What skillful pictures we would make, Or draw her profile on the slate. Of Christ, the Prince of David's line. Throws out the bud, the flower, the seed, The mind of childhood can not be Of virtuous thought and manly deeds, Alas for some, their forms are laid Be this our purpose bright and strong, That when life's days and nights are passed, We all may meet at home at last. Now all is changed, no more we hear The sturdy stroke of pioneer. No more we see on morning breeze His blue smoke curling through the trees. No more in hazel brush is heard, The shrill notes of the forest bird. Quenched on the hearth their cheerful fire ; Gone are the elms from where they stood, Gone is the nicely sanded room, Gone is the spinning wheel and loom; Sweet be their rest, since closed the strife, O'ershadow worth, and gain control Nor share of backwood's toil and pain; Yet much we wish that all might live, CHAPTER XV. PIONEER REMINISCENCES. The character of the pioneers of Macomb, falls properly within the range of history. They lived in a region of exuberant fertility, where nature had scattered her blessings with a generous hand. The winding Riviere Aux Hurons, the beautiful forests, the fertile oak openings, the hard but happy labors of the husbandman and his family, and the bright hopes which burned, combined to impress a distinct character, to bestow a spirit of enterprise, a joyousness of hope and an independence of feeling. The community formed an admixture of many nations, characters, languages, conditions, and opinions. All the various Christian Gods had their worshippers. Pride and jealousy gave way to the natural yearnings of the human heart for society; prejudices disappeared, they met half way and embraced; and the society thus gradually organized became liberal, enlarged, unprejudiced, and naturally more affectionate, than a commune of people all similar in birth and character. In the following pages these facts will appear more manifest. The tales of the olden time point out that time as one, where solidarity of interests marked the character of the people, and leave little doubt that the ideal of good will to man ruled in their hearts. PIONEER MOTHERS. What shall we say of the true woman-the pioneer woman of this country? Ah! the Past, with its lights and shadows, its failures and its successes, its joys and its privations, is well remembered by the surviving pioneer, and happily in many instances by his children. Many a pioneer of the townships of this county has already gone to his rest on the hill, that gave to those, near and dear to him, a first outlook upon the pioneer life that was to come,-a life destined to develop these forces of the head and heart, forces, which, in the luxury and ease of an older civilization, rarely appear upon the surface of society. It was not always the dark side of the facies which was turned toward the pioneer, for though many of the immigrants were rough, and in many instances ungodly; yet manhood and womanhood were here in all their strength and beauty, and nowhere in the world of created intelligence did God's last, best gift to man, more clearly assume the character of a helpmate, than in the log cabin, and amid the rough and trying scenes, incidental to a home in the wilderness. Ever foremost in the work of civilization and progress, the pioneer woman—the true woman-was to-day physician, to-morrow nurse, and the following day teacher of the primitive school. Withal the woman was busily engaged in that wearisome round of household work which knows no cessation. Early and late, all the year round, the pioneer woman acted her part well. From year to year, as through many privations. and much new and strange experience of that necessity, which is the mother of invention, wife and husband joined hand to hand to work out under the green arches of the wilderness the true beginnings of Macomb County. To the pioneer mothers of Macomb honor belongs. The many who are gone to their rest left a memory to honor-treat the living mothers well and tenderly. THE FIRST HOMES OF THE PEOPLE. How natural to turn our eyes and thoughts back to the log cabin days, and contrast them with the homes of the present time. Before us stands the old log cabin: Let us enter. Instinctively the head is uncovered in token of reverence to this relic of ancestral beginnings and early struggles. To the left is the deep, wide fireplace, in whose commodious space a group of children may sit by the fire, and up through the chimney you may count the stars; while ghostly stories of witches and giants, and still more thrilling stories of Indians and wild beasts are whisperingly told, and shudderingly heard. On the great crane hang the old tea-kettle and the great iron pot. The huge shovel and tongs stand sentinel in either corner; while the great andirons patiently wait for the huge back log. Over the fire-place hangs the trusty rifle; on the right side of the hearth stands the spinning wheel; while in the farther end of the room is the loom looming up with a dignity peculiarly its own. Strings of drying apples and poles of drying pumpkins are overhead. Opposite the door by which you enter stands a huge deal