CHAPTER IX.

PLATTING OF NEWCASTLE, IMPROVEMENTS, AMUSEMENTS.

Newcastle was located in the horseshoe bend of the Boone river because it was thought that nature's encircling arm of water guaranteed immunity from cyclones and disastrous storms.

Our family settled near the creek and river so the water supply for man and beast would be constant. The need for fishing-grounds also was considered, as well as the better chances for success in trapping and taking big game at their drinking-places.

Water-routes, moreover, furnished an easy warm weather method of transportation for produce. The frozen surface of a river, likewise, provided an unobstructed winter-highway. The woodman's troubles were reduced to a minimum by felling trees upon the ice for the well shod oxen easily could snake home the logs on its smooth surface.

The river as a natatorium also was a success. The idea seemed to prevail that summer swimming every day would equalize the long period of winter weather when swimming was impossible, so from fall until spring bathing activities were held in abeyance.

Then, too, the ever pressing problem of laundry work was solved more or less satisfactorily at the river's edge, and the fear of the periodically recurring prairie fire was allayed somewhat by the proximity of water.

The Town Plat.

Newcastle was laid out during the early summer of 1853, by my father, Wilson Brewer, and a nephew, Amos Brewer, who was a surveyor and had come west for the work at the solicitation of father to

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The town was located on land owned by us on the NW. 1/4 of the NW. 1/4 of Section 6, Township 88, Range 25. The name, Newcastle, was a reminder of the old Virginia homestead, Highcastle-on-the-James. Father often referred to our town as Newcastle-on-the-Boone.

The recorder's books show that Newcastle was platted by Wilson Brewer and William Frakes, October 27, 1854; the surveyor named is S. C. Wood. Considerable time elapsed before the county seat was located at Newcastle. Correcting and later platting of additions may have confused the names of the surveyors and account for the mistake. As before stated, however, Amos Brewer was the surveyor of the original Newcastle plat.

The spring after the platting a part of the town site was traded to William Frakes, which may account for the additional error that the platting was done jointly by Wilson Brewer and William Frakes.

Months sometimes elapsed before property purchased by settlers was legally recorded. Hundreds of parcels of land-claims, town lots, or timber tracts-were swapped several times without legal record. Delaying transfer gave the traders and short-time holders opportunity to turn land without the bother and expense of legal routine. When record finally was made, if the intermediate dealers requested, their names were omitted from the deeds, and the documents showed only the names of the original holders and the latest purchasers.

Political Possibilities; Father's Trip East.

The political pot already had begun slowly to seethe. The shrewd, far-seeing men in the aspiring towns of Homer and Fort Dodge began early to organize their forces and secure settlers for their sections of country.
Foreseeing that a contest for political supremacy was inevitable, the leaders in our community realized the necessity for a concerted movement to procure additional settlers for the Boone valley. A Fourth of July gathering

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accordingly was arranged and the celebration was held in an oak grove on what now is Second street, west of Prospect.

A committee of the whole, after discussing means and methods, decided that Wilson Brewer should visit adjoining states to the east of us for the purpose of interesting and securing settlers. Nels Omstead said: "No one but Wils was willing to assume the hardships of the journey."

Father set out upon the trip the middle of July, 1853. The few days of preparation was a depressing period for the family. We were accustomed to delays of travel in hunting, prospecting and marketing, but this proposed long journey seemed quite different. When the time for final goodbys arrived the boys were not to be found; only mother, myself and the babies were left to speed him on his way. Not a word was spoken and no tears were shed; to have ventured speech would have meant complete surrender of self-control, and a manifestation of weakness when courage was necessary would have marked the crowning humiliation of a pioneer.

I felt that this parting removed something vital from my life and I admit after this lapse of years, that I often sought the solitudes and cried, and cried. I now believe my loneliness arose from the premonition of the journey my father so soon was to take "from which no traveler returns." Not once during his absence, however, did I find my mother in tears.

The months sped away. One beautiful sunny day late in the fall, the boys rushed into the cabin shouting: "Pap's coming! Pap's coming!" Mother suddenly sat down. The tension of anxiety was removed and the tears flowed freely.

Father covered the trail on foot to Iowa City from whence he took a jerkie, or stage, via. Burlington, Iowa, through Illinois to the old Indiana home. At many of the towns visited he employed agents to influence emigrants to come to our Boone valley settlement. He endeavored to induce parties who were already on the road to other locali-

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ties to change their course, and he visited personally anyone who was reported to have the western fever.

