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Mrs. Harriet P. (Crocker) Mansfield

                                          Widow of Dr. William Q. Mansfield.
Winfield Courier, August 15, 1878.
DIED. W. Q. Mansfield died of apoplexy at his residence in Winfield on Friday, August 9th, at 8 o’clock p.m. He had been apparently well and in usual health until a quarter past 1 o’clock p.m., of that day, when he was sitting with his family at the dinner table and Mrs. Mansfield observed that something ailed him and immediately sprang to his support. He was unconscious and apparently painless from that moment until his death.
In this event this community has lost an esteemed friend, a valued citizen, and an accomplished physician and surgeon.
His has been a life of singular purity and moral worth. He had no faults, no bad habits, was the very soul of honor, just to all, and generous to those in need. In his simple unostentatious way, he has been to many an “angel of mercy.” He was a staunch friend of the poor and the oppressed, believed in education and culture as the great moral safeguard to society, read much and thought deeply, and had spent much time and thought in relation to a free library for this community. He had accumulated a large private library, which he intended to donate as a nucleus of a public library. He had other schemes to advance the cause of morality and education in our midst in which he endeavored to interest his friends in his quiet way without display. He was one of Nature’s noblemen, a large-hearted lover of his race.
He had thought much in relation to scientific subjects and of man’s relations to nature. He had formulated very beautiful theories in relation to spiritual existence beyond this life, which, though we do not accept, we know influenced his life for good and believe would make the world much better than it now is if more widely adopted. He did not obtrude his views upon others, but held the views of others in respect.
The following is a sketch of his life from Cleave’s Biographical Cyclopedia of Homeopathic Physicians and Surgeons.

“Mansfield, William Q., M. D., of Winfield, Kansas, was born in England in 1818, where he was educated as an apothecary and druggist. In the year 1851 he emigrated to America and located in Buffalo, New York. Here he attended three courses of lectures and graduated in 1857. For several years previous to this he had practiced medicine to a considerable extent and with fair measure of success. Homeopathy he had always considered as one of the greatest delusions of the age. However, his prejudices were removed by a circumstance which happened soon after he graduated and in connection with his practice, which served to convince him that the delusion existed in a very different quarter from that which he had been taught to believe. He could not give much attention to the matter at this time, as the war broke out, and he immediately decided to participate. Submitting to an examination before the medical board organized by the surgeon general at Albany, he received a certificate as full surgeon. Not waiting to employ means to secure a commission, he enlisted as a private in the 92nd Regiment New York Volunteers, then organizing at Potsdam. A few weeks after he was elected captain of the company of which he was a member, but was induced, by the earnest solicitation of Col. Sanford commanding, to accept the position of assistant surgeon. On account of the age and infirmity of the surgeon, Dr. Mansfield was the only medical officer with the regiment during the first year of its service in the field. Having served with the regiment to the end of its term, in 1864, he was promoted surgeon and assigned to the 118th Regiment New York Volunteers. This was followed by the appointment of brigade surgeon, which was conferred upon him while serving in the trenches before Petersburg. In this capacity he remained until the organization of the Army of the James, when he was detailed as the surgeon in charge at the celebrated Dutch Gap. On the memorable 3rd of April, 1865, his regiment was among the first troops entering Richmond. At the close of the war Dr. Mansfield resumed the practice of medicine, but not the old system. Locating in Richmond, he became, unintentionally, identified with the moving incidents of that time. He was elected delegate to the Philadelphia convention of 1866. He was also appointed by the commanding officer of the district, General Schofield, collector of taxes and registering officer of the city of Richmond, and at the first United States district court held in that city after the war by Judge Underwood, Dr. Mansfield was on the first grand jury ever organized in the United States composed of both white and colored men. He was subsequently nominated for senator on the Republican ticket, but was defeated by a small majority. This closed the political career of the Doctor, who, to free himself from politics entirely, and from politicians, emigrated West in the fall of 1869. He located at Emporia, State of Kansas. Here he published a small work entitled ‘Homeopathy, Its History and Tendency.’ This was designed to explain the law of simillia and draw public attention to the subject. The year following Dr. Mansfield moved to Winfield, Kansas, situated near the Arkansas River, and within a few miles of the Indian Territory. He is now engaged in a flourishing and lucrative practice, which brings him in contact with a large portion of the community, with whom he is popular, and among whom he has made many warm friends.”
The funeral took place on Sunday, August 11th, at 10 o’clock a.m., amid a large concourse of friends and citizens who assembled at his residence. The casket was profusely adorned with flowers and the choir sang exquisitely “Sweet bye and bye.” An address was delivered by Mr. J. L. Rushbridge, intended as a short eulogy of the deceased and a sketch of his life. The remains were deposited in their resting place and the grave strewn with flowers.
After the death of her husband, Dr. William Q. Mansfield, on August 9, 1878, Harriet P. (Crocker) Mansfield usually referred to herself as “H. P. M.” in correspondence with friends and newspapers. The next items cover her and her sons. The oldest son was Harold Mansfield. The youngest son was born about seven years after Harold: his name was Richilieu. Mrs. Mansfield usually called him “Richie.” I am omitting items relative to the son and daughter of Dr. Mansfield from a previous marriage. MAW
                                               FROM THE NEWSPAPERS.
Winfield Courier, October 10, 1878.
Plants, roots, and bulbs for sale by Mrs. Mansfield.
Winfield Courier, December 12, 1878.

The citizens of Winfield and vicinity purpose giving an entertainment benefit on Tuesday evening, December 17, 1878, at Manning’s Opera House, to show their appreciation of the enterprise of a citizen who has erected a magnificent hall in our city.
Decorating Committee: Mrs. W. Q. Mansfield, C. E. Steuven, J. M. Reed.
Winfield Courier, January 9, 1879.
Mrs. Mansfield’s parrot died last Monday. This is a histor­ic bird, having been immortalized by Wirt Walton when he was localizing for the Courier.
Winfield Courier, April 24, 1879.
Mrs. H. P. Mansfield returned from Michigan last Friday. She has been roaming in the rural districts and eating maple sugar some weeks and returns fair, healthy, and happy and reports a joyous visit.
Winfield Courier, May 8, 1879.
Mrs. Mansfield’s maple sugar party last Thursday evening was a very pleasant affair, and we hope to meet the same very enter­taining hostess and guests many times more before maple sugar goes out of fashion.
Winfield Courier, May 22, 1879.
Our table was graced with a beautiful bouquet of roses, the gift of Mrs. H. P. Mansfield, last Monday. Mrs. M. has the choicest flowers, and the gift is more acceptable from the fact that it is the first full-fledged bouquet of the season.
Winfield Courier, September 18, 1879.
                                SNOW HILL, SALT CITY, KS., Sept. 12th, 1879.
ED. COURIER: After a dusty drive of three hours, we arrived at this Saratoga of the “Great American Desert,” without meeting any hair-breadth escapes, or observing anything wonderful on the way. Having pitched our tent and pegged it down strong, we proceeded to unpack our provision-chest, to find “refreshments for the inner (wo-)man.” A sheet-iron stove, which we found in the garden at home, answered our purpose well, and we were soon provided with a splendid cup of coffee; in fact, a good dinner altogether.
Finally our teamster left us for Winfield, and we (two women) turned to and settled—put down our carpet, made our bed, fixed up a shelf for dishes, and lots of little nothings which only a woman knows how to do, for comfort and convenience. Then we began to wonder how we should ever kill the time, as there were so few places of interest, or objects for society.
Alto­gether there were five families on this snowy-eminence, made white by the salt at the north of us, and at first sight looked like frozen water; so I christened it “Snow Hill.” Nothing disturbed our quiet, care-free slumbers, not even the snakes, which the people at home declared would be our nightly visitants.
Next day we spent the morning in watching for our Oxford friends, and just at noon they “hove” in sight, bag and baggage. Now Richie had a companion, and he saw his way through two weeks.
This day we explored the immense salt-works, and found that some shiftless parties had control of it, for more than half of the vats were empty and dried up for want of proper care—the hose rotten and the windmill falling to pieces.

Mrs. Foster, an old resident of Salt City, spent the day with me, and in her true kindness, offered us anything we needed to add to our comfort; afterwards sending us vegetables, jellies, milk, etc., which were acceptable.
The boys borrowed a gun and brought down a fine duck for our dinner Wednesday, and since then we have had all the game we wanted. Varieties of birds, both webbed and non-webbed, are shot here, but the strangest one was a pelican, measuring five feet or more from the tips of its wings, and could swallow a fish weigh­ing four or five pounds. What with wandering about, three meals a day, and all the gossip of three cities—Salt City, Oxford, and Winfield—besides letter writing and knitting, we manage to get through the days in a hurry.
Yesterday Mitchell and Newman came up with shovels, forks, rods, and pipes, to play in the springs, and upon drawing an auger attached to a rod 20 feet long from a spring which had the old pipe, stones were thrown out as large as a goose-egg, which had every appearance of having been melted by extreme heat. What these gentlemen will accomplish they themselves do not know, but it will take a small fortune to employ competent men to put things in order, to make a paying investment. Then look out for a nickle a glass for this medicinal water. Better all come this year, while you can pitch your tent anywhere, wear calico dress­es, dispense with cosmetics, shoot birds, and romp to your heart’s content.
We are waiting and watching for Sunday and that Winfield party: Read’s, Robinson’s, and Spotswood’s, besides Mrs. Best and Mrs. Roberts, with their tent and goodies, which we may be able to borrow, as they are freshly cooked.
Yesterday afternoon a black cloud in the west admonished us to gather up our wetables, as we should probably have an opportu­nity to see whether our tent, which had never been wet, would turn water; and I assure you, I not only shall turn agent for the manufacturer, but shall always speak a good word for the lender.
That, like the rest of the world, you and your readers may be envious, I will say that we are to have green peas, fresh from the field, for dinner today. Respectfully, H. P. M.
Winfield Courier, January 22, 1880.
Mrs. Mansfield is getting the material on the ground for her new building. She has already had several offers for the lower story as soon as completed.
Winfield Courier, February 5, 1880.
Mr. W. H. Smith has secured the new brick store building to be built by Mrs. Mansfield, at $720 per year in advance. The building is to be completed by April 1st, 1880. Good for the boot and shoe man.
Winfield Courier, February 26, 1880.
Excavating for Mrs. Mansfield’s new building is about completed. Mrs. Mansfield has the requisite amount of energy to make things “boom” and she’s doing it.
Winfield Courier, March 4, 1880.
Mrs. Mansfield has the sleepers down for her new brick building.
Winfield Courier, March 25, 1880.
Smith Bros. will occupy the Mansfield building about the 1st of April, when you may look out for a big boot and shoe boom.
Winfield Courier, May 13, 1880.
The card of Dr. S. C. Fitzgerald appears in this paper. The doctor has his office in Mrs. Mansfield’s new building. CARD: S. C. FITZGERALD, PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON.

