Philadelphia, June 14, 1895.

Dear Friend Hoff:

One of my friends said to me the other day, after reading my letter to you, published a few weeks ago, "What a strange community you must have lived in up in New York State."

"How do you arrive at that conclusion" queried I.

"Why , the residents must have all been men, for you did not mention remembering any women, and you certainly could not be accused of being so ungallant, as to not speak of the fair sex, had any of them lived there."

And sure enough, I was guilty of the charge, but unintentionally so, for truly I had good reason to remember many noble women who were of themselves enough to make any village famous. Then there were many other noted characters peculiar to every country place, and all, as I write, pass in a silent panorama before me, many of them who have joined "the innumerable caravan" and who have "folded the drapery of their couch about them and laid down to pleasant dreams."

I most certainly did not forget one of them, but my train of thought started out in the male line and did not bring up until I had ended my letter. God bless the women! Certainly the school in which I have been reared has taught me to have the most unbounded respect and admiration for the sex. Earnestly have I always labored in their behalf, as far as my influence has been of any avail, to ameliorate their condition and give them those God-given rights to which they were entitled, and even as a boy in our debating societies I was always in the glorious minority, and on the unpopular side of the woman question.

I so well remember when I was elected assessor in the ever to be remembered Cayuga Lake Railroad struggle, that the women taxpayers said, "now we will have some one in the board to whom we can apply to redress our wrongs and adjust our taxes on a fair and equitable basis." As the women had no vote, the assessor that I defeated and succeeded, and who had been in office many years, turned a deaf ear to their entreaties and never would reduce the valuation on their personal and real estate. I remember how dear venerable Phebe Hussey was assessed $10,000 personal property and paid taxes on it for years unjustly, and so with that jolly and thoughtful yet aged Ednah Thomas, who was muleted by the same assessor in the same way for years.

I remember how I counted the taxpayers and found eight-six widows on the list, and had they been eighty-six males who could have assembled at the caucuses, how would the same assessor have appeared before them, hat in hand with a "How can I serve your interests gentlemen, you have only to command me!" I always claimed that a woman who paid a tax should have a right to vote and say how her money should be expended, otherwise she should be exempt from taxation. Well, I am wandering off on the rights of women and did not intend to touch that most prolific subject when I started out.

Dear gentle Sophia Hoskins and her sister Phebe M. Hussey, who have you now to take their places? The one a Friend, the other an Episcopalian, sisters devoted to each other, living under the same roof, with their nieces, the attractive Hart girls, who surely can and have risen up many times and called them blessed.

Can I ever forget the chuckle of Aunt Ednah Thomas as we all called her. So happy and bright, I can see her now as she sat on the rising seat in Friends' meeting, the picture of contentment and good nature. She was step-mother to John J. Thomas, I will mention for the benefit of the younger readers of the Advertiser.

And then dear old Aunt Beulah Howland, the widow of old Captain Cornelius Howland brother of George Howland the great whaling merchant of New Bedford, Mass. Captain Howland lived at and owned Farley's point and after his death Aunt Beulah removed to the village where she lived many years and died so long ago. She seldom smiled and was quite rigid in her views, but was a very good-hearted and progressive woman. I can also see her sitting in meeting with her snuff colored wig, and with her false teeth that did not fit, and which she munched in here mouth very much the same as a modern Miss revels in the disgusting and loathsome habit of the chewing gum. I think the munching of the false teeth was infinitely preferable to the "Adams' Tutti Fruiti pepsi chewing gum." Ba; how I hate it!

Then that saint Mary H. Thomas, who has recently passed through the deep waters of affliction. How she was always on hand in times of sickness and death with her words of comfort. Indeed a funeral without her presence would have been a strange sight when I lived among you.

Who can forget the Richardsons, Harriet and Eliza, and jolly Cynthia Snell and Mrs. Sarah Richardson and here lovely daughters, and Chrissie Yawger and her merry laugh, and Ann Ludlow with her earnest manner of talking, Millie Evereitt and her famous cookery and great-hearted hospitality, and the Peterson girls who were all so stylish, Ednah Robinson and here witty speeches, Aunt Susannah Howland and here aristocratic bearing, and last and overtopping them all, my beloved mother-in-law Elizabeth Howland Chase, that Princess of mothers-in-law, so shy and retiring that the outside world knew but little of her real worth.

The teachers at Oakwood Seminary shed local luster over the village, and Sarah Lapham will ever be remember by those whose pleasure it was to know her as a sweet-spirited woman whose influence was always for good in the school. Then Carrie Comstock who aided in making old Oakwood famous and afterwards did the same for Howland School, nor can we forget the queenly Mrs. Mary Atwater, the matron of Howland School and her accomplished daughters. And right here let me say that one of them, Miss Carrie Atwater has become a famous authoress and is now, as Mrs. Carrie Atwater Mason, delighting the many readers of the Ladies' Home Journal with here stories, and the one recently finished, "The Minister of the World," is said to be a part of her own life's history. Miss Cornelia Speed the handsome and refined teacher of the kindergarten at Howland, was my daughter's first teacher and has long since died, somewhere near Albany. And the many charming young lady pupils of both schools, I cannot mention for want of space.

It would not do for me to forget many in the more humble walks of life who were a part of the history of Union Springs. There were the wives of the soldiers from the classic shades of Hamburg, whose letters, owing to their defective education, I had to write for them to their husbands, when I was postmaster. How they did flourish in good clothes in those days. The poor souls never had so much money to spend before nor since, as their husbands kept them well supplied with Uncle Sam's money, earned while fighting the battles of the rebellion. I remember particularly Mrs. Jack Mason nee Whipple who had always been arrayed in the somber hue of poverty, appeared in the post office one day, after receiving a goodly remittance from Jac, all bedecked in gay ribbons, heavily flowered bonnet and bright showy dress and I scarcely recognized her and as she passed along Main street more than one person came to the door to note the sudden transformation.

Bridget Speller was another well known character and raised enough money from the village by subscription to pay for her house. When she came to see me she introduced herself with the remark, "I'm the woman that has the twins," These same twins, Johnny and Sammy, used to gather slop before going to school, and how I have almost collapsed to hear their school teacher, a daring young lady, tell how during school hours one of the boys would take a piece of ham fat from his pocket, which he had picked from the garbage they had gathered, and carefully grease his boots, thus inculcating ideas of thrift to the whole school.

And now Ann Newcomb and her clay pipe comes before me, and Sarah Nugent with her pugilistic powers, and Mary Clinton and her vigorous defence of her two sons whenever they were thrashed by the village boys. Brother Abbott tells the story to this day, how, when he one day whipped Mat, she came to him and excitedly exclaimed, "Misther Chase, as foine a mon as ye think ye are, I'll have ye bound down to kape the pace, if ye iver lif yer hond to strike my Mat again."

And so I might keep on until you and your readers were all tired out, in telling of the women I remember when I walked among you.

"At length I've acted my severest part
I feel the woman breaking in upon me,
And well about my heart."
CHARLES H. ADAMS

The above is copied from a Newspaper Clipping from
THE ADVERTISER, Union Springs, N. Y. on file in the Springport Free Library in Union Springs.