|
|
Excerpts from Souvenir Submitted by David M. Waid |
||
|
MY
SECOND TRIP TO KANSAS, COMMENCING APRIL, 1889. "The fountains mingle with the
river, And the river with the ocean, The winds of heaven mix forever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single: All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle-- Why not I with thine?"
SHELLEY.
Accompanied by my eldest son, Franklin,
I left Meadville, on April 10, 1889, en route to Kansas.
We left in the afternoon and journeyed as far as Marion, Ohio, over
the New York, Pennsylvania & Ohio Railroad, and from thence we reached
Chicago, over the Atlantic & Western, arriving on the morning of the
eleventh. This day saw a
combination on our part of business, sight-seeing and pleasure.
My first duty was with my publishers, with whom I had transacted
business some years since, but had never personally met.
I was more than pleased to meet Mr. J. H.
Beers, Mr. A. Warner and Mr. G. A. Baker, all of whom I have long
regarded in the light of the truest friendship. Mr. Beers accompanied us on a tour of inspection through the
great city of Chicago. We
visited its principal buildings and the beautiful Lincoln Park.
We entered the postoffice, Grand Pacific Hotel, the United States
Court and Custom House, and the Stock Exchange.
We were exceedingly interested in all we saw, but one of the chief
delights was the visit to Lincoln Park, with its 250 beautifully kept
acres. The lawns were dressed in living
green, A sight by man too seldom seen; The birds made such sweet music too We had no heart to bid adieu, Until the animals in the zoo Attracted our attention too.
F. C. W.
We saw the statue of Schiller, the German poet, and afterward, to
my great interest, that of Abraham Lincoln.
I had been extremely desirous of seeing this statue ever since its
erection. It represents
Lincoln standing with a chair behind him.
The entire work is placed within an enclosure of horseshoe shape,
and is the gift of Eli Bates.
The long broad drive between the lake and the park is worthy of
mention. A very good view of
this beautiful spot, that forms a bit of country in the heart of the city,
may be had from the cable cars that pass by its side for some distance.
We left Chicago in the evening over the Chicago, Burlington &
Quincy route, and stopped at Galesburgh, Ill., for the night.
In the morning, after visiting the notable places in the city, we
started for Quincy, a city of 40,000 people, where we visited the
Soldiers' Home, the courthouse and postoffice.
From Quincy we went to Kansas City by the Hannibal and St. Jo
Railway, and from thence to Ottawa by the Santa Fe route. There is a feature of Quincy to which I wish to refer, and
that is the park where any number of tame gray squirrels disport
themselves, and are fed by the children.
They appear perfectly fearless, and I think I never saw so many
tame squirrels together. In
this park is the statue of John Wood, once governor of Illinois, and the
first settler at Quincy, where he went in 1822.
He was born in 1798, and died in 1880.
From the tower of the main building at the Soldiers' Home a grand
view may be obtained of the city and the Mississippi River.
In going from Galesburgh to Quincy we saw some of the most
beautiful farming country imaginable.
We were exceedingly well pleased with our trip across the State,
and only regretted that it was not wholly made by daylight.
The system or order that appears about a farm, and the location of
its buildings always add to its attractiveness as a home, and as we were
passing one that answers this description my son said, "How is that
for a home? I think it good
enough for anybody." Yes,
that farmer honors his occupation who so keeps his farm.
A glance over a farm is better than the reading of an
advertisement, for, when present there, one can find instantly wealth,
beauty, comfort and happiness; and if one does not know what genuine farm
life is, let him go to such a country home and learn a lesson.
One is paid for traveling by looking on just such scenes as this.
The farmer that loves his occupation honors it, aye and is honored
by it also. Whosoever
watereth shall himself be watered.
Once when traveling in Pennsylvania I heard a stranger say "I
have heard of the l00-acre lot of F. C. Waid, in Crawford County. A friend who saw it in June told me it was nearly all meadow,
and that it was particularly beautiful just after harvest." This
remark pleased me very much, coming as it did from a stranger, and I felt
amply recompensed for the amount of labor I had expended on that meadow.
On another occasion I was traveling across the State line into New
York, when a stranger, who sat opposite to me in the car, spoke up and
said to some one with him that he had never seen a contented Pennsylvania
farmer; that they all wanted to quit farming and go into some other
occupation. He was from New
York State, and evidently was merely speaking in a bragging tone, but just
when crossing the State line he again spoke of the alleged discontentment
existing among Pennsylvania farmers, and one or two passengers replied,
but not strongly enough to cause him to cease.
As he seemed to be getting the better of them, and appeared proud
of his position, I who had heretofore been silent arose and turned the
laugh upon him, just after he had said he never expected to see a
contented farmer in the whole State, by saying:
"If you never have seen a contented Pennsylvania farmer, look
upon one now. I was born upon
a farm in Crawford County, in 1833, have always lived on a farm, I love a
farm and expect to die upon a farm. I am a contented Pennsylvania farmer."
