Traveling In The Old Days

 

Palmyra Courier-Journal

April 30, 1909

   “Traveling in the Old Days,” is the subject of the letter from our esteemed correspondent who has been writing on “Palmyra In the Early Fifties.” His letter, published in today's Issue of The Courier, will be found very interesting.

   Indeed, as it describes the mode of traveling in this section fifty and sixty years ago, when railways were almost unknown.

He refers pleasantly to the old Erie canal packets, and the memory of many of our citizens will go back to those days and the luxurious accommodations when the packet boats afforded to passengers traveling to Rochester, Buffalo and other points. In those far-away days the packet captain was a man of great importance, and to know him personally was a treat which but few enjoyed. Bat the packet captain was always a gentleman, and the comfort of his passengers was always his chief desire.    

   Even the Pullman dining cars of today cannot offer a better service than was enjoyed by the packet traveler sixty years ago. 

                                            ______

              Traveling In The Old Days

              ____

Some Interesting Reminiscences From

    a Former Resident of the Village

                          ____

   I wonder how many of The Courier’s readers remember the palmy days of the Erie Canal, when it was the chief avenue of travel through the state between Albany and Buffalo. Even after several lines of railroad were in operation, through the Mohawk valley and west to Syracuse and Auburn, the Erie packer boat was largely organized. And it was a jolly way to travel.

   The packet of sixty-five years ago was a trim craft, with graceful lines, and cutting the water at a good speed for that day - they were not like the strenuous times of the present. Why, we would leave Rome at nine in the evening and be in Syracuse  for breakfast the next morning - a distance of forty miles!

   They used to ring the bell at the landing just east of the James street bridge, and a crowd of young people gathered to “see the packet in.” And it was not so slow an affair. With the three horse tandem team at a round trot, with crack of the driver’s long lash and a bugle fanfare the boat would make the landing in a rocking swell. Don’t you remember Captain Vedder?

   On board it was great fun to watch the waiter boys pull out the extension tables in that long cabin and sling the dishes into position. And wha savory odors issued from the tiny caboose where the black cook was dishing up the dinner, utilizing stove and table and often the floor for that purpose.

   But what transformation at night when they put up those hammock berths, end to end and one above the other, lower and middle and upper, along the cabin sides, and the swinging berths in the center.  Did you ever have the one above you give way without warning and precipitate a big man on top of you? I remember a small boy who did, and he was ever after distrustful of such sleeping gear.

   But people not in a hurry often journeyed by “line boat,” as the boats of the regular freight lines were called. Many a time did the writer come and go between Rome and Lyons and Palmyra in this way. Often these boats were new and neat with their white paint and green blind. There was a comfortable passenger cabin forward, while the dining cabin and kitchen were aft; it was necessary to cross the upper deck in passing back and forth, the big midship space being needed for freight.

   There was a boat called “the Musician”that was a great favorite and parties would wait several weeks for the privilege of making the trip in it; it was owned by the Blakeslee family, all the members of which were musicians and there were daily entertainments during the “voyage.” This boat had red window blinds all along its sides. We youngsters always looked forward with pleasure to these canal trips, so full of novelty. There were many things to see and plenty of time in which to see them as we moved leisurely along through countryside, hamlet and village.

   We were passing other craft; line-boats and scows, and now and then a trim and aristocratic packet - why, one of those boats could cut a big swell than the flyers and limited expresses of these days. The eastward bound boats were heavily loaded, sometimes to their gunwales, and their teams of horses or mules on the towpath would seem scarcely to move. Some boats would have a cargo of corn, and we could see through the windows the bulk of the grain, yellow as gold, and reminding us of our country days, of corn husking and of samp and hominy and hasty pudding. (Note: Samp and hominy are foods derived from kernels of corn.)

   Again here would be loads of flour or salt in barrels piled tier on tier on he deck. At times we would meet scow after scow, square bowed and logy, piled high with bright new lumber; sometimes a load would lean, like the famous old Tower of Pisa, and we wondered the boat did not “turn turtle.”

