Years have passed since my cycling days and yet I am strong and athletic.

My daughter Minnie and her husband, Dr. B. H. Chamberlain, with their only boy Hiland, have lately sold their home on Washington boulevard and are not yet settled again.

Arthur and Jessie, with three children, Marvin and the twins, Jean and Willard, have an elegant home on Keystone avenue, Rivert Forest. He owns the Inland Whitelead Co., which is a large concern.

Alberta and her husband, George Carlson, with their three bright girls, Mary, Mildred and Frances, live in their comfortable home near me in Oak Park. George is captain of our fire department.

Thus I have my children and grandchildren around me, all in good health and standing in the community.

I am still conducting my manufacture of copper and tinware on my property, corner Washington boulevard and Curtis street. My 75 years does not seem to trouble me, for I feel as well as I did fifty years ago.

Mary Hoyt, my first wife, long since entered the shadows where faults and failings grow dim, while virtues and charms blend the past, present and future into one eternal morning of gladness.

In 1902, I married Mrs. Williamson, whose maiden name was Mary Prickett, of Goshen, Ind. Our days together have been continued sunshine and joy. Evenings when I return home each tells of the day's joys, troubles and ludicrous incidents.

My Mary not only runs the home, buying, paying, attending to her church trotting and downtown shopping, but she is interested in my ups and downs at the factory. Inquires all about Dorfman, my factory superintendent; Bilthouse, my mechanical engineer, and carries in mind my business associates, knows their names and who they represent.

To me, a man who expects his wife to stay in her place, never deserving of praise, misses much he might enjoy if he knew enough to appreciate her worth. Many a man's success in life is owing to the genius of his wife, a fact which neither seems to understand.

Our home, northwest corner East and Chicago avenue, Oak Park, we built in 1909 and 1910. The house is spacious and elegant, but the gem of Fair Oaks subdivision is our large yard.

Of the six stately burr oaks, known to be hundreds of years old, one stands near our sleeping room window, on which is the house or home of a mother squirrel, who when she has babies allows no other squirrel to even climb the tree. Each day she comes down to the kitchen for dinner, often sitting on Mrs. Richardson's shoulder while eating and does not even care if her tail does brush the ladies' eyes.

There are about forty other large trees in the yard besides, on either side of the bridge, a dense thicket of thorn and crab apple trees. Here the wrens and robins raise their broods in harmony with the saucy sparrows who live with us all the year, eat that which would be thrown away, and never disturb other birds' nests. They all bathe in the same pool and actually seem to appreciate our little dog Joe, who assumes great responsibility in keeping the cats from catching the young birds and the boys from climbing over our high iron fence.