on our way there we stopped and looked at our own little mansion. It looked kind of homey. We were in it too. I had made up my mind to try and like things, but it seemed so strange to think of calling any other place home but the one we just left. O how it snowed the next day, the one we came here to stay. In the morning John went to town and got a new stove, and we soon had things fixed comfortable and pleasant. Many hands make light work, and when all our family gets to work together, there are quite a lot of workers. Little Eva has talked so much about our new home in "Kota" and now we are really here.

Sunday, July 13, 1884

Freddie, Eva and I went in the buggy after Lizzie over the free broad, green prairies stretching so far and wide with their lakes and hills. We were not there in time to visit her school, but called at her boarding place.

August 10, 1884

I will be so glad when our nice new roomy house is finished. Seems as if we have to have someone here so much and all cooped up in this little place. That will be so much better in the new home. God grant that the new home be filled with heavenly love and light. It doesn’t seem as if it can be true we are to have such a fine new house to live in. Freddie thinks maybe it will seem as if we are visiting for awhile and I guess it will. I am so thankful for it.

November 3, 1884, Pleasant View Farm, Dakota

Fifteen years ago this very afternoon John and I were married at the parsonage besides which the myrtle grew in the beautiful little town of Darlington, which lies nestled so charmingly by a river among hills and woods in far off Wisconsin. Now we are hundreds of miles from that spot, where we were bound in loving ties on that November day, away off here in Dakota where we have a large farm of 320 acres and a splendid new house.

I am sitting upstairs in our room by a window which overlooks a blue lake beside some bluffs, or hills as I had rather call them, as they make me think of the verse about our help coming from the Lord, which says "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence comest my help." And our nearest town, five and a half miles distant, I can also see, and the far reaching prairie. I love our home (we have been here six months tomorrow).

[insert pic of Glendenning home and of barn]

July 5, 1885

Another Fourth of July has come and gone. We all went to Arlington (it has been changed from Denver to Arlington). Mother and father and children, yes all of our family. The weather here was beautiful with dewdrops sparkling, roses blooming, wild ones, and snowy crowfeet or prairie lilies, some call them, reminding me of dear sister Eva, here last year but gone from us now. As we came in town the band started to play. It sounded so pretty, but somehow I could hardly keep from crying. It seemed almost wrong to hear such gay music and feel gay and her so lately put into her grave.

October 24, 1886

This is my 38th birthday, cloudy and cold all day. My dear children are so much in my thoughts. I hope they love their heavenly Father, but O I hope I am not deceived. They each said a little piece tonight, all but Lizzie, who is at Madison to school.

March 29, 1889

Lizzie has lately been making Grandma Parker and the Wisconsin friends a visit. Jennie and Fred graduated at our district school, March 15, 1889, in the evening. Another thing, there is a prospect of a church being formed at the schoolhouse, and I have indeed sung from the heart "Praise God from whom all blessings flow."

O my heart goes out in deep sorrow to say our precious children, Fred, Bert, John and Jennie, have not come forward and boldly declared themselves Christians. They want to do right but are so afraid to go ahead. O how bitter are the tears I have shed about them and how much I have prayed for them, my precious ones. I leave them to God. If I had set them a better example, perhaps they would not thus hang back. I have tried hard too. Little Eva says she loves Jesus and stands with the rest of God’s people. God help her and us all. Lizzie joined the church when a little girl. I hope my dear children will all be workers in the Lord’s vineyard. God guide me and give me more faith.

June 17, 1889

A church was organized at the schoolhouse called the First Congregational Church of Spring Lake. Mr. Tomlin, the state missionary I think he is called, and Mr. Crater and old Mr. Brown, cousin of John Brown [the abolitionist] and a great enthusiast on religion, had a good meeting. Sermon by Mr. Tomlin. Seventeen united with the church. William Glendenning and Sarah and Isabel, Bertha Wilson, Mrs. Roy Farnham, Fannie, Pruie, Susie and Rufie, John Albert Glendenning and his wife, Eddie Labay, Mrs. Ferry, Lizzie, Pa, Eva and I. May God bless and keep each one and may many more be added.

Sunday, August 31, 1890

‘Tis the last day of the golden summer, passed away almost. All have gone to hear the president of Redfield College speak at the school but Jennie, Lizzie and I. I felt too poorly and the girls are to De Smet attending the institute.

January 5, 1891

Today my darling oldest son, Fred, has started for Watertown college. O how bad I felt, and yet how thankful he could have a chance for a good education. We expect him home in three months.

Pa is not well. Eva felt bad, little dear, and did not go to school. Jennie and Lizzie are both teaching.

February 14, 1892

It is rather cold today so I did not go to meeting. I am all alone (but God). Jennie, Fred, Bert, John and Eva have all gone to meeting. Lizzie has not returned from Madison where she went to make her blue silk wedding dress a few days ago, to Mrs. Farnham’s.

February 28, 1892

Tomorrow Jennie expects to go to Madison to attend the Normal School. Am glad indeed she aspires to a good education and hope she will be benefited both spiritually and mentally.

