_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 a.s.sembled 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 pa.s.sed 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 Francis...o...b.. 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 pa.s.sed 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 Inst.i.tute 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 circ.u.mstances 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 Babc.o.c.k 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, a.s.sumed 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 a.s.sumption of equality which in this country so often tends to familiarity. We are p.r.o.ne 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 ill.u.s.trate the "golden mean" which Horace recommends, and I find that it is always pleasant to reach such places and hard to leave them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 manoeuvres 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 circ.u.mstances 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 ba.s.swood, having found there huts covered with ba.s.swood 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 sh.o.r.e 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.