Winfield Courier, July 22, 1880.
BROOKLYN, L. I., July 10, 1880. EDS. COURIER. I had hoped to have a little leisure ere this to give my friends information of my whereabouts, and the passing events since I left them. The four weeks in Michigan is memorable mostly by the downright solid visiting with dear old-time friends, and the effort they made to keep us all summer. From there we took a night train and sleeper to Niagara Falls, where we stopped over to “take them in.” To many, the anticipation of their wonderful grandeur comes far from answering the contract, inasmuch as they are induced by the rabble of hackmen to take a carriage and ride over the bridge to the Canada side, a view from which is absolutely necessary to comprehend the immense body of water falling. The grandeur is only seen by going on foot and keeping below the banks, looking up the cata­ract instead of down. At every turn there is a fee, so that visitors truly say “they are bled.” Efforts are being made to remove all these fees, and make it free to all, even to an international bridge. We met the Royal party on the Canada side, composed of the Marquis of Lorne and Prince Louise, her brother, and three others. The Marquis was dressed in a plain black suit and black gloves, and the princess in a navy blue suit, with knife pleating, I should think, twenty inches deep on the skirt, a short overskirt and basque trimmed with the material, the same colored turban, with drab veil and gloves. One would not have noticed any dissimilarity to Americans, only from the florid countenance and robust figure.
From there we proceeded to Syracuse and Oswego County, where we passed three weeks with dear friends, and luxuriated on strawberries, morning, noon, and night; thence to Cape Vincent, and down the St. Lawrence river to Ogdensburg. Of all our journey no scenery compared with that of the Thousand Islands. (The government survey makes the number over 2,000 upon which vegetation grows.) To attempt a description of the innumerable summer residenc­es, reaching from Cape Vincent to Alexandria Bay, the fairy little yachts, and delicate row boats, in short, everything to make the time pass pleasantly and gaily, during the hot months of summer, would take too much space in your columns. A party on board, familiar with the river, explained everything and the names of the principle islands. The two which most attracted my fancy, were those of Geo. Pullman, of the palace car renown, and J. G. Holland, whose residence is known as Bonniecastle.
On the 24th of June we arrived at Governeur, and were met at the depot by a kind friend, whose wife was keeping her dinner waiting for us. Words are too feeble to express the agreeable and enjoyable visit of ten days, dining with one and supping with another, feeling I was a thousand times repaid for coming all the way from Kansas, and was sad at the necessity of separation.

Upon arrival, Albany friends gave me a hearty welcome, and took me all around to view the improvements during the years of my absence. The state capitol is foremost, and presents an appearance which surpasses most structures of American architec­ture. This is the eleventh year since its commencement, and it has already cost $12,000,000. It is believed that when complet­ed, its real cost will reach $17,000,000. At the present time there are thirteen hundred men at work on it.
We have this day (Tuesday), visited the Bureau of Military Statistics, where are deposited all the regimental flags of our late war, discolored by use, and riddled by bullets, freshly suggesting the day of their presentation, when the stars and stripes were bright, and their bearers swore to them to the last. As Richie was looking over the photographs upon the walls, his eyes fell upon a large one of his father, which was placed there many years ago; to see this likeness so far from home, was a shock to him. The park, the cemetery, etc., gives evidence of the great desire of the people to beautify the grounds. From here I go to Saratoga, and then to Brooklyn, from whence I will mail this. H. P. MANSFIELD.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, August 5, 1880. Front Page.
The day we passed in Saratoga was too hot and the night too intensely brilliant to be passed without comment. The height of the fashionable season has arrived, and it would seem that all the wealth and show of the world was there. Since the fire which destroyed the U. S. Hotel, another of more huge dimensions has been erected, as well as the Grand Central, the latter being an item of the estate of A. T. Stewart, and fur­nished in the most elegant manner, costing 1½ millions. The grounds and building use the electric light, which is certainly a marvel of improvement, and reduces gas light to that of a tallow candle; its rays being very similar to the sun. The only strange thing, and to some people, unpleasant, is the peculiar blue cast it gives to surrounding objects. The court is filled with fountains and lovely flowers, green lawns, trees, and fine music, so you see one can spend a day very pleasantly.
Aside from these two hotels, and the springs and lake, there is little to interest one.
Coney Island at the present day must not be left out to the tourist, as it is the fashionable New Yorker’s resort. The briny surf has been familiar to me in years gone by, but to renew the acquaintance now is not as agreeable as it is with the good friends living near.
The hotels at Manhattan beach, Coney Island, etc., are not to be compared with Saratoga, yet the guests are far more numer­ous. An elevator 300 feet high gives me an extensive view of New York harbor, Rockway, and its hotels, ¼ of a mile long, Long Branch (where I go tomorrow), Staten Island with its forts, etc. Among the 1,000 curiosities was an automatic machine for hatching eggs, the first successful one ever invented, showing chickens in all stages of hatching, and was very interesting. Perhaps no band in the world can compete with those at these hotels. Levy, now playing at the Manhattan Beach hotel, is said to be the finest cornet performer; his instrument is solid gold, a present of course. Arbuckle plays at Coney Island Hotel, and lest “familiarity breeds contempt,” he gives only two or three pieces.
Electric lights here too add greatly to the beauty of the evening promenades and the sandy beach, with its white surf rolling up to your very path. Display, excitement, bewilderment, from weeks end to weeks end, almost seeming to crowd years into days, until life itself is hurried through, cutting off the hours at either end, which makes it short enough. Even the forced quiet of city life here finds you up at 12 at night, and breakfasting at 10 in the morning.

I have just returned from Hempstead Island, where I have had a delightful visit with friends, in the quiet of a charming household, whose head (the mother), I knew as a beautiful girl of 16, long years ago. Time has set her seal; lovely children have grown to be a blessing, but the mother is beautiful still.
Garden City, built by A. T. Stewart in his life time, for the purpose it is said of lessening rents for the men of moderate means, is a handsome place; most of the buildings corresponding to the same architecture, that of two-stories and basement, with French roof, lawns with fountains playing on the commons, orna­mental trees, shrubs, and flowers. Since his death his wife is erecting an Episcopal Cathedral to his memory, and believes that the remains of her stolen husband have been recovered and depos­ited in the vault built for the purpose within the church. The Crypt is of the finest Italian marble, and the most elaborate carving in America. A lover of art could pass a week admiring the columns and caps of the building.
Notwithstanding the hundreds of times I have passed Trinity Church in New York, until now I have never been inside the iron railing. Of course, I was anxious to see the noted stones of which I had heard so much. Charlotte Temple was carved on a slab, which lies flat over the grave.
[Note: Reference is made in next paragraph to Clinton and canal. She was writing about De Witt Clinton (1769-1828), an American lawyer and politician. His great service was the promotion of the Erie Canal project. A locomotive was named for him.]
Greenwood cemetery is too extensive to enter into detail. The tombs of Clinton, with carving of the canal being dug through the wilderness, and its completion; the lot where were deposited the remains of those who were burned at the destruction of the Brooklyn theater; Matthews, the soda fountain man; Horace Greeley; Soldier’s Monument; Daner, the noted N. Y. gambler, etc., are all calculated to throw the expensive tomb of Charlotte Candee, which has been so much admired, into the shade. The elevated railroads, the tunnel under the North river, etc., I have not time to discuss. I have met Mrs. Waldron, and R. B. Saffold, who join a party for Long Branch. From there I go to Newport and Boston and then commence my home trip. H. P. MANSFIELD.
Winfield Courier, September 2, 1880.
                                   CLINTON, NEW YORK, AUGUST 22, 1880.

EDITOR COURIER: After passing a very delightful time with friends in and around New York City, and receiving a visit from my son, Rupert, who came from Charleston, South Carolina, I determined to proceed up the Sound, notwithstanding the recent collision between the Narragansett and Stonington and the burning of the Seawanbaca, whose hull and smokepipe were still above water. Every steamer leaving her dock in all directions is loaded with passengers, and every train bears its burden of human freight, as the whole world was on the move. The night was bright, and the sail to Boston charming, which we reached about 7 o’clock next morning. From the top of Bunker Hill monument, I wrote you a postal. The places of interest are numerous, and among them we visited the commons, public garden, public library, art museum, and others of notoriety, a description of which would be tedious on paper. I bought views from all places which I have seen to take home with me. At Watertown, about six miles from Boston, we visited a cousin, who took us to Mount Auburn, a cemetery of great interest, and one which I have for many years longed to see. In it reposes the last of Charles Sumner, Edward Everett, Hosea Ballou, Louis Agassiz Bowelitch, Chas. Turner Torrey, Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Charlotte Cushman. N. P. Willis, Fanny Fern, Harnden, the first expressman, Francis S. Osgood, and others who we all know by reputation. This cemetery is by far the most beautiful flower garden of any I have seen, its beds being of the most original designs and finest contrast of foliage and flowers.
Greenwood excells in its monuments. Rural, of Albany, in its romantic scenery, and Mount Aubure for its flower gardens.
But the grandest of all is known as Payson’s farm of 120 acres, kept in the most perfect order and free to the public. Here are vast lawns, a deer park, with fawns that are so tame they will lick your hand, nicely trimmed hedges, a world of flowers and vegetables, greenhouses filled with every imaginable variety of tropical plants too beautiful to describe, peaches, nectarines, black Hamburg and Muscat Alexander grapes, under glass, bananas and pineapples, all in the most luscious state of ripeness, and yet untouchable. In short, the whole place surpasses descrip­tion, so scrupulously tasty and neat was every inch of it. A carpenter was employed by the year, and I was told that the expense of running it is $25,000 a year. It is not a market garden, but simply for his own pleasure and for the public.
At Cambridge we visited Agassiz’s museum, which consisted of stuffed animals of all countries, birds in endless variety, fishes, reptiles, etc., in alcohol, skeletons of everything, mastodons, etc.
In all my tour, no scenery compared with the Hoosac tunnel route to Albany. The day was cloudy, with a slight rain, which caused a fog to fall in clouds below the peaks of the mountains, giving them a weird appearance, ever and anon winding and twist­ing like smoke around their very base. The short curves in the railroad, which kept the train following closely the bank of a winding stream, with its pebbly bottom and clear water, swayed us here and there as the cars rushed along, until it seemed as though we were certainly going to upset, but finally found ourselves safely in Albany, and onward until we reached this place, a haven of rest, which I shall call “The Welcome,” in commemoration of the same which my cousins gave me upon my arrival, and ever since. Every hour has been one of enjoyment. Here I was reared, and here I have met friends who knew me as a child, and in my riper years, who have rejoiced in my joy and soothed me in my early bereavement. Our visit here is nearly ended, from which we proceed to Ohio and so on home, where our arrival may be looked for about the 11th of October. Respectfully, H. P. MANSFIELD.
Winfield Courier, September 23, 1880.
Mrs. H. P. Mansfield and her son, Ritchie, returned Tuesday from the long wanderings in the east.
Winfield Courier, January 6, 1881.
Master Richie Mansfield entertained a number of young friends at his home Monday evening.
Winfield Courier, January 13, 1881.
Harold Mansfield is preparing to start a drug store at Hunnewell.
Winfield Courier, January 27, 1881.

