ATCHISON, KANSAS, November 2, 1885.
REV. LINUS BLAKESLEY—_My Dear Sir_: When you so kindly invited me to be
present at the anniversary exercises of the Congregational Church, I did
not remember that Monday evening was the eve of annual election. I must,
therefore, either forego a pleasure I had promised myself, or fail in
discharging that highest duty of American citizenship, attendance at the
polls on election day. I think you will agree that I ought to do what I
have decided to do—remain at home until after election.
“The Thirtieth Anniversary of the First Congregational Church of
Topeka!” That antedates the State nearly six years. Topeka was then
little more than a name on the map, if, indeed, it had yet attained that
distinction. And Kansas, a strange, unknown country, representing an
idea more than the metes and bounds of a future great State, was just
beginning to be discussed, written about and wondered at, as it has been
during all the years that have since come and gone. Mr. Whittier was a
prophet when, a year before your church was established, he sang:
“We go to plant her common schools
On distant prairie swells,
And give the Sabbath of the wild
The music of her bells.
“Upbearing, like the ark of old,
The Bible in our van,
We go to test the truth of God
Against the fraud of man.”
My earliest recollections of the Congregational Church of Topeka date
back to the spring of 1861. The first Legislature of the State assembled
on March 26th of that year, the Senate meeting in the third story of a
building that stood on the southeast corner of Kansas avenue and Sixth
street, and the House in a building some distance south of this. There
were rumors that the building in which the House met was unsafe. These,
however, did not seriously disturb the members; but when the rains came,
and not only beat upon it, but poured through a leaky roof, the
honorable Representatives of the State of Kansas concluded it was time
to move. And so, on the 11th of May, the House adjourned, to meet the
following Monday in the Congregational Church. There its sessions were
held until the final adjournment, June 4th.
And in and around the old church flamed and burned the fierce
enthusiasms kindled by the assault on the life of the Republic. A
company was formed, composed of members and officers of the Legislature,
and day after day, during the recess, it was drilled by a young member
who had attended a military school and knew something of tactics. It was
a curious sight to see the squads of men moving about on the prairie
near the church, and to remember that these awkward soldiers were the
law-makers of the young State.
But I must not “wake remembrance with all her busy train,” or this
letter will spin out to an inexcusable length. I only intended to
explain why I could not be with you this evening, and to beg you to
present my regrets and apologies to the company assembled, for my
necessary absence.
Yours, very truly, JOHN A. MARTIN.