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NAME: Smith, James D. (m. Catherine Franz)

OBIT: (Manson, Calhoun, Iowa)

James Smith Dead - Manson people were startled Sunday afternoon by the announcement of the death of Jas. Smith, Sr.
 He had been to church as usual Sunday morning and returned home without making any complaint, sat down in a chair, said he did not feel well, moved over to the couch and expired without another word. Death was due to heart failure brought on by the exertion of walking through the cold from the church home.
 The deceased was born in Westmoreland county, Penn. Feb. 22, 1830.
 He was married to Miss Catherine Frantze, in 1849, in Westmoreland county. To this union, 15 children were born, all but four of whom survive him. The living are as follows: Mrs. Hannah Holland, Savannah; Mrs. Amanda McCoy, of Chicago; W. Smith, of Washington, Iowa; Robert Smith, of Lansing, Mich; Elizabeth Beggs, of Iowa City; John Smith, of Pocahontas; James Smith, Harry Smith and Mrs. Sarah Carver, of Manson; Martha Van Anken, of Columbus Junction; Tillie Albright, of Omaha, Nebr.
 There are 43 grand children and 41 great grand children.
T he family lived in the east until 1876, when they moved to Manson, where he has since made his home except for a few years when he lived in the southeastern part of the state. His aged wife passed away last summer.
 Mr. Smith was a member of the M.E. church and died firm in the faith.
 He leaves a large circle of friends who sincerely mourn his death, but all are comforted by the belief that he will there receive the reward that has so often bene denied him here. Peace to his ashes.
 The funeral was held Wednesday at the M.E. church, Rev. Cole speaking words of comfort to the family and friends.

OBIT: (Manson, Calhoun, Iowa)

The click of the wire told of his death,
That his life had ended on earth forever;
The love and the smile so joyful and gay,
Like friendship, must suddenly sever.
This friend whom we knew so well in life,
Has gone silently out from earth and love;
And we come to strew on his coffin today,
Beautiful flowers he knew not of.
We did not think while he lived on earth,
To send him a word of uplift and cheer;
While his head grew grey in the battle hard,
We forget that he loved these tokens dear.
The fragrant flowers he loved so well,
We come to scatter upon his bier;
He missed the perfume upon his desk,
And the daisies that shed their dewlike tear.
Oh, why withold the alabaster box,
Until life has vanished in air?
And the precious gifts it hold for us,
Are kept with such wonderful care.
What availeth to him the love untold,
Of our vain and selfish regret?
Why keep the flowers till sad hearts break,
Then pile them on coffins, too late, tear-wet.
Open the alabaster box, my friends,
To the dear ones living today;
Don't keep it sealed up for an unloved hour,
But scatter with sunshine the way.