Arlington Sun, March 12, 1892

The members of our Sunday School met at the residence of their superintendent, John Glendenning, one night last week, carrying with them an easy chair, a present for their kind superintendent. When the proper time came, Mr. Blackstone presented it with a very few appropriate remarks. Mr. Glendenning was wholly taken by surprise and could hardly find words to express his feelings. He has done all he can do to make our school a success, and the members feel elated at giving him his surprise. May he live long to enjoy his work as superintendent and his easy chair is the wish of his many friends.

March 17, 1892

Last night about 8 o’clock Lizzie was married to Charlie Kuehn. It seems so sad here today. The sun is shining beautifully, but it looks so lonesome, and I feel so unsettled and cannot keep from crying some of the time. It seems as if I can hear sad sweet music. Our child is gone to make a home of her own. The little girl I have loved always since I knew her and cared for her so many years since her mother went to heaven, when she was three.

And now she is twenty-six and has a husband. I hope and trust he will be good to her. He is a steady industrious fellow and a great worker. He is not a professing Christian, but I shall continue to pray for him that he may in very deed love God.

Lizzie was dressed in blue silk and wore white flowers. Jennie was her bridesmaid and had a new brown silk on. Levi Kuehn stood up with Charlie. They all looked nice. Lizzie and Charlie stayed all night here and went to old Mr. [John August] Kuehn’s this morning where they will stay awhile till their home is fixed. God guide and bless both Lizzie and our new son.

Pa feels lonesome today as well as I. We had sixty here to supper counting our own family and the babies present. Had a good supper and the house looked nice. Folks seemed to enjoy themselves. Lizzie got quite a few nice gifts. Mrs. Ida Farnham played the wedding march. Rev. George Crater, our Congregational minister, performed the ceremony.

[insert pic of Charlie]

May 28, 1892

On May 24, Tuesday, my darling husband was taken sick about noon. He came in then from cutting potatoes for seed, sitting on the cellar door, him and John, and was only sick about thirty hours.

About 5 p.m. of a lovely day, May 25th, he passed away. Many flowers were sent and beautiful wreaths were on his coffin. Mr. Crater preached the sermon here at the house. He took for his text Matthew 24, verse 46, "Blessed is that servant who his Lord, when He cometh, shall find so doing." He spoke very highly of our dear one. O may others come to Jesus through his death. He was so anxious that others should know Jesus. The pieces sung at the funeral were "Safe in the Arms of Jesus," "Home of the Soul" (one of John’s favorites), "Thy Will Be Done" and "’Twill Not Be Long." He was laid in his grave about 5 p.m. on May 26, 1892.

O how I wept as I saw his place vacant at the table on going back to our lovely home. I put my head down at his place and cried. It seemed as if I could hardly stand it. My darling, my darling, how little we realize when all together in our usual health what a vacant chair means to the aching heart. But God is God and He is good and I feel so sure our dear one is called up higher that I know we must not grieve too much but press on towards that beautiful home where he is gone. But I feel as if, O if he only could have outlived me. How much better ‘twould have been, me so dependent, but God knows best, and now my children are doubly precious to me as I think their dear father is gone.

I used to look out with so much joy and see my three sons and their father walking home from Sunday School together and then sitting close around reading, Pa and one of them. But no more here. Perhaps he is near. God grant it, and may we do our life’s work nobly and all meet at our Savior’s feet.

June 2, 1892

One week ago today, Thursday, May 26th, he was laid in his grave. O my darling, my darling. How often I say "John, John, I want you," and it seems sometimes as if it cannot be I shall see him no more and the tears fall as I work. And sometimes I cry aloud, "God help me."

My six children are so kind to me. If it were not for them, I would pray God to take me too if it was his will. But I trust all to Him who doeth all things well. O that all the children and I may live as to meet our loved one in heaven. When he was first taken sick, he said something about soon being in heaven, him and his dear companion. I suppose he meant me. He put his arm around me so loving then and talked so much of "my dear boys," asking where they were. And "my little girl," meaning Eva. She was at school. And we sent for her and asked for Jennie and Lizzie. Jennie came before ‘twas too late, but Lizzie did not.

He prayed so earnestly and good for us all, himself and our friends and neighbors, and said "Jesus" and "Savior" as if He were very near and "Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love." And that this was sent to let us know how much we loved one another, and he said to me, "Don’t forget me, but forget my hastiness." I think that was exactly the way he said it. Darling, Darling, never will thou be forgotten and how much dearer these dear children seem now their dear father is gone. He said once, "How can I face God without my children?" and something about being bereft of his children.

He seemed perfectly resigned. Said he did not think he could live, but did not know how many days the Lord had for him. He seemed to love to have the children and me near him and said "dear" and "darling" to us and put his arm around us so loving and patted us when not having to get up to vomit or otherwise. He mostly laid with closed eyes. He would answer when we spoke to him, but said little else.

The last day Eva asked him how he was, and he said he was "pretty near over the line." Tuesday he was so anxious for his little girl. He said, "I must have her here and put my arms around her." She is his baby and of course his pet, and he asked for Jennie and Lizzie and said if they did not come to give them his love, and he kept saying, "Where are my dear boys?" His last words were spoken so low we could not tell what they were. No doubt they were good ones. I wish we could have heard him say things as my mother did. But he is now with his Savior he loved and served so many years.

