An attempt was, at one time, made to give the Branches of the State Bank of Iowa a monopoly of the bank note circulation in the State. An act was passed by the Tenth General Assembly which took effect July 4th, 1864, making it a misdemeanor "to pay out or in any manner put in circulation, or offer to put in circulation, any bank note, bill or other instrument intended to circulate as money, issued or purporting to be issued by any bank, individual or corporation in any other State, District or Territory within the United States or any foreign country."

These misdemeanors were punishable by a fine of five dollars for each note offered for circulation, except those issued by the authority of Congress, or notes of the Branches of the State Bank of Iowa. This monopoly did not benefit the Branches of the State Bank for any great length of time, as they closed business within fifteen months of its taking effect. Its enforcement would have necessitated the establishment of an exchange office at every crossing of the Mississippi River on the east, and the Missouri on the west, to say nothing of points on the north and south boundaries of the State where those coming to the State could trade their home-issued bank notes for those issued in Iowa.

The writer on coming to Iowa from Central New York in 1847, knowing that banks were prohibited here by the constitution, and supposing that the circulation of bank notes was also prohibited, exchanged his paper money at Buffalo at a discount for specie, only to find that the currency exchanged there for gold was just as current here in Iowa as the gold itself.

XIII-2 5

BUILDING THE FIRST SCHOOL-HOUSE.

A SKETCH, FOUNDED ON FACT.

By T. H. MACBRIDE.

UR little prairie community was very much like any other one of a thousand such that forty or fifty years ago took possession of the rolling plains of eastern Iowa. How any one of us came to that particular prairie, hardly one of us could tell. We started out from older communities not knowing whither we went, and presently found ourselves on the prairie all strangers at the outset, hailing from every section, united only in enthusiasm and the strong determination to win home and fortune. Those who were first on the ground selected lands which charmed alike by beauty and by nearness to water and to wood, at that time the only source of fuel. Those coming later dropped down on this quarter-section or that as circumstances seemed to dictate. Of course we all knew each other soon. If we did not know a man's name, we had no hesitation in riding over to ask him, nor was there any delicacy as to reporting, to the limits of opportunity, any facts ascertainable about a newcomer, his wife, children, horses, personal history, and belongings.

For the crystallizing or organization of such a heterogeneous section of humanity, Sundays seemed to offer best occasion. Father Blew stirred somewhat to life the community spirit by riding the prairie all one Saturday afternoon and inviting everybody to meeting at his house at two o'clock the next day. Of course everybody went, even although everybody knew that Father Blew's house was no bigger than the average at that time and contained no more than two or three rooms at most. But it was summer time and those who could not get indoors, could stay out and look in by the windows or even sit in the wagons and hear through the open door what was going on within. Father Blew was a preacher,

sure enough, although to what communion he adhered I never thought to enquire. His generosity included us all, and the entire absence of formality in his mode of worship made it easy for all to feel at home in his religious meetings. Otherwise he lived a quiet secluded life, his companion a spinster sister, very reticent, but a famous maker of delicacies withal, always for the gratification of other people. The house was farther noted as the first in the neighborhood to have a garden enclosed by a picket fence. There was also a fence before the door and in the narrow yard the blue-grass grew right up to the very base-board. There were no romping children there to trample it out, or keep the ground about the cottage bare. This was believed to be the first appearance of bluegrass in that county and there are those to-day who would derive the name of the now universal sod from that of the oldtime prairie preacher. However this may all be, the Sunday invitation once accepted, was oft repeated and with the same results, again and again, until meeting at Father Blew's became the regular thing and any fine Sabbath afternoon would bring out such a crowd of people that "movers" sometimes stopped their white-covered wagons on the highway and sent some one up to ask "if it was a funeral?"