The town-agency method turned many settlers in our direction, among them the Funk brothers, and through correspondence Talman Wiltsey decided to take up the far-west trail. Sam Bates and party were met on the road and their course changed from Missouri to our Iowa settlement. Bates, later, traded for our home farm and was instrumental in securing many additions to our numbers. The Wilson brothers who already had seen the star in the west, arranged to cast their lot with us as soon as their Badger state holdings could be sold. Walt and Sam came out and located late in '54, and moved among us the next spring.

Father reached the eastern limit of his journey in six weeks and soon began the return trip. He worked through Illinois, stopped at Chicago, made many Wisconsin points, followed the northern Iowa trail, visited Hewitts and Dickinsons at Clear Lake, and made his way back to Newcastle.

The tour extended over fourteen weeks and pap arrived home late in the season. The outcome of the trip gave very gratifying results. During the following two years there was such an inflow of settlers that the future of our city seemed assured although other sections of the country, also, were receiving their quota of newcomers.

Improvement Activities.

There was a continuous round of chopping and logging-bees throughout the winter to prepare material for building purposes. Father was kept busy locating claims, advising for business ventures and improvement, and in swapping land to satisfy any disgruntled settler. He arranged to furnish material for house, store and mill building, while some of the new arrivals furnished cash for the equipment and operation of enterprises.

The present-day rapid methods of land-seekers and promoters doubtless would have turned the heads of our pioneer immigration agents although they were not slow in

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grasping the situation. Funk brothers and Talman Wiltsey not only bought land for speculation but they loaned money at 24 per cent interest. Nels Omstead declared he borrowed money at 40 per cent, and profited on the deal. The enterprises of the Wilson brothers form a large part of the town's-later history and are too well known to require repetition.

It has been reported that in many Iowa towns bankers bought government land on time at $1.25 per acre, and sold for $1.75. It then was up to them to dispose of the "stump-tail," "brindle-pup" or "wild-cat" currency.

Store and Tailor Shop.

Immediately after father's return from the East a log store-building was built at Superior and Bank streets and a stock of merchandise was dispensed to customers by Amos Brewer; within a few months, however, the goods were sold to Fritz Snyder. A tailor, Tom Thorpe, had a counter in this store. A hewed log store was erected in 1854, on First street, east of Superior, and Joe Wheeler had charge of the emporium until it was taken over by Lockwood, and later by Paine; after which a second structure was joined to the first and the double log building became a combination store and tavern.

The staples carried by all early supply-stations were: tea, coffee, tobacco, ammunition and whisky. Goods were swapped for hides, furs, venison, wool or any produce which could be disposed of in Des Moines or Iowa City. Whisky, in addition to being sold at stores was dispensed at taverns and often was kept by private families in keg or barrel lots. The domestic supply, however, was for neighborly distribution.

Liquor was served at early gatherings from a pail with dipper or gourd, free to all unless there were a voluntary expense contribution. Whisky sold from twenty-five to fifty cents a gallon and was about equal in strength to a yoke of oxen. Occasionally a man drank to excess but it

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was the exception instead of the rule. It was quite as common for the men-folk hospitably to pass the whisky-flask to one another at a camp meeting as at a political gathering.

Talman Wiltsey and wife and the Beach brothers came west at the same time. They stayed with our family until their cabins could be built during the summer of 1854, after which time Wiltsey kept supplies and entertained many travelers and newcomers. The cabin later was used as a stable. The Beach brothers, Dave, Than and Ben, located and built on their claims in the west part of town. Their house also was a stopping place for land-lookers. Almost every cabin served as a tavern on a small scale.

Tom Thorpe, our first tailor, made a suit of clothes for my nineteen year old brother. It was his first store suit and cost nine dollars; a part of the payment was made in venison. The vest material was black satin with red flowers in relief. Following the regulation homespun and hickory it furnished a notable contrast as a splendid specimen of sartorial art, and accentuated the expression of nature's method of attracting the opposite sex by the display of beautiful colors. Other young men were equally prodigal in personal adornment; the Schultz and Lyon boys being the possessors of hand-embroidered waistcoats.

There were, likewise, within the ranks of the older men many fancy jerkins in evidence at evening gatherings. I believe Norval Hellen was the alleged leader for novelty along this line. The prize garment was made from the skin of a pet calf. The brown and white mottled calfskin vest and the shining plug hat worn by Hellen, will be remembered by many as the distinguishing marks of his apparel. Doeskin vests were quite common.

The hat worn by my father was a stiff model about half the height of the sik tile of today. This was the regulation summer head-piece for men who did not wear straw-platts. John Maxwell had no time for tailors. He declared his wife made him a pair of trousers from a perfectly good strip of striped hemp carpet. Nels Omstead asserts that knee-britches made from a couple of grain sacks can't be

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beaten for wear or for looks when worn by one of slender; graceful build, especially when the rope puckering-string is knotted into a bow and hangs outside the boot-tops.

