Forwarded to the Webmeister From A Descendant, Transcribed from a Mimeographed Copy

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I had long felt that it would be right for me to leave in writing some account of your father's life (Amasa Chace) and the Lord's gracious dealings with us, for the comfort and instruction of my children and others who may read it.

Your father Amasa Chace was the son of Burgess Thomas and Rebecca Chace. He was born on a farm west of Federal Hill near Providence, R.I. 1st month 22, 1823. The farm has long (1912) been a part of the city of Providence. I was born in Charlotte, Vt. 8th month 16, 1823. My father was Valentine Meader, born in 1777. My mother Joanna Battey, his second wife, was born 12th month 7th, 1791, Starksboro, Vt.

My father's first wife was Phoebe Hoag, eldest daughter of Joseph and Huldah Hoag. Their children were Abigail, who died in infancy, Joseph, who died when four years old, Joshua L., Nathan H., Huldah, Eliza, and Phoebe.

My mother's children were Valentine J., myself, and Mary V.

When I was two years old, my father moved to Lincoln, 12 miles from Starksboro, Vt., where grandfather and grandmother Battey lived with Uncle Amos Battey (my mother's brother). It was rough and mountainous, so that in going the 12 miles, we had to cross the creek nine times to get a place for the road. Where we lived was hilly, but with considerable farm land which was cultivated, and on which was raised corn, potatoes, hay, and some grain. In front of the house, south, I think, ran a little creek which at times had to have a little foot bridge to cross, but when low it was my delight, with my brother, to wade and paddle in it and pick up the pretty, smooth pebbles.

Potato Hill was one of the hills, called knobs, which led up to the higher ranges. These were covered with dark forests interspersed with maples and seemed grand and beautiful to my childish eyes.

The first distinct recollection I have is of staying with my brother at Uncle Amos Battey's the summer I was four years old, while my father and mother had gone to New England on a religious visit. During this visit my father went to the island of Nantucket and visited the place where his grandfather had lived when a boy, and where were the only trees on the island. One circumstance is vivid in my recollection today. My brother had done something at school (I went with him only because I would not be away from him) and the teacher left him in the school house and told me to go with the other children. This I would not do, but cried until she let him go with me. When father and mother came home, I was so glad that I ran behind the door and cried tears of joy. I can almost feel the thrill of joy when mother took me on her lap and kissed me several times. They brought me a little flatiron and a little blue glass. The glass I have now, 85 years later. My father was very kind and thoughtful of his children. He reasoned with us and often made nice little things for us. He made me a little chair, turned the posts and wove leather strips for the seat, for my rag doll (I never had any other); he made me a rolling pin and I am sure I bothered my mother wanting to use it. He made me a washboard which I used many times, taking the dishpan for a tub.

My father was gone a good deal, traveling as a Quaker minister. Thus the training and care of us came mostly on my dear mother. I was a very restless, persistent child. As I look back, I am sure that she had much to contend with in our training. I have no recollection of her whipping me but once; I do not remember the cause or even the whipping, but I remember vividly her tearful talk as she took me, a girl of seven, on her lap and told me that her Heavenly Father would hold her accountable if she let me go on and did not try to have me do right. My father never punished, but we had an instinctive feeling that we must obey him. I was a delicate child and often had sick spells, and as I thought I could not get well if I did not have some of the little brook trout which were plentiful in the mountain streams, my father would leave his work and go catch some for me. As I look back to these years, I can see the great blessings that came to me [under] the teaching and training of my parents and the influence of the Holy Spirit as He showed me what was right and what I ought not to do. I do not remember the time that I did not reverence God as a great all-wise Being that was not only great and powerful, but pure and holy. I instinctively felt that I was not good, but I did want to do right, and because I wanted to go to Heaven, I feared Him.

I was very fond of babies, never being too hungry or tired to nurse one that might be brought to our house. When I was five my brother Joshua and his wife lived with us, and Phebe Jane (Irvin Taber's mother) was born. Six weeks later my sister Mary was born. I remember sitting on the floor and holding them at different times, especially my dear sister with her brown eyes and dark hair, and I was so glad she was to be with us all the time. As they grew and became playful, I had a happy time. The summer I was seven, father was gone on a religious visit. Royland Green, a minister, came from Rhode Island and was at our house. He called me to him and talked about my being a good girl and doing right. He gave me a book, "The Rebellion," which was distressing to read, but I always loved biography. I learned many lessons from the history of those who were willing to suffer rather than take part in war, and there were many instances of their wonderful preservation and all the dangers of that fearful time. My natural disposition loved approbation, but I wanted to deserve it and did many things to gain it.