Arlington Sun, June 4, 1892

Died, at his home in Spring Lake, May 25, 1892, of peritonitis, John Glendenning, aged 64 years, 6 months and 23 days. The deceased was born at Northumberland, England, November 2nd, 1827, and with his father, mother and seven brothers and sisters emigrated to this country in the year 1854 and settled at Shullsburg, Wisconsin, where he resided until 1885 when he moved to this county where he has since resided.

He has been a consistent and highly respected member and officer of the Congregational Church for many years, a constant and enthusiastic Sunday School worker, and a highly respected and esteemed citizen. He leaves a wife and six children besides a large circle of relatives and friends to mourn his loss. His funeral services were held at his home on May 26 and conducted by Rev. G. W. Crater and largely attended by sorrowing neighbors and friends.

[insert photo of John G]

June 4, 1892

The days are long. I am alone. Jennie and Eva have gone to town for their hats. Fred went with them. Bert hauling manure. John breaking. It seems as if things can never be the same again. I do miss him so much. How often I would lay my head on his breast when he was lying on the lounge and it rested me so. I love to be where he has been. This place seems a great deal dearer now that his hands helped to fix it for our home. The trees and other things he took so much care and pride in are almost sacred. The lovely crabapple blossoms are now in bloom. He loved them so well.

June 23, 1892

I had such a nice dream about my dear John last night. I thought it was getting daylight a little and I looked around to see where I was by the dim light and found I was in our bedroom downstairs. I was in bed and looked over the west side of the room. Near the bed was John dressed. O how glad I was to see him. He put his face down so close and loving to mine. I think he kissed me and I think I kissed him. I know I tried to real hard and it seems like I could hardly move. I said, "O how I want you, John," and he said only these words in reply, "Freely ye have received, freely give," and then went away.

It seems almost as if I had seen him, my darling. I believe God, our loving Father, sent this dream to help us remember the Bible words that sounded so plain, said by our loved one, to help us be more unselfish and to give whatever God would have us give freely. O how I miss my husband. My children are so much to me, poor darlings. I am sorry for them many times. Little Eva is so much company to me and help and the boys, Fred, John and Bert, so trusty, good and helpful. I told the children my dream.

August 22, 1892

I am sitting on the west porch. The vines look so pretty trained up to the top of the porch on the southwest part. Before me lies the flower garden sparkling with dew. The dark green leaves on the many trees nearby that my dear husband helped to plant and tended so carefully, and now they are so large and thrifty for their age. When I look at them, they make me think of my dear husband many a time. And it seems as if I can feel in them his sheltering love. They are so green and thick and reach around so far near the house. It makes me think of his strong loving arms.

The birds are happily flitting near. I heard a bee buzzing in the vines a few minutes ago. The crickets are chirping. I heard a mourning dove this morning. It sounded so sweet and sad. It is cloudy and sober looking. My dear Bert has been so sick with the measles and is now better. I am so thankful. And Jennie also was very sick with them at Uncle Willie’s at De Smet. She was taken while she was attending institute. O how thankful I am they are better. We were so afraid Bert was going to die. How could I spare them so soon after Pa was taken.

September 21, 1892

I dreamed of my dear husband last night, I often do, and of my sweet angel mother also. I thought in my dream I was climbing up some steep stairs. They were so steep and the wood in them was old and unsafe looking. But it seemed as if that was the way for me to go, and I went on climbing them trying so hard. And I got almost to the top and felt someone near, and I turned to see who it was, and it was my darling John. I thought he put his arms on my waist and helped me every now and then, and O how sweet and loving was his touch. And how wonderfully helped I was and strengthened by his loving presence and that look he gave me. How it and his loving touch thrilled me with joy.

And I was going to speak and say something about it when I awoke. My darling loved one, thou art gone home to God but perchance you come to help me in the rough places of life. I have to think it may be so, and God sent this dream to help me also. I feel almost as if I had seen my angel one and am so thankful for this dream.

January 2, 1893

My dear son John started to Watertown College today. Dear thoughtful, quiet, loving boy, may God bless and guide him. God, lead my darling and keep him unspotted from the world and fit him for great usefulness.

January 16, 1893

Bert began teaching school about three miles from here. He boards at home. It seems so odd to think of him teaching.

July 5, 1893

Today the three boys went to the World’s Fair in Chicago.

Saturday, August 26, 1893

One week ago today Fred, Eva and I went up to Lizzie’s and saw for the first time her little darling boy with its little black hair and bright blue eyes. It was born Wednesday, August 16, 4 a.m., 1893. And so she and Charlie really have a little baby of their own. It hardly seems true. I was very glad. I love the little dear and hope they will call it after Pa for a middle name. God grant it may grow up as good a man as my dear husband and that Lizzie and Charlie realize the great responsibility resting on them in having an immortal soul committed to their care.

October 19, 1893

Bert began teaching school in Bangor today, and John, Eva and I went to Lizzie’s.

January 12, 1894

In 1893 a new little life was added to our circle in the coming of Lizzie and Charlie’s dear little sweet baby, Edwin John Kuehn. He is named after Pa and I am so glad.

