OLD TIMES.
REMINISCENCES OF THE EARLY I)AYS 01'F MICHIGAN.
AN- A i) i)m s r-  BY
GOV. JOHN J. BAGLEY
1BEFORE THE
CASS [OUNTY PIONEER   SSOCI ATION,
WEDNESDAY, JITNE 21, 187i.
DET OIT:T
WMA. xRAIIAMT'  SIREAM P)I{ESSEC;, 52 BA TES STREET.
1  876.1








OLD TIMES.
REMINISCENCES OF THE EARLY DAYS OF
MICHIGAN.
GOV. BAGLEY AT THE CASS COUNTY PIONEER PICNIC.
The pioneers of Cass County held a general festival and picnic
at Cassopolis on Wednesday, the 21st, and among those who
contributed to the reminiscences of the occasion was Gov. Bagley.
He spoke as follows:
MY FRIENDS-If you had asked me to come here and talk of
politics-if you had invited me to "make a speech," I should not
have come, but when you said, "come and talk of old times and
early days," I could not say no. We find in the dictionary that
the verb pioneer means to go before-prepare the way for. The
noun pioneer meant originally a foot soldier or foot passengerone who goes before to remove obstructions or prepare the way
for others. How fully we who have been pioneers appreciate and
understand these technical definitions of the word, and yet how
incomplete and imperfect they are! Foot passengers, indeed, we
were. It was easier to walk than to ride, but whether it was or
not, we walked. The few household goods we owned, the spin



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ning wheel and the family oven, filled the wagon, and mother
and the children chinked into the spare places, and we and the
dog walked. Preparers of the way, indeed, were we. The roads
we built, the log bridges we threw across the streams we did not
destroy, but left for those who were to come after us. The
pioneer was unselfish. He cared not whether friend or foe was
behind him; if he could make his way any more easy, he was
glad of it. He felt that he was in partnership with the world"a fellow feeling made him wondrous kind."  He was the advance
guard of an army-countless in numbers, irresistible in its power
-an army that knew no such word as fail and listened to no order
for retreat.
The pioneer was the child of progress. Ile looked up, and
not down; forward, and not back. Behind him was the past, before
him the future. He felt that the wise men came from the East,
and took courage. The needle of his compass always pointed
westward, and he followed it.
Our pioneer dreamed dreams and saw visions. He dreamed
of the old home on the hillside of New England or the quiet
valleys of New York-of gray-haired father and mother, watching
from the low door-way the departing children, or perchance
sleeping in the village churchyard; perhaps of smaller green
mounds covering his John or Kate-or of the country church,
where theologic dust knocked from the pulpit cushion in the good
old orthodox way, had so often closed his eyes and ears on drowsy
Sunday afternoons-or of the spelling bee or singing school, where
he first met the country lass
"Who tying her bonnet under her chin,
Had tied the young man's heart within,"




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and kept it tied forever after His dreams were of the yesterdays-his visions were of to-morrow.    He foresaw   hard
work and hard times, back-ache and heart-ache, blue days and
weary nights, but he saw too in the dim future the town, the
village, the city, the county, the State, an empire of itself-he saw
thousands of homes and hundreds of thousands of owners, happy,
prosperous people-he saw schools and churches, factories and
fertile fields, institutions of science and learning-he saw capital
and labor, brain and body, mind and muscle, all employed in the
advancement of civilization, and the permanent improvement of
mankind. And of all this he was to be a part and parcel. What
visions were these! Do you wonder that the pioneer was a pioneer,
brave, cheerful and faithful?
Though his visions were grand, the realization is grander still.
He builded better than he knew, but with abundant faith in the
future, adopted as the motto of the State "Si quleris peninslulia
amcenam circucmspice," (if thou seekest a beautiful peninsula behold it
here), and thanks to his strong right arm and courageous heart,
we do behold it-covered with quiet villages, thriving cities, fruitful
fields and blooming orchards, dotted all over with happy homes,
with schools and colleges, churches and public institutions that tell
the story of a civilization, grand in its conception, and mighty in
its progress. This is the handiwork of the pioneer, the ripened
crop of the white covered wagon.
We look back to the old times, as hard times, and so they
were; full hearts and empty purses, hard work and plenty of it,
shivering ague'and wasting fever were the common lot of our
early settlers, yet they had their share of good times too, and were
free from many a plague that annoys their children.