MR. AND MRS. J. C. FULLER. Socially this has been one of the gayest winters in the history of our city. Almost every week has been made pleasant by a social gathering of some sort or other. One of the most pleasant of these was the reception by Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Fuller last Friday evening. The guests were many and the arrangements for their entertainment were complete. Among those present were: Mr. and Mrs. Loose, Mr. and Mrs. James Harden, Mr. and Mrs. J. S. Hunt, Mr. and Mrs. Hodges. Dr. and Mrs. VanDoren, Mr. and Mrs. McMullen, Mr. and Mrs. Eastman, Rev. and Mrs. T. F. Borcher, Mr. and Mrs. T. R. Bryan, Dr. and Mrs. Davis, Mr. and Mrs. Gene Baird, Mr. and Mrs. Short, Dr. and Mrs. Graham, Mr. and Mrs. Boyer, Mr. and Mrs. Trimble, Mr. and Mrs. Moffitt, Mr. and Mrs. Speed, Mr. and Mrs. Doane, Mr. and Mrs. Kretsinger, Mr. and Mrs. J. G. Shrieves, Mr. and Mrs. Millington, Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Bliss, Mr. and Mrs. Scovill, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Brown, Mr. and Mrs. Allen Johnson, Mr. and Mrs. Carruthers, Mr. and Mrs. C. C. Black, Mr. and Mrs. S. L. Hamil­ton, Mr. and Mrs. H. C. Fuller, Rev. and Mrs. Hyden, Mr. and Mrs. D. L. Williams, Mrs. Mansfield, Mrs. Mullen, Miss Mary Stewart, Miss May Williams, Father Kelly, O. F. Boyle, and Charles Fuller.
Winfield Courier, February 10, 1881.
CRYSTAL WEDDING. Mr. and Mrs. Shrieves celebrated the 15th anniversary of their marriage by inviting their friends to attend their crystal wedding on Tuesday evening, February 8th. Accord­ingly a merry party filled the omnibuses and proceeded to their residence, one mile east of town, and spent an evening of unal­loyed pleasure. Mrs. Shrieves, assisted by her sisters, Mrs. Cummings and Mrs. Wm. Shrieves, entertained their guests in a graceful and pleasant manner. Although invitation cards announced no presents, a few of the most intimate friends pre­sented some choice little articles in remembrance of the occasion. The following were present: Mrs. Hickok, Mrs. Mansfield, Mrs. Butler, Miss Graham, Mr. and Mrs. Kinne, Mr. and Mrs. S. D. Pryor, Mr. and Mrs. Wallis, Mr. and Mrs. M. L. Robin­son, Mr. and Mrs. Spotswood, Dr. and Mrs. Van Doren, Mr. and Mrs. Earnest, Mr. and Mrs. H. Brown, Rev. and Mrs. Hyden, Rev. and Mrs. Platter, Mrs. Houston, Mr. and Mrs. D. A. Millington, Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Fuller, Mr. and Mrs. Black, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, Mr. and Mrs. R. S. Wilson, Rev. and Mrs. Borchers, Mr. and Mrs. Meech, Mr. and Mrs. Millhouse, Mr. and Mrs. S. S. Linn, Mr. and Mrs. Snyder, Mr. and Mrs. W. D. Roberts, Mr. Hendricks, and John Roberts.
Winfield Courier, April 7, 1881.

On last Thursday evening was gathered in the magnificent salons of M. L. Robinson one of the largest parties which have assembled in Winfield this past season. The honors of the occasion were conducted by Mr. and Mrs. Robinson and Mr. and Mrs. A. T. Spotswood in the most graceful and pleasing manner, making each of the guests feel delighted and happy. A new departure was made in the hour for reception which we cannot too highly commend, that of substituting 7 o’clock for the late hours which usually prevail, but the habits of some were so confirmed that they could not get around until nine o’clock. The banquet was excellent beyond our power of description. Nothing was wanting to render it perfect in all its appointments. At a reasonable hour the guests retired, expressing the warmest thanks to their kind hostesses and hosts for the pleasures of the evening. The following are the names of the guests as we now remember them. Miss Nettie McCoy, Mrs. Huston, Mrs. S. H. Myton, Mrs. Mansfield, Mrs. Eastman, Mrs. Ticer, Mr. M. G. Hodges, Mr. C. A. Bliss, Mr. W. C. Robinson, Mr. W. A. Smith, Mr. W. J. Wilson, Mr. and Mrs. J. B. Loose, Mrs. Herrington, Mr. and Mrs. Van Doren, Mr. and Mrs. S. S. Linn, Mr. and Mrs. Wallis, Mr. and Mrs. Lemmon, Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Fuller, Mr. and Mrs. Platter, Mr. and Mrs. J. Harden, Mr. and Mrs. W. P. Hackney, Mr. and Mrs. S. D. Pryor, Mr. and Mrs. Black, Mr. and Mrs. H. Brown, Mr. and Mrs. Hodges, Mr. and Mrs. Hickok, Mr. and Mrs. Conklin, Mr. and Mrs. T. R. Bryan, Mr. and Mrs. Dever, Mr. and Mrs. Bedilion, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, Mr. and Mrs. Barclay, Mrs. W. F. Baird, Mr. and Mrs. Mann, Mr. and Mrs. Allen, Mr. and Mrs. Doane, Mr. and Mrs. D. A. Millington, Mr. and Mrs. Horning, Mr. and Mrs. Troup, Mr. and Mrs. F. Williams, Mr. and Mrs. E. A. Baird, Mr. and Mrs. Emerson, Mr. and Mrs. McDonald, and Mr. and Mrs. M. L. Read.
Winfield Courier, May 12, 1881.
Mr. Harold Mansfield has sold his drug business in Hunnewell and is again a resident of Winfield.
Winfield Courier, June 16, 1881.
A considerable number of the citizens of Winfield met on Monday evening on the steps of the Winfield Bank to provide for raising funds for the immediate relief of the sufferers caused by the cyclone Sunday evening. Mr. Crippen called the people together by music from the band.
A committee of ladies was appointed to canvass for clothing, bedding, etc., consisting of Mrs. Mansfield, Mrs. J. D. Pryor, Mrs. Earnest, Mrs. Jewell, Mrs. Van Doren, Mrs. Horning, Mrs. Albro, Mrs. Spotswood, Miss Nellie Cole, and Miss Mary Steward.
Cowley County Courant, December 22, 1881.
We notice the arrival of Harold Mansfield, from Texas. Harold says Texas isn’t just exactly a cheerful state to live in, and that a young man who cares anything about the preservation of his anatomy shouldn’t float around in that state to any great extent.
Cowley County Courant, January 12, 1882.
Harold Mansfield is running Quincy Glass’ drug store during his absence to Chicago.
Winfield Courier, March 9, 1882.
At a late meeting of the Library Association, the following officers were elected for the year ending January 31, 1883. President: Mrs. M. J. Wood. Vice President: Mrs. T. B. Myers.
Secretary: Mrs. E. T. Trimble. Treasurer: Mrs. A. H. Doane. Librarian: Mrs. W. L. Mullen.
Directors: Mrs. H. P. Mansfield, Mrs. J. B. Schofield, Mrs. J. A. Earnest, Mrs. J. G. Shrieves, Mrs. W. H. Shearer, Mrs. G. W. Miller, Mrs. Elbert Bliss, Mrs. James A. Bullen, and Mrs. J. Swain. It is hoped that the citizens of Winfield will feel that, as this association cannot flourish without money, it is the duty of each and everyone to purchase a yearly ticket. It will only cost three dollars for each gentleman in Winfield to have the opportunity of supplying himself with interesting as well as instructive reading matter for one year; and if he does not desire to do it for himself, he will have the satisfaction of knowing he is doing it for the benefit of his fellow men.
Winfield Courier, June 8, 1882.
Mrs. Mansfield will spend the summer and part of next winter traveling in California.
Winfield Courier, June 15, 1882.

Mrs. W. Q. Mansfield showed us a sample bunch of wheat Tuesday morning which was fully made, and the field from which it was taken was being harvested Monday. The heads were well filled and the grains as plump and nice as any we have yet seen. The sample was sent to Kansas City.
Winfield Courier, June 15, 1882.
On Tuesday evening the citizens met at the Opera House to hear the report of the executive committee on 4th of July celebration. The committee reported as follows.
On Representation of 13 Original States: Mrs. H. P. Mansfield, Mrs. Caton, Mrs. Carruthers.
Winfield Courier, June 15, 1882.
The ladies of the W. C. T. U. tender a vote of thanks to each and everyone who so faith-fully assisted the cause of temperance by giving their time and talent to assure the success of the entertainment given by them on the evening of June 2nd. Especially do they tender thanks to Mrs. Dr. Mansfield for the loan of her piano, and to the COURIER and Courant for special favors. LADIES OF THE W. C. T. U.
Cowley County Courant, June 29, 1882.
Winfield is going to have a band. Wednesday evening a number of young men met at THE COURANT office, and organized a cornet band, with the following members: Ed. Farringer, R. I. Mansfield, Frank Barclay, Ed. McMullen, Will Farringer, Will Hodges, Ad. Brown, Chas. Dever, and Will Ferguson. The boys are all young, active, and composed of the right kind of material to make an excellent band. All they need to do is to practice diligently, and we have no fears that the day is not far hence when Winfield can boast of one of the best bands in the state. In order to make the organization strong, it will be necessary for the businessmen of Winfield to do all in their power to help the boys along. By unanimous vote of the members, it was decided to christen it THE COURANT BAND.
Winfield Courier, August 10, 1882.
An exceedingly pleasant party of ladies, numbering about thirty, dropped in upon Mrs. Mansfield on Tuesday at 4 o’clock p.m., each bearing an unsuspicious parcel, which proved at a later hour to be all sorts of edibles, prepared only as refined tastes and educated hands could produce. Mrs. Mansfield appreciated and enjoyed the honor of such a good bye visit previous to her leave-taking for a California trip, as few can. We, too, wish her a joyable ramble and a safe return.
Winfield Courier, August 17, 1882.
Mrs. H. P. Mansfield started for a summer tour through California, Monday. She expects to have a grand time, and of course she will. She promises the COURIER an account of her travels, which, we can assure our subscribers, will be most readable and interesting.
Winfield Courier, September 7, 1882.

