POPULAR WORKS

OF

CAPTAIN WILLARD GLAZIER,

The Soldier-Author.

Captain Glazier's works are growing more and more popular every day. Their delineations of social, military and frontier life, constantly varying scenes, and deeply interesting stories, combine to place their writer in the front rank of American authors.

SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION.

PERSONS DESIRING AGENCIES FOR ANY OF CAPTAIN GLAZIER'S
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THE PUBLISHERS.

OCEAN TO OCEAN

ON

HORSEBACK;

Being

The Story of a Tour in the Saddle From the Atlantic to
the Pacific; with Especial Reference to the Early
History and Development of Cities and Towns
along the Route; and Regions Traversed
beyond the Mississippi; together with
Incidents, Anecdotes and
Adventures of the
Journey.

BY

CAPTAIN WILLARD GLAZIER.

Author of "Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape," "Three Years in the Federal Cavalry,"
"Battles for the Union," "Heroes of Three Wars," "Peculiarities of American
Cities," "Down the Great River," "Headwaters of the Mississippi," Etc.

Illustrated.

PHILADELPHIA:
EDGEWOOD PUBLISHING COMPANY.
1899.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1895, by
WILLARD GLAZIER,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D.C.

TO
THE MEMORY
OF

My Beloved Mother,

TO WHOSE

Precepts and Example

I AM INDEBTED FOR WHATEVER I HAVE BEEN
ABLE TO ACCOMPLISH
IN

The Journey of Life,

THIS VOLUME
THE RECORD OF MY LONGEST AMERICAN JOURNEY
IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED.

PREFACE.

It was the intention of the writer to publish a narrative descriptive of his overland tour from the Atlantic to the Pacific soon after returning from California in 1876, and his excuse for the delay in publication is that a variety of circumstances compelled him to postpone for a time the duty of arranging the contents of his journal until other pressing matters had been satisfactorily attended to. Again, considerable unfinished literary work, set aside when he began preparation for crossing the Continent, had to be resumed, and for these reasons the story of his journey from "Ocean to Ocean on Horseback" is only now ready for the printer. In view of this delay in going to press, the author will endeavor to show a due regard for the changes time has wrought along his line of march, and while noting the incidents of his long ride from day to day, it has been his aim so far as possible to discuss the regions traversed, the growth of cities and the development of their industries from the standpoint of the present.

Albany, New York,

August 22, 1895.

CONTENTS.

[CHAPTER I.]

INTRODUCTORY.

Boyhood Longings—Confronted by Obstacles—Trapping Along the Oswegatchie—Enter Gouverneur Wesleyan Seminary—Appointed to State Normal College—Straitened Circumstances—Teach School in Rensselaer County—War of the Rebellion—Enlist in a Cavalry Regiment—Taken Prisoner—Fourteen Months in Southern Prisons—Escape from Columbia—Recaptured—Escape from Sylvania, Georgia—Re-enter the Army—Close of the War—Publish "Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape" and Other Books—Decide to Cross the Continent—Preparation for Journey—Ocean to Ocean on Horseback 25

[CHAPTER II.]

BOSTON AND ITS ENVIRONS.

Early History and Development—Situation of the Metropolis of New England—Boston Harbor—The Cradle of Liberty—Old South Church—Migrations of the Post Office—Patriots of the Revolution—The Boston Tea Party—Bunker Hill Monument—Visit of Lafayette—The Public Library—House where Franklin was Born—The Back Bay—Public Gardens—Streets of Boston—Soldiers' Monument—The Old Elm—Commonwealth Avenue—State Capitol—Tremont Temple—Edward Everett—Wendell Phillips—William Loyd Garrison—Phillips Brooks—Harvard University—Wellesley College—Holmes, Parkman—Prescott, Lowell, Longfellow—Boston's Claims to Greatness 32

[CHAPTER III.]

LECTURE AT TREMONT TEMPLE.

Subject of Lecture—Objects Contemplated—Grand Army of the Republic—Introduction by Captain Theodore L. Kelly—Reference to Army and Prison Experiences—Newspaper Comment—Proceeds of Lecture Given to Posts 7 and 15—Letter to Adjutant-General of Department 70

[CHAPTER IV.]

BOSTON TO ALBANY.

First Day of Journey—Start from the Revere House—Escorted to Brighton by G. A. R. Comrades—Dinner at Cattle Fair Hotel—South Framingham—Second Day—Boston and Albany Turnpike—Riding in a Rain-storm—Arrival at Worcester—Lecture in Opera House—Pioneer History—Rapid Growth of Worcester—Lincoln Park—The Old Common—Third and Fourth Days—The Ride to Springfield—Met by Wife and Daughter—Lecture at Haynes Opera House—Fifth Day—Ride to Russell—The Berkshire Hills—Sixth Day—Journey to Becket—Rainbow Reflections—Seventh Day—Over the Hoosac Mountains—Eighth Day—Arrival at Pittsfield—Among the Lebanon Shakers—Ninth Day—Reach Nassau, New York 81

[CHAPTER V.]

FOUR DAYS AT ALBANY.

Nassau to Albany—Among Old Friends in Rensselaer County—Thoughts of Rip Van Winkle—Crossing the Hudson—Albany as Seen from the River—Schoolday Associations—Early History—Settled by the Dutch—Henry Hudson—Killian Van Rensselaer—Fort Orange—Peter Schuyler and Robert Livingstone—Lecture at Tweddle Hall—Call at the Capitol—Meet Army Comrades. 110

[CHAPTER VI.]

ALBANY TO SYRACUSE.

Fourteenth Day—On the Schenectady Turnpike—Riding between Showers—Talk with Peter Lansing—Reach Schenectady—Lecture at Union Hall under G. A. R. Auspices—Fifteenth and Sixteenth Days—Go over to Troy—Lecture at Harmony Hall—Visit Old Friends—Seventeenth Day—Return to Schenectady—Eighteenth Day—In the Mohawk Valley—Halt at Amsterdam—Reach Fonda—Nineteenth Day—Saint Johnsville—Twentieth Day—Little Falls—Twenty-first Day—Utica—Twenty-second Day—Rome—Twenty-third Day—Chittenango 118

[CHAPTER VII.]

TWO DAYS AT SYRACUSE.

Walks and Talks with the People—Early History—Lake Onondaga—Father Le Moyne—Discovery of Salt Springs—Major Danforth—Joshua Forman—James Geddes—The Erie Canal—Visit of La Fayette—Syracuse University—Lecture at Shakespeare Hall. 132

[CHAPTER VIII.]

SYRACUSE TO ROCHESTER.

Twenty-sixth Day—Grand Army Friends—General Sniper—Captain Auer—Stopped by a Thunder-shower—An Unpleasant Predicament—Twenty-Seventh Day—Jordan, New York—Lake Skaneateles—Twenty-eighth Day—Photographed—Entertained at Port Byron—Montezuma Swamp—Twenty-ninth Day—Newark, New York—Journey Continued Along the New York Central Railway—Another Adventure with Paul—Thirtieth Day—Fairport—Riding in the Cool of the Day 141

[CHAPTER IX.]

FOUR DAYS AT ROCHESTER.

Rainstorm Anticipated—Friends of the Horse—Seven-Sealed Wonder—Newspaper Controversy—Lecture at Corinthian Hall—Colonel J. A. Reynolds—Pioneer History—Colonel Nathaniel Rochester—William Fitzhugh—Charles Carroll—Rapid Growth of City—Sam Patch—Genesee Falls—The Erie Canal—Mount Hope—Lake Ontario—Fruit Nurseries 147

[CHAPTER X.]

ROCHESTER TO BUFFALO.

Thirty-fifth Day—Churchville—Cordiality of the People—Dinner at Chili—Thirty-sixth Day—Bergen Corners—Byron Centre—Rev. Edwin Allen—Thirty-seventh Day—Batavia—Meet a Comrade of the Harris Light Cavalry—Thirty-eighth Day—"Croft's"—More Trouble with Mosquitoes—Amusing Episode—Thirty-ninth Day—Crittenden—Rural Reminiscences—Fortieth Day—Lancaster—Lectured in Methodist Church—Captain Remington 158

[CHAPTER XI.]

THREE DAYS AT BUFFALO.

"Queen City" of the Lakes—Arrival at the Tift House—Lecture at St. James Hall—Major Farquhar—Aboriginal History—The Eries—Iroquois—"Cats"—La Hontan—Lake Erie—Black Rock—War of 1812—The Erie Canal—Buffalo River—Grosvenor Library—Historical Society—Red Jacket—Forest Lawn—Predictions for the Future 171

[CHAPTER XII.]

BUFFALO TO CLEVELAND.

Forty-fourth Day—On the Shore of Lake Erie—Forty-fifth Day—Again on the Shore of Erie—Bracing Air—Enchanting Scenery—Angola—Big Sister Creek—Forty-sixth Day—Angola to Dunkirk—Forty-eighth Day—Dunkirk to Westfield—Fruit and Vegetable Farms—Fredonia—Forty-ninth Day—Westfield to North East—Cordial Reception—Fiftieth Day—North East to Erie—Oliver Hazzard Perry—Fifty-first Day—Erie to Swanville—Fifty-second Day—Talk with Early Settlers—John Joseph Swan—Fifty-third Day—Swanville to Girard—Greeted by Girard Band—Lecture at Town Hall—Fifty-fourth Day—Girard to Ashtabula—Lecture Postponed—Fifty-fifth Day—Ashtabula to Painesville—The Centennial Fourth—Halt at Farm House—Fifty-sixth Day—Reach Willoughby—Guest of the Lloyds 183

[CHAPTER XIII.]

FIVE DAYS AT CLEVELAND.

An Early Start—School Girls—"Do you Like Apples, Mister?"—Mentor—Home of Garfield—Dismount at Euclid—Rumors of the Custer Massacre—Reach the "Forest City"—Met by Comrades of the G. A. R.—Lecture at Garrett Hall—Lake Erie—Cuyahoga River—Early History—Moses Cleveland—Connecticut Land Company—Job Stiles—The Ohio Canal—God of Lake Erie—"Ohio City"—West Side Boat Building—"The Pilot"—Levi Johnson-Visit of Lorenzo Dow—Monument Square—Commodore Perry—Public Buildings—Euclid Avenue—"The Flats"—Standard Oil Company 206

[CHAPTER XIV.]

CLEVELAND TO TOLEDO.

Sixty-first Day—Again in the Saddle—Call on Major Hessler—Donate Proceeds of Lecture to Soldiers' Monument Fund—Letters from General James Barnett and Rev. William Earnshaw—Stop for Night at Black River—Sixty-second Day—Mounted at Nine A.M.—Halted at Vermillion for Dinner—Lake Shore Road—More Mosquitoes—Reach Huron Late at Night—Sixty-third Day—Huron to Sandusky—Traces of the Red Man—Ottawas and Wyandots—Johnson's Island—Lecture in Union Hall—Captain Culver—Sixty-fourth Day—Ride to Castalia—A Remarkable Spring—Sixty-fifth Day—Reach Fremont—Home of President Hayes—Sixty-sixth Day—Reach Elmore, Ohio—Comparison of Hotels 221

[CHAPTER XV.]

FIVE DAYS AT TOLEDO.

Ride from Elmore—Lecture at Lyceum Hall—Forsyth Post, G. A. R.—Doctor J. T. Woods—Concerning General Custer—Pioneer History—Battle of Fallen Timbers—Mad Anthony Wayne—Miami and Wabash Indians—The Toledo War—Unpleasant Complications—Governor Lucas—Strategy of General Vanfleet— Milbourn Wagon Works—Visited by a Detroit Friend 231

[CHAPTER XVI.]

TOLEDO TO DETROIT.

Seventy-second Day—Leave Toledo—Change of Route—Ride to Erie, Michigan—Paul Shows His Mettle—Seventy-third Day—Sunday —Go to Church—Rev. E. P. Willard—Solicitude of Friends— Seventy-fourth Day—Ride to Monroe—Greeted with Music—Hail Columbia—Star-Spangled Banner—Home of Custer—Meet Custer Family—Custer Monument Association—Received at City Hall—Great Enthusiasm—River Rasin—Indian Massacre—General Winchester— Battle of the Thames—Death of Tecumseh—Monroe Monitor—Seventy-seventh Day—Lecture at City Hall—Personal Recollections of Custer—Incidents of His School Life—Seventy-eighth Day—Leave Monroe—Huron River—Traces of the Mound Builders—Rockwood—Seventy-ninth Day—Along the Detroit River—Wyandotte—Ecorse—Eightieth Day—Letter from Judge Wing—Indorsement of Custer Monument Association 243

[CHAPTER XVII.]

FOUR DAYS AT DETROIT.

Leave Ecorse—Met at Fort Wayne—Sad News—Reach Detroit— Met by General Throop and Others—at Russell House—Lecture at St. Andrew's Hall—General Trowbridge—Meet Captain Hampton—Army and Prison Reminiscences—Pioneer History of Detroit— La Motte Cadillac—Miamies and Pottawattomies—Fort Ponchartrain— Plot of Pontiac—Major Gladwyn—Fort Shelby—War of 1812—General Brock and Tecumseh Advance on Detroit—Surrender of General Hull—British Compelled to Evacuate 265

[CHAPTER XVIII.]

DETROIT TO CHICAGO.

Eighty-fifth Day—Leave Detroit Reluctantly—Paul in Good Spirits —Reach Inkster—Eighty-sixth Day—Lowering Clouds—Take Shelter under Trees and in a Woodshed—Meet War Veterans— Ypsilanti—Eighty-seventh Day—Lecture at Union Hall—Incidents of the Late War—Eighty-eighth Day—An Early Start—Ann Arbor —Michigan University—Dinner at Dexter—Eighty-ninth Day—Dinner at Grass Lake—Reach Jackson—Ninetieth Day—Comment of Jackson Citizen—Coal Fields—Grand River—Ninety-first Day—A Circus in Town—Parma—Ninety-second Day—"Wolverines"—Ninety-third Day—Ride to Battle Creek—Lecture at Stuart's Hall—Ninety-fourth Day—Go to Church—Goguac Lake—Ninety-fifth Day—Arrive at Kalamazoo—Sketch of the "Big Village"—Ninety-sixth Day—Return to Albion and Lecture in Opera House—Ninety-seventh Day—Lecture at Wayne Hall, Marshall—Ninety-eighth Day—Calhoun County—Ninety-ninth Day—Letter to Custer Monument Association—One Hundredth Day—Colonel Curtenius—One Hundred and First Day—Paw Paw—One Hundred and Second Day—South Bend, Indiana—Hon. Schuyler Colfax—One Hundred and Third Day—Grand Rapids—Speak in Luce's Hall—One Hundred and Fourth Day—Return to Decatur—One Hundred and Fifth Day—Again in Paw Paw—One Hundred and Sixth Day—Lecture at Niles—One Hundred and Seventh Day—Go to La Porte by Rail—One Hundred and Eighth Day—Return to Michigan City—One Hundred and Ninth Day—Go Back to Decatur, Michigan—One Hundred and Tenth to One Hundred and Twenty-second Day—Dowagiac—Buchanan—Rolling Prairie 279

[CHAPTER XIX.]

THREE DAYS AT CHICAGO.

Register at the Grand Pacific Hotel—Lecture at Farwell Hall—Visit McVicker's Theatre—See John T. Raymond in "Mulberry Sellers"—The Chicago Exposition—Site of City—Origin of Name—Father Marquette—First Dwelling—Death of Marquette—Lake Michigan—Fort Dearborn—First Settlement Destroyed by Indians—Chicago as a Commercial City—The Great Fire—An Unparalleled Conflagration—Rises from her Ashes—Financial Reorganization—Greater than Before—Schools and Colleges—Historical Society—The Palmer House—Spirit of the People—One Hundred and Twenty-sixth Day—Again at Michigan City—Attend a Political Meeting—Hon. Daniel W. Voorhees—"Blue Jeans" Williams—One Hundred and Twenty-eighth Day—Leave Michigan City—Hobart—"Hoosierdum"—One Hundred and Twenty-ninth Day—Weather Much Cooler 333

[CHAPTER XX.]

CHICAGO TO DAVENPORT.

One Hundred and Thirtieth Day—Followed by Prairie Wolves—Reach Joliet, Illinois—Lecture at Werner Hall—One Hundred and Thirty-first Day—Ride on Tow Path of Michigan Canal—Morris—One Hundred and Thirty-second Day—Corn and Hogs—Arrive at Ottawa—One Hundred and Thirty-third Day—Reach La Salle—One Hundred and Thirty-fourth Day—Colonel Stephens—One Hundred and Thirty-fifth Day—Visit Peru—One Hundred and Thirty-sixth Day—Mistaken for a Highwayman—One Hundred and Thirty-seventh Day—Fine Stock Farms—Wyanet—One Hundred and Thirty-eighth Day—Annawan—Commendatory Letter—One Hundred and Thirty-ninth Day—A Woman Farmer—One Hundred and Fortieth Day—Reach Milan, Illinois 354

[CHAPTER XXI.]

FOUR DAYS AT DAVENPORT.

Cross the Mississippi—Lecture at Moore's Hall—Colonel Russell—General Sanders—Early History of the City—Colonel George Davenport—Antoine Le Claire—Griswold College—Rock Island—Fort Armstrong—Rock Island Arsenal—General Rodman—Colonel Flagler—Rock Island City—Sac and Fox Indians—Black Hawk War—Jefferson Davis—Abraham Lincoln—Defeat of Black Hawk—Rock River—Indian Legends 372

[CHAPTER XXII.]

DAVENPORT TO DES MOINES.

One Hundred and Forty-fifth Day—Leave Davenport—Stop over Night at Farm House—One Hundred and Forty-sixth Day—Reach Moscow, Iowa—Rolling Prairies—One Hundred and Forty-seventh Day—Weather Cold and Stormy—Iowa City—One Hundred and Forty-eighth Day—Description of City—One Hundred and Forty-ninth Day—Lectured at Ham's Hall—Hon. G. B. Edmunds—One Hundred and Fiftieth Day—Reach Tiffin—Guests of the Tiffin House—One Hundred and Fifty-first Day—Marengo—One Hundred and Fifty-second Day—Halt for the Night at Brooklyn—One Hundred and Fifty-third Day—Ride to Kellogg—Stop at a School House—Talk with Boys—One Hundred and Fifty-fourth Day—Reach Colfax—One Hundred and Fifty-fifth Day—Arrive at Des Moines—Capital of Iowa—Description of City—Professor Bowen—Meet an Army Comrade 386

[CHAPTER XXIII.]

DES MOINES TO OMAHA.

One Hundred and Fifty-seventh Day—Leave Des Moines with Pleasant Reflections—Reach Adel—Dallas County—Raccoon River—One Hundred and Fifty-eighth Day—Ride through Redfield—Reach Dale City—Talk Politics with Farmers—One Hundred and Fifty-ninth Day—A Night with Coyotes—Re-enforced by a Friendly Dog—One Hundred and Sixtieth Day—Cold Winds from the Northwest—All Day on the Prairies—One Hundred and Sixty-first Day—Halt at Avoca—One Hundred and Sixty-second Day—Riding in the Rain—Reach Neola—One Hundred and Sixty-third Day—Roads in Bad Condition—Ride through Council Bluffs—Arrive at Omaha 401

[CHAPTER XXIV.]

A HALT AT OMAHA.

The Metropolis of Nebraska—First Impressions—Peculiarity of the Streets—Hanscom Park—Poor House Farm—Prospect Cemetery—Douglas County Fair Grounds—Omaha Driving Park—Fort Omaha—Creighton College—Father Marquette—The Mormons—"Winter Quarters"—Lone Tree Ferry—Nebraska Ferry Company—Old State House—First Territorial Legislature—Governor Cummings—Omaha in the Civil War—Rapid Development of the "Gate City" 409

[CHAPTER XXV.]

OMAHA TO CHEYENNE.

Leave Paul in Omaha—Purchase a Mustang—Use Mexican Saddle—Over the Great Plains—Surface of Nebraska—Extensive Beds of Peat—Salt Basins—The Platte River—High Winds—Dry Climate—Fertile Soil—Lincoln—Nebraska City—Fremont—Grand Island—Plum Creek—McPherson—Sheep Raising—Elk Horn River—In Wyoming Territory—Reach Cheyenne—Description of Wyoming "Magic City"—Vigilance Committee—Rocky Mountains—Laramie Plains—Union Pacific Railroad 420

[CHAPTER XXVI.]

CAPTURED BY INDIANS.

Leave Cheyenne—Arrange to Journey with Herders—Additional Notes on Territory—Yellowstone National Park—Sherman—Skull Rocks—Laramie Plains—Encounter Indians—Friendly Signals—Surrounded by Arrapahoes—One Indian Killed—Taken Prisoners—Carried toward Deadwood—Indians Propose to Kill their Captives—Herder Tortured at the Stake—Move toward Black Hills—Escape from Guards—Pursued by the Arrapahoes—Take Refuge in a Gulch—Reach a Cattle Ranch—Secure a Mustang and Continue Journey 435

[CHAPTER XXVII.]

AMONG THE MORMONS.

Ride Across Utah—Chief Occupation of the People—Description of Territory—Great Salt Lake—Mormon Settlements—Brigham Young—Peculiar Views of the Latter Day Saints—"Celestial Marriages"—Joseph Smith, the Founder of Mormonism—The Book of Mormon—City of Ogden—Pioneer History—Peter Skeen Ogden—Weber and Ogden Rivers—Heber C. Kimball—Echo Canyon—Enterprise of the Mormons—Rapid Development of the Territory 446

[CHAPTER XXVIII.]

OVER THE SIERRAS.

The Word Sierra—At Kelton, Utah—Ride to Terrace—Wells, Nevada—The Sierra Nevada—Lake Tahoe—Silver Mines—The Comstock Lode—Stock Raising—Camp Halleck—Humboldt River—Mineral Springs—Reach Palisade—Reese River Mountain—Golconda—Winnemucca—Lovelocks—Wadsworth—Cross Truckee River—In California 458

[CHAPTER XXIX.]

ALONG THE SACRAMENTO.

Colfax—Auburn—Summit—Reach Sacramento—California Boundaries—Pacific Ocean—Coast Range Mountains—The Sacramento Valley—Inhabitants of California—John A. Sutter—Sutter's Fort—A Saw-mill—James Wilson Marshall—Discovery of Gold—"Boys, I believe I have found a Gold Mine"—The Secret Out—First Days of Sacramento—A "City of Tents"—Capital of California 465

[CHAPTER XXX.]

SAN FRANCISCO AND END OF JOURNEY.

Metropolis of the Pacific Coast—Largest Gold Fields in the World—The Jesuits—Captain Sutter—Argonauts of "49"—Great Excitement—Discovery of Upper California—Sir Francis Drake—John P. Lease—The Founding of San Francisco—The "Golden Age"—Story of Kit Carson—The Golden Gate—San Francisco Deserted—The Cholera Plague—California Admitted to the Union—Crandall's Stage—Wonderful Development of San Francisco—United States Mint—Handsome Buildings—Trade with China, Japan, India and Australia—Go Out to the Cliff House—Ride into the Pacific—End of Journey 476

ILLUSTRATIONS.

OCEAN TO OCEAN

ON

HORSEBACK.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.

From earliest boyhood it had been my earnest desire to see and learn from personal observation all that was possible of the wonderful land of my birth. Passing from the schoolroom to the War of the Rebellion and thence back to the employments of peace, the old longing to make a series of journeys over the American Continent again took possession of me and was the controlling incentive of all my ambitions and struggles for many years.

To see New England—the home of my ancestors; to visit the Middle and Western States; to look upon the majestic Mississippi; to cross the Great Plains; to scale the mountains and to look through the Golden Gate upon the far-off Pacific were among the cherished desires through which my fancy wandered before leaving the Old Home and village school in Northern New York.

The want of an education and the want of money were two serious obstacles which confronted me for a time. Without the former I could not prosecute my journeys intelligently and for want of the latter I could not even attempt them.

Aspiring to an academic and collegiate course of study, but being at that period entirely without means for the accomplishment of my purpose, I left the district school of my native town and sought to raise the necessary funds by trapping for mink and other fur-bearing animals along the Oswegatchie and its tributary streams. This venture proving successful I entered the academy at Gouverneur in August, 1857, from which institution I was appointed to the State Normal College at Albany in the fall of 1859.

I had been in Albany but six weeks when it became apparent that if I continued at the Normal I would soon be compelled to part with my last dollar for board and clothing.

The years 1859-60 were spent alternately at Albany as student and in the village schools of Rensselaer County as teacher—the latter course being resorted to whenever money was needed with which to meet current expenses at the Normal School.

Then came our great Civil Conflict overriding every other consideration. Books were thrown aside and the pursuits of the student and teacher supplanted by the sterner and more arduous duties of the soldier.

During my three years of camping and campaigning with the cavalry of the Army of the Potomac I was enabled to gratify to some extent my desire for travel and to see much of interest as the shifting scenes of war led Bayard, Stoneman, Pleasonton, Gregg, Custer, Davies and Kilpatrick and their followers over the hills and through the valleys of Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania.

Being captured in a cavalry battle between Kilpatrick and Stuart in October, 1863, I was imprisoned successively at Richmond, Danville, Macon, Savannah, Charleston and Columbia, from which last prison I escaped in November, 1864; was recaptured and escaped a second and third time, traversing the States of South Carolina and Georgia in my long tramp from Columbia to Savannah.

The marches, raids, battles, captures and escapes of those days seem to have increased rather than diminished my ardor for travel and adventure and hence it is possibly not strange that on leaving the army I still looked forward to more extended journeys in the East and exploratory tours beyond the Mississippi.

With the close of the war and mustering out of service came new duties and responsibilities which I had hardly contemplated during my school days. The question of ways and means again confronted me. I desired first to continue the course of study which had been interrupted by my enlistment, and secondly to carry out my cherished plans for exploration. Having a journal kept during my incarceration in and escapes from Southern prisons, I was advised and decided to amplify and publish it if possible with a view to promoting these projects.

Going to New York, I at once sought the leading publishers. My manuscript was submitted to the Harpers, Appletons, Scribners, and some others, but as I was entirely unknown, few cared to undertake the publication and none seemed disposed to allow a royalty which to me at least seemed consistent with the time and labor expended in preparation. I had now spent my last dollar in the Metropolis in pursuit of a publisher, and in this dilemma it was thought best to return to Albany, where I had friends and perhaps some credit, and endeavor to bring out the book by subscription. This course would compel me to assume the cost of production, but if successful would prove much more lucrative than if issued in the usual way through the trade.

Fully resolved upon retracing my steps to Albany, I was most fortunate in meeting an old comrade and friend to whom I frankly stated my plans and circumstances. He immediately loaned me twenty dollars with which to continue my search for a publisher and to meet in the meantime necessary current expenses.

On reaching Albany an attic room and meals were secured for a trifling sum, arrangements made with a publisher, and the work of getting out the book begun. While the printer was engaged in composing, stereotyping, printing and binding the work, I employed my spare time in a door-to-door canvass of the city for subscriptions, promising to deliver on the orders as soon as the books came from the press. In this way the start was made and before the close of the year hundreds of agencies were established throughout the country.

The venture proved successful beyond my most sanguine expectations, and where I had expected to dispose of two or three editions and to realize a few hundred dollars from the sale of "Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape," the book had a sale of over 400,000 copies and netted me $75,000, This remarkable success, rivalling in its financial results even "Uncle Tom's Cabin," which had just had a run of 300,000 copies, was most gratifying and led to the publication, at intervals, of "Three Years in the Federal Cavalry," "Battles for the Union," and "Heroes of Three Wars."

The temptation to make the most of my literary ventures lured me on from year to year until 1875, when I laid down the pen and began preparation for my long contemplated and oft deferred journey across the Continent. Being now possessed of ample means, I proposed to ride at leisure on a tour of observation from OCEAN TO OCEAN ON HORSEBACK.

My preference for an equestrian journey was in a great measure due to early associations with the horse, in jaunts along country highways and over the hills after the cows, as well as numerous boyhood adventures in which this noblest of animals frequently played a conspicuous part. Then, too, my experience in the cavalry largely influenced me to adopt the saddle as the best suited to my purpose.

Reflecting further upon the various modes of travel, I was led to conclude as the result of much experience that he who looks at the country from the windows of a railway car, can at best have only an imperfect idea of the many objects of interest which are constantly brought to his notice. Again, a journey in the saddle, wherein the rider mounts and dismounts at will as he jogs along over the highway, chatting with an occasional farmer, talking with the people in town and gazing upon rural scenes at his pleasure, presents many attractive features to the student and tourist who wishes to view the landscape, to commune with nature, to see men and note the products of their toil and to learn something of their manners and customs.

Having therefore decided to make my journey in the saddle, I at once set about to secure such a horse as was likely to meet the requirements of my undertaking. As soon as my purpose was known, horses of every grade, weight and shade were thrust upon my attention and after some three weeks spent in advertising, talks with horse fanciers and in the livery and sale stables of Boston, my choice fell upon a Kentucky Black Hawk, one of the finest animals I had ever seen and, as was subsequently established, just the horse I wanted for my long ride from sea to sea.

His color was coal black, with a white star in the forehead and four white feet; long mane and tail; height fifteen hands; weight between ten and eleven hundred pounds, with an easy and graceful movement under the saddle; his make-up was all that could be desired for the objects I had in view. The price asked for this beautiful animal was promptly paid, and it was generally conceded that I had shown excellent judgment in the selection of my equine companion.

A few days after my purchase I learned that my four-legged friend had been but a short time before the property of an ex-governor of Massachusetts and that the reason he had but recently found his way into a livery stable on Portland street, was that he had acquired the very bad habit of running away whenever he saw a railway train or anything else, in short, that tended to disturb his naturally excitable nature. This information led to no regrets, however, nor did it even lessen my regard for the noble animal which was destined soon to be my sole companion in many a lonely ride and adventure.

The unsavory reputation he had made, and possibly of which he was very proud, of running away upon the slightest provocation, smashing up vehicles and scattering their occupants to the four winds, was considered by his new master a virtue rather than a fault, so long as he ran in the direction of San Francisco, and did not precipitate him from his position in the saddle.

As soon as I was in possession of my horse the question of a suitable name arose and it was agreed after some discussion among friends that he should be christened Paul Revere, after that stirring patriot of the Revolution who won undying fame by his ride from Boston and appeals to the yeomanry the night before the Battle of Lexington.

CHAPTER II.

BOSTON AND ITS ENVIRONS.

The month of April, 1876, found myself and horse fully equipped and ready to leave Boston, but I will not ride away from the metropolis of New England without some reference to its early history and remarkable development, nor without telling the reader of my lecture at Tremont Temple and other contemplated lectures in the leading cities and towns along my route.

Boston, standing on her three hills with the torch of learning in her hand for the illumination of North, South, East and West, is not one of your ordinary every-day cities, to be approached without due introduction. Like some ancient dame of historic lineage, her truest hospitality and friendliest face are for those who know her story and properly appreciate her greatness, past and present. Before visiting her, therefore, I recalled to memory those facts which touch us no more nearly than a dream on the pages of written history, but when studied from the living models and relics gain much life, color and verisimilitude.

Boston Harbor, with its waters lying in azure placidity over the buried boxes of tea which the hasty hands of the angered patriots hurled to a watery grave; Boston Common, whose turf grows velvet-green over ground once blackened by the fires of the grim colonial days of witch-burning, and again trampled down by innumerable soldierly feet in Revolutionary times; the Old State House, from whose east window the governor's haughty command, "Disperse, ye rebels!" sounded on the occasion of the "Boston Massacre," the first shedding of American blood by the British military; and the monument of Bunker Hill—these, with a thousand and one other reminders of the city's brilliant historical record, compose the Old Boston which I was prepared to see. The first vision, however, of that many-sided city was almost bewilderingly different from the mental picture. Where was the quaint Puritan town of the colonial romances? Where were its crooked, winding streets, its plain uncompromising meeting-houses, darkened with time, its curious gabled houses, stooping with age? Around me everything was shining with newness—the smooth wide streets, beautifully paved, the splendid examples of fin de siècle architecture in churches, public buildings, school houses and dwellings.

Afterwards I realized that there was a New Boston, risen Phoenix-like from the ashes of its many conflagrations, and an Old Boston, whose "outward and visible signs" are best studied in that picturesque, shabby stronghold of ancient story, now rapidly degenerating into a "slum" district—the North End.

Boston, viewed without regard to its history, is indeed "Hamlet presented without the part of Hamlet." It would be interesting to conjecture what the city's present place and condition might be, had Governor Winthrop's and Deputy-Governor Dudley's plan of making "New-towne"—the Cambridge of to-day—the Bay Colony's principal settlement, been executed. Instead, and fortunately, Governor Winthrop became convinced of the superiority of Boston as an embryo "county seat." "Trimountain," as it was first called, was bought in 1630 from Rev. William Blackstone, who dwelt somewhere between the Charles River and what is now Louisburg Square, and held the proprietary right of the entire Boston Peninsula—a sort of American Selkirk, "monarch of all he surveyed, and whose right there was none to dispute." He was "bought off," however, for the modest sum of £30, and retired to what was then the wilderness, on the banks of the Blackstone River—named after him—and left "Trimountain" to the settlers. Then Boston began to grow, almost with the quickness of Jack's fabled beanstalk. Always one of the most important of colonial towns, it conducted itself in sturdy Puritan style, fearing God, honoring the King—with reservations—burning witches and Quakers, waxing prosperous on codfish, and placing education above every earthly thing in value, until the exciting events of the Revolution, which has left behind it relics which make Boston a veritable "old curiosity shop" for the antiquarian, or indeed the ordinary loyal American, who can spend a happy day, or week, or month, prowling around the picturesque narrow streets, crooked as the proverbial ram's horn, of Old Boston.

He will perhaps turn first, as I did, to the "cradle of Liberty"—Faneuil Hall. A slight shock will await him, possibly, in the discovery that under the ancient structure, round which hover so many imperishable memories of America's early struggles for freedom, is a market-house, where thrifty housewives and still more thrifty farmers chaffer, chat and drive bargains the year round, and which brings into the city a comfortable annual income of $20,000. But the presence of the money-changers in the temple of Freedom does not disturb the "solid men of Boston," who are practical as well as public-spirited. The market itself is as old as the hall, which was erected by the city in 1762, to take the place of the old market-house, which Peter Faneuil had built at his own expense and presented to the city in 1742, and which was burned down in 1761.