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Hard money and soft money were not debatable questions.
You may remember the story of the man who, when he heard
that the Bank of Constantine had failed said, "His heart came into
his mouth when he heard of it, and he rushed home and to the
bureau drawer, when he found he hadn't any Constantine money
or any other sort.' He was a pioneer.
Butter and eggs were pin-money; wheat paid the store-keeper;
sled-length knotty wood that wouldn't make fence rails paid the
minister, while an occasional pig or a grist of corn or wheat paid
the doctor. Trade was the order of the day-the necessity of the
time. And so we traded and dickered and swapped, exchanging
products and helping one another; and while in the outside world
bankers talked of stocks and values-politicians quarreled over
tariffs and free trade, and statesmen wrote of the laws of trade,
of corporations, monopolies, finance, etc., etc., somehow or other,
in our trading and dickering we managed to grow a little better
off from year to year.
Quarrelsome school meetings were unknown in those days.
We never fought over the question of whether we should build a
three story school-house with a basement or a four story one
without, or whether we should put a cupola or a mortgage on it.
We built our log school-house, set the teacher at work and boarded
him round the neighborhood.
The religious life of the pioneer was free from sectarianism.
The itinerant minister doing his Master's work was always
welcome to home and hearth-stone. The school-house was open
to him, regardless of his creed.  He baptized and buried and
married and asked no questions, and got but few fees.
The different schools of medicine let the pioneer kindly alone.




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The boneset and wormwood, pennyroyal and catnip that hung on
the chimney breast or the rafters in the roof were commonly
enough; but if not, when we called in the hard-worked, poorlypaid, yet patient and jolly doctor, we did not question his "pathy"
or his diploma. It may have been parchment or paper, from a
college on earth, or in no man's-land, but we were sure his pills
would be big enough, and that we could safely trust his jalap and
cream of tarter, his calomel and quinine.
Questions of domestic economy and home discipline that do
worry the best of us now-a-days gave the pioneer but little trouble.
No dispute could be gotten up over the pattern of the parlor
carpet, for they hadn't any-or if they had, it was of rags.
The fashion plates did not reach the woods in those days, and
Jane's bonnet and Charlie's coat were worn regardless of style
till they were worn out, and then they were made over for the
younger children. Who called first, and who called last, and
who owed calls, were not debatable questions with our mothers;
they visited when they had time and wanted to-and when they
didn't they stayed at home.
Insurance agents did not worry the pioneer-his log house
was fire proof. Patent-right peddlers haunted him  not, for
necessity made him his own inventor. Lightning-rod agents,
smooth-tongued and oily, let him alone, as lightning had no terrors
for him. The jaunty, affable sewing-machine man had not been
born to trouble the souls of our mothers.  Mellifluous melodeons
were not set up in the parlor on trial. The robins and the
frogs, the orioles and the owls made music enough for him.
The height and color, the architecture and structure of the
first house gave us no uneasiness. It was built of logs any way.




6
If we were inclined to be extravagant we painted the door and
window casings red, making the paint of buttermilk and brick
dust. The pathway to the gate was lined with pinks and fouro'clocks, sweet williams and larkspur-(Latin names for American
flowers had not been invented then.) Hollyhocks and sunflowers
lifted their stately heads at either end of the house; morningglorys climbed gracefully over the two front windows, and the
hop vine, with its drooping bells, crept quietly over the door.
The patent pump, or rattling wind-mill were as yet unknown,
the well-sweep lifted its awkward hand as if beckoning one to
quench his thirst from "the old oaken bucket that hung in the
well."
On questions of public policy the pioneer had decided opinions.
His New England or New York education had fixed these firm
and unchangeable, and the partisans of Jackson and Clay, Van
Buren and Harrison argued their respective merits and demerits,
as warmly as we do to-day. But office-seekers were scarce and
office-holders scarcer, though they existed then, as now, a sort of
necessary evil.
One of the most prominent characteristics of the old time was
the universal hospitality and helpfulness that abounded everywhere. The latch string ran through the door. The belated
traveler was sure of rest at the first house. Everybody was
ready to help in case of accident to wagon or cattle. "Lend a
hand " was the motto of the pioneer. Teams were hitched together
for breaking up; in harvest time the neighbors cradled and raked
and bound for one another; when one went to mill, he went for
the neighborhood; logging bees and husking bees, quilting bees
and raisings were play-spells. We boast, and very justly too, of