That summer there was a fearful storm, and while Mother was calm, I could see she was anxious. She put up quilts to the windows to keep out the vivid lightning. In the morning we found that the water had been within a foot of the door-step, although there was a large yard and road between the house and the creek. There were several lives lost. We went to see one family when the water went down, through whose log house many logs had passed during the night of the freshet. One of the lower logs of the house had been pushed out, but the house stood. We sat in silence for a time and then praise and thanksgiving went up for their great deliverance.

In 1828 came that sad separation in the church (Quaker) caused by the preaching of Elias Hicks who denied the vicarious offering of Christ for man. Elias Hicks taught that Christ was only a good man, and His example was good for us to follow. I can now recall conversations between my parents which I could not understand, but I realized that there was something that troubled them in regard to the Friends Church and made them very sad. My mother's only sister Lydia Hoag and one brother Benjamin Battey went with the Hicksites.

In the early spring of 1831 my father sold his farm and we moved from our rugged mountain surroundings and settled in East Vassalboro, Maine, on the bank of a pond (now lake) twelve miles long. This lake was frozen over in the winter and we often went over it to China, Maine to Monthly Meeting. Eli and Sybil Jones lived here and many other Friends. A number of retired whaling sea captains lived here who used to come to see father, and I never tired of their stories of adventure. Here I was very sick with typhus fever so that it seemed doubtful if I would get well, but my loving Father restored me to health, though it was weary weeks before I was able to do much or to exercise much.

After two years father sold this farm and bought one two miles from the river meeting house at Vassalboro where the Quarterly Meeting was held. Almost in front of the house were five elm trees, the majestic, venerable elms that I was so proud of as they were on our farm, forgetting that others could see and enjoy their graceful beauty as well as I. For a while my half-sisters Huldah and Eliza lived with us, and here Eliza was married to Noah Farr, Jr. Sister Huldah went to live with Uncle John Meader at North Berwick. I was a wild, giddy girl, although I often had serious impressions.

At one time I jumped rope 130 times without stopping and felt something give way in my left side, and for three months I could go about but little. During this time I read the Bible diligently, also many Friends books of biographies. This class of reading has always had great attraction for me. In the summer of 1837 my dear mother went on a religious visit to the southern part of the Yearly Meeting and I kept house with my sister Mary for father. I look back with regret to my carelessness and lack of good housekeeping and many shortcomings. Mother came home only a few weeks before my dear father left on his last journey. Samuel Taylor went with him as companion; they had a comfortable carriage and span of horses and went by Providence, R.I. and Baltimore, Md. They crossed the Allegheny mountains, and when they stayed at a hotel at the top of a mountain, they were put in a bed having damp sheets from which my father contracted a cold, and two days later was laid up at the home of David Binns, a friend living in Redstone, Pa. where, after five weeks illness with typhus fever, my father gently fell asleep in Jesus, saying it was just as near Heaven there as anywhere, and that although he would like to have seen his wife and children, he was resigned to God's will. The mails were very slow and letters expensive. The two that we received cost 18¢ postage each. The first letter told of his sickness, and that the doctor thought him better. However, he had a hemorrhage a few hours after the letter was sent, and as it took a letter a week to come, he was gone and buried the day that we received the letter. My mother did not seem to be much encouraged, and when the news of his death came, it was soon known around the hilly country. Very many of our relatives and friends came and we had a very solemn meeting. But I look back with regret that I let it have so little influence with me. I loved my father dearly, but as I was attending school, I joined in the giddy foolishness, to my shame and regret.

We lived at our home a year and a half when it was thought best to sell, my mother and my sister Mary going to our Battey relatives at Starksboro, Vt. while I worked for Mary Varney until the fall of 1839 when by the kindness of Anna A. Jenkins, a wealthy Friend, I went to the Friends Boarding School at Providence R.I. It was a final parting from many of my dear schoolmates, but my heart was buoyant with the hope of getting further education. In some respects I was more advanced than those of my age of 16. I remember with esteem some of my teachers, particularly Joseph H. Cole and Almira Sampson; a reward of merit given by Almira Sampson says that I recited correctly 90 pieces of poetry and 954 verses from the Bible. During summer school I boarded at Daniel Smiley's and went to school with Albert K. and Alfred R. Smiley, since so widely known for the Mohonk Conferences. I led by the hand Sara Frances and Rebecca H. Smiley, two sweet little girls of six and nine years.