Eds. Courier: At this altitude of 6204 feet above the level of the sea, with the mercury at 90 degrees, I will attempt to tell my friends something of the wonders of this mountainous region. I hardly know where to commence, and shall know less where to end. The wild scenery which commences in Colorado has not grown less, nor will it, until I reach the Sacramento Valley. The peaks covered with patches of snow, visible for two days, are too familiar to most of your readers, to dwell upon, nor did the scenery strike the eye pleasantly, all through Wyoming and Nevada. Dog towns, jack rabbits, and sage brush comprised the variety until we neared the terminus of the Union Pacific and found ourselves across the boundary line of Utah, when the perpendicular rocks on either side arose to the height of a thousand feet, and looked like barriers to civilization from all quarters. In imagination I saw forts and castles perched upon the very tops, guarded by sentinels of Indians wrapped in blankets and armed with spears, so real that one could hardly believe that nature only had formed the sculpture, and there they would stand forever. In all the original grandeur of nature, bereft of verdure, of animal life, there is much to admire and much to regret, and produces a subject for deep thought, mingled with speculation as to the strange formation.
Leaving the U. P. at Ogden, a distance of thirty-eight miles brought me to the much railed at Salt Lake City, and as my mission was sight-seeing, I shall chronicle my opinions and observations, “nothing extenuating, or set down, aught in malice,” against the country or its people. Two days and nights were illy sufficient to form opponent parts to either, hence I was determined to make the most of my vision, and see all I could. One day was spent in visiting the wives of Brigham Young, who live in the house where he died (called the Lion House, from there being a carved lion over the door). I was most cordially received by Mrs. Margaret, Mrs. Zina, and Mrs. Julia, also by Mrs. Eliza Snow Smith (poetess) and wife of Joseph Smith, Amelia, who lives in a house by herself, and handsomely furnished. And right here I will say that I have never spent two hours with more interestingly informed, or more agreeable ladies, than those spoken of. President John Taylor was absent. I had the opportunity of entering his residence, which is a very handsome one, and was built for Amelia, and called by the Gentiles, “Amelia’s Palace.” I was introduced and very pleasantly received by Apostle Franklin D. Richards, Councellor Geo. Q. Cannon, and many others. I speak of this because I was repeatedly informed that I could not obtain an interview.
The exterior beauty and loveliness with which the City is filled and surrounded is wonderful. On either side of a sixteen foot asphaltum sidewalk is a row of locust trees whose branches meet and intertwine above, and at the roots an irrigating brook gives life and moisture and strength to the foliage. From the general appearance one would never know that it was a Mormon city, or that vegetation was kept alive by artificial appliances. The great Salt Lake is 20 miles from the city and is reached by steam cars, the round trip costing only 50 cents. A bathing house and suit is furnished for 25 cents and results in lots of fun to the hundreds of people who go there every afternoon. But more than the bath in the lake did I enjoy one in the warm sulphur plunge bath reached by the street cars. A house covering a large box 20 feet square, and filled with water to the depth of five feet, as warm as it would naturally be, after a journey of 1½ miles, from its boiling fountain head, with rooms arranged around, and a shower bath of pure mountain water to end up with is, I believe, the greatest luxury I ever bought for 25 cents.
The fine hotel, called the Continental, is well kept, well patronized, and well sustained, if enormous charges can do it. The Temple which was begun years ago, has only reached the height of forty feet, and probably will never be finished. Its walls are 8 feet thick, and the model is grand. The Tabernacle is peculiarly shaped outside, but the inside is comely, immense, and artistic. The organ is said to be second in size in America.

I have view of all, which can be seen when I return. Time is not long enough to detail all I saw. From there I proceeded without detention to the eastern boundary of California, and was met at the station Truckee by Miss Sue Hunt, to whom I had telegraphed at Woodland. I cannot refrain from speaking of the aforesaid Truckee as containing the most loafers carrying bloated faces and besotted bodies, of any place I ever saw. Men and boys were constantly at the billiard tables, while “Saloon” was over every second door. When will prohibition rule and crush out such destructive practices?
At 7 o’clock this a.m., a four horse open vehicle left the hotel for this wonderful lake, with a load of tourists, myself and Sue counting two, and paying $1.50 or $.50 each for the round trip, a distance of fifteen miles. We were a jolly party, and the originality of one man, named Fuller, made the tour short and sweet. Mountains on either side, covered with a variety of pine, which is constantly being cut by lumbermen, rose from 600 to 1,000 feet above us, and the Truckee river kept us company in the valley. As the driver made it a part of his business to give us information, we were permitted to see several logs sent down a chute from the top into the river, a sight new and novel to all. Also he pointed out a mound by the roadside where were buried 1,500 Indians who fell in battle with themselves—the Omaha and Chichaus.
This lake is said to be twelve miles each way, with settlements dotting around it, and when calm, trouting in the bottom, in 50 feet of water, can easily be seen. I think it is very probable as the tint is a sea green and very clear. Snow near by could be plainly seen, with timber at the very top, and one peculiarity of the lake is that it is snow water and very agreeable. This lake has been sounded 1800 ft. and no bottom. The day was spent more jovially and agreeably than I can describe; but the best of all was a dinner served at the Grand Central, composed of those fine speckled trout, venison, and bear steak, all fresh from the morning hunt. I am safe in affirming that in five years I have not relished a meal as well. We are about leaving for the station, and proceed to Mount Shasta direct. It is very warm in the valleys.
Thursday, 25th. At the terminus of the Oregon division, bound for Mount Shasta.
Mrs. Mansfield.
Winfield Courier, September 21, 1882.
Mrs. Mansfield gives our readers a further description of her western rambles in another letter on first page. She is a very interesting writer, and from her letters one can get an excellent idea of that mountainous and romantic country. Her trip seems to be proving very enjoyable.

A sight of Mount Shasta in the distance satisfied us, after having tasted twenty miles of stage ride over rough, dangerous roads, mounted upon the very tops, which were reserved seats for ladies, the inside of the coach being filled with Chinamen and express matter. A night passed upon the top of a stage coach, behind six spirited horses, even with a careful driver, was not to be thought of; besides, those who were supposed to know, told us there was nothing to see but the same mountains which had been our companions for days; hence, in consideration of fifteen cents a mile penalty, we decided to retrace our steps and seek the coast as soon as possible, to escape the extreme heat.
Only for this attempted trip, we might have returned to our home, reiterating the assertions of tongue and pen, which for years have been so busy in landing this land of gold and paradisal climate. This is the first place I have seen where it seemed feasible for white folks to live. The eastern and northern part of the State, although having been settled over thirty years, gives no evidence of thrift, taste, or refinement; and how can it when “saloon” is over every other door, and boys are waiting with a pack of cards in their hands, and a cigar in their mouth, at a billiard table, for their fellows to join them. The thought of irrigating even a flower-bed, or a patch of grass in front of their houses, which look ready to fall down over their heads, has apparently never occurred to them.
We think Kansas is drouthy, but if you could see the only trees which can be made to grow here, viz., the locust and the native live oak, so covered with dust and parched with thirst, you would thank your stars that your lot had been cast in a pleasant place. I believe we have seen the worst part of California, and at the most unfavorable time of the year; but I am told that no rain falls for seven months.
One redeeming feature is the immensity of the wheat crop. All along the line of railroad thousands of sacks of wheat, each holding about two bushels (or as many hundred as may be, for they don’t talk about bushels here), are piled up ready for shipment. No fear of rain; and it is a curiosity indeed. General Bidwell, of this place, has a wheat ranch of 30,000 acres. Another has 17,000, and so on. Mr. Stanford has a 14,000 acre alfalfa ranch; another man has an old vineyard of 400 acres, a new one of 600 acres, and is going to plant 400 acres more this fall, making twice as large a vineyard as any in the world. This pretty place claims 7,000 inhabitants; has water-works, public spirit, and a wilderness of tall trees; and on Sunday morning last a fire burned the Chico Hotel, two dwellings, and Armory Hall to the ground.
Yesterday I had the honor of being invited to dine at General Bidwells, and passed three hours most agreeably in general conversation with host and hostess. This morning, at eight o’clock, Mrs. Bidwell came to give me a drive around their grounds. It is impossible to give your readers any just conception of the vastness of his productions. His mansion is most magnificent, curtained around by stately trees, underneath which is an endless variety of shrubs and flowers. Within sight and hearing is a natural creek, along whose banks English walnuts, almonds, chestnuts, and native varieties grow luxuriantly. For miles we rode past apple, peach, plum, prune, fig, and pear orchards, besides all sorts of small fruit and varieties of grapes without end. The General is too conscientious to make wine, so he disposes of them fresh, for home consumption and shipping. He fattens cattle, hogs, and sheep, has a canning factory, owns a flouring mill and a church; in short, he has at one time and another, owned all Chico during his thirty-two years of residence. We were three hours constant driving, without going over the same road twice.
If all California people are as generous, unselfish, and hospitable as the General and his wife, my trip will be dotted with many a bright spot to refer to in years to come, when I sit alone in any quiet home, and weave memory and hope together. From here we go to Sacramento, and from there somewhere else. We float with the tide. Respectfully,
H. P. Mansfield.
Winfield Courier, September 28, 1882.

Irving Mansfield received this week from his mother, Mrs. H. P. Mansfield, who is visiting in California, a box of choice California figs. The writer sampled them and pronounces them the finest of this season.
Winfield Courier, November 9, 1882.
                               239, 5th St., San Francisco, California, Oct. 23, 1882.
To the Ladies of Winfield:
That I am strongly attached to the friends in Kansas, has never been more fully realized than at the present moment. Here at this distance of more than two thousand miles, a stranger in a strange country, I very naturally recall the many tokens of kindness and love tendered me in genuine good feeling, the thought of which affords me much pleasure in the retrospect, and furnishes the basis of thoughts and fancies as I sit alone and weave memory and hope together. In appreciation of past friendship, I dedicate this hour to those who may read and be interested in my journeyings across the continent.
My last letter to the COURIER left me at a small city on the Oregon division, called Chico. From there we staged it (Miss Sue Hunt and myself) twenty-two miles to Cherokee, a mining town in the foot hills of the Sierra Nevada’s. These are said to be the largest hydraulic mines in the world. Hundreds of acres are worked to the depth of 1,000 feet, or until they strike bed rock. The process of washing out the dust is very interesting, for there is very little gold except in dust, which cannot be seen until separated by the process of washing and carrying through tunnels and flumes, and finally being lodged against quick-silver strewn on the bottom for the purpose. Water brought from the mountains in twenty-two inch pipes, and tributaries leading from them in all directions, in fifteen inch pipes with a nozzle attached to each, seven inches in diameter, throws a stream with such force that rocks weighing a ton are rolled around like marbles. First the immense rocks are blasted and swung off with derricks, then two streams are turned on, which wash all the dirt into the tunnels, then into the flumes, and finally over the land, the result of which is ruinous to agriculture, and farmers force the Company to buy thousands of acres which are made worthless by the overflow of debris.
I was greatly interested in the workings by sunlight, and electric light, and all was explained in a manner which I cannot put upon paper. Suffice it that I was loth to leave the spot, nor did I until I had permission to pick out some specimens of the shining metal which cropped out only occasionally from continual washing.
It was in Butte County that I found fruit the cheapest and finest, and I was continually wishing that the folks at home could have some. Pears, plums, prunes, grapes, peaches, etc., for twenty cents a box, 12 lbs. in each, and oh! How luscious. It is not quite as cheap here; grapes of all kinds, the Muscat, Flaming Troquet, Mission, etc., are two and a half cents per pound. So you see I am finally in this much talked of Babel of the Pacific coast. To begin  with, it is an awfully wicked city. Salt Lake can’t beat it in polygamy, the only difference is the occasional ignorance of the wife. Suicides are of daily occurrence, murders and robberies are winked at. Two lunatic asylums, one at Napa, the other at Stockton, are full to over-flowing, the capacity of both being about nineteen hundred. State prisons and houses of correction are all full.

