Letter from Horace Sumner Lyman on a train trip, Chicago, and boarding at Oberlin

Oberlin, Sept 15, 1880

Dear Folks,

I can see by the inscription that I have reached my journey's end. A great journey, three thousand miles and more, a notable event of my life. I am safe and sound in mind and body. I meant of a certainty to send a card from Chicago, but I [?] that you have not been worried as to my wellfare. As I explained I could not stop at Uncle Addison's The Chicago and Rock Island does not run trains Sunday every time, but the three lives accommodate each other by each running a train every third Sunday. It runs the turn of the Chicago and North Western line, and as I had bought a ticket to Chicago, which was not transferable, I had to go on or lose my ticket, since if I had waited all day at Council Bluffs for the Rock Island [?] [?] I should have had no time to stop at Kellogg. I planned to leave C. Bluffs Saturday at 4:40. I should then have arrived at Kellogg towards morning Sunday; I should then spend Sunday there, and go on Monday, my ticket allowing me time for [?]. But you see how it did not turn out. I did not get your letter, Father, asking me to see about your business until yesterday, which was altogether too late. I am sorry, but suppose that it can be arranged by letter. I will drop a line at once to Mr Taylor, which will not be long in going.

I bought my ticket to Chicago, as it cost only $55.50, while to Omaha it was $50.50, and to buy a ticket from Omaha to Chicago, but itself, was $12.50

We were standing out on the platform; the motion of the car had become [?]. There was Starr, [?], very bobbling around like Sam Walker. There was Mr Grey, small but well framed and evidently strong, slender, graceful, with a bulging forehead and curly black hair over a symmetrical head, and a lip like George Lindsley. Mrs Wilson, a clear-faced, large lady, with [?] hair and blue eyes, seemed to be more or less excited, as were the two Wilson boys. We were just pulling out from Omaha, and the old gentleman Wilson was running hard to catch up, for he had stepped off and the train had started sooner than he was expecting. In fact he did not catch up at all until we stopped C. B.

Miss Se[?] was there looking out at the windows to see all that was to be seen. She was the darkeyed brunette, in looking at whom I fained pleasure. In fact I was terrified to look at her rather too much, insomuch that my acquaintances began to make light of me, accusing me of talking her [?], though her [?] was by no means due to that cause but to a temporary [?]. She is really a remarkable young woman, and should be labeled 'Dangerous.' It is exceedingly odd what influence it is. Of all my lady acquaintances there are perhaps three or four that are at all fascinating. Usually when I am talking with a lady it is myself I am thinking of, how I talk, what I am talking about, what I am thinking about. But with these exceptions, it is they that I am thinking of when I talking with them. Myself except as an object of interest to them, the subject of conversation, all but the [?] I am looking upon are matters of comparative unimportance. In fact the conversation itself appears to be of no use except that it allows one the privilege of staring without being considered impertinent. This feeling is by no means new to me. I have had it by spells for the last ten years. Miss S[?] was looking out of the window. I was on the platform in a [?] peculiar Relil Road voice, curtailed for the hope of being heard through the rattling of the car, little hills were becoming a thing of the past. The great bridge of the Ni[?] was slowly sliding under our feet. The [?] a stream about as wide as the Willmmet, at this low stage of water, as yellow and dirty as mud can make it, so muddy that it is difficult to tell where the water ends and the mud of the banks begins, was flowing in whirling, slow, wrinkling, vortex about a hundred feet under the bridge.

When I first saw the river I was struck with disappointment 'Is that thing the [?] river?' was my involuntary cry. But I thought better of it as I saw a little more of it. It is rapid, sloshy, muddy, sort of an overgrown [?] eating itself into the clay, and vomiting forth the surplus.

It was about three PM when we arrived at Council Bluffs and we stayed until 5 PM. Miss S[?] left the car at a small station about 25 miles from C. B. She departed into the twilight, and that is probably the last I shall ever see of her. You may think I am far gone; but solemnly and seriously I think if a matter of [?] that we have hearts capable of emotions of genuine admiration. Very likely if I should see more of her I should be less impressed. And I presume if you should see her you would not be impressed at all. But I must hasten on.

With the falling twilight and the shining moonlight, we went bounding on the rolling plains of Iowa. The train went like a race-horse, I must have gone more than 30 miles since [?] It went 488 miles in about 21 hours, and that included all stoppages. That time compared with the slow trains farther west seemed rapid. We rolled into that [?] of human greed named Chicago at about 3:20 P.M. Sunday. The end at which we came in is a poor part of the city. Sh[?], dirty, low ill-favored buildings, with the appearance of great age, and the [?] of great decrepitude were crowded together But that was soon past and the magnificent stone and [?] structures that cover the Bunt-District, showed what human skill is capable of.

