Concerning Genealogies: Being Suggestions of Value for All Interested in Family History

In Short

This practical, instructional guide serves as an early-twentieth-century manual for aspiring genealogists, detailing the transition from casual record-hunting to the professional publication of family histories. It champions the "historical method"—the rigorous documentation of sources—over the loose, anecdotal traditions common to the era. By contrasting the limitations of "clan" genealogies with a new, ancestor-focused "Grafton Plan," the book provides a systematic framework for organization and compilation. It remains a fascinating artifact of genealogical history, capturing the meticulous, patient spirit required to anchor one’s identity in the records of the past.

The Story

The pursuit begins not with a formal plan, but with a simple, human curiosity about one’s origins. It is a recreational chase, comparable to the excitement of an angler landing a difficult catch or a hunter tracking game. The process starts in the "dark corners" of life—attics, neglected church record books, and forgotten town registers. The author recounts his own journey, moving from a vague family legend about a Revolutionary War captain to the discovery of a more modest, flesh-and-blood ancestor: a French Huguenot weaver living in a modest house on Hog-Neck. This transformation, from the inflated myths of "starched and laced" imaginary heroes to the authentic reality of an actual human being, serves as the central motive for the research.

As the scope of the project expands, the researcher encounters the inherent danger of "clan" genealogies—works that trace every descendant of a single surname. The author argues that this approach is fundamentally flawed because it ignores the vast web of maternal and collateral lines. Instead, he proposes the "Grafton Plan," which focuses on the many lines of a single individual's ancestry. Through this method, the researcher shifts from gathering a jumbled collection of names to mapping out a full, ten-generation tree, theoretically encompassing over a thousand ancestors.

The narrative arc moves from the excitement of the "find" to the grueling reality of organization. The author warns of the "terror of the notebooks," where unorganized research becomes a chaotic burden that complicates, rather than clarifies, the family story. He offers a specific solution: a system of perforated, detachable notebook pages and a chart-index that allows the researcher to maintain order from the very first discovery to the final manuscript.

The journey concludes with the transition from private inquiry to public contribution. The author insists that printing one’s findings is a "patriotic duty" and a "moral obligation" to posterity. He guides the reader through the technical requirements of high-quality printing, the importance of professional proofreading, and the necessity of selecting a publisher who understands the specific, scholarly, and marketable nature of genealogical works. The story ends on an optimistic note, suggesting that once the labor of one project is complete, the researcher should immediately begin another, creating a permanent, growing legacy of historical documentation—and perhaps even a steady stream of income—that will continue to offer value long after the author is gone.

How It Unfolds

The urge to hunt The reader is introduced to the hobby of genealogy as a noble, exciting pursuit that rivals traditional sports. It is described as a way to "bring to life" ancestors by transforming old, ignored records into a permanent contribution to history.

The shift to evidence The author makes a case for the "historical method," arguing that one must cite every authority—wills, deeds, and church records—to achieve credibility. He warns that failing to note sources immediately leads to a "despair" that can ruin a project.

The clan vs. the individual The book contrasts the popular but limited "clan" genealogy, which follows one surname, with the "Grafton Plan," which maps a person's entire ancestral web. This shift allows the researcher to focus on their unique, multifaceted heritage rather than a generic family tribe.

The mechanics of order Detailed advice is provided on using a chart-index and a system of detachable notes to prevent the research from becoming a "jumbled miscellany." This section turns the abstract goal of genealogy into a tangible, manageable set of office tasks.

The final product The guide concludes by instructing the reader on how to print, proofread, and publish a book. It emphasizes that a well-documented genealogy is a durable, valuable asset that will remain relevant for generations.

The People

The book is populated by the "ancestry-hunter"—the reader—who must evolve from an amateur collector of anecdotes into a disciplined, systematic historian. This person begins as someone seeking a sense of identity but often finds their original, romanticized myths about family grandeur challenged by the humble truth of reality.

The "ancestor" is the other central figure. Whether it is the fictional "Captain" whose military record ends in the word "deserted," or the "gentle weaver" of Hog-Neck, these figures represent the raw material of the craft. They are not merely names; they are the subjects of "biographical pen pictures." The reader’s relationship with these figures changes as the research deepens: the initial thrill of discovering a "picturesque pirate" gives way to a more mature respect for the "quiet respectability" of everyday laborers.

Finally, the "publisher" emerges as an essential guide and "old fox" who understands the nuances of the book trade. Unlike the amateur who might sink a fortune into ineffective advertising, this figure represents the professional standards required to make a genealogy a successful, lasting contribution to the world.

In Its Own Voice

The ancestry-hunter does not kill, but brings to life.

This line captures the author's argument that genealogy is a restorative, noble act that creates historical value rather than merely consuming time.

If we are gifted with a sprightly style, let us make the most of it.

This encourages the researcher to move beyond dry, statistical lists and instead write with the narrative charm of a storyteller to make the ancestors feel real.

The "Grafton Plan," as we have called it,--already carried into execution, and approved by experience,--will appeal to thousands for whom "tribal" genealogies have little interest.

This introduces the author's specific contribution to the field, positioning his proposed method as a more personal and rewarding alternative to traditional, surname-based approaches.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an argument for the transformation of genealogy from a disorganized hobby into a formal, rigorous branch of historical science. It asserts that personal identity is found in the specific, proven details of one's lineage rather than in the hazy, flattering traditions passed down through generations. The underlying question is one of legacy: how can a private, ephemeral search for one’s roots be refined into a permanent, authoritative record that serves both the family and the public? It argues that the true "value" of the past is found in the honesty of the record, not the social status of the people recorded.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in family history will find this volume deeply charming and surprisingly relevant. Despite the century that separates us from the author, the fundamental struggles of the researcher—organizing scattered notes, verifying conflicting stories, and wanting to preserve a legacy—remain unchanged. The prose is warm and encouraging, written with an infectious enthusiasm that makes the tedious work of digging through archives sound like a grand adventure.

Be warned that the book is very much a product of its time. The author's language is formal and sometimes wordy, and he assumes a level of access to physical archives—like local courthouses and specific New York city libraries—that may feel archaic in the era of digital databases. Furthermore, the occasional "subscription" model of publishing and the period-specific attitudes toward "family dignity" reveal the book's early-1900s origins. However, for anyone who has ever felt the "fever of enthusiasm" while tracing a long-lost relative, this book offers a timeless, methodical approach to turning a stack of loose papers into a cohesive story. It is a guide for the patient, providing not just the "how-to," but the "why-to," helping the reader understand that their work is a gift to the future.