As I went from Augusta, Maine in a steamboat to Boston, I had my first taste of seasickness, of which I have a vivid remembrance. But once on the train (my first experience) I was as well as before.

Allen and Olive Wing were superintendents of the Friends Boarding School at Providence. Emeline Aldrich, my favorite teacher, has long since gone to Glory. Her sister Elizabeth and Elizabeth Osborne, now wife of Samuel Austere, are still (1913) living. Here I first met Amasa Chace, your father and the summer I was 18 (1841) we were engaged. As we had nothing to start a home with, we both learned a trade: he, that of a painter and I of a dressmaker. We were not married until five years later, tenth month, 15th, 1846. We were married at a public meeting appointed for us by the Monthly Meeting at Dover, N.H.

My mother had been married to Jonathan Miller, and Mary to his son, John N. (his second wife). Mother and I were sad about Mary's marriage, and her subsequent life was one of toil and many trials. My sister never fully occupied the place our Father had designed in the precious gift of the ministry He had conferred upon her. I can only leave it with Him who knows His children and judges righteously. They never had any children, while unto us on 2nd Month 9th, 1850 came our precious Phoebe Meader, and on the 4th Month 27, 1852 our dear Henry Valentine came to us as a welcome guest. We lived at Dover, N.H. seven years when my step-father, my mother, my sister and her husband John, decided to go to Iowa, and as your father had a chronic cough, we decided to go with them. We went by rail to Sheffield, Ill. This being the end of the Rock Island Railroad, we had to take wagons. Millers had brought light spring wagons; they purchased three horses, and we pushed across the prairies and arrived at Oskaloosa, Iowa the 10th of 12th month, 185[3] almost 200 miles west of Sheffield. The last two days Phoebe was quite sick, but we could not stop until we arrived at Oskaloosa. She was put in a cradle all wrapped up and we had to carry her. When I came back from eating my dinner I saw the measles were thick under the skin. William and Catherine Pearson kindly gave us a room until she was better. Henry took the measles and, although both were quite sick, they recovered in a few weeks.

All three families lived together for a few weeks on brother John's farm, but in the early spring we moved to a cabin on the 80 acres we had purchased 2½ miles from Oskaloosa, a beautiful rolling prairie with a few acres of timber 1½ miles from the Skunk River. We belonged to the Spring Creek Monthly Meeting and Pleasant Plain Quarterly Meeting, and found many kind friends, but much was quite different from the New England element in which we had been brought up; but we soon came to feel at home in the west and never regretted that we came, although we never owned the home we learned to love.

The insidious disease ague (chills and fever) took hold of Amasa with a severity that prevented him from doing as he otherwise would have. He endeavored to make payments on the place by his trade as a painter, but his health and many expenses incident to a new country left only enough to pay the interest. However, he improved the place by setting out trees, and in time, building a house. He had inherited a tendency to lung trouble from his mother who died with consumption. His brother Burgess Chace and a nephew Edward Chase (his brother Thomas' son) had come to Iowa to carry on the farm work of our 80 acres.

In 11th Month, 13th, 1855 our dear Mary Huldah came, and 7th Month, 11th, 1859 Burgess Thomas, thus making our family group of two daughters and two sons. Entirely different in their temperaments and dispositions, our children were a great comfort to us, and feeling our responsibility, we endeavored to do all we could with our limited means to fit them for lives of usefulness as they went forth into the world from under our care and teaching. As I look back on this part of my life, I see much of pleasure and happiness in the toil and care which necessarily must be with such a family, and I can bear testimony that while our children had decided wills and minds of their own, they have been loving, obedient children, and I thank my Heavenly Father daily for their loving care of me. Now in my years of loneliness I can have a home with either of them.

In 1860 came the great commotion which resulted in the war of the Rebellion (Civil War) and while feeling that war is not right, we felt much sympathy with the North in the struggle and felt surely the Lord would not suffer the advocates of slavery to triumph.

