This influence springs not from climate altogether; nor from soil or landscape. More than to any of these influences perhaps it is due to inhabitants, older and wiser than he, by whom his tendencies were directed, if not actually shaped. Such as these are the unacknowledged teachers of us all. As of the founders of states and of cities, so of those who found villages and small settlements: they definitely give to communities their character. They still exert their sway long after they have ceased to speak and toil.
The primary interest in these sketches now is, and must continue to be, local. And yet, in a sense, those quiet annals have wider value. Small as this village has remained, the charm of its site and the beauty of its streets have impressed all visitors. The place, moreover, stands otherwise apart, and stands with some eminence, as an example of a New York village at its best.
For three quarters of a century, Unadilla remained thoroughly isolated from the great world beyond its borders. Until the nineteenth century had two-thirds passed away, it had neither railroad, nor canal, nor any near communication with one. At Catskill, or at points in the Mohawk valley, for a long series of years, its people could first reach a larger world, and then the undertaking involved a journey on wheels, in some cases of ninety miles, through a rough country. Even in Civil War times, a day’s journey by stage was still necessary in order to reach a railway and learn the war news; while the war had some years passed away, when a railway first came to its own doors.
How that event gradually changed this community those know best who have known the village both before and since the invasion. Before it occurred, growth and character proceeded almost wholly from local forces, which were mainly strong and otherwise beneficent. Whatever was good and productive, proceeded out of the place itself—out of the virtues that lay in its own people, who were very largely of New England stock.
Here in many families dwelt a quality in refinement, the things which, in these matters, mean culture—fineness of feeling, elevation of sentiment, a sense of the obligations which worldly independence confers and a good breeding—which isolation could not deny to the place, and which isolation probably did much to bestow upon it.
Boys who knew that culture and were blessed by its influence, boys who are now men and have travelled far, may well reflect, as more than one of them has done, that in vain have they sought to find that culture developed in finer or sweeter state elsewhere.
To New England the obligation for that is unquestionably large; but this cannot explain all things. When we say that in this inland New York village thrived for almost four score years a bit of New England transplanted in the west, we must add to the statement that it thrived in an isolation so complete that, what was best in New England culture, here came to florescence in full degree.
It is a common enough experience to find men and women showing a partial fondness for their early homes. Out of this isolation of Unadilla has sprung, I think, a very partial fondness for the place among those who knew it in the early forties, fifties and sixties. What Webster, on a famous occasion said of Dartmouth college, they might say of this village: it is a small place, but there are those who love it.
The men who led in this work of village foundation are little known to the present generation. Many of them lie buried in St. Matthew’s churchyard, and headstones mark their graves, familiar places to all who frequent that enclosure. But few are the visitors who know anything of the story of those strong and valiant souls.