<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220</id><updated>2012-02-13T20:51:22.628-05:00</updated><category term='Gold Discovery Rich Poor'/><category term='1880'/><category term='census'/><category term='Long WInter'/><category term='Mercy'/><category term='Portland'/><category term='fire'/><category term='Journalism'/><category term='food'/><category term='Waving Girl'/><category term='prairie'/><category term='ice 1899'/><category term='political'/><category term='Shanghaiing'/><category term='Lighthouse'/><category term='survivor'/><category term='Florence'/><category term='Nellie Bly'/><category term='traveler'/><category term='Tunnels'/><title type='text'>1800's Musings</title><subtitle type='html'>Travel back to nineteenth century America with author Donna L. Rich</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>51</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-113455389464200929</id><published>2011-02-08T13:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-13T13:15:59.691-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mercy'/><title type='text'>Retirement of 1800s Musings</title><content type='html'>It has been a joy to post on my blog from the first post in April 2009 until now. Due to time constraints, I find that I must trim away&amp;nbsp;excess activities.&amp;nbsp;I hope that somewhere along the way&amp;nbsp;my delving&amp;nbsp;into the history of this nation has produced something of value for you as you write in the historical genre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be blessed!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-113455389464200929?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/113455389464200929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=113455389464200929' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/113455389464200929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/113455389464200929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2011/02/retirement-of-1800s-musings.html' title='Retirement of 1800s Musings'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-2363285573027574811</id><published>2011-02-03T04:13:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-03T04:13:00.525-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gold Discovery Rich Poor'/><title type='text'>Ruined by Gold, January 1848</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TUlTVQ3UzFI/AAAAAAAAAJs/yC6wl9Y7h04/s1600/200px-John_Augustus_Sutter_c1850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" s5="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TUlTVQ3UzFI/AAAAAAAAAJs/yC6wl9Y7h04/s200/200px-John_Augustus_Sutter_c1850.jpg" width="133" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;John A. Sutter worked hard for a living after he came to America. After his journey from Germany, to New York, to California, all he wanted was to build a mill to produce lumber to finish his flour mill. He sought out a piece of land near Sacramento. Even though many in the city made fun of him for it and called his choices“folly", he continued to build the mill, hotel, and other buildings in the city he called Coloma. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another “crazy” man, James Marshall, was building the mill at Coloma for Sutter. One day, Marshall came to Sutter’s office, compelled him to secure his office and lock his doors for the information he was about to share.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He told me then that he had some important and interesting news which he wished to communicate secretly to me, and wished me to go with him to a place where we should not be disturbed, and where no listeners could come and hear what we had to say. I went with him to my private rooms; he requested me to lock the door; I complied, but I told him at the same time that nobody was in the house except the clerk, who was in his office in a different part of the house; after requesting of me something which he wanted, which my servants brought and then left the room, I forgot to lock the doors, and it happened that the door was opened by the clerk just at the moment when Marshall took a rag from his pocket, showing me the yellow metal: he had about two ounces of it; but how quick Mr. M. put the yellow metal in his pocket again can hardly be described. The clerk came to see me on business, and excused himself for interrupting me, and as soon as he had left I was told, “now lock the doors; didn’t I tell you that we might have listeners?” I told him that he need fear nothing about that, as it was not the habit of this gentleman; but I could hardly convince him that he need not to be suspicious. Then Mr. M. began to show me this metal, which consisted of small pieces and specimens, some of them worth a few dollars; he told me that he had expressed his opinion to the laborers at the mill, that this might be gold; but some of them were laughing at him and called him a crazy man, and could not believe such a thing.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, Gold Fever, sparked by the discovery at Sutter’s Mill, January 1848, started a downward spiral in Sutter’s life. “What a great misfortune was this gold discovery for me. It has just broken up and ruined my hard, restless, and industrious labors . . .”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read Sutter’s entire article on his gold find at http://www.sfmuseum.org/hist2/gold.html. Above quotes taken from Sutter’s article in the Hutchings’ California Magazine, November 1857&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-2363285573027574811?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2363285573027574811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=2363285573027574811' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/2363285573027574811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/2363285573027574811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2011/02/ruined-by-gold-january-1848.html' title='Ruined by Gold, January 1848'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TUlTVQ3UzFI/AAAAAAAAAJs/yC6wl9Y7h04/s72-c/200px-John_Augustus_Sutter_c1850.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-6750183031774469690</id><published>2011-01-29T04:40:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-29T04:40:00.697-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Waving Girl'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Florence'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lighthouse'/><title type='text'>What One Little Light Can Do</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;If you mention "The Waving Girl" in Savannah, everyone immediately knows you are speaking of Florence Martus. She had become a legend in her own time when, as a nineteen year old, she greeted every ship&amp;nbsp;entering the Savannah seaport&amp;nbsp;and&amp;nbsp;bid farewell to every ship leaving.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;In&amp;nbsp;1887, Florence's father&amp;nbsp;had become&amp;nbsp;employed with the Lighthouse Service. The family moved into the lighthouse keeper’s house on Elba Island. Another account of the story states that Florence was the light keeper’s sister and actually moved to the island with her brother. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TUL2AG8chCI/AAAAAAAAAJM/eA5y56KuvRI/s1600/Photo14966o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="151" s5="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TUL2AG8chCI/AAAAAAAAAJM/eA5y56KuvRI/s200/Photo14966o.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Florence took it upon herself to wave at each ship with a handkerchief by day and a lantern by night. She was quoted as saying, "I was never too sick to get up when one (ship) was coming in, and I could always hear them coming."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Obviously, the blue-eyed girl, who never married, stirred imaginations and romantic legends about who she was and why she spent so much time at her post. On the east end of River Street in Savannah, a seventeen-foot statue of a girl waving her handkerchief, collie at her side, was erected in her honor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Photo taken by Mike Stroud and is posted courtesy of The Historical Marker Database at &lt;a href="http://www.hmdb.org/"&gt;http://www.hmdb.org/&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-6750183031774469690?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6750183031774469690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=6750183031774469690' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6750183031774469690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6750183031774469690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2011/01/what-one-little-light-can-do.html' title='What One Little Light Can Do'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TUL2AG8chCI/AAAAAAAAAJM/eA5y56KuvRI/s72-c/Photo14966o.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-2111676791472042558</id><published>2011-01-24T06:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-24T06:00:10.668-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Shanghaiing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Portland'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tunnels'/><title type='text'>City of Roses or The Un-Heavenly City?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;The rat-infested dank catacombs under Portland, Oregon, concealed unthinkable illicit secrets for nearly a century beginning in 1850. If you were one of the lucky ones who fell through one of many trap doors, you didn’t wake up until after you had been drugged, kept with rats, and&amp;nbsp;were hundreds of miles out to sea on your way to the Orient.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;The practice called Shanghaiing&amp;nbsp;thrived in Portland. Every building from China Town to the downtown area was connected and&amp;nbsp;tied together in a series of basements, some separated by archways. The purpose of the underground originally lent itself to aid those delivering incoming shipments thereby expediting their arrival at each store by not having to travel through busy Portland streets.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;However, ship captains loved the design of Portland’s underground because it enabled them to build their crews. Many waited in the Willamette River port at the opening of the tunnels,&amp;nbsp;for hired middle-men (bar owners, Chinese, labor groups, opium den owners) to kidnap unsuspecting drunks. The drunks were usually given knockout drugs, shoved through trap doors, and placed in holding cells in the underground maze until ships came into ports. $50.00 a head became an attractive tradeoff for the risk of dealing in the trafficking. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Women were warned to stay away from saloons and dance halls, because they met similar fates. The only difference when they slipped through a trap door is no one ever saw them again. They became victims of white slave trade, changing their lives forever as they were delivered to one of the many brothels that operated under the streets&amp;nbsp;or to one&amp;nbsp;across the seas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;The tunnels have survived numerous floods over the years and serve as a backdrop for guided walking tours today – if you can tolerate the stigma of being stuck underground for 2 ½ hours with moldy walls and runaway rats. For more info on the tours contact: &lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.portlandwalkingtours.com/tours/underground_portland.php"&gt;http://www.portlandwalkingtours.com/tours/underground_portland.php&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-2111676791472042558?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2111676791472042558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=2111676791472042558' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/2111676791472042558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/2111676791472042558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2011/01/city-of-roses-or-un-heavenly-city.html' title='City of Roses or The Un-Heavenly City?'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-6305217159214660075</id><published>2011-01-19T09:38:00.010-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-19T11:22:03.842-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='political'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='census'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fire'/><title type='text'>Political Intrigue and the Census of 1890</title><content type='html'>I came face to face with a major brick wall when researching my ancestry. The population enumeration every ten years had met a serious blow when most of the 1890 census records were destroyed in a Washington DC fire in the basement of The Commerce Building, in 1921. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever remained of the eleventh census of the United States was ordered by congress to be destroyed in 1933. Only a few fragments of the census escaped destruction and have been published in numerous genealogical websites. The resulting enumeration presents only about 6,000 of the 63,000,000 citizens polled at the time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSh3gvtKuoI/AAAAAAAAAI0/LguVN0vvIC8/s1600/200px-1890B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" n4="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSh3gvtKuoI/AAAAAAAAAI0/LguVN0vvIC8/s1600/200px-1890B.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Nevertheless, according to the http://www.archives.gov website, “the 1890 census seemed mired in fraud and political intrigue.” In March 1896, a previous fire had destroyed the special census schedules for mortality, crime, pauperism and benevolence, special classes, and portions of the transportation and insurance schedules. In 1903, a census clerk noted that the general census schedules appeared to be in good condition. Despite numerous requests that the census records be stored in a safe place, they remained in the basement of The Commerce Building. The fire of 1921 destroyed 25% of the schedules and badly damaged half of the remainder. No effort was made to preserve the copies. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;It was a heartbreaking nightmare for historians and genealogists. Even after a public outcry from historical organizations and genealogical societies, the government ordered the records destroyed. The entire story can be read at: &lt;a href="http://www.archives.gov/publications/prologue/1996/spring/1890-census-1.html"&gt;http://www.archives.gov/publications/prologue/1996/spring/1890-census-1.html&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-6305217159214660075?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6305217159214660075/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=6305217159214660075' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6305217159214660075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6305217159214660075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2011/01/political-intrigue-and-census-of-1890.html' title='Political Intrigue and the Census of 1890'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSh3gvtKuoI/AAAAAAAAAI0/LguVN0vvIC8/s72-c/200px-1890B.