There was with my dear husband and myself another struggle, as we were brought to realize that we were not what the Lord would have us be ­ that we were not truly converted. Henry and Anna Thorndyke with their two little girls had come from Ware, N.H. and built up a school about a mile from us which was a great blessing to the neighborhood, and we shared in its benefits. I had felt for some time ­ a year ­ that the Lord called me to the work of the ministry, and I had spoken a few times, but a dear friend, Hannah Pearson, who was visiting families, told me of the Lord's call to me in these words, "Take this child and nurse it for me and I will pay thee thy wages," telling of the joy and peace it would bring me, closing with these words, "when you are converted, strengthen thy husband." This was like a thunderbolt to me and I said if I am not converted, it is time I was. From that time until I was converted two years later I had no rest, but I found it in yielding myself and my all to my merciful Savior who had borne with me for forty years, saying "Here I am, Lord. I can do nothing, do all Thou will." My whole soul went out in this prayer and immediately I was lifted as it were out of midnight darkness to the bright sunshine of forgiving love, and I felt an assurance of acceptance for Jesus' sake that filled my soul with love for the whole human family. After this, my life was very different, and things that had been very hard to bear became easy.

Soon after Hannah Pearson's visit, Amasa, under the preaching of Ellwood Osborn, was led to give himself to the Savior and received forgiveness. When he told me of the blessing, instead of being glad as he expected, I burst into tears. He said, "Wife, what is it? I thought thou would be glad." I said, "Thou hast got the blessing and I have not." This surprised him still more and he said, "I thought thou had experienced forgiveness long ago; thy life has been so much better than mine." I had abundant proof of the change in him, for he was my comforter many times in the two years before I received the same blessing. In the meetings held that winter at Henry Thorndyke's schoolhouse, Amasa was often engaged in prayer and testimony, and a friend of mine told me that twice when I had to be out, he spoke so beautifully and his face shone almost like that of an angel.

The dry, bracing air of Iowa was a great benefit to Amasa, but malaria and the taking of strong medicine for it undermined his health so that the winters became too severe for his lungs. In 1863 he decided to go to Kansas. John Miller bought our place so that Amasa could pay the mortgage and have money left. In five months we packed our goods and were on our way. There were quite a company of us: Henry Thorndyke and family who were going to teach in the Shawnee Mission Indian school; Elijah Chase, a nephew, and his wife Abby and her son Thomas Live; Martha Williams who was going to the Mission, brother Burgess Chace, Elijah's brother Thomas (afterward Dr. Chace) and our family, with household goods and stock.

We were nearly three weeks on the road but did not think very much of the unsettled condition (the Civil War) until we reached the Kansas line. Then we began to realize that we were traveling where the effects of the conflict were being felt, more especially the recent struggle to make Kansas a free state. There had been many raids, some called Bushwhackers coming from Missouri to Kansas, and some called Red Legs coming from Kansas to Missouri. When we were camped near Plattsburg, Amasa went to get provisions and he was told that a company of "movers" were reported to be near, and that there was a plan to waylay them. It may be that because there were so many men in our group they did not dare to attack us. When we reached Shawnee Mission James and Rachel Stanley gave us a warm welcome.

It was a great trial to us to be so near the border where there was continual plundering and robbing, but Amasa felt that this was the place where we should be and he felt an assurance of protection as to our horses and cattle, which was all we had. The assurance was almost literally fulfilled as we lost only one horse. We enjoyed being where we could go to meeting and have the company of dear friends. Henry Thorndyke's influence over the Indian children was wonderful in leading them to Christ.

The seventh night after reaching the Mission, Bushwhackers passed within a mile of us, as we were living near Graham Rogers, the Shawnee chief. They raided the little town of Shawnee 2½ miles from us, killed a few men, and burned several houses. Most of the men did not dare sleep in their houses. That first summer was one of much anxiety, as soldiers were passing daily. Every few days men were called to their doors and shot. We were preserved from harm, although we were sure that men lay around our house watching and some years after when we were in the south, a man called Amasa by name and told him that he had lain around our house many a night and described the house accurately.

We attended Quarterly Meeting at Springdale and I met many friends to whom my heart was closely drawn.

In the 8th month 1864 as I was writing to my dear mother in regard to the many trials of her life, it came to me to write "Dear Mother, I see a crown of life laid up for thee" and it seemed to me I had bid farewell to her on her deathbed. When I told Amasa he said "I will get the money and thee can go to her." We got a letter that day telling of her sickness, but it did not seem best for me to leave the family, and from the letter it did not seem possible that she could live until I could get there. She had a stroke of paralysis and lay unconscious and only breathed until the end. Through the mercy of my loving Father I was permitted to see her in my mind as she reached the gates of Heaven and to realize the glory that awaited her, and I could only rejoice that she had entered into rest.