The building is an unpretending but substantial structure, plainly showing its age both in the exterior and the interior. Its size—seventy-four feet long by seventy-five feet wide—is apparently increased by the lack of seats on the main floor and even in the gallery, where only a few of these indispensable adjuncts to the comfort of a later luxurious generation are provided. The hall is granted rent free for such public or political meetings as the city authorities may approve, and probably is only used for gatherings where, as in the old days, the participants bring with them such an excess of effervescent enthusiasm as would make them unwilling to keep their seats if they had any. The walls are embellished by portraits of Hancock, Washington, Adams, Everett, Lincoln, and other great personages, and by Healy's immense painting—sixteen by thirty feet—of "Webster Replying to Hayne."

For a short time Faneuil Hall was occupied by the Boston Post Office, while that institution, whose early days were somewhat restless ones, was seeking a more permanent home. For thirty years after the Revolution, it was moved about from pillar to post, occupying at one time a building on the site of Boston's first meeting-house, and at another the Merchants' Exchange Building, whence it was driven by the great fire of 1872. Faneuil Hall was next selected as the temporary headquarters, next the Old South Church, after which the Post Office—a veritable Wandering Jew among Boston public institutions—was finally and suitably housed under its own roof-tree, the present fine building on Post Office Square.

VIEWS IN BOSTON.

To the Old South Church itself, the sightseer next turns, if still bent on historical pilgrimages. This venerable building of unadorned brick, whose name figures so prominently in Revolutionary annals, stands at the corner of Washington and Milk streets. Rows of business structures, some of them new and clean as a whistle and almost impertinently eloquent of the importance of this world and its goods, cluster around the old church and hem it in, but are unable to jostle it out of the quiet dignity with which it holds its place, its heavenward-pointing spire preaching the sermons against worldliness which are no longer heard within its ancient walls. To every window the fanciful mind can summon a ghost—that of Benjamin Franklin, who was baptized and attended service here; Whitfield, who here delivered some of the soul-searching, soul-reaching sermons, which swept America like a Pentecostal flame; Warren, who here uttered his famous words on the anniversary of the Boston Massacre; of the patriot-orators of the Revolution and the organizers of the Boston Tea-Party, which first took place as a definite scheme within these walls. Here and there a red-coated figure would be faintly outlined—one of the lawless troop of British soldiers who in 1775 desecrated the church by using it as a riding-school.

At present the church is used as a museum, where antique curiosities and historical relics are on exhibition to the public, and the Old South Preservation Committee is making strenuous efforts to save the building from the iconoclastic hand of Progress, which has dealt blows in so many directions in Boston, destroying a large number of interesting landmarks. Its congregation left it long ago, in obedience to that inexorable law of change and removal, which leaves so many old churches stranded amid the business sections of so many of our prominent cities, and settled in the "New Old South Church" at Dartmouth and Boylston streets.

It is curious and in its way disappointing to us visitors from other cities to see what "a clean sweep" the broom of improvement has been permitted in a city so intensely and justly proud of its historical associations as Boston. Year by year the old landmarks disappear and fine new buildings rise in their places and Boston is apparently satisfied that all is for the best. The historic Beacon, for which Beacon Hill was named and which was erected in 1634 to give alarm to the country round about in case of invasion, is not only gone, but the very mound where it stood has been levelled, this step having been taken in 1811. The Beacon had disappeared ten years before and a shaft sixty feet high, dedicated to the fallen heroes of Bunker Hill, had been erected on the spot and of course removed when the mound was levelled. The site of Washington's old lodgings at Court and Hanover street—a fine colonial mansion, later occupied by Daniel Webster and by Harrison Gray Otis, the celebrated lawyer—is now taken up by an immense wholesale and retail grocery store; the splendid Hancock mansion, where the Revolutionary patriot entertained Lafayette, D'Estaing, and many other notabilities of the day, was torn down in 1863, despite the protests of antiquarian enthusiasts. The double house, in one part of which Lafayette lived in 1825, is still standing; the other half of it was occupied during his lifetime by a distinguished member of that unsurpassed group of literati who helped win for Boston so much of her intellectual pre-eminence—George Ticknor, the Spanish historian, the friend of Holmes, Lowell, Whittier and Longfellow, from whom the latter is supposed to have drawn his portrait of the "Historian" in his "Tales of a Wayside Inn." The Boston Public Library, that magnificent institution, which has done so much to spread "sweetness and light," to use Matthew Arnolds' celebrated definition of culture, among the people of the "Hub," counts Mr. Ticknor among the most generous of its benefactors.

One interesting spot for the historical pilgrim is the oldest inn in Boston, the "Hancock House," near Faneuil Hall, which sheltered Talleyrand and Louis Philippe during the French reign of terror.

In addition to the fever for improvement, Boston owes the loss of many of her time-hallowed buildings to a more disastrous agency—that of the conflagrations which have visited her with strange frequency. A fire in 1811, which swept away the little house on Milk street where Franklin was born—and which is now occupied by the Boston Post—another in 1874, in which more than one hundred buildings were destroyed; and the "Great Boston Fire" of 1872, followed by conflagrations in 1873, 1874, 1877 and 1878, seemed to indicate that the fire fiend had selected Boston as his especial prey. To the terrible fire of 1872 many precious lives, property valued at eighty millions of dollars, and the entire section of the city enclosed by Summer, Washington, Milk and Broad streets were sacrificed. The scene was one a witness never could forget. Mingled with the alarum of the fire-bells and the screams and shouts of a fear-stricken people came the sound of terrific explosions, those of the buildings which were blown up in the hope of thus "starving out" the fire by making gaps which it could not overstep, and to still further complete the desolation, the gas was shut off, leaving the city in a horror of darkness; but the flames swept on like a pursuing Fury, wrapping the doomed city still closer in her embrace of death, and who was not satisfied until she had left the business centre of Boston a charred and blackened ruin.

This same district is to-day, however, the most prosperous and architecturally prepossessing of the business sections of the city, practically illustrating another phase of that same spirit of improvement and civic pride which has overturned so many ancient idols and to-day threatens others. Indeed, it would be a churlish disposition which would lament the disappearance of the old edifices, the straightening of the thoroughfares, the alterations without number which have taken place, and which have resulted in the Boston of to-day, one of the most beautiful, prosperous and public-spirited cities in the world. The intelligence and local loyalty, for which her citizens are renowned, have been set to work to attain one object—the modest goal of perfection. Obstacles which some cities might have contentedly accepted as unavoidable have been swept away; advantages with which other cities might have been satisfied have been still further extended and improved. The 783 acres originally purchased by the settlers of Boston from William Blaxton for £30 has been increased over thirty times, until the city limits comprise 23,661 acres; this not by magic as it would seem, but by annexation of adjoining boroughs—Roxbury, Dorchester, Charlestown, and others—and by reclamation of the seemingly hopeless marshy land to the north and south of the city. The "Back-Bay" district, the very centre of Boston's wealth, fashion and refinement, the handsomest residence quarter in America, is built upon this "made land," which it cost the city about $1,750,000 to fill in and otherwise render solid.

SCENES IN BOSTON.

All good Bostonians, like the rest of their countrymen, may wish to go to Paris when they die—that point cannot be settled; but it is certain that they all wish to go to the Back-Bay while they live. And who can wonder? To drive at night down Commonwealth avenue, the most aristocratic street in this aristocratic quarter, is to view a scene from fairyland. "The Avenue" itself is 250 feet wide from house to house and 175 feet wide from curb to curb, and in the centre a picturesque strip of parkland, adorned with statues and bordered with ornamental trees and shrubs, follows its entire length. On either side of the street stand palatial hotels and magnificent private residences, from whose innumerable windows twinkle innumerable lights, which, mingling with the quadruple row of gas-lamps which look like a winding ribbon of light, make the vista perfectly dazzling in its beauty. By day, when the Back Bay Park, the Public Garden, the fine bridge over the park water-way extension and the handsome surrounding and intersecting streets can be seen, the view is even more attractive.

In the newer parts of Boston the reproach of crooked streets, which has given her sister cities opportunity for so much good-natured "chaff," is removed, and the thoroughfares are laid out with such precision that "the wayfaring man, though a fool," can hardly "err therein." In the business district much money has been spent on the straightening process, a fact whose knowledge prompts the bewildered stranger to exclaim, "Were they ever worse than this?" Stories aimed at this little peculiarity of the "Hub" are innumerable, the visitor being told with perfect gravity that if he follows a street in a straight line he will find himself at his original starting-point—a statement the writer's experience can pretty nearly verify. The best, if not the most credible, of these tales relates how a puzzled pedestrian, becoming "mixed up in his tracks," endeavored to overtake a man who was walking ahead of him, and inquire his way. The faster he walked, however, the faster the other man walked, until it became a regular chase, and the now thoroughly confused stranger had but one idea—to catch his fellow-pedestrian by the coat-tails, if need be, and demand to be set on his homeward way. Finally, by making a frantic forward lurch, he succeeded—and discovered that the coat-tails he was grasping were his own!

The true Bostonian is secretly rather proud, however, of this distinguished trait of his beloved city, and is willing to go "all around Robin Hood's barn" to get to his destination.

But the thing of which the Bostonian is proudest of all is his famous Common, whose green turf and noble shade-trees have formed a stage and background for so many of the most exciting scenes of Colonial and Revolutionary history. Among the troops which have been mustered and drilled upon it were a portion of the forces which captured Quebec and Louisburg; and the rehearsals for the grim drama of war, which later was partly performed on the same ground by red-coat and continental, took place here. It was at the Common's foot that the hated "lobster-backs" assembled before embarking for Lexington; on the Common that they marshalled their forces for the conflict at Bunker Hill. It has been covered with white tents during the British occupation of Boston; dotted with earthworks behind which the enemy crouched, expecting an attack by Washington upon their stronghold. It was on Boston Common that the school-boys constructed their snowmen, whose destruction by the insolent red-coats sent an indignant deputation of young Bostonians to complain to General Gage, who, stunned by what the young Bostonian of to-day would designate as "the cheek of the thing," promised them redress, and exclaimed, "These boys seem to take in the love of liberty with the very air they breathe."

There are other interesting historical incidents, recorded in connection with the Common, but space forbids their narration. I would rather describe it as it first appeared to me, a beautiful surprise, a gracious spot of greenness and of silvery waters and splendid shade-trees, in the heart of the busy brick-bound city. Here the children play and coast, as they did in the days of General Gage; here the lovers walk, on the five beautiful broad pathways, the Tremont street, Park street, Beacon street, Charles street and Boylston street malls. Here the invalids and old folks rest on the numerous benches; here the people congregate on summer evenings to enjoy the free open-air concerts, which are given from the band-stand. "Frog Pond," a pretty lakelet, near Flagstaff Hill, and a fine deer-park in the vicinity of the Boylston street mall, are great attractions. The Common covers forty-eight acres, with 1000 stately old shade-trees, and the iron fence by which it is inclosed measures 5932 feet.

In addition to its natural beauties, the Common has two fine pieces of statuary, the Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument on Flagstaff Hill, and the Brener Fountain. The former was erected in 1871 at a cost of $75,000. It is a majestic granite shaft in the Roman-Doric style, seventy feet high, surmounted by a bronze figure of the Genius of America, eleven feet in height. At the base of the shaft are grouped alto-relievo figures representing the North, the South, the East, and the West. Four other bronze figures, representing Peace, History, the Army and the Navy, stand on projecting pedestals around the foundation. The monument, which was executed by Martin Milmore, was Boston's tribute to her fallen heroes of the Civil War. The Brener Fountain is a beautiful bronze casting designed by Lienard, of Paris, with bronze figures representing Neptune, Amphitrite, Acis, and Galatea grouped round the base. The late Gardner Brener presented it to the city in 1868.

To forget the Old Elm in describing the Common, would be rank disrespect to that hoary "oldest inhabitant," albeit nothing remains of it now but its memory. An iron fence surrounds the spot where once it stood, and a vigorous young sapling has providentially sprung up in its place, as a successor. The Old Elm was ancient in 1630, when the town was settled, and was one of its most interesting landmarks up to 1876, when it was blown down.

The Public Garden, from which the beautiful Commonwealth avenue begins, the Back-Bay Park, which cost a million of dollars, and the Arnold Arboretum, where Harvard University has planted and maintained a fine horticultural collection for the pleasure of the public, are lovely spots on whose beauty the mind would fain linger, but whose descriptions must be omitted, for all Boston's splendid public buildings wait in stately array their share of attention. Nowhere has the skilled artist-architect been so freely permitted to carry out his designs unhampered by stupidity and stinginess as in Boston, and the result has been a collection of public buildings unsurpassed by those of any modern city. The Boston State House comes first, of course—did not the "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" term it, with loving exaggeration, the "Hub of the Solar System?" From Beacon Hill, the most prominent coign of vantage which could be selected for it, its gilded dome rises majestically against the blue sky and imperiously beckons the visitor to come and pay his respects to this most venerated of Boston institutions. The State House stands, at a height of 110 feet, at the junction of Beacon and Mt. Vernon streets and Hancock avenue, on a lot which Governor Hancock once used for pasturing his cows, and was erected in 1795, beginning its existence in a blaze of glory, with the corner-stone laid by Paul Revere, then Grand Master of the Masons, and an oration by Samuel Adams. The building contains Doric Hall, which is approached by a fine series of stone terraces from Beacon street; Hall of Representatives, the Senate Chamber, the Government Room, and the State Library.

It abounds in relics, among which are the tattered shreds of flags brought back by Massachusetts soldiers from Southern battle-fields—a sight which must stir every loyal heart, to whatsoever State it owes allegiance; the guns carried by the Concord minute-men in the Revolutionary conflict; and duplicates of the gift to the State by Charles Sumner, of the memorial tablets of the Washington family in England. Doric Hall contains busts of Sumner, Adams, Lincoln, and other great men, and several fine statues—one of Washington, by Chantrey, and one by Thomas Ball; a speaking likeness in marble of John A. Andrew, the indomitable old War Governor of Massachusetts.

On the handsome terraces in front of the building stand two superb bronzes, one is the Horace Mann statue, by Emma Stebbins, which was erected in 1865, and paid for by contributions from teachers and school children all over Massachusetts; the other Hiram Powers' statue of Daniel Webster, which cost $10,000. It was erected in 1859, and was the second statue of Webster which the famous sculptor wrought, the first, the product of so much toil and pains and the embodiment of so much genius, having been lost at sea.

Last, but very far from least in importance, may be mentioned the historic codfish, which hangs from the ceiling of Assembly Hall, dangling before the eyes of the legislators in perpetual reminder of the source of Massachusetts' present greatness, for the codfish might by a stretch of Hibernian rhetoric be described as the patron saint of the Bay State.

I must confess to having been one of the 50,000 curious ones who, it is computed, annually ascend into the gilded cupola and "view the landscape o'er." The spectacle unrolled panorama-like before the sight is indeed a feast to the eyes.

The Old State House of 1748, built on the site of Boston's earliest town hall, is now used as a historical museum under the auspices of the Bostonian Society. Careful restoration has perpetuated many of the old associations which hallow the ancient fane, sacred to loyalty and to liberty. The old council-chambers have been given much of their original appearance, and the great carving of the Lion and the Unicorn, which savored of offence to patriotic nostrils and so was taken down from its gables in Revolutionary times, has been replaced. To visit this building is a liberal education in local history.

The Boston Post Office, of whose migrations I have spoken earlier, is now settled for good and all in a magnificent structure of Cape Ann granite, built in Renaissance style, whose corner-stone was laid in 1871 and which was just ready for the addition of the roof when the Great Fire of 1872 descended upon it and beat upon it so fiercely that even to-day the traces of the intense heat are visible on parts of the edifice. Damage to the amount of $175,000 was done. The Sub-Treasury, the United States courts, the pension and internal revenue offices are domiciled here, and it is considered the handsomest public building in all New England, having cost $6,000,000. The interior furnishings are sumptuous in the extreme, the doors and windows in the Sub-Treasury apartments being of solid mahogany, beautifully polished. The "marble cash-room" is a splendid hall, decorated in Greek style, with wall-slabbing of dark and light shades of Sienna marble and graceful pilasters of Sicilian marble.

The City Hall, on School street, is the seat of the municipal housekeeping. Here the departments of streets, water, lighting, police, and public printing have their offices, and Common Council sits in august assemblage. It is a commanding structure of granite, fireproof, and in the Renaissance style. Its cost was $500,000. Two fine bronze statues, one by Greenough, of Franklin, one by Ball, of Josiah Quincy, ornament the grassy square in front of the building.

No picture of Boston would be complete without that old landmark, Tremont Temple. It occupies the former site of the Tremont Theatre and contains one of the largest halls in the city. The building itself, however, sinks into insignificance before the crowd of associations that stir the blood at its very name. For years it has been the rallying point of Boston's most notable gatherings—political, intellectual, and religious. If, instead of colorless words, we could photograph upon this page the pictures those old walls have looked upon, we might revel in a gallery of famous portraits such as the world has rarely seen. Edward Everett, Wendell Phillips, William Lloyd Garrison, Joseph Cook, Phillips Brooks, and other master-spirits of the age, would be there. And there, too, would be a sprinkling of that other sex, no longer handicapped by the epithet "gentler."

But, could we press the phonograph as well as the camera into our service, and hear again the thunders of stormy oratory, the clash of political warfare, and the pleading tenderness of religious eloquence that has often resounded under that old roof, then indeed we might well forget the world of to-day in the fascination of this drama of the past.

Architecturally, Boston combines in the happiest way all that is beautiful and dignified in the classic models and all that is fresh and original in modern canons of building. A magnificent group of buildings, in the vicinity of Boylston and Huntingdon streets and Copley Square, fairly takes the breath away with its beauty. Trinity Church and the Museum of Fine Arts, the "New Old South Church" and the new Boston Public Library, form such a quartet of splendid edifices as even the travelled eye seldom sees. The Public Library is an embodied Triumph—the symbol of that great heritage of culture which the city pours out on her denizens as lavishly and as freely as water, and which, like "the gentle dew from heaven, blesseth him that gives and him that takes," returning to enrich the community with its diffused presence, like the showers which return to the bosom of the river, the moisture the sun only borrowed for a space. Bostonians have always been proud of their Public Library, from its foundation in 1852. By 1885, the Boylston street building, with accommodations for 250,000 volumes, was too contracted a space to hold the largest public library in the world, and with characteristic promptness the city rose to the occasion and embodied its thought that "nothing can be too good for the people" in the beautiful new library in Copley Square, which cost the royal sum of $2,600,000.

BOSTON AND ENVIRONS.

The long chapter of description which this splendid enterprise merits must be reluctantly crowded into a few lines. Nothing, however, save personal observation, can give an adequate perception of its outward loveliness; its exterior of soft cream-gray granite, with a succession of noble arched windows ranged along its fine façades; its arches, pillars and floorings of rare marbles, and its mosaics, panels and carvings. The grand staircase of splendid Sienna marble, opposite the main entrance, is one of the finest in the world; and scholar or philosopher could ask no more attractive spot for thoughtful promenade than the beautiful open court, with its marble basin and MacMonnies fountain in the centre, the soft green of its surrounding turf affording grateful rest to book-wearied eyes, and the pensive beauty of the cloister-like colonnade forming an ideal retreat.

The foremost artists of the world are represented in the interior decoration. The famous St. Gaudens seal, designed by Kenyon Cox and executed by Augustus St. Gaudens, ornaments the central arch of the main vestibule; the bronze doors are by Daniel G. French; the splendid marble lions in the staircase hall—erected as memorials to their martyred comrades by two regiments of Massachusetts volunteers—are by Louis St. Gaudens; and Puvis de Chavannes, James McNeil Whistler, Edwin A. Abbey and John S. Sargent are among the celebrated artists who have contributed to the mural decorations, friezes and ceiling frescoes.

Six hundred and fifty thousand volumes at present constitute the stock of the library—a vast treasure-house of information, instruction and pleasure to which any citizen of Boston can have access by simply registering his name, and which among other valuable special collections includes the Brown musical library of 12,000 volumes and rare autograph manuscripts; the Barton Shaksperian library, one of the finest collections of Shakesperiana extant, valued at $250,000; the Bowditch mathematical library and the splendid Chamberlain collection of autographs, which is worth $60,000 and represents a lifetime of work on the part of the donor. The wonderful pneumatic and electric system of tubes and railways which connects the delivery and stackrooms and keeps this vast collection of books, pamphlets and magazines in circulation, smacks almost of the conjurer's craft. Whatever else must be crowded out of a visit to Boston, the Public Library assuredly should not be passed by.

Trinity Church stands within hailing distance of the Public Library, on Boylston and Clarendon streets—an imposing and beautiful edifice of granite and freestone, built in French Romanesque style, with a tower 211 feet high. Far outside of Boston has the fame of Trinity Church penetrated, owing not to the fact that it is one of the most splendid, costly and fashionable churches in the country, but to its ever-revered and ever-mourned rector, the late Phillips Brooks, Bishop of Massachusetts, whose massive figure will stand out against the horizon for many a year as the most striking speaker and deeply spiritual thinker America has ever known.

From Copley Square, not far from Trinity, rise the spires of the "New Old South" Church, a superb structure in North Italian Gothic style, rich in beautiful stone-work, carvings and stained glass. It was erected at a cost of over half a million of dollars to take the place of the disused "Old South" on Washington street. Another prominent church is the First Church, at Marlborough and Berkeley streets, the lineal descendant of the humble little mud-walled meeting-house which was the first consecrated roof under which the good folk of Boston gathered for divine worship. The congregation of that day could scarce believe their sober Puritan eyes could they behold the $325,000 church which was built in 1868 to continue the succession which had begun with the little mud meeting-house of 1632.

King's Chapel, with its ancient burying-ground, is one of the most famous churches in Boston, having been the chapel of the royal governor, officers of the army and navy, and other official representatives of the "principalities and powers" of the mother country. Massive, almost sombre, in its exterior, and quaint and picturesque within, the old church stands, with few changes, as erected in 1749, with its old-fashioned pulpit and sounding-board, prim, straight pillars, and antique high-backed pews which recall the remark of the little girl, that when she went to church she "went into a cupboard and climbed up on the shelf." Its burying-ground is believed to be the oldest in the city. Christ Church, built in 1723, is the oldest church edifice in the city. Its age-mellowed chime of bells was the first ever brought into this country, and the first American Sunday-school was established there in 1816. To-day its tall steeple, which on the eve of Lexington's conflict bore the signal lanterns of Paul Revere, is the most conspicuous object in the North End, where the old-time aristocrats who worshipped in Christ Church have given place to a poverty-stricken foreign population to whom the church is little and its traditions less. Churches which well deserve more extended mention, could space permit, are the beautiful Gothic Cathedral of the Holy Cross, with its fine organ and splendid high-altar of onyx and marble; Tremont Temple, whose hall is the largest in Boston; and the South Congregational Church, presided over by Rev. Edward Everett Hale, author of "The Man without a Country" and other world-famous literary productions, and originator of the equally famous "Ten Times One" clubs.

Boston's religious history is most interesting, although almost kaleidoscopic in its changes. From being the stronghold of Puritan orthodoxy it has become the headquarters of liberal Unitarianism. King's Chapel is a curious instance; originally an Episcopal church and congregation, it became Unitarian in 1787, retaining the Episcopal liturgy with necessary changes, and now doctrines are preached over the tombs of the dead dignitaries interred beneath the church floor, diametrically opposed to those in which they lived, died and were buried. Though all denominations of course flourish within her walls, Boston is still strongly Congregational in her leanings.

From the churches to the schools is a natural transition. The founders of Boston's greatness placed the two influences side by side in importance, and their wisdom in doing so has had its justification. The current "poking of fun" at the "Boston school-ma'am," her glasses, her learning and her devotion to Browning; and the Boston infant, who converses in polysyllables almost from his birth, has its foundation in the fact, everywhere admitted, that nowhere are intelligence and culture so widely diffused in all ranks of life as in Boston. The free-school system, an experiment which she was the first American city to inaugurate, is considered by educators to lead the world. The city's annual expenditures for her public schools, of which there are over 500, amount to about $2,000,000, and from the kindergarten to the High School, where the pupils can be prepared for college, the youth of the city are carefully watched, trained, instructed, and all that is best in them drawn out. Even in summer, "vacation schools" are held, where the children who would otherwise be running wild in the streets can learn sewing, box-making, cooking and other useful branches.

The English High and Latin School is the largest free public school building in the world, being 423 feet long by 220 feet wide. It is a fine structure in Renaissance style, with every advantage and improvement looking to health and convenience that even the progressive Boston mind could think of. It would be a sluggish soul indeed that would not be thrilled by the sight of the entire school-battalion going through its exercises in the immense drill-room, and realize the hopeful future for this vast army of coming citizens, who are thus early and thus admirably taught the priceless lesson of discipline.

The Boston Normal School, the Girls' High School and the Public Latin School for girls, fully cover the demand for the higher education of women. The latter institution is the fruit of the efforts of the Society for the University Education of Women, and its graduates enter the female colleges with ease. Wellesley, the "College Beautiful," as its students have fondly christened it, is situated close to Boston in the beautiful village of Wellesley, where feminine education is conducted almost on ideal lines. No woman's college in the world has so many students, or so beautiful a home in which to shelter the fair heads, inwardly crammed and running over with knowledge, and outwardly adorned, either in fact or in prospective, with the scholastic cap of learning. Since its opening in 1875, Wellesley has almost created a new era in woman's education, and its curriculum is the same as those of the most advanced male colleges. The College Aid Society, which at an annual cost of from $6000 to $7000 helps ambitious girlhood, for whom straitened means would otherwise render a university education impossible, is an interesting feature of the college.

COMMONWEALTH AVENUE, BOSTON.

What Wellesley has for twenty years been to American girlhood, Harvard University has for 150 years been to American young manhood, and though its chief departments are located at Cambridge, it may still be fairly ranked with Bostonian institutions. The tie which connects the Cambridge University and the capital of Massachusetts is closer than that existing between mere neighbors—it is a veritable bond of kinship. It might be said that from the opening of the University in 1638, Boston made Harvard and Harvard Boston. Its illustrious founder, John Harvard, was a resident of Charlestown, now a part of Boston—and his monument, erected by subscriptions of Harvard graduates, is one of the principal "sights" of that district, where it stands near the Old State Prison. To its classic groves Boston has sent, and from them received again, the noblest of her sons; and three of her departments, the Bussey Institution of Agriculture, the Medical School and the Dental School, are situated within the limits of Boston proper. Harvard University at present owns property valued at $6,000,000, and accommodates nearly 2000 pupils. In addition to the departments already mentioned and which are located in Boston, the principal sections are Harvard College, the Jefferson Laboratory, the Lawrence Scientific School, the new Law School, the Divinity School, the Harvard Library, Botanical Gardens, Observatory, Museum of Comparative Zoölogy, Peabody Museum of Archæology and Ethnology, Agassiz Museum, Hemenway Gymnasium and Memorial Hall. To wander through its ancient halls, the oldest of which dates back to 1720, and which have been used by Congress, is to visit the cradle of university education in America.

Boston University, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, one of the best scientific colleges on the continent, Tufts College and the celebrated Chauncy Hall School, are among the finest of Boston's many admirable educational institutions.

Mention has been made of the Harvard Monument, but not of the others among the scores of fine examples of the sculptor's art which are scattered throughout the city in generous profusion for the delight and the education of the public eye. The famous Bunker Hill Monument was naturally one of the first objects sought out by the writer on the occasion of his first visit to Boston. This splendid shaft of granite was dedicated to the fallen patriots of Bunker Hill in 1841, the corner-stone having been laid in 1825 by General Lafayette—Daniel Webster delivering the orations on both occasions. Its site, on Monument Square, Breed's Hill, is the spot where the Americans threw up the redoubt on the night before the memorable battle, and a tablet at its foot marks the place where the illustrious Warren fell.

The monument is 221-1/6 feet high—a fact fully realized only by climbing the 259 steps of the spiral staircase of stone in the interior of the shaft which leads to a small chamber near the apex, from which four windows look out upon the surrounding country—a superb vista. The cost of this monument was $150,000.

In the Public Gardens, in the Back Bay district, across from Commonwealth avenue, may be seen one of the largest pieces of statuary in America, and, according to some connoisseurs, the handsomest in Boston. This is Ball's huge statue of Washington, which measures twenty-two feet in height. The statue was unveiled in 1869, and it is said that not a stroke of work was laid upon it by any hand of artisan or artist outside of Massachusetts. The Beacon street side of the Public Gardens contains another famous statue—that of Edward Everett, by W. W. Story. Other great citizens whose memory has been perpetuated in life-like marble are Samuel Adams, William Lloyd Garrison and Colonel William Prescott. The Emancipation Group is a duplicate of the "Freedman's Memorial" statue in Washington. The soldiers' monuments in Dorchester, Charlestown, Roxbury, West Roxbury and Brighton commemorate the unnamed, uncounted, but not unhonored dead who laid down their lives on the battlefields of the Civil War.

"The bravely dumb who did their deed,
And scorned to blot it with a name;
Men of the plain, heroic breed,
Who loved Heaven's silence more than fame."

An interesting object is the Ether Monument on the Arlington street side of the Public Gardens erected in recognition of the fact that it was in the Massachusetts General Hospital—in the face of terrible opposition and coldness and discouragement, as history tells us, though the marble does not—that Dr. Sims first gave the world his wonderful discovery of the power of ether to cause insensibility to pain.

That there should be so many of these fine pieces in Boston's parks and public places is matter for congratulation but scarcely for surprise. As a patron of music, literature, art and all the external graces of civilization she has so long and so easily held her supremacy that one is half inclined to believe that at least a delegation of the Muses, if not the whole sisterhood, had exchanged the lonely and unappreciated grandeur of Parnassus for a seat on one of Boston's three hills. The Handel and Haydn Society, the oldest musical society in the United States; the Harvard Musical Association; the famous Boston Symphony Orchestra and the Orpheus Club, speak—and right musically—of Boston's love for the art of which Cecilia was patron saint. Music Hall, an immense edifice near Tremont street, is the home of music in Boston. Here the symphony concerts are held weekly, and here all the musical "stars" whose orbit includes Boston make their first appearance before a critical "Hub" audience. Its great organ, with over 5,000 pipes, is one of the largest ever made.

The idea of a national university of music—sneered at and scouted when a few enthusiasts first talked and dreamed of it—took shape in 1867 in the now famous New England Conservatory of Music, founded by Eben Tourjée. It is a magnificent school in a magnificent home—the old St. James' Hotel on Franklin Square—with a hundred teachers from the very foremost rank of their profession. The conservatory has possibly done more for New England culture than any other influence save Harvard University.

The literary life of Boston needs neither chronicler nor comment. Such men as Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Francis Parkman, Prescott, the historian, Longfellow, Lowell and countless others who, living, have made the city their home, or, dead, sleep in its chambers of Peace, have cast a glamour of books and bookmen and book-life around her until her title of "The Athens of America" has passed from jest to earnest. The earliest newspaper in America was the Boston News Letter; and to-day its many newspapers maintain the highest standard of "up-to-date" journalism in the dignified, not the degrading sense of the word. Boston is indeed a "bookworm's paradise," with its splendid free lending library and low-priced book-stores, making access to the best authors possible to the poorest. The Atlantic Monthly, which for so many years has occupied a place unique and unapproachable among American magazines, is published here.

Art is represented by the magnificent Museum of Fine Arts, with its beautiful exterior and interior decorations and fine collection of antiques and art objects; the Art Club, the Sketch and the Paint and Clay clubs, as well as by the innumerable paintings and statues appearing in public places; by the Athenæum, the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, the Boston Society of Natural History, the Warren Museum and the Lowell Institute free lectures.

To draw this brief study of Boston to a close without mentioning her countless charities would be a grave omission, since these form so large a part of the city's life and activities. As is always the case in great towns, two hands are ever outstretched—that of Lazarus, pleading, demanding, and that of Dives—more unselfish now than in the days of the parable—giving again and yet again. Boston's philanthropists flatter themselves that there the giving is rather more judicious, as well as generous, than is frequently the case; and that "the pauperizing of the poor," that consummation devoutly to be avoided, is a minimized danger. The "Central Charity Bureau" and the "Associated Charities" systematize the work of relief, prevent imposture and duplication of charity, and do an invaluable service to the different organizations. Private subscriptions of citizens maintain the work, which is carried on in three fine buildings of brick and stone on Chardon street, one of which is used as a temporary home for destitute women and children. The Massachusetts General Hospital—which, save for the Pennsylvania Hospital, is the oldest in the country—the Boston City Hospital, the New England Hospital for Women and Children, and a number of other finely-organized institutions care efficiently for the city's sick and suffering. Orphan asylums, reform schools, missions of various sorts, and retreats for the aged and indigent, are numerous.

One of the most unique and interesting among these charities is "The Children's Mission to the Children of the Destitute," which aims to bring the little ones of these two sadly separated classes, the poor and the well-to-do, in contact for their mutual benefit. By its agency the forlorn little waifs of the streets are provided with home and friends, religious and secular instruction, and employment whenever necessary or advisable. Still more unique is the Massachusetts Charitable Mechanics' Association, whose vast building and hall on Huntingdon avenue occupies an area of over 110,000 square feet. As early as 1795 this association was founded to extend a helping hand to mechanics in difficulties, to establish libraries and classes for apprentices, offer premiums for inventions and improvements in trades, and give every encouragement to the tradesman. The building is a beautiful as well as a vast structure, and eight thousand people can be seated in the grand hall. The mechanics' festivals, fairs, and exhibitions of industry are held here from time to time, when there is much awarding of medals, prizes and honors.

On Boston's commercial greatness there is no space to touch. Nor is it needed. Could her schools, her churches, her charities, her institutions, public and private, which have here been outlined, flourish without the backbone of Puritan thrift and the framework of prosperity which have made her one of the wealthiest of cities? The solid business foundation is apparent to all who visit her teeming marts and exchanges. But the "power behind the throne" is kept with rare judgment in the background; and when the visitor comes to kiss the hand of the "Queen of the Commonwealth" he sees only her chosen handmaids—Ambition, Culture, Philanthropy, Religion. On these, finally, she rests her claims to greatness.

CHAPTER III.