It was on some such Sunday in the early fall that Father Blew closed his sermon with the announcement that after singing, all the men of the congregation were invited to meet around Gerrit Simpson's wagon outside to consider a matter of great importance to the community. How the news got

outside I do not know, but no second announcement was necessary. By the time the tones of Old Hundred had died away and the benediction was well pronounced such a crowd had gathered about Simpson's wagon that Mrs. Simpson, who had been in the house, could not see it at all, and Father Blew found great difficulty in getting into the forum for himself appointed. The old gentleman wore a pair of home-spun pantaloons of a tint since irrevently designated butternut, and his coat was of the cut known as shad-belly with shiny brass buttons, but his

vest seemed clerical and we all wondered where he got it. As he rose that afternoon, in Simpson's wagon, and looked over his glasses at the crowd, he seemed so dignified, and yet withal so benevolent that the people instinctively recognized their leader and required not so much as a gesture for perfect silence and attention.

"Friends and neighbors," began Father Blew, "I have as you know no children of my own, but I notice that all-or most all of you are men of family; this is a most salubrious. climate and God has given us many children. They are like prairie-chickens in a buckwheat patch in fall, and yet so far they are learning nothing. They are ignorant children. They know nothing except the wild freedom of these great meadows, and the skill for the little daily tasks which you assign them. How shall these children become citizens of the great Republic unless they learn to know its history and can read its laws? We must have a school. All you who are in favor of a school for this community raise your hands!" Every hand went up, except that of Peter Mitchell, the Englishman, but he was deaf and could hardly have been expected to give assent to such a proposition until it was explained to him. Now," continued Father Blew, "in order to have a school we must have a school-house; our first school-house back in Ohio was built of logs and I propose a log school-house here. Gerrit Simpson offers a half-acre of his hill top for a school-yard and if we all turn in and bring logs from the timber Friday we can have a raising-bee Saturday, and next Sunday morning will see a new school-house."

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The proposition was received with shouts. Gerrit Simpson's half-acre was agreed to as centrally located, and that quiet gentleman was induced to make it an acre. Every farmer proposed what he could do, most agreeing to bring logs, although Sam Waterson was allowed to bring from his quarry a load or two of rock for corners, chimney and so forth, and "Saw-mill" Johnnie promised slabs enough for the floor and seats and inch boards for the desks. All was conditioned

on fine weather. But in those days for some reason the weather was always fine. Morning after morning in autumn the sun rose gloriously over the low wave-like hills of our horizon and chased away the chill of night, and at eve he sank red again into the grassy plain just as for the sailor he dips beneath the level of the ocean. And so the sun rose fair on Friday, and it was soon evident that we were really a community and not a mere accidental clustering of families, for over the whole prairie there was a common stir. Everywhere teams and their drivers were on the road; mostly "running-gears," the driver astride the hounds behind, his pendent feet and legs knocking the pollen from the asters as he passed. In half an hour every team was out of sight, lost in the big woods that then occupied Skunk River bottoms; but by afternoon Simpson's hill looked like a gigantic wood-pile. There were logs enough to build two school-houses to say nothing of rock and slabs. Peter Mitchell brought in silence a load of lime and covered it with some of Saw-mill Johnnie's slabs. Somebody else had not forgotten sand, and Mr. Lyon, the richest man in the neighborhood-he loaned money to the rest-sent split walnut clap-boards for the roof, just what he had left over from roofing the barn; he hoped there would be enough. Father Blew in work-a-day dress stood there all day keeping tally, and great was his satisfaction as he read to his sister at night how the forests of Lebanon did once furnish trees to build the temple of Solomon.

Saturday morning the sun rose early, but there were many on our prairie who that day saw him rise. There was business on hand, and excitement such as we never knew again until that day the shot was fired on Sumter, and then it was of a different sort. Father Blew is reported to have been found there by Gerrit Simpson about sunrise. Gerrit knew he had not been there all night for the old `man wore a different coat. Gerrit himself was not only famous as the owner of the site on which the structure was so soon to rise but had won a reputation the fall before by setting up and