John Goeing came to the island and had been with us two years. He was an
educated and refined gentleman from Ireland. His father was a rich Irish
lord. John had been disappointed in love and left his "dear old Irish
home" to come to America. From a visit to friends in Canada he had
wandered to Beaver Island, and had been with us ever since. He was a
great reader, having a box full of books. He did not work, and being
very fond of us children he took it upon himself to teach us. He
received money from home often, with the finest of broadcloth suits of
clothes with silk underwear. Every evening after the lessons were heard
John would read to us or tell us about his "old home in Erin." What
brother Charley and I loved most was to have John tell about the chase
with hounds. I liked it all except where the fox was killed by the dogs,
then I would say, "John, can't you tell some stories where the fox gets
away from the hounds?" Then he smiled, saying, "I won't have the foxes
killed any more. It makes Elizabeth feel too sorry." Then he would get
his books, saying, "Now, children, where shall we go tonight? England,
Ireland or Scotland?" Sometimes we all wanted different stories. Then he
would say, "I will take you to Ireland, my own native home." To me it
was fairyland to listen to John telling of the home he had left, with
its lovely green parks, graveled walks, shady bowers where his father
and mother often strolled about with their children. We could almost see
it all as he told it to us, and so often when he finished the tears
would be falling through his fingers as his head rested on his hands.
And the books, how wonderful were the places he took us to in them! He
had traveled almost everywhere and we loved best to hear about his
travels. We could understand it all better. John was like a brother to
us younger ones, and like a kind son to father and mother.