LECTURE AT TREMONT TEMPLE.

Lecturing in the towns I purposed visiting was an after consideration of secondary importance—a sort of adjunct to the journey and the objects I had in view. It was thought that it might afford some facilities for meeting large numbers of people face to face in the different sections of the country through which I designed to pass, and thus enable me the better to learn something of their social customs, industries and general progress in the arts of civilization.

The subject decided upon for the lecture was "Echoes from the Revolution," and was intended to be in keeping with the spirit of the Centennial year. The fact that I had been a cavalryman during the War of the Rebellion and the novelty of an equestrian journey of such magnitude would, I estimated, very naturally awaken considerable interest and a desire on the part of many to hear what I had to say of the heroes of "76."

My lecture was a retrospective view of the leading incidents of the Revolution, with especial reference to some of the sturdy heroes and stirring scenes of that most eventful period in American History. Briefly referring to the causes which led up to the war, I started with the Ride of Paul Revere from Boston the night before the Battle of Lexington, and closed with the Surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown.

It was not my wish or intention to derive any pecuniary benefit from my lectures; but being a member of the Grand Army of the Republic, and thoroughly in sympathy with the aims and benevolent projects of my soldier friends, it was proposed to donate the proceeds to the Relief Fund of that patriotic organization.

Fully equipped, the weather favorable and roads in good condition, I was anxious to begin my journey early in May. It was therefore arranged, as previously suggested, that I should lecture at Tremont Temple on the evening of May eighth under the auspices and for the benefit of the G. A. R. Relief Fund.

The subjoined fraternal and highly complimentary letter of introduction from Captain Frank M. Clark of New York was received by the committee of arrangements soon after my arrival in Boston.

4 Irving Place,
New York, April 20, 1876.

To Comrades of the G. A. R.:

I have been intimately acquainted with Captain Willard Glazier, a comrade in good standing of Post No. 29, Department of New York, Grand Army of the Republic, for the past eight years, and know him to be worthy the confidence of every loyal man. He is an intelligent and courteous gentleman, an author of good repute, a soldier whose record is without a stain, and a true comrade of the "Grand Army." I bespeak for him the earnest and cordial support of all comrades of the Order.

Yours very truly in F., C. and L.,

Frank M. Clark,

Late A. A. G. Department of New York, G. A. R.

I may add that, as this was the first occasion of any importance on which I had been expected to appear before a public assemblage, I was strongly recommended to deliver my initial lecture before a smaller and less critical audience than I was likely to confront in Boston, and thus prepare myself for a later appearance in the literary capital; but I reasoned from the standpoint of a soldier that, as lecturing was a new experience to me, my military training dictated that if I could carry the strongest position in the line I need have but little, if any, concern for the weaker ones, and hence resolved to deliver my first lecture at Tremont Temple. I was introduced by Captain Theodore L. Kelly, commander of Post 15, Department of Massachusetts, G. A. R., and was honored by the presence on the platform of representatives from nearly all of the Posts of Boston and adjacent cities. In presenting me to my audience Captain Kelly spoke in the following terms:

"Ladies and Gentlemen: It gives me pleasure to have the honor of introducing to you one who, by his services in the field and by the works of his pen, is entitled to your consideration, and the confidence of all comrades of the 'Grand Army of the Republic.' I desire to say that he comes well accredited, furnished with the proper vouchers and documents, and highly endorsed and recommended by the officers of the Department of the State of New York. Though young in years, his life has been one of varied and exciting experience. Born in the wilds of St. Lawrence County, New York, his education was drawn from the great book of Nature; and from his surroundings he early imbibed a love of liberty. His early associations naturally invested him with a fondness for adventure and excitement and when the call of war was heard he at once responded, and enlisted in the Harris Light Cavalry, with which corps he passed through many exciting scenes of march and fray. His experience amid the various vicissitudes of the war, in camp and field and prison, have been vividly portrayed by his pen in his various publications. Still inspired by this love of adventure, he proposes to undertake the novelty of a journey across the Continent in the saddle. His objects are manifold. While visiting scenes and becoming more familiar with his own country, he will collect facts and information for a new book, and at his various stopping-places he will lecture under the auspices and for the benefit of the 'Grand Army of the Republic,' to whose fraternal regard he is most warmly commended. Allow me then, ladies and gentlemen, without further ceremony, to present to you the Soldier-Author, and our comrade, Willard Glazier."

I was much gratified on the morning of the ninth to find commendatory reference to my lecture in the leading journals of Boston, for I will frankly admit that I had had some misgivings as to the verdict of the critics, and rather expected to be "handled without gloves" in some of the first cities on the programme. Of the dailies which came to my notice the Globe said:—

"A very fair audience considering the unfair condition of the elements, was gathered in Tremont Temple last night to hear Captain Willard Glazier's lecture upon 'Echoes from the Revolution.' The frequent applause of the audience evinced not only a sympathy with the subject, but an evident liking of the manner in which it was delivered. The lecture itself was a retrospective view of the leading incidents of the Revolution. It would have been unfair to expect to hear anything very new upon a subject with which the veriest school-boy is familiar; but Captain Glazier wove the events together in a manner which freed the lecture from that most unpardonable of all faults, which can be committed upon the platform—dulness. He passed over, in his consideration of the Revolution, the old scenes up to the time when Cornwallis surrendered up his sword and command to George Washington. 'The year 1876,' said Captain Glazier, 're-echoes the scenes and events of a hundred years ago. In imagination we make a pilgrimage back to the Revolution. We visit the fields whereon our ancestors fought for liberty and a republic. We follow patriots from Lexington to Yorktown. I see them pushing their way through the ice of the Delaware—I see them at Saratoga, at Bennington, at Princeton, and at Monmouth. I follow Marion and his daring troopers through the swamps of Georgia and the Carolinas;' and in following them up, the lecturer interspersed his exciting narrative with sundry droll episodes. Treating of the battles of Trenton and Princeton, he expatiated upon the devoted heroism of John Stark, and briefly traced his career until, at Bennington, Burgoyne's victor announced to his comrades, 'We must conquer to-day, my boys, or to-night Molly Stark's a widow.' One battle after another was handled by the lecturer in a pleasing manner, showing that he was thoroughly familiar with the subject he had chosen for his theme. After speaking in a most zealous manner of the troops on land, Captain Glazier remarked: 'Our victories on the ocean during the war of the Revolution were not less decisive and glorious than those achieved on land. John Paul Jones and the gallant tars who, under his leadership, braved the dangers of the deep, and wrested from proud Britain, once queen of the sea, that illustrious motto which may be seen high on our banner beside the stars and stripes.'

"Captain Glazier made special mention of the naval engagement between the Bon Homme Richard and the British man-of-war Serapis, which took place in September, 1789. He described in glowing words the fierce nature of that memorable contest, until the captain of the Serapis, with his own hand, struck the flag of England to the free Stars and Stripes of young America. Captain Glazier has elements in him which, carefully matured and nurtured, will make him successful on the platform, as he has already proved himself in the field of literature. He has a strong and melodious voice, a gentlemanly address, and unassuming confidence. He was presented to the audience by Commandant Kelly, of Post 15, Grand Army of the Republic, in a brief but eloquent speech. Captain Glazier will start on his long ride to San Francisco, from the Revere House, this morning, at 9.30, and will be accompanied to Bunker Hill and thence to Brighton, by several distinguished members of the 'Grand Army,' and other gentlemen, who wish the Captain success on his long journey from Ocean to Ocean."

LEAVING THE REVERE HOUSE, BOSTON.

The lecture proved a success financially, and in fulfilment of my purpose I donated the entire proceeds to the Relief Fund of Posts 7 and 15, as I was largely indebted to the comrades of these organizations for the hearty co-operation which insured a full house at Tremont Temple. The letter below was addressed to the Assistant Adjutant-General of the Department.

Revere House,
Boston, Massachusetts,
May 9, 1876.

Captain Charles W. Thompson,
A. A. G. Department of Mass., G. A. R.

Comrade: I find pleasure in handing you the net proceeds of my lecture, delivered at Tremont Temple last night, which I desire to be divided equally between Posts 7 and 15, G. A. R., of Boston, for the benefit of our disabled comrades, and the needy and destitute wards of the "Grand Army," Gratefully acknowledging many favors and courtesies, extended to me in your patriotic city,

I am yours in F., C. and L.,

Willard Glazier.

My letter to Captain Thompson elicited responses from the Posts to which donations were made, and the following from the Adjutant of John A. Andrew, Post 15, is introduced to show their appreciation of my efforts in behalf of their Relief Fund.

Headquarters,

Post 15, Department of Massachusetts, G. A. R.,

Boston, May 12, 1876.

Captain Willard Glazier:

Comrade: In obedience to a vote of this Post, I am pleased to transmit to you a vote of thanks for the money generously donated by you, through our Commander, as our quota of the proceeds of your lecture in this city; and also the best wishes of the comrades of this Post for you personally, and for the success of your lecture tour from sea to sea.

Yours in F., C. and L.,

Edward F. Rollins,

Adjutant of Post.

It is only justice to the comrades of Posts 7 and 15 to say that on my arrival in Boston they were most cordial in their reception, most zealous in their co-operation with my advance agents and most solicitous for the success of my journey and its objects. In short they were true comrades in the best sense of the term, and my delightful sojourn in their generous and patriotic city was largely due to their numerous courtesies.

CHAPTER IV.

BOSTON TO ALBANY.

First Day.

South Framingham House,

South Framingham, Massachusetts,

May 9, 1876.

The initial step in my journey from Ocean to Ocean was taken at ten o'clock on the morning of the above date when I mounted my horse in front of the Revere House, Boston, and started for Worcester, where it had been announced I would lecture on the following evening. The Revere House was fixed upon by comrades of the G. A. R. as a rendezvous before starting. Here I found a large gathering of the Order. A rain storm setting in as I put my foot into the stirrup, hasty adieus were said to the Boys in Blue and others as I was about riding away from the "Revere."

I was escorted to Bunker Hill and thence to Brighton by many comrades and friends, among them Colonels John F. Finley and E. A. Williston, who were mounted; and Captain Charles W. Thompson, adjutant-general Department of Massachusetts; Captain Theodore L. Kelly, commander of Post 15; Grafton Fenno, adjutant, Post 7, G. A. R., and many others in carriages.

Our route from Boston was by way of Charlestown and Cambridge to Brighton. A short halt was made at Bunker Hill. After a hurried look at the Monument we rode around it and then headed for Brighton. The rain was now falling in torrents and quickening our pace we passed rapidly through Cambridge, glancing hastily at the University Buildings as we galloped down the main thoroughfare of the city.

Brighton was reached between twelve and one o'clock. Owing to the storm our short journey to this place was anything but agreeable and when we dismounted at the Cattle Fair Hotel all who were not in covered conveyances were drenched to the skin. Here the entire party had dinner, after which I took leave of my friendly escort, who one and all took me by the hand and wished me Godspeed.

Pushing on through Newton and some smaller towns and villages I pulled up in front of the South Framingham House a few minutes after five o'clock in the evening. My clothing was thoroughly soaked and my cavalry boots filled to overflowing. Having secured accommodations for the night, Paul was fed and groomed; clothing and equipments hung up to dry and the first day of my long ride from sea to sea was off the calendar.

RIDING THROUGH CAMBRIDGE.

Second Day.

Bay State House,

Worcester, Massachusetts,

May Tenth.

I slept soundly at the South Framingham House and was up and out to the hotel stable at an early hour in the morning. I found Paul Revere, my equine companion, in good spirits and fancied that the significant look he gave me was an assurance that he would be ready for the road when called for.

After a hearty breakfast and a few questions concerning the beautiful little city in which I had spent the first night of my journey, I mounted Paul and rode out towards the Boston and Albany Turnpike. Being impressed with the appearance and enterprise of the place, while passing through some of its streets especial inquiry was made concerning its population, schools and industries. I learned that South Framingham is twenty-one miles from Boston, at the junction of the Boston and Albany and Old Colony Railways. Its population at that time was about 10,000. Its graded schools are among the first in the State. It supports several banks and newspapers and is engaged in the manufacture of woollens, rubber goods, boots and shoes, harness and machinery.

The ride from South Framingham to Worcester was uneventful if I except the pelting rain which from drizzle to down-pour followed me from start to finish. Indeed, it really seemed as though the first days of my journey were to be baptismal days and I regret exceedingly that these early stages of the trip were not more propitious; for, had the weather been less disagreeable, I should have seen Eastern Massachusetts under much more favorable circumstances.

The city limits of Worcester were reached at four o'clock in the afternoon and a half hour later I was registered at the Bay State House. Many relatives called upon me here, most of whom were residents of the city and vicinity. Lectured at the Opera House in the evening, being introduced to my audience by Colonel Finley of Charlestown, to whom previous reference has been made, and with whom I had arranged to accompany me as far as Syracuse, New York, and further if my advance agents should think it advisable for him to do so.

The fact that both my father and mother were natives of Worcester County and that most of our ancestors for several generations had been residents of Worcester and vicinity made that city of unusual interest to me, and I trust the reader will be indulgent if I allot too much space or seem too partial in my description of this early landmark in my journey.

Worcester, nestling among the hills along the Blackstone River, the second city in Massachusetts, the heart of the Commonwealth, has a population of about 85,000.

Shut in by its wall of hills, it seemed, as I first came into it, something like a little miniature world in itself. It possesses some share of all the good we know. Nature, that "comely mother," has laid her caressing hand upon it. Art has made many a beautiful structure to adorn its streets. Commerce smiles upon it. While its wonderful manufactures seem to form a great living, throbbing heart for the city.

VIEW IN WORCESTER MASSACHUSETTS.

Sauntering up from the depot, through Front street, five minutes' walk brought me to the Old Common. There I found, what one so frequently finds in Massachusetts towns and cities—namely, a War Monument. Apparently that mighty five years' struggle, that brilliant victory, bringing freedom to two million fellow-creatures, bringing power, union, glory to the nation, has burned itself into the very heart of the Old Bay State; and lest posterity might forget the lessons she learned from 1861 to 1865, everywhere she has planted her war monuments, to remind her children that

"Simple duty has no place for fear."

In the shade of Worcester Common is another object of interest. A little plot of ground, wherein stands a grand old tomb. It is the resting-place of Timothy Bigelow, the early patriot of Worcester. Here in the sunshine and the twilight, in the bloom of summer, and under the soft falling snows of winter, he perpetually manifests to the world

"How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest."

A sturdy old New Englander was Colonel Bigelow. "When the news of the destruction of the tea in Boston Harbor reached him, he was at work in his blacksmith shop, near the spot now called Lincoln Square. He immediately laid aside his tools, proceeded directly to his house, opened the closet, and took from it a canister of tea, went to the fire-place, and poured the contents into the flames. As if feeling that everything which had come in contact with British legislative tyranny should be purified by fire, the canister followed the tea; and then he covered both with coals.

"Before noon on the nineteenth of April, 1775, an express came to town, shouting, as he passed through the street at full speed, 'To arms! to arms!—the war's begun.' His white horse, bloody with spurring, and dripping with sweat, fell exhausted by the church. Another was instantly procured, and the tidings went on. The bell rang out the alarm, cannon were fired, and messengers were sent to every part of the town to collect the soldiery. As the news spread, the implements of husbandry were thrown by in the field; and the citizens left their homes, with no longer delay than to seize their arms. In a short time, the 'minute-men' were paraded on the green, under Captain Timothy Bigelow. After fervent prayer by Rev. Mr. Maccarty, they took up their line of march to the scene of conflict." Such was Bigelow's zeal and ardor in the great cause of the times, that he appeared on the following morning, at the head of his "minute-men," in the square at Watertown, having marched them there, a distance of over thirty miles, during that one short night.

On the nineteenth of April, 1861, the Bigelow Monument was dedicated. At the very hour of the consecration exercises, the Massachusetts Sixth Regiment was engaged in its memorable struggle and triumphant passage through the blockaded streets of Baltimore at the beginning of the Civil War.

A NEW ENGLAND PAPER MILL.

Along the west side of the Old Common runs Main street, just out of which, in Pearl street, is the Post Office. I have seen a curious computation with regard to that Post Office development, which aptly illustrates the rapid growth of Worcester. The number of letters sent out in 1809 was about 4,400. The number of letters taken out fifty years later was 523,808. Main street reaches Lincoln Square, where stand the two court houses. The old one has been removed a few feet, and refitted. In it the criminal courts are held; there too are the offices of the court of probate and insolvency.

The New Court House was built in 1845 of Quincy granite, at a cost of about one hundred thousand dollars. In it the civil terms of the courts are held, with numerous ante-rooms for the jurors and for consultation. The lower floor is occupied by the office of the register of deeds, and by the clerk's and treasurer's offices.

Close neighbor to the court houses is the building containing the rooms of the American Antiquarian Society, one of the leading learned bodies of our country. It was founded in 1812. It possesses a very valuable library, especially rich on subjects of local interest to Americans. The newspapers filed here include over four thousand volumes, beginning with the Boston News Letter of 1804, and closing with the great journals of to-day. This same society also possesses a very interesting collection of pre-historic American relics.

In Lincoln Square stands the old Salisbury mansion, an interesting specimen of a colonial house, which has been standing a century or so, since the time when those substantial buildings, with their wide halls, high ceilings, and strong walls, were built on honor. There it has stood in its dignity, more flimsy, more showy architecture springing up around it, until now the fin de siècle eye discovers that nothing is more to be desired than one of these same sturdy old colonial houses.

Main street contains many churches. On it is the large, ugly-looking, but justly celebrated, Clark University, which is devoted to scientific research, with its wonderfully equipped chemical laboratory.

Any one who wants a bird's-eye view of Worcester and its environments, can easily have it by strolling out Highland street to Newton Hill. It is only about a mile from Lincoln Park, but it is six hundred and seventy feet above the sea level, and from it "the whole world, and the glory thereof," seems spread out at one's feet.

On Salisbury street, one mile from the square, stands the house in which George Bancroft, the historian, dear to American hearts, was born.

A mile and a half from the square, on Salisbury Pond, are located the famous Wire Works of Washburn and Moen.

There are many buildings to interest the visitor in Worcester. The State Lunatic Asylum, with its one thousand patients; the free Public Library on Elm street, containing eighty thousand volumes; the High School on Walnut street; the Museum of the National Historical Society, on Foster street; All Saint's Church; the Polytechnic Institute; the College of the Holy Cross, six hundred and ninety feet above the sea, and many another place of interest, calling on the passers-by to look, and learn of the world's advancement.

Standing on one of the heights overlooking the little river, the surrounding hills, the busy city, throbbing with its many manufactories, it seemed to me I had before my eyes an object lesson of the wonderful resources, the vim, the power of making "all things work together for good," which I take to be the vital characteristic of American manhood.

I remembered reading that in 1767 a committee was appointed to decide whether it would be wise to attempt to locate a village on the present site of Worcester.

They reported that the place was one day's journey from Boston, and one day's journey from Springfield, that the place was well watered by streams and brooks, and that in eight miles square there was enough meadow to warrant the settling of sixty families, adding these words: "We recommend that a prudent and able committee be appointed to lay it out, and that due care be taken by said committee that a good minister of God's Word be placed there, as soon as may be, that such people as be there planted may not live like lambs in a large place."

That was only a little more than a century ago. As I stood overlooking it all, "thickly dotted with the homes of the husbandmen, and the villages of the manufacturer, traversed by canal and railway, and supporting a dense population," proving so strong a contrast between the past generation's humble anticipations, and our overflowing prosperity, I asked myself what those old Puritans would have thought of our railroads, our electric cars, our modern machines, our telephones; and I said, with a spirit of self-gratulation,

"We are living, we are dwelling,
In a grand and awful time;
In an age on ages telling,
To be living is sublime."

There is little doubt that future generations will look back upon this age as the brightest in the world's history.

Third and Fourth Days.

Bates House,

Springfield, Massachusetts,

May Eleventh.

Lowering clouds and a slight fall of rain again confronted me as I mounted Paul at seven o'clock on the morning of the Third Day in front of the Bay State House, Worcester, and rode out to the Boston and Albany Turnpike. The prospect of meeting my wife and daughter, whom I had not seen for several months, and the lecture appointment for Springfield made this one of the memorable days of my journey for speed and endurance. Fifty-four miles were whirled off in eight hours and the fact established that Paul could be relied upon to do all that was required of him.

I had hardly dismounted in front of the Bates House when Mrs. Glazier and Alice came running from the hotel to greet me. They had been visiting in Hartford and had come up to Springfield early in the morning, reaching the city several hours before my arrival. This visit with my family at Springfield was one of the pleasant episodes of my journey and long to be remembered in connection with my ride across the Bay State.

My lecture was delivered at the Haynes Opera House, whither I was escorted by comrades of the G. A. R. The introduction was by Captain Smith, Commander of the Springfield Post, who spoke pleasantly of my army and prison experiences and of the objects of my lecture tour.

OLD TOLL BRIDGE, SPRINGFIELD.

Hastening back to the Bates House after the lecture, the remainder of the evening was spent with my wife and daughter and a few friends who had called for a social talk and to tell me something of the early history of Springfield and vicinity.

As the lecture appointment for Pittsfield was set for the fifteenth I readily discovered by a simple calculation that I could easily spend another day with Hattie and Alice and still reach Pittsfield early in the afternoon of the fifteenth. The leisure thus found was devoted to strolls in and around Springfield and a careful study of the city and its environs.

When King Charles the First had dissolved his third parliament, thus putting his head on the bleeding heart of puritanism, there lived in Springfield, England, a warden of the established church. "He was thirty-nine years of age, of gentle birth, acute, restive, and singularly self-assertive. He had seen some of the stoutest men of the realm break into tears when the King had cut off free speech in the Commons; he had seen ritualism, like an iron collar, clasped upon the neck of the church, while a young jewelled courtier, the Duke of Buckingham, dangled the reputation of sober England at his waistcoat. A colonial enterprise, pushed by some Lincolnshire gentlemen, had been noised abroad, and the warden joined his fortunes with them, and thus became one of the original incorporators mentioned in the Royal Charter of the Massachusetts Bay Company in America. This was William Pinchon." After reaching this country he became treasurer of the colony, and a member of the general court. He formed plans for a coast trade, and for a trade with the Indians.

Such was the man of mark, who in 1636, with a colony of friends, made a settlement on the fertile meadows of the Indian Agawam. The spot was obtained by a deed signed by thirteen Indians, and Pinchon, in loving remembrance of his old English home, christened the new settlement Springfield. From the little we can glean of them, the ancient inhabitants of the village must have been a grim old race.

Hugh Parsons, and Mary, his wife, were tried for witchcraft.

Goodwife Hunter was gagged and made to stand in the stocks for "Sundry exhorbitance of ye toung."

Men were fined for not attending town meeting and voting.

In August, 1734, the Rev. Robert Breck was called to the church in Springfield.

Shortly before that he had used the following words in one of his sermons: "What will become of the heathen who never heard of the gospel, I do not pretend to say, but I cannot but indulge a hope that God, in his boundless benevolence, will find out a way whereby those heathen who act up to the light they have may be saved."

The news of this alarming hope came to Springfield, and a few other so-called unorthodox utterances were attributed to him. "In the minds of the River Gods heterodoxy was his crime. For this the Rev. gentleman was not only tried by a council of the church, but a sheriff and his posse appeared and arrested Mr. Breck in his Majesty's name, and the prisoner was taken first to the town-house, and afterward to New London for trial."

A MASSACHUSETTS MILL STREAM.

The early Springfield settlers had few of the articles which we consider the commonest comforts of life.

Hon. John Worthington, "One of the Gods of the Connecticut Valley," owned the first umbrella in Springfield. He never profaned the article by carrying it in the rain, but used it as a sun-shade only.

In 1753 there was but one clock in Springfield. It was considered a great curiosity, and people used to stop to hear it strike.

As early as about 1774 that wonderful innovation, a cooking-stove, made its appearance in Springfield. The stove was made in Philadelphia, and weighed eight or nine hundred pounds.

It was 1810 when David Ames brought the first piano into the little settlement.

We are furnished with a description of Springfield in 1789 by the journal of the Great Washington. Under the date of October twenty-first he wrote, "There is a great equality in the people of this State. Few or no opulent men, and no poor. Great similitude in their buildings, the general fashion of which is a chimney—always of brick or stone—and a door in the middle, with a staircase fronting the latter, and running up by the side of the former; two flush stories, with a very good show of sash and glass windows; the size generally from thirty to fifty feet in length, and from twenty to thirty in width, exclusive of a back shed, which seems to be added as the family increases."

Much later in our national history, Springfield became one of the most important stations of the "Underground Railroad."

In a back room on Main street can still be seen a fire-place, preserved as a memento of stirring days, when many a negro was pushed up through it, to be secreted in the great chimney above.

Springfield has had many noted citizens. The historian Bancroft lived there at one time; so did John Brown, of Harper's Ferry fame.

George Ashman, a brilliant member of the local bar, was made chairman of the famous Chicago convention of 1860 which nominated Abraham Lincoln for President. Mr. Ashman also had the honor to convey the formal notice of the nomination to Lincoln in Springfield, Illinois.

Dr. J. G. Holland lived in Springfield, where all of his prose works first made their appearance, in the columns of the Springfield Republican.

No spot in Springfield is more interesting to those fortunate enough to see it than the United States Arsenal.

Springfield Armory was established by act of Congress, April, 1794, its site having been accepted by Washington in 1789. The plant consists of the Armory and Arsenal on the hill, and the water shops, distant about two miles, on Mill River. Main Arsenal is on a bluff overlooking the city, and is one hundred and sixty feet above the river. It is a partial copy of East India House in London. From its tower there is a wonderful view of the surrounding country, and one which was greatly admired by Charles Dickens during his visit to America.

The Main Arsenal is two hundred feet by seventy, and is three stories high, each floor having storage capacity for one hundred thousand stand of arms.

THE SPRINGFIELD ARMORY.

Longfellow's lines have made this a classic spot:

"This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;
But from the silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.

"Oh! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the death angel touches those swift keys!
What loud lament and dismal miserere
Will mingle with those awful symphonies!

"Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies;
But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise."

Beside the Main Arsenal, two other buildings are used for the storage of arms.

In 1795 Uncle Sam made his first musket. That year forty or fifty men were employed, and 245 muskets were made. Between that and the present time over 2,000,000 weapons have been turned out. During that time $32,500,000 have been expended. When Sumter was fired on about 1,000 weapons per month were being made. Three months later, 3,000 were made each month. In 1864, 1,000 muskets were completed each day, and 3,400 men were employed, with pay roll sometimes amounting to $200,000 per month. At present only 400 men are employed.

From Springfield stock have come eight college presidents, namely of Yale, Harvard, Columbia, Amherst, Princeton, Trinity, Beloit, and Dickinson.

Springfield of to-day is a thriving city of about 50,000, and is the county seat of Hampden County. Some one, I think, has called it the "city of homes." Its streets are broad, and well shaded by elms and maples; many of its residences are detached, and as a whole it bears the stamp of taste and refinement.

Springfield is within easy reach of many points of interest. It is ninety-eight miles from Boston, one hundred and twenty miles from New York, and twenty-six miles from Hartford.

The growth of the Springfield Street Railroad Company has been phenomenal. In 1869 this company started out with only $50,000 capital stock. Its length was only about two miles. It had only four cars and twenty-five horses. Three years ago horses were displaced by electricity. Now, in the busy season, the daily mileage of transit on the thirty-five miles of track is equal to the distance from Springfield to San Francisco and half-way back. During the fiscal year closing October first, 1892, 7,500,000 fares were taken.

The stores of Springfield are remarkably large and tasteful. Haynes & Company have the largest clothing house in Massachusetts, out of Boston.

In 1875 Meakins & Packard started in business with only one boy to help them. Now their building is one hundred feet square, and seven stories high, while they now have over one hundred employees.

A MILL IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS.

Springfield has three great manufactories, Smith & Wesson Pistol Works; R. F. Hawkins Iron Works; and the Wesson Car Manufactory. Smith & Wesson employ about 500 men, with an annual output of 80,000 weapons. They ship goods to Russia and other countries. The Wesson Car Company in 1860 sent $300,000 worth of goods to the Egyptian government. They have also done considerable work for South America. They have done $150,000 worth for the New Jersey Central Railroad, and $1,700,000 worth for the Central Pacific Railroad.

The City Library was built at a cost of $100,000, and contains 80,000 books. Adjoining the library is the beautiful new art building, containing a rare and costly collection of curiosities.

The City Hall is a building in the Romanesque style. It contains a public hall with a seating capacity of 2,700.

The Court House is an imposing structure, is built of granite, and cost $200,000.

The city has many a lovely spot in which to recreate. Imagine four hundred acres, woodland alternating with highly cultivated lawns, and stretches of blooming plants. Imagine in the midst of this a deep ravine, with a brawling little brook through it. Imagine five lakelets covered by Egyptian lotus, and the different varieties of water-lilies. Through all this loveliness, think of seven miles of charming drives, winding in and out like a ribbon, and you have in your mind a picture of Springfield's enchanting Forest Park.

Fifth Day.

Russell House,

Russell, Massachusetts,

May Thirteenth.

My wife and daughter were not easily reconciled to my leavetaking of Springfield, but yielding to the inevitable, adieus were quickly said, Paul was mounted and I rode slowly away from the Bates House, turning occasionally in the saddle until entirely out of sight of my loved ones, then putting spurs to my horse galloped out to the turnpike and headed for Russell, the evening objective.

Considerable rain fell during the day and the roads at this time through Western Massachusetts were in a wretched condition. With clothing thoroughly soaked and mud anywhere from ankle to knee deep, the trip from Springfield to Russell was anything but what I had pictured when planning my overland tour in the saddle. Some consolation was found, however, in recalling similar experiences in the army and I resolved to allow nothing to depress or turn me from my original purpose. A halt was made for dinner during this day's ride, at a country inn or tavern ten miles west of Springfield.

Notwithstanding the fact that I did not leave Springfield until nearly ten o'clock in the morning, and that I was out of the saddle over an hour on account of dinner, and compelled to face a pelting storm throughout the day, I did well to advance eighteen miles by four o'clock, the time of dismounting at the Russell House.

Russell is one of the most beautiful of the numerous villages of Hampden County, and is picturesquely situated among the Berkshire Hills in the western part of the State. It stands on the banks of the Westfield River, upon which it relies for water-power in the manufacture of paper, its only industry. It has direct communication with Eastern and Western Massachusetts through the Boston and Albany Railway, and while it is not likely that it will ever come to anything pretentious, it will always be, in appearance at least, a rugged and romantic-looking little village.

A HAMLET IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS.

Sixth Day.

Becket House,

Becket, Massachusetts,

May Fourteenth.

Mounted Paul in front of the hotel at Russell at nine o'clock in the morning to ride towards Chester, along the bank of the Westfield River. This swift branch of the Connecticut runs along between its green banks fertilizing the meadows and turning the factory wheels that here and there dip down into its busy current. The Indian name "Agawam," by which it is known nearer its mouth, seems more appropriate for the wild little stream, and often, while I was following its course, I thought of the banished Red Men who had given it this musical name and who had once built their wigwams along its shores.

On this morning the air was fresh and the view pleasing under the magical influence of spring, and both were none the less enjoyed by the assurance that dinner could be had at our next stopping-place. Upon dismounting, I found that the ride could not have been as agreeable to Paul as to his master, for his back was in a very sore condition. Everything was done for his comfort; cold water and castile soap being applied to relieve the injured parts, and the cumbersome saddle-cloth which had been doing duty since we left Boston was discarded for a simple blanket such as I had used while in the cavalry service. This was a change for the better and was made at the right time, for, as I afterwards had some difficulty in keeping the direct road, the equipment of my horse relieved what might have proved a fatiguing day's ride. As it was, the novelty of being lost, which was my experience on this occasion, had its advantages, for a wanderer in the Berkshire Hills finds much to suit the fancy and to please the eye. At six o'clock, notwithstanding the delay, we came into Becket, where Edwin Lee, the proprietor of the hotel of the place, told me I was the only guest.

Becket is an enterprising little village, thirty-seven miles northwest of Springfield, having a graded school and several manufactories. The scenery throughout the region is rugged and attractive, a charming characteristic of the Bay State.

Seventh Day.

Berkshire House,

Pittsfield, Massachusetts,

May Fifteenth.

Rode away from Becket at eight o'clock in the morning, and on the way found it necessary to favor Paul in this day's ride; so I dismounted and walked several miles. This was not a disagreeable task, for my journey lay over the picturesque Hoosac Mountains whose wooded sides and fertile valleys were almost a fairyland of loveliness at this season. Owing to this delay, Pittsfield was not reached until one o'clock. Here I delivered my fourth lecture at the Academy of Music, Captain Brewster, commander of the Pittsfield Post, G. A. R., introducing me.

SUBURB OF PITTSFIELD.

Eighth Day

Berkshire House,

Pittsfield, Massachusetts,

May Sixteenth.

Spent the morning at the "Berkshire," posting my journal and attending to private and business correspondence. The afternoon was passed in a stroll through the town, where I saw much that was of interest and gathered some information concerning its early history, progress and present condition.

Of the fourteen counties of Massachusetts, the most strongly marked and highly favored is Berkshire, with its four cardinal boundaries, formed by four different states. To one who sees, for the first time, the luxuriance of its vegetation, the beauty of its forest-covered hills, the broad shady avenues of its villages, with their palatial homes, it seems as if Nature and wealth had combined to make this spot a veritable "Garden of the Gods."

In the exact centre of all this loveliness, more than 1,000 feet above the level of the sea, lies the little city of Pittsfield, containing about 16,000 inhabitants. Its principal streets form a cross, North, South, East, and West streets meeting at an elliptical grove of stately elms forming a small park. Here in old days stood one central tree, its height one hundred and twenty-eight feet, its bare shaft ninety feet, with many a memory of the French and Indian wars attached to it. In 1841, it was struck by lightning. In 1861 it was cut down, even stern men weeping at its fall. It was replaced by a fountain, whose stream may be raised to the height of the old tree. This park also holds a huge shaft of granite, upon which stands the bronze figure of a soldier, flag in hand. On the granite are cut the words, "For the dead a tribute, for the living a memory, for posterity an emblem of devotion to their country's flag." To the west of the park is Pittsfield's large brownstone Post Office, it being the first building on North street, a small business thoroughfare, whose stores, with their dainty wares and tasteful fabrics, would do credit to many a large city.

