to
Chicago we understood each other so well that I ceased to worry about
any of the callers at her home and began to dream of the time when I
should have one of my own in which she should be the presiding genius of
the hearth-stone.

She was not in favor of my coming to Chicago, and had it been possible
for me to remain with honor in Philadelphia I should have done so, but
that being impossible I left for the great metropolis of the West,
promising to return for her providing her father would give his consent
to our marriage as soon as possible.

I think one of the first things almost that I did after arriving in
Chicago was to write the daddy of my sweetheart asking for her hand. I
had been a little afraid to do so when at close range, but the farther
away I went the bolder I became, for I knew that whatever his answer
might be I was certainly out of any personal danger.

The old gentleman's answer was, however, a favorable one, and so after
my first season's play in Chicago was over I returned to Philadelphia
and there was united to the woman of my choice, and I am frank to
confess that I was more nervous when I faced the minister on that
occasion that I ever was when, bat in hand, I stood before the swiftest
pitcher in the league.

The first little visitor that came to us was a baby girl that we called
Grace, who was born October 6, 1877. That seems a long time ago now. The
baby Grace has grown to womanhood's estate and is the happy wife of
Walter H. Clough, and the proud mother of Anson McNeal Clough, who was
born May 7, 1899, and who will be taught to call me "grandpa" as soon as
his baby lips can lisp the words.

Adrian Hulbert Anson was our next baby. He was born Sept. 4, 1882, and
died four days afterward, that being the first grief that we had known
since our marriage. Another daughter, Adele, crept into our hearts and
household April 24th, 1884, and is still with us.

Adrian C. Anson Jr. came into the world on September 4th, 1887, and died
on the eighteenth day of January following. He lived the longest of all
of my boys and his death was the cause of great grief both to his mother
and myself.

The storks brought me another daughter, my little Dorothy, on August
13th, 1889, and she, thank God, is still engaged in making sunshine for
us all.

John Henry Anson was born on May 3d, 1892, but four days later the angel
of Death again stopped at my threshold and when he departed he bore a
baby boy in his a