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-686897304444377605</id><published>2011-01-14T05:00:00.034-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-14T05:00:01.343-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='survivor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='traveler'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prairie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='food'/><title type='text'>And the Winner of Survivor Is . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSh4OV0tBcI/AAAAAAAAAI4/F26u5vGG_Oc/s1600/angus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; height: 194px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 256px;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="188" n4="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSh4OV0tBcI/AAAAAAAAAI4/F26u5vGG_Oc/s200/angus.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Prairie Traveler&lt;/em&gt;, written by Captain Randolph B. Marcy of the United States Army, was an essential companion for the westward traveler after 1859. At the request of the army, Captain Marcy put together a compendium of travel resources, food locations, routes to travel, dangers to watch out for, and good common sense, based on his own travels west. The original title,&lt;em&gt; The Prairie Traveler: A Handbook for Overland Expeditions with Maps, Illustrations, and Itineraries of the Principal Routes between the Mississippi and the &lt;/em&gt;Pacific, was published in 1859, by Harper and Brothers Publishers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Fur Company’s men of the northwest, have to be labeled the best of the survivors in the Artic regions, because of their unique diet. Among other things, each man consumed approximately 1.25 pounds of Pemmican. Trust me. It is disgusting, but I guess you do what you have to, to survive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quoting from page thirty-three of &lt;em&gt;The Prairie Traveler&lt;/em&gt;: “The buffalo meat is cut into thin flakes, and hung up to dry in the sun or before a slow fire; it is then pounded between two stones and reduced to a powder; this powder is placed in a bag of the animal’s hide with the hair on the outside; melted grease is then poured into it and the bag sewn up. It can be eaten raw, and many prefer it so. Mixed with a little flour and boiled, it is a very wholesome and exceedingly nutritious food and will keep fresh for a long time.” You've got to be kidding me. Wholesome?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Prairie Traveler&lt;/em&gt; can be purchased from Dover Books.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-686897304444377605?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/686897304444377605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=686897304444377605' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/686897304444377605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/686897304444377605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2011/01/and-winner-of-survivor-is.html' title='And the Winner of Survivor Is . . .'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSh4OV0tBcI/AAAAAAAAAI4/F26u5vGG_Oc/s72-c/angus.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-7817747479032228361</id><published>2011-01-09T07:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-09T07:00:04.356-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Journalism'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nellie Bly'/><title type='text'>Would You Go As Far As Nellie Bly?</title><content type='html'>Six-year-old Elizabeth Jane Cochran lost her father in 1870. He failed to leave a will which forced the auction of his estate. Not too long afterward, Elizabeth’s mother remarried as a way to support her children. Elizabeth’s abuse at the hand of her step-father is thought to be the springboard that led her to champion the cause of women’s rights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a lonely teenager, she changed the spelling of her name by adding an “e” on the end – supposedly to sound more sophisticated. Her break into journalism came in the form of a rebuttal she sent to the &lt;em&gt;Pittsburgh Dispatch&lt;/em&gt; newspaper regarding a sexist column in their newspaper. She went by the name, Lonely Orphan Girl. The paper loved her straightforward writing style and hired her to work for them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since most women of the day chose pen names when they wrote, Elizabeth’s editor, George Madden, chose the name, Nellie Bly, taken from the song written by Stephen Foster. Thus began Nellie’s investigative undercover work. After she posed as a sweat shop worker and exposed the deplorable conditions inside, she was reduced to being a fashion reporter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSc6IYsgU5I/AAAAAAAAAIw/sJM7dgEiLSE/s1600/7.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="286" n4="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSc6IYsgU5I/AAAAAAAAAIw/sJM7dgEiLSE/s320/7.gif" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;At that point, she left the paper and headed for New York where she was hired as reporter for Joseph Pulitzer’s &lt;em&gt;New York World&lt;/em&gt;.One of&amp;nbsp;her most noted undercover reports came when she feigned insanity in order to expose shocking conditions at a women’s lunatic asylum on Blackwell Island. Her resulting book, &lt;em&gt;Ten Days in a Madhouse&lt;/em&gt;, prompted a grand jury to look into conditions at the asylum.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;“In spite of the knowledge of my sanity and the assurance that I would be released in a few days, my heart gave a sharp twinge. Pronounced insane by four expert doctors and shut up behind the unmerciful bolts and bars of a madhouse! Not to be confined alone, but to be a companion, day and night, of senseless, chattering lunatics; to sleep with them, to eat with them, to be considered one of them, was an uncomfortable position. Timidly we followed the nurse up the long uncarpeted hall to a room filled by so-called crazy women. We were told to sit down, and some of the patients kindly made room for us.” &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Quoted from: &lt;em&gt;Ten Days in a Madhouse&lt;/em&gt;. See the complete book at &lt;a href="http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/bly/madhouse/madhouse.html"&gt;http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/bly/madhouse/madhouse.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-7817747479032228361?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/7817747479032228361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=7817747479032228361' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/7817747479032228361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/7817747479032228361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2011/01/would-you-go-as-far-as-nellie-bly.html' title='Would You Go As Far As Nellie Bly?'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSc6IYsgU5I/AAAAAAAAAIw/sJM7dgEiLSE/s72-c/7.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-3755158502972633851</id><published>2011-01-05T16:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-05T16:12:12.815-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ice 1899'/><title type='text'>How Cold Was It? Ice Flows Into Gulf, 1899</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;In January 1899, a flow of arctic air moved through the United States all the way to southern Florida. Some parts of northern Florida got two inches of snow. In Southern Florida, West Palm Beach reported that snow was falling on Wednesday, January 19.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Even more surprising than that was the event that occurred in February of the same year. A great blizzard with frigid temperatures hit the Mid Atlantic area of the country. Then in the middle of February, an ice storm hit the east coast. The winter was so bad and temperatures were so cold during&amp;nbsp;that time period&amp;nbsp;that weather records sindicate&amp;nbsp;ice flowed down the Mississippi River and spilled into the Gulf of Mexico. The only other time&amp;nbsp;ice had been recorded in New Orleans&amp;nbsp;was in 1784 when ice flows blocked the Mississippi River at New Orleans.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-3755158502972633851?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3755158502972633851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=3755158502972633851' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3755158502972633851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3755158502972633851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2011/01/how-cold-was-it-ice-flows-into-gulf.html' title='How Cold Was It? Ice Flows Into Gulf, 1899'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-415150438239129794</id><published>2010-12-31T08:23:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-05T16:21:56.832-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Debilitating Kansas Snow</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSTg2uZGzdI/AAAAAAAAAIs/b-8jB7KOplU/s1600/normal_9009-Crystal-Creek-patrol-cabin-in-the-winter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSTg2uZGzdI/AAAAAAAAAIs/b-8jB7KOplU/s320/normal_9009-Crystal-Creek-patrol-cabin-in-the-winter.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;"The winter was perhaps the most debilitating of all the seasons. At times it seemed interminable. For days and weeks on end, the temperature hovered at zero, and often it plummeted to twenty degrees below. Compounding these freezing temperatures was an almost ceaseless wind that whipped across the plains, often reaching over fifty miles per hour. To the settler unaccustomed to such climatic extremes, this numbing weather became almost unbearable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A winter blizzard was an awesome spectacle. Without warning, dark billowing clouds roared across the skies and unleashed blinding bursts of snow. 'They came with a might blast,' recalled one witness. 'sweeping with almost the strength of a cyclone, raking the life of stock and sometimes human beings.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isolated in its cabin, the frontier family braced itself against the onslaught of ice and snow. Wrapped in heavy overcoats and thick woolen blankets, they huddled around the fireplace for warmth. Yet, the searing gusts of wind outdoors seemed to penetrate every crack and crevice of the prairie house."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quoted from&lt;em&gt; Pioneer Women: Voices from the Kansas Frontier&lt;/em&gt;, written by Joanna L. Stratton&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-415150438239129794?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/415150438239129794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=415150438239129794' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/415150438239129794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/415150438239129794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2010/12/kansas-pioneer-winters.html' title='Debilitating Kansas Snow'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TSTg2uZGzdI/AAAAAAAAAIs/b-8jB7KOplU/s72-c/normal_9009-Crystal-Creek-patrol-cabin-in-the-winter.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-8911920439257440742</id><published>2010-12-24T07:32:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-05T15:59:15.499-05:00</updated><title type='text'>How to Have a Truly Blessed Christmas</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TRSSu_JeOVI/AAAAAAAAAIc/nFyD-Sv-UrM/s1600/normal_christmas_nativity_Rossetti_preview.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TRSSu_JeOVI/AAAAAAAAAIc/nFyD-Sv-UrM/s200/normal_christmas_nativity_Rossetti_preview.png" width="186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;While our Victorian ancestors lived meager lives compared to ours today, their celebration of Christmas was no less genuine. While we worry what color lights to drape around our Christmas trees, how far apart each bulb should be, or whether they blink or stay lit, the mid-eighteen hundreds found homemade decorations adorning the trees. If one were blessed to have them, candles perched precariously on the branches of a freshly timbered pine – lit only on Christmas Day and New Years Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The birth of the Lord, Jesus Christ, stood as the center of worship and adoration. I sometimes envy the celebration back then because the air was filled with the spirit of giving. People didn’t flip on the TV to listen to the weather or pop in a movie to get in the Christmas mood. Homemade gifts, perhaps one per person, stirred the exciting preparation for Christmas Day. They reveled in the true spirit of Christmas – God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, once Christmas is past and the gifts are all opened, what then? Embrace the truth of the Bible about Jesus’ birth in Luke, chapter one and two. Believe the message of the great company of angels – the Heavenly host – who proclaimed, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a blessed Christmas!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-8911920439257440742?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8911920439257440742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=8911920439257440742' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/8911920439257440742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/8911920439257440742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2010/12/celebration-of-jesus-birth.html' title='How to Have a Truly Blessed Christmas'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TRSSu_JeOVI/AAAAAAAAAIc/nFyD-Sv-UrM/s72-c/normal_christmas_nativity_Rossetti_preview.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-6188711172255425197</id><published>2010-12-23T21:04:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-05T15:59:35.793-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Yes, Virginia</title><content type='html'>First printed by The New York Sun in 1897&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Editor,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth. Is there a Santa Claus?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Virginia O’Hanlon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/Eidj-Nmn338/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Eidj-Nmn338&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Eidj-Nmn338&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;You decide. Is there really a Santa Claus?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-6188711172255425197?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6188711172255425197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=6188711172255425197' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6188711172255425197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6188711172255425197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2010/12/is-there-really-santa-claus.html' title='Yes, Virginia'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-1383818355968495322</id><published>2010-12-15T12:08:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-05T16:02:32.380-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Riding on a Rolling Pin - A Horse-Drawn Snow Roller</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TQj1laG3DFI/AAAAAAAAAH0/LJ0rvv_N3oA/s1600/OldAndoverPics_135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="180" n4="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TQj1laG3DFI/AAAAAAAAAH0/LJ0rvv_N3oA/s320/OldAndoverPics_135.