Chapter XXIII.A Visit to Prudence Crandall.Ireached Denver, and went to the bicycle club rooms one evening, meeting Mr. Van Horne, and many other good fellows, but was sorry not to again see Mr. C. C. Hopkins, fancy rider, whose acquaintance I made on my other visit here. The prospect of wheeling across the State of Kansas was not very encouraging, the country being fairly flooded with water, and so I took the train again, and the next afternoon left it at Emporia, a thriving town in Kansas, on the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad, with the purpose of visiting Prudence Crandall Philleo (of almost national renown), at her home at Elk Falls. Here the rainfall had been very slight and the roads were in excellent condition, so that after traveling so many days on the cars and taking no exercise on the wheel, I returned to the saddle with the keenest enjoyment.But the corduroy knickerbockers, which I then put on again, felt very stiff and clumsy after wearing thinner ones so long, and they will be the last corduroy trousers I shall ever have. The country south of Emporia, for eighty or ninety miles, is a gentle rolling prairie, which looks as freshand green as in the spring, and the timber and numerous farm-houses tend to break up what little monotony there is in the prospect. But all the enjoyment of the trip was soon swept away by a drizzling rain which set in on the second day of the ride, and I was glad to find even a grassy place on the side of the road to walk on, for in the road the sticky black clay would clog up under the saddle and entirely stop the wheel. However, after pushing the machine along in this manner for eighteen or twenty miles, I was made glad by the sight of Elk Falls, a town of seven or eight hundred inhabitants, situated within thirty miles of the northern border of the Indian “Nation.”The town is surrounded by low hills, and a good patch of timber is close by, so that the general appearance of the country is very different from the level, treeless prairie, so common west of the Missouri River. Inquiring at the first house I came to, the man said, pointing to a house west of us on the brow of a hill, “Mrs. Philleo lives out on that farm, about a mile and a half from town. A Mr. Williams lives with her and takes care of the farm, but she goes around lecturing some, talking on temperance, spiritualism, and so on.” I had ridden part way out there, when in answer to another inquiry, I was told: “Mrs. Philleo, since she got her pension from New Jersey, has bought a place in town, and lives next house to the Methodist Church.”So turning about, riding through the place, and going around to the back door of the house, which was a plain story and a half, with an ell on the back side, I was pleasantly received by Mr. Williams, a man of 35, with brown hair and mustache, large blue eyes, and a most sympathetic, almost affectionate, manner. “Mrs. Philleo,” he explained, “is at church. She enjoys excellent health, and it is wonderful how much she, a woman of 84 years, can endure.Yesterday she wanted to ride over to the farm and see about some things, and before I was ready to come home she started on foot and got clear home before I overtook her, and she didn’t seem tired either.” Just then Mrs. Philleo came in, and said cordially, “I am glad to see any one from good old Connecticut.” As she removed her bonnet, it showed a good growth of sandy gray hair, smoothed back with a common round comb, and cut straight around, the ends curling around in under and in front of her ears; of medium height, but somewhat bent and spare, and with blue eyes, and a face very wrinkled, and rather long; her chin quite prominent, and a solitary tooth on her upper jaw, the only one seen in her mouth.She smiled with her eyes, and with a pleasant voice, said: “Come, you must be hungry, coming so far” (I had only told her then I came from Connecticut on the bicycle), and she urged the apple pie, ginger snaps, johnny-cakes, potatoes, ham, bread and butter, and tea, upon me promiscuously, and in great profusion. “No; as my grandmother used to say, I never break a cup, you must take another full one. Now do you make yourself at home; I know you must be tired. Why, you have seen enough to write a book. [This, after I had explained more fully the extent of the trip.] When you get home you must write up an account of your journey for some newspaper. [Further explanation seemed unadvisable just then.] Now come into the other room; I want to show you some pictures.”So, talking every minute, we went into the sitting-room, and drawing up rocking-chairs, we sat down cosily together. “I am going to have these photographs of these noble men all put into a frame together. I don’t want them in an album, for I have to turn and turn the leaves so much. I want them in a frame, so I can get the inspiration from themat a glance. This is Samuel Coit, who did so much last winter in my behalf, and this is S. A. Hubbard of theCourant. This is ——. Why I see you know all of these noble souls. Well, I want to read you a letter he sent me,” and she slowly picked out the words of the writer who said, among other generous things, that he would be only too glad to load her down with any number of his books, and would send her a complete file of them. The letter was signed Samuel L. Clemens.