On the south of the park stands the Athenæum, a building of rough stone, erected at the cost of $100,000 as a "tribute to art, science, and literature," and presented to his fellow-townspeople by Thomas Allen. It contains a large free library, an art gallery, and a very entertaining museum of curiosities. Next door to the Athenæum is the large white Court House, said to have cost $400,000. Across from the Court House, in a little corner of the park, is a tiny music house, gay with colored electric lights, where open air evening concerts are given all through the summer.

On the north of the park stand two of the handsomest of Pittsfield's eleven churches.

A SCENE IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS.

The city's manufactories are large and thrifty, but they, and the operatives who manipulate them, are tucked away in a corner, so to speak, where they may not offend the eyes of the opulent inhabitants. Only in the riotous jostle of Saturday night in the store is one brought face to face with the fact that beauty, leisure and wealth do not hold a monopoly of the sweet Berkshire air. For everything appears so lovely. The streets are very wide, great stately avenues, where beautiful strips of the finest lawn border each edge of the sidewalk. Society is the choicest, for the summer residences of New York's four hundred intermingle with the magnificent old mansions owned by the staunchest of Massachusetts' old blue-blooded sons and daughters. Cropping out through the elegance of this little city are some queer old Yankee traits. Lawlessness there is none. No policemen guard the park, with its ideal lawns, but a polite notice informs passers-by that this being no thoroughfare, trespassing will not be tolerated, and there is none. When the concerts are in full blast, people gather in the walks and drives only. Whole rows of little street Arabs may be seen on these occasions, drawn up with their little bare toes touching the very edge of the precious grass. The open music house is always left full of chairs, which no one steals, nay, which no one uses. The entrance to the Court House is filled with blooming plants. No child, no dog even, is ill-bred enough to break one.

But the peculiarities of the people, the beauty of the dwellings, the magnificence of the equipages, the tide of fashionable life which pours in, summer and fall, all, ALL is forgotten as, from some point of vantage, the spectator takes in the beauty surrounding him. "On the west sweep the Taconics, in that majestic curve, whose grace travelers, familiar with the mountain scenery of both hemispheres, pronounce unequaled. On the east the Hoosacs stretch their unbroken battlements, with white villages at their feet, and, if the sunlight favors, paths of mingled lawn and wood, enticing to their summits; while from the south, 'Greylock, cloud-girdled on his purple throne' looks grandly across the valley to the giant heights, keeping watch and ward over the pass where the mountains throw wide their everlasting gates, to let the winding Housatonic flow peacefully toward the sea."

Thus, in taking leave of Massachusetts, I looked back to the starting-point, and thought with pleasure of the many beautiful links in the chain connecting Boston with Pittsfield, none more beautiful than the last.

Ninth Day.

Nassau House,

Nassau, New York,

May Seventeenth.

Ordered my horse at ten in the morning, and before riding on stopped at the office of the Berkshire Eagle to talk a few minutes with the editor. The route from Pittsfield lay over the Boston and Albany Turnpike, one of the villages on the way being West Lebanon. Here we had dinner. While quietly pursuing my journey afterwards, in crossing the Pittsfield Mountain, I overtook Egbert Jolls, a farmer, with whom I had a long and interesting conversation. He amused me with stories of the Lebanon Shakers, among whom he had lived many years, and whose peculiar belief and customs have always set them widely apart from other sects. Perhaps the most singular point in their doctrine is that God is dual, combining in the One Person the eternal Father and Mother of all generated nature. They believe that the revelation of God is progressive, and in its last aspect the manifestation was God revealed in the character of Mother, as an evidence of Divine affection. Ann Lee, the daughter of a Manchester blacksmith, is the founder of the sect, and considered from her holy life to be the human representation of this Divine duality. This is a strange belief, and one that is not generally known, but its adherents have among other good traits one which commends them to the respect of those who know anything of them, and that is their sober and industrious habits.

Soon after crossing the State line between Massachusetts and New York, we passed the home of Governor Samuel J. Tilden. Two years before, this popular Democrat was elected governor, by a plurality of 50,000 votes above his fellow-candidate, John A. Dix. He won popular attention by his strong opposition to certain political abuses; notably the Tweed Charter of 1870; and by incessant activity he was, in 1876, beginning to reap the laurels of a career which began while he was a student at Yale.

CHAPTER V.

FOUR DAYS AT ALBANY.

Started from Nassau at eleven o'clock, still following the Boston and Albany Turnpike, and soon reached the Old Barringer Homestead. It was with this family that I spent my first night in Rensselaer County sixteen years before, when a lad of seventeen, I was looking for a school commissioner and a school to teach. Brockway's was another well-known landmark which I could not pass without stopping, for it was here that I boarded the first week after opening my school at Schodack Centre in the autumn of 1859. At the school, too, I dismounted, and found that the teacher was one of my old scholars. The Lewis family, at the hotel just beyond, were waiting my approach with wide-open door; for Oscar Lewis had gone to Albany and had said before he left: "Keep a sharp lookout for Captain Glazier, as he will surely pass this way." It was very pleasant to be met so cordially, although the sight of well-known faces and landmarks brought back the past and made me feel like another Rip Van Winkle.

THE ROAD TO ALBANY.

In crossing the river between Greenbush and Albany, Paul seemed disinclined to stay on board, so the bars had to be put up and every precaution taken. It may have been that the shades of the ferrymen who had run the little craft for the last two hundred years came back to vex us. Perhaps the particular ghost of Hendrick Albertsen, who, two hundred and eight years ago bargained with Killian Van Rensselaer for the privilege of running his boat; but whatever the cause of the disturbance we reached terra firma without accident, and were soon in the familiar streets of the old Dutch town; the day's journey agreeably ended with our trip across the Hudson by the oldest ferry in the United States.

From the river the view of Albany is picturesque in the extreme, where the eye catches the first glimpse of the city, rising from the water's edge, and surmounted then by its brown-domed Capitol. It was a sight that had always had a singular charm for me, for many of the pleasantest hours of my early life were spent here, where my sisters and I were educated. Here I left school to enlist at the opening of the Civil War, and here I published my first book, "Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape." But even if the city had no claim other than its own peculiar attractiveness it would hold an enviable place among its sister cities. The irregularity of its older streets, the tone of its architecture, the lack of the usual push and bustle of an American town, give it an old-world air that makes it interesting. There is a Common in the centre of the city, shaded by old elms, and around this stand the public buildings—the State Hall for state offices and the City Hall for city offices—both of marble and fronting on the Common. The Albany Academy, where Joseph Henry, one of its professors from 1826 to 1832, first demonstrated his theory of the magnetic telegraph. A few squares west of the Common was the stretch of green that has since been set apart for a public park, where the good people of Albany may find an agreeable change of scene and an hour's pleasant recreation.

STATE STREET AND CAPITOL, ALBANY, NEW YORK.

The New Capitol, on the site of the Old Capitol, is a magnificent edifice in the renaissance style, built of New England granite, at a cost to the State of many millions. On passing quaint bits of architecture or the suggestive aspect of some out-of-the way corner, one turns naturally to the days of wigs and kneebreeches, before the capital of the Empire State was thought of, and when the forests of fair Columbia were overrun by the bronzed warriors who still held undisputed sway. It was back in these days that Henry Hudson, sent from Holland by the Dutch East India Company, in sailing up the "Grande" River in search of a passage to India and China, found that he could not send his ship beyond the point where the city of Hudson now stands. This was discouraging, but sure that the desired passage was found, he and a few of his men pushed farther on in a small craft, landing, it is believed, on the present site of Albany. Later, Hudson and his men returned, assured that the noble river could not take them where they had hoped it might. After them came Dutch traders, led by an enterprising Hollander who had been with Hudson on his first voyage, and who saw a promising field in the red man's country. They established a trading-post where the "Half Moon" had been moored before, and from here carried on their barter with the Indians, exchanging attractive trifles for furs. Other traders followed these, and then came the colonists; a brave little band full of hope and eager to try their fortune in the New World. Their leader was none other than Killian Van Rensselaer, the wealthy pearl merchant of Amsterdam, and one of the directors of the West India Company, who had received a grant from the Prince of Orange for a large tract of land about the Upper Hudson, including the present site of Albany. Here he established his "patroonship," guarding the affairs of the colony, and providing his tenants with comfortable houses and ample barns. And more than this, their spiritual welfare was promoted through the services of the Reverend Doctor Joanes Megapolensis. From his personal accounts we read that the good Dominie found his life among the 'wilden' as full of peril and unceasing labor as that of his flock; for he undertook not only the guidance of his own people, but the enlightenment and conversion of the Indians. To this end he threw himself into the task of mastering their language with true missionary zeal; a task which in those days meant not only difficulty but danger.

Under the shelter of the handsome churches that grace the streets of the Albany of to-day, we see a striking contrast in the primitive house where this pioneer clergyman preached; and from the security of long-established peace, we look back upon those sturdy people of Rensselaerwyck who sowed and reaped and went to church under the protection of the Patroon's guns.

But there came a day when English ships sailed up to the harbor at Manhatoes, and demanded the surrender of the Dutch colonies in the name of the Duke of York and Albany. The terrified people at sight of the guns refused to withstand an attack, and the English quietly came into possession. Van Rensselaer sent down his papers, and Fort Orange surrendered on the twenty-fourth of September, 1664, soon after receiving its new name in honor of the Duke's second title. Twenty-two years later, Albany had the satisfaction of sending two of her representatives, Peter Schuyler and Robert Livingston, to New York to claim her charter as a city; which, upon their return, was received, according to the old chronicler, "with all ye joy and acclamation imaginable."

Through the strength of their new dignity and influence we can trace the spirit of independence which was beginning to rise in opposition to the unjust English rule; and it was here in 1754 that the first General Congress was held to discuss arrangements for the national defence, when Franklin and his compatriots "signed the first plan for American Union and proclaimed to the colonies that they were one people, fit to govern and able to protect themselves." Later, when the storm of the Revolution broke, this place, where the first threatenings were heard, was the most impoverished by the contest and the most persevering in the fight; but she came out triumphant, with a record well meriting the honors received in 1797, when she was made the capital of the Empire State. After peace was again established and the routine of business taken up, Albany became the centre of the entire trade of Western New York.

RIVER STREET, TROY, NEW YORK.

Fulton's steamboats began to run between Albany and New York as early as 1809, and this commercial activity and contact with the world gave an impulse to the city which has made itself felt all along the Hudson. Since then it has grown rapidly, and has in its steady advancement an influential future to which its citizens may look forward with pardonable pride.

My arrival in Albany and lecture at Tweddle Hall on the evening of the eighteenth were to me among the notable events of my journey. Colonel J. M. Finley, who accompanied me from Boston, a veteran of the late war and manager of my lecture course from Boston to Buffalo, introduced me.

Called at the Capitol on the nineteenth to see the adjutant-general in relation to my lecturing in the interest of the fund for the erection of a Soldiers' Home which at that time interested persons had proposed to build at Bath, New York. I was presented to General Townsend by Colonel Taylor, assistant adjutant-general, whom I had known for several years. Found that General Townsend was not, as I had been informed, the treasurer of the fund. Colonel Taylor then went with me up Washington avenue in search of Captain John Palmer, Past Department Commander, G. A. R., whom I was advised to consult on the subject.

These matters attended to, I went in pursuit of Captain William Blasie and Lieutenant Arthur Richardson—acquaintances of many years and both of whom had been the companions of my captivity in Southern prisons during the War of the Rebellion.

My stay in Albany was prolonged by preparation for lectures at Troy and Schenectady, and by needed information concerning the early history and development of the former city. The second Sunday of my journey found me here and I went in the morning to the Presbyterian Church at the corner of Hudson and Philip streets.

VIEW IN SCHENECTADY, NEW YORK.

CHAPTER VI.

ALBANY TO SYRACUSE.

Fourteenth Day.

Given's Hotel,

Schenectady, New York,

May 22, 1876.

Left Albany at eleven o'clock. My journey to this city led me over the Schenectady Turnpike. Was compelled to ride between showers all day as a rainstorm had set in just as I was leaving Albany. Stopped for dinner at Peter Lansing's, whose farm is about midway between the two cities. This genial gentleman of old Knickerbocker stock greatly amused me with his blunt manner and dry jokes. I was sorry to leave the shelter of his hospitable roof, especially as the weather was exceedingly disagreeable, but my engagement to lecture in Schenectady obliged me to go on. I found it necessary to ride the last three miles at a gallop in order to avoid an approaching shower. Reached my hotel at four o'clock in the afternoon, and lectured in the evening at Union Hall under the auspices of Post 14, G. A. R. Several representatives of the city press were with me on the platform, and among them was Colonel S. G. Hamlin, a fellow-prisoner in "Libby" during the war, and now editor of the Union. In the morning Colonel Finley went over to Troy to assist Mr. Farrington, my advance agent, in arranging for my lecture in that city.

Fifteenth and Sixteenth Days.

91 Centre Street,

Schenectady, New York,

May Twenty-third—Twenty-fourth.

Accepting an invitation to spend a day or two with friends, I went to 91 Centre street after my lecture. While here I was occupied chiefly in posting my journal and in attending to business and private correspondence. A telegram from Colonel Finley told me that he had fixed upon the next evening for my lecture at Harmony Hall, Troy. Acting upon this plan I went over to Troy the following afternoon by way of Albany. Called on Captain Palmer in the latter city, and handed him the proceeds of my lecture at Schenectady, which he at once transmitted to the fund in aid of the Soldiers' Home. While in Troy I met R. H. Ferguson, Hon. Martin I. Townsend, the McCoys and many other friends and acquaintances of Auld Lang Syne. I may add that this was the only instance in my journey thus far in which I had deviated from a direct line of march.

Seventeenth Day.

91 Centre Street,

Schenectady, New York,

May Twenty-fifth.

Returned to Schenectady by way of Albany after my lecture at Troy. Was very busy at this time in organizing for my lecture campaign between Schenectady and Buffalo. There was rather a surprising announcement in the afternoon's Union to the effect that I had left for Little Falls. I did not learn from what source Comrade Hamlin of that paper received his information. Colonel Finley went on to Utica, where he was joined by Mr. Farrington.

During my stay here I became interested in the place and found that Schenectady was as rich in legends and story as her neighbors. She counts her birthday among the historic dates of America, having begun her career in 1620, when the Mohawks were still holding their councils of war and spreading the terror of their name. Here in their very haunts a band of courageous Dutchmen established a trading-post and began the work of civilization. This brave colony did not find life as peaceful as the innocent aspect of Nature would suggest, however, for in the winter of 1690 the French and Indians began their terrible work, burning the houses and massacreing the inhabitants. It was only through a baptism of blood that the small trading-post developed into a city. Now it was one of the most flourishing and important towns in the valley; and the transformation was so complete that it is almost impossible to realize that this was the scene of so many struggles. The Schenectady of to-day is a busy manufacturing town, with a prosperous farming district about it, whose cornfields and orchards attest the richness of the soil. It is the seat of Union College, a well-known institution of rich endowments and possessing a handsome library of 15,000 volumes. The college was founded in 1795 by a union of several religious sects. Its buildings are plain and substantial, their stuccoed walls suggestive of the good solid work that is accomplished within them from year to year.

Eighteenth Day.

Union Hotel,

Fonda, New York,

May Twenty-sixth.

Moved from Schenectady at eight o'clock in the morning. Found the weather delightful and the scenery charming. On either side were the meadows dotted with spring flowers and fertilized by the river, whose shore line of willows and elms was bright with new green. If I were to except the Berkshire Hills, I saw nothing in Massachusetts to surpass, or even equal, the Valley of the Mohawk. It surprised me that poet and novelist had apparently found so little here for legendary romance.

Had dinner at Amsterdam, sixteen miles from Schenectady, and while halted here had Paul shod for the first time since leaving Boston. Resumed my journey at four o'clock and reached Fonda two hours later. Made twenty-six miles during the day and was now 243 miles from the "Hub." Through the courtesy of Mr. Fisher, my landlord at this place, I was given a verbal sketch of Fonda which made a pleasant addition to my own small store of information. There were no striking characteristics here to attract the traveller's eye and history had not chronicled its modest advancement, but for those who enjoy the sight of peace and prosperity, Fonda has a charm of its own. Around it on all sides the grain fields were under excellent cultivation, with here and there a well-stocked farm, suggesting an agricultural and dairying centre. I found a good night's rest here, envied the people their peaceful existence, and rode away with a sense of complete refreshment.

Nineteenth Day.

Briggs House,

Saint Johnsville, New York,

May Twenty-seventh.

Called for Paul at eight o'clock, and after halting a moment at the office of the Mohawk Valley Democrat, crossed the river to Fultonville, which is connected with Fonda by a substantial iron bridge. Passing through this town, an enterprising one for its size, I continued my journey along the south bank of the Mohawk until I reached Canajoharie, where I stopped at the Eldridge House for dinner.

A MILL STREAM IN THE MOHAWK VALLEY.

Here I met another Socrates who had a "favorite prescription" for healing the sore on Paul's back. Spent an hour very pleasantly in the office of the Mohawk Valley Register at Fort Plain, where I learned that Charles W. Elliott of this paper is a son of George W. Elliott, author of "Bonnie Eloise." For many years this song was a great favorite, not only along the Mohawk, but all over the country, and is certainly one of the sweetest ballads of America. There is a swing to the rhythm and charm in the lines which keeps it in memory, and in riding along through the scenes it describes, my thoughts go back to the old days in Rensselaer County, where as a boy I first heard the words.

"O sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides,
On its clear winding way to the sea;
And dearer than all storied streams on earth besides,
Is this bright rolling river to me.

But sweeter, dearer, yes, dearer far than these,
Who charms when others all fail,
Is blue-eyed, bonnie, bonnie Eloise,
The belle of the Mohawk vale.

"O sweet are the scenes of my boyhood's sunny years
That bespangle the gay valley o'er;
And dear are the friends, seen through memory's fond tears,
That have lived in the blest days of yore.

But sweeter, dearer, yes, dearer far than these, etc.

"O sweet are the moments when dreaming I roam
Through my loved haunts now mossy and gray;
And dearer than all is my childhood's hallowed home
That is crumbling now slowly away.

But sweeter, dearer, yes, dearer far than these, etc."

Reached this place at seven o'clock in the evening and will go on to Little Falls after dinner to-morrow. In the morning I had an opportunity to look about me and admire the unusually fine scenery whose romantic aspect was heightened by a rugged tip of the Adirondacks which runs down into the valley at that point. At the foot of the mountain lies the brisk little town of Saint Johnsville, whose manufacturing interests have given it a reputation for miles around.

Twentieth Day.

Girvan House,

Little Falls, New York,

May Twenty-eighth.

Rode to this place from Saint Johnsville after five o'clock in the afternoon, taking the north bank of the river. The effect of the scene in front of me as I traced my way along the valley was most striking. Nearer the town my eye caught the picturesque masses of rock lifting their rugged sides to a height of five hundred feet, the swift waters of the Mohawk rushing along between them. The homes perched all along on the steep hills suggested Swiss scenes and Alpine journeys, but the busy hum and characteristic American push soon dissipated these fancies. The rapid fall of the river here is of great benefit to the manufacturers who are making good use of their excellent water-power in the paper and woollen mills.

Soon after my arrival, several citizens came into the hotel to learn the particulars of my journey, but before I had time to register, Postmaster Stafford made himself known and introduced me to several of his friends and acquaintances, among them General Curtis and Major Lintner. A laughable story was related which afforded considerable amusement soon after I rode into town. It seems that a credulous old lady from the country had been led to believe that a cavalryman would ride through the place that night on the horse which General Washington rode during the Revolution. A story suggested, no doubt, by the subject of my lecture. She had come in to sell her firkin of butter and had waited until long after dark for the rider and his ancient steed, while the objects of her misguided interest were resting in Saint Johnsville unconscious of the disappointment they were causing.

Let us hope that she never discovered her mistake, for the old are often sensitive on such points. It is better at times to suffer keen disappointment than to find we have been too credulous.

VIEW IN THE MOHAWK VALLEY.

Twenty-first Day.

12 Cornelia Street,

Utica, New York,

May Twenty-ninth.

After considerable trouble in finding a saddle blanket for Paul, to take the place of the saddle cloth used until we reached Little Falls, I started from that romantic town at nine o'clock, halting at Ilion for dinner. This village, well known through the firm of the Remingtons, is on the south bank of the Mohawk, twelve miles from Utica. From here the famous Remington machines and rifles are sent all over the world.

Farrington met me two miles east of Utica and escorted me back to the city, conducting Colonel Finley and myself to rooms which had been engaged for us through the hospitality of J. C. Bates.

Left my pleasant quarters here to make a few observations about town, and found much to arrest my attention. A century ago Utica was known as "Old Fort Schuyler" from a small stockade of that name, built on the site in 1750. As the country grew more peaceful, and the life of the future city began, the name was changed. A gradual slope of the land from the river gave from the more elevated parts some very fine views; and the public parks with their shade trees and gay flowers made a rich adornment to a naturally attractive city. The great Erie Canal passes through the centre of the city and is joined by the Chenango Canal at this point. Among the landmarks are the homes of Roscoe Conkling and Horatio Seymour.

Twenty-second Day.

Stanwix Hall,

Rome, New York,

May Thirtieth.

Was compelled to remain in Utica until four o'clock in the afternoon in order to have my saddle padded. This brief delay, while favoring my equine friend, was in some particulars also favorable to his rider, as it afforded me an excellent opportunity to gather information I desired concerning the growth of this enterprising town.

Rode up to Rome on the south bank of the Mohawk. Soon after my arrival at the Stanwix I met a large number of Grand Army comrades. Room "14" had been engaged and made a rendezvous, and here until a late hour the experiences of the late war were told over again and our battles re-fought. This gathering of comrades to celebrate Memorial Day was marked by deep and enthusiastic feeling; and, although my day's journey had somewhat fatigued me, I felt this was no time to show a lack of spirit; so I cheerfully yielded to the old maxim, "When in Rome do as the Romans do." Through the courtesy of Captain Joseph Porter, then Commander of Skillen Post 47, I was introduced to Hon. H. J. Coggeshall, of Waterville, Colonel G. A. Cantine, Hon. W. F. Bliss, Mr. Taylor, editor of the Sentinel, and many others.

Rome lies on a level stretch of land at the head of the valley, whence I could see its spires as I approached. On its site once stood old Fort Stanwix, of Revolutionary fame, which cost the British £660,000 sterling. It was built as a defence against the French in Canada, and was the first settlement before the French War. From that time until the close of the Revolution it was an important frontier post. Rome is the centre of a large dairying interest, the cheese factory system having originated here.

Twenty-third Day.

Chittenango House,

Chittenango, New York,

May Thirty-first.

Had a late breakfast at the Stanwix and, after a stroll through the streets of Rome, called for my horse at ten o'clock, and bidding adieu to Grand Army comrades who had assembled to see me start from their city, mounted and rode out of town. The journey, as usual, since leaving Albany, lay along the New York Central. The roads were dry and favorable, the weather settled, and the scenery through this section of the Empire State such as to make my journey most enjoyable. Chittenango was not reached until ten o'clock, as the distance from Rome made this one of the longest rides noted in a single day. The twinkling lights of the village looked very pleasant as I neared my destination, marking here and there the homes of its hundreds of inhabitants. I found upon inquiry at the Chittenango House that I was the only guest, which augured well for a good night's sleep.

CHAPTER VII.

TWO DAYS AT SYRACUSE.

Had an early breakfast at Chittenango and calling for Paul at eight o'clock mounted and rode forward, with the city of Syracuse as my evening destination. Nothing of especial interest occurred to vary the day's journey. Syracuse was reached at four o'clock in the afternoon, and the remainder of the day was spent in walks and drives through the city which I had visited several times in former years, and of whose history I had a fair knowledge. Long before the white man came, a band of Iroquois had built their wigwams in the low basin, almost entirely surrounded by hills, that lies to the south of Lake Onondaga, and from here followed the pursuits of war and peace. We first hear of this Indian village in 1653 through the Jesuit missionary, Father Le Moyne, who had come to establish good feeling between the Iroquois and other Indian tribes; and we see strange evidences of a counteracting influence made probably by his own countrymen in the discovery of European weapons and ammunition, that were distributed among the red men about the same time. For more than a hundred years after this, the present site of Syracuse, then an unpromising stretch of swamps, was the home of the wolf and bear. Over its dreary waste the cry of the wild cat, the warning of the rattlesnake and the hooting of the owl lent their sounds to the weird chorus of Nature, and it was here that the wily Indian came to seek his game. It was through Father Le Moyne, too, that we hear of the great Salt Springs, which he visited at the southern end of the lake in company with some Huron and Onondaga chiefs. The Indians, unable to comprehend the strange effect of salt and clear water bubbling from the same fountain, had a superstition that the springs were possessed by an evil spirit and were afraid to drink from them; but when the white man began to share their old haunts, we hear of the bewitched water being fearlessly used, and the evil spirit converted into a propitious one. It was Major Asa Danforth and his companion, Colonel Comfort Tyler, who began early in the present century the enterprise which has since proved such a splendid success. These two pioneers started out afoot for the springs with no other implements than an axe, chain and kettle, which seem primitive enough to us who know of the means that are now employed in the making of this great staple. Arrived at the springs, two young trees were cut, a stout branch placed in their crochets and on this the kettle was hung. When the work was finished, the men hid their implements in the bushes for safety, shouldered their rich possession and started home over the ground that in a few years was to be the scene of such striking and sudden changes.

Joshua Forman was the first man who saw a promising field in the unhealthy land south of Lake Onondaga, and it was he who first thought of a plan for its improvement.

With characteristic persistency he carried out his ideas, and with the co-operation of James Geddes, a surveyor and fellow-townsman, did more to convince men of the practicability of laying a canal route through central New York than any other man. At that time the advocate of such an undertaking was considered mad. Even the President shared the public view of the matter, and when the zealous member from Onondaga laid the plans before this incredulous gentleman, Jefferson remarked: "It is a splendid project, and may be executed a century hence." It must have been a satisfaction to Judge Forman to see this inland water-course completed a few years later, and to realize the success of the great enterprise.

When the breaking up of the unhealthy soil caused so much sickness and so many deaths during the building of the canal at Syracuse—then "Corinth"—this thoughtful benefactor began to devise a way for improving the ground, which resulted in the passage of a bill, a year later, for lowering the lake by means of drains. This stopped the injurious overflow that occurred during the spring months and eventually put an end to the "Corduroy" and "gridiron" roads by which the "dreary waste of swamp" had been hitherto approached.

It seems strange enough now, to one riding through the beautiful and regular streets of the present city, to realize that only a few years ago its pioneers either followed these rough routes, or went around by the hills to avoid them.

In April, 1820, Syracuse had grown sufficiently to merit the distinction of a Post Office, and with this new acquisition a discussion arose about its name. It had been called successively "Webster's Landing," "South Salina," "Bogardus Corners," "Cossit's Corners" and "Milan;" but, as there was another "Milan" in the State, its last title had to be abandoned. For awhile it was known as "Corinth," but finally by an odd coincidence it was named by its first Postmaster, John Wilkinson, after the old Sicilian capital, to which it was supposed to bear a slight resemblance. Mr. Wilkinson, it is said, in reading a poetical description of the ancient city, was singularly impressed by its name, and by the fact that there was a fountain of mythological origin just beyond its walls, from which sprang clear and salt water.

At a meeting held to decide the matter, he among others eloquently discussed his choice, and it was unanimously accepted. At this time, the government official at Syracuse had charge of such vast communications from "Uncle Sam," that when the Post Office was transferred later to the office of John Durford, printer, Mr. Wilkinson carried the entire concern, "mail matter, letter bags and boxes on his shoulders!" Still, when the Marquis de La Fayette visited Syracuse, five years later, it had made such rapid advancement that it called forth his warmest congratulations. On this occasion, truly a great one among the city's records, her founder and benefactor, Joshua Forman, was chosen to express the gratitude of her people. It must have been a pleasant moment for the brave General and a proud one for the Syracusans when, in response to their hospitality, he returned Mr. Forman's courtesy in the following words: "The names of Onondaga and Syracuse, in behalf of whose population you are pleased so kindly to welcome me, recall to my mind at the same time the wilderness that, since the time I commanded on the Northern frontier, has been transformed into one of the most populous and enlightened parts of the United States; and the ancient Sicilian city, once the seat of republican institutions, much inferior, however, to those which in American Syracuse are founded upon the plain investigation, the unalloyed establishment of the rights of men, and upon the best representative forms of government. No doubt, sir, but that among the co-operators of the Revolution, the most sanguine of us could not fully anticipate the rapidity of the improvements which, on a journey of many thousand miles—the last tour alone from Washington to this place amounting to five thousand miles—have delighted me; and of which this part of the country offers a bright example. Be pleased to accept my personal thanks and in behalf of the people of Onondaga and Syracuse to receive this tribute of my sincere and respectful acknowledgments."

Could the Marquis have lived longer, and made his tour hither at this time, he would scarcely have found words to express his surprise. Perhaps no city in New York has made such great strides in so few years.

Handsome buildings have sprung up on all sides, each one adding to the sightliness of the place; and on the surrounding hills wealthy residents have built their charming homes. The University of Syracuse, a Methodist institution, built upon one of these hills in 1870, looks down invitingly upon the knowledge-seekers of the city, and with the State Armory, that stands in the park near Onondaga Creek, would furnish a brilliant equipment for some modern Minerva, were she to visit this interesting namesake of Sicilian Syracuse.

To the stranger looking out for characteristics, the Salt Works are the most prominent among them. The sheds stretch along like enormous stock-yards at one end of the city, but looking into them one discovers great vats and troughs filled with salt in every stage of evaporation. There are two ways by which the article is manufactured, one by solar and the other by artificial heat, with thirty or forty companies employing their chosen method.

Another striking feature is the unusual number of public halls. This is due to the central location which makes Syracuse a favorite point for conventions. It was my pleasure to lecture in one of these, "Shakespeare Hall," on my first evening in the city, where I was introduced by General Augustus Sniper. After this engagement, I went by rail to Buffalo, on business connected with my proposed lecture in that city, and returned the following afternoon. This was very unusual, as it was contrary to the practice of my journey to avail myself of the railway under any circumstances. My advance agents having completed preparations for my lecture at Rochester, I made arrangements to resume my journey on the following day. My short stay here gave me another opportunity to look about this interesting town, and to realize its charms at the prettiest season of the year. Some have believed that its situation, importance and beauty would win for Syracuse the honor, so long bestowed upon the good old town on the Hudson, of being the capital of the Empire State. Whether or not it will ever be known as such, it will receive the flattering acknowledgment of being one of the loveliest cities in New York.

CHAPTER VIII.

SYRACUSE TO ROCHESTER.

Twenty-sixth Day.

Camillus House,

Camillus, New York,

June Third.

Mounted in front of the Vanderbilt House, Syracuse, at four o'clock in the afternoon. A large number of friends and acquaintances had assembled to see me off, among them many G. A. R. comrades, including General Sniper and Captain Auer; the latter a companion in Libby Prison during the late war. Thomas Babcock, who had been acting as an assistant to my advance agents, accompanied me as far as Geddes, and arranged to co-operate with my brother and Mr. Farrington in preparation for my lecture. In passing through this little suburb of Geddes, whose name by the way, keeps in memory one of the prominent men of Onondaga County, my attention was drawn to a fine building standing on a hill, overlooking Syracuse. I learned that it was the New York Asylum for Imbeciles and that the site, a magnificent sweep of upland, measuring fifty-five acres, was donated by the city. I was stopped just west of here by a thunder shower and took refuge under a tree. Paul and I had waited for storms to pass over before, and made excellent rainy-day friends. We rather enjoyed resting under some shelter until the dust was well laid and the air freshened. On our arrival at Camillus, myself and horse were literally covered with mud, the result of Paul's fright on the approach of a train at a point where it was impossible to leave the turnpike. We were trotting along quietly and had just turned a bend in the road when the quick ear of the horse caught the distant rumbling of wheels. In an instant he was on the alert, and when the swift express came round the curve, made a sudden spring to the right, leaped a rail-fence, and landed in a bog where the mud was two or three feet deep. I managed to keep the saddle, but could not avoid the mire in which we had haplessly fallen.

Twenty-seventh Day.

Jordan House,

Jordan, New York,

June Fourth.

By an hour's close application to my bespattered garments, after reaching the Camillus House, I found that I was ready to "turn in" for the night. Started forward in the morning, the ride on this perfect June day proving false the old saying that "Jordan is a hard road to travel." This village was reached about noon and I was quite prepared for the generous meal which was placed before me.

A FLOURISHING FARM.

When the gnawings of hunger had been appeased I gave myself up to the agreeable quiet of Sunday afternoon.

There was ample encouragement for such a course in this cosy little retreat at the head of Lake Skaneateles, for there was not a sound from store or mill while the people were taking their Sabbath rest.

This brief halt in the march forward was very agreeable, for it gave me an opportunity to try my own powers of locomotion, so little used since leaving Boston. It was a real luxury to stroll about the quiet lanes, and scan the outlying fields from the standpoint of a modest pedestrian. In the course of my rambles I came across some photographers from Auburn who had been taking views of the scenery about here. Some of their pictures were excellent.

Twenty-eighth Day.

Montezuma Hotel,

Montezuma, New York,

June Fifth.

The Auburn photographers whom I saw yesterday met me as I was riding out of Jordan, and proposed photographing myself and Paul. Some time was passed and several ruses resorted to in attempting to quiet the restless animal, but he skilfully avoided the camera.

At last some men who happened to be near offered their assistance, and attempted to attract the attention of the horse from a distance, by jumping up and down in a neighboring field. Paul threw his head forward, quietly and curiously watching their manœuvers. He was evidently amused, but there was no spirit to the picture. Unfortunately the "spirited" part of the scene was out of range.

This delay for vanity's sake prevented us from getting farther than Weedsport by noon, where a brief halt was made for dinner. I was met here by W. H. Ransom and the proprietor of the Howard House of Port Byron, who came over to Weedsport and escorted me to their village, where I had tea and was very courteously entertained for a few hours. On leaving Port Byron, these gentlemen rode forward with me towards Montezuma Swamp, which lies between the two towns. Here we parted company, there being no reason why they should "run the gauntlet" with me. I had heard wonderful tales of the dreaded monsters of this swamp, who were reputed to be the very worst mosquitoes on record, not excepting their famous kinsmen of the Hackensack Flats, New Jersey.