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;"&gt;So far, December 2010 appears to be one of the coldest and snowiest in the Midwest. Usually, in my town, in Indiana, we can count on prompt snow removal. However thankful I am, I always wonder why the city can’t plow the street in front of our home a little closer to the drive. We live at the point of an “L” shaped street where the tendency is for the plows to make a short swing around the corner sufficing for a plowed street. Obviously, that leaves approximately five feet of the street we have to shovel before we can get to the plowed area. Oh, for the good ‘ole days.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Okay, in the good ‘ole days, no record of snowplows exists until 1862. Up until that time, most roads were made passable by animal-drawn snow rollers. If you can picture a rolling pin, you can picture a snow roller. Teams of horses pulled the rollers across the snow, compressing it multiple times, in order to make a smooth running surface for wagons and sleighs alike. The packed snow took care of badly rutted roads, so most were actually easier to travel on once the snow had been packed down and smoothed. It wasn’t until well into the twentieth century that most localities dispensed of the snow rollers and moved on to motorized removal of the snow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt;This photo of a horse-drawn snow roller is used by permission from the Andover Historical Society in Andover, Maine.&lt;span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Arial&amp;quot;, &amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 7pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-1383818355968495322?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1383818355968495322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=1383818355968495322' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1383818355968495322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1383818355968495322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2010/12/so-far-december-2010-appears-to-be-one.html' title='Riding on a Rolling Pin - A Horse-Drawn Snow Roller'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TQj1laG3DFI/AAAAAAAAAH0/LJ0rvv_N3oA/s72-c/OldAndoverPics_135.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-7685686797950299527</id><published>2010-12-07T12:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-05T16:04:24.036-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='1880'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Long WInter'/><title type='text'>Not Even the Mail Made It Through - The Long Winter of 1880</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt;“In 1880, a blizzard came in the middle of October to South Dakota. In a hundred years of western history, such a thing had occurred but once or twice before, and in those instances, the October storms were less severe than that which came upon the unprotected settlers in 1880.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt;The snow fell to a very great depth and was blown by a violent wind until the open shacks and stables were filled, ravines were drifted full to the level of the general country, stock was driven away or smothered in the drifts, and the settlers suffered very severely. A few lives were lost; very few indeed, considering the severity of the weather and the exposed condition of the people. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TP5sUr9DAgI/AAAAAAAAAHw/cihT6vfsPlE/s1600/Train_stuck_in_snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TP5sUr9DAgI/AAAAAAAAAHw/cihT6vfsPlE/s320/Train_stuck_in_snow.jpg" width="235" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt;Everyone believed that the snow would melt away and that we should yet have our glorious late autumn, but such was not to be; the October blizzard was the beginning of a winter the like of which has not before or since been known. The snow did not go off, and early in November, an additional fall came, to which additions were made from week to week. The railroads, as yet unprotected by snow fences, were covered with drifts, and it was with great difficulty that trains were moved at all. By New Year’s Day, operation of the trains was given up entirely.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt;The above passage is quoted from, &lt;em&gt;A Brief History of South Dakota&lt;/em&gt;, by Doane Robinson. Another account of this unprecendented winter can be found in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s book, &lt;em&gt;The Long Winter&lt;/em&gt;, which is the most accurate of all her historical fiction.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-7685686797950299527?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/7685686797950299527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=7685686797950299527' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/7685686797950299527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/7685686797950299527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2010/12/long-winter-of-1880.html' title='Not Even the Mail Made It Through - The Long Winter of 1880'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TP5sUr9DAgI/AAAAAAAAAHw/cihT6vfsPlE/s72-c/Train_stuck_in_snow.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-1834095471934024028</id><published>2010-12-02T08:57:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-16T07:48:18.811-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Charles Dickens - A Christmas Carol</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TQoKU0qE1iI/AAAAAAAAAH4/2RRoiESso54/s1600/christmas_carol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" n4="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TQoKU0qE1iI/AAAAAAAAAH4/2RRoiESso54/s1600/christmas_carol.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Read the classics and write what you know. If you want an instant education on the art of capturing characters perfectly, read Charles Dickens’ novels. He wrote what he knew and took most, if not all, of his characters from real life. In his day, he was known as a spokesman for the disadvantaged and the poor in England. He knew their plight well.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Charles’ father lived such a generous life that he eventually ended up in prison for not paying his own debts. Charles was forced out of the security of childhood and was sent to work in a shoe-blacking factory at the age of twelve in order to help the family pay their bills. During the time he was a working poor man, he paid to stay in a boarding house while he sent the remaining money home to his family. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Eventually, his father was released from prison. He scraped together the money to send Charles to Wellington Academy. Some think that Charles’ love for fiction took wing during his three-year stay at Wellington. Nevertheless, the school became another experience from which Dickens could fashion his well-known characters, due to the poverty conditions under which the school operated and the seedy brutality of the men who worked there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Dickens crusaded on social issues and used the power of fiction to change public opinion on discrimination against the poor. One of his most famous books,&amp;nbsp;A Christmas Carol, the first in a series of five Christmas books, is beloved around the world. Many say that Dickens wrote the novel in a matter of weeks because he had to pay bills for the birth of his fifth child. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Want to know where all his characters came from? For a fascinating, insightful look into the world and life of Charles Dickens, head for the library and check out one of many biographies written on his life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-1834095471934024028?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1834095471934024028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=1834095471934024028' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1834095471934024028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1834095471934024028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2010/12/charles-dickens-christmas-carol.html' title='Charles Dickens - A Christmas Carol'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/TQoKU0qE1iI/AAAAAAAAAH4/2RRoiESso54/s72-c/christmas_carol.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-8803555496138327239</id><published>2010-01-20T18:57:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-20T19:25:07.048-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The First American Woman Ordained</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/S1eZ8f7oczI/AAAAAAAAAGc/D1mzS7EMMq0/s1600-h/Antoinette_Louisa_Brown_Blackwell.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428977140461237042" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/S1eZ8f7oczI/AAAAAAAAAGc/D1mzS7EMMq0/s200/Antoinette_Louisa_Brown_Blackwell.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;Before she was nine years old, Antoinette Louisa Brown joined her Congregational church as a result of hearing Charles Finney's message.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;From an early age, Antoinette made herself and her longings known to her family. In 1846, her burning desire to go to college and join the ministry, resulted in her attending Oberlin College. Eventually, she became the first woman in the country to be ordained into the ministry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;Oberlin College was known for the evangelical theology it taught and its commitment to educating women. In 1847, Antoinette received the degree women of that day were awarded, a literary degree. She stayed on for three more years to train for the ministry but was refused enrollment for a theology degree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since the college faculty declined to ordain her, Antoinette left Ohio and headed for New York where she worked in the slums. Shortly after that, she began a career as an independent lecturer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not long after that, the Congregational church in South Butler, New York, invited her to come and be a part of their ministry. Antoinette became ordained at the church in September of 1853.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can read more about her at &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.anb.org/articles"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;http://www.anb.org/articles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-8803555496138327239?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8803555496138327239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=8803555496138327239' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/8803555496138327239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/8803555496138327239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2010/01/first-american-woman-ordained.html' title='The First American Woman Ordained'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/S1eZ8f7oczI/AAAAAAAAAGc/D1mzS7EMMq0/s72-c/Antoinette_Louisa_Brown_Blackwell.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-4577933523324841645</id><published>2010-01-07T20:29:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T20:55:33.157-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Classes of Women</title><content type='html'>&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;Peter Cartwright, a missionary and preacher, opinionated, blunt and to the point, won over 10,000 soul&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/S0aO_1hTzkI/AAAAAAAAAGU/R4Q6fQrnJwQ/s1600-h/436px-Peter_Cartwright_-_Erweckungsprediger.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 146px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424180028564033090" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/S0aO_1hTzkI/AAAAAAAAAGU/R4Q6fQrnJwQ/s200/436px-Peter_Cartwright_-_Erweckungsprediger.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;s to Jesus Christ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In reading his autobiography I found some interesting facts about women during that era in the Quincy, Illinois district where he was assigned in 1832. At least let's say, his viewpoint about these women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Much of our district was new settlements, formed and forming; hard, long rides, cabin parlors, straw beds and bedsteads, made out of barked saplings, and puncheon bedcords. But the people were kind and clever, proverbially so; showing the real pioneer or frontier hospitality. The men were a hardy, industrious, enterprising, game catching, and Indian driving set of men. The women were also hardy; they would think no hardship of turning out and helping their husbands raise their cabins, if need be; they would mount a horse and trot ten or fifteen miles to meeting, or to see the sick and minister to them, and home again the same day. How different from those ladies who live in older circles, and have grown up in wealth, luxury, and fashionable life, who would faint if they had to walk a hundred yards in the sun without a parasol or umbrella; who are braced and stayed at such an intemperate rate, that they cannot step over six or eight inches at a step, and should they by any accident happen to loose their moorings, and fall, are imprisoned with so many unmentionables, that they could not get up again; and should a thunder-storm suddenly overtake them out doors, would scream as if the world were coming to an end."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quite a comparison, actually. I wonder which group of women I'd fit into.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-4577933523324841645?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4577933523324841645/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=4577933523324841645' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/4577933523324841645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/4577933523324841645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2010/01/peter-cartwright-missionary-and.html' title='Two Classes of Women'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/S0aO_1hTzkI/AAAAAAAAAGU/R4Q6fQrnJwQ/s72-c/436px-Peter_Cartwright_-_Erweckungsprediger.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-6610676846347663161</id><published>2009-12-19T17:25:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-19T17:32:25.190-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Legend of the Christmas Poinsettia</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sy1T7F8w57I/AAAAAAAAAGM/88r17pd8f3E/s1600-h/sandiego_2_bg_010106.