“But,” she added, “he has never sent them. Probably so busy he forgot it. I do wish I could see them, for I had a chance once to read part of ‘Innocents Abroad,’ and I do like his beautiful style of expression. And here is Major Kinney, and George G. Sumner, and Rev. Mr. Twichell. What grand good men they are. And this—you say you have heard him preach! How much I would give to hear that great soul speak,” and she handed me Rev. Mr. Kimball’s photograph, and several others, every one of which is more precious to her than gold. In this collection also, were photographs of William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips, and other anti-slavery friends of hers, and I noticed several others of Garrison framed and hung about the house. When I expressed the opinion that the amount of her pension was too small in proportion to the injury inflicted, she said: “O, I am so thankful for that. It is so much better than nothing.”During the evening, the collection was again displayed to a visitor, and it is plain to be seen, the sight of those faces does her a great amount of good. She and I went through them again the next day. After breakfast, I sat down to glance through a book I had seen her reading, “Is Darwin Right,” by William Denton of Massachusetts. Soon she came into thesitting-roomwith a pan of apples, and drawinga low rocking-chair up in front of me said, “Now you must stop reading, for I want to talk,” and we talked. In fact, she became as interested in the conversation, and so far forgot herself that, in cutting out the worm-holes from the apples, she once put the worthless portion into her mouth, and munched it thoroughly before she discovered her mistake. The conversation drifted from one subject to another, and on her part it was carried on in a clear, connected, and enlightened manner.I can only give a few sentences of hers. “My whole life has been one of opposition. I never could find any one near me to agree with me. Even my husband opposed me, more than anyone. He would not let me read the books that he himself read, but I did read them. I read all sides, and searched for the truth whether it was in science, religion, or humanity. I sometimes think I would like to live somewhere else. Here, in Elk Falls, there is nothing for my soul to feed upon. Nothing, unless it comes from abroad in the shape of books, newspapers, and so on. There is no public library, and there are but one or two persons in the place that I can converse with profitably for any length of time. No one visits me, and I begin to think they are afraid of me. I think the ministers are afraid I shall upset their religious beliefs, and advise the members of their congregation not to call on me, but I don’t care. I speak on spiritualism sometimes, but more on temperance, and am a self-appointed member of the International Arbitration League. I don’t want to die yet. I want to live long enough to see some of these reforms consummated. I never had any children of my own to love, but I love every human being, and I want to do what I can for their good.”After dinner while I was reading—for there is a host of good books in the house—she sat down to copy off a shortaccount of my trip I had written at her request the night before for a local paper, but every few minutes she would stop to talk on some subject that had just entered her mind, and sometimes we would both commence speaking at the same instant. “Go ahead,” she would say, or “keep on, I have kept hold of that idea I had,” pressing her thumb and forefinger together, and then again she would say, “When you get another idea just let it out.” And so two days passed, very pleasantly, for me at least. There was no subject upon which I was conversant, but that she was competent to talk and even lead in the conversation, and she introduced many subjects to which I found I could only listen. At night Mr. Williams’s bed and my own were in the same room, and this gave him an opportunity to say of Mrs. Philleo, “I never knew a person of a more even temperament. She is never low spirited, never greatly elated. When things don’t go right she never frets.” And of him, when he was off at work, she said, “You don’t know how much comfort I get from my adopted son. We have lived together nearly four years, and my prayer is that he will grow up a noble man to do all the good he can in this world,” and I can add, judging from his conversation, he has a mind so broad and intelligent that he is fully abreast and even a little beyond her in mental growth, and that is saying a good deal. The last thing she said as I left them was, “if the people of Connecticut only knew how happy I am, and how thankful I am to them, it would make them happy too.”Surely she has one of three graces, the greatest of the three, charity for every one. Of strong religious convictions, a thorough spiritualist herself, she respects the beliefs of others, and uttered in my presence not a word ill of any one. The State of Connecticut certainly is to be congratulated that it did not neglect its opportunity last winter. What a shamehad this good woman, this great mind, gone to another world without having even that slight justice done it. Very few people in Connecticut realize what a narrow escape they had from a lasting disgrace.The ride on the return to Emporia was uneventful, excepting that a break in the head of the machine obliged me to take the train sooner than I expected, and after a short stop in Kansas City, to keep on by rail to this place where there are facilities for repairing the break.At Kansas City I met Mr. C. B. Ellis, dealer in bicycles, and one or two other wheelmen. In meeting, as I have on the trip, many Connecticut people who have settled in the West, it is pleasant to have them all or nearly all express the desire to return East to live, sometime, when they have made money enough. Some place that wished-for event ten years hence, others longer, but all show that the “good old State of Connecticut” occupies a prominent place in their future plans and prospects. It is their ideal of a place to live in. It is mine.Miles traveled on the wheel, 3,627.