March 25, 1894

Lizzie and Charlie and baby Edwin came and made a nice visit the other day and gave each of us a picture of the dear little man. And Jennie is home for vacation, and Fred and John and Bert are near me, and my dear little Eva is so much comfort to me, and I have God to help me.

August 2, 1894

Bert and Jennie went to Brookings Institute.

October 3, 1894

Lizzie’s little girl was born.

October 23, 1894

Our three boys bought Will Crowford’s place.

Wednesday, December 19, 1894

O Joy, Joy, my dear three boys stood up at meeting last night thereby showing to the world they have started for heaven. My heart is full of gladness and I thank Jesus for his goodness. I am ashamed to think I did not have more faith in Jesus. It did seem sometimes so long to wait for them to come, and how anxious their dear father was to have them love Jesus. When John told me today, my tears fell. I couldn’t help it. They were tears of pure joy. O God is too good in answering my poor prayers. What bliss!

Now dear little Jennie is left. O God, lead her to Thee. She is the only one left of all Pa’s dear children. But I think she will come now the boys have. There are many coming out on the Lord’s side here at our schoolhouse. Little Eva is so glad about her brothers. I was so down today and now I am so happy since I know about my darling boys.

December 23, 1894

My dear ones, Jennie, Fred, John and Bert united with the Methodist Church at the schoolhouse. O my heart sings for joy and I thank God for his goodness.

Arlington Sun, January 2, 1895

A number of young people drove out to August Kuehn’s home last Friday evening to attend a party given by Misses Fannie and Rose Kuehn. A very enjoyable time is reported.

[insert pix of August & Maria]

Arlington Sun, August 2, 1895

John Albert Glendenning has purchased the business of a leading photographer at Madison and will remove with his family to that place as soon as he can close up his business here. We all regret to lose Mr. Glendenning and his estimable family.

[insert pic of Jennie & maybe wedding announce]

Wednesday, June 30, 1897

Jennie was married to Will McGuiness. It was such a bright, lovely day. Almost a perfect summer day about 6 p.m. There were about forty guests here, some very nice people. Rev. Dibble married them. We had strawberries, ice cream and turkey for supper, of course other good things. Everything went off so pleasantly for which I was very thankful. Eva played the wedding march called "Waves of the Ocean." She was dressed in white with blue sash. There were lots and lots of roses at the wedding and lilies. Jennie and Will wore buttonhole bouquets of roses and ferns. Eva wore pansies. Fred was groomsman. Grace Wood bridesmaid. There was fine singing of hymns in the evening by some of the company. Jennie looked lovely in her wedding dress of pale tan (part silk) trimmed with pearls, ribbon and chiffon. Will looked nice.

August 23, 1897

The sun is low in the west, quiet and lovely with the fall of its beams on this lovely earth. The lovely flowers blooming in our garden among which are pansies, moss roses, lilies, phlox, petunias, geraniums, nasturtiums, bachelor buttons, pinks, cypress, wild cucumber and sweet peas. Jennie and I have admired them together. She and Will went out together Saturday evening and looked at them and picked some seeds to take with them to their new home in Valparaiso, Indiana.

O how thankful I am she has done so well. Will is not pretty. He looks very well and looks good. He is not very well off financially, but owns some property and has an education and is a man of principle and has lived clean according to those who have known him long. He seems to think the world of Jennie and she of him. They were here a good deal of the time after the wedding for nearly two weeks. Then they went to Brookings with his folks for awhile, up to Lizzie’s and to Badger where they both taught last winter. They have had a nice honeymoon and other time visiting, I think. Will has studied law a good deal.

Sunday, August 29, 1897

Lizzie and all her family were here and we all went to meeting, that is, our three boys, Eva and I, Lizzie, Charlie, Edwin, Gladys, Issy, George and their son Fred.

September 1, 1897

Our boys bought the stock in a store in Brookings and took possession the same day. Fred and Bert were both there, but Bert came home toward night bringing such a lot of good things to eat out of our store including bananas, lemons, peaches, canned fruit, dried fruit, and lots of other things. Well! Well! Doesn’t it seem strange to think of it coming out of our store. Bert feels very nice about it. He and the other boys have long talked of keeping store and now they really have begun in Brookings.

Tuesday, October 26, 1897

Fred and Bert went hunting ducks and altogether they got twelve so we can have lots of roast duck as we have been having lately.

November 1, 1897

This is my dear brother Georgie’s birthday. God bless him and lead him nearer to Thee. He seems to be prospering in worldly matters. His fountain pen is given in the Youth’s Companion as a premium.

[In 1888 George S. Parker was a teacher of telegraphy in Janesville, Wisconsin, who sold John Holland pens as a sideline. He felt obligated to repair any misbehaving pens for his students, and once he acquired the necessary tools, he decided that he would try to make a better pen himself. In 1889 he took out his first pen patent and became a pen manufacturer. In 1894 he patented the "Lucky Curve" ink feed for his pens. This invention is credited with helping Parker become a factor in the fountain pen industry. The feed was designed to drain the ink back into the reservoir by capillary attraction when the pen was upright in the owner’s pocket. The Parker Lucky Curve Pen was the company’s principal product until the 1920s.

