A Little Journey to the 

 Home of Elbert Hubbard 



By TERENCE 



POWDERLY 



HE conductor shouted: "All out for East 

 Aurora!" 



And he told the truth, for everybody got out 

 and the train went off in a lonesome, re- 

 gretful kind of a way. The conductor and 

 train-hands wished they could stop off, too, 

 but they were on the run and could n't. 

 looked around for some one to tell me where to find 

 Elbert Hubbard, and a young man dressed in a little 

 brief authority and a suit of overalls, wearing a Roycroft 

 badge and a welcoming grin asked, "GoingtoRoycroft?" 

 I said "Yes," and he separated me from my satchel and 

 umbrella, gave me a hearty hand-shake and told me to 

 walk straight ahead and I could n't miss it. 

 Were you ever in East Aurora? No, then you Ve missed 

 a lot. It is not a paradise, but would make a first-class 

 vestibule for one. Trees, old trees with rugged trunks and 

 wide-spreading limbs, line the walks, and every tree nods 

 and whispers a thousand welcomes from among the 

 leaves that hide the sun of an August day from view. 

 QThe walk from the station to the Phalansterie may be 

 a mile, a half-mile, or a quarter of a mile, more or less, 

 but you don't notice the length of it while eagerly push- 

 ing forward to see the place where the most wonderful- 

 of books and the quaintest of furniture are made. You 

 meet men, women and children as you walk along, you 

 don't know them from Adam, but they all say a kind 

 word, or smile approvingly as you pass. 

 When I was a child 1 knew an old German woman who 

 lived down where the woods had been cleared away to 