Chapter XXIII.A Visit to Prudence Crandall.Ireached Denver, and went to the bicycle club rooms one evening, meeting Mr. Van Horne, and many other good fellows, but was sorry not to again see Mr. C. C. Hopkins, fancy rider, whose acquaintance I made on my other visit here. The prospect of wheeling across the State of Kansas was not very encouraging, the country being fairly flooded with water, and so I took the train again, and the next afternoon left it at Emporia, a thriving town in Kansas, on the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad, with the purpose of visiting Prudence Crandall Philleo (of almost national renown), at her home at Elk Falls. Here the rainfall had been very slight and the roads were in excellent condition, so that after traveling so many days on the cars and taking no exercise on the wheel, I returned to the saddle with the keenest enjoyment.But the corduroy knickerbockers, which I then put on again, felt very stiff and clumsy after wearing thinner ones so long, and they will be the last corduroy trousers I shall ever have. The country south of Emporia, for eighty or ninety miles, is a gentle rolling prairie, which looks as freshand green as in the spring, and the timber and numerous farm-houses tend to break up what little monotony there is in the prospect. But all the enjoyment of the trip was soon swept away by a drizzling rain which set in on the second day of the ride, and I was glad to find even a grassy place on the side of the road to walk on, for in the road the sticky black clay would clog up under the saddle and entirely stop the wheel. However, after pushing the machine along in this manner for eighteen or twenty miles, I was made glad by the sight of Elk Falls, a town of seven or eight hundred inhabitants, situated within thirty miles of the northern border of the Indian “Nation.”The town is surrounded by low hills, and a good patch of timber is close by, so that the general appearance of the country is very different from the level, treeless prairie, so common west of the Missouri River. Inquiring at the first house I came to, the man said, pointing to a house west of us on the brow of a hill, “Mrs. Philleo lives out on that farm, about a mile and a half from town. A Mr. Williams lives with her and takes care of the farm, but she goes around lecturing some, talking on temperance, spiritualism, and so on.” I had ridden part way out there, when in answer to another inquiry, I was told: “Mrs. Philleo, since she got her pension from New Jersey, has bought a place in town, and lives next house to the Methodist Church.”So turning about, riding through the place, and going around to the back door of the house, which was a plain story and a half, with an ell on the back side, I was pleasantly received by Mr. Williams, a man of 35, with brown hair and mustache, large blue eyes, and a most sympathetic, almost affectionate, manner. “Mrs. Philleo,” he explained, “is at church. She enjoys excellent health, and it is wonderful how much she, a woman of 84 years, can endure.Yesterday she wanted to ride over to the farm and see about some things, and before I was ready to come home she started on foot and got clear home before I overtook her, and she didn’t seem tired either.” Just then Mrs. Philleo came in, and said cordially, “I am glad to see any one from good old Connecticut.” As she removed her bonnet, it showed a good growth of sandy gray hair, smoothed back with a common round comb, and cut straight around, the ends curling around in under and in front of her ears; of medium height, but somewhat bent and spare, and with blue eyes, and a face very wrinkled, and rather long; her chin quite prominent, and a solitary tooth on her upper jaw, the only one seen in her mouth.She smiled with her eyes, and with a pleasant voice, said: “Come, you must be hungry, coming so far” (I had only told her then I came from Connecticut on the bicycle), and she urged the apple pie, ginger snaps, johnny-cakes, potatoes, ham, bread and butter, and tea, upon me promiscuously, and in great profusion. “No; as my grandmother used to say, I never break a cup, you must take another full one. Now do you make yourself at home; I know you must be tired. Why, you have seen enough to write a book. [This, after I had explained more fully the extent of the trip.] When you get home you must write up an account of your journey for some newspaper. [Further explanation seemed unadvisable just then.] Now come into the other room; I want to show you some pictures.”So, talking every minute, we went into the sitting-room, and drawing up rocking-chairs, we sat down cosily together. “I am going to have these photographs of these noble men all put into a frame together. I don’t want them in an album, for I have to turn and turn the leaves so much. I want them in a frame, so I can get the inspiration from themat a glance. This is Samuel Coit, who did so much last winter in my behalf, and this is S. A. Hubbard of theCourant. This is ——. Why I see you know all of these noble souls. Well, I want to read you a letter he sent me,” and she slowly picked out the words of the writer who said, among other generous things, that he would be only too glad to load her down with any number of his books, and would send her a complete file of them. The letter was signed Samuel L. Clemens.