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all that machinery has done for us, and especially in the field of
agriculture; but has it ever occurred to you how much it has done
to make machines of us? We have no need to call upon our
neighbor for help in the harvest field-the reaper takes his place.
The old fashioned quilting, with its gossip and talk, its evening
frolic and games, has departed. The sewing machine does the
work of willing hands in the long ago. We are not as dependent
or as generous in these days as in the old ones. We ask less, and
of course give less.
We are richer and the world is richer for its inventions, though
I cannot help thinking that the swelling of our pocket-books is
accompanied by a shrinking of our hearts. Whether this be so
or not, the hospitality, tie generosity, the helping hand and kindly
heart that made "the world akin" when we were young, are
worth remembering and imitating as we grow old.
The pioneer was a worker.
"From toil he wins his spirits light,
From busy day the peaceful night;
Rich, from the very want of wealth,
In heaven's best treasures-peace and health."
I don't know that he loved work any better than we do, but
he had to do it, and every body around him, wife and children,
worked to. " God and the angels were the only lookers-on" in
the old time.
The boys held the plough and the girls held the baby. The
wife rocked the cradle and ran the spinning wheel at the same
time, and to the same tune. To get the- trees out and the crops
in was the ambition of the family, and they all helped.
When I hear a farmer, who has cleared up his farm, built his




8
buildings, planted his orchards, and is out of debt, all from the
sweat of his own brow, say "I have done my share, I mean to
sit on the fence and see somebody else work hereafter," I honor
him for the good work of his younger days and for the good sense
of his latter ones, and devoutly say, amen. Now I confess I don't
like hard work, and presume you don't; yet in these times of
depression and financial distress, when statesmen or men who
think they are statesmen, financiers, and political economists are
groping in the dark for some measures of relief, proposing all
sorts of impossible schemes, legislating this way and that-calling
a dollar two dollars if you owe a debt, and fifty cents if somebody
owes you —imagining that an act of Congress may prove a
magician's wand by which hard times may be waved away and
good times beckoned in, I sometimes think that the only path
that will lead us back to prosperity is the highway of labor, productive industry, old fashioned hard work, that will enable us to
produce more than we consume, earn more than we spend and
export more than we import.
Too many of us are trying to get a living without work, by
trading in something-operating, as it is called in fashionable commercial circles-or in some way that is comfortable and easy and,
as we think, respectable.
I do not wonder at this; it is natural and I see no blame in it,
but it is not healthful. None of us want our boys to have quite
as hard a time as we had when we were boys, (I know I don't
for one), the boy's heart that still beats under our vest says this,
but as plain, practical men I am not sure but we do our boys an
injury in this feeling.
At all events we should hold up to them the idea that the law of