Unable to bear patiently the torture of my assailants who were swarming around me by thousands, I put spurs to Paul, and went through at a gallop; but notwithstanding this attempt to put the enemy to rout, superior numbers gave them the advantage and their victim came out covered with scars.

When Montezuma was reached we were glad to rest, for our late adventure had quite exhausted both horse and rider.

AN OLD LANDMARK.

Twenty-ninth Day.

Newark House,

Newark, New York,

June Sixth.

The journey along the line of the New York Central from Montezuma to Newark, was an exciting one to me and Paul. I had long since learned that whenever the route brought us in close proximity with the railroad, the quiet pursuit of our way was often varied by exciting moments, owing to Paul's suspicion of the "iron horse." The climax of these escapades was reached this morning, when Paul, becoming frightened by an approaching train repeated the experience of three days ago by plunging into a slough, about two miles from Newark, and completely covering himself and rider with mud. When I had recovered sufficiently to realize the situation, my thoughts were not as amiable, I fear, as those of Bunyan's good Christian, tried in like manner. The "slough of despond" was so very literal in this case.

I had made every effort to control the excited animal, but found the attempt useless; and I verily believe if he were between the infernal regions and a coming train, he would choose the former at a bound. It was rather trying to appear before people of the town in such a lamentable condition, to say nothing of the discomforts arising from damp clothing; but there was no alternative, so I followed my course; the unfortunate victim of circumstances.

Thirtieth Day.

Fairport House,

Fairport, New York,

June Seventh.

Resumed march at eight o'clock in the morning, but the weather was so oppressively warm and sultry, that I was obliged to wait over from noon until six o'clock. Riding in the cool of the day was much more agreeable, yet, notwithstanding the physical comfort, I must confess that the lonely and unknown road gave rather a gloomy forecast to my thoughts. Beside this, I found some difficulty in obtaining necessary directions, and lost the chief charm of the journey—a view of the beautiful country through which I was passing.

It had not been my intention to do any travelling after sundown unless the heat made it absolutely necessary, but in this instance I felt justified in changing the original plan. Moving along through the unfamiliar scenes, I missed the pleasant coloring of woods and fields under the broad light of day, the noisy hum the sunshine calls forth, and the sound of the birds, always the sweetest music to me. Instead of these there was the mystical silence of night, broken only by the clatter of Paul's hoofs over the dusty road. Four hours' steady travel brought us in sight of the straggling lights of the little post-village of Fairport, where we stopped for the night. Found several Rochester papers awaiting me here, which contained pleasant reference to my proposed lecture at Corinthian Hall.

CHAPTER IX.

FOUR DAYS AT ROCHESTER.

Anticipating rain during the forenoon and fearing that my journey might be interrupted in consequence, I started at an early hour on the morning of June eighth from Fairport, and riding at a brisk pace came into Rochester at eleven o'clock.

Just before reaching the city, a halt was made at a little hamlet, two or three miles out, for the purpose of treating Paul's back. Heretofore the necessity of meeting my lecture appointments along the route had given me no opportunity to attend to the painful bruise, although I had been studying the various modes of treatment recommended by veterinary surgeons from the time I left Boston until now. The peculiar nature of my journey gave me an excellent opportunity to follow this especial course, and I felt confident of my ability to do all that was possible for my faithful horse, yet at every stopping-place some kindly disposed admirer of the horse had some favorite prescription which he had found a never-failing cure for the particular affliction that daily confronted me. The enterprising little hamlet in question had its famed savant, who thought it would be highly imprudent of me to proceed farther without his advice—and a bottle of his "Seven-Sealed Wonder."

Anxious to make Rochester at the earliest moment possible, I had no time to discuss the merits of this great elixir, so, noting the price on the face of the bottle, I handed this modest disciple of Æsculapius the amount due, although he generously protested, and congratulating myself upon being the most highly favored traveller between Boston and San Francisco, rode away.

On a hill just beyond the village and well out of sight, I came upon an old barn standing to the left of the road, on whose front I noticed a huge door with a knothole in the centre. Now was my opportunity for unsealing the "Wonder." In an instant I brought Paul to a standstill and rising in the saddle, tried my luck. The "Wonder" fell short of the mark, but it met a resistance from the old door which effectually tested its powers, and in my humble opinion placed the good doctor high up in his profession. This momentary diversion over, I again resumed the march, vowing that this would be my last experiment with "sealed wonders" and that hereafter I would confine my treatment to battling Paul's back with warm water and castile soap, whose virtue I had learned in the cavalry service during the war.

Found that the Rochester papers had been discussing my military record before my arrival, and that the Express and Sunday Morning Times had upheld my cause against the Union, which had ventured some falsehoods on the ground that my "youthful appearance" belied my experience as a soldier. With this pleasant criticism came another greeting from the city press. It had been announced that I would probably arrive at the Osburn House at four in the afternoon, hence it was not strange that my sudden appearance at an earlier hour caused some surprise and led to the impression that I had come forward by rail, and that my horseback journey was possibly not an entirely genuine affair. I may add that it had not occurred to me that my trip across country was of sufficient importance to warrant any criticism upon my methods so long as I met my lecture appointments promptly. The sharp comment had no more serious result than that of increasing the lecture receipts in the cities which followed.

My tenth lecture was delivered in Corinthian Hall, at the usual hour in the evening, the introduction being made by Colonel J. A. Reynolds.

Next day, June ninth, gave me an opportunity to look up the familiar places and to note the changes that had occurred since my last visit to the city. The cleanliness and beauty of the streets, now in their summer glory of tree and flower, made such a tour of inspection anything but unpleasant.

East avenue, where the "flour and coal kings" are at home, is an attractive place in which to see individual taste carried out in architecture and horticulture. Down town, where the "kings" are at work, there is a brisk activity which pervades everything, like an unending accompaniment to the Falls, whose sounds always mingle with those of the busy life around them. Perhaps it was this continual encouragement from the river, offered to her early pioneers, that has given Rochester such a notable career and made her the metropolis of the Genesee Valley: for with that first mill-wheel set into the stream by old "Indian Allen," the faithful waters have kept up a continual flow of good fortune.

Her characteristic enterprise, milling, begun by this same Allen, has been an unfailing source of wealth; the golden grain with almost magic transformation filling the coffers of her merchants and giving her the security that a healthy financial condition brings. Besides this, she owes much to that liberal-minded gentleman, Colonel Nathaniel Rochester, who came with his family from Maryland when the settlement was in its infancy, and made his home in "the pleasant valley." It is amusing to fancy the unique procession, headed by the Colonel and his sons on horseback, that started out towards "the wild west" in the summer of 1802. There were carriages for the ladies and servants, and wagons for provisions and household goods, stretched out in formidable array: for railroads were out of the question then.

We hear that the travellers met with cordial hospitality at the villages and towns along their route, and that their arrival created quite a sensation. In fact it was an historical event. Two friends of the Rochesters, William Fitzhugh and Charles Carroll, cast in their fortunes with them, and in 1802 bought together the three hundred acres at the Upper Falls, which were laid out for a settlement ten years later. In those times the prestige of a name went far towards establishing a reputation, and the one chosen by the people of the settlement was afterward proudly placed upon the municipal banner. Soon after the advent of Colonel Rochester and his friends, the scheme for making a water communication between the Lakes and the Sea began to be eagerly discussed, and there were not a few energetic representatives from "Rochesterville" who lent their efforts towards the carrying out of the plan. When the canal was completed there was the wildest enthusiasm in Rochester, which would perhaps have a greater benefit than any other place along the route: for with her big grain and coal interests, her future prosperity seemed assured.

The natural course of events followed. Improvement and embellishment began on all sides. New buildings and enterprises started up on solid foundations, and provision was made for those who might "drop out of the ranks," in the selection of beautiful Mount Hope, one of the loveliest cemeteries in point of natural charm in this country. It lies on a wooded slope between the lake and the city, and its pathways, shadowed by the great trees from the "forest primeval," are the playgrounds for the wild little creatures who make their homes there unmolested.

Back again into the town where the sound of the Falls is heard, and one thinks of the odd touch a simple character has added to the traditions of the place, and whose name, to a stranger, is so often associated with that of Rochester. This quaint figure is none other than "Sam Patch, the jumper," who met his fate by leaping into the Genesee at the "Falls," and who left as a legacy the warning maxim, "Be careful, or, like Sam Patch, you may jump once too often." History has chronicled Sam's last speech, delivered from the platform, just before his fatal leap; which, as a sample of rustic oratory, is amusing.

He said: "Napoleon was a great man and a great general. He conquered armies, and he conquered nations, but he couldn't jump the Genesee Falls. Wellington was a great man and a great soldier. He conquered armies, and he conquered nations, and he conquered Napoleon, but he couldn't jump the Genesee Falls. That was left for me to do, and I can do it, and will."

Rochester, the capital of Monroe County, New York, was first settled in 1810, and incorporated as a city in 1834. It is situated on both sides of the Genesee River, seven miles from Lake Ontario, two hundred and fifty miles from Albany and sixty-nine from Buffalo by railway. An aqueduct of stone carries the Erie Canal across the river, the cost of which amounted to over half a million dollars. The city is well laid out with wide and handsome streets, lined with shade trees.

VIEW OF ROCHESTER.

Within the city limits the Genesee undergoes a sudden descent of two hundred and sixty-eight feet, falling in three separate cataracts within a distance of two miles. The roar of these falls is heard continually all over the city, but no one is inconvenienced by it in the slightest degree. The cataracts are believed to have formed, at one time, a single fall, but the different degrees of hardness of the rocks have caused an unequal retrograde movement of the falls, until they have assumed their present position. At the Upper Falls, the river is precipitated perpendicularly ninety-six feet. It then flows between nearly perpendicular walls of rock, for about a mile and a quarter to the Middle Falls, where it has another descent of twenty-five feet. One hundred rods below, at the Lower Falls, it again descends eighty-four feet, which brings the stream to the level of Lake Ontario, into which it enters.

The immense water-power thus afforded in the centre of one of the finest wheat-growing regions in the world, with the facilities of transportation afforded by the Erie Canal, Lake Ontario, and the several railways, have given a vast impulse to the prosperity of Rochester and it has, in consequence, become one of the most important manufacturing cities in the East. At the period of my visit, there were eighteen flour mills in operation, grinding annually 2,500,000 bushels of wheat. The manufacturing interests are immense—ready-made clothing being the most extensive, and boots and shoes ranking next. Other leading manufactures are those of iron bridges, India-rubber goods, carriages, furniture, optical instruments, steam engines, glassware and agricultural machinery. Of flourishing industries may be mentioned breweries, tobacco factories, blast furnaces and fruit canning.

The largest nurseries in America are found here. Thousands of acres within a short distance of the city are devoted to the cultivation of fruit trees, and millions of these trees are annually shipped to other States and foreign countries. Over $2,000,000 is the annual product of these prolific nurseries.

The city is fast becoming a great distributing centre for coal, which is conveyed in vessels to all points on the Great Lakes. Rochester, being the business centre of the fertile Genesee Valley, shows a steady growth in business and wealth. It has a magnificent system of water-works, constructed at a cost of $3,250,000, the water being supplied from two sources—one from the river, which is used for extinguishing fires and running light machinery; the other from Hemlock Lake, twenty-nine miles from the centre of the city, and four hundred feet above it. This water is sent through sixty miles of mains, the pressure being such as to throw from the hydrants a stream one hundred and thirty feet perpendicularly. No city is more perfectly protected from fire.

At the corner of Main and State streets are the Powers' Buildings, a peculiar block of stores, built of stone, glass and iron, seven stories high. In the upper halls is a fine collection of paintings. A tower surmounts the building, from which a fine view of the city and its surroundings is obtained. "The Arcade" is roofed with glass and numerous fine stores line its sides. Opposite stands the County Court House, a handsome building of gray limestone, with a tower one hundred and seventy-five feet high. The handsomest building in the city is, I think, the Rochester Savings Bank, corner of Main and Fitzhugh streets. The First Baptist, the First Presbyterian and the Catholic Cathedral of St. Patrick are the finest church edifices.

There are twelve spacious parks here, and four elegant bridges cross the Genesee. The Rochester University, founded by the Baptist denomination in 1850, is located on a tract of twelve acres, a little to the east of the city. It has a valuable library and mineralogical cabinet. The State Reform School or Western House of Refuge for vicious boys is an imposing edifice, containing usually about four hundred inmates. Mount Hope, the site of the cemetery—before referred to—is a beautiful eminence overlooking the city.

At the time of my visit, Rochester supported thirty-four newspapers and periodicals, of which six were dailies. The population was about 90,000.

It seems that Fortune has favored the "Flour City," or at least that wise heads and generous hearts have planned for her greatest good. It is proper to look back into the beginnings for the keynote to success in our American towns, and in this case, we doubtless find it in the unselfish forethought of the first men added to its wonderful natural resources.

A simple little incident, told of Colonel Rochester, illustrates the principle, whose benefit others are reaping. He was working in his garden one day, setting out fruit trees, when a neighbor came along and stopped to chat. The Colonel said: "I do not know that I shall eat any fruit from the trees I am planting, but as I eat from trees somebody planted for me, I must set out trees for those who will come after me." It was this provision for those who were to "come after" that has done much towards making Rochester what she is to-day.

CHAPTER X.

ROCHESTER TO BUFFALO.

THE DISTRICT SCHOOL HOUSE.

Thirty-fifth Day.

Sprague House,

Churchville, New York,

June 12, 1876.

I found as I mounted Paul at nine o'clock in front of the Osburn House that on this twelfth of June, 1876, my day's ride would be a trying one on account of the heat, but it was impossible to change the weather and impracticable to change my plans, so I accepted the inevitable. As usual through Central New York a number of Grand Army friends and others had assembled to see me off, and to wish me a safe journey to the "Golden Gate." This cordiality, shown me all along the route, took away the sense of strangeness natural to one travelling through comparatively unfamiliar places, and gave me an idea of the hospitality of our American people. The pleasant good-byes over, Paul and I started away in the direction of Chili, which we reached about noon. Here I had dinner and passed the remainder of the day, resorting again to the evening hours for resuming my journey; and I may add that in this instance I found "something in a name," for Chili was an admirable place to keep cool in.

At six o'clock I started on towards Churchville, coming in sight of its church spires a little after sunset, and lessening the distance to San Francisco by some fifteen miles.

Notwithstanding the stop over at Chili, I was glad when we came to the end of my journey, and must confess that as I rode into the village the sight of the Sprague House gratified me more than the view of the picturesque town as I saw it outlined against the evening sky.

Thirty-sixth Day.

Byron Centre Hotel,

Byron Centre, New York,

June Thirteenth.

Soon after breakfast in Churchville, I threw myself into the saddle and started for Bergen Corners, reaching it by eleven o'clock. This distance of two miles was covered very leisurely, for there was no pressing engagement to fill, and I could "gang my own gait." When there was anything to attract the eye—a sightly field of grain, or change of scene, I usually stopped to notice it and add one more impression to the panorama which my overland journey continually spread before me. At the "Corners" I spent a few hours quietly, if I except the slight interruptions of the landlord of the Hooper House and his family. These interruptions for curiosity's sake were easily pardoned by me, for anything a little humorous and characteristic is always acceptable to one bent on seeing life in all its phases; and besides, the softening influence of home-made bread and other country luxuries, which were furnished me here, tended to make me look charitably upon everything.

In the afternoon I left for Byron Centre, reaching it at six o'clock and making eleven miles for the day. While at supper there, the guests of the Byron Centre House were greatly amused by two itinerant photographers who, after their day's work was done, made a practice of entertaining the public with fife and drum. Through this cunning advertising scheme it was my good fortune to see one of the most interesting crowds that rustic America could bring together. These enterprising "artist musicians" seemed to possess the magic powers of Orpheus, for the villagers attracted by their strains came flocking from every direction and unconsciously made up a group which would have been irresistible to a painter, and which was certainly interesting to the ordinary observer. The sight was an entirely novel one to me, for although I am a New Yorker, and have seen roving concerns of almost every description, this particular species had never come to my notice. Through the courtesy of Charles Leonard, the proprietor of the hotel here, I was introduced to several Byron Centre gentlemen, among them Rev. Edwin Allen, who called just before my departure. Mr. Allen was most cordial, and gave me a very clever idea of the place, and the country adjacent.

Throughout my journey I was often placed under obligations of this sort. They added to my pleasure and increased my facilities for becoming acquainted with the people and the country.

Thirty-seventh Day.

St. James Hotel,

Batavia, New York,

June Fourteenth.

A delightful shower of the previous evening cooled the air, and made my journey to Batavia exceedingly pleasant. During the day I passed some of the finest clover and wheat fields that I had seen since leaving Rochester. The rain may have brightened their color and made them look their best, but regardless of this, it is evident that the soil through this section of New York is under a very high state of cultivation, and signs of thrift are noticeable on every hand. I found, as is generally the case upon approaching a town, the farms more tastefully laid out, with their wide stretches of wheat, and their pretty conventional "kitchen gardens."

After these outskirting homes I came upon the more dignified buildings of Batavia proper, where push and enterprise have made some striking advances. It is quite a business town, having its share of manufactories, banks and newspapers, and, with its population of something over four thousand, possessing the benefits of a larger place. It is thirty-two miles west of Rochester and thirty-seven east of Buffalo. The State Institute for the Blind is situated here.

In the evening I lectured at Ellicott Hall, and was introduced by lawyer L. L. Crosby, a comrade of the Grand Army, who, during the late war, was an officer in the Fifth Michigan Cavalry. Among those who called upon me at the St. James before the lecture was Samuel A. Lester, a fellow-soldier of the Harris Light Cavalry, with whom I talked over many of our experiences in Company "E" of the "Old Regiment." Nothing has been so gratifying to me in the course of my journey, changes of scene, or new faces, as these meetings with old comrades, and the talks of camp and field. Separating at the close of the war, when the trying experiences we had equally shared had drawn us strangely together, it was natural that a glimpse of those we had known under such circumstances should be a delight after so many years. It gave a different phase to my journey, too, and made it not only a series of new and pleasant changes, but an extended visit which might delight any traveller.

RURAL SCENE IN CENTRAL NEW YORK.

Thirty-eighth Day.

Crossroads,

Near Croft's Station, New York,

June Fifteenth.

I did not find it convenient to leave Batavia until eight o'clock in the evening, but as most of the six miles between the two places lay through a swampy region, I had a running fight with the mosquitoes, which encouraged me to make good time, so that I reached "Croft's" in an hour. On my arrival I found Babcock awaiting me with accommodation provided at a quiet little retreat situated at the Crossroads, which was hotel, grocery and farm-house in one. This odd grocery-tavern is about half a mile from the station; just far enough away to have peculiarities of its own. While its proprietor was throwing down hay for Paul from his barn loft, he in some way lost his footing and fell through, but no serious damage was done.

This little incident simply added an extra attraction to the "horse that was going to California." In the course of the morning I went to the hotel sitting-room to make some observations and to post my journal. While quietly occupied in this way I noticed the arrival of several of the men and boys of the place, who came in, seated themselves on the wooden benches that were placed around the sides of the room, and began unceremoniously to "look me over." Phoebe, the proprietor's daughter, and the ruling spirit at the "Corners," a bright little maid, who filled the offices of cook, waitress, chambermaid and clerk, assumed one of her various roles and was standing behind the counter. Soon, one of her rustic knights sauntered up to her, pipe in mouth, and called out, "Pheeb, gimme a match!" Whereupon, her father, who was standing on one side of the room, country fashion, with 'trousers over his boot-tops, and in his shirt sleeves, stepped forward and said with admirable dignity, "Phebe, sir!" adding, as the nonplused offender made some bashful apology, "You's brought up well nuff, Jack, but you've forgot some on't."

This was an unexpected turn of affairs which I scarcely expected to witness at "Croft's," but it at least gave evidence of a certain sense of refinement which we Americans would hardly be credited with outside our cultivated circles. It afforded, too, food for reflection upon that assumption of equality which in this country so often tends to familiarity. We are prone to forget that "familiarity breeds contempt."

Thirty-ninth Day.

Crittenden House,

Crittenden, New York,

June Sixteenth.

Started from "Croft's" at ten o'clock, stopping at the little post village of Corfu for dinner, where I was introduced to several people who had come together to greet me upon my arrival. Among them were Dr. Fuller, Dr. John McPherson and S. E. Dutton. Dinner over, I rested until five o'clock, resuming my journey at that hour and reaching Crittenden at six. As I rode up to the hotel at this place I found that a number of villagers had gathered to give me welcome, and to learn something of my journey and its objects. I talked to them for some time and then followed a strong inclination to walk into the country. There were no unusual attractions about this little village of a hundred souls excepting the cordiality of its people and the natural attraction that there always is about a small community in the midst of thriving acres. To one who has been "a country boy" himself, these things never lose their charm, and he will give them the preference, I think, to the finest sights in town.

They recall a certain old home somewhere, long since abandoned for the charms of Vanity Fair, or a quaint little "school house" where he first began to think about the great world beyond. They form, too, the resting-places in the ascent of the hill of life, from the vantage-ground of which we may review our progress since those early days.

Fortieth Day.

American House,

Lancaster, New York,

June Seventeenth and Eighteenth.

My ride from Crittenden to this place, a distance of ten miles, was made in easy time owing to the oppressively warm weather; for my only aim was to reach my destination in season to meet my lecture appointment. Found the farmers along the route still working out their taxes on the public roads, which were greatly in need of attention. Speaking to them as I passed along I found that they looked rather curiously at the strange horse and rider, doubtless wondering whence we came and whither we were bound.

Addressed my Lancastrian audience in the Methodist Episcopal Church in the evening, Captain G. S. Remington introducing.

Early in the morning I had found, upon going to the stable, that Paul was badly cut, and there was much speculation as to how and by whom the injury was done; but it was generally conjectured that he had had a battle with a horse belonging to the landlord, during the night. This horse, which was a large and powerful stallion, had recently been shod, so that in the matter of equipment he had a decided advantage over "Paul Revere," who was possibly not averse to celebrating the anniversary of the Battle of Bunker Hill.

The day following my arrival at Lancaster being Sunday, Captain Remington called for me in the morning, and I accompanied him to the Presbyterian Church.

As we passed along on our way to church, I had a good opportunity to see this little town on Cayuga Creek, and the added advantage of a personal account of the place from one of its residents. Like all towns adjacent to a large city, Lancaster has a certain air of independence, and unmistakable signs of contact with greater forces; and besides its pretty homes, some of them the out-of-town retreats of Buffalo business men, it has its share of industrial enterprises.

Altogether, it is a pretty little neighbor of which any city might be proud, and which in its peace-loving way is very sensible in standing off at a distance from its busier sister. A few minutes by rail can take its thousand and a half inhabitants "to town," where they find the best that the great stores provide; and a ride of a few minutes more brings them out of the noise to their own quiet haven.

It is hard to realize a more delightful and thoroughly restful existence than that found in suburban villages, where the influences of active forces are felt, but where they cannot disturb the even tranquillity. They seem to illustrate the "golden mean" which Horace recommends, and I find that it is always pleasant to reach such places and hard to leave them.

THE ROAD TO BUFFALO.

CHAPTER XI.

THREE DAYS AT BUFFALO.

An hour's ride from Lancaster, on the morning of the nineteenth, brought to view the motley array of chimneys and towers that overtop the "Queen City of the Lakes." While making my way towards them, and receiving first impressions, my attention was attracted by a brigade drill on the parade ground, which I halted to witness. This was the first instance during my journey in which I had encountered any considerable body of military men, with the exception of the Grand Army procession at Utica, on Memorial Day. The marching and manœuvres evinced close attention to tactics and excellent discipline, and the equipment of officers and men reflected much credit upon the Empire State, which has every reason to be proud of these her citizen-soldiers.

Drill over, I rode on into Buffalo, and, soon after registering at the Tift House, had the pleasure of meeting Major John M. Farquhar, who introduced me to my audience at St. James Hall in the evening.

Major Farquhar is a comrade, prominent in G. A. R. circles, and was then commander of the leading post of the city. From him I learned something of the changes which had taken place since my last visit here, and which I was desirous to see as much of as circumstances would allow. Buffalo has a peculiarly rich history, and, like the old towns of the Mohawk Valley, the romantic view which Indian life and love have given.

Near here the arrogant Eries held their councils, and deliberated upon the downfall of their powerful neighbors of the Five Nations; who, in turn, ruined and almost exterminated them. The chronicles tell us that the Iroquois, coming by invitation to engage in friendly contest on the hunting-ground of the Eries, soon discovered the real intent of the wily "Cats," who were jealous of the renown of their red brothers. Failing in the games they had themselves proposed, and blind with rage, they saw their tolerant guests depart with the trophies of victory. No sooner were they out of sight than a council of war was held, and a decision to conquer them agreed upon. The war bonnets were donned, the dog sacrificed, and every preparation made for a raid into the enemy's country; but a Seneca woman who had been taken prisoner by the Eries some years before, apprised the great chiefs of her nation of the intended attack.

In this way the Eries were in turn surprised and defeated in their last game with their rivals. Only a few of their warriors were left to bear the hateful news to the women and old men who were waiting in the wigwams: and these with their allies, terribly punished as they had been in the encounter, were driven by their infuriated enemies beyond the Mississippi. The Senecas, who proudly called themselves the western gate-keepers of the "Long House," made a settlement near Buffalo, to which they gave the musical name of Te-you-seo-wa, the place of basswood, having found there huts covered with basswood bark, the remnants of some lately abandoned village. This settlement was not as near the lake-front as the city now is, but was cautiously laid out farther back from shore to prevent surprise. Here the young braves found a favorite hunting-ground, and were wont to conceal themselves near the salt springs that bubble up from the border of the creek, to await the buffaloes, which came there in herds. There has been some dispute as to the naming of the city, and the possibility of the American bison having frequented this part of the country, but it is generally believed that herds of these herbivorous animals did graze on Eastern soil, and that the attacks of carnivorous beasts and the constant warfare waged against them by the Indians drove them to the Western plains.

Nearly two centuries ago, when the site of the present city was still a wilderness through whose tangled labyrinths Indian eyes peered out over the gleaming waters of the lake, La Hontan penetrated these western wilds, and suggested to his sovereign the building of a fort here, as a safeguard against the Iroquois.

We see almost instinctively the scenes which he saw as we follow him through lake and stream—the great falls sparkling beneath an August sun, their wild surroundings unmarred and untrodden save by moccasined feet; the rapids and then the river, to whose current, farther up, he trusted his boat. But it was not until long after this that the sound of the woodman's axe was heard in the forests at the foot of Lake Erie, when the pioneer had come to make his home, and to lay the foundation of a future city.

One after another crude cabins were raised, and in turn were replaced by more comfortable houses, so that in 1813 the settlement was large enough to make quite a bonfire for the British and their dusky allies. The events which took place at Buffalo, connected with this war, were singularly exciting; and, although there were brave hearts and stout arms ready to defend their country, we cannot but regret the peculiar circumstances which led to the general havoc here.

Historians have gleaned such glowing descriptions from those who were either witnesses or participants in these stirring scenes, that we cannot fail to be moved by them.

The night surprise, in the woods, near Black Rock, when the American troops were suddenly greeted by ambushed Britons: the rout which followed when the terrified horsemen dashed back in retreat through the ranks of the infantry, demoralizing them in turn, is so vividly drawn that it has the reality of later times. Afterwards when the alarmed people heard the cry that the British were coming, and we see them in confused masses trying to escape with their household goods, we sympathize with their terror as they saw in the distance the dreaded Indian jogging towards them with club and hatchet.

It was then that Job Hoysington, who was with one of the retreating parties, lingered behind his companions, saying that he would have "one more shot at the Red Skins." He evidently did have the coveted chance, and so did the enemy, for when the snow melted in the spring the brave fellow was found with his empty musket at his side, and a bullet through his brain. The work of vengeance had been completed with the scalping-knife. At the corner of Main and Niagara streets an old twelve-pounder stood. As the imposing column of British infantry were advancing upon the town, a patriotic citizen had the gun mounted and two shots fired into the ranks. He afterwards met the enemy with a flag of truce—a handkerchief tied to his cane—and requested a halt.

This was granted, and a parley begun, while the townspeople were escaping.

The firing of the houses and the plundering of them by the Indians followed. Buffalo rose, however, from her ashes full of new life and ambition, and much improved in appearance. Her firesides were again the scene of happy security, and her women, lately fugitives, fleeing in terror from fire and sword, were again the social inspirations of a thriving community. More than this, they were contributing to the enterprises of the city, for in 1821 between three and four thousand yards of cloth were woven in the homes of Buffalo!

The Erie Canal being completed in 1822, and commerce beginning in earnest, no doubt took away from the importance of the spinning-wheel and loom, for these busy little machines of the past have been stored away in the garrets long enough to make them well-seasoned relics. Housewifely attention at this time had to be turned to the management of larger establishments, for Buffalo had far outgrown her infancy, and was assuming certain new conceits in architecture, although she has never equalled the splendor of other large cities in her public buildings. The new City and County Hall approaches more nearly to the modern idea, and is very attractive within and without. It is built of Maine granite in the form of a double Roman cross, and is surmounted by a lofty tower bearing four symbolic figures. With the increase of canal and railroad traffic, the building of the immense grain elevators, which are a striking feature of Buffalo, was commenced.

Their number and size have been increased to such an extent that they almost make a town in themselves and are capable of accommodating eight million bushels of grain. The incessant work of storing and transferring is carried on about these wooden giants day after day, sometimes to the extent of more than three million bushels, while, at their feet, boats come and go in the great commercial game of "give and take." There is every facility for carrying on a trade of this kind, for Buffalo River is navigable for more than two miles from its mouth, which is protected by breakwaters which form an excellent harbor, while there is a water-front on the lake and the Niagara River five miles long. In 1869, the United States Government began the construction of an outside harbor, by building a breakwater 4000 feet long fronting the entrance of the Buffalo River.

Overlooking Buffalo River stand the office buildings whence come the calculating and controlling influences that keep in "clock work" order this mart where grain is "received, transferred, stored and forwarded with greater dispatch than in any other port of the country." Beyond these, in the heart of the city, are the retail and wholesale stores, where not only Buffalo finds her wants supplied, but numberless sister towns; and owing to her close proximity to the great coal region of Pennsylvania, she has very cheap fuel, which, no doubt, is a convenient item when a "cold wave" comes across the lake. Her iron works, reputed to be the largest in the country, add to her general good fortune by putting within easy access the necessary stoves.

Besides all this material comfort, the climate is extremely healthful, and the location of the city such as to make clean, wide streets a possibility.

There are several of these lined with handsome residences, and adorned with parks, which are wisely thought to be an indispensable luxury.

In the midst of the business hurry there are several quiet corners where one may quench his thirst for knowledge, and where master-thinkers lend their potent influence. One of these is the Grosvenor Library, the munificent gift of one of Buffalo's pioneers. It is admirably arranged for convenience and comfort, and has a pleasant outlook over a little park between Washington and Main streets. The Library of the Young Men's Association, although containing nearly twice as many volumes as the Grosvenor, is not so largely frequented, but is, nevertheless, a great resort for readers. There are also a number of smaller libraries, where eager minds may have their fill of books.

Here and there about the city one finds the familiar evidences of Christian thought and work in the beautiful tower-capped churches, each with its own varied attractions. St. Paul's Cathedral—Episcopalian—a handsome structure of brownstone, ivy-grown and picturesque, from whose walls in summer comes the sound of birds, lies almost centrally among a hundred others, and not far away is the Roman Catholic house of worship, the dignified bit of Gothic architecture which they have named St. Joseph's.

One of my favorite haunts here is the quiet, carpetless "Historical Rooms," from whose walls the Indian warriors who helped make Buffalo's history look down in unchanging stolidity. Not least among these is Red Jacket, who forms such a striking figure in the city's traditions. An amusing incident which his picture recalls is that of Lafayette on his return from his Western tour in 1824. Among the preparations that were being made for his reception was the guarding, by an especial committee, of their "aboriginal lion," who was a trifle too fond of his "firewater" and who was to be the leading orator of the day. When the appointed time arrived, so the story goes, the sachem was led upon the platform in all his conscious dignity. A long conversation between him and the great Frenchman followed, through an interpreter, whom Red Jacket employed upon formal occasions; in the course of which the Indian complimented the General upon his youthful appearance. "Time has left you a fresh countenance, and hair to cover your head," said he, "while as for me—see!" and he took off the scarf that was wound about his own bald crown. This provoked a laugh among the spectators who knew that Lafayette wore a wig. When Red Jacket was made aware of the fact, he added with ready wit that he too might supply himself with a new head of hair by the aid of a scalping-knife!

Everything upon the walls and in the cases has been donated by private individuals, as the society has not yet been able to make valuable purchases, but there is enough already to make this treasure-house of the past interesting. Relics from pioneer times figure largely; among the rest, arrow-heads and tomahawks, pipes and belts of wampum, adding to the odd collection, and suggesting all manner of horrors to those who delight in Indian history.

"Forest Lawn," the place which Buffalo has selected for her dead, is a most lovely spot, the loveliest of its kind between Brooklyn's Greenwood and Chicago. Everything that art could do in the arrangement of shrub and flower has been added, and stands as a tribute to those who are "lying low" and as a witness to the faithful thought of the living. It is only one of the beautiful tokens of devotion which one sees, from the simple epitaph in a country graveyard in the East to the solitary resting-place, high in some tree-top of the West, where our Red Brother "sleeps his last sleep."

Adjoining the Cemetery are a few acres of woodland that have been set aside for a kind of park. On warm summer days those seeking rest and pleasure, come to pay their respects to Dame Nature, who makes herself very attractive here. But this is only one, and a comparatively small one, of the various resorts where tired humanity may drop its burden, and roam at will. So Buffalo has her grave and her gay side, and her business side, which is neither grave nor gay, making their different impressions on the traveller's eye, and combining, as a whole, in a very pleasing effect. She has made and will make some very striking changes, as all cities of consequence do; but changes worthy of the "Queen City of the Lakes," who, although she may have to relinquish her title to some outstripping sister, may always hold her head high with conscious importance. She is still the third city in the State of New York in point of population.