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417078201471002546" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sy1T7F8w57I/AAAAAAAAAGM/88r17pd8f3E/s200/sandiego_2_bg_010106.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;Poinsettia:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;euphorbia pulcherrima (Most Beautiful)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Mexican Christmas legend tells the story of two young Mexican children who were very poor. It was the custom of their village to leave a gift each year at the foot of the manger in the nativity display at the local church. Because the children had nothing to bring, the legend says that they gathered weeds from a nearby field to place at the manger. Miraculously on Christmas day, the leaves sprouted beautiful red flowers that completely surrounded the manger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first United States ambassador to Mexico was appointed from 1825 to 1829. His name was Joel Roberts Poinsett. The Frenchman lived in South Carolina where he owned a plantation. On one of his trips to Mexico, he discovered this beautiful red plant – the Mexican Christmas flower. He immediately sent some of them home to his own greenhouses to be reproduced and sent around the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Joel Poinsett also founded the Smithsonian Institution.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-6610676846347663161?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6610676846347663161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=6610676846347663161' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6610676846347663161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6610676846347663161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/12/legend-of-christmas-poinsettia.html' title='The Legend of the Christmas Poinsettia'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sy1T7F8w57I/AAAAAAAAAGM/88r17pd8f3E/s72-c/sandiego_2_bg_010106.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-2011771386707133298</id><published>2009-12-14T20:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-15T09:43:13.615-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;In November of 1863, teenager Charles Appleton Longfellow tried to enlist in the Union Army without his father’s consent. The captain he had gone to knew the family and called his father for his advice. In spite of the fact that Henry Wadsworth Longfellow had recently lost his wife, he knew his son’s adventurous spirit and gave his permission. However, in November of 1863, Charles was seriously wounded at the battle of New Hope, Virginia. He eventually returned home where Henry nursed him back to health.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;Henry longed for peace between the North and the South. While listening to the music of nearby church bells at Christmas, he wrote the following poem, which has become one of our favorite hymns during the Christmas season.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day&lt;br /&gt;Their old familiar carols play,&lt;br /&gt;And wild and sweet the words repeat&lt;br /&gt;Of peace on earth, good will to men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought how, as the day had come,&lt;br /&gt;The belfries of all Christendom&lt;br /&gt;Had rolled along the unbroken song&lt;br /&gt;Of peace on earth, good will to men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Till, ringing, singing on its way,&lt;br /&gt;The world revolved from night to day,&lt;br /&gt;A voice, a chime, A chant sublime&lt;br /&gt;Of peace on earth, good will to men!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then from each black, accursed mouth&lt;br /&gt;The cannon thundered in the South,&lt;br /&gt;And with the sound the carols drowned&lt;br /&gt;Of peace on earth, good will to men!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was as if an earthquake rent&lt;br /&gt;The hearth-stones of a continent,&lt;br /&gt;And made forlorn the households born&lt;br /&gt;Of peace on earth, good will to men!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And in despair I bowed my head:&lt;br /&gt;"There is no peace on earth," I said,&lt;br /&gt;"For hate is strong and mocks the song&lt;br /&gt;Of peace on earth, good will to men."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:&lt;br /&gt;"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;&lt;br /&gt;The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,&lt;br /&gt;With peace on earth, good will to men."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Till, ringing singing, on its way,&lt;br /&gt;The world revolved from night to day,&lt;br /&gt;A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,&lt;br /&gt;Of peace on earth, good will to men! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-2011771386707133298?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2011771386707133298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=2011771386707133298' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/2011771386707133298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/2011771386707133298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-heard-bells-on-christmas-day.html' title='I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-3442617888507043527</id><published>2009-12-09T13:16:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T13:27:16.690-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Man We Call Santa</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sx_rWP5VfOI/AAAAAAAAAF8/5TcSeG7YRTY/s1600-h/santa_ww.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 143px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413304044579290338" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sx_rWP5VfOI/AAAAAAAAAF8/5TcSeG7YRTY/s200/santa_ww.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;“He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot” may well have imprinted the current day picture of Santa Claus in American minds forever thanks to Clement Clarke Moore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;The son of a preacher compiled &lt;em&gt;A Compendious Lexicon of the Hebrew Language&lt;/em&gt; and worked as a professor of Greek and oriental literature at Columbia University and rarely spent his time on frivolous or wasteful thinking. However, on the way home from buying a turkey one winter night, his playfulness came alive as Moore was inspired by the image of the sleigh driver. Thus was born, &lt;em&gt;A Visit from St. Nick&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;In spite of Moore’s many accomplishments in life, he is known only for brightening our visualization of the man we call Santa Claus in the poem we know as &lt;em&gt;Twas the Night before Christmas&lt;/em&gt;. For a timeline of Moore’s poem, visit this link. http://www.nightbeforechristmas.biz/milestones.htm&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-3442617888507043527?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3442617888507043527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=3442617888507043527' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3442617888507043527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3442617888507043527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/12/man-we-call-santa.html' title='The Man We Call Santa'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sx_rWP5VfOI/AAAAAAAAAF8/5TcSeG7YRTY/s72-c/santa_ww.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-860025586080731638</id><published>2009-12-07T11:05:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-07T11:17:25.840-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Scandinavian Tales - Nativity Animals Talked</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sx0pqf_XFAI/AAAAAAAAAF0/mpYPMXzXs0E/s1600-h/christmas_manger.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 144px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412528137287701506" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sx0pqf_XFAI/AAAAAAAAAF0/mpYPMXzXs0E/s200/christmas_manger.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;In Noah Blake’s 1805 diary, he mentions how on Christmas Eve all the animals were supposed to talk about their masters in the manner they did on the night Jesus was born. I did a little research and found the origin of the tale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;According to a Norwegian legend, Jesus was born in the midst of a stable full of animals in Bethlehem over 2,000 years ago. The fable states that Jesus was born exactly at midnight. All at once, God opened the animals’ mouths, and they used their voices to praise God for the miracle that had just taken place. As soon as the shepherds entered the stable to see the baby Jesus, the animals could no longer speak. No one had heard the animals rejoicing except Mary, Joseph, and Jesus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;Today, some families in Scandinavia still take their children to the stables on Christmas Eve just before midnight. Then they sit and wait in case God gives the animals another opportunity to sing their praises to him. While some Scandinavians scoff, I believe. Isn’t everything possible with God?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-860025586080731638?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/860025586080731638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=860025586080731638' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/860025586080731638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/860025586080731638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/12/scandinavian-tales-nativity-animals.html' title='Scandinavian Tales - Nativity Animals Talked'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sx0pqf_XFAI/AAAAAAAAAF0/mpYPMXzXs0E/s72-c/christmas_manger.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-846109589826135096</id><published>2009-12-05T16:20:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-05T16:58:27.254-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Christmas Tree</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SxrWNdTrWSI/AAAAAAAAAFs/ugIMjInhEc8/s1600-h/WhiteHouseChristmas-Tree.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 142px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411873428932876578" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SxrWNdTrWSI/AAAAAAAAAFs/ugIMjInhEc8/s200/WhiteHouseChristmas-Tree.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Early American Christians were slow to adopt the Christmas tree because of their beliefs that cutting a tree down and decorating it was pagan mockery to Christianity. However, those beliefs waned as even in the early nineteenth century, many pioneer settlers decorated their homes with pine boughs and garlands. Young Noah Blake stated in his diary written in 1805 that on December 23, he “draped the room with laurel leaves on a string”, and it appeared that other than a holiday candle, that was the extent of their decorations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;In the mid-nineteenth century, German Americans embraced the tradition here by putting pine boughs and trees in their homes, decorating them with fruit, candles, and homemade decorations. Many frontier settlers sufficed with a Yule log and a few decorations hung around the room since their homes were hardly big enough to hold an entire tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;In contrast, Agnes Lee, daughter of Robert E. Lee, enjoyed a festive Christmas Eve celebration while staying with her grandparents in Arlington. The day was complete with decorated Christmas tree, gifts, and stockings hung on the fireplace.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The White House enjoyed its first Christmas Tree around 1850. Photo at right is the White House Christmas tree in 2007. For images of nineteenth century Christmases, follow this link: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;http://www.printsoldandrare.com/christmas/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-846109589826135096?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/846109589826135096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=846109589826135096' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/846109589826135096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/846109589826135096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/12/christmas-tree.html' title='The Christmas Tree'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SxrWNdTrWSI/AAAAAAAAAFs/ugIMjInhEc8/s72-c/WhiteHouseChristmas-Tree.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-3809713584268009617</id><published>2009-12-02T09:20:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-02T09:31:56.339-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Where Did Candy Canes come from?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SxZ3s11D9LI/AAAAAAAAAE8/Q6GrkL1SmpM/s1600-h/800px-Candy-cane.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410643614579815602" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SxZ3s11D9LI/AAAAAAAAAE8/Q6GrkL1SmpM/s200/800px-Candy-cane.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;The solution to controlling unruly children in church in 1670 was not much different than it is today. Give them candy!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;According to tradition, a choirmaster in the Cologne Cathedral gave curved, white sugar stick candy to calm the children down at a living nativity. The sticks were made to resemble shepherd's staffs.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;Then, in 1847, an immigrant in Ohio where the candy was gaining popularity, put candy canes on his Christmas tree. Red stripes and peppermint flavoring were not added to our familiar candy canes of today until the turn of the century. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;See the story at: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.christianitytoday.com/ch/news/2004/cane.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;http://www.christianitytoday.com/ch/news/2004/cane.html&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-3809713584268009617?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3809713584268009617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=3809713584268009617' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3809713584268009617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3809713584268009617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/12/where-did-candy-canes-come-from.html' title='Where Did Candy Canes come from?'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SxZ3s11D9LI/AAAAAAAAAE8/Q6GrkL1SmpM/s72-c/800px-Candy-cane.