There is a great deal said in praise of the climate here, but as it is about what I have been used to for years, it doesn’t strike me as wonderful. They say that the Calla Lily and fuchias live out doors altogether; in a protected place the former will bloom from this on till December. The latter will soon lose their leaves and beauty, not to return until they are watered in spring. Neither are they as handsome as when grown in the house, nor do the roses appear as lovely as they do with us, for they are covered with dust.
There are some fine residences and a few nice yards, but the sidewalks are horrible, except on the few principal streets. Inch boards, sixteen feet long, laid crosswise, are well enough when new, but, when they warp and draw the nails out, and stick up one above the other, it is death to dresses and shoes; besides endangering the life of the wearer.
Ladies here have little idea of comfort, or appearance, for with the thermometer at 80 you will see them promenading at mid day, enveloped in a long cloak lined with fur. If you would follow the style in millinery, hunt up your accumulation of years in feathers, regard-less of color or size, and after washing your hat in mucilage, throw them on, and you have it. The more conspicuous you can make yourself, the better, and I am told that it is a common thing for young girls to wink at strange men on the street or at the theatre. Certain it is that the people turn night into day, for the evening until twelve o’clock is spent in carousing. I have been familiar with New York life, and other larger cities than this, but never heard of so much dissipation; but some grow bad and some good by the association, I suppose. For instance, R. B. Saffold has a class in the Sunday school of I. S. Kallock; and one of the Congregational preachers has gone on the stage in the character of Othello. More than once I have been disgusted by the contents of the morning papers, and felt willing to retire to the seclusion of a quiet life; and, low be it spoken, if it was not for the name of it, I should be tempted to abandon sight-seeing and retrace my steps, yet I know that would be a rash act. Since as I am here, my better judgment tells me to see it through.
I have felt two perceptible shocks of earthquake, and not a day passes but the house I am in trembles, as by the effect of a heavy wind, although there is none, nor is there a vehicle in hearing near by. I am told that the east side of Market St. was all bog, and within the last twelve years has been filled in and drained; moreover there appeared to be no bottom to the bog. Probably this part of the city is a floating mass, and some day will sink. Should not be surprised.
There are many interesting places to visit around the suburbs, so the citizens tell me. Those I have seen come far short of my expectations, comparing rather shabbily with the productions of the Atlantic states. The U. S. Mint is a massive structure, erected with an eye to safety more than beauty, and has the capacity of coining $30,000,000 per month. The vaults contain about $25,000,000 in gold and silver coin, besides $5,000,000 in bullion. It was some satisfaction to see that it was perfectly safe from burglars, though I should have been delighted to cast my eyes on such an amount; however, I saw bushels of $20 gold pieces, and as many silver dollars. The process of refining, melting, and running into blocks, each worth $7,000, was of some value. The morning of the formal opening of his new mint, Oct. 17, 1874, Mr. John M. Eckfeldt, the builder of the engine, hung himself. For a few days previous, he fancied that the machinery would be a failure; so overwrought was his brain, that it resulted in delirium.

Woodward’s Garden is something like Central Park, on a very small scale.
On Saturday we took a trip to San Jose, but as two or three acquaintances were absent, it reduced its interest.
The Normal school building is fine, but not as fine as the one at Emporia which was burned, and of which L. C. Norton was also Professor. The Courthouse is pretty, and the streets well shaded, but everything looks neglected. In short, my opinion is expressed in four words: California is a fraud. More anon. Very truly yours, [MRS.] H. P. MANSFIELD.
Winfield Courier, November 30, 1882.
To the Ministers of Winfield:
I have always heard it said that this cosmopolitan city was the wickedest one in America, but never until my eyes saw, and my ears heard, could I comprehend the boundless extent of the assertion. New York and Chicago have their dens of vice, but I cannot think they have sunk so low in the scale of immorality as San Francisco. Sunday is observed scarcely less than any other day; and only for some of the business houses being closed, you could but observe the same see-saw the other six days. I am not surprised that those who are compelled to work all the week should seek recreation in various directions; but there is a becoming manner to do it, becoming at least to civilization.
The theaters are open at night and Woodward’s Garden hold forth every Sunday as per the accompanying PROGRAMME.
WOODWARD’S GARDENS. Performance, rain or shine, Sunday Nov. 12th. First appearance of  Professor Henry Tyler’s Mastodon Dog circus, Canine wonders, etc., Messrs. Seigrist and Duray. In a brilliant display on the Double Aerial Bars and Acrobatic Feats. The Moore Family, the Arnold Bros., Mlle. Bertha, Miss Rose Julian, Miss Vergie, Kate Moore, and full company of variety Artists.
Imagine the shock it gives the stranger from civilized lands to behold an audience of 2,000 people who enjoy the performance to its fullest extent. Men sitting with their hats on, women in ermine lined cloaks pronouncing the thing fine. Shame! Shame! Every park has its band of music, and inside, whiskey and beer is as popular as water. Under ground dance houses are a Sunday institution. Billiard tables and bars are made as attractive as possible, and a young man must be under good self-control, who can resist the wiles of the electric light, and the company of his mates; for there are few men here, old or young, who do not indulge. An advertisement is daily seen in the papers like this: “WANTED. A good looking young lady to sing and play the piano in the back parlor of a saloon at No_____ Street.”
The extent to which children are smoking opium, is alarming. A druggist told me that it was first given them by Chinamen, the effect being so agreeable that all sorts of deception was used to obtain it.
By the way, I wish to state the hatred which is springing up between the Citizens and the Chinese, although their labor is every time accepted where it is a question of cheapness. Say what they may abroad, there is no effort being made to encourage white help, by a fair remuneration.
I have the promise of going with a party, under the guidance of the chief of police, through Chinatown at night, there we shall see it all.

Last Sunday evening I went to hear I. S. Kalloch (I cannot say Rev., and I cannot say preach) for his utterances were too disgusting and disgraceful to be associated with either.
His prelude, which always occupies just enough time to denounce everything he wishes, is worded in the most abusive, low language you might expect from a being which had well earned a term in the jail. The occasion of which I speak was to vent his anger on Mr. Joseph Cook; on the Boston Clergy for allowing him to speak against San Francisco and its people; and especially against the Y. M. C. A., their president, and the clergy here, for receiving him again last week; and giving him an ovation at their rooms. I was too shocked to remember the epithets which flowed from his coarse mouth, but they were all his vocabulary could pro-duce, and when I looked upon the 3,000 people, intelligent, well dressed people, who cheered him lustily, I said: “Is that the taste of the men and women whom he is vindicating?” Evidently it was, for that audience listens week after week to just such a harangue.
My observation and information proves that this is an awfully wicked city, and “if the bottom falls out some day, it will be all right.” Very Respectfully,
Winfield Courier, November 30, 1882. Editorial.
A Bad Place for Republicans.
After reading the letter of Mrs. H. P. Mansfield on first page of this paper, showing what a “hell upon earth” is the city of San Francisco, we do not wonder that Republicans are scarce in that city.
Winfield Courier, November 30, 1882. Editorial.
Imported Vices.
From the San Francisco letter on first page it appears that the Chinese are contaminating the Young America of that city by leading them to smoke opium. There is one vice more destructive to the intellect, more filthy, disgusting, and beastly, than alcohol drunkenness, and that is, opium eating and smoking. And even this is only one of the evils which are ruining the Pacific slope caused by the immigration of the vicious and ignorant hordes from China. Civilize them at home if you can, but don’t let them come here to drag America down to their beastly level. This illustrates the evils of inviting the vicious and ignorant of foreign countries to settle in our midst.
Winfield Courier, January 4, 1883.
What Our People Did During the Holidays.
Rich I. Mansfield came over from Burdenville for the holidays.
Winfield Courier, January 11, 1883.
Dick Mansfield was over from Burden Monday night. He intends to make Winfield his home again after his mother’s return from California in February.
Winfield Courier, January 11, 1883.
Accompanying the very interesting letter from California by Mrs. H. P. Mansfield, we received from her a full blown rose fresh and fragrant, only somewhat flattened by the enclosure.
Winfield Courier, January 11, 1883.

Christmas has come and gone with nothing to mark the day but the date—and this world-renowned, unsurpassed, rejuvenating climate. This place like all California is greatly overrated, except in the climate, which today is too warm for comfort, if sitting in the sun. It is claimed to contain five thousand actual inhabitants, but from the top of a high hill which overlooks the place, one would scarcely believe there were more than five hundred. The location is very pretty, being surrounded by the coast range, and the channel, from the beach of which is perpetually heard the roaring of the surf and the occasional whistle of an ocean ship as she puts into this port for freight and passengers; for either bound to places along the coast travel in this way, partly for economy and partly to save the tediousness of a two horse Concord coach, over a sandy, mountainous road.
From Santa Cruz (which by the way is a delightful sea port and fashionable resort, if there is any fashion here) we took the little ship Los Angeles, which rocked with the little waves like a big log, and landed at this place, thirty-six hours later, having interviewed six different ports in the trip.
Since leaving home, I have not halted where I felt so completely shut out from the world as here in this quiet town by the sea, and distance most emphatically will lend enchantment to the view as I sit in my own home and take a retrospect of the past, in days to come.
On Sunday the 31st inst., we sail for San Pedro and thence by rail for Los Angeles. Before leaving here, we shall visit the Old Mission, and other places of note, and if possible climb the rocks, which look almost perpendicular, to the top of the coast range, which gives a fine view of the ocean and valley around.
Great need of rain has dried and shriveled the oranges in this region until they are almost worthless, and every yard presents a most barren appearance, while Calla lilies persist in forcing themselves from among its dirty foliage in search of moisture. The people are in mortal fear of another dry year as they say, and everyone is wishing for their annual rain.
The Marquis and Mrs. Lorne, or Mrs. Louise, as the Chicago Times calls her, arrived here last Sunday night for a quiet two weeks’ rest at the Arlington. Last night the party (17 in number) went to the “nigger show,” and of course all Santa Barbara went too.
Hoping to leave on the through train in a month from now for home, I bid you an adieu.
                                                  [MRS.] H. P. MANSFIELD.
Winfield Courier, February 1, 1883.
Mrs. H. P. Mansfield returned last Thursday from a four months tour in California, in good health and spirits. She has had a very enjoyable time, seen all the lions and learned all about California. That country she thinks has been overrated; the plains are dependent for fertility upon irrigation, the mountains are grand but barren, the flowers large but of little fragrance, the fruits magnificent to the eye but almost tasteless, and the people are largely vicious and shiftless.
Winfield Courier, February 22, 1883.
WINFIELD, February 14, 1883.
Upon reviewing the communications I have sent from time to time for the perusal of the readers of the COURIER, I find that very many interesting occurrences and observation have been omitted. In fact, I forgot what I had told and what I had not.