table; by its side the dresser, with pewter plates and shining delf catching and reflecting the fire-place flame, as shields of armies do the sunshine. From the corner of its shelves coyly peep out the relics of former china. In a curtained corner, and hid from casual sight, we find the mother's bed; and under it the trundle-bed, while near them a ladder indicates a garret where the older children sleep. To the left of the fire-place, and in the corner opposite, the spinning wheel forms the mother's work-stand; upon it lies. the Holy Bible, evidently much used-its family record telling of parents and friends a long way off, and telling too of children "Scattered like roses in bloom Some at the bridal, and some in the tomb." Her spectacles as if just used are inserted between the leaves of her Bible, and tell in one. THE KEG OF GOLD. He looked for gold in the streets, and found none! He searched the alleys of the city for silver and found not a groat! Thus it was with those who searched for a Keg of Gold, near where now is the railroad bridge, in olden as well as modern times. It is related, that about the years 1810-13, the paymaster of the British garrisons along the lakes, left Detroit, en route to the Indian villages, then in the vicinity of Mount Clemens, to distribute the price of American scalps among the tribes. The old trail was by the river ford in the immediate vicinity of the present railroad bridge and the Morass House. The river was swollen at the time, so that it was necessary to requisition a canoe for the transfer of the officer and his golden charge to the left bank of the river. This resulted in the capsizing of the birchen craft, in the drowning of the officer, and the loss of the keg of gold. Of course a search was at once instituted for this token of wealth; but the searchers are said to have failed to find it. In more recent years a quantity of metal, said to be lead of a peculiarly hard quality, was found; which would lead one to suppose that the real paymaster stayed at Detroit, clothed some unfortunate private in an officer's uniform, and dispatched him on a trial trip, with this keg of little value, just to learn what would be his own fate were he to venture into the wilderness with the golden treasure. He learned it, and it is said that British blood-money was ever afterwards paid at Malden. THE RECLUSE OF THE MARSH. It is well known that north and west of the light-house, above the ruins of the ancient city of Belvidere, stretches a vast muskeg, bordering on the lake, and fringed all round with a deep and lovely forest. This marsh is the home of the wild-duck, the musk-rat, and the wild-goose during the winter and spring seasons, and of the rice-feeding black-bird during the summer. It seems like the last of places, man would select for a dwelling place its flat and uninviting landscape wearying the eye with its monotony every season; while, in winter the freezing breeze of the ice encumbered lake comes sweeping across it with an Arctic breath that makes the bones ache, and the human frame tremble. In such a place the relics of a shanty could be seen-the timbers covered with earth and mould, and the broken or pulverized clay-mortar of the chimney or fire-place scattered round. Here, it is related, dwelt the recluse of the marsh, a solemn, solitary man, whose life seemed centred in one single thought, even as it was passed in that solitary wilderness. What a tale might be told of his reasons for this mode of life; what sad or romantic disappointments that sickened him of life's pleasures! Whatever his story may have been, all that remains is a little mound of earth, raised by the action of time and the decay of vegetable mould over the hearth, where the sad man brooded away so many years of his life. The name of the solitary man—the recluse of the marsh, was Tuckar. A MOTHER-IN-LAW'S JOURNEY TO THE HURON. In the fall of 1827 Judge Bunce's wife's mother advised his departure from her home in the Empire State for Detroit, en route to the Huron. The Judge met the old lady at Detroit, and there hired a Frenchman to take them to the mouth of the Huron in his cart. At the latter point he hired another Frenchman to take them in his canoe via the Snibora channel to Mons. Chortier's dwelling. This canoe navigator said he knew the route well, yet he missed the Snibora and was completely at sea. The sky became overcast, wind and wave arose, they began to ship water, the guide became bewildered, and the Judge told him to give up the paddle and the stern of the canoe. He refused, saying, "I spaddle my own canoe." The Judge repeated his order to give up the paddle, take his hat, and pour out the water. The Frenchman ultimately complied, the Judge took the paddle, and after a desperate struggle with the storm, beached the frail bark. They were saved. DETROIT TO MT. CLEMENS. In the spring of 1819, while in Detroit, Judge Bunce hired a man by the name of Jackman, and started on horseback for his St. Clair home. The lake was nearly free of ice but some remained in the bogs. At the mouth of Clinton River he made inquiries as to the soundness of the ice across the bay to Salt River, and was |