In October 1864 came what is known as the Price raid. The militia took all the provisions, cattle, and horses that they wanted; they took one of our teams and Amasa went with them, as he was sure that otherwise they would not return them. As soon as he could, he got a permit to come home and when he got back, a battle was impending and all the militia were ordered to the bottoms near Wyandotte (now Kansas City, Kansas). A very sick woman whose husband was with the militia sent for me and that left our children alone with Uncle Burgess. There was a skirmish the 7th day of October and hundreds of militia left the ranks so frightened that they did not know in what direction to go to get to Shawnee. Our son Henry (12) went with some of them to show them the way. The militia reported that General Price was coming and we must go on into Kansas, but the woman I was with was too sick to move even if we had been certain that Price was coming. After reading the 91st Psalm and a season of prayer, the sick woman got easier and we retired to rest and sleep. At 4 a.m. I was aroused by the sound of cannon and it was soon reported that there was a battle in progress near Westport. We could hear the report of cannons until nearly 11:00 a.m. when the awful noise ceased and we learned that the Confederates had retreated south down the Missouri line. Amasa followed with supplies for the wounded soldiers, going 30 miles, then returned the third day to Kansas City, the first I had known of him since he left home before the battles. There were over 1100 killed or wounded in the battle. It was not the militia which kept Price from coming to Kansas, but General Curtis with 80,000 men coming up behind him. The next day was a very solemn day, as we did not know who of our neighbors might not return. Later we learned that only one had been killed.

After the war our group of Friends started a meeting in Shawnee in an old brick church that had been used as a stable during the war. Eli and Jamima Vestal with their twin sons settled on land south of Shawnee; Daniel Mendenhall had moved here from Springdale; Manson Terrell and family and Holister Davis came in '66 and '67. In '66 John and Aseneth Carter had charge of the mission. Their son Jonathan came to visit them, and had caught the cholera while passing through St. Louis. He was soon very sick, and as he wished to see me (as a minister) M. Terrell came after me in the night. As soon as I saw him, I saw that death was on his countenance, which made me shudder. He said to his mother, "I do not think that I am going to die, as my Savior has given me some work to do for Him." His mother said, "Jonathan, I want thee to prepare to die." With a very solemn emphasis he set himself to prepare for death, and the scene for the six hours I was there was most heart-rending. He was so very sick that a part of the time it took four of us to keep him on the bed, so great was his suffering. And yet he said, "The distress of my body is nothing to compare with the distress of my soul." I suppose that fifty times during the six hours I heard him say, "Lord, be merciful to me, but the Savior has called me and I would promise to follow Him, but would get taken up with the world."

In 1873 I got a minute (direction of the church) to visit Southland, Arkansas, Eliza Vestal going with me. We had a satisfactory visit and return safely. Calvin and Alida Clark aided us in our mission, taking us to the meeting at Hickory Ridge and visiting many schools taught by students. We attended the Monthly Meeting and became very much interested in the work being done for the colored people and found some who made very worthy Friends. After my return home I felt that I had more work to do at Southland, Arkansas, and Amasa felt like going with me, but how to leave Henry and Mary? Phoebe was married and Thomas was at her home. We passed several almost sleepless nights, but one night we said, "Oh Lord, if Thou wilt show us just what to do we will trust all to Thee." It was not ten minutes after this that we were all sound asleep. It was soon arranged that Eli and Jemima Vestal would live in our house and Henry would stay with them. Eli would help Henry with the drug store business which Amasa had started. Little did we think that we would never come back to live in Shawnee. I had [got] a minute to visit families in the southern part of Yearly Meeting and some of the Indian schools.