“But,” she added, “he has never sent them. Probably so busy he forgot it. I do wish I could see them, for I had a chance once to read part of ‘Innocents Abroad,’ and I do like his beautiful style of expression. And here is Major Kinney, and George G. Sumner, and Rev. Mr. Twichell. What grand good men they are. And this—you say you have heard him preach! How much I would give to hear that great soul speak,” and she handed me Rev. Mr. Kimball’s photograph, and several others, every one of which is more precious to her than gold. In this collection also, were photographs of William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips, and other anti-slavery friends of hers, and I noticed several others of Garrison framed and hung about the house. When I expressed the opinion that the amount of her pension was too small in proportion to the injury inflicted, she said: “O, I am so thankful for that. It is so much better than nothing.”During the evening, the collection was again displayed to a visitor, and it is plain to be seen, the sight of those faces does her a great amount of good. She and I went through them again the next day. After breakfast, I sat down to glance through a book I had seen her reading, “Is Darwin Right,” by William Denton of Massachusetts. Soon she came into thesitting-roomwith a pan of apples, and drawinga low rocking-chair up in front of me said, “Now you must stop reading, for I want to talk,” and we talked. In fact, she became as interested in the conversation, and so far forgot herself that, in cutting out the worm-holes from the apples, she once put the worthless portion into her mouth, and munched it thoroughly before she discovered her mistake. The conversation drifted from one subject to another, and on her part it was carried on in a clear, connected, and enlightened manner.I can only give a few sentences of hers. “My whole life has been one of opposition. I never could find any one near me to agree with me. Even my husband opposed me, more than anyone. He would not let me read the books that he himself read, but I did read them. I read all sides, and searched for the truth whether it was in science, religion, or humanity. I sometimes think I would like to live somewhere else. Here, in Elk Falls, there is nothing for my soul to feed upon. Nothing, unless it comes from abroad in the shape of books, newspapers, and so on. There is no public library, and there are but one or two persons in the place that I can converse with profitably for any length of time. No one visits me, and I begin to think they are afraid of me. I think the ministers are afraid I shall upset their religious beliefs, and advise the members of their congregation not to call on me, but I don’t care. I speak on spiritualism sometimes, but more on temperance, and am a self-appointed member of the International Arbitration League. I don’t want to die yet. I want to live long enough to see some of these reforms consummated. I never had any children of my own to love, but I love every human being, and I want to do what I can for their good.”After dinner while I was reading—for there is a host of good books in the house—she sat down to copy off a shortaccount of my trip I had written at her request the night before for a local paper, but every few minutes she would stop to talk on some subject that had just entered her mind, and sometimes we would both commence speaking at the same instant. “Go ahead,” she would say, or “keep on, I have kept hold of that idea I had,” pressing her thumb and forefinger together, and then again she would say, “When you get another idea just let it out.” And so two days passed, very pleasantly, for me at least. There was no subject upon which I was conversant, but that she was competent to talk and even lead in the conversation, and she introduced many subjects to which I found I could only listen. At night Mr. Williams’s bed and my own were in the same room, and this gave him an opportunity to say of Mrs. Philleo, “I never knew a person of a more even temperament. She is never low spirited, never greatly elated. When things don’t go right she never frets.” And of him, when he was off at work, she said, “You don’t know how much comfort I get from my adopted son. We have lived together nearly four years, and my prayer is that he will grow up a noble man to do all the good he can in this world,” and I can add, judging from his conversation, he has a mind so broad and intelligent that he is fully abreast and even a little beyond her in mental growth, and that is saying a good deal. The last thing she said as I left them was, “if the people of Connecticut only knew how happy I am, and how thankful I am to them, it would make them happy too.”Surely she has one of three graces, the greatest of the three, charity for every one. Of strong religious convictions, a thorough spiritualist herself, she respects the beliefs of others, and uttered in my presence not a word ill of any one. The State of Connecticut certainly is to be congratulated that it did not neglect its opportunity last winter. What a shamehad this good woman, this great mind, gone to another world without having even that slight justice done it. Very few people in Connecticut realize what a narrow escape they had from a lasting disgrace.The ride on the return to Emporia was uneventful, excepting that a break in the head of the machine obliged me to take the train sooner than I expected, and after a short stop in Kansas City, to keep on by rail to this place where there are facilities for repairing the break.At Kansas City I met Mr. C. B. Ellis, dealer in bicycles, and one or two other wheelmen. In meeting, as I have on the trip, many Connecticut people who have settled in the West, it is pleasant to have them all or nearly all express the desire to return East to live, sometime, when they have made money enough. Some place that wished-for event ten years hence, others longer, but all show that the “good old State of Connecticut” occupies a prominent place in their future plans and prospects. It is their ideal of a place to live in. It is mine.Miles traveled on the wheel, 3,627.