CHAPTER XII.

BUFFALO TO CLEVELAND.

Forty-fourth Day.

North Evans Hotel,

North Evans, New York,

June 23, 1876.

It had been my intention to leave the "Queen City" on the afternoon of the twenty-first, but I was delayed by my advance agents, who required more time to arrange the preliminaries of my lectures between Buffalo and Cleveland. Babcock went forward to Dunkirk. Farrington to Erie, while it was decided that my brother should accompany me as far as Angola. There were other reasons too, for a longer sojourn at Buffalo, as it was here I met my wife for the last time during my journey, and we had decided that it would be impracticable to meet again before my return from San Francisco. While I anticipated a pleasant and uninterrupted journey, she had some misgivings as to my ride across the Plains, and tried at the last to dissuade me, but I was sanguine of the outcome and thoroughly determined to continue, at any odds, a journey so delightfully begun. At eight o'clock, therefore, on the morning of the twenty-second, I returned the parting salute of my wife and friends, and rode away. Turning into North Division street, I went out to Main, down Main to Ohio, and out Ohio to the Buffalo Road. Soon after passing the city limits, I saw Lake Erie, and leaving the highway rode down to the beach and into the water, giving Paul his first drink from the great inland sea, along whose shores we were to spend several days, and in which I and my faithful friend would doubtless quench our thirst many times. After this little diversion I pushed forward for thirteen miles and a half, which brought us to Lake View. After stopping here a few moments I rode on to North Evans. In this little village of something over a hundred inhabitants, my peace was in no wise disturbed and I was able to pass the day in comparative seclusion, thinking over the three days at Buffalo and anticipating the journey to Cleveland.

Forty-fifth Day.

Angola, House,

Angola, New York,

June Twenty-fourth.

The ride from North Evans to Angola was most delightful, carrying me as it did, along the shore of Lake Erie, which for the most part was plainly seen from the turnpike. The exhilarating breeze from over the water was in pleasing contrast to the intense heat which was felt in Central New York, and I found my appetite sharpening under its brisk influence. The eye had a continual feast of lake and field stretching off on either side, and as I rode along enjoying their diverse beauties, my only regret was that I had no companion at this time with whom I might share the pleasure.

To my right lay the shining lake, reflecting every change of cloud and sky; in front the Shore Road, and to my left as far as the eye could reach, rich green fields returning the salutation of sunny June. Easy travelling brought me into Angola in the early morning, as it is only six miles from North Evans. Here an unfortunate circumstance is identified with the name of the town, owing to a serious railroad disaster that occurred some years ago, in which many lives were lost; but one's attention is easily diverted from such thoughts upon entering the town. Several manufactories give it a wide-awake tone, and keep a good share of its five hundred inhabitants busy.

A small stream, known as Big Sister Creek, runs through the place and thence winds its way to the lake, three-quarters of a mile distant. This "Big Sister" adds a pretty touch to the matter-of-fact little village, while its pebbly bed is a charmed spot for young Angolans. Soon after my arrival here, J. S. Parker, formerly of Northern New York, called to see me, and I discovered that he knew many of my old acquaintances in St. Lawrence County. An hour was spent in pleasant conversation with him, during the course of which boyhood days at Gouverneur and along the Oswegatchie were discussed. I strolled about town in the afternoon, looking for "characteristics," and in the evening lectured in the Town Hall, the introduction being made by Leroy S. Oatman.

A JUVENILE PICNIC.

Forty-sixth and Forty-seventh Days.

Eastern Hotel,

Dunkirk, New York,

June 25 & 26.

The road between Angola and Dunkirk led me through one of the most picturesque and productive counties of the State, which at this time promised well for the haymakers who were busy in their ripened fields. Hitherto the successive and varied scenes along my route had in turn won my admiration, from the pleasant ride across Massachusetts and over the Berkshires to the Mohawk Valley and Western New York, but these grain fields in their golden harvest-time and the glimpses of the lake which the tortuous course of the road now and then afforded, were certainly as lovely as anything I had seen thus far. I had noticed that the haying season was well advanced when I was passing through Central New York, but owing to the retarding influence which a large body of water always exerts over vegetation, it had been delayed here. Fourteen miles through this pretty section of Erie and Chautauqua counties brought me to Dunkirk, where I lectured at Columbus Hall in the evening, and was introduced to my audience by Rev. J. A. Kummer. The following day being Sunday, I had another opportunity of meeting this gentleman, as he kindly accompanied me in the morning to the Methodist Church, of which he was pastor. During the services, in which I found myself very much interested, there was an opportune moment to study a character which I found to be a thoroughly original one. Mr. Kummer was very enthusiastic about the building of a new church which was much needed, and had been trying to fire his parishioners with the zeal which he himself felt. On this particular morning he made an appeal for co-operation and funds, and then asked for a generous offering. The good people of the congregation had hardly warmed to the subject, and their response was rather feeble. Another collection was made with somewhat better results, but still the amount was not raised by half. At last Mr. Kummer, who no doubt believed that the end justified the means, faced his people and said playfully, yet with evident determination, "Now I am going to order the doors bolted, that none may leave the house until this matter is settled!" In less than ten minutes the two thousand dollars necessary was obtained by donation or subscription, and the zealous clergyman looked down upon his people in happy approval. The scene was the most unusual one of the kind which I had ever witnessed, and I was tempted to applaud the generalship which won the situation. Dr. Kummer afterward gave me quite a lively description of his field, in which he had become much interested.

Lying on rising ground just within a little bay, at whose western extremity a lighthouse stands, Dunkirk forms a natural port of refuge in bad weather, and although in comparison with Buffalo its commercial importance seems rather insignificant, there is quite a brisk trade carried on by ship and by rail. Three lines centre here, connecting it with the East and West, and with the coal and oil regions of Pennsylvania, while the incoming and outgoing vessels are continually plying back and forth with their valuable cargoes. In fact, as I soon discovered, my clerical friend was not too severe in demanding a sum for his new church which the people must have been well able to contribute.

Forty-eighth Day.

Minton House,

Westfield, New York,

June Twenty-seventh.

Continued on the Shore Road from Dunkirk, having left that city at ten o'clock in the morning. While stopping a few minutes for dinner at Fredonia, a pretty little village three miles from Dunkirk, I saw for the first time during my journey quite extensive vineyards. The region is famous besides for its garden seeds, hence the people have their share of fruit and vegetables. Found the farmers of this entire section largely engaged in fruit culture, which seems to be a very successful enterprise. Apples and grapes are sent away to other points, and no doubt supply in a measure the breweries and distilleries of Dunkirk. In looking at the handsome vines already borne down by heavy burdens, the thought occurred to me of the corrupt uses to which they would be put, and the havoc they would bring into human lives. The great bunches, not yet ripe, but promising a splendid harvest, looked tempting enough to one who had only seen them on fruit stands, or in market thrown together in unartistic confusion.

Reached Westfield in the evening, having made twenty-two miles for the day. Owing to my late arrival, I saw very little of the place, but understand that it has quite large manufacturing interests, a lively trade, two good schools for its young people: and that unfailing sign of prosperity—a newspaper. I recalled here, another Westfield, many miles away in Massachusetts, which I passed early in May. The two places appeared as unlike as possible, which was due, no doubt, to one being in the "Bay," and the other in the "Empire" State, which some travellers will concede makes quite a difference.

Forty-ninth Day.

Haynes House,

North-East, Pennsylvania,

June Twenty-eighth.

Rode away from Westfield at ten in the morning, halting just beyond the village at the pretty home of W. N. Allen, where I passed a very pleasant half-hour. While looking after the interests of a large farm, Mr. Allen and his family were very much interested in art matters, and showed me several valuable paintings which they had recently purchased. I was delighted to find such refinement and taste, for one is apt to believe that where people are not in direct intercourse with congenial elements, they are apt to lose their interest in the arts. As I looked over their well-kept acres, and model buildings, I thought of the influence such lives must exert over the community in which they are passed. On my way toward North East, I passed again through a fine fruit region, stopping for dinner at a little hamlet known as State Line.

A COTTAGE ON THE HILLSIDE.

At first the prospects for the "inner man" looked rather doubtful, as I came up to the solitary State Line House, but a few moments' search brought me to the landlord, who was hoeing in a cornfield, and my wants were soon supplied. By five o'clock I was riding into the borough of North-East, where I found a number of people awaiting me. Upon dismounting, I learned that I was announced to lecture in the Town Hall that evening. This was a surprise, but I was ready to comply. The village band escorted me after supper to the hall, taking a position in front of the audience, and giving us "Hail Columbia" before, and "The Sword of Bunker Hill" after the lecture. The hall was so crowded that many were compelled to stand, and if hearty applause is an evidence of satisfaction, I may consider my effort to entertain the North-Easters a success. Captain Bronson Orton, a lawyer of the place, made the introduction, and I afterwards had a chat with him about experiences in Georgia, as he was with Sherman's army during its march from Atlanta to the Sea, and was quite familiar with many of its incidents. I too had followed the great strategist through that State, although in a very different capacity; it having been my lot to drop into the rear of his conquering legions during my escape from Southern prisons. The trying circumstances which I passed through, when I evaded the guard at Sylvania, the cautious tramps by day, and vigilance by night, in the friendly swamps, came back after the intervening twelve years, with all the vividness of yesterday. I related my experiences with the negroes and, meeting with good old March Dasher, who led me rejoicing into the Federal camp.

None of the events of those exciting days escaped my memory, and the chance of talking them over, with one of the men who had been with Sherman, was a rare pleasure. In the course of our conversation, we touched upon Captain Orton's present home, which is in a very pretty corner of the "Keystone" State, and which apparently has reached the golden mean between business and pleasure. Its residence portion suggests ideal comfort, while its office-buildings and stores are built upon a substantial and convenient plan.

Fiftieth Day.

Reed House,

Erie, Pennsylvania,

June Twenty-ninth.

Upon my arrival at Erie, I was pleasantly surprised to find a letter from Colonel F. H. Ellsworth, proposing to make me his guest at the Reed House during my stay in that city. I gladly availed myself of his kind invitation, and although my time there was necessarily short, I had, through the thoughtful interest of my host, every opportunity to see the city, and to hear something of its development.

Through Erie, Pennsylvania comes in contact with the great commercial interests of the Lakes, and although she only holds a small share of the valuable shore line, there is every advantage for reaping a large benefit. The harbor is most perfect, being protected by a strip of land known as "Presque Isle," and which, long before the persistent waves wore away its southern end, was connected with the mainland. Two lighthouses stand at its entrance, and guide the night traveller to one of the prettiest ports in this part of the country, while from the bluffs on which the town is built shine myriads of answering lights. The streets are wide and regular and lead to many handsome homes, which they say will bear comparison with the finest on the Lakes. Several parks relieve the monotony of brick and stone, and add to the sightliness of the place.

Besides her present importance as representative of her State on the great inland seas, Erie has had her share on the page of history since 1795; among her proudest annals being the departure from her port of Oliver Hazard Perry, who went in 1813 to meet the English in the splendid naval action which has made his name famous. There are many memorials of this engagement among the city's relics, which bring back the reality of those stirring times more forcibly perhaps than the volumes describing them.

Like Buffalo, Erie's leading enterprises are her iron works, where stoves, machinery and steam engines are made. Large quantities of coal and petroleum, the contributions from Pennsylvania, are sent here for shipment, and form a good share of the varied products which make their way through the large water channels to different parts of the United States. Her educational system is excellent and there are nearly half a hundred public schools, which offer quite good advantages to the children who help make her population of nearly twenty-five thousand. Erie undoubtedly has a bright future before her, which her rapid increase in population since 1870 predicts, and she may, in a measure, balance the power in the opposite corner of the State, where the "City of Brotherly Love" reigns supreme. Having seen so much of the place as time would allow, and heard its story from those who knew it best, I ended the day by lecturing at the Academy of Music, Hon. C. B. Curtis introducing.

Fifty-first Day.

Farm House,

Swanville, Pennsylvania,

June Thirtieth.

Passed a very busy morning at Erie attending to business correspondence with advance agents, making notes, and with the assistance of Mr. Farrington brought my scrap-book up to date. I called also upon a few old acquaintances whom I had known in the East, and whose faces were a welcome surprise at this stage of my journey. The editor of the Erie Dispatch called after dinner and spent an hour with me in a general discussion of the incidents of my trip since leaving Boston, which had been, however, more pleasant than exciting. In this way the afternoon slipped by, and it was not until five o'clock that I found myself ready to leave Colonel Ellsworth's hospitable roof. Had I not been fully determined to make some headway before night, the cordial request of my host that I stay longer with him might have dissuaded me at the last from starting so late, but I resisted the inclination, and having bade good-bye to my newly-made friends put spurs to Paul, who soon carried me far beyond the city limits on the road to Swanville. I had long since learned that in a case of this kind, the charms of hospitality, like those of Circe, were fatal to the interests of him who heeded. Made the eight and a half miles to Swanville in fair time, and was soon settled for the night at the home of John Joseph Swan, an old resident and pioneer, after whom the hamlet is named.

Fifty-second Day.

Farm House,

Swanville, Pennsylvania,

July First.

Was compelled to remain in this place two days on account of my lecture appointment for Girard, and was singularly fortunate in having cast my lot with the Swans, who were untiring in their efforts to make my stay agreeable. The head of the family was eighty-three years old and quite patriarchal in appearance. From him I learned something of their military record, which reaches over quite an extended period of our country's history, and which makes a noble background for the peace and comfort they now enjoy. Mr. Swan's father was a captain of militia in pioneer days, and his son Andrew was a lieutenant-colonel of cavalry during the late war. He was a participant himself in the war of 1812, and both he and his father were pensioners. In fact they have grown up with the country, having shared its trials and its triumphs. Mr. Swan was one of the earliest settlers in Erie County, and although more than half a century had passed since he had settled there, this veteran still remembered and vividly described the scenes and events of those stirring times. He saw the first steamer launched on the lake and said it was regarded as an evil omen by the Indians, who called it "The Devil's Canoe" and who ran frightened from the shore at its approach. His stories were most amusing, and their personal narration gave them a freshness which was untiring. While I was with these people, I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Eliza Swan, a talented daughter of the family, who had just returned from Paris, where she had been studying under Jules Le Fevre, the well-known painter. Among her better productions I was especially pleased with her portrait from life of an old man, for which she was awarded a medal by Peter Cooper.

Fifty-third Day.

Central House,

Girard, Pennsylvania,

July Second.

Took a walk with Mr. Swan over his farm in the morning, looking at his stock and grain and quietly admiring the thrift and enterprise everywhere apparent. The comfort and refinement of these country homes had made a strong impression, and I became quite enthusiastic over the American farmer. My host took especial pleasure in showing me the changes which half a century had wrought upon his premises, and which certainly were surprising. It was difficult to realize that the fields which we were viewing had, within the memory of my companion, been transformed from a wilderness to cultivated acres. While strolling over the farm, the sky became clouded and by noon a torrent of rain deluged Swanville. Owing to this caprice of the elements, I was unable to leave until three o'clock in the afternoon. Made the six miles and a half between the two places in easy time. As I rode into town I was greeted by the Girard Brass Band, which, while it amused me, rather surprised Paul, who during our "triumphal procession" to the Central House did a little "dancing," greatly to the delight of the onlookers.

After lecturing at the Town Hall in the evening, where I was introduced by Jacob Bender, editor of the Cosmopolite, I was serenaded at my hotel by the indefatigable band, which certainly made me feel welcome. I was sorry that the limitations put upon my time by appointments ahead allowed me so small an opportunity to meet the people, and get a better idea of their occupations. I should have liked to visit the lumber and brick yards, which are the chief enterprise, but was obliged to content myself with only a "cursory glance," as our newspaper friends say. The soil of the region is almost entirely composed of clay, and is thus peculiarly adapted to the manufacture of brick.

Fifty-fourth Day.

Fisk House,

Ashtabula, Ohio,

July Third.

A bright sun and clear blue sky gave promise of an exceedingly pleasant day, as I seated myself in the saddle at Girard at eight o'clock.

Before leaving I bade good-bye to Mr. Farrington, who had been with me from Boston, but who now found it necessary to return to his home at Elmira, New York, owing to business interests there. I regretted exceedingly his retirement, as he had rendered invaluable service in connection with my lectures, and had been a most genial and companionable fellow-traveller, whenever circumstances brought us together along the route.

I found the people everywhere engaged in preparations for the Centennial Fourth, which, as it was to be one of our greatest holidays, was to be celebrated with unusual enthusiasm. Owing to the excitement which prevailed, and to the fact that almost every man and woman was employed upon some active committee, I decided to waive my lecture at Ashtabula, and enter into the public demonstration. The Rev. Mr. Fisher, who had intended introducing me to my audience at this place, came to see me at the Fisk House soon after my arrival, and talked of the arrangements that were being made for the morrow. In the evening I called upon Rev. L. W. Day and had a chat with him about Ashtabula. The town is the capital of Ashtabula County, and lies at the mouth of a small river of the same name, in the midst of a good farming district. The principal products are wheat, maple sugar and those of the dairy. The chief interests of the town are its manufactures, which I understand are quite important.

As in all such towns, the population is varied. The combination of the farming and manufacturing elements gives a decidedly picturesque aspect.

Fifty-fifth Day.

Farm House,

Near Painesville, Ohio,

July Fourth.

This day has been indeed the greatest holiday in the history of the United States. Such grand preparations and such lavish display have probably never been witnessed before on this continent, and although I chanced to be in a comparatively obscure corner of the Republic, I found the prevailing sentiment as deep as though I were in one of the great centres. I doubt if there was sleep for anyone during the preceding night, for the wildest excitement was manifested, and the dawn of the Centennial Fourth was presaged by the booming of cannon, the blowing of engine whistles, the ringing of bells and discharge of firearms of every conceivable calibre and description.

The townspeople were stirring at an early hour, and although I had found very little rest, I was in the saddle by nine o'clock. A thunder-shower overtook me about noon, thanks to the generous use of gunpowder, and I took shelter under a tree, from whence I was invited to dinner by Daniel Flower, a neighboring farmer. With him and his family I passed a comfortable hour, and then moved forward in the direction of Painesville.

HAYING IN NORTHERN OHIO.

Toward evening I reined up in front of an inviting-looking house—a feature which the traveller soon learns to observe—and asked one of the farm hands if Mr. Lee was at home. Before the man had time to answer, a young girl came running down the path toward the gate, saying, "Are you Captain Glazier?" I acknowledged that I was that humble person, whereupon Miss Lee asked me to dismount and "come right in," while Jack would take care of the horse. Her father and mother had gone to Cleveland in the morning, to celebrate the Fourth, and were expected back the same night. The little lady insisted upon my stopping overnight, and bustled about with all the importance of a housewife in preparing supper. I naturally felt some hesitation in accepting her invitation to remain all night, but she insisted that I be her guest, and made every effort to amuse me. After tea, I was ushered into the parlor, where my hostess soon joined me, saying that I was her "very first caller" and that she was going to entertain me "the best she knew how." Suiting the action to the word, she took her place at the piano, and began to play some national airs suitable to the occasion; but as the evening slipped away I began to feel the effects of the day's ride, and begged to be allowed to retire. This, however, the young lady seemed at first disinclined to do, asking me to wait for her father and mother, but finally I insisted as gently as possible; so she showed me to my room herself, wishing me a hearty good-night. Dawn was ushered in by the rattling of milk pans and the creaking of a pump under my window, so, knowing that further rest was out of the question, I dressed and went downstairs, where I met Mr. and Mrs. Lee. I found them very kindly people, and knew that their daughter had inherited from them her share of good nature. That odd little miss was up at the first cock-crow, and was waiting to bid me good-morning. As I was about to mount Paul after breakfast, she asked the privilege of a ride on him, and, bounding into the saddle, galloped down the road with the grace of an Indian. When she bade me good-bye at the gate, where her father and mother were standing to see me off, she asked me in her unsophisticated way to remember her as my "Centennial girl," which I solemnly promised to do, and as I looked back from the road I could see her waving her handkerchief as a parting salute.

Fifty-sixth Day.

Farm House,

Near Wickliffe, Ohio,

July Fifth.

Starting rather late from Painesville, a town just beyond Mr. Lee's, and riding leisurely during the day, I found it necessary to keep to the road until dark, in order to place myself as near to Cleveland as possible, before halting. Reached Willoughby, the seat of a Methodist College, nineteen miles east of Cleveland, just before sundown, where I was tempted to stay over night, knowing that to ride farther would be gloomy and uninteresting, but in my eagerness to reach the "Forest City," towards which I had looked for several days, I pressed forward.

JUST OUT OF CLEVELAND.

As there was no hotel at Wickliffe, I passed through the little hamlet of that name and secured lodgings at the farm house of Thomas Lloyd, an old settler of Lake County, and a very large land-owner. He told me the history of his pioneer life in this section of Ohio, and of his start in the pursuit of a fortune, which gave me a bit of the early history of Ohio from another standpoint. It may seem odd that during the "flying visits" which I sometimes paid to these small places, there was opportunity to hear anything about them, but country folk are accustomed to early rising, and as I learned the art, years ago, of waking with the birds, I very often joined my host, and had a chat with him before breakfast. The settlement near which I stayed overnight is six miles west of Willoughby, which brought me within thirteen miles of Cleveland. It boasts of nothing more than the necessary blacksmith shop and "store," and "looks up to" its big neighbor with due reverence. It lies in the fertile county of Lake, a northeastern corner of Ohio, measuring some two hundred and sixty square miles, of which a large portion is covered with forest, and whose surface is generally hilly or undulating.

CHAPTER XIII.

FIVE DAYS AT CLEVELAND.

Found a good night's rest at the quiet farm-house of the Lloyds, on the night of the fifth, and after an early breakfast on the following morning called for my horse and started for Cleveland. On my way out, near Wickliffe, I overtook a troop of girls on their way to school. One of them, a bright-faced little maid, giving her name as Ettie Warren, and saying she was a granddaughter of Mr. Lloyd, asked me to accept a bouquet, which had no doubt been intended for her teacher. It was a mass of gay colors, which had been gathered from the home garden, and its huge proportions quite appalled me. However, I accepted it with mock gravity, and as she and her small companions kept beside me, I could overhear a whispered conversation of very secret import, which resolved itself into the question, "Do you like apples, mister?" I confessed my fondness for the fruit, and was soon the chagrined possessor of a pocketful of green ones, which this sunburned little daughter of Eve generously offered. Before riding into town I was obliged to consign these gifts to the roadside, but not without a certain guilty feeling, and sympathy for the cheated school ma'am.

Passed through the village of Mentor, a pleasant little place six miles from Cleveland, the home of Hon. J. A. Garfield, then an Ohio Congressman.

Noting much excitement as I approached Euclid, I dismounted to learn the cause, and found it was due to a rumor that General Custer and his entire command had been massacred by Indians. The source of this information made it appear reliable, and yet comparatively few were disposed to believe it. My long association with the General during the War of the Rebellion led me to take the thought of his death very much to heart, although I was yet unwilling to credit what I had heard. At the Forest City House, whither I had been escorted by a delegation of G. A. R. friends, the truth of the report was discussed, and the deepest regret manifested, should such a fate have befallen the brave cavalryman.

In the evening I lectured at Garrett's Hall, where Major E. M. Hessler introduced me. Later, in behalf of a number of citizens, the Major proposed a banquet in my honor, but this I felt justified in declining, owing to imperative duties in connection with my journey. The rest of my time here was passed in looking about the city, and in talking with some of the "Forest City" people, who are pardonably proud of their home on Lake Erie. This part of the State was a great hunting-ground for the Indians in former days, who came to make war on the bear and beaver. They started eastward in the autumn and paddled down the lake, entire villages at a time, to the mouth of the Cuyahoga River, on whose banks they piled their birch canoes and then scattered through the neighboring forests. Returning in the spring to a small cabin which had been built near their landing-place by the Northwestern Fur Company, they disposed of their spoils, and when their business with their white brothers was over, re-embarked for their summer homes on the Maumee and Sandusky.

When General Moses Cleveland came with a surveying party in 1796 to lay out the site of the chief city of the "Reserve" for the Connecticut Land Company, the cabin of the fur-traders was still standing, but was in too dilapidated a condition to be of use. Two more cabins were therefore raised, one for the party, and the other for Job Stiles, and his wife Tabitha, who was housekeeper. When the plans were finished the woman of the settlement found herself the possessor of one city lot, one ten-acre lot, and one one hundred-acre lot, a donation from the directors and stockholders of the company, made no doubt in consideration of her services, and from the fact that she was the first white woman to take up her abode on the new ground. Two more gifts of the valuable land were made, one to Nathaniel Doane, the company's blacksmith, who had kept their pack-mules shod, and the other to James Kingsbury and his wife, the first who emigrated independently to the Reserve. Within eighty years the worth of this property had increased surprisingly, but the first owners had long since ceased to care for worldly goods, and the land had been resold many times. Buildings that would have astonished those early folk had replaced their simple cabins, and thousands of strange feet were treading in their old haunts.

For several years, in fact until the opening of the Ohio Canal in 1834, the population of Cleveland increased very slowly. A year after the survey, the homes "under the hill" along the right bank of the Cuyahoga had to be removed to the ridge, for even at that time fever and ague began to trouble the settlers. This disagreeable malady, wittily personified as "Ague-agueshakershake,"—the God of Lake Erie—was a continual bugbear and made yearly attacks upon the families. So widespread was the reputation it had gained that a stranger stopping at Buffalo, then a rival port, was told that if he went to Cleveland he "would not live over night." On the highlands the exposure was much less, and soon all the cabins were built there. Then they began to spread out along the ridge toward the east, in the direction of Euclid, following the line of the Euclid Road, which even then was a popular place on which to have a section and build. In 1801, the first well in Cleveland was dug on this thoroughfare, and was walled in with stones which the Indians had left from their wigwam fireplaces. Two years later Connecticut ceded her Western Reserve, which she had held under an old charter, to the General Government and the chief city transferred her allegiance to the new State of Ohio.

Gradually the settlement spread out into the surrounding country, where ambitious hamlets, having enjoyed their brief season of independence, ultimately cast their fortune with the larger city, and became a sharer in its triumphs. One of these, which had attained more importance than the rest, had started up on the opposite bank of the Cuyahoga, and assumed the bravado of a rival. Cleveland made several advances to her which were met with coolness, and at last both villages applied for charters; the one on the left bank receiving hers first and glorying in her new name of "Ohio City." Again Cleveland besought a conciliation and tried to persuade the independent little rival neighbor to change her name, and become one with her, but with ill success. As time wore on, however, population decreased on the left shore and increased on the right, and signs of union became apparent from the fact that "Ohio City" reached out to the southeast, while Cleveland met her half-way by extending toward the southwest. We are not sure how matters were arranged between the two rivals when the final step was taken, but at any rate it was a felicitous event, and now that the coveted neighbor has become the West Side, some Clevelanders find it difficult to determine which is the "better-half."

In those early days before the railroads reached her, this new Ohio town was obliged to look about for other means of transportation, and we hear of one of her pioneers establishing a boat yard in the woods a mile and a half from the lake. Here the engineer cut his timber and carried out his plan for the first boat built at Cleveland. The framework was raised in a clearing of the forest, from whence a rough road led to the water, and in this wild but convenient spot the schooner was finished, and ready to be introduced to the world as "The Pilot." The farmers of the surrounding country were invited to assist in the launching and accordingly came into town on the all-important day, with their oxen, to haul the craft down to the shore. The ceremony was greeted with resounding cheers, and Levi Johnson received his first congratulations from his fellow-townsmen. This was in 1814. He afterwards built a steamboat and gave it the name of one of his own characteristic traits, "Enterprise."

In 1816, although the itinerant preachers who had visited the place would scarcely have credited it, a church was organized and an Episcopalian form of worship established, which later grew into Trinity Church and Parish. Hitherto a bugle had called the people together when a clergyman appeared, and the most primitive services followed. On one of these occasions, well-known to those who lived in Cleveland when it was still a churchless community, Lorenzo Dow was announced to preach. He was an eccentric man and the place reputed to be a bad one. His congregation, who were waiting under a large oak, did not recognize the solitary figure approaching in his shirt sleeves, and, as he quietly sat upon the ground in their midst, and his head dropped upon his knees in silent prayer, one in the crowd enquired if he were Lorenzo Dow. Some one answered, "Yes," but another irreverently said in an undertone, "It's the devil." Dow overheard the remark, and rising, preached to his hearers such a sermon on Gehenna that they never forgot it, or him.

In 1821, the "Academy" became an institution, and began a course of instruction upon a very liberal basis, giving its pupils the full course for four dollars a term, and separate branches for much less.

In the year 1836 the city was incorporated, and with the new honor seems to have looked to the improvement of her appearance. The public square, which had previously been little more than a grazing-place for cows, was seriously considered as a possible ornament, and was graded and made more attractive, until now it bears little resemblance to the common on which the irrepressible Indian, "Omic," breathed his last. It has changed its name since then, and has become "Monumental Square," from the marble statue of Commodore Perry, which adorns its southeastern corner. A good view of the liveliest part of the city can be had from here, and from early morning until late at night there is a continuous stream of people passing through it.

ON THE SHORE OF LAKE ERIE.

Superior street, which forms its southern boundary, is lined with retail stores, and its fine buildings and neat pavements hardly suggest the indifferent houses and plank road of forty years ago. Ontario is another busy thoroughfare running north and south, and bisecting the square. Where it begins, at Lakeside Park, it is lined with private residences, but beyond the square it develops into a genuine work-a-day business street. In 1813 there was a small stockade on the lake shore just below it, for Cleveland was a depot for supplies, and was waiting to give a warm reception to the English. Most of the public buildings are on or near the square—the Post Office, Custom House, City Hall, and several of the churches. Not far away is the library of the Young Men's Literary Association, which has had a singularly favored career. Established in 1845 upon a very unpretentious basis in the Case Building, it was soon given a perpetual lease by the owner, and later received a large sum of money for its extension and support from a son of Mr. Case. The Public Library is located in the old High School Building on Euclid avenue and has 26,000 volumes in circulation. The Board of Trade is another of the city's time-honored institutions, having been founded in 1848. It is now in the Atwater Building on Superior street.

Euclid avenue, which from its rustic popularity in pioneer days, came to bear the proud distinction of being one of the handsomest streets in the world, stretches off eastward from the square, for four and a half miles, until it reaches Wade Park, a beautiful spot, still shaded by the groves and forests which have been left from the wilderness. It was a gift from Mr. Wade, one of Cleveland's millionaires.

From this point the avenue continues for a mile and a half until it finds its terminus in Lake View Cemetery, a magnificent stretch of woodland overlooking the lake from a height of two hundred and fifty feet.

The avenue is in its entire length a feast of beauty. The homes that line it on either side are fine specimens of architecture, and the gardens surrounding them show a lavish devotion to the sweet goddess Flora. Thousands of people who are unable to leave town during the summer find a grateful change of scene here, and it so impressed Bayard Taylor that he bestowed upon it the splendid praise of calling it the most beautiful street in the world. Nor is its charm purchased at the expense of squalid surroundings, for the streets of Cleveland are well kept and almost all of its homes have their little gardens around them, while the tenement house is "conspicuous by its absence." In fact the people have chosen rather to sacrifice a trifle more to time and expense and less to space. They have expanded and have built longer street-car lines in proportion.

The old eyesore of dilapidated huts and rubbish heaps along the river and lake shore was soon swept away after the railroads came, and a fine park substituted. The undertaking was a large one, but it proved to be well worth the labor and money expended upon it, and is now one of the city's chief adornments and one of her most delightful rendezvous.

The stranger, as he nears the "Forest City" wearied with his travels and sensitive to his surroundings, finds nothing to meet his curious gaze but a neat shore line on one side, and on the other the green slope of Lakeside Park, with its grottos and fountains, and an occasional suggestion of graveled walks. The top of the ridge is an excellent place whereon to take a morning stroll, and get a good breath of fresh air, and from this eminence the lines of the five railroads which centre here can be seen converging towards the Union Depot, where a large portion of the coal, petroleum and lumber is received that makes its way from distant points.

"The Flats" along the lake and river fronts are alive with business, and present a fascinating scene from some overlooking point. There are factories, ore docks and coal and lumber yards famous the country over, and water craft of every kind and size. One of the most important enterprises is that of the Cleveland Rolling Mill Company, whose buildings occupy thirty-two acres, and whose yearly pay-roll reaches more than $2,000,000. On the West Side is the Cuyahoga Steam Furnace Company, noted for having manufactured a patent horse-power cannon for the Government, and for having turned out the first locomotive in the West. The great Standard Oil Company, begun in the sixties and later developing into a stock company under its present name, is located here, and its cars, surmounted by the familiar white keg, are seen on almost all the railroads of the country.

Out from the river's mouth stretch two long piers, two hundred feet apart, which represent the final triumph of the engineer over the tides which have wrought such incessant mischief ever since a certain captain and his crew were delayed in the harbor of Cleveland sixty years ago by a sandbar. There is a lighthouse at the end of each pier, and one high up on the shore which was built by the Government in 1830 at a cost of $8,000.

Now, through this inviting gateway, large lake boats steam into port without hindrance, bringing with them the rich copper and iron ores of Lake Superior, the limestone of the Lake Erie Islands, and the miscellaneous products which they take up along their route. With these valuable cargoes, to which have been attributed much of her prosperity, Cleveland receives a large amount of coal from the mines of Ohio and Pennsylvania, having access to the latter through the Ohio Canal, which has been such an impetus to her growth.

On the other side of the river are her large Water Works, the incessant pumping of whose engines supplies this city of 140,000 inhabitants with water. The Reservoir lies upon the top of a cliff, and is a favorite resort in summer. From its crest a fine view of lake and river can be obtained, and if one were to allow his imagination a little freedom, this would be the most satisfactory place to get a retrospective view of Cleveland as it was to the pioneer. About here the Indians stayed unmolested long after they had sold their land to the white man, and across the river on the slope the first log cabin stood. The scene which takes its place is almost bewildering with its network of factories, lake and river craft and housetops. Here and there a dot of green rises above the buildings, betraying the presence of the elms and maples which have been jealously preserved and which are one of the characteristic beauties of the "Forest City."