On New Years Day 1874 we left, taking Mary with us. James Haworth's son was in the casket, but as they did not know when James would return, it did not seem best for us to wait for the burial. At Hesper I learned from Rebecca Clawson that Lizzie White (on a farm near Hesper) wished to invite Mary to stay with them. (Among the young people whom Mary met was Francis Wright, who worked in the bank in Lawrence. She and Francis were married in 1877.) We bid dear Mary goodbye and went first to visit families in Cottonwood Quarterly Meeting, the most western quarterly meeting at that time; then to Sterling where we were entertained by Clarkson Taber, a school friend of mine at Vassalboro, Maine. It was a precious visit. He went with us across the Arkansas River to help us on our way, as the ice was running and the quicksand was bad. From there we went 12 miles to Jonathan Cary's, and had a good visit with them; then to Elk River Quarterly Meeting, and from there to visit the Kaw Indian School where Uriah Spray and his wife were superintendents. We were pleased to see the advancement of some of the Indians that Thomas Stanley had labored with so faithfully. We traveled over much prairie and crossed streams with high banks to the Osage Agency. There we met Benjamin and Elizabeth Miles who had charge of the mission, with about sixty children in the school. Here the chief came to meeting with only his blanket on, but condescended to shake hands with us as I put out my hand. We visited several of their tents and saw some progress toward the white man's way. From here we went to the Quapaq Agency near Baxter Springs where Asa and Emeline Tuttle were in charge. The Medocs had been brought here several months before; we were very much interested in them, as they were very intelligent and several of them became earnest Christians and some have joined Friends. Scarface Charley was, I think, made a minister by the Miami Monthly Meeting. Their women did not have names, and mission people tried to persuade them to give their wives names. As Amasa was talking with Long Jim, he asked, "What you wife name?" Father said, "My wife named Lydia." Then Long Jim said, "My wife named Lydia too," so I gave her an apron for the compliment.

From there we went to the Ottawa Mission. Our dear friends Asa and Emeline Tuttle were also visiting there. Their little Arthur had died the previous year from burns as a result of sitting down in a kettle of boiling water, but now they had a dear baby girl. (Two years later she died and was buried by Arthur at the Indian Agency. The Indians said, "Now we know that they are true to us; they bury their dead with us.")

From there we started our long journey to Southland College near Helena, which is on the Mississippi River. We crossed the White River several times. There were miles of level road at the top of the Boston Mountains from which we could see a beautiful landscape. At last we reached Southland. Amasa was put in charge of the Clark and Wright plantation. Theodore Wright came in the spring and fall to settle up with the men and rent for the next year. He was a man we all enjoyed having with us and the friendship was continued to the present time, as I often get letters from him even yet.

In 1880 our son Henry graduated from Kansas University and came to teach at Southland College. Thomas was also with us. We were living at that time at Maple Hill two miles from the college. It was very pleasant to have our sons with us.

In 1883 I went to Louisville, Kentucky to the national W.C.T.U. (Women's Christian Temperance Union) convention, Mrs. Gordon going with me. After the convention we went with 78 of the W.C.T.U. ladies to visit Mammouth Cave. We walked 6 miles in that wonderful panorama of nature. After coming home from Louisville, I was appointed national Vice-president of the W.C.T.U. for the state of Arkansas. In a short time Mrs. Clardy and I called a convention at Searcy and organized a state Union with Mrs. Anna Jones chosen as President. She served one year; then Mrs. Cornelius was elected; she served one year and through her influence I was elected president. This brought me into active service, traveling among white people (she had been working among Negroes and Indians). The women helped me carry on the work so that the membership increased until at the end of my 6th year, there were 600 members.

In the fall of 1887 I traveled over the state extensively. Calvin and Alida Clark had left the college and were living at Maple Hill. Amasa boarded with them. His cough was bad, but he was still able to carry on his practice as a physician, which was considerable, especially among the colored people. The county organization of physicians had recognized him as a physician and he was very successful in his practice.

I was very busy through the winter of 1888. I had a feeling that I ought to go home, but as Amasa had not written that he was any worse, and I had much work planned, I continued traveling until 3rd Month. Our son Henry came down, as we were talking of making a change. He met me at the district convention, and the next day we went to Helena. One of the doctors in Helena told us that Amasa was in very feeble health. This we found to be true when we reached Maple Hill. The doctors advised that we go to Florida and we immediately made arrangements to do so. We went to Leesburg. The climate did bring relief, but in less than three weeks after we reached there Amasa passed peacefully away on the second day of 4th Month at 2:30 a.m. We brought the remains to Olathe, Kansas where he was buried.

After the funeral I went back to Arkansas to attend the state W.C.T.U. convention, at which time I was voted a salary and remained with this work for three years. Many of those women became cordial friends of mine.