Third Meeting Place.

Immediately after the removal of Joe Wheeler's mercantile stock to First street, as recorded elsewhere, the day and Sunday-school sessions were transferred to the residence now owned by Maggie L. Smith, on Bank street, between Wilson avenue and Seneca street. The building was erected in 1854 as a public meeting place. Amos Brewer acted as schoolmaster until the change was made to the Shipp property on Division street. The ministerial circuit-riders mentioned in another chapter did some work at this point, but by this time denominational grouping was advancing.

I have followed the line of public meetings thus far only because it had not been before made clear from the early years. The town's political history from 1852 is well known. It has been well written by others. I only will state that the counties of Yell and Risley were united in 1853 and called Webster. Father was active in the effort to subdivide Webster county and establish the county-seat at Newcastle. The general assembly of Iowa convened in Iowa City and approved, December 1856, the bill to divide the county of Webster and create the new county of Hamilton with our village established as the county-seat. Father died a few days before this legislative approval of our political plans. He, however, had had no previous knowledge of an effort to change the name of the town. He died unaware of the fact that Newcastle, which he had founded, and named, and loved, passed out of existence as his own life ebbed, and Webster City came into existence in its stead.

Pioneer Amusements.

Superior street, the main thoroughfare, was laid out wider than the others and was to be used as a race course.

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It permitted a long, straight stretch of track from the present location of the Illinois Central railway tracks on the north, to Brewer's creek on the south. Many fast "hosses" have been ridden over this speedway.

Horse-racing and bowery dancing were the usual amusements at public pioneer gatherings. The eastern exposure of the Wilson avenue hillside between Walnut and Pleasant streets served as a natural amphitheater for witnessing the horse races. No residences obstructed the view and settlers from miles around attended the sports.

Of course, there were always the discussions of the present and future possibilities or "hosses" entered-their build and blood, their gait and weight, their age and achievements. There was, invariably, the "hoss" that NEARLY wins, and his disgruntled owner. I suppose there never was a pioneer horse-race where money or its equivalent did not change hands by betting. Most pioneer preachers were "hoss-fanciers." Elder Housework was a notable example. He would abandon a ministerial trip if racing dates could not be arranged to accommodate him. Major Brassfield would travel miles to be present at a race. I do not know whether his horses ever won money or not, but I do know that he kept racers as long as he lived. His bay mare or grey geldin' and his sorrel or "claybank hoss" at least were winners in their talking points when explained by the owner. The members of our family, likewise, were admirers of good horse flesh but I do not remember that they were very successful in picking winners.

The sport of dog-fighting occasionally was indulged, and canine points were quite as enthusiastically extolled as those of the equine family. Wrestling always was staged with numerous contestants. A mat referee of today would have had a bad time deciding a pioneer "rassel." It was not unusual for the winner to settle the losers by fighting them in the street.

Foot-racers and the hop-skip-and-jump champions always were in evidence with the usual wordy accompaniment, and the records detailed-at this distance-would

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make the present-day pole-vaulter or modern marathon champion look to his laurels. Shooting-matches usually were side-issues. They were not so generally amusing as the sports and drew only the small bunch of "dead-shots" or aspiring riflemen.

The test of ox-strength was a frequent diversion. A lizard was loaded with "nigger-heads" and the contesting yokes of cattle alternately tried out. The winners, of course, pulled the heaviest load.

The ox "tug-o'-war" was a strenuous proceeding. The two yokes were headed in opposite directions and the pulling chains fastened to heavy beam double-trees. It was necessary for one yoke of cattle to pull the other yoke backward ten feet in order to win the contest.

The exhibition was an exciting one. If a chain gave way the oxen pitched head-foremost to the ground and the free end of the log chain became a dangerous weapon. John Butler's oxen and our yoke of bulls usually were the best bets. The cattle were so evenly matched that the loss of a pull by either yoke was attributed to a "leetle" too much excitement.

Bowery Dance; Picnic Dinners.

The early bowery dance was held in any natural grove chosen by the entertainers. The ground was smoothed and rolled until it was firm, then swept clean for the dancing surface. Later, platforms were laid and pole frames supported the cut greenery of vines and branches.

Anyone who wished to dance was at liberty to do so and the women accepted the invitation of any man who solicited their assistance-whether the partners were quite agreeable to them or not. There were wall flowers in the olden days; not from neglect, however, but because the girls did not care to dance. The fact that a girl could not dance was no excuse. She was unceremoniously inducted into the cotillion and soon learned from actually executing the figures.

