[Direct] EAGLESWOOD, PERTH AMBOY, N. J.,
Saturday eve, November 1, 1856.
DEAR SOPHIA,--I have hardly had time and repose enough to write to you
before. I spent the afternoon of Friday (it seems some months ago) in
Worcester, but failed to see [Harrison] Blake, he having "gone to the
horse-race" in Boston; to atone for which I have just received a
letter from him, asking me to stop at Worcester and lecture on my
return. I called on [Theo.] Brown and [T. W.] Higginson; in the
evening came by way of Norwich to New York in the steamer
Commonwealth, and, though it was so windy inland, had a perfectly
smooth passage, and about as good a sleep as usually at home. Reached
New York about seven A. M., too late for the John Potter (there was n't
any Jonas), so I spent the forenoon there, called on Greeley (who was
not in), met [F. A. T.] Bellew in Broadway and walked into his
workshop, read at the Astor Library, etc. I arrived here, about thirty
miles from New York, about five P. M. Saturday, in company with Miss
E. Peabody, who was returning in the same covered wagon from the
Landing to Eagleswood, which last place she has just left for the
winter.
This is a queer place. There is one large long stone building, which
cost some forty thousand dollars, in which I do not know exactly who
or how many work (one or two familiar places and more familiar names
have turned up), a few shops and offices, an old farmhouse, and Mr.
Spring's perfectly private residence, within twenty rods of the main
building. The city of Perth Amboy is about as big as Concord, and
Eagleswood is one and a quarter miles southwest of it, on the Bay
side. The central fact here is evidently Mr. [Theodore] Weld's school,
recently established, around which various other things revolve.
Saturday evening I went to the schoolroom, hall, or what not, to see
the children and their teachers and patrons dance. Mr. Weld, a
kind-looking man with a long white beard, danced with them, and Mr.
[E. J.] Cutler, his assistant (lately from Cambridge, who is
acquainted with Sanborn), Mr. Spring, and others. This Saturday
evening dance is a regular thing, and it is thought something strange
if you don't attend. They take it for granted that you want society!
Sunday forenoon I attended a sort of Quaker meeting at the same place
(the Quaker aspect and spirit prevail here,--Mrs. Spring says, "Does
thee not?"), where it was expected that the Spirit would move me (I
having been previously spoken to about it); and it, or something else,
did,--an inch or so. I said just enough to set them a little by the
ears and make it lively. I had excused myself by saying that I could
not adapt myself to a particular audience; for all the speaking and
lecturing here have reference to the children, who are far the greater
part of the audience, and they are not so bright as New England
children. Imagine them sitting close to the wall, all around a hall,
with old Quaker-looking men and women here and there. There sat Mrs.
Weld [Grimké] and her sister, two elderly gray-headed ladies, the
former in extreme Bloomer costume, which was what you may call
remarkable; Mr. Arnold Buffum, with broad face and a great white
beard, looking like a pier-head made of the cork-tree with the bark
on, as if he could buffet a considerable wave; James G. Birney,
formerly candidate for the presidency, with another particularly white
head and beard; Edward Palmer, the anti-money man (for whom
communities were made), with his ample beard somewhat grayish. Some of
them, I suspect, are very worthy people. Of course you are wondering
to what extent all these make one family, and to what extent twenty.
Mrs. Kirkland[73] (and this a name only to me) I saw. She has just
bought a lot here. They all know more about your neighbors and
acquaintances than you suspected.
On Monday evening I read the moose story to the children, to their
satisfaction. Ever since I have been constantly engaged in surveying
Eagleswood,--through woods, salt marshes, and along the shore, dodging
the tide, through bushes, mud, and beggar-ticks, having no time to
look up or think where I am. (It takes ten or fifteen minutes before
each meal to pick the beggar-ticks out of my clothes; burs and the
rest are left, and rents mended at the first convenient opportunity.)
I shall be engaged perhaps as much longer. Mr. Spring wants me to help
him about setting out an orchard and vineyard, Mr. Birney asks me to
survey a small piece for him, and Mr. Alcott, who has just come down
here for the third Sunday, says that Greeley (I left my name for him)
invites him and me to go to his home with him next Saturday morning
and spend the Sunday.
It seems a twelvemonth since I was not here, but I hope to get settled
deep into my den again ere long. The hardest thing to find here is
solitude--and Concord. I am at Mr. Spring's house. Both he and she and
their family are quite agreeable.
I want you to write to me immediately (just left off to talk French
with the servant man), and let father and mother put in a word. To
them and to Aunts, love from