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what the foundation of American aristocracy really is, and run to vanity, selfishness, patent spring bottom pants, "rats" and false hair?

It is now approaching the time when the meetings are to commence and to blast or toot the horn which brings the scattered congregation together. Those men who from long habit, carry their rifles with them, lean them against a tree and divest themselves of shot pouch and powder horn. A dog fight or two is settled and the yelping curs sent off to crouch under the wagons; then all gather in and seat themselves on the rough boards. A few youngsters who are habitually thirsty at meeting take a last long drink out of the bucket near the pulpit, put the gourd dipper down rather noisily, then make their way to their mothers, who unceremoniously yank them into a seat and bid them all sit there and be quiet. At last all is still and solemn. Brother Brown raises up his tall form threatening to bring the top of his head and the brush above in violent collision. He casts a searching glance over his audience and finally all are attentive as the occasion requires and he commences in a sonorous voice to line out the hymn:

"Children of the Heavenly King,

As we journey sweetly sing,"

Here we leave them, confident that Brother Brown, in his fervid zeal, will faithfully warn his interested hearers to flee from the wrath to come.

Thus was the foundation of Methodism in Grayson and adjoining counties. Brother Brown was succeeded by Jefferson Shook and he by Andrew Davis and others, all earnest workers in the cause. The Baptist faith was ably upheld by two brothers by the name of Hiram and James Savage. One lived on Caney Creek and the other on Bois d'Arc, as farmers. They tilled the soil during the week, preaching on Sundays, accomplishing great good on the frontier of Grayson.

The Fourth of July, 1847, was the occasion of a grand barbecue and barn dance at Sherman, and to a great many who attended the festivities this was their first view of the new county seat. A log house about 20 feet square, used for a court house, and a few rods of plowed ground comprised the metropolis from one end to the other. I will leave my readers to picture the contrast of the city then and now. For the barbecue a large brush shed was built, under which were tables loaded with all the delicacies of the season, welcome to all, to eat, drink and be merry without money and without price. The refreshment stand, a rail fence partly built around a barrel of whiskey stood near at hand, while a tin cup did frequent duty for a thirsty crowd. The court house was thrown open to accommodate dancers. Justice took off her spectacles, laid aside her scales, and for once in her life gave herself up to the intoxicating pleasures of the hoedown. Music was furnished by a stalwart darkey perched on a barrel; when he gave out another stood ready to take his place until he could visit the refreshment stand and counteract the effect of the heat and his violent exertions by looking for the bottom of his tin cup.

When we stop and think of the advancement made in every direction since this period of Texas' early settlement, the time seems longer than it really is. When we remember that those pioneers had no newspapers, magazines, or any kind of communication with the outside world, save as came by word of mouth; no telegraph, telephone or railroads, that churches and schools barely struggled into existence after long years of patient waiting, it makes one imagine a pre-Adamite sort of existence and not of a time of sixty years ago. Think of having no thread except that manufactured at home; no matches, a flint their only dependence and a stump in the field set fire to by its spark was their reserve when the fire at the house would accidentally go out; the neighbors literally coming to borrow a shovel of coals.

The faithful historian of the Lone Star State cannot ignore, if he is a loyal chronicler, the honor due early settlers for services rendered as advance guards to the great time of immigration that peopled a prosperous land. It has not been in my power to mention but a very few of the pioneers of Grayson County, but however small the number, they help swell the grand total, and I bespeak their recognition in the annals of the State. The pioneers of a country are deserving a niche in the country's history, and the pioneers who became martyrs to the development of an almost unknown land deserve to have a place in the hearts of its inhabitants. None but the brave and venturesome, energetic and courageous dare penetrate the pathless wilderness and trackless forests, and Texas, with her cultivated fields, untold wealth and beautiful homes, may well enshrine the memory of her noble-hearted pioneer pathfinders, martyrs.

SEVEN TRIPS UP THE TRAIL

By J. F. Ellison, Jr., Fort Cobb, Okla.

J. F. ELLISON

My first trip up the trail was in the year 1869, over the old Fort Arbuckle Trail. I made seven trips in all. In 1876 I worked for Ellison, Dewees, Willett and Maberry, and was on the trail for six months. These men drove out that year fully one hundred thousand cattle. We had our hardships, boys, but when we look back and reflect over those good old times spent in each other's company, and compare those old days to the present time, we

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conclude that we had our share of the good things of life and played well our part in the development and transformation of a wild country into one of peace, plenty and prosperity. There are hundreds of the old boys yet living that we knew in the trail days, and to all of them I send greetings and good wishes.

THE OLD TRAILERS

Recited by Luther A. Lawhon at the conclusion of his address, when as representative of Mayor Bell, he welcomed to San Antonio the members of the Old Time Trail Drivers' Association, who had assembled for their annual reunion, September 9th and 10th, 1919:

You recollect, though white your hair,
When you came up to see the sights,

And pike a little here and there,
And wager on the badger fights?

Around the plazas, then alive,

And found an ample feedin' trough;
You smoked 'em with your forty-five,
And stood the stern policeman off.

But joys like these will soonest pale;
The eagle will not long be bound;

So pretty soon you hit the trail,

That led you to the stampin' ground.

"Back to the ranch-to hell with the towns!"
You shouted with a savage yell;

You told the boys your ups and downs,
And some things that you didn't tell.

But, ah, today-alas, the change!

Those good old times have faded out; "Tis strange-indeed, 'tis passing strange, How all these things have come about.

Now "Coke" and Tango run a race,
For the honors in the social cup,
And golf and baseball take the place
Of poker, dice and seven-up.

And when we stroll in friendly way

To read the signs and see the town, The jitneys mark us for their prey, And aeroplanes may knock us down.

The city's lit with 'lectric lights

That blaze and blind us as we pass;
No more we note, in rooms at nights,
The warning, "Don't blow out the gas."

But we still have John Blocker here,
And Ike T. Pryor, good and stout;
And they'll come down-you never fear-
With what we need to help us out.

And we've George Saunders, too, today;
He'll hand us up the welcome ten,
Which we'll remit without delay,
And which he'll never see again.

Sweet are the whispered words of love;
And sweet the poet's honied rhymes;
But sweeter far, where'er we rove,

The memories of those good old times!

Such are the scenes that we recall;

And still, perchance, for them we mourn;

But have a good time-one and all,

For, fellers, San Antonio's your'n.

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