When I sat down, the stranger shook hands with me, thanked me and
said that he had learned something. There
was a hearty laugh in the car, and we became friends at once.
I must return now to my Kansas trip.
There are many changes in life, some of them so sad that neither
tongue nor pen can describe them sympathetically.
Disappointment comes to us all; no one can pass through life
without meeting it sooner or later, and it comes at times when least
expected. It was so in the case of which I am about to speak, and
though time and space will not here allow me to go into detail of the
sorrow that I have gone through during the last year, yet I will say it
was the deepest sorrow I have ever known, and I doubt if it be possible
ever again to experience such another.
This sorrow came in the loss of my beloved wife.
It has done one thing for me, however, it has taught me how to
sympathize with those similarily afflicted.
An event full of sad interest for me was the death of Frank H.
Ringer, of whose sudden calling away I had heard a few days before leaving
home. He was my esteemed
friend; I loved him as a brother, and I expected to enjoy many pleasant
times with him, but Death, the reaper, cut him off in his prime.
When Mr. Cutshall and I visited him last October for the first
time, little did we think that it was doomed to be our last visit.
Sometimes, my kind reader, it happens that we are to see our real
friends but once in a life-time. Did
you ever think of this? It
was true in the case of which I speak.
My acquaintance with Mr. Ringer was short, but that our love and
friendship were sincere is amply proven by the letters that passed between
us during the short time between our meeting and his death.
I would have been present at his funeral had I not been so far
distant, yet, when I reached his home at Olpe, Lyon Co., Kas., some time
after his death, I visited his grave, and while fell the tear of sorrow I
placed the wild verbena and other beautiful prairie flowers above his
grave. He is interred in Pleasant Ridge Cemetery, near his home.
He was in his twenty-ninth year, and in death I feel that I have
lost a true friend and an affectionate brother, one that I will ever bear
in loving remembrance, and although not to be allowed to see him again in
this life, I trust I will meet him in the better land.
This is written at the home of Mr. Freeman
Tyler, one and one-half miles west from Norwood, Kas., where I am
staying with my son. I was
much disappointed on reaching Mr. Tyler's, to find that Miss Anna Tyler,
whom I had come especially to see, was away from home, having been called
to the aid of her sister during the illness of her husband, Mr. Ringer, of
whose death I have just written. Our
letters had failed to reach each other for the last eight or ten days, on
account of the absence of both from home.
After the death of Mr. Ringer she did not return home, but remained
with her sister Hattie. I
went with Anna's brother to the home of the Ringers, on April 16, and
staid there with him until he settled up Mr. Ringer's affairs, when we all
returned to the Tyler homestead, where Hattie and little Vera would
thereafter make their home. Did
you ever analyze a tear to see what it contained?
It contains elements of joy and of sorrow.
Upon our arrival at Mrs. Ringer's home on the morning of March 16,
we found there the bereaved wife and her little daughter, Vera, with Anna
Tyler seated at breakfast. Our
coming was a surprise to them, and for a moment the pleasure of the
meeting lightened their burden of sorrow.
I thought of the absent one, and the severe trial through which I
had passed only the year before, and my heart went out in sympathy to this
mourning family. Here were
sorrow and gladness mingled, sorrow for the departed and joy at meeting
loved ones. When our best
earthly friends are called away we want to feel that God is with us, and
that those we love on earth are ready to extend their loving sympathy, and
to heal our wounds with the balm of affection.
I was glad to be with them in their dark hour of affliction, and
had I known the circumstances on the 13th of the month, when at Ottawa, I
would have gone to Olpe instead of to Norwood.
Yet as it turned out it seemed to be for the best, for by going
first to Mr. Tyler's and remaining over the Sabbath, and attending Valley
Chapel along with my friend, R. P. Tyler, and my son, I was enabled to
accompany Mr. Tyler on his journey to his sister's home.
While at Olpe we paid a visit to Mr. Tyler's farm, at Rock Creek,
six miles distant. Returning we called upon Mr. Stratton, a friend with whom we
had a pleasant visit, and an interesting conversation concerning Kansas.
Before reaching Olpe we visited Pleasant Ridge Cemetery, of which I
have spoken before. I wish to
write down a few thoughts that came to me as we left Olpe.
The goods had all been packed away, and we had taken our seats on
the train and bade good-bye to the friends who had come to see Mrs.
Ringer, and as the train moved slowly out we turned our eyes to that
attractive home just vacated, and our thoughts were sad indeed.
Around it clustered the tenderest memories, joyful and sad, and now
mother and daughter were leaving it behind them with heavy hearts.
Little Vera sighed her good-bye, but all the sadness was not so
much for the home, as for him who had made it, but had now gone to a
dwelling beyond the skies. Mr.
Tyler, having some business to attend to, remained in Olpe, and the rest
of our party went to Emporia, where we staid for the night.
I there had the pleasure of visiting with the two sisters their
friend Mr. Atkinson, whom I will remember as another new friend.
On the morning of the 18th of April, we arrived at Ottawa, where we
were met by Mr. Tyler's conveyance and taken home.