During my stay here, nothing was more gratifying than a walk or ride through the broad streets in the shade of these trees. It made summer in the city something to stay for, and not something to run away from. There were many drives leading out beyond the limits daily frequented by pleasure-seekers, and inviting out-of-the-way places for those who were unable to go elsewhere. Beside these, the lake, though the shallowest in the chain and sometimes treacherous on that account, is a continual clarifier and beautiful to look upon. As for the old-time "God," and his attendant maladies, who tyrannized over the pioneer, they seem to have vanished, and now I venture to say there is no healthier city in the country than Cleveland and certainly none more attractive.

SUNDAY AT THE FARM.

CHAPTER XIV.

CLEVELAND TO TOLEDO.

Sixty-first Day.

Lampman House,

Black River, Ohio,

July 11, 1876.

At eight o'clock, my favorite hour for beginning a day's ride, I mounted Paul in front of the hotel at Cleveland, but before leaving the city I stopped at Major Hessler's office to hand him the proceeds of my lecture at Garrett's Hall, which were donated to the Soldiers' Monument Fund at Dayton. This brought me two very kind acknowledgments: one from General James Barnett, who forwarded the money, and the other from Rev. William Earnshaw, custodian of the Monument Fund. These letters, written in behalf of three thousand disabled veterans, amply satisfy me for any sacrifice I may have made, and are among my most prized possessions. General Barnett wrote as follows:

Headquarters

Post No. 1, Department of Ohio, G. A. R.,

Cleveland, July 12, 1876.

Captain Willard Glazier,

Comrade: Through your unsolicited generosity I have the pleasure to acknowledge the receipt of the net proceeds of your lecture on "Echoes from the Revolution," delivered in our city July 6, 1876, and by your direction have forwarded the amount to Chaplain William Earnshaw, President of the "Soldiers' Home Monument Fund," at Dayton, to assist in erecting a monument to the memory of the veterans who by the fortunes of war await the long roll at the National Military Home, and may your reward be no less than the love and gratitude of our unfortunate comrades.

By order of

General James Barnett, Commanding.

E. M. Hessler, Quartermaster.

There are certain results following every undertaking which are looked upon either with gratification or dissatisfaction, and which, through side issues, very often assume the importance of those desired to be attained. The recollection of the splendid scenes through which I have passed, the people whom I have met, the cities I have visited, will be a lifelong satisfaction, but the opportunity to help perpetuate the memory of fellow-soldiers and to do others honor while they yet live, will be the most gratifying outcome of my journey. Knowing this, the following letter from Chaplain Earnshaw holds an important place among the papers of my correspondents.

National Soldiers' Home,
Dayton, Ohio, July 27, 1876.

Captain Willard Glazier,

My Dear Comrade: We have received, through Major E. M. Hessler, your generous donation to aid in erecting the Soldiers' Monument at the Home. You have the hearty thanks of three thousand disabled veterans now on our rolls; and a cordial invitation to visit us whenever it is your pleasure to do so. Again, we thank you.

Very respectfully,

William Earnshaw,
President Historical and Monumental Society.

A COTTAGE IN THE WOODS.

On leaving the city several gentlemen gave me the pleasure of their company for some distance, among them Alexander Wilsey, who before the war had been a scholar of mine back in Schodack, New York.

Meeting him was only one of many similar experiences, for here and there along my route I found old acquaintances, whose faces I had never expected to see again.

After a ride of six hours, I rode into Black River and found it quite an enterprising village, but hardly suggesting its old position as the principal port in the county.

Sixty-second Day.

Huron House,

Huron, Ohio,

July Twelfth.

Left the aspiring village of Black River or "Lorraine," as the inhabitants are disposed to call it, at nine o'clock, stopping at the Lake House, Vermillion, for dinner. The scenery is very attractive along the Lake Shore Road between Black River and Huron, and I followed it all day and for two or three hours after nightfall, covering a distance of twenty miles. My sense of the beautiful was somewhat dimmed, however, by the cloud of mosquitoes which beset my path, and which were hardly persuaded to part company at the hotel. There were nearly seven hundred people in Huron, and I must confess that upon entering the slumbering village I began to be generous in the hope that my attentive little tormentors would adopt the principle of equal distribution among the inhabitants. But for the rapacious mosquito the course of the traveller by night upon these highways is serene and uneventful, for, of all the hordes of wolves, wildcats, buffaloes and panthers that made their homes about this part of the country in the times of the Indian, scarcely a vestige remains.

The race of the red man is becoming slowly exterminated, and his friends of the forest seem to be disappearing with him, while the white man and the mosquito fill their places. I am sure no one of average reason, especially our logicians of New Jersey, would deny that this is another proof of the survival of the fittest.

Although it was dark before I came into Huron, I could get a very good idea of its character, and had formed some notion of the place which was to shelter me. In 1848 it was spoken of as having been "formerly the greatest business place in the county," and this reputation, although it has not made it a Sandusky or a Cleveland, has left it a spark of the old energy.

Sixty-third Day.

West House,

Sandusky, Ohio,

July Thirteenth.

I was fortunate in having a comparatively short distance to travel between Huron and this city. It is only nine miles, and I did not start until two o'clock, allowing myself a two hour's easy gallop with the lake on my right all the way.

Along this shore more than a century ago, General Bradstreet, with three thousand men, sailed to the relief of Fort Junandat, while Pontiac, the great Ottawa warrior, was besieging Detroit. Reaching Fort Sandusky he burned the Indian villages there and destroyed the cornfields; passed on up to Detroit to scatter the threatening savages, and returning went into the Wyandot country through Sandusky Bay. To have attempted to ride alone on horseback in those days would have been a foolhardy, if not a fatal undertaking. Now the screech of an engine-whistle announced the approach of a train on the Lake Shore Road, the great wheels thundered by, and Paul, alert and trembling, was ready to dash away. How different it would have been in those old pioneer times! The horseman would have been the one to tremble then, his hand reach for his rifle, his eyes strained towards the thicket from whence the expected yell of the savage was to come.

Among the first proprietors of this section were the Eries. These were followed by the resistless Iroquois, and after them the Wyandots and Ottawas, who seem to have left the strongest impress upon the hills and valleys of Ohio. One of these tribes, the Wyandots, called the bay near which they built their wigwams Sæ-san-don-ske, meaning "Lake of the Cold Water," and from this the present name of the city comes. In the early days it was called Ogontz, after a big chief of that name who lived there before the year 1812. All about were rich hunting-grounds, which accounts for its having been chosen by the Indians in times of peace; and even now Sandusky is held to be one of the greatest fish-markets in America.

The place was bound to be attractive to the white man, and any one might have safely prophesied that a city would rise here. The ground slopes gradually down to the lake, the bay forms an ideal harbor, and looking off upon the boats and water, the eye rests upon a scene picturesque and striking.

My attention was called to Johnson's Island, which was used for the confinement of Confederate officers during the late war. I learned that they were allowed the luxury of an occasional bath in the lake, under guard, of course, and in squads of a hundred men—a luxury which the boys in Libby and Charleston and Columbia would have thought "too good to be true."

Under the city are the limestone quarries, which furnish an inexhaustible supply of building-material and which give an added distinction to this bright little city of the lakes.

On the evening of my arrival I spoke in Union Hall and was introduced by Captain Culver, who referred to my military record and the object of my lectures. Captain Culver is a comrade in the G. A. R. and was a fellow-prisoner at Libby and other prisons. He did much towards making my stay at Sandusky most agreeable.

Sixty-fourth Day.

Fountain House,

Castalia, Ohio,

July Fourteenth.

My Sandusky friend, Captain Culver, called at the West House for me soon after breakfast, and we spent the forenoon strolling about the city. I was shown the newly completed Court House, of which Sanduskians are very proud; met several of the officials and found much to admire. Left at five o'clock in the afternoon and by six had reached Castalia, five miles distant, which I soon found had something to boast of back of its classic name. As a stranger I was of course immediately told of the wonders of the "waters," which I learned form quite an attraction in summer and keep the little place in a flutter of excitement.

Marshall Burton came in 1836 and laid out this prairie town at the head of Coal Creek. Finding the source of the stream in a cool, clear spring, now known to be two hundred feet in diameter and sixty feet deep, named the place "Castalia," from the famed Greek fountain at the foot of Parnassus. The waters of this spring are so pure that objects are plainly seen through the sixty liquid feet, and they say that when the sun reaches meridian, these objects reflect the colors of the rainbow, which might suggest to Castalians that the ancient sun-god, Apollo, favored the western namesake of his Delphian fount. I met no poets here, but possibly inspiration is not one of the powers guaranteed. Indeed if it should treat devotees of the Divine Art, as it does everything else that is plunged into it, we should have petrified poets.

These petrifying qualities of the water, caused by the combined action of lime, soda, magnesia and iron have made the mill-wheels which turn in Coal Creek incapable of decay.

At a little distance from the town is a cave of quite large dimensions, which was discovered accidentally through a dog running into the opening in pursuit of a rabbit. This cave I believe makes up the complement of natural attractions about the village. The chief attraction, the social life of the people, cannot be guessed at by the rapid glance of the traveller. But even a short sojourn here is apt to be remembered long and pleasantly. Ohioans are notably hospitable.

Sixty-fifth Day.

Ball House,

Fremont, Ohio,

July Fifteenth.

I was awakened at twelve P. M. the previous night at Castalia by two villainous imps, who seemed determined to make an impression. Their evident object was "more rum," which to the credit of the landlord was not furnished them. Exasperated by this temperance measure, they attempted to enter the house, and finding the doors locked began a bombardment with fists and feet. This novel performance was kept up until the object of their wrath and his shot-gun appeared. Owing to this my ride of nineteen miles to Fremont was not as refreshing as it might have been.

As I approached the town I thought of President Hayes, who is so closely identified with it. Here he began the practice of law, and won such popularity, not only among his townsmen, but throughout the State, that in 1864, after a succession of honors, his friends were pushing him for Congress. In answer to a letter written from Cincinnati, suggesting that his presence there would secure his election, he said, "An officer fit for duty, who at this crisis would abandon his post to electioneer for Congress, ought to be scalped. You may feel perfectly sure that I shall do no such thing," and in a letter to his wife, written after he had heard of Lincoln's assassination, he expressed another sentiment quite as strong when he said: "Lincoln's success in his great office, his hold upon the confidence and affection of his countrymen, we shall all say are only second to Washington's. We shall probably feel and think that they are not second even to his."

Fremont of course is justly proud of the name and fame of Rutherford B. Hayes. Two years before he returned to his home, after refusing Grant's offer of an Assistant Secretaryship, but the people of Ohio were not satisfied with this. Their feelings were probably voiced by the words of a personal friend of Hayes, who said: "With your energies, talents, education, and address, you are green—verdant as grass—to stay in a country village." Soon afterwards, at the urgent and repeated requests of the people, he gave up his quiet life and once more entered the political arena, with results which the election of 1876 shows.

There were apparently many who were dissatisfied with the Nation's choice, but in Ohio, and especially where he was known personally, he was much beloved and admired. His uncle, Sardis Birchard, who died some years ago, leaving his property and fortune to his namesake, has given a park and a fine library to Fremont.

The town is on the Sandusky River, at the head of navigation, and has quite a brisk trade for a place claiming only a little over five thousand inhabitants.

Sixty-sixth Day.

Elmore House,

Elmore, Ohio,

July Sixteenth.

My accommodations at the Ball House, Fremont, were quite in contrast with those placed at my disposal at Castalia. I heard no stories of "mineral springs" or wonderful freaks of Nature, but shall remember Fremont as the delightful little city where I had two nights' sleep in one.

I began my day's journey at eight o'clock with Elmore as the evening objective. Halted a few moments at a hotel known in that locality as the Four-Mile House. Took dinner at Hessville, where I remained until four o'clock in the afternoon and then rode on to Elmore.

COUNTRY STORE AND POST OFFICE.

CHAPTER XV.

FIVE DAYS AT TOLEDO.

Ordered Paul and saddled him myself at Elmore, on the morning of July seventeenth. In fact it was my usual custom, while riding through the rural districts, to personally groom, feed and care for my horse, as I learned soon after leaving Boston that, unless I attended to his wants myself, he was most likely to be neglected by those in whose hands he was placed, and from a selfish standpoint, knowing also the importance of keeping him in the best possible condition, I never overlooked anything which was likely to add to his comfort.

On my way from Elmore, I stopped for lunch at a country grocery, hotel and saloon, four miles from this city. A small piece of bread, a bowl of milk, and a few crackers covered my refreshment at the "Jack of All Trades," as upon asking for a second piece of bread I was informed that I had just eaten the last in the house. There being no further appeal, I remounted and rode off in the direction of Toledo, where I lectured in the evening at Lyceum Hall, under the auspices of Forsyth Post, being introduced by Doctor J. T. Woods, a surgeon of our Volunteer Army during the late war, and now an active comrade in the G. A. R.

Doctor Woods and I had a long and animated talk at the Boody House over old times, and especially of Custer, who was greatly admired by both of us, as he was by every one who knew anything of him. Doctor Woods had collected a number of articles referring to the General which he thought of especial interest, among others the following lines which seem to bear the very impress of Custer's martial spirit:

"The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast.
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout are past.
No war's wild notes nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
The breast that nevermore may feel
The raptures of the fight."

When our conversation turned upon Toledo, it became more cheerful. The city, after having survived many reverses of fortune, is now on the eve of rapid development, and can hardly be said to have a rival in Northern Ohio. The long and hard battle fought for the soil on which it now stands is almost forgotten, and instead of arousing the interest of the stranger with thrilling tales of massacre and war, the Toledoan now points to the emblems of peace.

Not so far away but that the patriotic citizen may become familiar with the place is the old battle-field of "Fallen Timbers," where "mad Anthony Wayne" brought the Indians to bay, and having conquered, pursued them for ten miles along the Maumee, until he reached Swan Creek, now in the centre of the town.

This battle is one of the most dramatic in the records of Indian warfare. It was at a time when the Wabash and Miami tribes had refused to accept any overtures from the Americans, and when they were determined to fight out their cause with the help of the British.

Knowing that pacific measures were then superfluous, and that the matter must be decided by war, Wayne at the head of a splendid support, marched to the Maumee, erected Fort Defiance at the junction of the Au Glaize, and then proceeded to a point where he knew the forces of the enemy were concentrated. The place was in every way favorable to the party in possession—the river on the left, heavy thickets on the right, and in front natural breastworks formed by fallen timbers, the result of a tornado. Into this trap it was necessary to march in order to meet the foe. Wayne's simple plan of attack was this: to rouse the savages from their lair with an irresistible bayonet charge, "and when up, to deliver a close and well-directed fire on their backs."

The result was a victory for the Americans. The Indians and their white allies, completely routed, made a precipitous retreat, leaving the battle-field covered with their dead. Hotly pursued, their cornfields and wigwams destroyed on the way, they were finally ready to acknowledge that peace was better than war. So ended the great battle of the Maumee, one of the most fatal in its effect upon the destiny of the red race.

It was after this, when actual contest was over, and the Indians had been provided for west of the Mississippi, that the Cincinnati Company laid out a town on the present site and called it Port Lawrence, after the famous flag-ship in which Perry met the British on Lake Erie. Later, Major Stickney, a historic pioneer, whose sons, "One" and "Two" Stickney are equally immortal, laid out Vistula, which afterwards joined Port Lawrence, under a name destined to become a power in the State—Toledo.

The fortunes of the new town were fluctuating as April weather, and the faith of property-holders must have grown weak through wavering. Most of these hard times were due to malaria, which was bred in the neighboring swamps and forests, and which was an ever-present menace; yet when the cloud of contention lowered over the tract of land lying between the territory of Michigan and the State of Ohio, Toledo, the very centre of the trouble, being claimed by both, was animated enough, although her neighbor, Monroe, was wont to vex her with such taunts as this:

"The potatoes they grow small, on Maumee,
And they eat them, tops and all, on Maumee."

Potato-tops must have possessed singular virtue, for there was no want of spirit when the test came "On Maumee."

The "Toledo War," much talked of and laughed over in its day, is passing slowly into oblivion, and now only an occasional grey-beard brings its scenes back with amusing reminiscence. The cause of the trouble lay in a mistake of Congress, which established an impossible boundary line between Michigan and Ohio, so that the "bone of contention" was a tract of land eight miles wide at the western end, and five at the eastern, which both claimed. The people living in this tract were therefore between two fires, some preferring to be governed by the laws of the territory, and the others giving their allegiance to Ohio. The respective governors were the principals in the quarrel, and showed a strong disposition to fight, while the chief executive at Washington, being unable to interfere, was obliged to assume the role of a spectator, advising, however, that the interested parties defer action until the convening of Congress.

The advantages were pretty evenly divided, except that Michigan, as a territory, in attempting to prevent the State from enforcing her supposed right, aroused a strong State pride among the "Buckeyes." The militia was called out on both sides and Michigan threatened with arrest those who should attempt to re-mark the boundary line—the compliment being generously returned by Ohio.

In the midst of these hostilities the Legislature of Ohio created a new county, calling it Lucas, after the Governor, which included a portion of the contested territory, and had for its seat the town of Toledo. To hold court at this county-seat without the intervention of the authorities of Michigan would virtually decide the case in Ohio's favor, but how this bold coup d'etat was to be accomplished, and on the date appointed—the seventh of September—was a question that puzzled the Governor himself. General Brown, in charge of the Michigan militia, was reported to be in Toledo at the time, with a force twelve hundred strong; while Colonel Vanfleet, the Ohio warrior, was to rely upon the stout hearts of a hundred men, who were to act as posse for the protection of the court.

When the judges, sheriff and attendants met at Miami to perfect their plans, on Sunday the sixth of September, they were somewhat fearful of the issue, and finally left the decision of the matter in the hands of Colonel Vanfleet. This intrepid Leonidas immediately assumed the championship of his State with admirable skill, and, walking up and down, sword in hand, in front of his hundred followers, for a moment's meditation, turned at last to the judges with these impressive words:

"If you are women, go home; if you are men, do your duty as judges of the court. I will do mine. If you leave this matter entirely with me, I will be responsible for your safety and insure the accomplishment of our object; but if otherwise, I can give you no assurance!"

In the light of present knowledge, the reader of these words, while he respects and admires the spirit in which they were uttered, and the man who spoke them, cannot avoid a mild sense of amusement. But this is not to the point. Matters proceeded seriously on that sixth of September, 1835. Vanfleet called for twenty volunteers, and these having quickly responded to the call, the Colonel then informed his protégés, probably not to their surprise, that the seventh of September would begin immediately after midnight; that the law did not specify any time for the opening of court, and that if they would rely upon his protection, they could accomplish their purpose in the face of the foe.

"Governor Lucas wants the court held," he added, "so that by its record he may show to the world that he has executed the laws of Ohio over the disputed territory in spite of the vaporing threats of Governor Mason. Be prepared to mount your horses to start for Toledo at precisely one o'clock in the morning. I will be ready with my escort."

The appointment was met, and Toledo was reached at three o'clock. The party proceeded directly to a school-house, and there court was held in due form of law, its proceedings written out on bits of paper being deposited in the tall crown of the clerk's hat. When business was over, the entire party went to a tavern near by for refreshments. Just as the men were about to indulge in a second cup of cheer, some one called out that General Brown, with a strong force, was on his way to arrest them. Glasses were dropped, the little matter of indebtedness to the saloon-keeper was waived without ceremony, and a moment later not a sign of the Ohio dignitaries remained.

When they had placed a sufficient amount of the contested soil between themselves and General Brown, they halted upon a hill to fire a salute, but at that time it was learned that the clerk's hat, containing the all-important papers, had been knocked off his head by the limb of a tree during the retreat. To return might mean capture and the failure of their plan. To abandon the recovery of the missing hat would be equally deplorable. Vanfleet accordingly sent back a small detachment to search the road; "the lost was found," and, at last triumphant, a loud salute was fired. To say that the men did not then let the grass grow under their feet is but a mild assertion. It has been said by good authorities, that if the retreating party had charged General Brown's regiment with half the force they employed in getting away, they could have routed a force twice its size. When Congress convened, however, they had the satisfaction of having a favorable verdict pronounced upon their "unlawful act, lawfully committed," although Jackson had previously expressed himself in sympathy with the cause of Michigan. The defeated party, to even up matters, was given the northern peninsula between Superior and Huron, now her richest section.

During the course of the "war" Toledo was full of Michigan troops, who left many anecdotes behind them and whose generally harmless behavior raised many a laugh among the townspeople. As one of these stories goes, Major Stickney, walking out into his garden one morning, noticed something that looked like a human figure in his potato vines. He called out to the mysterious object and asked what was going on there? The call brought to his full length a soldier in uniform, who stretched up and replied:

"Drafting potato-tops to make the bottoms volunteer, sir!"

And so, half in jest, and half in earnest, the affair continued and ended.

AN OHIO FARM.

When the forests were cleared away and the swamps drained, the dread malaria partnership was dissolved; good health brought good cheer, and prosperity followed. Very soon after the trouble with Michigan, the Miami and Erie Canal was built, which has been one of the important factors in making the "Corn City" so strong commercially. Besides this great inland water-way, eight railways bring into her marts the products of the rich farms of Illinois, Indiana, Michigan and Ohio.

From her ports enormous quantities of grain are yearly shipped to England either direct, or via Montreal, and her people say, without expecting to be contradicted, that no city in the United States can point to such a wonderful development of commercial resources. This scarcely suggests the time when Toledo was little more than the dead carcass of speculation, the prey of the tax-gatherer, waiting the resurrection that followed the War of the Rebellion, when men remained her citizens simply because they had no money with which to get away.

Commerce takes the lead here, but there is one enterprise of which Toledoans seem to be even prouder, and to see which they take the visitor "whom they wish to impress with their greatness." This is the thriving and truly imposing Milbourn Wagon Works, put into operation in 1875 and already become famous. The brick buildings are unusually fine and, architecturally, would leave the uninformed stranger under the impression that they might belong to some institution of learning.

I was enabled to see more of the city than I had expected, owing to an unforeseen circumstance. A little friend who lived in Detroit, and who was dying with consumption, had expressed a wish to come to Toledo to see me and my horse before it was too late. I therefore remained longer than I intended, that her friends might bring her down by boat, although they hardly hoped that she would survive the journey. She was given the pleasure of a quiet trip to Put-in-Bay, the well-known resort, and with this and the gratification of seeing Paul, in whom she was deeply interested, her visit ended.

Of all the strangers who come to this bright and busy city, active with the impetus given it by fifty thousand souls, I doubt if any take more keen delight in looking upon its business enterprises and individuality than did this bright-minded girl, just about to relinquish her hold upon earth. She knew nothing of the dark pages in its history, and only guessed at the wealth and strength back of the thronged harbor. To her it was a happy place—the temporary home of friends.

CHAPTER XVI.

TOLEDO TO DETROIT.

Seventy-second Day.

Erie Hotel,

Erie, Michigan,

July 22, 1876.

My Toledo friends were ready at the Boody House to give me good-bye when I mounted at nine o'clock, and I received a right hearty send-off. Upon leaving the city, instead of continuing westward as usual toward the "Golden Gate," I had determined for various reasons to swing off from the direct course, and ride northward to Detroit, moving thence to Chicago. This new route would take me through Monroe, a town with which the life of General Custer was more closely associated than any other, and knowing that I would find much there that would give me a more intimate knowledge of the man, I looked forward to this part of my journey with eager anticipation.

The ride to Erie being at some distance from the lake, and over a flat region, was rather monotonous. Erie itself is a small unimportant hamlet at the western end of the lake, and a modest landmark in my journey from Toledo to Detroit. Paul, probably impressed with the air of peace that enveloped the place, made up his mind upon his arrival to give the good people a display of his mettle, and accordingly tore through the village streets in the wildest fashion. Having thus introduced himself, he pranced after I had dismounted until he had had enough; then returning to his master, his eyes seeming to flash mischief, he looked as though he would have said, had he been given the power of speech: "I have been having a fine time, haven't I? and would you like to mount me and enjoy the fun too? but I dare you!"

When his superabundant spirits had found vent, I had him led away and myself attended to his wants. Beyond this animated exhibition of my horse the day passed uneventfully, and at night I enjoyed to its fullest extent the quietude of a country inn.

Seventy-third Day.

Erie Hotel,

Erie, Michigan,

July Twenty-third.

Weather cool and pleasant; went to church in the morning and listened to a sermon by Rev. E. P. Willard, on the text, "Remember the Sabbath Day to keep it holy." Doubtless the preacher had his reasons for bringing to the minds of the Erieans this particular command, but judging from appearances they needed a very mild admonition. It looked as though every day were Sunday here.

A letter reached me at this point from my wife, full of concern as to my welfare if the journey were to be continued across the Plains; and as she was in very indifferent health at the time, I was about to abandon my purpose and return. The news of Custer's tragic death had reached the East, and my intended route running as it did across the Indian country, filled my friends with apprehension. Closely following this letter, however, came another, informing me that my wife was improving, and, with this assurance, I decided not to turn back. By this time, the freedom and charm of this mode of travel had aroused my enthusiasm; the imaginary line, losing itself in the Pacific, promised a rich experience, and the opportunity was golden. The good news from home was therefore joyfully received.

Seventy-fourth Day.

Strong's Hotel,

Monroe, Michigan,

July Twenty-fourth.

I was detained at Erie until after dinner, spending part of the forenoon in a blacksmith shop, where Paul was being shod. By two o'clock I was on the road again, riding briskly toward Monroe, for the weather was so much cooler than it had been during the previous week, that I could move comfortably at a good pace. Paul seemed very proud of his new shoes, and, although I halted two or three times, covered something over ten miles by five o'clock.

As I reached the outskirts of Monroe, I was considerably surprised to find a large number of people assembled on the picnic grounds. They were accompanied by a band, and greeted me with several national air, including "Hail Columbia" and the "Star-Spangled Banner." The Custer Monument Association received me at the City Hall, where I had been announced to lecture in the evening, as it was my intention to speak in the interest of the Fund; but the date was changed to the Thursday following my arrival, with a view to giving its members an opportunity to co-operate with my advance agents.

Great enthusiasm was everywhere apparent, and the people of Monroe needed no urging to lend their patronage, when the movement was likely to reflect honor upon their illustrious dead.

My emotions upon entering this town, long the dearest place in all the world to Custer, can better be imagined than described. That it was a favorite with him is not strange, for aside from the tender associations which it held for him, its pretty homes and broad streets, deeply shaded by maples, make it a most lovely spot and the very type of peace.

Seventy-fifth Day.

Strong's Hotel,

Monroe, Michigan,

July Twenty-fifth.

Wrote to my mother in the morning, and after dinner took a stroll about town. Beyond its associations with Custer, Monroe is interesting through its connection with one of the most romantic and sanguinary scenes connected with the war between Great Britain and the United States; for on the banks of the River Raisin, which runs through it to the lake, occurred the famous Indian massacre of 1812. Relics of the bloody encounter are still found on the field.

It was at a time when the British were making successful inroads upon Michigan, and General Winchester, at the head of eight hundred Kentuckians, had been ordered to Frenchtown, the old name for Monroe, the same point toward which General Miller had previously moved on a mission equally fatal.

Winchester was warned of the advance of the enemy, but thought there was no cause for immediate alarm, and on the night before the engagement, he crossed to the side of the river opposite his men, leaving the camp open to attack. The result was, that he awoke the next morning to find Proctor's troops putting his men to rout, at the point of the bayonet, while their Indian allies were adding to the confusion by their deadly assault.

Although a part of the Americans escaped on the ice of the river, the field was covered with their dead and wounded, General Winchester being among the former. When the engagement was over, Proctor rode away, leaving a detachment to guard the prisoners and wounded, with instructions that no violence was to be committed; but some of the savages who followed him having become intoxicated, returned and fell upon the prisoners with unrestrained frenzy. Most of the latter had been placed in two small cabins. These were fired, and the victims perished in the flames, the Indians pushing them back when they attempted to escape through the small windows. The remainder were massacred and their bodies left a prey to the wolves. It was this horrible affair that aroused the Americans and particularly the Kentuckians to revenge; and when Tecumseh, the Shawnee warrior, who was the chief instigator of these atrocities, urged the British to hazard an engagement at the Thames, after their defeat by Perry, they prepared to return with full interest the blow given their comrades on the Raisin. The battle of the Thames is well known. Tecumseh, with the war cry on his lips, met his reward through a Kentucky bullet early enough in the fight to be spared the shame of defeat. With him fell a powerful foe, but one whom we must admire even in his death.

"Like monumental bronze, unchanged his look,
As one whom pity touched, but never shook;
Train'd from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier
The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook.
Unchanging, fearing but the shame of fear,
A stoic of the woods, a man without a tear."

Seventy-sixth Day.

Strong's Hotel,

Monroe, Michigan,

July Twenty-sixth.

Received a large forwarded mail from my advance agents and others, which I attended to in the afternoon. I was also favored with Detroit papers referring to my proposed lecture in that city, and the following notice from the Monroe Monitor, which, together with letters from the Fund Association, I kept as souvenirs of my stay at this place:

"The lecture announced to be given for the benefit of the Custer Monument Fund, on Monday evening, at the City Hall, was postponed for various reasons until Thursday evening, at the same place. On Monday evening several members of the association met Captain Willard Glazier, and were most favorably impressed with him. They are convinced that he is thoroughly in earnest, and that his proposition is a most liberal one. He offers to give the entire proceeds of his lecture to the association; and not only in this city, but throughout the State, he generously offers to do the same thing. This is certainly deserving of the warm recognition of our own people, at least, and we hope on Thursday evening to see the City Hall filled. Captain Glazier comes with the strongest endorsements from well-known gentlemen in the East, both as to his character as a gentleman and a soldier, and his ability as a speaker and writer. The Captain served under the late General Custer in the cavalry, and has something to say regarding his personal knowledge of the dead hero."

When I started from Boston in May, I little dreamed that before my journey was finished the troubles in the West with the Sioux would bring such a result as this! It is true, affairs in Montana and Wyoming territories had assumed a threatening aspect, but no one doubted the efficacy of "Custer's luck," and those who followed the campaign looked upon it as a dramatic and striking incident, rather than a tragic one.

News was slow in reaching points east of the Mississippi and was then often unreliable, so that if I may judge from personal observation, the people were wholly unprepared for the final result which was flashed across the country on the fifth of July.

Seventy-seventh Day.

Strong's Hotel,

Monroe, Michigan,

July Twenty-seventh.

Rose at an early hour in the morning, and was very busily occupied during the day with correspondence and preparations for my lecture. The people of Monroe had asked that I would tell them something of my experience with Custer during the late war before beginning the lecture, as everything relating to him was at that time of the most thrilling interest to them. It was not difficult to comply with this request. The old scenes of 1863 were as fresh in memory as though they had been witnessed but yesterday.

My first meeting with Custer was at the third battle of Brandy Station on the twelfth of September, 1863, as the Cavalry Corps then acting as the advance of the Army of the Potomac was moving toward Culpeper in pursuit of Lee's retreating columns. Custer had but recently been commissioned brigadier-general and this was the first time he went into action at the head of his brigade. His appearance was very conspicuous. A mere boy in years, gorgeously equipped, in short, bearing upon his person all the gold lace and other paraphernalia allowed his rank, he formed a striking figure—such a one as is seldom seen on the battlefield. His arrival at Brandy Station was at a critical juncture, and while we were momentarily expecting a conflict with Stuart's cavalry, then directly in our front, all had a curiosity to see how the gayly dressed brigadier would acquit himself. It seemed to be the general impression that he would not have the nerve to "face the music" with his bandbox equipment, but he soon proved himself equal to the occasion. Being ordered to charge the enemy, he snatched his cap from his head, handed it to his orderly, drew his sword and dashed to the front of his brigade, then formed in column of squadrons. The command "Forward!" was instantly given. A moment later "Trot!" was sounded; then "Gallop!" and "Charge!" and before the Confederates had time to realize that we really intended an attack, they were swept from the field, and a section of a battery with which they had been opposing our advance was in the possession of the young general and his gallant cavalrymen.

No soldier who saw him on that day at Brandy Station ever questioned his right to a star, or all the gold lace he felt inclined to wear. He at once became a favorite in the Army of the Potomac and his fame was soon heralded throughout the country. After this engagement I saw Custer at Culpeper and Cedar Mountain, and in the skirmishes along the Rapidan during Lee's retreat from Gettysburg; later, when Lee again advanced through Northern Virginia, at Sulphur Springs, Newmarket, Bristoe and in the action of October 19, 1863, near New Baltimore, where I was taken prisoner.

The incidents which I recalled were those of war, but Custer's friends here gave me the incidents of peace. Mr. J. M. Bulkley, who is perhaps more intimately acquainted with the General's early life than any other man in Monroe, was his old school-chum and seat-mate at Stebbin's Academy.

When this institution was broken up, and its property sold, Mr. Bulkley bought the old desk at which he and Custer had sat, and on which as school-boys they had cut their initials. It stands in his store, and in it are kept all the papers relating to the Monument Fund.

Custer's next experience was in the Monroe Seminary, and it was while he was a student there that the pretty little face of his future wife flashed into his life. The story of this meeting is laughable and odd. Custer, then a rough, flaxen-haired lad, coming home one afternoon, his books under his arm, was passing Judge Bacon's residence, when a little brown-eyed girl swinging on the gate called out to him, "Hello, you Custer boy!" then, half-frightened by the blue eyes that glanced toward her, ran into the house. The little girl was Libbie Bacon, daughter of the Judge. It was love at first sight for Custer, and although they did not meet again for several years, he was determined to win the owner of those brown eyes.

OUTSKIRTS OF A CITY.

Having finished a preliminary course of study and wishing to enter West Point, he urged his father to apply to John Bingham, then a member of Congress for the district in which Monroe was situated, for an appointment. This his father hesitated to do as Mr. Bingham's politics were opposed to his. The young man was therefore obliged to rely upon his own efforts. He called upon the dignitary himself. Mr. Bingham was pleased with the applicant, promised to lend his influence, and the result was that George Armstrong Custer ultimately received a formal notification from Washington, bearing the signature of Jefferson Davis, to the effect that the recipient was expected to report immediately to the commanding officer at West Point. His course there was about finished upon the breaking out of the late war. He went at once to Washington, and through General Scott was launched upon his military career. What sort of a soldier he was the world knows. What his character was the following incident may partially suggest. It occurred early in the war when Custer was beginning to feel somewhat discouraged over his affairs. He had already done much that was worthy of promotion and, having a boy's pride and ambition. Fate seemed to be against him. The clouds vanished one day, however, when the Army of the Potomac was encamped on the north bank of the Chickahominy near Richmond.