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-5442896938650831509</id><published>2009-08-18T20:54:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T21:19:38.308-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;Probably the most beloved, educated, and successful poet in the 1800's was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. After leaving Cambridge, Henry wrote to his father - quoted from The Life of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - "The fact is, I most eagerly aspire after future eminence in literature. My whole soul burns most ardently for it, and every earthly thought centers in it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was one of the few poets I studied in high school that I could actually understand. Among his most memorable works were, &lt;em&gt;The Song of Hiawatha&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;em&gt;Evangeline&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;em&gt;The Courtship of Miles Standish,&lt;/em&gt; and this one, my favorite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between the dark and the daylight,&lt;br /&gt;When the night is beginning to lower,&lt;br /&gt;Comes a pause in the day's occupation,&lt;br /&gt;That is known as the children's hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hear in the chamber above me&lt;br /&gt;The patter of little feet,&lt;br /&gt;The sound of a door that is opened,&lt;br /&gt;And voices soft and sweet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From my study I see in the lamplight,&lt;br /&gt;Descending the broad hall stair,&lt;br /&gt;Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,&lt;br /&gt;And Edith with golden hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A whisper and then a silence:&lt;br /&gt;Yet I know by their merry eyes,&lt;br /&gt;They are plotting and planning together,&lt;br /&gt;To take me by surprise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A sudden rush from the stairway,&lt;br /&gt;A sudden raid from the hall!&lt;br /&gt;By three doors left unguarded&lt;br /&gt;They enter my castle wall!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They climb up into my turret&lt;br /&gt;O'er the arms and back of my chair;&lt;br /&gt;If I try to escape, they surround me,&lt;br /&gt;They seem to be everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They almost devour me with kisses,&lt;br /&gt;Their arms about me entwine,&lt;br /&gt;Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen&lt;br /&gt;In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,&lt;br /&gt;Because you have scaled the wall,&lt;br /&gt;Such an old mustache as I am&lt;br /&gt;Is not a match for you all?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have you fast in my fortress&lt;br /&gt;And will not let you depart,&lt;br /&gt;But put you down in the dungeon&lt;br /&gt;In the round-tower of my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there will I keep you forever,&lt;br /&gt;Yes, forever and a day,&lt;br /&gt;Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;And moulder in dust away!&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-5442896938650831509?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/5442896938650831509/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=5442896938650831509' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/5442896938650831509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/5442896938650831509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/08/henry-wadsworth-longfellow.html' title='Henry Wadsworth Longfellow'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-222601474978104915</id><published>2009-08-12T21:55:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T22:02:40.296-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Elias Howe and the Sewing Machine</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663300;"&gt;The first sewing machine in America to use an eye-pointed needle was the invention of Walter Hunt in 1835. However, as was his habit, the need for cash overrode Hunt’s sensibility and he sold his idea. One contributing factor to his choice was that he felt certain that his invention would take away many needed jobs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663300;"&gt;Elias Howe registered the first patent in America for the sewing machine in 1846. He further improved on Hunt’s idea by inventing a mechanism using two thread sources that caused the top thread to be locked by the bottom thread resulting in the lockstitch. &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SoNy4sN65KI/AAAAAAAAAEs/7hJvpenbjt8/s1600-h/577px-Elias_Howe_sewing_machine_1846_pat_298185432_std.png"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369261499023549602" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 182px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 127px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SoNy4sN65KI/AAAAAAAAAEs/7hJvpenbjt8/s320/577px-Elias_Howe_sewing_machine_1846_pat_298185432_std.png" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663300;"&gt;Later, Howe sued Isaac Singer for copying his ideas. Singer challenged Howe’s suit. Hunt got in on the action causing a three-way battle for the right for the patent. Howe ended up winning the court verdict that ruled that Singer had infringed on his patent and that Hunt had abandoned his idea in the first place. The decision resulted in a great financial gain for Howe that he shared with the Union army to help equip an infantry regiment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-222601474978104915?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/222601474978104915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=222601474978104915' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/222601474978104915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/222601474978104915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/08/elias-howe-and-sewing-machine.html' title='Elias Howe and the Sewing Machine'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SoNy4sN65KI/AAAAAAAAAEs/7hJvpenbjt8/s72-c/577px-Elias_Howe_sewing_machine_1846_pat_298185432_std.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-5143206447665920548</id><published>2009-08-07T12:24:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T21:25:57.084-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Samuel Clemens/Mark Twain</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;Author Mark Twain (a pseudonym for Samuel Clemens) became a printer’s apprentice in Hannibal, Missouri, when he was only thirteen years old. Four years later, he moved to St. Louis to take another printing job. During his time there, he was drawn to the river. While traveling to New Orleans a steamboat captain convinced him to become a steamboat pilot. Two years later in 1859, he received his license.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;Since the Civil War brought river traffic to a halt, Samuel tried mining then turned once again to journalism. Nevertheless, his river days had a pronounced effect on his blooming writing career. He married and had four children. Only one made it into adulthood, and she had no children. While no heir remained to carry on Samuel Clemens’ name, his books did. Most famous for &lt;em&gt;Life on the Mississippi, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Fin&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SnxYYnbUZ4I/AAAAAAAAAEU/D3CxT6K7tPs/s1600-h/TX0019.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367262035842459522" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 98px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 111px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SnxYYnbUZ4I/AAAAAAAAAEU/D3CxT6K7tPs/s320/TX0019.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;n&lt;/em&gt;, Twain had more than twenty-eight books to his credit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;Also to his acclaim are hundreds of quotes. From his thirty-four-year marriage to Olivia Langdon comes the experience to pen the following quote. “Love seems the swiftest, but it is the slowest of all growths. No man or woman really knows what perfect love is until they have been married a quarter of a century.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;For more quotes from Mark Twain, go to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.twainquotes.com/quotesatoz.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#996633;"&gt;http://www.twainquotes.com/quotesatoz.html&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-5143206447665920548?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/5143206447665920548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=5143206447665920548' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/5143206447665920548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/5143206447665920548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/08/samuel-clemensmark-twain.html' title='Samuel Clemens/Mark Twain'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SnxYYnbUZ4I/AAAAAAAAAEU/D3CxT6K7tPs/s72-c/TX0019.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-5409468014606701216</id><published>2009-08-05T16:15:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T14:58:23.671-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Civil War Brides</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;Somewhere in time the superstition developed that no woman should wear white to a wedding except the bride. At the same time, no woman was supposed to wear black especially the mothe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SnnqyBsKTUI/AAAAAAAAAEM/eY71W9t_4UE/s1600-h/Josh-Amber+Wedding+055.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366578576156675394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 221px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 212px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SnnqyBsKTUI/AAAAAAAAAEM/eY71W9t_4UE/s320/Josh-Amber+Wedding+055.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;rs of the bride and groom.&lt;br /&gt;Times do change. Two of my sons and their wives had black and white with a touch of red as their wedding colors. (see photo) The mothers also wore black. No, we weren't mourning. However, a guest at one of the weddings asked me, "Isn't is supposed to be bad luck to wear black to the wedding?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tradition of English brides wearing white moved quickly across the ocean to the eastern states in the 1800's. Thanks in part to Godey's Lady's book that lavished its pages with templates of "out of this world" dresses at "out of this world" prices, many easterners found ways to acquire the white gowns. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://digitalgallery.nypl.org/nypldigital/dgkeysearchresult.cfm?word=United%20States%20--%201840-1849&amp;amp;s=3&amp;amp;notword=&amp;amp;f=2"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;http://digitalgallery.nypl.org/nypldigital/dgkeysearchresult.cfm?word=United%20States%20--%201840-1849&amp;amp;s=3&amp;amp;notword=&amp;amp;f=2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, women of the plains and some women of the south could never afford the luxury of a white dress. It took the good Lord's favor to find one. As it was, many of them only owned one or two dresses at the most. During the Civil War period of history, the Sunday dress usually became the bride's dress of choice for her wedding - usually black taffeta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-5409468014606701216?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/5409468014606701216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=5409468014606701216' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/5409468014606701216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/5409468014606701216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/08/civil-war-brides.html' title='Civil War Brides'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/SnnqyBsKTUI/AAAAAAAAAEM/eY71W9t_4UE/s72-c/Josh-Amber+Wedding+055.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-7588723921585988173</id><published>2009-08-04T14:29:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T18:04:40.265-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Language of flowers</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Quoting from &lt;em&gt;The Language of Flowers&lt;/em&gt; compiled in 1865 by Mrs. L. Burke, "The flowers in silence seem to breathe such thoughts as language cannot tell."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Gleaning from many sources of information from that day, Mrs. Burke has penned an extensive, exhaustive, miniature book about the meanings assigned to every flower imaginable. For instance, most of us know that giving red roses is a show of affection or love, yellow roses are friendship. Here are a few others:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Mistletoe - I surmount difficulties&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Purple Lilacs - first emotions of love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Forget-Me-Not - true love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Deep Red Rose - bashful shame&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Blue Violet - faithfulness&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Michaelmas Daisy - farewell&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Cyprus - death&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;As you can see by the few meanings so far, wise was the young man who did his research before showing up with flowers in hand to court his young lady.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-7588723921585988173?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/7588723921585988173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=7588723921585988173' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/7588723921585988173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/7588723921585988173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/08/language-of-flowers.html' title='The Language of flowers'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-7255033602847174970</id><published>2009-05-15T12:58:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T18:37:14.355-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Words and Phrases 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Ever wonder where words or phrases came from? According to Bartlett’s Dictionary of Americanisms, written in 1848, here are some phrases that originated in the pioneer West:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;bark up the wrong tree&lt;br /&gt;pull up stakes&lt;br /&gt;to be among the missing&lt;br /&gt;fizzle out&lt;br /&gt;cave in&lt;br /&gt;flash in the pan&lt;br /&gt;be a caution&lt;br /&gt;fly around&lt;br /&gt;tucker out&lt;br /&gt;walk into&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bartlett calls the following words "intensive and extravagant epithets":&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;powerful&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;awful&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;dreadful&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;monstrous&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#330000;"&gt;mighty&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For further information on the Dictionary of Americanisms, go to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.merrycoz.org/voices/bartlett/AMER01.HTM"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#330000;"&gt;http://www.merrycoz.org/voices/bartlett/AMER01.HTM&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-7255033602847174970?