Emily Matilda Brewster (1848–1928) of Greenwood, New York, married George Irving Lisk, a Varick, New York farmer, on June 25, 1872. While beginning her married life about 90 miles away from her hometown, Emily’s father, William Robinson Brewster, kept her apprised of the happenings back home in Greenwood. A decade later, his letters still carried the blend of family news, farm business, and local gossip that tied Emily to her roots.
Letter Transcription
To Mrs. Emily Lisk
Romulus, N.Y.
March 14, 1882
There is something to write about now on February 7th we had a bond tax sale and young Anson Brewster caught hold of Purdy Mead for a little tussle and threw him. Purdy’s head struck so rather hard on the ground. Purdy was very racius to get the Office of Supervisor and so he was very busy trying to get the nomination and walked to the caucus and walked to the town meeting and again walked to some other sales too, He was elected Supervisor and then he went to Bath and to Elmira to see lawyers about our bond in matters and often he got home he complained of his head and thought that there was a gathering coming in his head and thought he had taken a bad cold. Then his head grew worse and they sent for the doctor and he went out of his head and died on the 4th of this month. I was at the funeral on the 6th. Old Mrs. Pease was there in her usual health. She was taken sick the next day and the evening sent to be bilious colic and did not get much better. than typhoid pneumonia set in and she died yesterday morning. She died there at Purdy's so you can judge what trouble it is on and off and the weather may be too cold. Mrs. Andrew Boyd’s boy died I just before Purdy died and was buried the day before Purdy was. That Ranger woman died soon after you went home. I saw Lucien Failing last Saturday and he said that they we're all well but Charley Skill’s man’s wife had just died and left young child about a week old and that Mrs. John Wilkeson ... sister was so sick that it was doubtful if she got well again. Jefferson was elected collector he has gone to some sales today. Thursday we have a town meeting to elect a supervisor in the place of Purdy Mead. Jane had a letter from Susan a few days ago but complains of feeling very low and wants her sister to write to her and I think you ought to do so don't you think so yourself. When you write tell me if you got a card from her a while ago with some verses on it. At the last we heard from Sarah she was well. Pat Harnell's son has moved back on their farm. They have no oil on the brain now the girls are at work in Babylon and Williams is out in the oil counting to work yet. John Harmon is conductor on a streetcar in St Louis so the story goes. Joe is at home and is just Joe Hammond yet. Your uncle John and two of his boys and James Gwinn went to one of the bond sales and when coming home they got to shooting off a revolver and one ball went through young John Mitchell's arm. It was not a very bad wound however think I have heard of that whiskey was to blame for it. Silas is to work for John Hartman and was in the old Kennedy house. Young Anson lives over by Mr. Mallory’s. Well I've got the card most full and may be I have missed writing something that you would rather I wrote and who can tell.
W.R. Brewster
Reflection
This letter is crowded with politics, tragedy, and family connections. Purdy Mead’s tussle at a bond sale and his sudden death just weeks later ripple through Greenwood’s life—his supervisor’s seat must now be filled, and Emily’s brother Jefferson Brewster steps into a local office as Collector.
Amid the politics, William weaves in family matters. He presses Emily to write to her sisters Jane and Susan, noting Jane’s low spirits and Susan’s recent verses. He updates her on her sister Sarah’s health, and on young Anson Brewster (likely a cousin or nephew), who had been in the thick of the town’s affairs.
Then comes the revolver incident. A shot passes through young John Mitchell’s arm—almost certainly kin to William’s late wife Eliza Mitchell, who had emigrated from Ireland. William’s dry remark, “whiskey was to blame,” adds his usual blend of humor and wry observation to what could have been a family tragedy.
Compared to the earlier letters, this one feels heavier: full of deaths (Purdy Mead, Mrs. Pease, Mrs. Boyd’s child), accidents, and illnesses. Yet William’s voice remains steady and practical, moving from town meetings to farm families to the far-flung careers of men like John Harmon, now a streetcar conductor in St. Louis.
This is William at his most connective—anchoring Emily in the weave of family, neighbors, and politics, and reminding us how letters carried not only news but also the threads of kinship across miles.
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