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A pleasant anticipation was the picnic dinners served at Independence Day or other summer "getherin's." We did not have the culinary delicacies or pastry creations which were served later but everybody dined as a big family and visited with all the settlers. When the big circular spread of tablecloths was made on the ground and the victuals placed, the children were not told to go back and wait-as was the case when there was company at home; but they were treated with, at least, a semblance of the deference shown to children today.

Pioneer children were not, however, in the predicament of a recent writer whose childhood's lines were cast in the period of "waiting till the second table." He declares that until he was grown he did not know there were any parts to a chicken except the neck and back. In the "airly" days the supply of cooked chicken or wild fowl was limited only by the capabilities of the cooks in preparing them.

No, we did not have frosted cake and ice cream but we did have salt risin' bread with jam spreadin' and berry pie which was quite good enough for us.

Conversing with Joth Lyon a short time before his death he said of the early picnics: "Eating with the grown-ups was a treat, and sprawling on the ground while doing it was equal to two treats. It was sure-enough fun to be told by the heads of families to: 'jest sail right in everybody; retch and help yourselves and don't be bashful.' Yes, there was some difference from the home method of standing stiffly at the table, having the plate for two to eat from, filled with victuals you didn't want and be told to clean it up before you could have any more-well, Sairy, they were good old times, anyway."

Snap and Ketch 'Em.

Some games were played at all early dancing parties usually kissing games. "Snap-and-ketch-'em" furnished about as strenuous exercise as the "jig-time" dances. A couple sat on chairs in the middle of the room with arms

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interlocked and chairs braced. A girl snapped her fingers at a young man and the fun started. Around and around the center couple they ran the girl dodging, ducking and evading the clutch and doubling tactics of the speeding pursuer.

The sprinting qualities were well tested amid the cheers and jeers, the titters and tee-hees and the smart sallies of the crowd before the victim-perhaps purposely slowing down --finally was captured. At this interesting point the young man's troubles often had just begun. The forfeit of a kiss for the catching was contested quite as energetically as the race had been. There was uproarious laughter and such encouraging expressions from the on-lookers as: "Kiss 'er, Bill!" "Look-ee, he can't do it," "Do you want some help, Bill?" "Liza Jane's too much for 'im," "Don't do so much foolin', the rest o' us want a chance."

The performance proved the endurance and persistence of both contestants and the tussel ended only with the voluntary surrender of the girl or taking the kiss by the exercise of adroit generalship or the application of superior strength..

An anemic, white-livered young man could not have passed muster with pioneer girls, and he would have been made miserable as the butt of constant ridicule by both boys and girls. To gain favor men had to be able--not to say anxious--to take their part at play or work and in self or family defense.

"Getherin's."

The announcement that a neighbor was to have a "getherin'" did not mean he was scheduled for an abscess in some portion of his anatomy. When we heard Uncle Peter Lyon or Aunt Nancy Stanley was to have a "getherin'," we knew there was to be a party of some kind-usually a dance.

There were periods, after settlement was somewhat advanced, when "getherin's" were announced or nearly

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every night in the week either near home, at Homer, Hook's Point, Fort Dodge, Liberty, Mineral Ridge or Marshall. town and the attendants thought no more of making the trip in lumber wagons, bob-sleds, on horseback or afoot, than we do today of an excursion on the train.

My two brothers, Jack and Roll, were frequent attendants. Jack never danced a step in his life, but Roll would dance every night if the opportunity presented itself. He told of an occasion when he walked from Batch Grove to Homer to attend a dance. Starting in the morning, two deer were shot on the way to Newcastle. The skins were removed and carried home where he arrived for dinner and the journey to Homer was resumed early in the afternoon.

The dancing party disbanded after daylight the next morning, and Roll, with a couple of companions reached home about two o'clock P. M. They were preparing to retire when word reached us that Major Brassfield was to have a "getherin'" at his home near Liberty. The boys at once made ready for the trip on our horse and two borrowed ponies.

The water was high. They rode off the bank of the river at about the Weedman place and reached the opposite bank in safety. Swimming the river would not have been necessary as they could have circled the bend and reached their destination without crossing at all, but the north trail was thought to be better. Roll declared that but for the tall grass and bushes waving and striking him in the face he would have gone to sleep riding along the way.

They arrived at the Major's about dusk and were cordially greeted by the host who casually remarked: "Boys, maybe you will see a fracas before this dance is over." The boys immediately were all attention, but the Major merely said: "Just wait and see."

There were several young men from the Fort Dodge district who had been attending neighborhood parties and became unduly hilarious and boisterous in their manner. The Major decided the way to preserve order was to nip

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disorder in the bud and he delegated himself a committee of one to do the nipping. He announced the "getherin'" a week in advance. The night arrived and the expected disturbers appeared.