Before I proceed, I cannot fail to remark that this lovely spring morning, with its breath of balmy sweetness, produces an exhilarating sensation, such as can never be felt in California, from the fact that they never have such mornings. I mean in the part of the State where they boast of a fine climate. Indeed, it would have been worth a mint of gold if this rainfall could have descended upon their wheat fields and orange orchards. Up to the time I left Los Angeles Johnston, there was a general expression of fear lest the rain, so long expected, would fall upon more devoted heads. Grape vineyards and orange groves depend entirely upon irrigation, and when the supply is short from want of their annual rains, every ranch is put on an allowance of a certain number of inches, according to his acres, that all may fare equally; so, you see, art supplies as grudgingly as nature, and is quite as unrelishable. Many streams and rivers have been drained of every drop of water through irrigating ditches, and the probability is very reasonable that unless some method is adopted to bring water from the earth in shape of Artesian wells, it will not be many years before the products of such huge dimensions will wither and die under the arid rays of the perpetual sunlight. This is their orange harvest, and, without doubt, it is the handsomest sight that the eye ever rested upon. Riding, as I did, for seventy-five miles over smooth roads, either side of which was lined with trees loaded with the golden fruit—in many cases bowed with the heaviness until they lay upon the ground, and almost hiding the dark, glossy, rich foliage—more beautiful than words can explain, and one must be indeed most unappreciative if they failed to admire and exclaim, “When this golden fruit is turned into golden dollars, then will my acme of hope be realized, and I can take a trip to the land and home of my birth, where the loved ones await me, and where I can die under the reign (rain) of a happy childhood!”

The immensity of the vineyards all through Los Angeles Johnston, and it is over 200 miles from north to south, impresses a prohibitionist of the enormity of the traffic in wine alone; and a visit to the cellar of Wm. Konig at Anaheim, where 36,000 gallons stare you in the face, at all ages, from ten years to the juice of the last yield in 1882, makes you feel that to diminish his stock by bringing away even a half pint of his best, was one less drink—to the wine-bibber. I am no judge of wine. I don’t know, by the taste, California wine from Winfield wine. The former, I am told, is made of the Mission grape; the latter is supposed to be the dregs of everything. California can never carry a temperance face, and it is no wonder saloons prosper by the millions, so long as the agricultural pursuit tends so strongly to raising the Mission grape. A vineyard of hundreds of acres, with the fruit spread upon boards three feet square, already assuming the color of raisins, is a handsome sight. The most extensive production, however, of this grape (Muscat Alexandria) is in the Napa and Sonoma valleys. So far as my likes and dislikes were considered, Los Angeles Johnston is the garden of California, although there had not been sufficient rain up to the 20th of January to grow a blade of grass; but the people generally took more pride in beautifying their homes, and altogether were more like the citizens of the East. The flowers, which “bud and bloom” the year around, afford very little satisfaction, as they are so covered with dust that both beauty and odor are a libel on God’s works, and not half as attractive as when seen through the window of a conservatory. If we could be transported instantaneously from here to there and back at our will, it would be very agreeable, but as a fixture, from choice I prefer Southern Kansas, with all her cyclones and grasshoppers—for such is her reputation in California.
I enjoyed to the fullest extent every inch of my tour, from the day I left Winfield until I stepped into it again. My journey of a night from Santa Barbary to Ventura by stage, a distance of fourteen miles, which took seven and a half hours to perform, this on washed out roads, now on the ocean beach, now on a side hill, now the driver off hunting the road, shut up with a Chinaman and Spaniard, you may think was something but enjoyable. When we at last arrived at that end of the route, chilled and tired at 1:30 at night, with no fire but in the billiard-room, around which, later, sat two stage drivers, one stage agent, the Spaniard (drunk), who had taken two drinks at the bar to prevent taking cold; the bar-tender, and the landlord. All but the Spaniard could talk straight, although the entire atmosphere was impregnated with the perfume of whiskey—drank and not drank. Miss Sue Hunt and myself, I assure you, thought it was something to remember in our travels, especially as when we left at four in the morning, Wagner, the landlord at the Palace Hotel, wrapped us up well in a double blanket, with instructions to the driver to bring it back the next day. At 6 p.m., we struck the S. P. R. R., just in time to see the express train pull out. So there was no hope for us but to put up for the night, and take the morning train for Los Angeles—pronounced in Spanish Lo-san-ka-les.
The many funny adventures we had in different places would be more laughable if told verbally than if put upon paper, so when opportunity presents, I will tell you. And right here let me say, that everybody is invited to come and see the variety of specimens and the stereoscopic views I have from nearly every place I visited.
Probably no State in America is represented by people from everywhere as is California. Whichever way I turned I met someone who knew those whom I did. If on land or water, the first question was, “Where are you from?” Travelers generally have a good time; all are sociable and strive to make the best of their journey, while steamboat captains and hotel proprietors are too polite for anything. At San Francisco alone, the men are extremely uncivil—unless they are going to make a few dollars.

There are several pleasantly located little towns from San Francisco in all directions, but the want of heavenly moisture prevents displaying them to good advantage. A stay of two months in the Golden Gate City gave me ample time to visit all places of interest, and see the sights. One day we would take a street car to the North Beach, where warm salt-water baths were served up for twenty-five cents; another, out to the Precedio, at the fort; and beer gardens, inside of which they gave a clam chowder for ten cents, in hopes you would buy lots of beer and whiskey. Then, there was the Cliff House, a fashionable drive for Sunday; fine roads, through Golden Gate Park, at both ends of which it was the custom to liquor up and drive fast. The Cliff House is a modest structure, with balconies all around, overlooking the ocean, and but a few yards out are the Famous Rocks, where the sea lions can always be seen in large quantities sunning themselves and roaring above the tumult of the breakers. The Farallone Islands are forty miles out in the sea, and in summer time parties go in search of Gull’s eggs, which are laid in crevices of the rocks in quantities. They are shipped by the cargo, being so large, and are quite as palatable as a goose egg. Here the sea lions are so huge in dimensions, and in such vast numbers, that they often show fight, and it is never safe to go bathing around the Island. At Prescadero Beach, south of the city about 53 miles, are found very handsome pebbles—as handsome as many which are set in jewelry. The Geysers is of too strange a formation to be passed by; no route would bring you in its way. The trip there is one on purpose to see a canon altogether not larger than one block, as laid out in a city, with boiling water hissing like a locomotive from every crack and crevice of the rocks. Springs seem to boil up under your feet, and you feel as though you dare not stand still a second for fear of sinking into a seething cauldron. No tourist should miss the Geysers. It is a mystery what ever left such a place.
Lone Mountain Cemetery, the Industrial School, House of Correction, Alms House, prison at San Quintin, Oakland, Berkeley, Alameda, all are interesting. The Yosemite alone remained unvisited. Not until June will the snow be thawed to admit of running the stages again, which were hauled off in October. Another trip to accomplish that omission will be imperative at some future time. MRS. H. P. MANSFIELD.
Winfield Courier, February 22, 1883.
                                         CORRECTIONS: H. P. MANSFIELD.
1. Los Angeles Johnston is 124 miles long.
2. Mr. Wm. Konig had 360,000 gallons of wine.
3. Distance from Santa Barbara to San Buenaventura is 24 miles.
Winfield Courier, March 22, 1883.
On Saturday last the following young men met and organized a base-ball nine, to be known as the “Winfields”: Wm. Carson, catcher; Ed. McMullen, pitcher; R. I. Mansfield, short-stop; Bert Freeland, 2nd stop; J. Connor, 1st base; Sam Aldrich, 2nd base; Clint Austin, 3rd base; Morton Stafford, right field; Walter Tomlin, left field; Wm. Connor center.
Officers: Ed. McMullen, president; R. I. Mansfield, captain; J. Connor, secretary; Clint Austin, treasurer.
This club is open for challenges from neighboring nines, and will be glad to correspond at any time. JAMES CONNOR, Secretary.
Winfield Courier, April 26, 1883.
Richie Mansfield has gone to Carbondale to take a position in a drug store there. Richie is a bright young fellow, full of energy, and one of the kind that will succeed anywhere.
Winfield Courier, May 10, 1883.
Mrs. H. P. Mansfield left Wednesday for a trip among the Ponca, Otoe, and Pawnee Indians.
Winfield Courier, May 17, 1883.
Mrs. H. P. Mansfield and Mrs. McMasters have gone on an excursion to the Pawnee Agency, Indian Territory.
Winfield Courier, May 31, 1883.
Mrs. Mansfield has resurrected from among her papers a slip which she penciled some thirty years ago. It is a memorandum of prices paid at that time. Beef was worth three cents per pound, eggs, twenty for 12½ cents, and wine one dollar per gallon. The paper is old and faded and the writing almost illegible.
Winfield Courier, June 21, 1883.

J. Wade McDonald was appointed guardian adlitem of R. F. Mansfield in the case of Josephine E. Mansfield against Hattie P. Mansfield and others. Another short term will be held on July 12th.
Winfield Courier, July 26, 1883.
Mrs. E. Gaston, from Welaka, Florida, will spend the summer here, as the guest of Mrs. H. P. Mansfield. She is very much pleased with Winfield, and compliments Kansas highly. This is highly appreciated from one whose home is among the orange groves of Florida.
Winfield Courier, August 30, 1883.
Richie Mansfield came down from Peabody last week and spent a few days visiting his mother. He is doing well and satisfied with his location.
Mrs. H. P. Mansfield of Burden...
Winfield Courier, November 29, 1883.
The most delightful entertainment of the season was given by Dr. & Mrs. Geo. Emerson on Tuesday evening of this week. The guests present were: Mr. & Mrs. Geo. Ordway, Mr. & Mrs. J. Wade McDonald, Mr. & Mrs. E. A. Baird, Mr. & Mrs. J. C. Fuller, Mr. & Mrs.
M. L. Robinson, Mr. & Mrs. A. T. Spotswood, Mr. & Mrs. G. H. Allen, Mr. & Mrs. A. H. Doane, Mr. & Mrs. C. F. Bahntge, Mr. & Mrs. W. J. Wilson, Mr. & Mrs. D. A. Millington; Mrs. F. Mendell of Texas, Mrs. H. P. Mansfield of Burden, Mrs. Perkins, late of Australia, Mrs. Frank Barclay, Mrs. C. L. Harter; Misses Lizzie Wallis, Margie Wallis, Jennie Hane, Florence Beeney, Nettie R. McCoy, Huldah Goldsmith, Cloyd Brass, Sadie French, Julia Smith, Jessie Meech, Caro Meech, Jesse Millington; Messrs. M. J. O’Meara, D. L. Kret-singer, W. H. Smith, W. A. Smith of Wichita, E. H. Nixon, L. D. Zenor, W. C. Robinson, Geo. W. Robinson, E. Wallis, G. Headrick, F. F. Leland, H. Bahntge, E. Meech, Jr. It was an exceedingly lively party and the host and hostess had omitted nothing which could add to the general enjoyment. Mr. and Mrs. Emerson stand at the head of the list of those in Winfield who know how to entertain their friends.
Winfield Courier, January 3, 1884.
R. I. Mansfield came in from Carbondale to spend the holidays with his mother and brother here.
Winfield Courier, February 21, 1884.
Mrs. H. P. Mansfield will leave for Washington on Friday of this week, as a representa-tive to the National Woman Suffrage Convention, which meets on the 4th of March. She will visit in St. Louis, Cincinnati, Baltimore, Richmond, Charleston, and take a run up the St. John River, during her absence.
Winfield Courier, April 24, 1884.
Mrs. H. P. Mansfield returned this week from Washington, where she attended the National Woman’s Suffrage Association. She visited, during her absence, many of the principal places in the South and East, and had a very enjoyable trip.
Winfield Courier, April 24, 1884.
Harold Mansfield, for some time past in charge of the railroad station at Burden, has taken a position as operator in one of the Kansas City offices.
Winfield Courier, May 15, 1884.