Chapter XXIII.A Visit to Prudence Crandall.
Ireached Denver, and went to the bicycle club rooms one evening, meeting Mr. Van Horne, and many other good fellows, but was sorry not to again see Mr. C. C. Hopkins, fancy rider, whose acquaintance I made on my other visit here. The prospect of wheeling across the State of Kansas was not very encouraging, the country being fairly flooded with water, and so I took the train again, and the next afternoon left it at Emporia, a thriving town in Kansas, on the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad, with the purpose of visiting Prudence Crandall Philleo (of almost national renown), at her home at Elk Falls. Here the rainfall had been very slight and the roads were in excellent condition, so that after traveling so many days on the cars and taking no exercise on the wheel, I returned to the saddle with the keenest enjoyment.But the corduroy knickerbockers, which I then put on again, felt very stiff and clumsy after wearing thinner ones so long, and they will be the last corduroy trousers I shall ever have. The country south of Emporia, for eighty or ninety miles, is a gentle rolling prairie, which looks as freshand green as in the spring, and the timber and numerous farm-houses tend to break up what little monotony there is in the prospect. But all the enjoyment of the trip was soon swept away by a drizzling rain which set in on the second day of the ride, and I was glad to find even a grassy place on the side of the road to walk on, for in the road the sticky black clay would clog up under the saddle and entirely stop the wheel. However, after pushing the machine along in this manner for eighteen or twenty miles, I was made glad by the sight of Elk Falls, a town of seven or eight hundred inhabitants, situated within thirty miles of the northern border of the Indian “Nation.”The town is surrounded by low hills, and a good patch of timber is close by, so that the general appearance of the country is very different from the level, treeless prairie, so common west of the Missouri River. Inquiring at the first house I came to, the man said, pointing to a house west of us on the brow of a hill, “Mrs. Philleo lives out on that farm, about a mile and a half from town. A Mr. Williams lives with her and takes care of the farm, but she goes around lecturing some, talking on temperance, spiritualism, and so on.” I had ridden part way out there, when in answer to another inquiry, I was told: “Mrs. Philleo, since she got her pension from New Jersey, has bought a place in town, and lives next house to the Methodist Church.”So turning about, riding through the place, and going around to the back door of the house, which was a plain story and a half, with an ell on the back side, I was pleasantly received by Mr. Williams, a man of 35, with brown hair and mustache, large blue eyes, and a most sympathetic, almost affectionate, manner. “Mrs. Philleo,” he explained, “is at church. She enjoys excellent health, and it is wonderful how much she, a woman of 84 years, can endure.Yesterday she wanted to ride over to the farm and see about some things, and before I was ready to come home she started on foot and got clear home before I overtook her, and she didn’t seem tired either.” Just then Mrs. Philleo came in, and said cordially, “I am glad to see any one from good old Connecticut.” As she removed her bonnet, it showed a good growth of sandy gray hair, smoothed back with a common round comb, and cut straight around, the ends curling around in under and in front of her ears; of medium height, but somewhat bent and spare, and with blue eyes, and a face very wrinkled, and rather long; her chin quite prominent, and a solitary tooth on her upper jaw, the only one seen in her mouth.She smiled with her eyes, and with a pleasant voice, said: “Come, you must be hungry, coming so far” (I had only told her then I came from Connecticut on the bicycle), and she urged the apple pie, ginger snaps, johnny-cakes, potatoes, ham, bread and butter, and tea, upon me promiscuously, and in great profusion. “No; as my grandmother used to say, I never break a cup, you must take another full one. Now do you make yourself at home; I know you must be tired. Why, you have seen enough to write a book. [This, after I had explained more fully the extent of the trip.] When you get home you must write up an account of your journey for some newspaper. [Further explanation seemed unadvisable just then.] Now come into the other room; I want to show you some pictures.”So, talking every minute, we went into the sitting-room, and drawing up rocking-chairs, we sat down cosily together. “I am going to have these photographs of these noble men all put into a frame together. I don’t want them in an album, for I have to turn and turn the leaves so much. I want them in a frame, so I can get the inspiration from themat a glance. This is Samuel Coit, who did so much last winter in my behalf, and this is S. A. Hubbard of theCourant. This is ——. Why I see you know all of these noble souls. Well, I want to read you a letter he sent me,” and she slowly picked out the words of the writer who said, among other generous things, that he would be only too glad to load her down with any number of his books, and would send her a complete file of them. The letter was signed Samuel L. Clemens.