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labor is the law of humanity, that work is honorable, dignified
and profitable, and the sort of stuff that men are made of.
A world without heroes would indeed be a poor one. We in
America have had our full share, and in this year of all others we
love to talk of them. Heroes of every generation are the common
legacy of our citizenship, and how fondly, yet boastingly, we
recall the names on the long roll of honor; with what honest pride
we recount the heroic acts that adorn every page of our history;
with what tender remembrance have we embalmed in our memories the actors.
"Their swords are rust,
Their bones are dust,
Their souls are with the saints we trust."
When we remember Michigan as it was forty years ago, and
see it as it is to-day, we realize that " Peace hath her victories no
less renowned than war," and that we too have our heroes, whose
laurels have been gained in the paths of peace-conquerors not
of their fellow men but of nature itself.
The man who steps on to a forty or eighty acre lot of wild
land with only his ax for a helper, and says "Here is to be my
home-here me and mine shall, by-and-by, sit under the shade of
our own vine and tree-here shall be rest and peace and quiet
content"-is indeed a hero.
His banner is always a flag of truce, his trophies the fallen tree
and burning log-heap, his reward, the prosperity and happiness,
that blesses us to-day. In his work the wife and mother have
done their share, and if we christen him a hero, we must not forgel that they are heroines, enduring privation without complaint,
rearing the family in the fear of God and to habits of industry,
helping neighbor and stranger alike, foremost in school and church




10
work, with a kindly greeting for tired husband or boy, with good
words for the faint-hearted beginner, or weary new-comer; have
they not earned our adoration, are they not heroines indeed?
The one grand impelling power that directed the pioneer was
the idea of hoime. He left the home of his boyhood, not to float
idly on the world's surface, not to tarry here a while and there a
while, but with the fixed, firm purpose of founding a home of his
own.   He knew   that states and communities, cities and villages
would follow his footsteps, but the goal he strove for was home.
For him, "East or West, home's best."     The love of home we
bear to-day is our inheritance from   the fathers, "more to be
desired than gold, yea, than much fine gold, sweeter also than
honey and the honey comb."    Let us cherish it, increase it with
watchful care, and as new swarms go out from    the parent hive,
let them settle in hives of their own, remembering that
"There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While in his looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, husband, brother, friend;
Here woman reigns, the mother, daughter, wife,
Strew with fresh flowers, the narrow way of life!
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of love and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
Art thou a man?-a patriot-look around:
0, thou shalt find, however thy footsteps roam,
That land th? country, and that spot thy home."




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The spirit of unrest, of conquest, and of progress that has
animated the Anglo-Saxon for so many centuries is the spirit of
pioneership. The men and women of the May-flower, when they
cast anchor in Plymouth Bay, saw in the land that gladdened
their eyes a home free from persecution, a land where they could
worship God with freedom and in accordance with the dictates
of their own conscience, and that was all. They knew not that
the hand that guided them in the pursuit of religious freedom had
chosen them as the founders of a nation. They felt not the power
of the spirit of civilization impelling them.
They did not realize that in the wake of their craft, there followed the steamship, the locomotive and the telegraph. In the
little cabin of that vessel the arts and sciences, invention and
discovery, commerce and trade were unseen passengers.
At its masthead floated the simple banner of the cross, and
though the red, white and blue of the December sky hung over
them, they did not see in it the flag of a nation of forty millions
of people.
All this they knew not, for in the small compass of their ken
they only saw the immediate present. They forgot that the blood
of the centuries that flowed in their veins was that of the pioneer.
Our own pioneers-and we too-have not recognized this in
our rovings and migrations.  They, and we set out on our
pilgrimage to find a home for ourselves, and have established
empires and builded States. The divine purposes of the Great
Ruler have been entrusted to the pioneer. He has been the
instrument in subduing the waste places, in civilizing and humanizing the world. The pathway he carved out has become the
highway upon which the world is traveling, bearing in its train




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the civilization of the nineteenth century-laden with the love of
liberty and freedom-freighted with the noblest, highest hopes
of humanity. The great procession is still in motion; it cannot
pause or stop; still there are worlds to conquer-still there is work
for the pioneer.
The Pilgrim  Fathers founded the nation, their sons saved it
and it is ours to preserve and perpetuate. Let us then, in this,
birthyear, highly resolve to be true to the blood of the pilgrim
and the pioneer that courses through our veins. They laid the
foundation strong and sure; it is for us to complete the structure.  Let us see to it then that our work be well done, so that
with us, education and morality, religion and liberty, free thought
and free speech shall abide forever.''For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these,
Leave no yawning gaps between;,
Think not, because no man sees
Such things will remain unseen.
Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky."'