After leaving the south in 1891, Mary provided a room for me at her home in Kansas City, with secretary, table, and washstand, and I again went into W.C.T.U. work. (Phebe had lost her husband and a son and daughter with typhoid fever). In the fall of 1891 I went to St. Joseph to the District W.C.T.U. Convention and I was elected as delegate to the national convention at Boston. I enjoyed the convention and when it was over I visited the Farrs and then the John J. Meaders at Providence. I spoke to several groups in these places. I was taken with a severe pain in my left ear and the doctor pronounced it shingles. It was soon better, but I did not gain, and there were indications of a blood clot on the brain. Henry and Mary came for me. I was carried to and from the train and did not sit up on the train from Providence to Kansas City, but I was comfortable. I had to be carried into the house. Phoebe came from her farm in Cherokee County, Kansas to care for me. In the fall I went to Olathe, Kansas to stay at Henry's. I gradually gained until I could sit up most of the day. Frank Wright (Mary's husband) sent his horse Peacock and the surrey and we took several rides, but on the 4th of 12th Month he got frightened at some white horses and upset the surrey, throwing us all out except Anna (Henry's wife) who had got out to try to quiet him. The children were not much hurt, but Henry's back was injured and my left wrist was broken and my right shoulder thrown out of place. I was very kindly cared for, but my shoulder and wrist were never just right. I came back to Kansas City 8th Month, 1892. In the meantime Mary's children had had scarlet fever.

I pieced a log cabin quilt for Lizzie Test at Kick-a-po Mission and one for the Temperance Hospital at Chicago, and began to take an interest in W.C.T.U. work. I attended the state convention. All were kind, but they did not seem as near to me as my Arkansas women.

I did not travel as a minister after I left the south, but took part in the local meetings and enjoyed Quarterly and Yearly meetings whenever I could attend.

For two or three years I traveled in the interests of the W.C.T.U., but much as I loved the work, I found that I was strong enough to work only in the local W.C.T.U.

I had two severe spells of sickness. The last one was with Grippe in the 1st Month 1911. Thomas, who had gone to Cincinnati to spend Christmas with his family, was taken with pleurisy. Of course, I felt very uneasy about him, being in prayer much of the time for him, but when on the 30th of the month a telegram arrived notifying us of his death, it brought such a shock that I could hardly bear it. After three weeks of intense sorrow, the Heavenly Father gave me strength to leave it all with Him, who knew far better than I did. I gradually gained so as to be up and around the house and do some chores and piece comfort tops. As we were living out on 62nd Street in the house designed by Mary's architect son Henry, I could not be at meeting very often because of the distance.

The spring and summer of 1912 my dear Mary was far from well, but attended to her home duties. The two weeks she spent on the lakes did not do her any material good. On the 17th of 9th Month she took to her bed. I did what I could by washing her face and hands and taking food to her and assisting her to sit up while she ate. One day she said to me, "Mother, I do not see that thee is sewing much" and I said "I am cutting out the blocks." Henry's family had moved from Olathe to Kansas City, and it was thought best that I go in town and stay at Henry's. Emma Albertson was employed as nurse, there being too much for Bessie to do (Elizabeth Tregelles, Frank's niece from England). In a few days I went back to see Mary, and she looked so very sick that I could not say much to her. As I looked at her it seemed to me that she was on her death bed. Phebe also came about this time to help care for her. The doctor gave us some encouragement and we hoped that she might be spared for many years. On the 28th she nearly passed away, and from this time on I was only out to see her a few times, and only once did she speak to me. To what I had said to her, she replied, "Mother, I am kept." Days and weeks passed that were full of anxious thought and prayer. It was decided that I should go to Phoebe's for the winter, and as Phoebe felt that she must go home, we started the 6th of 12th Month. On the 7th of First Month 1913 we received a message from Henry that Mary was not so well. We understood at once what that meant, and on the 8th a little past 11 a.m. we received word that she had passed away. In my great sorrow my blessed Lord came and gave me a sense of her happiness so that I have shed but few tears.

My time is to be divided between my two remaining children. I came to Henry's in May and passed my 90th birthday, the 16th of 8th Month. In the 10th Month I went back south to Phebe's for the winter. Returning in May of 1914 with Marianna, I passed my 91st birthday at Henry's. It was very precious and peaceful. The meeting that day was unusually precious.

As I look back over my long life I think of the many blessings that have come to me, and I feel that I can say ­ Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless His Holy Name.