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/7255033602847174970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=7255033602847174970' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/7255033602847174970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/7255033602847174970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/05/ever-wonder-where-words-or-phrases-came.html' title='Words and Phrases 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-8699791867071342469</id><published>2009-05-14T13:25:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T18:42:19.627-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;In the Mexican American war, the final conquest took place in September of 1847 after Mexico City fell to General Winfield Scott. Plans began immediately to institute a treaty between America and Mexico.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Nicholas Trist, America’s envoy in the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, acted on his own gut feeling and not President’s Polk’s directives in setting the treaty up. Under Trist's agreement, Mexico gave up New Mexico, Texas, Arizona, some of Utah, Nevada, and Colorado. At that time, the Rio Grande River became known as the southern border between the United States and Mexico.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;In February of 1848, in spite of Trist’s defiant stand, Polk sent the treaty to the senate and they ratified it. At that point, America removed its troops from Mexico’s capital city. A contingent erected border markers between America and Mexico. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#330000;"&gt;Another treaty in 1873 changed the border by adding more markers. Again, in 1882 and 1889, more dialogue took place between the two countries to further fine tune the area of the markers.&lt;br /&gt;A complete recording of this treaty including maps of the area can be found at: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.loc.gov/rr/hispanic/ghtreaty/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#330000;"&gt;http://www.loc.gov/rr/hispanic/ghtreaty/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-8699791867071342469?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8699791867071342469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=8699791867071342469' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/8699791867071342469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/8699791867071342469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/05/treaty-of-guadalupe-hidalgo-1800s.html' title='Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-6724898293114626470</id><published>2009-05-13T15:55:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T18:42:40.195-04:00</updated><title type='text'>First Battle Mexican American War 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Before the Mexican American war, New Mexico, Arizona, Texas, and parts of Nevada, Colorado, and Utah all belonged to Mexico. At the time, the highest population concentration from Mexico was in New Mexico. The area most pleasant to the eyes for America was Texas. We began making plans to take the territory for ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Three thousand American troops established Fort Texas on the opposite side of the Rio Grande River from Matamoros, Mexico. Mexico had responded with four thousand troops of its own. However, Mexico couldn’t compete with the advantage of the American weaponry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The first battle of the war, the Battle of Palo Alto, centered just outside of present day Brownsville, Texas. US general, Zachary Taylor met head to head with Mexican general, Mariano Arista on May 8, 1848. The efforts of Mexico to turn American troops away proved unsuccessful, leading to a decisive American victory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;An excellent resource for reading about the Mexican American war is &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;http://www.pbs.org/kera/usmexicanwar/war/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-6724898293114626470?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6724898293114626470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=6724898293114626470' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6724898293114626470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6724898293114626470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/05/first-battle-mexican-american-war-1800s.html' title='First Battle Mexican American War 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-2273746196622573395</id><published>2009-05-12T15:13:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T18:43:07.119-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Jeremiah Lanphier Prayer 1800's repost</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Following the Mexican-American war, America enjoyed a period of prosperity. Then a financial crisis overwhelmed her in 1857 putting tens of thousands out of work and closing down banks. Not knowing that the Civil War loomed on the horizon, the week before the Panic of 1857 hit, an inner city missionary, Jeremiah Lanphier, started a small prayer meeting. His original hope was to get people to return to church. Throughout the next two years, thousands joined the prayer meetings, and over a million people gave their hearts to the Lord. Here is a copy of a handbill Jeremiah distributed throughout New York City inviting people to pray.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"How Often Shall I Pray?“&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"As often as the language of prayer is in my heart; as often as I see my need of help; as often as I feel the power of temptation; as often as I am made sensible of any spiritual declension or feel the aggression of a worldly spirit."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"In prayer we leave the business of time for that of eternity, and intercourse with men for intercourse with God."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"A day Prayer Meeting is held every Wednesday, from 12 to 1 o'clock, in the Consistory building in the rear of the North Dutch Church, corner of Fulton and William Streets (entrance from Fulton and Ann Streets)."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;"This meeting is intended to give merchants, mechanics, clerks, strangers, and business men generally an opportunity to stop and call upon God amid the perplexities incident to their respective avocations. It will continue for one hour; but it is also designed for those who may find it inconvenient to remain more than five or ten minutes, as well as for those who can spare the whole hour."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-2273746196622573395?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2273746196622573395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=2273746196622573395' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/2273746196622573395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/2273746196622573395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/05/jeremiah-lanphier-prayer-1800s-repost.html' title='Jeremiah Lanphier Prayer 1800&apos;s repost'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-4109865933748282032</id><published>2009-05-08T20:52:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T18:43:25.631-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pioneer Journey West 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Pioneers heading westward could expect to travel upwards of 1500 miles cross country in a wagon. Most of the journey, an average of thirteen to sixteen miles a day, took place on foot. What we could drive in two days took them a third of a year, God willing and conditions allowing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The bed of the Conestoga wagon had little space if any for people. Along with the necessities of life including bedding, food, clothing, and medical supplies, pioneers carried treasured personal items and a tool kit for wagon repairs. Most of the journey west took place on foot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;While many families survived the trip through Indian infested territory, their possessions didn’t. The Conestoga wagon, which weighed over a ton empty, suffered innumerable losses and mishaps because of ruts in the terrain and rushing rivers. Their biggest test, the unforgiving mountain barrier, tried whatever patience remained. With hopes dashed of preserving memories of the homes they left behind, weary pioneers buried many of their remaining belongings in the ground to make it easier for their horses or oxen to pull the wagon up to the summit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Nevertheless, they recognized that the providence of God allowed them to start fresh in a territory more beautiful and bountiful than they had ever imagined.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-4109865933748282032?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4109865933748282032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=4109865933748282032' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/4109865933748282032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/4109865933748282032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/05/pioneer-journey-west-1800s.html' title='Pioneer Journey West 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-4453632803375340216</id><published>2009-05-07T18:27:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T18:43:45.134-04:00</updated><title type='text'>John Wilkes Booth/John St. Helen/David E. George 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;John Wilkes Booth or John St. Helen? Supposedly, John Wilkes Booth killed Lincoln then escaped only to be shot and burnt in a barn fire. However, did President Lincoln’s staff form a conspiracy to kill him? Or, did Booth who supposedly broke his leg on impact after he jumped from the President’s box at the theater, kill him then escape into Virginia? Shall we assume that John St. Helen’s deathbed confession that he was Booth and killed President Lincoln to be true, and thus the story that Booth was killed two weeks after the death of Lincoln to be a lie – or a cover up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;How then did the gun turn up (wrapped in a newspaper clipping that detailed the President’s assassination) exactly where St. Helen said it was? In 1898, a newspaper theorized that John Wilkes Booth had escaped the barn fire in 1865, wasn’t really shot, and left for South America.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;When a man named David E. George died in 1903, it is said that he had confessed that he was none other than John Wilkes Booth. Claims arose that a scar on his neck, a shorter left leg, and healed broken thumb matched John Wilkes Booth physical injuries exactly, according to the findings of a group of doctors from Chicago who examined the mummified body in the early 1900's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Many people believe the mummified body of John Wilkes Booth aka John St. Helen aka David E. George is still around somewhere. Do you know where it is?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-4453632803375340216?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4453632803375340216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=4453632803375340216' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/4453632803375340216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/4453632803375340216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/05/john-wilkes-boothjohn-st-helendavid-e.html' title='John Wilkes Booth/John St. Helen/David E. George 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-8676233159669002208</id><published>2009-05-06T10:49:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T18:44:03.985-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Railroad Section Camps 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Wages were minimal and labor was plenteous. As a result, many men looking for jobs that paid just enough money to buy their next drink, easily found work at a railroad section camp. Immigrants made up the bulk of workers in the camps. However, due to the low pay scale, transients, criminals, and men just looking for trouble usually found fertile ground here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The railroad section camp of the late 1800’s could have been called the disease camp. Medical knowledge as we recognize it today literally did not exist. As one would expect, anxiety over cleanliness rated at the bottom of the list for young men in their teens and early twenties who considered themselves invincible. Many young men who found themselves on the street when their families could no longer support them, turned to these camps for work and died there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Given the excessive conditions men worked in, where the heat of the day was met with the bone chilling cold of the damp nights, it’s surprising that more men didn’t die. Most owned only one set of clothes and spent their nights sleeping on the ground under open skies or in crowded tents hastily erected as the construction moved from section to section.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;In some areas, a few men were blessed to be able to spend their nights in off track Pullman cars. However, fresh water sources, if any, quickly became polluted as the supply represented the solitary location for bathing and drinking. As a result, many young men with already compromised immune systems died as tuberculosis, or phthisis spread throughout the country.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-8676233159669002208?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8676233159669002208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=8676233159669002208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/8676233159669002208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/8676233159669002208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/05/wages-were-minimal-and-labor-was.html' title='Railroad Section Camps 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-1992694980382450120</id><published>2009-05-05T17:48:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T18:44:22.683-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Orphans in the Midwest 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;When talking about poverty in the nineteenth century, we’ve heard much about the humanity angle of the orphan trains. Children in New York City roamed the streets for food, for shelter, for a loving hand. The Children’s Aid Society and the New York Foundling Hospital sent thousands of these children west for the plains and the prairies where they found suitable homes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;What’s not usually told is the story about children already living in the Midwest in poverty situations because of bank failures, businesses folding, and parents who had become too ill to manage their homes. More often than not, these children found themselves growing up in a state run orphanage. Some children were fortunate enough to have relatives who could pay for them to be put into one of the better, church administered homes. Nevertheless, the family unit didn’t function as we would see it function today. Eventually, many of these children were put into servitude to work for their keep. My grandmother was one of those children.