General Barnard, of the Engineers, starting out to discover if the river was fordable at a certain point, called upon Custer to accompany him. Arrived at the bank of the stream, he ordered the young officer to "jump in." He was instantly obeyed, although the pickets of the enemy were known to be on the opposite side, and dangerously near. Nor did Custer return, after having found that there was firm bottom, until he had made a thorough reconnoissance of the Confederate outposts.

Upon their return, Barnard rode up to McClellan, who was about to visit with his staff his own outposts, and began reporting the recently acquired information, while his late aide, wearied with the undertaking, and covered with Chickahominy mud, had fallen to the rear. Gradually it came out that Custer, and not Custer's superior officer, had performed the important duty. He was immediately called for, and to his great embarrassment, for his appearance was far from presentable, was asked by McClellan to make a report of the situation himself. At the end of the recital he was asked by his commander, to his amazement, how he would like to join his staff. McClellan had, by a rare power peculiar to him, in that short interview, won Custer's unfailing loyalty and affection, and when Custer was asked afterwards how he felt at the time, his eyes filled with tears, and he said: "I felt I could have died for him."

This promotion marked the beginning of his future success. In recalling his career, these simple lines, written by a poet unknown to me, and with which Frederick Whittaker, in his admirable life of Custer, brings his biography to a close, involuntarily suggest themselves:

"Who early thus upon the field of glory
Like thee doth fall, needs for his fame
Naught but the simple telling of his story,
The naming of his name."

Seventy-eighth Day.

Varney House,

Rockwood, Michigan,

July Twenty-eighth.

Before ordering Paul in the morning, I called again at the home of the Custers. The General's father seemed greatly interested in my journey, and asked many questions concerning my plans for crossing the Plains. I was shown the rich and interesting collection of relics from the Indian country which Custer had accumulated, and which adds a picturesqueness to every corner of the house, and with these, some very striking photographs of the General taken in every variety of position and costume. After a pleasant chat, in the course of which Mr. Custer assured me of his kind solicitude, he walked back to the hotel with me to see me off.

While riding out of town, I met Mr. Bulkley, and was introduced to several gentlemen of his acquaintance, many of whom were schoolmates of Custer during his boyhood. Mr. Bulkley, speaking for the Monument Association, assured me that everything would be done that could further my wishes in Michigan.

The lecture last evening was well attended and proved a financial success. It was therefore gratifying to give the entire proceeds to the treasurer, Judge T. E. Wing, although he generously offered to divide. Parting with Mr. Bulkley, I continued on my route, my mind filled with the events of the three preceding days. Just beyond the town I halted to look back, and then, determined to prevent any sombre thoughts, which might follow, put spurs to Paul, who very soon covered the thirteen miles between Monroe and this place. As we neared the village, I caught sight of Huron River, the Wrockumiteogoe of the Indians, meaning, "clear water." On its banks are found those mysterious legacies of the Mound Builders—whether dwellings or tombs, remains for the antiquarian to determine.

Seventy-ninth Day.

Farmers' Hotel,

Ecorse, Michigan,

July Twenty-ninth.

Moved from Rockwood at ten A. M., halting for a few minutes at Trenton, a small village seven miles north of Rockwood; and from there, riding on to Wyandotte, which I reached about one o'clock, and stopped only a moment at the Biddle House, finding that dinner was awaiting me at a private residence. I was ready to answer the hospitable summons promptly. Between two and five o'clock, I occupied part of the time in looking about the village, which is chiefly noted for its iron industries. Farm implements, iron ships, iron rails, and in fact everything that can be made out of iron, is produced here. After dinner I rode on to Ecorse, which is three miles beyond, and there found letters and papers telling me that I was expected at the Russell House, Detroit, on the evening of the coming Monday. Once within my hotel, I found the heat almost unbearable, but following a certain method which I had found by experience to be a successful one, I was enabled in a measure to improve my surroundings. To those who might think my modus operandi somewhat unbecoming, I would only suggest that they try my mode of travel through the same region of country, and at the same season of the year. Personal experience might change their opinion.

Having been shown to my apartment by the landlord or one of his assistants, I quietly entered and secured the door, betraying no surprise upon seeing the inevitable "feather bed." Taking off my coat, I began by removing the layers of mattresses, which had in them a wonderful reserve force of July heat. I then took my lamp and held it so that its lambent flame could warm the cockles of every mosquito's heart clinging to the ceiling. The mosquitoes, quite averse to the intense heat, quietly dropped into the little purgatory which I had prepared for them, and troubled me no more.

So did I secure my repose at the Farmers' Hotel, and in the morning was in the humor to give the good-natured proprietor, Louis Cicotte—a typical French Canadian—a very hearty greeting, and an assurance of my refreshment.

Eightieth Day.

Farmers' Hotel,

Ecorse, Michigan,

July Thirtieth.

The weather was oppressively warm again on this day, and business in Ecorse was apparently not "booming." I found the place quite in keeping with the majority of French villages along the Detroit River—unambitious and lifeless.

Two acknowledgments came from Monroe soon after I left, referring to the aid which I had the pleasure of giving to those interested in the Custer Monument. One was a brief and courteous bearer of thanks, and is as follows:

Headquarters,

Custer National Monument Association;

Monroe, Michigan,

July 28, 1876.

This is to certify that the proceeds of the lecture by Captain Willard Glazier, in this city on Thursday evening, July 27, 1876, have been paid into the treasury of this association, for which the members hereby tender him their sincere thanks.

T. E. Wing,

Treasurer.

The other was a letter of introduction and explains itself:

Headquarters,
Custer National Monument Association;

Monroe, Michigan,

July 28, 1876.

To Auxiliary Socieities and Associations of the Custer Monument Association:

Captain Willard Glazier, having kindly and generously volunteered to devote the proceeds of his lectures through Michigan to the fund being raised by this Association, for the erection of a monument to the memory of the late General George A. Custer, has made arrangements to remit to our treasurer here the money derived from such lectures, and we bespeak for him your earnest endeavor in aid of our common, glorious cause.

Respectfully,

J. M. Bulkley,

Secretary.

Our second day at Ecorse ended pleasantly. In the afternoon my brother and I went for a row on the river, and in the evening took a walk into the country. We did not meet with any game, although natural history proclaims this section the haunt of many varieties of bird and beast. The first settlers even remember having a casual acquaintance with the deer, bear, wolf, wild cat, and a variety of smaller game, including that interesting little quadruped, the wolverine, whose name has become the nickname of Michigan.

CHAPTER XVII.

FOUR DAYS AT DETROIT.

After a much-needed rest of a day and two nights at Ecorse, I left that quiet retreat on the afternoon of July thirty-first, with Detroit as my evening objective. At Fort Wayne, I was met by Babcock, who brought me the sad intelligence of the death of my little Detroit friend, Kitty Murphy, who had failed very rapidly after her brief visit to Toledo. We rode forward together, reaching the Russell House at five o'clock, and there I was met by General William A. Throop and others, who were appointed as a committee to receive me. In the evening I lectured at St. Andrew's Hall, being introduced by General L. S. Trowbridge and was accompanied on the platform by several Grand Army comrades.

Immediately after the lecture, I hurried to the home of my bereaved friends, where I found the mother and sisters of the dead girl completely prostrated with grief. The one who had gone was their favorite, for whom they had the highest hopes, and it was hard to be reconciled to the passing away of a life so full of promise and noble purposes. I was proud to know that one universally loved and admired had thought of me in her last moments and had left a token of her friendship.

On the morning of August first, I arranged my affairs so as to be able to attend the funeral services of my young friend the following day.

The proceeds of my lecture were handed to the Monument Fund committee with a letter from me to be forwarded to Monroe, and its representatives here acknowledged this in the following note:

City Hall,

Detroit, Michigan,

August 1, 1876.

Received of Captain Willard Glazier, forty dollars, for the benefit of the Custer Monument Association, as the proceeds of his lecture, at Detroit, on the evening of July 31, 1876, in aid of such association.

[Signed] L. S. Trowbridge,

William A. Throop,

Committee.

On the afternoon of August second, I went to Kitty's grave with her family and friends, where we arranged on the little mound our gifts of flowers. I placed my own offering—a crown—at her head. It was the last tribute, the "farewell" which we hoped might one day be lost in "welcome."

During my stay here, many friends extended invitations to visit them, but I was able to accept very few. Among those whom I met was my old comrade, Captain Charles G. Hampton, who was at the Russell House to greet me when I arrived. No one could have been more welcome. Captain Hampton and I began our somewhat peculiar acquaintance as classmates in the State Normal College at Albany, New York, in the spring of 1861, where we joined a military organization known later as the "Normal Company" of the "Ellsworth Avengers"—Forty-fourth New York Infantry—whose members were put through a course of drills in anticipation of future necessity, our voluntary drill masters being Professors Rodney G. Kimball and Albert N. Husted.

It was argued by the principal and by the faculty generally, that while young men were learning how to teach the schools of the State, it would be well also for them to be prepared to defend the flag of the State. We had just closed our term when President Lincoln issued his call for seventy-five thousand volunteers, and as it was not at this time the apparent intent of the Normal Company to enter the service as a body, we decided to enlist in some other organization.

Hampton went to Rochester where he joined the Eighth New York Cavalry, while I enlisted in the Second New York-Harris Light Cavalry, at Troy. We did not meet again until November, 1863—when, by the fortune of war, we both became inmates of Libby Prison. The circumstances that brought us there were, on his side, wounds and capture in an action with guerrillas under Mosby; on mine, capture in a cavalry battle near New Baltimore, Virginia, during Lee's retreat from the field of Gettysburg.

During our imprisonment at Richmond, Danville, Macon, Savannah, and Charleston, Captain Hampton and I belonged to separate messes, so that, while we met daily, we had very little intimate intercourse. At Columbia, however, it was different. We arrived there in the midst of a violent thunder-storm, and were marched to our "quarters," in an open yard where the water was running in streams. Hampton had managed to get possession of a board about twelve feet long when he met me, and immediately asked if I had anything to stand or lie on. Upon receiving a negative answer he said: "Come on, let us share this plank together." From this time we were messmates, being joined later by Lieutenant Arthur Richardson of Albany. When I escaped from Columbia I intrusted to Captain Hampton a small box in which I had kept some manuscripts and sketches, that I intended to use in future work. This he managed to keep until his exchange, when he expressed it to my home in Northern New York. We did not meet again until after the close of the war. The possession of the contents of this box was of inestimable value to me in getting out my first book, "Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape." Being embarrassed for funds before the first edition of it was published, I wrote to Captain Hampton, and by the next mail received a generous sum sufficient to carry me through that critical period. Since then he has been a most loyal friend and comrade, and during my stay here, did much to make enjoyable my visit to the city which he had chosen for his home.

One needs no friends though, to make Detroit attractive, for its past history and present beauty give it an unfailing interest. As to the latter, it can never be justly drawn, however vivid the description, nor truly understood, however careful the reader. It must be seen. As to its history, that is general and belongs to the country, and I know of no great American city which has a more romantic past.

In the days of the early explorers the present site was looked upon as favorable for a settlement, commanding as it does a rich tract of country and lying at the very entrance to the Upper Lakes. The Iroquois were then in possession and their village was known as Teusha Grondi. Both the English and French coveted this point, but the latter were more enterprising, and anticipated their rivals by making an appointment with the Iroquois for a great council at Montreal, in which the Governor-General of Canada and others were to have a voice. The wary Frenchmen presented their claims very plausibly, but failed to win the approbation of the equally wary Indians. They were told that their brothers, the Englishmen, had been refused, and that it was not well to show partiality; but this excuse had very little weight with the subjects of the Grande Monarque, who had been accustomed to make themselves at home generally. The Governor-General in an impressive speech replied that neither the Iroquois nor the English had any right to the land which belonged to the King of France, and that an expedition had been already sent out to establish a fort on the Detroit River!

This was indeed the case. La Motte Cadillac, with a Jesuit missionary and one hundred men, was on his way, while his countrymen, with the consistency which has ever marked the dealings between the red and white races, were asking permission of the Indians. The French fleet, composed of twenty-five birch canoes bearing the colors of France, reached the Detroit River in July, 1701. There was a telling significance in the floating of that flag over the boats decorated with Indian symbols and, if the savages had discerned it, the French commander and his followers would never have reached their destination. As it was, they came quietly as friends, and were allowed to establish themselves without interference.

On the first rise of ground overlooking the river, the palisades were raised and the guns set, and by the close of August, Fort Ponchartrain became a reality. The Miamis and Pottawattomies were soon induced to make a settlement near by, and afterwards a few Huron and Ottawa bands collected on the opposite shore of the river near the site of Windsor. The point quickly attracted the fur trader, being in a direct line from Michilimackinac to Montreal and Quebec. For sixty-two years the French held possession of Detroit, profiting by her superior location, and the friendship of the Indians, but their day ended when the sharp eyes of Wolfe discovered the steep ascent to the "Plains of Abraham," in Canada, and pointed a way for British supremacy.

The Treaty of Paris, which was the outcome of the French and Indian War, called for the surrender of all the forts held by the French, but news travelled so slowly that when Captain Rodgers with his two hundred rangers came to take possession of Fort Ponchartrain, he found still floating over it the flag of France. While on his way to execute this mission, he was met by Pontiac, the Ottawa chief, who was angered by the transfer of claimants to his land, and who demanded of Rodgers "what right he had in entering the dominion of the great Indian King without permission." The answer he received was far from satisfactory, but he bided his time to make his dissatisfaction felt. The same feeling was manifested everywhere by the Indian allies of the French, but their wrath was concentrated upon Detroit, on account of its being the great stronghold of the West.

In 1763, Pontiac had arranged his famous scheme for either annihilating the obnoxious new-comers or driving them east of the Alleghenies. They did not treat him so considerately as the old claimants, and he was far-seeing enough to realize the result. Aflame with hatred and determined to save his people from the fate that awaited them, he visited the great tribes that were friendly, and sought their co-operation. In a speech at the great council held at Ecorse on the twenty-seventh of April, 1762, he said, "As for these English—these dogs dressed in red who have come to rob you of your hunting-grounds and to drive away the game—you must lift the hatchet against them and wipe them from the face of the earth." The plan was worthy of a Napoleon. The confederated tribes were to attack simultaneously all the Western forts, while his particular band was to be brought against Detroit. This point he had expected to take by stratagem and would no doubt have succeeded but for the betrayal of the plot by an Ojibway maiden who was in love with the British commandant. The day before its execution this Indian girl brought Major Gladwyn a pair of moccasins which he had asked her to make for him, and on her way home with the remainder of the deer-skin, which he had furnished for the same purpose, she lingered about the gate so as to attract the attention of the sentinel. He saw that she seemed to be troubled about something, and asked her to return. Wavering between love and duty to her race, she hesitated; but finally the impulse of her heart prevailed, and returning to the room of the commandant, she told him the terrible secret.

Pontiac was to come to the fort on the morrow ostensibly to hold peaceful negotiations with his white brothers, but really to massacre them. His warriors, who had cunningly shortened their rifles by sawing off a part of the barrels, so that they might carry them concealed beneath their blankets, were to fall upon Gladwyn and his men at a given signal. This news was lightly received although the statements of the Indian girl seemed to be verified by a slight thread of evidence which had from time to time been brought to Gladwyn's notice. He laughed at the thought of danger at such a time, when the peace which had lasted for two years appeared so likely to continue; but while he doubted Pontiac's real intentions, he decided to be prepared for any issue. The guards were doubled, sentinels were stationed on the ramparts, and when the great chief came in the guise of friendship, he was completely nonplussed by the show of discipline in the garrison. Entering the north gate with his sixty blanketed conspirators, he found himself confronted by a double line of red-coated soldiers, their muskets held at "present arms." At the corners of the streets were groups of fur traders, and at regular intervals the silence was broken by the beating of drums.

Surprised at every turn, and fearing that his plot had been discovered, Pontiac walked on sullenly endeavoring to conceal his annoyance. When he reached the council-house he said to Gladwyn, "Why do I see so many of my father's young men standing in the streets with their guns?" The commandant lightly replied that he had just been drilling them to preserve discipline and that it was moreover a custom with the English to thus honor their guests. These suavely spoken words failed to reassure the chief, who sat down for a few moments without speaking; but having recovered his self-possession and assuming with it an habitual expression of stoical defiance, he arose and began his harangue. Gladwyn, he noticed, instead of listening to what was being said, kept his eyes steadfastly upon the movements of the other Indians, and when the belt of wampum was taken up and the chief began to reverse it in his hands—the signal for attack—Gladwyn made a quick motion and in an instant the dusky semi-circle was startled by the grounding of arms and the beating of drums.

Thus interrupted and foiled, Pontiac took his seat in silence. Gladwyn then arose, and began his speech as though nothing unusual had occurred; but after a few moments he changed his tone, accused Pontiac of treachery, and stepping quickly to the nearest Indian threw open his blanket and disclosed the hidden weapon. He then told Pontiac to leave the fort at once, assuring him that he would be allowed to go in safety. The unfortunate result of this act of clemency was very soon felt, for as soon as the Indians were outside of the gates, they turned and fired upon the garrison, thus beginning the terrible siege which was to last fifteen months.

Autumn approached, and, as the crops were poor, several of the tribes withdrew for the winter, but Pontiac, untiring in his efforts to harass his enemies, remained, sending messages in the meantime to several of the French posts, asking their help. In November he received word from the commandant of Fort Chartres on the Mississippi telling him that it was impossible for the French to give any help as they had signed a treaty with the English; and later similar messages reached him from other points. Still he did not give up. His allies had captured eight forts, and if he could take Detroit success would undoubtedly follow.

In the spring the tribes returned to renew the attack upon the wellnigh exhausted garrison, keeping up their fiendish tortures, capturing vessels sent with supplies and reinforcements, and bringing the handful of brave men within the palisades to the verge of despair. As summer advanced the anxious watchers, hearing the sunset gun thunder out across the water, thought that each night might be their last; but off in the East, General Bradstreet and his large force were starting to the rescue, and by midsummer they had crushed the hopes, if not the proud spirit of Pontiac. Sending one of his officers to this chief with terms of peace, his advances were received with the coldest disdain. Captain Morris, who was the ambassador, was met beyond the Indian camp by Pontiac himself, but the chief refused to extend his hand, and bending his glittering eyes upon the officer said, with a voice full of bitterness and hatred, "The English are liars!"

All attempts at conciliation were made in vain. Pontiac, taking with him four hundred warriors, went away, revisiting all the tribes, sending the wampum belt and hatchet stained with vermilion far and wide, and exhorting the Indians to unite in the common cause, threatening, if they refused, to consume them "as the fire consumes the dry grass of the prairie." He failed to rouse them, however, and was forced at last to return to Detroit and accept peace.

The feelings that surged in his savage heart, when he found himself thus defeated, can only be guessed. Chagrined and disappointed, he retired to Illinois, and there perished by the hand of an assassin. No stone marks his burial-place, "and the race whom he hated with such burning rancor trample with unceasing footsteps over his forgotten grave."

The early history of Detroit is full of tragedy, and although the beautiful river and its islands, the splendid forests and sunny fields that encompass it, seem to have been intended for peace and the play of romance, they were instead the scenes of treachery and carnage. During the war of the Revolution, Detroit and Mackinaw, far from the field of action, nevertheless had their share in it. From their magazines Indians were furnished with arms and ammunition and were sent out with these to harass and destroy the frontier settlements of New York, Pennsylvania, Virginia and Kentucky, receiving a price upon their return for the scalps which they brought! Besides these Indian expeditions, the local militia went out, at one time under Captain Byrd, and again under Henry Hamilton. The latter, in an attempt to protect the British interests on the Wabash, was cleverly captured at Vincennes by General George Clarke, who advanced upon this post with his men supported by a formidable but harmless device in the form of a cannon cut out of a tree. Hamilton, dreading the artillery, surrendered, and the people of Detroit, believing that the victor would march against them, erected a new fort near the present corner of Fort and Shelby streets, which they named Lenault. During the war of 1812, this name was changed and the post became known as Fort Shelby.

After the treaty of 1783 the western posts did not at once acknowledge American jurisdiction, and among these Detroit seemed to be the most defiant, but when Wayne effectually weakened the strength of the Indians, there was a general surrender, although the United States forces did not take actual possession until July eleventh, 1796. With childish spite, the British, upon leaving this fort, broke the windows of the barracks, filled the wells with stones and did all they could to annoy those who were to succeed them, and when General Hull came there as governor of the territory, it is possible that the ruin which he found was occasioned by the same spirit of revenge.

During the succeeding years, Detroit was again one of the points towards which an unpropitious fate pointed a finger. The Indians, still believing that the Americans were driving them from their land, were making preparations to attack the settlements, led on by the powerful influence of the two chiefs, Tecumseh and the Prophet.

At a grand council the assembled tribes were told, according to the policy of these chiefs, that the Great Spirit had appeared to chief Tront and had told him that He was the father of the English, French, Spaniards and Indians, but that the Americans were the sons of the Evil One! Under such influence the uprising which resulted in the war between Great Britain and the United States began.

When General Brock, seconded by Tecumseh, marched on Detroit, he requested of the Chief, in case the place was taken, that the inhabitants should be spared massacre, to which the haughty savage replied, "that he despised them too much to have anything to do with them." The result of this attack, and the inexplicable conduct of General Hull, had aroused a strong feeling of disgust, and universal sympathy was felt for those brave men, who, upon hearing that their superior officer was surrendering without an attempt at resistance, "dashed their muskets upon the ground in an agony of mingled shame and indignation."

Victories elsewhere finally obliged the British to evacuate, and on the eighteenth of October, General Harrison and Commodore Perry issued a proclamation from this fort, which once more assured the people of Michigan of protection.

Passing through the test of fire and sword, Detroit has gradually progressed in all those ways which go to make up a great and prosperous city. Fulfilling her natural destiny she has become one of the most important commercial centres in the United States, and as a port of entry can boast with reason of her strength. The narrow lanes which were enclosed within the pickets of Fort Ponchartrain, and trodden by men in the French uniform, in English red coats and in the skins of the deer and beaver, have reached out over many miles, and have become an intricate maze of streets and avenues, lined with homes and business houses which bear no trace of the old time block house and trader's cabin.

Here and there, where history is preserved, one finds a few relics of the "dead past" embalmed in paint or print or labelled within the glass case of a museum; but the present Detroit is interesting enough without these. In every direction it is brightened by parks and adorned by fountains; and the broad avenues lined by generous borders of grass and shaded by cool lines of trees, are something for Americans to be proud of, especially when they recall the fact that "Johnny Crapeau" once asserted that this particular corner of the new world belonged to the Grande Monarque; and "John Bull" in turn claimed it for his own.

One of the prettiest parts of the city, and perhaps within the possibility of description, is the Campus Martius. On it stands the suggestive if somewhat unusual monument designed by Randolph Rogers and erected by the city at a cost of sixty thousand dollars. The surmounting figure is that of an Indian maiden representing the State, and on the tablet beneath, the inscription tells us that it was placed there "in honor of the martyrs who fell and the heroes who fought in defence of Liberty and Union." Everywhere are evidences of a high appreciation of beauty and comfort, and if the people of Detroit are sometimes tempted to seek a change and rest on some of the little island resorts of the river, or on Lake St. Clair, it is not because their own homes are unattractive. Some one has said, "if places could speak, they would describe people far better than people can describe places," and this is especially true of this great city. It is impossible by words to do it justice. The public buildings, the thronged streets, the busy harbor, the shady avenues, must be seen to be appreciated, and there are very few places which will justify praise and repay expectation more liberally than this splendid City of the Strait.

CHAPTER XVIII.

DETROIT TO CHICAGO.

Eighty-fifth Day.

Inkster House,

Inkster, Michigan,

August 4, 1876.

Having before me a lecture appointment at Ypsilanti, which, considering the object I had in view through Michigan, I felt must be met, I rode out of Detroit at three o'clock in the afternoon, somewhat reluctantly perhaps, but within a very short time the love of travel was again upon me, and I found myself easily reconciled. Paul being in the most delightful spirits, after four days of unbroken rest, displayed quite a little animation as I mounted him in front of the residence of friends on Cass Avenue, and when we had reached the open country, I gave him the rein and allowed him to trot or gallop, as he felt inclined. The edge of his impatience having worn off, he resumed his habitual easy canter which made the saddle so enjoyable, and at this pace we covered fourteen miles, reaching our destination a few minutes after six o'clock. There was an agreeable if not decided contrast between the last stopping-place and the present one. A hundred towers announced the approach to a great city, as we neared Detroit; but here a solitary spire rose against the sky, and while the Detroit River teems, throughout its entire length with water-craft of all sorts, the almost unknown little river that winds along between Detroit and Inkster, is at this point as quiet as one of the untravelled streams of the North. The Michigan Central Railway follows its shore for many miles, and as I kept to the highway in the same direction, I could see it shining occasionally through an opening in the trees. The waters of this river are no doubt full of fish, as are all the streams of Michigan, and they have besides a fine characteristic—a sparkling clearness.

Eighty-sixth Day.

Hawkins House,

Ypsilanti, Michigan,

August Fifth.

A forbidding sky hung over Inkster as I took my seat in the saddle at ten o'clock, but "Forward" was the watchword, and there was moreover a charm in variety, for sunny skies had become rather monotonous and, under the circumstances, uncomfortable. The dust was well laid when we had gone only a short distance, but it rose again in a new form as Paul quickened his pace, so that we did not present a very dashing appearance to the Ypsilantians, after sixteen miles of such travel.

A SUMMER AFTERNOON.

Several times I was obliged to turn from the road, once taking shelter under a tree and again in a woodshed. There were in town, however, those who could excuse the appearance of a bespattered traveller—brave men who had gone from Ypsilanti in the early days of the Rebellion, and who had learned from long campaigning to look upon their comrades without criticism. The brave Fourteenth Infantry started out from here under Colonel Robert Sinclair, and joining Sherman in Georgia took a lively part in all the movements of his army, until the fall of Atlanta; numbering among their proudest achievements the repulse of the enemy at Bentonville, North Carolina, where the hurriedly constructed works of the Federals were charged and taken and then regained at the point of the bayonet; and their part in the battle of Jonesboro, Georgia, in 1864, which was the last of Sherman's brilliant operations around Atlanta. Many of these brave fellows perished on the field of battle, but enough remain to keep fresh the memory of those stirring days and to add the influence of their patriotism to the young Ypsilanti.

Eighty-seventh Day.

Hawkins House,

Ypsilanti, Michigan,

August Sixth.

On the previous evening I met a large number of men of the town, who gave me a hearty welcome, and as many of them were old soldiers, they expressed their satisfaction with the purpose of my lecture, favoring me with considerable enthusiasm in Union Hall.

The patriots of Michigan have many proud deeds to tell of, and are distinguished for their gallant service. Their military leaders were invariably zealous, and their civil leaders unceasing in their encouragement. "We cannot consent to have one star obliterated from our flag" was the sentiment, and with the saving of the Union at heart, the men went into battle.

During Wheeler's repulse at Strawberry Plains in August, 1864, eight Michigan men were left to guard McMillan's Ford on the Halston. One of these, knowing the danger of his position, deserted, leaving his seven companions to "hold the fort." This handful kept back a brigade under the Confederate general almost four hours, but the Rebels crossed above and below the ford and captured the guard. One of their number, a farrier, was wounded, and Wheeler coming up to him began a conversation. Finally Wheeler said, "Are all the Tenth Michigan like you fellows?" "Oh, no," said the other, "we are mostly horse farriers and blacksmiths and not much accustomed to fighting." "Well," said Wheeler, "if I had three hundred such men as you, I could march straight through h—l!"

Eighty-eighth Day.

McKune House,
Chelsea, Michigan,
August Seventh.

Left Ypsilanti bright and early in order to save time, for although nearly the middle of August, I still felt the intense heat, and the dry dusty roads often made my daily journeys far from agreeable. For several days the mercury ranged between 85° and 90°, and as the route was at this time due west, the sun nearly stared me out of countenance in the afternoon. Ann Arbor was reached about ten o'clock, but I did not take more than a passing glance at the University, noticing, however, that women as well as men were among the students—a recent and wise change in the law of the institution. The people were raising a flag over one of the buildings as I rode through, and on it in conspicuous letters were the names of Tilden and Hendricks.

Delhi, with no signs of a Lalla Rookh, and Scio, modest under the dignity of its suggestive Latin name, were quaint landmarks along my way, but I rode on a mile beyond to have dinner at Dexter. The Huron River has its source near here, in one of a cluster of lakelets, bordering on Livingstone and Washtenaw counties. All Michigan is covered with these small bodies of water, which, with the streams, lie upon its green surface like pearls in a network of silver.

Leaving Dexter, I had company all the way to Chelsea. Large flocks of sparrows flew along, lighting upon the telegraph wires, and as I approached they would fly away and settle again farther along, keeping up a kind of race, which was evidently fun for them, and which greatly amused me. It seemed as though they were tireless, and when I and my horse reached our destination fatigued, after twenty-six miles of travel in the sun, these strong-winged fellows were ready for another flight. I do not doubt that they easily accomplished the return journey, for we cannot compute the distance they can cover in a day. They are hardy little fellows and, despite the objections urged against them, have many admirable qualities, not the least among which is their tenacity of purpose.

Eighty-ninth Day.

Hurd House,
Jackson, Michigan,
August Eighth.

A few minutes after seven in the morning found me in the saddle at Chelsea. I stopped on my way at the Herald office and then struck off towards the main road, along which I cantered to Grass Lake, where I had dinner and remained until three o'clock. This rest was thoroughly enjoyed, the more so perhaps, as I learned before leaving Chelsea that if my advance agents had not made arrangements for me elsewhere, the people would have asked me to lecture here. In that event I should not have been so familiar with the quiet charms of Grass Lake.

Probably there are those who, if they had been in my place, would have denied themselves these halts along the way, but they would have been deprived of a double gratification. In the first place they would miss much of the character of the country through which they passed, the real difference in the manners and customs of the people; and they would miss the opportunity of assuring the credulous that they were not making a test ride across the continent within a certain time and for a certain reward.

News often travels incredibly fast when there are no evident means of communication, and I was often amused by the curiosity which my advent excited and the reasons which were whispered about in the villages through which I passed, as to the object of my journey. Indeed many Michiganders, from quiet haunts in their native wilds, made short pilgrimages "to town" in order to look at one whom they fancied might hold a proud place for having crossed the continent in so many days, hours and seconds. My horse even was looked upon with awe, as "the charger upon which General Washington rode during the war of the Revolution!" But this anachronism belongs to New York.

Leaving Grass Lake late in the afternoon, it was necessary to make better time in order to cover the remainder of the twenty three miles lying between Chelsea and Jackson. The pace quickened. I came into the latter city at six o'clock, and rode directly to the hotel.

Ninetieth Day.

Hurd House,

Jackson, Michigan,

August Ninth.

I clipped the following notice from the Citizen of this date, as a memento of my stay at Jackson. It chronicled the fact that:

"Captain Willard Glazier lectured last evening in the interest of the Custer Monument Fund. His lecture was a good historical review delivered with graceful rhetoric and at times real eloquence. The Captain is still in the city giving his horse a rest; a noble Kentucky Black Hawk, whom he has ridden all the way from Boston, and whom he expects to carry him to San Francisco. He starts to-morrow morning for Battle Creek, where he lectures on Saturday evening."

My advance agent, Babcock, went on to Battle Creek in the morning, where arrangements were made with local committees for my lecture on the twelfth. After he had gone I made a leisurely inspection of the city. It was impossible to do more on account of the extreme heat.

This may no doubt be considered the centre of the closely populated southern end of Michigan, a region dear, in times past, to the heart of the Indian, but which knows him no more. A Chippewa chief standing upon this soil, once said: "These lakes, these woods, these mountains were left to us by our ancestors; they are our inheritance, and we will part with them to no one." He knew not the strength of the pale faces who listened; for within a few years they were ready to claim, on the same grounds, those hills, and lakes, and mountains for their own.

Compared to the peninsula, whose mineral-laden shores are washed by Superior, Michigan and Huron, there is the greatest contrast; and La Hontan, making a little exploratory trip up there before anyone else, called it "the fag end of the world." These words might still be applied to some of the wildest northern points, but here is the very heart of civilization.

Jackson lies in the coal fields that reach down through several of the southern counties. This deposit is not rich, owing to the amount of sulphur in it, and the demand is chiefly local. The Grand River divides the town and, with the bridge that spans it, adds much to the picturesque effect.

Ninety-first Day.

Cooley House,

Parma, Michigan,

August Tenth.

Spent the forenoon in my room at the Hurd House, Jackson, writing letters to my wife, Major Hastings and others. In the afternoon there was a street parade of Howe's London Circus which was a very fantastic affair, but which seemed to be hugely enjoyed by everybody. Later in the day the great tent was upset by a gust of wind, accompanied by a thunder-shower, and a droll scene followed, which caused considerable excitement. The people were left exposed with the rain coming down upon them in torrents. So far I have seen nothing more amusing than the country boys and girls rushing up town drenched, and for once at least indifferent to the charms of the "big show."

The storm having passed, I ordered Paul after supper, rode down to the office of the Patriot and Citizen, and after a few minutes' conversation with the editor, hurried on toward Parma, which was reached late in the evening. The ride in the dark was cool, but somewhat lonely.

It was probably on such nights as this that young Dean, the enterprising settler of years ago, played his nocturnal tricks upon his neighbors. He came out to Michigan when it was a wilderness, to make his fortune by clearing land at ten dollars an acre, and while he was drudging he expected to have a little fun. It was his habit to work away all day chopping trees within an inch of the falling point, and then about ten o'clock, when the settlers were well asleep, to go out and give a blow to the end tree, so that it would fall against the others and send them crashing like a row of ninepins. How the old forests must have rung with their thundering and how that plotter Dean must have relished his mischief!

As I approached Parma, in the darkness I could see nothing about the village to suggest that other Parma, far away under an Italian sky, but there is a resemblance, for the European duchy and its modest American namesake both lie in a rich agricultural region; and if I mistake not the dull white freestone that is quarried here in such large quantities, finds a prototype over the sea.