Mrs. H. P. Mansfield visited Burden Tuesday in the interests of the County Woman’s Suffrage Convention to be held at Winfield June 7th and 8th and addressed the people of that place in the evening. Mrs. Mansfield is very zealous in this work and her labors and ability are effective.
Winfield Courier, August 7, 1884.
Mrs. H. P. Mansfield has purchased a number of lots in the new Harper County town, Attica, and went out Saturday to superintend the erection of a building to be used by her sons, Harold and Richie, for a drug store. Attica is only two or three weeks old, but is going up like a rocket, with prospects of permanent advancement.
Winfield Courier, August 21, 1884.
Richie Mansfield came in Monday. He and Harold will start a drug store at the new town of Attica, in Harper County.
Winfield Courier, December 11, 1884.
Mrs. H. P. Mansfield came in from Attica, Harper County, Saturday, and reports that new town advancing like magic. Harold and Richie are running a drug store there and doing well. Attica promises to be the terminus of the Southern Kansas for some time.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, January 1, 1885.
The Kansas Equal Suffrage Association is hereby called upon to assemble at Topeka, on Thursday and Friday, the 15th and 16th of January, 1885. Auxiliary societies are urged to send full delegations, and it is especially desired that the State Associations and speakers should arrive as early as the 14th. A cordial invitation is extended to all. Entertainment for delegates and friends has been provided at reduced rates at the St. James Hotel, where a committee will await them. Executive Committees will meet at ten o’clock each morning in their respective rooms at the hotel and public sessions will be held at 2 p.m. and 7 p.m. at the G. A. R. Hall, over Manspeaker’s store. By order of HETTA P. MANSFIELD, President.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, January 29, 1885.
SENATE, JANUARY 22. Quite a discussion occurred on a proposition to make Harold Mansfield assistant sergeant-at-arms, but it was finally adopted.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, July 30, 1885.
The following are the real estate transfers filed in the office of Register of Deeds since our last issue.
     Hattie P Mansfield to W L Morehouse, lot 1, blk 98, Mansfield ad to Winfield: $100.00.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, October 8, 1885.
Harold Mansfield, formerly of Winfield, is now the efficient and popular cashier at the banking house of A. C. Jobes, at Attica, Kansas.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, November 5, 1885.
Mrs. Capt. B. C. Cook and Mrs. H. P. Mansfield, of Attica, are visiting friends in this city. Mrs. Cook is late from Richmond, Virginia, where her husband has been U. S. collector.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, November 5, 1885.
Miss Sue Hunt and Mrs. H. P. Mansfield left for Florida Tuesday to spend the winter.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, November 12, 1885.
The following are the real estate transfers filed in the office of Register of Deeds since our last issue.
W L Morehouse et ux to John R Smith, lot 1, blk 98, Mansfield’s ad to Winfield: $694.00.
R I Mansfield to H P Mansfield, lots 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6, blk 68, Winfield: $200.00.

                                  TRIP TO FLORIDA.—MAMMOTH CAVE.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, January 7, 1886.
On the morning of the 9th of November, one of those balmy, bright, bracing mornings of which Kansas alone can boast at that season of the year, so perfect that the most fastidious could not find a flaw in it, or in any way change it if they could, we (Sue and I) left lovely, beautiful Winfield to test the climate, culture, and oranges of Florida. Although nature had ripened forest leaf into its brightest hue, the corn into its golden shocks, and the grass into its autumn dress, still the landscape along the route was most interesting, diversified as it was along the K. C. & S. W. railroad with new towns which have sprung into existence and grown to be good sized ones within the few months since this road was commenced. Nothing but the wonderful growth of that great west could find thought in the minds of the traveling public in coach or palace car. All the way to St. Louis, our people so frequently journey to the Mississippi river and south and north, east and west, that any item would not be worth setting the type to relate.
Suffice it that visits in St. Louis and Louisville were enjoyed all around and at Cave City we left the steam conveyance, climbed into a rickety hack, and bounced away due west, over corduroy roads, roads made of newly pounded stone, and roads made of mud and water, a distance of ten miles to Mammoth Cave, “that big hole in the ground” where we arrived at dusk. After supper and at the fixed hour, half past seven, our party of only five being instructed by the agent to pin up our skirts high in order to give us free use of our hands, each with torch in hand, filed out across the garden over a rough path, down steps, down, down, until we found we had really reached bottom and the mouth of the cave. One look to take in the surroundings and we followed on after the guide. After well in, we laid our shawls down to entirely disencumber ourselves, and all agreed that we would for once make as much noise as we liked. Laughing and indulging in ludicrous remarks about the architecture of the structure, we came upon the ruins of the old vats where so much saltpeter was manufactured during the war of 1812, and were told by the guide that not until some time after, about 1815, did visitors commence to frequent the cave.

Five sisters by the name of Jessup are heirs to the property, and the enormous sum for which they lease the hotel, a rickety old building of sixty years standing, and the cave, is enough to roll in luxury from years end to years end. With what awe and wonder I contemplated that awful upheaval. From pit to dome the black amphitheater was a fearful mystery. Seats of fallen rock were promiscuously arranged in the pit, boxes above plainly seen by the lighted taper thrown up by the guide, statuary somehow placed in niches by throwing the light, and the canopy frescoed with patches of lamp-black from torches going in and out for more than half a century, names written in paint and with pencil, cards and circulars, bats by the thousands sticking snugly, and in groups, and great white spots all over, off from which had crumbled pieces of stone from time immemorial. Supporting this great show room, which was ninety feet high in places, were huge stalactites, the formation of which was away back beyond the comprehension of man, black and discolored by age, rough, ragged, and damp from perpetual dripping. On we went, down steps, up steps, until we dame to a stone house laid in mortar by human hands, eight feet high, without roof, but with door and floor. Here four ladies had stayed for months, to try what virtue there was in an even temperature, to cure consumption. It was “no good.” Farther on and more than three miles under ground, the guide told us he had seen five couples married. Just then I felt a curious desire to yell, and being urged to do so, I did my “level best,” which sent back its echo, not from man, but from the rocks. Up and down, now stooping nearly to creeping, now squeezing between huge rocks just far enough apart to admit about 160 pounds, if the object was not more than six feet high, and the rest put in the other way, a little flattened, across bridges with a feeble railing, and finally retracing our steps part way, we explored the bottomless pit (with our eyes), and the guide then threw down a lighted taper, which struck bottom at 75 feet. The lake, wherein is live eyeless fishes, is not more than fifty feet across, and the fishes never grow over three inches long. I saw several which were not over two inches long. Our guide pretended to show places where by stamping, it sounded as though it was hollow, and produced an echo, but as I stood close by his side, I heard him make a sound with his mouth, and I knew he was a ventriloquist. Subsequently I was asked if that ventriloquist guide was there yet. This man has acted in that capacity for fifteen years, and gets only $20 a month and his board. The last treat, and one to be long remembered, was ascending the cork-screw. It was a long pull, and a strong pull, to climb around and up rock after rock without form or comeliness, and after so long a walk, it was like the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Tired and foot-sore from the eight mile walk, we arrived at the hotel just as the clock struck twelve. I left, feeling just as I always shall, that I want to see the whole thing by daylight. It is well worth a journey across the ocean or continent to see.
At Atlanta we stopped one day; Sam Jones and Sam Small were holding forth upon prohibition, and they awoke both sides. Their enormous tent was filled to the last inch, temperance meetings were held all over the city, the ministers took up the refrain and preached prohibition, women laid aside their “crazy quilts” and organized societies, blue ribbons, with “Atlanta Prohibition Club” outnumbered the red ribbons, with “Liberty,” and at the election Fulton County won for no whiskey. We were met here by Maj. R. E. Mansfield, brother of the Mansfield Bros., of Attica, and with him proceeded to Charleston. After a delightful visit of a week, he accompanied us on our journey.
From Jacksonville, which is certainly a most beautiful city, containing most beautiful hotels, well kept, from basement to attic; and especially do we appreciate the hospitality of the gentlemanly proprietor of the Tremont, Mr. H. De Wolf Dodge, who leaves nothing undone to make his hotel home-like.
From Jacksonville, as I was saying, we took passage on the fine steamer, “City of Jacksonville,” and as one of our party was an employee of Uncle Sam, and as there was not a big crowd on board that trip, we fared gorgeously. Our state room was not over the wheel, we sat next to the purser at the table, who, by the way, is an elegant gentleman, polite, affable, and interesting, and in short, we had a splendid time. The best compliment I can pay the handsome Captain, W. A. Shaw, and the obliging purser, H. B. Teasdale, is to advise everybody to take a trip on the “City of Jacksonville.”