The dance progressed to midnight and the Fort Dodgers began to talk loud and repeat the words of the fiddler as he "called off" the cotillion changes. Half jokingly they tried to trip the visitors, made sport of the missteps of the dancers and systematically sought to annoy them.

The Major walked up to the burliest of the bunch, took hold of the shoulder of the offender and forcibly faced him about. "See here, young man," said he, "I never have struck a man without giving him warning what to expect, but I never warn a man the second time. You behave while you are in my house or you go out of it to the buryin'ground, and the rest of your crowd will go the same way if they interfere."

His grip of steel, his powerful frame and the glint in his eye evidently impressed the disturbers for they answered not a word. The Major continued: "I'm goin' to attend every "getherin' " in this neighborhood this season and I'm goin' to be in the same mind I am tonight. I never draw a bead on anything but once! I never strike anyone but once! I never warn anyone but once!" He folded his arms across his breast and quietly requested the musician to resume his work. The dance progressed without further interruption and the neighbors were relieved of the anxiety of possible future trouble.

It often was necessary for pioneers to act as their own policemen. They never shirked the responsibility and usually performed the work-at least to their own satisfaction.

Pole Swings.

Pole swings were about as freely patronized as the present hazardous sports of the amusement parks. Poles, say fifteen feet long, were peeled and dressed to about three or four inches in diameter. Two clevis-shaped bands of

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iron were fitted over a strong limb and bolted to the upper ends of the poles. When the lower ends were put through holes in a piece of puncheon and secured with wooden pins the swing was ready for operations.

Swings were made wide enough for two persons to sit side by side but that line was not often followed. Permitting a man to pull a rope attached to the seat, or allowing some one to "run under" the swingers was too tame and inactive for full-grown, healthy pioneers. Only the very old or the very young were given assistance.

The usual method was two venturesome candidates stood up in the swing facing each other. They were given a start or took a running start for themselves. As the swaying poles reached the farthest point of vibration, the person representing the higher body bent his knees, leaned backward and pushed until the point of equilibrium was passed, when his body gradually assumed the upright position. On the return swing of the poles the opposite person duplicated the action of the first.

The resistance soon was overcome and the participants were becoming acquainted with the treetops. The two who could "work themselves up" to the point of describing the lower half circle, or force the swing to a horizontal with the limb to which it was fastened were thought to be both muscular and courageous.

When the exertion of the swingers ceased the slowing down began. If the couple were a young man and a young woman, they usually sat down facing each other and "let the old cat die" quite as poetically--or prosaically--as young people do today; unless some strong-armed joker succeeded in catching the flying rope starter and jerking the occupants from their seat.

Pole swings were maintained for a long time in the grove west of Prospect and north of Second street, also north of the Illinois Central railway tracks and in the woods south of Brewer's creek.

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Dances.

I remember very well the first dance I ever attended away from home. It was at the cabin of _ a neighbor on what now is the F. D. Young farm south of town. My brothers and I walked the entire distance and enjoyed the recreation, notwithstanding the fact that the road led through hazel-brush, gooseberry thickets, fields of Spanish-needles and begger-lice burs.

Father had brought to me from Des Moines a light calico dress and some red ribbon for neck and hair. My mother finished the dress for the dance, and the costume was quite a change from the homespun and home-dyed daily apparel. The outfit was given to me as a reward for working in the field during father's absence on his trip to the fort.

The young lads of the neighborhood and the bachelors who attended dances, mutton-tallowed their boots and ordered fried pork for supper the evening before a "shindig" so they might ham-gravy their hair into subjection. The work usually was so well done that the foreheads and necks of the subjects shone with grease throughout the evening. Laundering the bed clothes was a progressive problem since a thorough hair-greasing usually lasted from one dance date to another.

The hair-oiling with many families, in addition to the beautifying process, served a further purpose of reducing the activities of vermin to the extent, and in the proportion of generosity and frequency of the application. The families unafllicted with the scalp-disturbers assumed that a "preventive is better than a cure," so followed the fashion.

Anointing the head was common to both young men and young women, and a grease-spot on the shoulder of a hickory shirt told the same tale that a powder-patch on the Prince Albert coat tells today.

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Dancing Costumes.

My father and mother did not dance but they were enthusiastic entertainers. The evening the Beach brothers arrived in town they attended a party at our house.

The boys became hilarious as they viewed the barn-door breeches worn by father. The homespun material having been used for some time, had bagged and worn at the knees. My mother, with frugal instinct, had cut off the legs of the garment close to the body; then exchanged the legs, turned them "hind side before" and resewed. This brought the baggy knee-places to the back of the legs and gave the appearance of going in one direction while facing in another.