In 1903 Parker established his first overseas distributorship in Scandinavia. During World War I Parker’s famous Trench Pen sold well to soldiers on European battlefields. This pen used ink produced in the field by doughboys with a pill of black pigment mixed with water in the pen’s cap. This "portable ink plant" was sold through the U.S. War Department, pushing Parker sales past $1 million for the first time. In 1921 the company introduced the oversized, burnt-orange pen called Duofold at a time when most pens were black and priced it twice as high as most pens--$7. Sales quadrupled.

George Parker died in 1937, and his son Kenneth took over the company. Over the years Parker pens had factories and distributorships in Canada, England, South Africa, Rhodesia, France, Mexico, Australia, Argentina, Brazil, West Germany, Peru, Colombia and Spain. In 1986 a London-based investment group bought Parker Pens for $100 million, then Gilette bought that company in 1993, but shut down operations and closed the plants in 1999.

When Janesville opened its second high school in 1967, they named it Parker High School for Hattie’s little brother, Georgie.]

November 2, 1897

‘Tis a lovely bright day, so warm and nice, and is my dear John’s birthday. Eva and I took old Frank (Fred hitched him up for us) and went to see Lizzie and her family. The dear little children were so glad to see "Dambe Denton" and climbed in my lap. O the little dears, how I do love them. They are the grandchildren of my dear John.

Thursday, November 4, 1897

Eva and I had such a good visit with Lizzie. She wanted me to stay a week. She and Charlie did not want us to go home, but we thought it might snow soon and had better go. And tonight it is quite snowy. For all it has been nice for three days right along, and we did not want to leave our boys to bach any longer.

November 8, 1897

Bert came back from Madison on the bicycle. He went down to see Susie Farnham.

Tuesday, November 9, 1897

A nice bright day. Eva and I drove old Frank to town and went to John Albert Glendenning’s and got my picture taken again. John thinks it is a good one now. My dear little Eva gave me a pretty embroidered handkerchief for my birthday.

[The photograph of Hattie that I put on the cover of her diary is quite possibly the one taken on this day.]

Thursday, November 11, 1897

Bert took the buggy and brought Susie up here. She was at her Uncle Jess’s. Eva and Susie went in the buggy to town this afternoon to get something for the windmill. It came on the train to Maxwell’s, and I got some candy, oysters, and crackers. I sent a letter to Jennie. Eva took Susie over to Rowe’s after they came back. Susie looks nice. I wonder if Bert really cares for her very much.

Saturday, November 20, 1897

Our three boys and Charlie Kuehn went hunting. Charlie was here to supper. They met at the schoolhouse to count their game. Eva and I have been alone most all day.

November 24, 1897

Bert and Fred went up to help Charlie husk his corn. John took wheat to town. I have been very busy fixing up for Thanksgiving—picking turkey, making pies, tarts and other things.

Thanksgiving Day, November 25, 1897

Snow has fallen every minute, and there is quite a lot of the pure beautiful snow on the ground. In the window near me are some lovely pink geranium blossoms, and in the other window are Mother’s and Aunt Hattie’s chrysanthemum blossoms. Eva is playing on the organ. Bert and Fred came home before dinner from Lizzie’s, and now all my three boys are out trying to fix the stock up warm under cover. O my darlings, how thankful I am for them all. We were all disappointed in Lizzie, Charlie and the little ones not coming today as they have expected for quite awhile, but little Edwin has the grippe [flu] and could not come.

Friday, December 3, 1897

The snow is lying white and pure o’er the earth and on the roofs. The moon is shining brightly. Bert, John and Eva are playing. Fred is writing. My dear boys are all now here in the bright warm sitting room. Bert and Fred talk so much of going to the Klondike. I wonder how long it will be that we will be thus situated. Dear God, prepare me and all of us for whatever is before us.

New Year’s Eve, December 31, 1897

This Christmas my dear children surprised me by some beautiful gifts. Fred and John together gave me a carpet sweeper. Bert a lovely gold pen and pearl and gold holder. Eva a plate. Brother George sent me a nail file with a silver handle. Susie spent Christmas with us and gave me a nice tidy of her own make, green and white. Yes, I shall whisper it here. Bert told to me a tale of love, which I half suspected. I am so glad for him and Susie and thank God she is such a good Christian girl, but there is many a slip between the cup and the lip.

March 15, 1898

Eva, my baby, my darling companion, went to Brookings College the tenth of January. Bert went on the 4th of January and then came back for Eva. O I do hope and pray it has done them lots of good , and they may be more useful in the dear Lord’s vineyard for going there. I could hardly stand the thought of my darling youngest daughter going off to school without me, but she is seventeen and a good steady womanly Christian girl.

April 9, 1898

John took me up to Lizzie’s and I stayed several days. Then my little Eva came up for me with old Frank and the buggy and visited part of a day. Lizzie helped me make a good dress. She had written for me to come and wanted to help me with it. I think she was real kind. Little Edwin and Gladys are good friends with me.

Thanksgiving, 1898

All our six were here together and Lizzie’s and Jennie’s families. Jennie and Will came from Hetland where they are both teaching at the school in town.

