and ornamented by the application of aquafortis in patterns artistic or
grotesque according to the taste and ability of the operator. The horns
were sawed, split, boiled in oil, pressed flat, and then died out ready
to be fashioned into the shape required for the special product. This
was done in a separate little shop by Uncle Silas and Uncle Alvah. Uncle
Emerson then rubbed and polished them in the literally one-horsepower
factory, and grandfather bent and packed them for the market. The power
was supplied by a patient horse, "Log Cabin" by name, denoting the date
of his acquisition in the Harrison campaign. All day the faithful nag
trod a horizontal wheel in the cellar, which gave way to his efforts and
generated the power that was transmitted by belt to the simple machinery
above.

Uncle Emerson generally sung psalm-tunes as he worked. Deacon Hills, as
he was always called, was finisher, packer, and business manager. I was
interested to notice that in doing up the dozen combs in a package he
always happened to select the best one to tie on the outside as a
sample. That was his nearest approach to dishonesty. He was a
thoroughly good man, but burdened and grave. I do not know that I ever
heard him laugh, and he seldom, if ever, smiled. He worked hard, was
faithful to every duty, and no doubt loved his family; but soberness was
inbred. He read the _Cultivator_, the _Christian Register_, and the
almanac. After the manner of his time, he was kind and helpful; but life
was hard and joyless. He was greatly respected and was honored by a
period of service as representative in the General Court.

My grandmother was a gentle, patient soul, living for her family, wholly
unselfish and incapable of complaint. She was placid and cheerful,
courageous and trusting. I had four fine aunts, two of whom were then
unmarried and devoted to the small boy. One was a veritable ray of