Working trousers were always close-fitting and high-ankle length. This particular pair having been worn, shrunk and re-seamed soon were seeking the acquaintance of the wearer's calves; but he was undisturbed by the humorous sallies and joined heartily in the merriment at his own expense. The easterners, however, very soon grew accustomed to the eccentricities of necessity.

The appearance of short-legged "pants" was changed somewhat by Jake Funk, Mike McGonigle, Tom Bonebright and others who tucked their abbreviated jeans into their boot-tops. Notwithstanding the popularity of cowhide boots for parties, they were not always in evidence at dancing functions. Among others, John Lyon usually "tripped the light fantastic" without foot-covering. He claimed the "pigeon-wing" figure only could be executed properly when barefooted.

Nels Omstead attended a dance at Homer. Numbers of the guests remained all night and as sleeping accommodations were short he stood with his back to the fireplace and dozed. When daylight arrived Nels found the trousers' legs where they covered his calves were scorched to a crisp and fell into holes when touched, so the grain-sack adornment, mentioned elsewhere, became his Sunday best.

Brad Mason was the Beau Brummel of social gatherings. He wore kid pumps which he had brought from

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Boston and his many fancy dancing steps were the wonder and envy of old and young. His brother, Frank, however, often grasped the overhead beams with his hands and did the double-shuffle in boots which he declared had been made over the end of an ox-yoke.

Frank Mason, on his first visit at our house, with true Bostonian courtesy selected the daughter of the family-- myself--as his partner. He never tired of telling how he enjoyed that evening and he often related the circumstances to my children and grandchildren. Frank declared in his inimitable way, that Johnnie-cake and pumpkin-butter with parched-corn coffee served as refreshments at the entertainment; the account has been the standing joke among the town's-folk for many years.

Walt Wilson's chosen habiliments for a summer social were a straw hat and a long linen duster over his every day clothes. He outclassed the barefooted dancers by wearing socks to protect his feet from the roughness of puncheon floors. Walt never missed a "hop" unless he was sick; and in his own home he and his wife were splendid entertainers.

Jake Funk gallantly, although unconcernedly, accepted the attentions of the young women. Attired in cotton jeans trousers and his "coat of many colors"--so designated because of the patching and repatching which had made the original material invisible--he was a conspicuous figure. Rube Bennett and Nate Prime wore skin-tight trousers which obviated the necessity for knit gallus supports. Many youths in our locality rolled their "britches" legs above the boot tops. An attendant often was made uncomfortable if the jokers discovered "a letter in the post office" and the victim soon made his escape.

The young hunters of the '50's, for cold weather parties, prided themselves in the possession of buckskin breeches. While these garments were not so ornamental as the Wild-West ranch styles they certainly were picturesque in pattern and unique in decoration. The coonskin

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caps-plucked or unplucked-were immense in size and topped a shock of hair, which if unoiled, might compare favorable with that of the biblical temple razer.

For winter trips the deerskin wampus with sheepskin collar was a wonderful wind excluder. Blanket-shawls were worn for many years by the older men. It was not uncommon for the regular bed-blanket to be utilized as a shawl, and the home-woven coverlet was deemed a fancy and desirable lap-robe.

I wish the motion picture artist could have reproduced from the original, one of those old-time "hoe-downs" at which the men kicking, stamping and genuflecting rivaled the antics of Indian dancers. The bashful girls dressed in linsey-woolsey, the sedate women in five-foot hoop-skirts and balloon sleeves, were swung 'round half a dozen times by their partners with such force and velocity that only occasionally did their feet touch the floor.

The fiddler, who carried his Stradivarius in a meal-sack, tuned his instrument and shouted to the company: "Git yer pardners fer a cuttillyun!" While keeping time with feet, head and body he sang along with his music something like this:

First four forward, and side four divide,
Change partners in center, and swing to the side.
and keep on around.

First two to right, and bow to the ground,
Bird in the cage, and three hands around; and balance you all.

Ladies to right, and gents Highland Fling,
Make him a bow, and cheat him or swing; and al a man left.

Ladies to center, and gents walk around,
Pass by your partners, and swine; 'em around; and all promenade.

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On to the next one, salute and sashay,
And double a shuffle, the old-fashioned way;
and grand right and left.
First four to right, and gents do se do,

Half right and left, and ladies do so;
and all hoe it down.

Ladies to center, form star with hands four,
Left hand to partner, and do it some more;
grand right and left, and all run away--

SEATS.

Women's Head-Wear.