The first part of the night we were in wide water, but towards morning I found that the wheel was often reversed, and that we were running very slow, almost stopped, and at dawn, while the electric light was yet burning on our bow, I discovered that we were so near shore that one could almost jump upon it. The electric light threw the shadows around a point, or curve, which we were about to make, that rendered the scene magnificent. I said: “Sue, get up, we are losing some beautiful scenery.” Hastily we threw on our clothes, and went out on deck, ’though the morning was very chilly. The winding, curving, short turns in the river, which was now not much wider than the length of the steamer, seemed very much like the letter “S,” and upon one occasion we sailed twenty-six miles to make eight. The St. Johns river runs through several lakes, the largest of which is Lake George, and at the extreme east is Lake Monroe, upon which Sanford and Enterprise are located. As we had a few hours to spend before the boat returned, our chaperon, the Major, hired a negro to row us over to De Bary’s famous orange grove of seventy acres. A wonderful spring just beyond, which flowed 3,000 gallons a minute, must be seen, so we were rowed into a creek, which looked more like water standing upon a vast prairie, it was so placid, and free from the least current, sometimes running through tall grass which grew from the bottom, and sometimes under trees from which hung the long gray moss, which dipped its fingers gracefully into the water. The sail was an enchanting one, and a memorable one. Of course we filled our many pockets with oranges and ate, ate to our fill from Fred De Bary’s grove. Our interesting companion left us at Astor, our landing, and we proceeded to Mt. Dora. H. P. MANSFIELD.
                                          Mt. Dora, Florida, December 14, 1885.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, March 4, 1886.
We have another communication from Mrs. H. P. Mansfield, which is as usual, full of interest. It is a fact that she is a correspondent of rare merit, especially in the matter of grammatical, orthographical, and punctuative accuracy, clear text and good taste in the choice of words. We never have to correct her manuscript. She sends a small assortment of orange leaves and blossoms. We turned them over to Frank, thinking he might need them sooner than any other of THE COURIER force.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, March 11, 1886.
Previous to leaving for Key West, I will give you a few of my ideas concerning this land of orange blooms, and perpetual summer. Two weeks ago, when I was yet in Orange County, on the banks of the lovely Lake Dora, every tree, large and small, gave positive proof that Jack Frost had betrayed his trust, and killed each leaf with his frosty breath. However, the amount of damage done to old groves is not nearly as great as was at first feared, when the mercury ran down to 150 above zero, with a northwester blowing a gale which chilled the very marrow in our bones. Like all calamities the horrors increase with repetition, and certain croakers delight to put the worse side out.
Mt. Dora is the home of several families who came from Winfield, some of whom have built themselves convenient and comfortable homes, and are raising their “own vine and fig tree” under which to sit and enjoy the fruit therefrom.

Mr. Swain has a neat, convenient cottage surrounded by two and a half acres of land upon which he has bestowed the greatest care and made it really beautiful. For the comfort of his wife, his house is supplied with rain water from a tank above, and pipes carrying it into stationary sinks in every room where it is needed. Indeed, everything looks as though he had come to stay. Sam Mullen also has 2½ acres upon which he is expending all the money he can get hold of, and the result shows good taste and thorough industry. Alexander and Rhodes are running a general merchandise store on the shore of the lake and a live alligator chained to one of the timbers of the wharf.
As I had determined to see something of the state while in it, my inclination leaned towards Bartow; partly because it was where Mr. Harden and Fred Hunt cast their lots three years since, and I assure you I am very glad I did so; else I would have returned with no very favorable opinion of Florida. First, I am glad I came here, because I have made the acquaintance of an intelligent, interesting, and cultured family, which I exceedingly regret not having done while they resided in Winfield. Pitying me as a waif, Mr. Harden, with his innate hospitality, invited me to his home, and nothing has been left undone by his good wife and lovely daughters to render my stay pleasant. We ride, we ramble, we visit, and when night comes, a well-stocked book case offers a selection of choice literature which gives clear knowledge of the style of reading preferred by the inmates of that household; and when I go forth, I shall feel that their society has had a charm not soon to be forgotten.
Second. At the very northern line of the county (Polk County) I discovered that the leaves were as fresh and green on the orange trees as they were before the frost. The fruit was falling, but the appearance of the country looked more productive; the sand was blacker and there was a grass which I should think would tempt cattle. As we proceeded on the South Florida railroad, there were real live signs of Yankee thrift in nearly every town along the route, new frames were going up and unfinished buildings were conspicuous to the observer; but when we came in sight of this town, we thought it was settled by a go-ahead people sure enough. Churches with spires reaching heavenward; hotels well finished with balconies; handsome, large houses; and neat, extensive cottages; a fine courthouse; good sidewalks and a wide-awake community of about 1,000 souls, as I have since informed myself, is certain a great attraction to a tourist or home seeker.
The South Florida railroad has been in operation for a year, and the Florida Southern completed nearly as far as Fort Ogden, must, as per contract, reach its destination on Charlotte Harbor by the first of May.
Yesterday Mr. Harden took us in his carriage to Eagle Lake, one of a chain of most lovely lakes in this great lake region. The soil surrounding it is a black sand, susceptible of producing all the same tropical fruits and many of the varieties grown north, and the berries to perfection.
On the southwest side of this lake I have bought six and a half acres and shall proceed at once to have it cleared of palmetto and pines, and as fast as practicable, build myself a home in this balmy climate. Not more than a mile off is Lake McCloud, where Quincy Glass and Will Hudson are landholders, in a fine location. The South Florida railroad runs midway between the two lakes, with a depot and town staked off. The idea that Florida is all swamp, is a myth, for I am confident that all this part of the state, and as far as I have noticed, is as healthy as anywhere, judging from the rosy cheeked people who have lived here for years. There are many invalids who came from the north, most of which make the change too late. Some of the natives are yellow, but I believe they are made so by living on sweet potatoes. Irish potatoes do well, and there is no reason why there should be any material change of diet if a man has the energy to cultivate his land. Corn is raised satisfactorily; rice, oats, and sugar cane forming diet for horses and cows. And oh! What a country to raise chickens.

After I return from the gulf, accompanied by Mrs. Harden and Maj. Mansfield, I will describe the people and their customs. H. P. MANSFIELD.
[Note: The next article was very difficult to read. Not certain of distance she gave from Tampa to Key West. MAW]
    A Pen Picture of the Land of Oranges by a Winfieldite Traveling in the Sunny Soil.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, April 15, 1886.
To my friends at home:
Key West, the gem isle of the sea, 294 [?] miles from Tampa, receives less visits than almost any point within such easy access. Every passenger on board the elegant steamer Mascott, which left Tampa on the 25th of February, was bound for Havana except our small party. The voyage on the Gulf was one of surpassing loveliness; not a wave gave motion to our habitation, the length of which was two hundred feet by twenty-five foot beam, and made sixteen and a half miles per hour in succession. Having “assumed responsibilities” only since last January, she made unlimited effort to compel her guests to feel entirely at home by supplying the table with every conceivable luxury and diligent waiters, her cabins with clean linen and obliging stewardess, and above all, with such information from officers as the wide-awake traveler fully appreciates, especially women. The new patent for the manner of sounding, spotting the sponge at the bottom when the lucid brine was shallow enough to discern it, and much more, was explained, and when on our return we were safely transferred to the Margaret; four miles out in the bay when the distance widened between us and our good ship, with the Captain and purser waving a last farewell with a hope to see us again, we felt like parting with old friends, and the last breeze carried back the words, “You will see us again.”

As I said, few people know the sublimity of that quaint old city of fourteen thousand inhabitants, many of whom are natives or emigrated from some of the islands nearby, some taken there in childhood from northern states, but holding positions which oblige them to “go out into the world” frequently, and a few Spanish who cannot speak and understand but little English, but not without an exception, thoroughly friendly, polite, and attentive to the last degree. It is proverbial that ladies are shown greater kindness when traveling alone than when accompanied by gentlemen, and never did we (Mrs. Harden and self) more fully realize the fact than upon this trip, for everybody was just as nice as our pride could wish. The island (or key) is seventeen miles long by two miles wide, overlooking a multitude of smaller keys, upon which are small settlements. Seventy-five miles away is the key Matecumbe of nine hundred acres, upon which is a cocoanut grove of twenty-five thousand trees, owned by P. A. Williams, U. S. Marshal for the southern district of Florida, as informed by himself. We also had the pleasure of an acquaintance with J. W. Locke, U. S. Judge, a Mrs. Courtland Williams and daughter, Miss Pent, Miss Turner, Miss McElwaine, Mr. Shultz, and other citizens, who were all that a stranger in a strange land could desire. Mr. Jordan, paymaster in the depot for naval supplies, kindly showed us over the extensive building. An invitation to board the old famous man of war, Powhattan, by Ensign Alina, a finished gentleman such as are sometimes turned out of West Point, was accepted with pleasure, and really the extreme politeness and courtesy shown us by Mr. Alina and Lieutenant Lowe carried us back to the long past days when we were young, handsome, and attractive.
Key West is unlike any city it has been our fortune to visit. It is literally built upon a rock, generally with wide streets, but the loveliest tea roses of every variety were in full bloom upon the 26th of February, the immense double Datura was grown into a tree, the choicest night blooming cereus grew like a carefully pruned exotic from which hundreds of fragrant blooms put forth in a single night, in their season, the India Laurel and Wild Fig are common shade trees. The only Banyan tree in America spreads its broad branches and takes root from the innumerable fibers which reach to the earth to gain a foothold. The cocoanut, loaded with ripe and green fruit, is in every yard. Sapodilla, sugar apple, and a variety of plums are extensively cultivated. In short, everything was interesting, new, and instructive. Old Fort Taylor is sacredly and neatly guarded by an ordinance sergeant who kindly piloted us from that extreme to the other of Cassamates; from court to parapet, and we finally made memorable our visit by eating our lunch, seated upon a Parrott Gun and drinking water from the inexhaustible cistern which, once upon a time, quenched the thirst of soldiers garrisoned there. In years past it has been said that the finest shells were found at Key West, but today they are gobbled up by naked boys who have discovered the living desire of every tourist. In order to get ahead of them once, we hired a colored man by the name of Alexandria Gabrial to row us over to a shoal (or bank, as they call them) but when we arrived, we found that the tide would not fall enough to admit our landing. So he said he would take us to Mangrove Key, and here we found the shore too shallow to handle our boat (I forget the exact name of the boat) so that we could land. Here was a dilemma! We could not think of returning without our shells. Only one avenue was possible: Alex must carry us fifty feet on his back. Mrs. Harden demurred, but as I “had been thar” before, I persisted and soon we were on terra firma; an island covered with Mangrove bushes, marshy, and the tide flowing in. Albeit we sailed under the prow of the Merchant vessel, City of Mexico, captured by the Man-of-war, Galena, and around several wrecks, which had been hauled in from time to time. The most extensive Coral reefs are to be found at Dry Tortugas, sixty miles distant, against which many a good ship has been sent down, as they are under water. If possible, we were determined to see this terrible place of banishment; the same Tortugas where Dr. Mudd, of Lincoln assassination, was exiled. We found that wreckers sometimes went there, but there was no telling when we could get back, yet the Sergeant’s family were there, and they would be so delighted to see us, that however long we wished to stay, Uncle Sam would willingly board us for nothing, and transportation would be free. We concluded to wait until another year, but promised to certainly pay them a visit. I was delighted with this trip, and Key West, and hope to spend a winter there, and as the available islands Telegraph communication is complete, and I believe that the Florida Southern Railroad will finally extend to the nearest point, and a bridge will connect Monroe County, of which Key West is the county seat. H. P. Mansfield.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, April 15, 1886.
The following are the real estate transfers filed in the office of Register of Deeds.
John P Smith & wf to Mary M Canady, lot 1, blk 98, Mansfield’s ad to Winfield: $800.00.

[Note: Study the legal descriptions of amounts given for lot 1, block 98, Mansfield’s addition to Winfield after the time Mrs. H. P. Mansfield first sold her interest in this lot. Amazing how the valuation went up with each purchase made. MAW]
My coverage of Mrs. Mansfield ends with the last item.



Cowley County Historical Society Museum