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Sabbath was at Zoar

Akron [Ohio]
June 9, 1853

My Dearest Augusta,

Your very welcome epistle has just reached me having been forwarded from Newark [Ohio]. And as I have a few spare moments, will immediately reply. Yet I find that habitual neglect of the pen has converted my fingers into thumbs and causes the process of corresponding to appear to me the summation of all awkwardness. So much so, that when I look over your neatly pruned letter and then at its terminus hear you asking to excuse the writing and then think of trying to write myself, I wonder most sincerely what excuse I can make for imposing my scrawl upon you. However, I think I know you well enough that under my circumstances I can throw myself into the broad arms of your charity and proceed. Oh, how I was tantalized in reading your description of the [city’s bicentennial] celebration in Glastonbury! [And] to think I was not there to enjoy it. I wish it had only happened about two months later. You must have enjoyed it. I wish your parents could only have been there. How they could in a few hours have lived their childhood days over again, looked upon and grasped their first, earliest, and best friends. I do believe nothing could have suited your mother better. However, I cannot tell—as every rose conceals its thorn, perhaps she might have looked around among the smiling group for some with whom she was particularly intimate, and whilst with gladsome heart she is looking about, a voice reaches her ear telling her they are no longer of this earth. For many long, long years they have been pillowed beneath the cold sod, and nothing remains to tell us they once were [with us]...save the faithful wild flowers as they grace that small mound in the churchyard and the long list of good deeds which can never be effaced from the memory. Oh, could I be assured of such a monument, it would be satisfaction enough. Such a meeting must revive ten thousand recollections in every old veteran and awaken in his breast emotions which no other proceeding could do. I hope that the meeting not only proved a source of pleasure but of great profit.

You mentioned that Lucy Sellew was at Castile, Wyoming County [New York]. I think she will enjoy it much as there is quite a good society about there. I remember spending a national anniversary of our country at that very village at a certain time. There is a most splendid cascade within a good long walk of the village which I am sure she will visit. Hope it may be so that I can visit her upon her return.

Middle Falls on Genesee River, ca. 1855
These falls are probably the "splendid cascade" mentioned in the previous paragraph. They are located approximately three miles south of Castile in what is now Letchworth Park. Photograph courtesy of Tom Breslin and Tom Cook.

And so you have been again to see your good friend Hancie [Abbey Dayton]? I hardly know what excuse to give for latterly neglecting to correspond with her. I hope she will not think that I ever have, or ever will forget her—precious good girl—I am glad you have made her a good long visit. She might almost think from reports that were circulated about her, near the time of her marriage, that she was forsaken by all. I hope she heard none of them, but have reason to fear she did. Does she seem to be living happily? She has such an exhaustless fund of joy over-welling in her bosom that it would seem almost impossible to becloud the ever glowing brightness of her sky. Yet there is no telling what sad reverses may do. How very little can we read upon the page of our future history and how well for us that it is so. Could we but lift the veil but a short distance, we might see enough perhaps to startle us with the most fearful apprehensions and, perhaps, drive dull reason from her seat.

I know not why it is so, but for a day or two back I have felt rather gloomily. I have seemed to myself like a homeless, useless, friendless wanderer roving about here and there, almost caring for nobody and nobody for me—far away from my own dear mother, my home, fast forgetting my early associates, and not stopping long enough at any one place to establish any permanent friendships. And were I not necessitated to meet certain [financial] obligations, I should soon make arrangements to spend a short time with my mother. But as things are, I shall no longer calculate upon a time to go home. I would rather not go until I get my debts all paid, and now begin to think that I may not unless my health should become poor. There are a great many cases of the ague around in this part of Ohio and I am fearful I may get to shaking yet. Until the present, my health is quite good. After all, daily life furnishes me with a great many pleasant things among the disagreeable.

I had the pleasure of spending last Saturday at a large County Temperance [1]  meeting in Tuscarawas County [Ohio]. It was ably represented and cannot fail to have a decided bearing upon the action of the citizens of the county in this best of all enterprises. Had I room [to write more], I would like to give a synopsis of a speech made by a young, pious lawyer. It embodied some of the noblest sentiments that ever fell from the tongue of mortal [man]. May the good Lord long spare his life to help the cause of that class of our fellows whom so many treat with such cold neglect.

Sabbath was at Zoar, a small village of about three hundred inhabitants. [2] The people are all German and somewhat Apostolical in their governmental arrangements as they hold all things in common. They have organized themselves into a religious society called separatists, are very strict in all their rules and regulations, and careful to observe them. [They] own the entire village and many thousand acres in the country around.  [They] have their chief dignitary or president who also acts as their religious teacher. I was highly pleased at their [church] meeting to see such excellent order.