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;As a result, many children came of age in a society that didn’t have strength enough or provision enough to take them in. In the later 1800’s, railroad section camps claimed many teenage boys, such as her brothers, and became their new home. Unfortunately, too many of them succumbed to tuberculosis or one of the many other communicable diseases before they even reached adulthood.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-1992694980382450120?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1992694980382450120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=1992694980382450120' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1992694980382450120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1992694980382450120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/05/when-talking-about-poverty-in.html' title='Orphans in the Midwest 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-1042395011675611216</id><published>2009-04-26T18:39:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T18:44:49.532-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Migration Patterns 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;In the mid-1800’s, my German born ancestors traveled by wagon from New York to Outagamie County, Wisconsin. There, one of the daughters met a Scotchman and married. That marriage produced a son who grew up in Wisconsin, traveled through the Dakota’s, lived in Fort Dodge, Iowa, then settled for a time in Illinois. He married the daughter of an Irishman. They eventually settled in Indiana, and thus cemented my German-Scotch-Irish heritage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Meanwhile, during that same period, a Frenchman traveled down from Lower Canada through Vermont. Being a fur trader, he migrated by way of river and canal. He eventually ended up in Huntington County, Indiana, where he met and married the daughter of a Quaker family who had roots in Pennsylvania. Their marriage produced a daughter who married into an English family with Mayflower ancestry. So, I guess that makes me German-Scotch-Irish-French-English.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Most of my search took place in local libraries. It's usually easier to be accurate when your source is in print. Nevertheless, there are some good online resources. One resource offers an illustrated map of migration patterns across the United States and is found at &lt;a href="http://www.migrationtrails.com/"&gt;http://www.migrationtrails.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; The author of the website gives credence to her site by providing a bibliography of her facts at the bottom of each page. It’s worth looking into.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-1042395011675611216?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1042395011675611216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=1042395011675611216' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1042395011675611216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1042395011675611216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/in-mid-1800s-my-german-born-ancestors.html' title='Migration Patterns 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-3627954417840451654</id><published>2009-04-23T17:12:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T18:46:26.392-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Civil War Women Spies 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Not all women in the Civil War days stayed home to sew socks for the men in battle. One of the greatest secret weapons during the Civil War turned out to be the woman spy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Rose “Wild Rose” O’Neal Greenhow became one of the most prominent spies for the Confederacy at age 46. According to the papers that are archived at Duke University, Rose is credited with winning the battle at Manassas for the Confederacy because of her successful spying. Even while imprisoned in the Capital Prison, Rose succeeded in getting her message out. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Nevertheless, an abolition counterpart to this secessionist named Elizabeth “Crazy Bet” Van Lew, 43, managed to infiltrate the house of the same Jefferson Davis who credited Greenhow with Manassas. She convinced one of her former servants to take a job at Jefferson’s house thereby forming the perfect ally to garner information. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Elizabeth also gained valuable information by pretending to ‘visit’ imprisoned Union soldiers. It’s said that even the Confederate guards unwittingly briefed her with secret intelligence. General Grant credited Elizabeth with “gaining the most valuable information from Richmond” than anyone else did during the Civil War.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-3627954417840451654?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3627954417840451654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=3627954417840451654' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3627954417840451654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3627954417840451654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/not-all-women-in-civil-war-days-stayed.html' title='Civil War Women Spies 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-3813705775464993944</id><published>2009-04-22T15:53:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T18:46:45.722-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Calamity Jane (Martha Jane Canary) 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Sometimes synonymous with Wild Bill (James Butler) Hickok, Martha Jane Canary, or as she liked to be called, Calamity Jane, came on the scene. A colorful young woman, Jane left her home in Missouri to travel west with her family in 1865. Acquiring a taste for alcohol on the westward journey at age thirteen, she could outdrink any man. She also dressed and talked like a man and was proud of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Both of her parents died within the next two years. Jane took over as family head, caring for her five younger siblings as they traveled into the Wyoming Territory. Before long, her&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; love for adventure drove Calamity Jane into the quest for notoriety. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Dressing and cursing like a man most of the time, she had a compassionate side which evidenced itself when she fell in love with Wild Bill. They met in Laramie and rode with two others to Deadwood, Wyoming. That was the extent of the relationship, according to witnesses. Nevertheless, her story said the opposite, and she claimed he was the father of her child Jane (Her second child of the same name). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Calamity Jane's dying request to be buried next to Wild Bill Hickok was granted.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-3813705775464993944?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3813705775464993944/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=3813705775464993944' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3813705775464993944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3813705775464993944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/sometimes-synonymous-with-wild-bill.html' title='Calamity Jane (Martha Jane Canary) 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-3048960581269466779</id><published>2009-04-21T19:12:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:37:50.212-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wild Bill Hickock (James Butler) 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;He said, “I never allowed a man to get a drop on me.” Celebrated American Cowboy, Wild Bill Hickok’s popularity grew after his picture was imprinted on the February 1867 cover of Harper’s New Monthly magazine. Gracious and courteous, Hickok served in the Civil War as a scout and killed his share of men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;While he had a notorious reputation, Hickok didn’t raise his gun except against an enemy. If he was threatened, he simply defended himself. The fact remains he served as a US deputy Marshall, county sheriff, and town Marshall.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;According to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.historynet.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663300;"&gt;www.historynet.com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;, “Around his waist was a belt that held two ivory handled Colt Navy revolvers, butts forward in open top holsters. Worn in this fashion, his six shooters could be drawn underhand and spun forward for the Plains or reverse draw, or for a cross body draw.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Nevertheless, while he sat playing poker in a Deadwood, Dakota Territory saloon in 1876, Jack McCall shot him in the back of the head. Motive unknown.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-3048960581269466779?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3048960581269466779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=3048960581269466779' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3048960581269466779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3048960581269466779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/american-cowboy.html' title='Wild Bill Hickock (James Butler) 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-1639926396277675545</id><published>2009-04-20T17:32:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:37:32.345-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Women's Pockets 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I heard a puzzling nursery rhyme as a child, but it finally made sense to me a few months ago. I wanted to have one of my characters in my historical romance conceal something in her pocket. Every time I tried to write it, it didn’t sound right. When I finally gave in to my instincts and looked it up, I found that young women in the mid-nineteenth century didn’t have pockets, at least not the kind you and I have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;A pocket during that period consisted of fabric (about as big as a dress or pants pocket today) sewn together. Then it was tied with a ribbon or cord long enough to encircle the waist. A young woman carried her pocket just underneath her outer garment. A slit in the side of her garment gave her easy access to her pocket and to whatever she carried in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The nursery rhyme? Supposedly, the rhyme originated in England in the eighteenth century but was first heard repeated in America around the mid nineteenth century. It goes like this: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Lucy Locket lost her pocket, Kitty Fisher found it. Not a penny was there in it, only ribbon round it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-1639926396277675545?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1639926396277675545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=1639926396277675545' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1639926396277675545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1639926396277675545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-heard-puzzling-nursery-rhyme-as-child.html' title='Women&apos;s Pockets 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-332898640058353934</id><published>2009-04-17T11:35:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:37:11.161-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Levi Strauss Jeans 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;It’s interesting what a little dreaming and perseverance will do for you. In 1847, an eighteen-year-old, German born immigrant settled in New York City with his mother and siblings. He then began working in the family’s dry goods business. When the California gold rush hit, he migrated to San Francisco to peddle his dry goods to other pioneers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, Latvian born, twenty-year-old, Jacob Youphes (who changed his last name to Davis) migrated to the US in 1854, and after moving around the country for fifteen years to find his niche, he ended up broke in Reno Nevada. There he started a business as a tailor and tent builder in 1869.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When a woman came to him one day and requested he make cheap pants for her husband, larger than average, Jacob came up with the idea to use rivets on the pockets of his pants to reduce the stress on the fabric. The duck fabric he used for the pants came from the German supplier in San Francisco. In 1871, he got together with his supplier, Loeb Strauss (who had changed his name to Levi) to file jointly for a patent on the pants called waist overalls. Today, they’re called Levi’s.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-332898640058353934?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/332898640058353934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=332898640058353934' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/332898640058353934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/332898640058353934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-interesting-what-little-dreaming.html' title='Levi Strauss Jeans 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-6702674901080102312</id><published>2009-04-15T23:58:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:36:52.680-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ice Harvesting 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Individual attempts at ice harvesting set the stage for more elaborate operations later in the century to provide refrigeration for wagons and railroad cars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;On the individual level, property holders worked together in the major task of snow removal. Once men cleaned the snow from the ice on a river, they chopped a canal from the cutting point to land to provide a means of floating the ice to shore. A special tool was used to score the ice into squares. Once the scores were uniform in the area to be cut, the ice was sawn into blocks and floated to land. Horse-drawn wagons then carted the ice to be stored either underground or in ice houses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;A time-consuming process, ice harvesting was completed all in one day if possible in order to avoid having to start the entire process over the next day. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-6702674901080102312?