[insert pic of 6 Glendenning sibs]

Christmas, December 25, 1898

Lizzie and Charlie gave me a nice book I have long wanted called The Greatest Thing in the World, and all gave me a very large card. Jennie gave me a pretty towel. Fred and John together gave a nice portfolio called Ladies Companion. My old portfolio was really ragged and the new one is so nice. Bert gave me a lovely pearl handled knife. Eva worked a lovely doily in embroidery and gave it to me and made a very pretty pin cushion for me. My little Sunday School class gave me a pretty cup and saucer. Seems as if I had too many gifts. I thank God for them all.

January 1899

My dear Eva began to study in good earnest to review up with the aim of getting a teaching certificate. We studied White School Management together. I took very much comfort and pleasure in so doing. We seemed so near together and talked so much in the nice ways she would do when teaching. She went up from Arlington on the train to De Smet to take the teacher’s examination. She was so afraid she might not get a certificate, but she did get one all right. I was so glad she did.

June 14, 1899

Fred, John and Bert all home and not away off to [the Spanish-American] war or the Klondike. O I have so much to be thankful for to my God.

June 17, 1899

Eva and I drove up to Lizzie’s and stayed till the next day. Her dear little boy and girl, Edwin (5) and Gladys (4), came gladly home with us and stayed a little over a week. Then Lizzie and Charlie came for them, and they and us and all Lizzie’s family went to a picnic to Blackstones in their grove. I enjoyed so much having the dear little ones here so long and all we did. Eva got them to sing a lot with her, and she played on the organ one day "Jesus Loves Me Best of All," and they sang that with her.

June 29, 1899

John and Bert drove to Madison to Chautauqua to hear William Jennings Bryan speak. Had a good time I should think by what they said. [Bryan ran for president in 1896 and 1900, losing both times to William McKinley. In 1908 he lost again, this time to William Howard Taft.]

July 1, 1899

Fred and Eva went in the buggy to Arlington today to look at a piano. The music man is to bring it here tonight. She is so delighted at the prospect of our buying this one for her. If we do, it will be called a birthday present from me to her for her nineteenth birthday.

July 4, 1899

The piano was brought here Saturday, and yesterday we really bought and paid for it, and now we have a piano. It is Eva’s very own. She is so delighted with it. It is worth $290 (what we paid for it including scarf and stool).

August 1, 1899

A dear little baby boy was born to Jennie and Will. I was going home the next day. Eva was coming for me and to take her music lesson. It would be a week then since I came to Jennie’s, but the little Manny came and surprised the folks a little sooner than was expected.

Friday, August 25, 1899

We went to dear sister Eva’s grave and to Hetland to the dedication of a new Congregational Church. John, Eva, Carol, Oscar, Alice and I went in our nice new two-seated covered carriage. The boys bought it just before Alice came and brought her home in the moonlight in it from the train. They were so good to get it.

Saturday, September 23, 1899

Lizzie has another little boy born today. I can imagine how very much pleased little Edwin and Gladys will be with their little brother, Charles Glendenning Kuehn. I think they will be greatly rejoiced. They were up to Jennie’s. Lizzie expected to send them here, but as we had so much company, she didn’t. I wanted them ever so much.

October 9, 1899

Jennie, Will and baby Delbert came here yesterday and stayed to dinner. This is the first time baby has ever been here. He is a bright sweet baby and laughs lots.

[insert pic of Chuck & Delbert]

October 14, 1899

Today Bert, Eva, John and I went to Madison to see the president of the United States, President McKinley, and heard him speak for about ten minutes. He looks very much like his picture.

December 4, 1899

Today Eva has gone to town to begin school. She will board at Jennie’s or I suppose I should never thought of letting her go.

Sunday, May 12, 1901

Eva, Jane and I walked to the M. E. Church in the morning and heard a sermon, and in the afternoon we rode out to Mary Brown’s and stayed awhile and took supper. She is John’s first cousin, and her husband is Jennie and Lizzie’s uncle. [In other words this Mr. Brown is Mary Ann’s brother.]

May 15, 1901

My dear son Herbert came down from Des Moines where he has just graduated at Highland Park College.

Monday, May 20, 1901

We have been visiting at Aunt Hattie’s. One evening Mary and I, Eva, Nellie and Bert went into the University Chapel and saw some of Edison’s moving pictures. Very lifelike.

Monday, May 27, 1901

Arrived at Dumbarton, Wisconsin, about noon. Our old place near Shullsburg where all my little babies were born and where John and I spent most of our married life is so changed. The house is moved away. There are a few of the trees left, but not many, and the creek where our three boys used to fish is dried up. Bert meant to fish there where he used to fish when a boy. John wrote to Eva about her taking a picture of what was left of our place. She did, and the house they were born in and the old schoolhouse where they used to go to school.

June 6, 1901

Bert, Eva and I started to Janesville, Wisconsin, to see brother George’s family. I never had seen his wife and did not know how I would like it. He did not know just when we were coming. We got to Janesville safe and sound. Eva and I stayed in the depot, and Bert went to hunt up his uncle and found him just about ready to start to a picnic. He came right up to the depot, took us to his grand (nearly $7,000) house. I have not seen George, my dear brother, for over 16 years. He looks a good deal the same only he is fleshier and looks some deal older, of course, but has the same smile and kindly words of greeting. He took Eva and me right up to our rooms. His wife was away to the picnic and playing golf.

