Annals of our ancestors; one hundred and fifty years of history in the ...

THE OLD FARM 79
declared himself liettor and was out in tlie yard and under the
trees all through the long days. The theme in those days
about our father's table was church union and the triumph of
the Gospel over all barriers. The hospitality of the times was
simple and warm, and the memory of the table-talk has
influenced my whole life to better thinking.
In a few weeks Dr. and Mrs. Gatchell returned to the city
with many expressions of gratitude. This is but one instance
where our parents opened their home to the afflicted "without
money and without price." Surely those were days of sincere
Christian hospitality, when it was often said, "How these
Christians love one another!" We considered it a happy day
when father would bring home a carriage load of preachers
from a convention. How I loved to hear them tell of Walter
Scott and Alexander Campbell and see such men as Jasper
Moss and H. R. Pritchard, giants of our childhood! I remember
on one occasion finding Brother Challen and Benjamin
Franklin at breakfast when I came to the table. I can yet
remember those strong preachers of the Reformation as they
looked in their prime. A description of the farm and our
home there would not be complete without a mention of our
honored guests who brought to us so much of the world of
thought.
Our Cincinnati relatives always seemed interested in us,
and would often stop to see us on their way to Hamilton to visit
other members of the family. Among the ones who visited
us was father's cousin, Mary Scudder, who married Elijah
Norton, one of the first ice men of the city. It always pleased
us to find their carriage hitched in front of our gate. They
had a daughter, Joanna Norton Hawk, who was a neighbor
of ours on the north. Her husband was captain of a steamboat
plying between Cincinnati and New Orleans and was a
man of some wealth. Dear Mrs. Norton often visited her
daughter, and I remember to have called at Joanna Hawk's
one day when her mother was there. Joanna and I were gath-
ering flowers when the dear old lady came out with a britannia
teapot in her hand, which she was polishing with a soft piece