“But,” she added, “he has never sent them. Probably so busy he forgot it. I do wish I could see them, for I had a chance once to read part of ‘Innocents Abroad,’ and I do like his beautiful style of expression. And here is Major Kinney, and George G. Sumner, and Rev. Mr. Twichell. What grand good men they are. And this—you say you have heard him preach! How much I would give to hear that great soul speak,” and she handed me Rev. Mr. Kimball’s photograph, and several others, every one of which is more precious to her than gold. In this collection also, were photographs of William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips, and other anti-slavery friends of hers, and I noticed several others of Garrison framed and hung about the house. When I expressed the opinion that the amount of her pension was too small in proportion to the injury inflicted, she said: “O, I am so thankful for that. It is so much better than nothing.”During the evening, the collection was again displayed to a visitor, and it is plain to be seen, the sight of those faces does her a great amount of good. She and I went through them again the next day. After breakfast, I sat down to glance through a book I had seen her reading, “Is Darwin Right,” by William Denton of Massachusetts. Soon she came into thesitting-roomwith a pan of apples, and drawinga low rocking-chair up in front of me said, “Now you must stop reading, for I want to talk,” and we talked. In fact, she became as interested in the conversation, and so far forgot herself that, in cutting out the worm-holes from the apples, she once put the worthless portion into her mouth, and munched it thoroughly before she discovered her mistake. The conversation drifted from one subject to another, and on her part it was carried on in a clear, connected, and enlightened manner.I can only give a few sentences of hers. “My whole life has been one of opposition. I never could find any one near me to agree with me. Even my husband opposed me, more than anyone. He would not let me read the books that he himself read, but I did read them. I read all sides, and searched for the truth whether it was in science, religion, or humanity. I sometimes think I would like to live somewhere else. Here, in Elk Falls, there is nothing for my soul to feed upon. Nothing, unless it comes from abroad in the shape of books, newspapers, and so on. There is no public library, and there are but one or two persons in the place that I can converse with profitably for any length of time. No one visits me, and I begin to think they are afraid of me. I think the ministers are afraid I shall upset their religious beliefs, and advise the members of their congregation not to call on me, but I don’t care. I speak on spiritualism sometimes, but more on temperance, and am a self-appointed member of the International Arbitration League. I don’t want to die yet. I want to live long enough to see some of these reforms consummated. I never had any children of my own to love, but I love every human being, and I want to do what I can for their good.”After dinner while I was reading—for there is a host of good books in the house—she sat down to copy off a shortaccount of my trip I had written at her request the night before for a local paper, but every few minutes she would stop to talk on some subject that had just entered her mind, and sometimes we would both commence speaking at the same instant. “Go ahead,” she would say, or “keep on, I have kept hold of that idea I had,” pressing her thumb and forefinger together, and then again she would say, “When you get another idea just let it out.” And so two days passed, very pleasantly, for me at least. There was no subject upon which I was conversant, but that she was competent to talk and even lead in the conversation, and she introduced many subjects to which I found I could only listen. At night Mr. Williams’s bed and my own were in the same room, and this gave him an opportunity to say of Mrs. Philleo, “I never knew a person of a more even temperament. She is never low spirited, never greatly elated. When things don’t go right she never frets.” And of him, when he was off at work, she said, “You don’t know how much comfort I get from my adopted son. We have lived together nearly four years, and my prayer is that he will grow up a noble man to do all the good he can in this world,” and I can add, judging from his conversation, he has a mind so broad and intelligent that he is fully abreast and even a little beyond her in mental growth, and that is saying a good deal. The last thing she said as I left them was, “if the people of Connecticut only knew how happy I am, and how thankful I am to them, it would make them happy too.”Surely she has one of three graces, the greatest of the three, charity for every one. Of strong religious convictions, a thorough spiritualist herself, she respects the beliefs of others, and uttered in my presence not a word ill of any one. The State of Connecticut certainly is to be congratulated that it did not neglect its opportunity last winter. What a shamehad this good woman, this great mind, gone to another world without having even that slight justice done it. Very few people in Connecticut realize what a narrow escape they had from a lasting disgrace.The ride on the return to Emporia was uneventful, excepting that a break in the head of the machine obliged me to take the train sooner than I expected, and after a short stop in Kansas City, to keep on by rail to this place where there are facilities for repairing the break.At Kansas City I met Mr. C. B. Ellis, dealer in bicycles, and one or two other wheelmen. In meeting, as I have on the trip, many Connecticut people who have settled in the West, it is pleasant to have them all or nearly all express the desire to return East to live, sometime, when they have made money enough. Some place that wished-for event ten years hence, others longer, but all show that the “good old State of Connecticut” occupies a prominent place in their future plans and prospects. It is their ideal of a place to live in. It is mine.Miles traveled on the wheel, 3,627.