Winter head-gear for women was the home-made hood, knitted scarf, nubia or cloud. A blanket shawl was used for heavy muffling. The slat sunbonnet was worn in summer and for a quarter of a century no new design or modification of the old one was made. Home-platted straw hats for girls and close-fitting straw bonnets for the elderly women were the Sunday rule.

The slat sunbonnet usually hung flatly and loosely suspended by the strings upon the wearer's back instead of being worn on the head-especially after the victim was out of sight of Mam's watchful eyes. Whatever could be said in favor of its appearance the sunbonnet was an obstruction to sight and an impediment to hearing, hence, our disinclination to wearing it.

The season, in springtime, when the boys donned their new straw hats was jestingly declared to be the indication for a "wet spell." The wetting which sent the straw-crown into a skyward peak and the rim into a shoulder droop, also affected the slat-sunbonnet. Although the slats were thin wooden strips the water warped them out of shape and it was a question whether the head-wear of boys or girls was in the lead in regard to looks.

Bright-colored sunbonnets with circular cape, buttoned on crown, and ruffle-edged head-piece which was profusely

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corded with candle-wicking, and starched to the stiffness of sheet steel superseded the old black slat-sunbonnet, and were thought to be very artistic.

Shakers were an unusual innovation. These headpieces were of finely woven straw fashioned into a tube-shaped affair about fifteen inches in length, and a trifle greater in circumference than the common stovepipe. One end was woven closed. Placed horizontally, the under surface of about six inches in width was cut away so the shaker slipped on from the back of the head and fitted closely against the wearer's chignon. The extra length of tubing extended beyond the face and seemed to have been designed to prevent women looking in any direction except straight ahead.

The shaker was trimmed with a couple of cloth bands across the straw crown and a fifteen inch linen skirt which fell about the wearer's shoulders. The color of the trimming was black, or at least, neutral. Bright colors for hats or clothing were discouraged and often severely censured.

The flare-faced poke bonnet marked the extreme opposite from the shaker, and was a humming-bird in comparison with this inartistic and uncomfortable crown-piece.

A distinctive head-dress for a few years, was worn by young matrons. Assuming the responsibilities of wifehood automatically acquired the right--or perhaps the obligation-- to wear a lacy, frilled, white cap either covering the top and back of the head or circling the face and tying under the chin. One of the most beautiful memory pictures of my mother is one in which she wore her fluffy white cap.

The custom of cap-wearing for women soon was discontinued; the reason perhaps was a scarcity of the proper material for their making. Old grannies, however, wore caps, but the color of cloth and trimming was limited to the quantity and kind on hand-usually neutral or black. The members of some families wore night-caps but ours did not.

Hair always was dressed very plainly. It was smoothed down over the ears and fastened at the back of the head

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with a tucking comb, which sometimes was of immense size. If curls were worn and side-combs used, a style admired was the plain shell-band with a row of white button-like decorations. The hair of young girls was bobbed a long neck-length and held back from the face with a circle comb or a strip of cloth. This "bobbing" process was almost identical for the men but they parted the hair at an angle of forty-five degrees and tucked the ends under, forming a roll about the ears and neck.

Bloomers; Dresses.

The first pair of bloomers I ever saw were brought to Newcastle in 1852. The unusual style for women had been introduced in the East a season or two before and was worn here by a refined and cultured young woman named Martha Bellville.

The costume was more picturesque than the bloomer-suits of today. The skirt reached only to the knees, and the narrow-legged pantalets extended a little more than midway between the knees and ankles. When we compare the six foot hoopskirt and these abbreviated, narrow bloomers the contrast is quite marked, but Martha wore the garments at home and in public.

Miss Bellville married Brint Webster, a pioneer of Newcastle. He died within a few years. Mrs. Webster visited me at my home in Webster City about 1897. She was earning a livelihood in public work and wore the regular style of dress for women.

The year's gown-list for a girl usually included a linsey-woolsey dress with blue, yellow or brown checks for winter. Linsey-woolsey dresses never wore out. One had to outgrow them before another was provided. The skirt was tucked and could be lengthened as one grew tall, but as the body expanded the waist and sleeves became vice-like in their grip. The arm covering receded to the elbows and the buttons were torn from their moorings before the garment was handed down to the next of kin in the female line.

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Two factory-coarse muslin-dresses were provided for summer wear. Originally white, one of these dresses was dyed black with logwood, or a dark brown with the juice from walnut hulls or bark. The other was dyed yellow with copperas. Variety in colors for sheepskin robes and chair cushions, and for carpet stripes were obtained by combining bluing dye with copperas for a handsome green in lights or darks as the strength of the dye permitted. Dyed material "set" with chamber-lye was declared to be "fast" colors. The pioneers' dye-pots were almost as indispensable as the stew-kettles for nearly all weaving and knitting stock was hand-dyed.