Zoar Store


Zoar Church

They were mostly dressed in uniform and gave the closest attention to what was said. Little girls and old women dressed just alike, wearing a small white cap on the head, a white scarf crossing the bosom, in front a long white linen apron, and a cheap sort of linsey woolsey dress, cut rather short so as to show to good advantage their snow-white stockings and webbing shoes. Scarcely one wore a bonnet or carried a shade right in the burning sun on their way to church. The men were coatless, wore short vests, short pants, low short and mixed grey stockings. In short, everything was just as Dutch as it could be. The music and singing was good and the preaching was just as interesting as any Dutch book you ever read.

Zoar Village

Zoar Wardrobe

They have a very large public garden [at Zoar] which is daily visited from many parts of the adjacent country. I am sorry to say, [the garden] has become a place of great resort for the Sabbath and the Dutch love money enough to encourage it as it is a source of quite a revenue at their publick house. More than fifty took dinner the Sabbath I was there, drawn by their garden. Some of their lemon trees had on large quantities of lemons and they served the guest from the pies of these among the multitude of other good things.

Yet the most interesting thing of all was their nice, systematic management of their dairy about which I must wait until I see you to tell you. They are very wealthy already and, by their economical and judicious management, must become extremely so. [3]   Paper full and nothing written. -- James

Akron [Ohio]
June 26, 1853

Dearest Augusta,

And so I must yet continue to speak with you through the cold distant pen. I was hopeful a few months ago that ‘ere this, I should have the pleasure of meeting you and like Queen Dido [of classical mythology] in the presence of her maid relate the story of my wanderings.  Yet time says wait! Patience weary with herself, says wait! Wait! And all my present arrangements and best plans that I can make cry wait! Yet I only hope that continual waiting will only contribute to enhance the joy of meeting [again]. I was truly glad to get your letter yesterday. I was anxious to receive it before I left here and my plans would allow me to wait for the arrival of only one more mail. Faithfully it came and performed its wanted mission.

I have just about the usual amount of news to communicate and about the same fund of interest to impart to this letter as to my former ones—which is just none at all. Yet for all this, I will write something and be sure to stop when my paper is full. I was glad you mentioned the names of Abbeys living near here. There were nice clients in this place with whom I had done some shopping and whose acquaintance I had partially formed and whom I had found [to be] very honorable, kind men. Yet I did not even mistrust they were relatives of the Connecticut Abbeys, especially of my old friend Hancie. But just as soon as I read your letter I seemed to be sure they must be the ones. Upon inquiry, I found them [to be] her own uncles, [David and Russell Abbey]. I visited with them in the store for some time and it seemed truly pleasant to meet uncles away off here. They invited me to call at their houses which I am not sure whether I will do or not. Their mother, [Ruth Hollister Abbey,] lives with them -- a very sprightly [69-year] old lady whose health continues very good. They trade extensively here [in Akron] and I should think were accumulating much property. They did not seem at all pleased with Hancie’s marriage [to James R. Dayton]. Their relatives and friends [in Connecticut], so far as they knew, were all well.

If George Horton was guilty of that act, I am glad Uncle Jacob recovers the damages. Yet it hardly seems possible that poor human nature could stoop down so low as to be guilty of an act so flagrant. One would hardly have thought that the poor ignorant narrow miserly heart of his would have conceived a guilt so great. I understand the jury’s verdict was fourteen thousand dollars damage. He is trying  hard to get a new trial. It has been decided that [John Metcalf] Thurston will have his trial in Tompkins County [N.Y.]. The Johnson divorce case which was to be tried [during] the last court has been settled without a public exposure. Johnson having given his wife a divorce. Did you know Thomas Platt, youngest son of William? There is some romance connected with his marriage to Miss Ellen [Lucy] Barstow. They were clandestinely married on January last, and the affair was not made public until April. Poor deluded folly will sometimes have its own way. [4] 

Have I ever written to you about the mounds and excavations that abound everywhere in Ohio? Where I could make it convenient, [I] have visited many of them and am of the impression that I have written something about them in some of my former letters. At any rate, I have [written of them] to somebody. I am just as much convinced that there was a people abounding in this region long anterior to the Indians as I am of my own existence. Who they were seems to baffle all conjecture as they are now a nation dead without a written history. Yet one’s mind is filled with curious imaginings as he sits upon the summit of some of their mounds and attempts to go back through the long ages of the past to the time that they were busy in their erection. Their appearance, their object, the instruments used, their manners and customs, are all locked up among the hidden secrets of the past. Oh how I wished whilst sitting on the great embankment [5]  at Newark [Ohio], built in an exact circle enclosing about 25 acres, that I could only decipher the object of its erection—but no key seemed to be anywhere acceptable. Ask some of the oldest people their opinion and it was just as vague and indefinite as the wildest conjecture could possibly besummon your boldest attempt at imagining. [After all that,] you find yourself just about as near the truth as when you began. I can think of no possible way that any light can be imparted without it is through some source like that of A. J. Davis of your own city [of Hartford]. I wonder if he could be persuaded to write their history. It would tend so much to strengthen one’s faith in his former writings. If he should fail, our only hope will be through some of the more enlightened spiritual mediums that may yet arise. If you are acquainted with him, why not impart some suggestion that would cause him to uplift the veil that seems to cover over the history of this western world.... However, I would as soon have your opinion as his if you would only be free to give it sometime.