Ireached Denver, and went to the bicycle club rooms one evening, meeting Mr. Van Horne, and many other good fellows, but was sorry not to again see Mr. C. C. Hopkins, fancy rider, whose acquaintance I made on my other visit here. The prospect of wheeling across the State of Kansas was not very encouraging, the country being fairly flooded with water, and so I took the train again, and the next afternoon left it at Emporia, a thriving town in Kansas, on the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad, with the purpose of visiting Prudence Crandall Philleo (of almost national renown), at her home at Elk Falls. Here the rainfall had been very slight and the roads were in excellent condition, so that after traveling so many days on the cars and taking no exercise on the wheel, I returned to the saddle with the keenest enjoyment.
But the corduroy knickerbockers, which I then put on again, felt very stiff and clumsy after wearing thinner ones so long, and they will be the last corduroy trousers I shall ever have. The country south of Emporia, for eighty or ninety miles, is a gentle rolling prairie, which looks as freshand green as in the spring, and the timber and numerous farm-houses tend to break up what little monotony there is in the prospect. But all the enjoyment of the trip was soon swept away by a drizzling rain which set in on the second day of the ride, and I was glad to find even a grassy place on the side of the road to walk on, for in the road the sticky black clay would clog up under the saddle and entirely stop the wheel. However, after pushing the machine along in this manner for eighteen or twenty miles, I was made glad by the sight of Elk Falls, a town of seven or eight hundred inhabitants, situated within thirty miles of the northern border of the Indian “Nation.”
The town is surrounded by low hills, and a good patch of timber is close by, so that the general appearance of the country is very different from the level, treeless prairie, so common west of the Missouri River. Inquiring at the first house I came to, the man said, pointing to a house west of us on the brow of a hill, “Mrs. Philleo lives out on that farm, about a mile and a half from town. A Mr. Williams lives with her and takes care of the farm, but she goes around lecturing some, talking on temperance, spiritualism, and so on.” I had ridden part way out there, when in answer to another inquiry, I was told: “Mrs. Philleo, since she got her pension from New Jersey, has bought a place in town, and lives next house to the Methodist Church.”
So turning about, riding through the place, and going around to the back door of the house, which was a plain story and a half, with an ell on the back side, I was pleasantly received by Mr. Williams, a man of 35, with brown hair and mustache, large blue eyes, and a most sympathetic, almost affectionate, manner. “Mrs. Philleo,” he explained, “is at church. She enjoys excellent health, and it is wonderful how much she, a woman of 84 years, can endure.Yesterday she wanted to ride over to the farm and see about some things, and before I was ready to come home she started on foot and got clear home before I overtook her, and she didn’t seem tired either.” Just then Mrs. Philleo came in, and said cordially, “I am glad to see any one from good old Connecticut.” As she removed her bonnet, it showed a good growth of sandy gray hair, smoothed back with a common round comb, and cut straight around, the ends curling around in under and in front of her ears; of medium height, but somewhat bent and spare, and with blue eyes, and a face very wrinkled, and rather long; her chin quite prominent, and a solitary tooth on her upper jaw, the only one seen in her mouth.
She smiled with her eyes, and with a pleasant voice, said: “Come, you must be hungry, coming so far” (I had only told her then I came from Connecticut on the bicycle), and she urged the apple pie, ginger snaps, johnny-cakes, potatoes, ham, bread and butter, and tea, upon me promiscuously, and in great profusion. “No; as my grandmother used to say, I never break a cup, you must take another full one. Now do you make yourself at home; I know you must be tired. Why, you have seen enough to write a book. [This, after I had explained more fully the extent of the trip.] When you get home you must write up an account of your journey for some newspaper. [Further explanation seemed unadvisable just then.] Now come into the other room; I want to show you some pictures.”
So, talking every minute, we went into the sitting-room, and drawing up rocking-chairs, we sat down cosily together. “I am going to have these photographs of these noble men all put into a frame together. I don’t want them in an album, for I have to turn and turn the leaves so much. I want them in a frame, so I can get the inspiration from themat a glance. This is Samuel Coit, who did so much last winter in my behalf, and this is S. A. Hubbard of theCourant. This is ——. Why I see you know all of these noble souls. Well, I want to read you a letter he sent me,” and she slowly picked out the words of the writer who said, among other generous things, that he would be only too glad to load her down with any number of his books, and would send her a complete file of them. The letter was signed Samuel L. Clemens.