When denim came into use, blue and brown denim dresses were provided for girls. For Sunday wear they were quite scrumptious in style with two or three bias factory stripes, hand-stitched, about the lower circumference of the skirt and two stripes over the shoulders. The denim of fifty years ago also wore indefinitely.

A young woman's wardrobe was unusually well supplied if it contained a figured delaine or merino gown for party wear. My first delaine dress was purchased at Meservey's store in Homer. The ground weave was a dark purple over which meandered a bright green vine profusely supplied with yellow berries. The dress was made with a close-fitting waist and full skirt; but the combination of colors or quaint dressmaking did not discourage the attentions of Johnnie Prime, an account of whose trip as my escort is related elsewhere.

Wadded and quilted petticoats undoubtedly were designed for comfort but they were the embodiment of inartistic heaviness and the end of the limit for inefficiency. Instead of serving the purpose of warmth the wearer's nether limbs were half frozen beneath its balloon-like expanse. It had, notwithstanding, one redeeming feature. When outgrown it could be slit open and used as a bed-pad or for a horse blanket:

Young children kept pretty close to nature during the summer months, the encumbrance of clothing being but a

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home-woven, tow-cloth shirt, knee length. Mud and water did not soil or damage shoes and stockings that were not worn, and the absence of underwear reacted favorably on the laundry list. Children were not alone in their lack of the last named item of apparel for grown-ups were not handicapped with an over-supply of underclothing.

My First Beau.

The White-Fox school house was built in 1854, and Josie Middleton chosen as teacher. Many revival meetings were held at White-Fox and the attendants usually made the trip on foot. I have walked to the meetings scores of times with my girl chums.

It was from a White-Fox gathering that Johnnie Prime, my first beau, escorted me home. On the memorable occasion we dropped behind the crowd of pedestrians to escape their joking remarks. While too bashful to converse we pursued our way along the brush-lined road approaching the river.
Suddenly we were startled--at least I was--by what seemed to be the bark of wolves a short distance ahead of us. We hurried along" hoping" to pass the danger zone in safety. The yelps from the adjacent thickets seemed so close that, momentarily, we expected to be attacked. Perhaps I was too frightened to scream for help from the company ahead of us or perhaps I was hoping Johnnie could beat the beasts single-handed; anyway, I waited for my escort's initiative.

The young man drew his bowie-knife and we hastened onward. Having gained the last clump of underbrush near the river I drew a breath of relief when from the dark thicket at our very heels sprang two creatures on all fours. Involuntarily I screamed with fright but Johnnie was game and sprang upon one of the objects with murderous intent. The practical jokers sidestepped the attack and a roar of laughter signalled the company at the river's bank who were awaiting the outcome of the joke on us.

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Names.

The wife and husband of the family commonly were called "mam" and "pap"; but they spoke of each other as "my man" and "my woman." To designate father from son, the former was called "old" and the latter by the first name as: "Old" Prime and John; or they were called the first names as: "Nate" Prime and John.

Tallman, Maria and 'Gene represented the Wiltsey family. Maria was pronounced Ma-ri, as two syllables with the long sound of "i" accented. Later the use of given names declined somewhat and the family name as: "Pray," "Stoddard," "Johnson" became popular.

"Grandpap" and "granny" were the names applied to aged members of the family although no disrespect was intended in so naming them. We familiarly spoke of "Grandpap" and "Granny" Frakes; and the same designations applied to Joe Peabody and wife. The old doctor-women likewise, were called "granny." Our two early midwives were "Granny" Prime and "Granny" Peabody.

Nearly every family, doubtless with the desire to ex.press affection, called two of its small members "Bubby" and "Sissy." These diminutives gradually were shortened to "Bub" and "Sis," and the baptismal name finally was applied.

Middle-aged neighbors often were called "uncle" and "aunt" whether or not any blood relationship could be traced. "Aunt Nancy" and "Uncle Billy" were the names applied to the Stanleys. "Aunt Peggy" and "Uncle Peter" were recognized as father and mother of one of the Lyon families. "Uncle Jakey" and "Uncle Ike" referred respectively to Paine and Lyon.

"Mam" and "pap" gave place as time passed to "maw" and "paw"; later these titles were shortened to "ma" and "pa"; still later they were trimmed to the infantile appellations "mama" and "papa." These now have been superseded by "mother" and "daddy." Recently a college professor has recommended that children call their

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parents by the given names. This educator also favors calling children by their real names, such as: Margaret Ann, Jerusha Jane, Jonathan Peter or Samuel Jacob, instead of the widely applied and meaningless misnomers, dear, darling and sweetheart.

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Chapter 10