Letters are as portable as banknotes and like banknotes they circulate. But it still surprises me to find on my desk here on the south coast of England a letter written in 1837 and sent by one member of the original Shaker community of Watervliet in New York State to another within the same community. It also surprises me that online and on open access I can find the recipient, Lucy Fairchild, listed in censuses where she is assigned a birth date of 1807. The letter is addressed to her at “Office” which might just be the building to which all mail was passed to await collection (rather like a college pigeonhole) but could mean that Lucy Fairchild was a Trustee who worked in the Office (a physically separate building) from where contacts with the outside world were managed.
The
address panel includes at least one playful element, I think in keeping with
Shaker attitudes; top left the sender has drawn a mock postmark inscribed in a
ring “Schoolroom and house” and in the centre dated Ju “10”. A charge mark
“Paid 12 ½” appears to be in the same hand. The fact that the letter is a
collage of poetry and prose is also in keeping with the positive value which
Shaker beliefs attributed to artistic work.
In
the letter itself the writer identifies herself as a schoolroom teacher. In a
later 1849 State of New York report the Watervliet schools were rated as
excellent, "a model worthy the imitation of the best society was
presented: a full and excellent library of the most approved books was found;
and a thorough education for the business man is there imparted, by teachers
competent for the task. The scholars, both male and female, seemed highly
pleased with their situation, and were in the apparent enjoyment of all the
pleasures of youthful life." Unfortunately, the sender signs herself only
“A A.” and I can get nowhere with that.
I
would need an expert to explain why the two women are corresponding by letter rather
than meeting to talk in a community which had only a few hundred members and
can be thought of as a large village. The writer in the opneing lines does, however, indicate that face to face meetings also take place. I have no means of assessing the letter's style
and strong emotional content. As energetic business people, Shakers did have
considerable contact with the outside world, managed through the “Office”
mentioned above. Part of the letter is inspired by a walk the writer has recently
taken into the outside world of neighbouring Schenectady which still has that
name; Watervliet has disappeared into Colonie and Niskayuna, all in New York state.
Transcription
The clock has told
the hour of seven
And, It is a calm and
quiet evening;
The busy workers
seem to be
Pleased to retire,
from labour free.
Here I do sit, in
my school room;
Quite lonely,
‘cause I am alone;
No one with
whom I could converse,
Therefore my
thoughts turned into verse.
But yet; my muse
is quite too dull,
My store of language
much too small;
Either wit or
reason to display,
In prose,
or rhyme, or any way.
Besides rhyming
is a poor employ,
Fit only for a
girl or boy,
Unless we heights
and depths do know;
And bright examples
forth can show.
Therefore from
rhyming I’ll refrain,
And when I see
you will explain
The reason why –
that I have chose
To finish this in
form of prose.
Watervliet July 7th
1837.
Much
Esteemed and Beloved Companion.
It
is a source of not little pleasure, to once more address a few lines to you, to
renew that love and friendship, which does, and I trust ever will exist between
us, as sisters or associates in the gospel. The object of my writing is not to
communicate news; neither shall I meddle with those things which pertain to my
superiors in rank or station. I shall principally confine myself within the
limits of my own narrow sphere of action, which you know is retired in a great
measure from the tumultuous scenes of the day.
But with pleasure
I stay
And serve out the
day
In teaching the
young feeble mind;
Altho’ it is
wearisome,
Quite tedious and
toilsome
Each day to be so
much confined.
You will perceive by this time, the small circle in which I move, affords but little to animate a pen, or interest the ear, and not only that but your previous knowledge of me and of my sentiments, contributes to retard my already too dilatory pen.
For
the purpose of lengthening out this manuscript, I will partially relate a few
ideas that came into my mind, while walking about in Schenectady not long
since. When viewing some of the stately dwellings I said to myself, Who knoweth
the discord and deceit that maintain a standing among the inmates? None serveth
him, that knoweth all things was the reply. I concluded with the impression, if
the Princess of the happy Valley could gain admittance she would soon discover
that some secret demon was there that disturbed the peace and happiness. For
most certain it is, that the most happy, and virtuous of character do not abide
in a palace, adorned with the gayest dress, that fancy can invent, or wealth can
purchase.
Reverse
the scene. View the abode of the honest industrious poor, whose sun burnt
visage his hands obtain the scanty aliment that sparingly is spread upon the
board. Then look upon the hut of the dissipated drunkard: surrounded by a group
of urchins, in human form, besmeared with swinish filth, poor starveling
wretches, begging for pittance! From whom? A brutishman! Is he the image of a
pure and holy God, fallen so low? Pardon the thought. And where is she? With
him united alike, the same course pursuing: wont [?] to enjoy. O worse than
savage life, and yet, assert “he” [?] happiness! Oh! Mock not the ear with language
tainted thus. Could such but know their situation in truth. Would they not
exclaim: “Painful Prescience” Dear Companion, think you, after the
forementioned ideas hastily pass’d thro’
my mind, my feelings did not respond, “O home sweet home”. Experience teaches
too late. Many, perhaps, that are now living in sin often reluctantly yield to
memory and look back on the many, but, alas! Misspent hours. Could the happy
traveller that no longer sojourns with the probationers of this ever changing
world, transfer their knowledge, would it not cause many a dauntless mortal to
stop and consider, ere it be too late? Had they precognition of all things both
here and hereafter, would they not steer their weak manned vessel differently
from what they now do? Would they suffer their minor feelings to preponder and
pervert their better judgement? &c &c
Your
last communication came safe at hand, dated Jun “27”. It was with no little
satisfaction that I perused its contents. I was also much pleased with the
little extract you copied, altho’ I did not think it wholly applied to me:
“Better be with
the dead, who placid rest
Beneath the sod of
earth’s green turf
Than breathe the
air of putrefaction” &c
But
the place you so fondly dreamed of, is before me now in imagination. I almost
fancy myself walking by the side of that pure water surrounded by green trees,
in the shade of which, we can sit down and have that social chat. And should it
be even so? I could wish not to be disturbed so often as you dreamed we were.
Dear Sister, I hope the time will come when we shall in earnest walk in the
Elysian fields in peace. Did I say hope? Yea, hope divinely blest. To thee my
homage pay, Power divine to lead the needy soul to seek for happiness, in
things heavenly & pure.
You
see that I have filled my sheet, and must of necessity draw to [ a close]. I
hope you will be so kind as to excuse the many mistakes in this letter. I have
written in great haste and the greater part is the first copy. I shall expect
to hear from you by the next Mail.
Farewell,
A A.
You
will readily see, that notwithstanding the Mountains and hills of love we have
of late received, that I have not added to your store by sending a quantity in
this. Adieu.
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