George’s house is finished so grand and comfortable, but he seems just as homey as need be and says, "Make yourselves to home." Martha seems real kind. We expected to only stay till Saturday, June 8th, but George seems so anxious for us to stay over Sunday anyway, but we want to get home Saturday. He tried to make it pleasant for us, left his business lots and entertained us. Bert and Eva went to town to see his office and factory. He gave Eva a fountain pen.

We started for our Dakota home this morning about 1 a.m., a pretty early start. George and Mattie were both up to bid us good-bye, a very cordial one. We had a nice visit. I have never been a guest in so elegant a home before.

[insert pic if you find one in Janesville items]

December 30, 1901

And now the old year is almost gone and the new year is almost here. And now Bert has taken another long journey westward to Butte, Montana. He went alone but came home with a sweet, young bride, the girl of his choice whom he has long loved and cherished.

[insert pic Susie and herBert]

January 27, 1902

Bert and Susie make their home with us. Eva and Susie are a nice pair of sisters, and how nice it is not to have Bert a way off. They were married in Butte at her parents’ home.

March 14, 1902

Our precious Eva has the typhoid fever, and we have a trained nurse (preacher’s wife) to help take care of our darling. O how anxious we are for her.

Near Midnight, Easter, March 30, 1902

My precious daughter is still sick in bed. We trust under God she is improving, but very slowly. Fred and I have not been very well, nor John, nor Susie. We are afflicted. What is God teaching us by all our sickness? Trying to draw us nearer to Him in love. How soon earth will be gone with all its scenes for us all. O help us Lord so we may bring honor to Thy dear name and each and all of us enter the pearly gates.

July 28, 1903

A dear little baby boy was born today to Bert and Susie. Can it be possible that my little Bertie is a man and has a little boy of his own? It seems so short a time in some ways, since he was a baby himself.

August 12, 1903

My precious Eva is getting better. Susie and baby Floyd came to visit us. Later Mary, Nellie, Eva and I all had our pictures taken together.

[insert that pic]

Arlington Sun, October 16, 1903

Charlie Kuehn is hauling lumber for a granary, which he is ready to build on his farm. It is to be 14 by 30 feet by 12 feet high and well constructed. Mr. Kuehn is also building an addition 14 by 40 feet onto his barn, thus giving him all the barn room that he needs.

[insert pic of Charlie’s house + one of Ed, Gladys & Chuck]

Arlington Sun, January 15, 1904

John August Kuehn passed away at his home north of Arlington Tuesday afternoon, January 12th, aged seventy-seven years.

John August Kuehn was born in Saxony, Germany, on February 14th, 1837. When twenty-one years of age, he came to America to seek his fortunes in the new country and settled at Mineral Point, Wisconsin. Here he married Miss Mary Werner, and to this union five children were born. Death called the wife of his youth, and later he was married to Miss Maria Hildreth, the marriage taking place in 1860. Eight children came to bless this union, all of whom are living to mourn the loss of a kind and indulgent father.

Mr. Kuehn came to South Dakota twenty-five years ago, settling near where Arlington is now, on September 15th, 1879, and here he has resided ever since. He has had a wide circle of acquaintances and has ever kept the respect and friendship of all who knew him. His illness was short, and his death came as a shock to his family and to his friends. The funeral was held from the home at ten o’clock on Thursday morning, Rev. A. H. Seymour conducting the services. The remains were laid to rest in the Arlington cemetery.

Card of Thanks: To the friends who so kindly assisted us during the final illness, and who showed us their sympathy and friendship at the time of death of our beloved husband and father, we wish to return our sincere and heartfelt thanks.

Mrs. August Kuehn and Family

Arlington Sun, February 7, 1904—RACHAEL KUEHN DEAD

The sad news was received by cablegram the last of last week, that Mrs. Rachael Towns, who was formerly Miss Rachael Kuehn of this place, passed away at her home in Adelaide, South Australia. Mrs. Towns had been ill most of the time for the past year, but latterly had seemed to be growing better, and the news of her death came as a shock to her relatives and friends in this city. Mr. and Mrs. Towns moved to Australia some four and a half years ago. It is not known whether Mr. Towns will bring her remains to this country for interment or not, but it is supposed that he will, in which case they will reach here about the first of March. Our sympathy goes out to the family in their bereavement.

Arlington Sun, June 17, 1904

Miss Rose Kuehn, who has been visiting at Aberdeen, returned home last Thursday evening. She was accompanied on her return by her three nieces, the Coleman girls, who will remain and visit relatives in Arlington for a time.

[Rachael Kuehn was August and Maria’s oldest child; Rose was their youngest, 16 years younger. At some point after Frank Towns returned to the States and buried his wife Rachael, he wooed and wed young Rose.]