The next morning after sleeping the sleep of the traveller at the [?] Hotel, I aimed for the Western part of the city. I walked two miles against a stream of laborers going forth to their labor. Did you notice W. how soon a crowd gathered at the bridges across Chicago since when [?] around to let ships go through? I noticed it. All down the street, [?] and vehicles of all kinds made a long [?] on both sides from the river, and the side-walks were crowded with a swollen throng. When I arrived at 13 Park Avenue, I went to the door and rang the bell. Mr Galvin came to the door. I had previously learned that to be his [?] He sprang back with surprise, and then found with cordiality, and shook my hand with immense warmth and then had me in. Mrs Galvin was even more surprised. 'Why Mr Lyman where did you come from. How glad I am to see you' - etc. I was quite touched by their warmth. They inquired first of all if I had had breakfast. After numerous question, Mr Galvin proposed that we go to the exposition which had just opened. Mrs G has a class in various things which comes to her parlor to [?]. They have a very nice place, four rooms on the lower floor, near a small park.

We went to the Exposition.

What interested me most of all was its art collection. Mr G. said that he had never seen a finer collection of statues. It embraced casts of nearly all the celebrated ancient pieces: [?], Apollo, L[?], Zeus, etc.

The L[?] impressed me as much as any thing. The muscles all drawn into the most violent [?] of effort, standing out so preternaturally strong, and its face, contorted by the last desperate struggle; the brow drawn down showing it violent will not yet yielding, but its mouth in the form of despair, pain, terror, the emotion that the soul must feel under an [?] power that is crushing it, and against which its most frantic efforts are wholly [?]: seeing itself swept right on [?] [?] a fate that it cringes from as being awful. The pursing lip, but [?] coils of the serpent, heightened the effect.

It fills me with an overpowering emotion to [?] one of those majestic faces, like that of Zeus, or Minerva, such wonderful full [?] and symmetry, [?], not without p[?] but no seething [?], no littleness; every feature expressive, but none so above the level of the rest.

A picture of [?], Margaret, by H[?] Merle, is a wonderful one. She is standing at full height, dressing in night clothing. Her face is regular, complexion blonde, very clear, with thought and feeling, particularly sensitive [?] and modesty moving every muscle of her face: violet eyes, innocent, luminous, but still a little spirited: and a vast quantity of blonde hair. Do you [?] of [?]? Before her is her mother, looking over the [?] Faust has out, with the pleased vanity of a doting old lady. Margaret has a chain in her hand, and another on her neck. What she is thinking of is whether it would become her [?] with her dignity and maiden [?] to accept them.

[?] is top[?] is behind her with a face full of malignity and devilry; dark, worldly, wicked, looking as if it must [?]. The contrast of the two faces is almost painful.

I arrived here at 1:30 P.M. yesterday, the 14th. I repaired soon to [?] Jackson Smith's. I saw a man working a lawn mower He had on an old straw hat. His face was thin. His shirt it was worse for [?] [?] around it neck. He was J[?] Smith. He greeted me cordially and sent me to Prof Ballantine. Prof Ballantine is a [?] little man, with sandy hair and beard, and a head enormously tall though not very large around. He talks like a Welshman. I then went to Mr H[?], with whom I made arrangements for boarding at the ladies' hall. Board is $2.10 per week! Think of it, picture it, dissolute man!!

I am now in my room at Council Hall. It [?] toward the East. It is not of a double room, or [?] two rooms connected by double doors. The [?] of music is opposite.

My room is neatly, though plainly furnished; table with book-case, three chairs, bureau and a large fire stove, in the first room and and bed and wash stand in the back room, and a large closet [?] off.

It is a beautiful place here in itself [?]; trees and lawns and pleasant homes. I may get lonesome for a night of mountains and [?] and forest, though.

The students here seem to be a reasonably good set, some fine heads. I met President Fairchild. He is rather a large man, with immense bald head, bald almost to the ears from the crown, something like Mr Curtis. His eyes are a blue black and very large under heavy dark eyebrows and eyelashes. He has a pleasant, little of a great way with him, not at all affected, though. Prof Mead is a tall man with dome-like head in a frame of red hair and beard.

Well, Bye, Bye.

H. S. Lyman

In sincerest love,

Write.