“But,” she added, “he has never sent them. Probably so busy he forgot it. I do wish I could see them, for I had a chance once to read part of ‘Innocents Abroad,’ and I do like his beautiful style of expression. And here is Major Kinney, and George G. Sumner, and Rev. Mr. Twichell. What grand good men they are. And this—you say you have heard him preach! How much I would give to hear that great soul speak,” and she handed me Rev. Mr. Kimball’s photograph, and several others, every one of which is more precious to her than gold. In this collection also, were photographs of William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips, and other anti-slavery friends of hers, and I noticed several others of Garrison framed and hung about the house. When I expressed the opinion that the amount of her pension was too small in proportion to the injury inflicted, she said: “O, I am so thankful for that. It is so much better than nothing.”
During the evening, the collection was again displayed to a visitor, and it is plain to be seen, the sight of those faces does her a great amount of good. She and I went through them again the next day. After breakfast, I sat down to glance through a book I had seen her reading, “Is Darwin Right,” by William Denton of Massachusetts. Soon she came into thesitting-roomwith a pan of apples, and drawinga low rocking-chair up in front of me said, “Now you must stop reading, for I want to talk,” and we talked. In fact, she became as interested in the conversation, and so far forgot herself that, in cutting out the worm-holes from the apples, she once put the worthless portion into her mouth, and munched it thoroughly before she discovered her mistake. The conversation drifted from one subject to another, and on her part it was carried on in a clear, connected, and enlightened manner.
I can only give a few sentences of hers. “My whole life has been one of opposition. I never could find any one near me to agree with me. Even my husband opposed me, more than anyone. He would not let me read the books that he himself read, but I did read them. I read all sides, and searched for the truth whether it was in science, religion, or humanity. I sometimes think I would like to live somewhere else. Here, in Elk Falls, there is nothing for my soul to feed upon. Nothing, unless it comes from abroad in the shape of books, newspapers, and so on. There is no public library, and there are but one or two persons in the place that I can converse with profitably for any length of time. No one visits me, and I begin to think they are afraid of me. I think the ministers are afraid I shall upset their religious beliefs, and advise the members of their congregation not to call on me, but I don’t care. I speak on spiritualism sometimes, but more on temperance, and am a self-appointed member of the International Arbitration League. I don’t want to die yet. I want to live long enough to see some of these reforms consummated. I never had any children of my own to love, but I love every human being, and I want to do what I can for their good.”
After dinner while I was reading—for there is a host of good books in the house—she sat down to copy off a shortaccount of my trip I had written at her request the night before for a local paper, but every few minutes she would stop to talk on some subject that had just entered her mind, and sometimes we would both commence speaking at the same instant. “Go ahead,” she would say, or “keep on, I have kept hold of that idea I had,” pressing her thumb and forefinger together, and then again she would say, “When you get another idea just let it out.” And so two days passed, very pleasantly, for me at least. There was no subject upon which I was conversant, but that she was competent to talk and even lead in the conversation, and she introduced many subjects to which I found I could only listen. At night Mr. Williams’s bed and my own were in the same room, and this gave him an opportunity to say of Mrs. Philleo, “I never knew a person of a more even temperament. She is never low spirited, never greatly elated. When things don’t go right she never frets.” And of him, when he was off at work, she said, “You don’t know how much comfort I get from my adopted son. We have lived together nearly four years, and my prayer is that he will grow up a noble man to do all the good he can in this world,” and I can add, judging from his conversation, he has a mind so broad and intelligent that he is fully abreast and even a little beyond her in mental growth, and that is saying a good deal. The last thing she said as I left them was, “if the people of Connecticut only knew how happy I am, and how thankful I am to them, it would make them happy too.”
Surely she has one of three graces, the greatest of the three, charity for every one. Of strong religious convictions, a thorough spiritualist herself, she respects the beliefs of others, and uttered in my presence not a word ill of any one. The State of Connecticut certainly is to be congratulated that it did not neglect its opportunity last winter. What a shamehad this good woman, this great mind, gone to another world without having even that slight justice done it. Very few people in Connecticut realize what a narrow escape they had from a lasting disgrace.
The ride on the return to Emporia was uneventful, excepting that a break in the head of the machine obliged me to take the train sooner than I expected, and after a short stop in Kansas City, to keep on by rail to this place where there are facilities for repairing the break.
At Kansas City I met Mr. C. B. Ellis, dealer in bicycles, and one or two other wheelmen. In meeting, as I have on the trip, many Connecticut people who have settled in the West, it is pleasant to have them all or nearly all express the desire to return East to live, sometime, when they have made money enough. Some place that wished-for event ten years hence, others longer, but all show that the “good old State of Connecticut” occupies a prominent place in their future plans and prospects. It is their ideal of a place to live in. It is mine.
Miles traveled on the wheel, 3,627.