[insert pic of Glendenning store or after the next entry]

June 28, 1904

All earthly things are fleeting. My three boys bought a grocery store in goods in Arlington last January, and Bert has run it ever since, and now they expect to rent our dear old "Rest Home" and us all go to town to live in a rented house. For some things it will be nice, I expect, and I want to do just what is the Lord’s will. But I dread to think of leaving this quiet, pretty spot where we have lived so long, twenty years this spring.

Arlington Sun, August 26, 1904—GONE TO HIS SAVIOR

Floyd Herbert, the little two-year old son of Mr. and Mrs. G. H. Glendenning, passed away after a brief illness on Wednesday noon. He had been in good health up to last Sunday, when he was taken with a complication of pneumonia and brain fever [meningitis], and although all was done for him that could be by loving hands and anxious hearts, he grew steadily worse until at noon on Wednesday came the relief from his sufferings. He was a bright and sweet little child and won the hearts of all who knew him. His loss is a very heavy one for the bereaved parents and for many who learned to love the little fellow.

The funeral was held from the Baptist Church at two o’clock yesterday afternoon, Rev. L. W. Ross preaching the sermon, brief services having first been held at the residence. The church was most beautifully adorned with flowers and plants and testified to the wish of the many friends to show in some way their sympathy for those who had lost and were mourning. The remains were interred in the cemetery at the Corners, the old home, and where several of the family who have gone already have been laid to rest.

September 3, 1904

How little did I think when last I wrote that dear baby Floyd would be in heaven when I wrote again. Yes, our sweet one has gone to be an angel now. O how I miss his sweet little words and ways, and I am hungry to kiss his sweet little face. He thought so much of me and so often said "Gama," but I would not call him back. He is safe with God. He died Wednesday, August 24th and was laid to rest in a little white casket beneath many flowers.

Eva is doctoring with a lady doctor who thinks she can cure her.

The farm is really rented for three years and the renters plowing on it. I am trying to look on the bright side of it all and am trusting God to help me and will try to make my home happy wherever we go and work for God. Eva is glad to go. Bert is going to occupy part of the same house we do, him and Susie. The boys helped him move Monday. How nice it will be to be near Jennie and Lizzie.

December 26, 1904

Christmas is come and gone and we are living in town. We came up here the 20th of October, 1904. Eva and I drove up old Frank. Fred came behind with a load of our things. John was up to the new home cleaning up, the darling son he is. O how pretty the many pansy blossoms looked at dear "Rest Home," so I went to look at them for the last time. I had a time crying on the road to town, but I am cheerful most of the time. Eva is so near and dear to me. She is getting better, but far from well.

[That is the last entry in Hattie’s diary, but there is more news to report.]

Arlington Sun, January 20, 1905

Mrs. John Glendenning [Hattie] has been very ill the last week, being taken with a stroke of paralysis the latter part of the week and has been in a critical condition much of the time since.

Arlington Sun, January 27, 1905

Mrs. John Glendenning is slightly better this week, but her progress toward recovery is very tedious.

Arlington Sun, March 31, 1905

Mrs. H[arriet] E[dna] Glendenning suffered another stroke of paralysis last Friday and has been very ill during the week, her condition being critical.

Arlington Sun, May 26, 1905

Miss Eva Glendenning took the train for Rochester, Minnesota, the latter part of last week, to consult the surgeons at the hospital in regard to her health, which has been very poor for some time. She was accompanied by her sister, Mrs. Lizzie Kuehn, who went along for company.

Arlington Sun, April 27, 1906

Miss Eva Glendenning passed away at her home in this city on Monday afternoon, April 23rd, after a long and tedious illness, from which death came as a wished-for release. Miss Glendenning had been ill for some four years, suffering from that dread disease, consumption [tuberculosis], and though everything that could be done for her was tried, those who loved her were obliged to let her slip away from them, being helpless to even defer the final farewell.

The funeral was held from the M. E. Church at 1 o’clock Tuesday afternoon, the pastor, Rev. A. C. MacLean, conducting the services. The church was filled with the many friends and old neighbors of the deceased, and the beautiful floral decorations and offerings evidenced the high esteem in which the one who was gone had always been held by those who knew her. The remains were interred in the Arlington cemetery, a large number following the remains to their last resting place.

Eva Glendenning, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. John Glendenning, was born in Shullsburg, Wisconsin, on July 26th, 1880. When but four years of age she came with her parents to South Dakota, and ever since has made this vicinity her home, living on the farm south of town until about a year and a half ago, when she came to town, and has been a resident of Arlington since. She was a bright and talented young lady, a gifted musician and a pleasant companion. She was a member of the M. E. Church of this city, and her life was consistent and true to her profession. She leaves many friends who will be pained to know of her demise and who will join in extending their sympathy to the bereaved family.

Card of Thanks

We wish to thank our many friends and neighbors who have been so kind and helpful during the illness and at the time of the death and funeral of our beloved daughter, Eva Glendenning. Mrs. H. E. Glendenning and Family

[On April 25, 1907, Lizzie and Charlie had their last child, Homer William Kuehn, whose photograph was taken the following summer.]

[insert photo of baby Homer]

[Hattie, despite the strokes, lived until August 11, 1919. Thank you, Hattie, for sharing your life with all of us.]