brought back some flax to spin, and the pay for it in advance, which consisted of a small bag of meal, some beans, and a little meat, that she might have supper ready for the father and boys when they returned. These horseback rides became so frequent that every family in the settlement not only knew this intrepid woman and her horse, but were glad to call her in to rest and share their comforts. This undaunted spirit she bequeathed to her grandson, as his especial inheritance.

James, the eldest son, married a Connecticut girl, and settled two miles to the west. Abram, the second son, married, in 1821, Dorcas Burdick, the daughter of a near neighbor. He secured one hundred acres of land, upon which was already a small log house. In this the family altar was erected, and here, in 1823, Jonathan Allen, the eldest of six children, was born.

I

CHAPTER II.

BOYHOOD.

N this new household busy years followed for the young mother. The three brothers and two sisters that came during the next five years became Jonathan's especial care in all his early boyhood. He was always old and thoughtful for his years. His brother, Deacon Allen, writes: "He was ever our peacemaker, and the champion and protector of the little twin sisters, always called 'the babies."" As soon as they were old enough to walk, all the bright, sunny days were spent in the fields and woods around the home. The little girls placed in the center, and the twin brothers one on each side, with the older brothers each taking a hand of these, made quite a string of babies, the eldest being less than seven years old. They would walk, run, and sing, hunting baby treasures. These children of the forest knew every sunny knoll where the first buds of spring would open, and their tiny hands gathered each day their little aprons full of the lovely hepatica, the long, glossy partridge vines, with their scarlet fruit, the brown, velvety moss, and spicy wintergreen. Some of these must always be kept for mother, whose tender smile would well repay the loving little hearts. So the bare feet pressed each sod on that bright hillside, where some new flower, leaf, or bird's nest brought zest to the new day. When weary, they would choose some sunny, mossy hillock or shady nook, and lie down, a group of tired children, all falling asleep save the ever-watchful Jonathan.

Perhaps, more than he himself knew, we owe his lifelong heroic defense of woman to the tender care of these little sisters. Rich or poor, black or white, he believed with all his soul that woman, as a child of God, had a right to live her own independ

ent life, and work out her own soul's destiny. In him she always found a ready and fearless advocate. His counsel to every young woman was, “Go forward; trust in your own good sense and in God for success.'

He showed very early an uncommonly sensitive nature, as his observations of all around him were keen, poetic, and lasting. Once, when a small child, he was allowed to see a little cousin buried. The horror of that baby being put into the ground never left him, and through his whole life it was a dark shadow, making him ever search eagerly for some better way. Indeed, this was the first foreshadowing of the idea which in later years developed into his earnest support of cremation.

VISITS TO GRANDPARENTS.

He was very fond of going to the homes of his grandparents. Grandma Allen and Aunt Katie would always have some choice apple or bit of sugar for their pet, and these expressions of love, so rare to him, were among his brightest memories. When staying the night, they would allow him to sit up later than his wont, in order to stand by the little work table and snuff the tallow dip. How he would watch the waning light, that his power could make shine again! They used to call him the "little candle miller." The same snuffers, iron candlestick, and threelegged table are now among the choice treasures of the Steinheim. How well he remembered the first time he was called a good boy, for to those stern characters praise was considered almost a sin, degenerating into flattery.

At Grandfather Burdick's there were two sick aunts, where his willing hands and feet always proved hasty messengers to minister to their many calls. Being at one time uncommonly patient and helpful, one of them said, "You are a good boy, Jonathan." The sensation was so new that he almost cried for joy. At another time one of them said, “You would make a good doctor." "I am too lazy for a doctor," came the ready answer; but, thinking it over, his childish fancy built up many an air-castle of how he would ride around the country, like Doc