Mr. Tyler lives six miles north of Ottawa.
His home is to the writer a very attractive farm-home, and I think
I can give several reasons for its so being.
There is one thing that is best spoken at all times, and that is
the truth. We are allowed the
privilege of making our wants known, and I will say that I am wanting a
partner for life. Once
before, when in search of a wife, I found her in a farm home, in the
kitchen. I speak of the kitchen because it is the essential part of
the household; it is to the house what the main spring is to the watch,
and every good wife and mother should understand housework.
To return to the incidents of the trip, I will say that when I went
to Olpe my son Franklin remained at Mr. Tyler's, and as it was corn
planting season he enjoyed that, for the Kansas method of planting is
different from that in vogue with us.
April 19 and 20 were very pleasant days, and, although I was
feeling rather indisposed, I drove with Mr. R. P. Tyler, his brother
Albert, and my son, to Baldwin, Media and Prairie City, a distance
of ten or twelve miles. These
towns are near each other, and about seven miles from Mr. Tyler's.
There was a strong wind blowing, and when we reached home I was
quite ill, and on Monday I was no better, so my son decided to remain
until I felt an improvement. On
Tuesday I was worse, and Dr. Black, Mr.
Tyler's family physician, was called in, who in three days succeeded in
breaking the fever, but I was not able to leave the house for several
weeks. I am indebted to Dr.
Black and the entire Tyler family for the help and faithful care bestowed
upon me during my illness, and also for the general interest manifested by
them in my welfare ever since I came here.
Franklin did not wait to see me change
my condition, but returned to his home on April 25, arriving just in time
to attend the funeral of his father-in-law, John
Moore, who had died very suddenly on April 25, at S.
C. Derby's, in Meadville, in his seventy-eighth year.
Mrs. Maria G. Moore, my son's wife's
mother, died at Jamestown, Mercer Co., Penn., on the 17th of last August.
I was at Jamestown the May preceding, and visited them at their
home. That was the last time
I saw Mrs. Moore, and when I left home upon the present trip, I parted
from Mr. Moore to meet no more on earth. Only a short time ago I visited my son with Mr. Moore, and
roomed with him during the night. We
greet our friends, but when we part none can tell if we will ever see them
again on this side of the grave. How
necessary for us to be ready when the call comes! "Live a little while we may, But die we must; Then help us while we live, O Lord, In Thee to put our trust."
My trip to Kansas is embracing more time than any previous journey
here or elsewhere, but its importance requires time, deep thought and
sincere, candid reflection. The
subject of marriage is one of vast importance to those entering upon its
duties. Too little attention
is at times given to it, and on this account it is called a lottery, a
name that it should no more bear than that business should be called a
farce. When I returned from
my first trip to Kansas, I was met by a particular friend who, knowing
where I had been, said: "Well,
how do you like Kansas?" "I
like the country and climate exceedingly," I replied. "Did you invest?"
"Yes," I said, for how could I speak otherwise when I had
invested my all in matrimony? He
seemed somewhat surprised and was anxious to know if I intended going West
to locate. I told him that
much as I liked the West I liked Crawford County better, and had no
intention of removing. This
conversation occurred last fall, and as I sit to-day writing this in the
home of Mr. Tyler, with Anna Tyler writing at the same table, I feel that
I have every reason to be thankful to Almighty God for His blessing;
especially am I grateful to him for sparing my life and crowning this year
with happiness. Yesterday,
June 2, 1889, I attended the Christian Sunday-school and church at
Norwood. A collection was
taken for missionary purposes, and when it amounted to only $2.88, I was
reminded of some of our own small church collection at home, and so at the
close of the service I handed the treasurer a like amount, thus doubling
the contribution. The Lord
loveth a cheerful giver, and may I ever do His work with a cheerful
heart and willing hand.
I wish to say a word concerning the lighter and fairer products of
Kansas soil. Fruit and
flowers are in great luxuriance here, particularly (among fruit) peaches
and cherries, and (among flowers) roses, of which latter there is great
variety. Apples do not
promise so well as peaches, yet there will be a fair yield.
The weather continues beautiful, and all Nature is smiling. "All good things around us Are sent from Heav'n above; Then thank the Lord, Oh!
thank the Lord For all his bounteous love."
In order that my "right hand might not forget her
cunning," speaking as a tiller of the soil, I kept myself in some
degree of practice by mowing the grass about the yard and house for a few
days, and the exercise I found did me good.
Two of the letters I received from Meadville, yesterday (June 5),
brought me intelligence of the death at Titusville, Penn., of Ruth Ann
Goodwill, and of her burial at Blooming Valley Cemetery, May 31.
She was one of my scholars at Blooming Valley, in 1852, and we had
always kept up a cordial acquaintance.
Last January I visited her for the last time, she being then very
ill.
Things went on from day to day much the same at Mr. Tyler's, with
occasioned variation, and I found myself gradually becoming stronger, and
in a more composed frame of mind. My
diary now brings me to the memorable "Ottawa Chautauqua
Assembly."
|
|
||
