(see also: Desolation in East Rushford)

(From the scrapbook of Eddy C. [1857-1944] & Helen White Gilbert [1855-1929].  Clippings may not be dated and newspaper may be unknown, unless noted. Most dates supplied were handwritten and initialed by the collectors.)  In most cases, these clippings were from Rushford Spectator/The Spectator.

Transcribed by Joseph Damiano.

By Viola Evans
[Published ca. 1927]

This is how the work begun,
Our trees were taken one by one,
Here a fruit tree, there a shade,
'Neath which little children played.

Those graceful elms, our joy and pride
Standing near the highway side,
By the ruthless ax must fall
Sad it seemed to lose them all.

Then that stately evergreen,
At all time so plainly seen
Under which in weather fine
Sumner Kilmer had his chair.

In earlier years, a soldier brave,
He helped our country's flag to save
But when resting ' neath this tree
All this was but a memory.

Then was our street of beauty bereft
With none of its lovely maples left
No beauty now attracts the eye
Of a stranger passing by
In desolate East Rushford.

[Published ca. Jan. 1928]


Last night while I lay sleeping,
A vision came to me;
I thought I saw East Rushford
Just as it used to be.

I was standing on the hilltop
And gazing thru the hollow,
And all was wondrous beauty
As far as eye could follow
The old sawmill was standing,
As it stood in days of yore;
I could see the logs, piled high,
I could hear the hum and roar.

I could see the busy street,
With the houses side by side
All shaded by tall maples,
Their branches spreading wide
And in the very center, The Dakey family dwell,
Friendly Hiram and his wife
And the girls i love so well.

The old school bell was ringing,
As, Alas, 'twill ring no more
And many hurrying children
Were passing thru the door.

The creek was softly flowing
It's murmurs never cease;
I could see the happy people,
And all was love and peace
And then the vision faded.
Deep sorrow comes to me.
'Tis a scene of desolation
As far as eye can see.

The homes are all deserted,
The buildings torn and scattered:
There's not a tree left standing,
The land is burnt and battered.
We've obeyed the law of Progress
That made this stern decree,
But we'll not forget this humble home
'Til time has ceased to be.
O, little old East Rushford,
" Tis in my dreams I see
You, in your wondrous beauty,
Justas you used to be.

[Grace Chapman?]