 
Illustration of Circular Mound at Newark
in Harper's Weekly, September 1, 1860

I only wish you were here to give [me your opinion] today. And then we would go around and see this pleasant enterprising village of Akron. If it was your pleasure, we would first go up to the cemetery away in that beautiful grove on the hill. Of course we could go many ways but [we] would prefer crossing the deep ravine and pulling ourselves along up the steep path by [grabbing onto] the bushes. [At the top of the hill] we should soon have the whole village close at our feet. We should see all the churches across on the opposite. We should see the [Ohio and Erie] Canal with its 21 locks winding through the ravine just below us ---- and then, for a minute we’d listen ---- “Whoa! Tend to your horses there!  Why don’t you raise the tow line?! Now go on! Whep. Who’ap Whoa!” These cries of surly boatmen mingled with the rattling of two large woolen factories, several foundries, the hoarse rumbling of several gristmills together with the streets crowded with as many waggons and people as could cleverly get around—all would combine to give you some idea of the life and activity of some of these western villages.

Passing a small grove of second growth trees in the centre of which is one of the district school houses, we should soon come to the graveyard [which is] almost entirely shut in by trees. I know you would say, “Befitting place to slumber when one gets weary with a cold unfeeling selfish world where so many trees stand as faithful sentinels to watch over the very small place that marks your resting place over which its leaves join in the music of the wind to chant oft repeated requiems. And then how pleasant to have so many delicate wild flowers make their annual pilgrimages to your tomb, imparting their rich fragrance for a short time, reminding the visitor of their faithfulness, and then departing until their time to make another annual visit. Yes, Ah yes, in such a place let my last sleeping place be found.

But it is getting late and we must return. Tomorrow I leave this place for Hudson [Ohio] and shall, if life is spared, probably spend the 4th [of July] at Coneant, Ashtabula County, Ohio, among old acquaintances. From there, I shall probably go through Western Pennsylvania to Pittsburgh, then through the southern part of the State to Baltimore, and from there shall probably come up through Pennsylvania home. I may come around by New York so as to attend commencement at Middletown [Connecticut, and] see the World’s Fair before I come home and may not. Shall be governed somewhat by circumstances. [My] brother Daniel is quite anxious [that] I should come [to Baltimore]. If I do, he will probably accompany me [home], as he expects to come west with me when I come again. He intends to engage in business in Illinois. One reason why I wish to go back through Pennsylvania is that I have on hand about 300 Pennsylvania maps unsold and wish to dispose of them. Otherwise, I should come home much more direct. When shall you probably be at Owego? And where can I tell you to write me next so that I shall get it? I guess at Coneant, if you write direct. It may reach me there next Monday. If not, I will order it forwarded. Please give my kind regards to Hancie and Maria and any inquirers. Be sure to tell when you are coming home so that I may know where to write next. Forever yours, -- James

I have just returned from a visit to one of Hancie [Abbey Dayton's] uncles. He resides on a hill amidst a fine grove of oaks and has a very fine shady place for the summer. Yet the trees are so large and shady that they hide almost the entire prospect [of view] from the dwelling. I saw and shook hands with Hancie’s own grandmother and considered it truly a privilege. She is quite a good natured fat old lady with front teeth spread apart and shutting down on her under lip. Is quite talkative. And don’t you think I found Mrs. Shepard there, the same lady I visited at Mrs. Bell's with [Simeon] Chester at one time. Ain’t it too bad. Here I have been in Akron two weeks or more and knew nothing about acquaintances so near. I thank you kindly for your letter and if I return here ever again, which I may do, I shall know of a pleasant place to call. We talked much and fast. Mrs. Shepard says be sure and give my love to Augusta (just as if she knew I was intending to write you). They had heard scarcely a word about the great festival at Glastonbury. She says Hancie used to do things which I could hardly believe. I.e., Get some of my letters and let her read them. Who’d a thought it. They must have been some of those interesting ones written when I had the blues away off in Pennsylvania. A person don’t know when they write letters who is going to read them. Especially my chum Walton. Well, I can’t say much by way of condemnation until my own skirts are clear. Mrs. Shepard’s husband is yet in California but Mr. Abbey tells me [he] is not a very promising man, is very dissipated, and is every day growing worse and worse. But stop. I must Good Night.

Illustration Credits