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6702674901080102312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=6702674901080102312' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6702674901080102312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6702674901080102312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/individual-attempts-at-ice-harvesting.html' title='Ice Harvesting 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-4819914119206894283</id><published>2009-04-14T15:28:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:36:37.026-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ice House 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I never stopped to think about how our ancestors kept their food cold until I read a passage from the book, &lt;em&gt;Growing Up in the 1850's - the Journal of Agnes Lee&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The preferred source of ice in that time period was a river because it had a continuous, fresh flow, and the water could not become stagnant. On January 19, the river where her family harvested ice must have been thawing. Agnes made reference that she was concerned that they wouldn't have enough ice for the ice house. However, by the time February 2 rolled around, she wrote that she didn't care whether the river froze now or not since her grandpa had plenty of ice in his ice house.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Harvesting ice required much time and detail, almost as much as harvesting crops. Once harvested, ice was hauled to the family's ice house. I came across a documentation of a nineteenth century ice house. You'll find&lt;em&gt; The Archeology of the Peel Mansion Ice House&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.projectpast.org/peel/index.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663300;"&gt;http://www.projectpast.org/peel/index.html&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt; to be an interesting site. It's amazing to see the features and intricacy of an actual building constructed in the 1800's whose only purpose stood to house&lt;/span&gt; ice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-4819914119206894283?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4819914119206894283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=4819914119206894283' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/4819914119206894283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/4819914119206894283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-never-stopped-to-think-about-how-our.html' title='Ice House 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-351302304349048588</id><published>2009-04-11T19:35:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:36:18.539-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Easter</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663300;"&gt;Have a blessed Easter!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-351302304349048588?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/351302304349048588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=351302304349048588' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/351302304349048588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/351302304349048588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/have-blessed-easter.html' title='Happy Easter'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-1458702877568486981</id><published>2009-04-10T10:34:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:38:56.400-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Prayer for Sara Mills</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Please be in prayer for fellow author, Sara Mills. A heart attack on Tuesday claimed the life of her husband who was only 40 years old. He also leaves behind three young children.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Sara's first book, &lt;em&gt;Miss Fortune&lt;/em&gt; was released at the end of September. Her second book, &lt;em&gt;Miss Match&lt;/em&gt; was just released in March by Moody Press.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;To read a recent interview with Sara and find out more about her books, please navigate to the following link.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://carasmusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/interview-with-sara-mills.html"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;http://carasmusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/interview-with-sara-mills.html&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-1458702877568486981?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1458702877568486981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=1458702877568486981' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1458702877568486981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1458702877568486981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/please-be-in-prayer-for-fellow-author.html' title='Prayer for Sara Mills'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-5740162715063763914</id><published>2009-04-10T09:44:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:36:02.827-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Early American Trails 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I came across an amazing site on the web while I was researching roads and trails. If you're a writer or genealogist, it's worth your time to visit:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;Early American Roads and Trails, Beverly Whitaker, Kansas City, Missouri, Copyright 2002.online &lt;a href="http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.com/~gentutor/trails.html"&gt;http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.com/~gentutor/trails.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Beverly is a professional genealogist from Kansas City which tells me that research at this site is accurate. Have fun!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-5740162715063763914?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/5740162715063763914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=5740162715063763914' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/5740162715063763914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/5740162715063763914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-came-across-amazing-site-on-web-while.html' title='Early American Trails 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-1552493076041022899</id><published>2009-04-09T17:09:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:35:39.742-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Santa Fe Trail 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The Santa Fe Trail became a well-worn wagon road soon after William Becknell led three wagons in a train from Arrow Rock, Missouri to Santa Fe, New Mexico in 1822. In spite of dangerous travel conditions through Indian territory, the trail became a major trade route for America and Mexico up until the Mexican American War in 1846.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo ended the war in 1848. At that time, the trade route became a chief highway of travel for those seeking California and Colorado gold. Like the National Road, the coming of the railroad to the west in 1880 ended the popularity of the Santa Fe Trail. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Before long, the trail was forgotten and became a route of the past. Parts of the trail can still be seen today, but most of it stretches on privately owned land.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-1552493076041022899?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1552493076041022899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=1552493076041022899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1552493076041022899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/1552493076041022899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/santa-fe-trail-became-well-worn-wagon.html' title='The Santa Fe Trail 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-3545607993942052264</id><published>2009-04-08T19:35:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:35:23.254-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Trail Where They Cried 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Subdued by force from the land they had known their entire lives - this was the Cherokee nation. Flatboats, wagons, and trains carted a few off, but most had to walk. You might say, “I’d rather ride the boat or train.” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663300;"&gt;Would you? First of all, the choice would not have been yours. Then, many of the Indians who did ride, fell prey to cholera and other disease.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;President Jackson didn’t hesitate to sign The Indian Removal Act of 1830 into law. Daniel Webster and Henry Clay resisted. Most Americans, including Davy Crockett opposed the law.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Nevertheless, in 1838, the Cherokee joined others such as the Choctaws, Seminoles, Chickasaws, Hiwassee, Creek, and other tribes who had already been herded like animals across drought-plagued land against their will. In the Cherokee language, the drive became known as “Nunna daul isunyi”, &lt;em&gt;the trail where they cried&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-3545607993942052264?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3545607993942052264/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=3545607993942052264' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3545607993942052264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/3545607993942052264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/subdued-by-force-from-land-they-had.html' title='The Trail Where They Cried 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-6724086964291712690</id><published>2009-04-06T17:39:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:34:54.851-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The National Road 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Business prospered along the National Road. Both men and women hoisted their welcome signs on taverns, the number one business on the pike. These intermission respites consisting of wagon stands, frame buildings, converted homes, and stage house taverns lined the roadway from Cumberland to Vandalia. They attracted stage drivers, riders and anyone else brave enough to travel the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Most taverns stood as more than just a place to drink. Weary trekkers settled in at night for a rest after a family-style, home-cooked meal. However, one who valued privacy would not survive the overnight stops. Throngs of people frequented each house, and stories declare that it wasn’t uncommon to fall asleep at night with strangers sleeping in the same room in the bed next to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Nevertheless, in spite of the popularity of these establishments, their success eventually ebbed as the canals and railroads with their ease of travel outdated the National Road. Only a handful of taverns survived the sudden, unexpected downturn that lasted until the advent of the motorized vehicle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-6724086964291712690?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6724086964291712690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=6724086964291712690' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6724086964291712690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/6724086964291712690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/business-prospered-along-national-road.html' title='The National Road 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-8350016075779198673</id><published>2009-04-05T16:44:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T19:34:40.936-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The National Road 1800's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#3366ff;"&gt;Many a man succumbed to the love affair with her believing that her very existence served to bond hundreds together and make a way for wealth and those who owned it to canter toward the west.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#3366ff;"&gt;She broke down walls of resistance and separation and made a way for travelers in the east to meet travelers in the west and all those in between. Many believed she saved the Union.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#3366ff;"&gt;However, just as every good thing has its end, her usefulness faded. In 1866, a song was penned to mourn her passing, a death precipitated by the coming of canals and steam railroads. The song demonstrates the deep pain that some experienced when she ceased to be. Then,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#3366ff;"&gt; thieving bands of men and women broke on the scene and degraded the very honor and beauty that was hers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#3366ff;"&gt;“We hear no more of the clanging hoof and the stagecoach rattling by. For the steam king rules the traveled world and the old pike’s left to die. The grass creeps o’er the flinty path, the stealthy daisies steal where once the stage horse day by day lifted his iron heel.” (written by E. Dexter)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#3366ff;"&gt;The Old Turnpike, the Cumberland, the National Road had seen her day, but something about her continues to resurrect with each new generation.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-8350016075779198673?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8350016075779198673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=8350016075779198673' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/8350016075779198673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/8350016075779198673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/many-man-succumbed-to-love-affair-with.html' title='The National Road 1800&apos;s'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239158688620450220.post-4518368411707143456</id><published>2009-04-04T15:41:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T19:35:14.673-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Introduction 1800's Musings</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#3366ff;"&gt;Can we ever conceive what our lives would be if God transported us back 200 years? We depict the life as romantic, complete, and something to be desired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#3366ff;"&gt;Nevertheless, the times held huge demands for the men and women whose hearts longed for something better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#3366ff;"&gt;The&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;coming weeks will offer a peek behind the curtain of life in the eighteen hundreds.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4239158688620450220-4518368411707143456?l=1800smusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4518368411707143456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4239158688620450220&amp;postID=4518368411707143456' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/4518368411707143456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4239158688620450220/posts/default/4518368411707143456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://1800smusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/can-we-ever-conceive-what-our-lives.html' title='Introduction 1800&apos;s Musings'/><author><name>Donna L. Rich</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-8EEdUiBRR4/Sd5a9cM5v2I/AAAAAAAAABU/Dq6gkVTS1Mc/S220/DSC_3618.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
