The History and Genealogy of The Pearsall Family

toga Springs, where, with almost childish anticipation, I expected to find the Pearsalls thicker than grasshoppers in a Kansas corn field. To my great disappointment, not one was to be found, save those who reposed in the cemeteries. Unable to ascertain whence the living had gone, I determined to locate, if possible, the old Pearsall farm and pay a visit to the scenes so often depicted to me by my grandfather in my boyhood. I therefore repaired to Ballston Spa, County Seat of Saratoga County, where a careful perusal of the index of volume after volume revealed absolutely nothing of interest. Bitterly disappointed I resolved to journey to Albany and consult the records there. Then the motto, "Try, try again" came to mind so I decided to make a more thorough search at Ballston before my departure. This time my efforts were rewarded. I found a deed signed by George Pearsall, Jr. and his wife Priscilla in which the lands were described as being part of the Peter Pearsall farm, bought of John Muller and being part of Lots 1 and 4 of subdivision of lot 1, of the 18th enlargement, by which technical language the records located the property for me. This information in hand, I returned to Saratoga Springs, engaged an automobile and drove out on the high-way towards Lake George. When the odometer clicked off two miles, the driver stopped as previously directed and I alighted. No one lived at this particular point so after a careful survey of the surrounding country, we drove a mile distant to a brick house, which turned out to be the former home of the Brills. There I was informed that we had passed the Pearsall farm, so we returned to the cross roads, which they informed me, was formerly known as Pearsall's Corners. I alighted from the auto and leisurely walked about the old farm. A very nice lady, very nearly a relation, in that her sister had married into the Brill family, informed me that I was in the promised land of my childhood. I picked wild cherries from a tall tree along the roadside, which had no doubt been planted by Peter Pearsall, and as I ate the delicious ripe cherries, I dreamed of the dim and distant past when grandfather as a boy had probably enjoyed fruit from the same tree. I wandered about the old farm and memory pictures, faded in the lapse of years, were gradually restored. There was Peter's old saw mill, now used as a granary. The old white pine stumps in the pond were relics of the great pine forest Peter had felled for the mill. Beyond the main thoroughfare was Peter's old home, a two story structure of old Dutch colonial style. True it was badly in need of repairs, still it retained its lines of former grace and grandeur. The interior was formerly in keeping with the exterior. I marvelled that a home of this character should have been built upon a farm, in those days. The furniture, of which grandfather had often spoken, was missing but the chartulary, or strong box, in which, according to the old English custom of my ancestors, the deeds, wills, other important papers and treasures were kept, remained and at the present is used by the occupants of the house as a wood box. At the base of a low range of hills, back of the house, nestled in a grove of oak and wild cherry, is the family burying ground where my great grandmother, Mary Burtis Pearsall and my great great grandfather George Pearsall and his second wife repose waiting for the great day of judgment. On that cold gray autumn day, carried away with enthusiasm, my spirits soared to the very highest, and, as I sauntered about this beautiful, highly cultivated farm, that fairly teemed with interest, my one

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Excursion Inlet, Alaska