   In passing, one boat was obliged to cast off its towline and to run over the line of the other boat, and this operation was always interesting. The crew would hail each other as the boats met, or occasionally there might be an ill-tempered encounter, but generally of words only.

   The liners had regular stations at which they changed teams, but many of the boats carried their own horses in a little cabin stable forward, and it was interesting to see them lay the bridge and pass the animals to and from the towpath. Now and hen a great raft of lumber would be met moving slowly toward the seabed and made up of many sections; on one of these would be a small living cabin, and on another a stable for horses.

   Sometimes the women would be preparing the meal from an outside fire, the column of blue smoke curling upward from the short stovepipe. At the locks the sections would have to be unbent and ru through separately, a very tedious operation.

   Passing through a lock was always a sensation; to sink down and down between the dark damp walls was a trifle scary, and we were always glad to emerge into the light and the open water.

   Do any of my readers remember the Montezuma marshes, or have they passed through them in the night or the white mists of an October morning? The wide water spaces, the stretches of flags and rushes, and the multitudinous chorus of the frogs are weird memories of this dismally romantic tract.  But had! I hear the breakfast bell and smell the frying sausages and buckwheat cakes, for good things to eat an an appetite were always accompaniments of a canal boat journey.

   Well, presto change! The writer remembers the old short cars of the “Syracuse and Utica Railroad.” They were about the length of two or three of the old-fashioned stage coaches, and the compartments, each with two broad seats facing each other, were entered by side doors. Along the outside ran a foot-board, and on this the conductor would pass to collect his fares; no tickets were used, but each paid in money through the door window, the cars stopping for the purpose just outside the station. Of course everyone was honest in those days.

   The railroad was but a crude affair, the tracks being only long strips of strap iron spiked to wooden stringers. Sometimes an end would work loose and a “snake-head" be thrust up through the floor of a car. The first “T” rails were a great curiosity. The cars were very noisy and people were obliged to shout to one another when attempting conversation.

   The first approach to a longer car of which I have any knowledge of was on the Auburn and Syracuse railroad. The windows were diamond-shaped and the side of the car looked like a somewhat compressed checkerboard. The effect was unique and pleasing. This must have been about 1840. Soon after a new car was placed on the line east of Syracuse. Our next door neighbor in Syracuse was a conductor and it was with him that I took my first ride i the new cars. However, it was many years later before anything like the present palatial coaches came into use.

    So much about the canal and railroad of former days. But for the real romance of travel the reader must go back with me to the old four-horse thorough brace stagecoaches that sixty years ago wound their way through the Mohawk valley or climbed  the hills along the state roads of northern New York. Those glorious old coaches! Splendid in red or yellow or green and gold; drawn by their spanking teams of bays or grays or black, and driven by Jehus as well known and as well noted as so many major-generals. There is living today many a gray-headed doctor or professor who can remember when the height of his boyish ambition was to drive a four-in-hand stage coach!

  The inside of the coach was of substantial leather upholstery and the three broad seats made room for nine good people. With well-balanced load - inside seas all taken, a full boot behind, and one or two men of good avoirdupois on the seat with the driver - such a coach rode steadily enough; and withe a congenial company, fair roads and a careful driver, nothing could be more delightful. But once upon a time a small boy was the only passenger. In such a coach for some distance he kept no journal of the trump but had he done so he might have found difficulty in saying upon what particular seat he made the journey.

   I have only to shut my eyes tonight and I am back again to a little village in the Black River country of Northern New York just as the sun is going over Tug Hill. A cloud of dust towards Martinsburg signals the coming of the southern mail.

   The driver sounds his horn, a long-drawn crescendo blast, and the villagers flock to doors and windows. Down the long hill comes the coach and we can hear the rasping of the foot-brakes on the wheels; it rumbles over the creek bridge; with the horses at a round canter it rattles up the street, and with a final crack of the long whip the driver pulls up at the village stage house, the leather thorough-braces rocking the coach like a ship in a storm.

   The teams are unhitched and the steam horses file away to the stables while the fresh relays come out to take their places. The old postmaster, bareheaded, and in his shirt sleeves, comes across the street and exchange mail pouches with the driver.

   Two or three passengers alight while others enter, and the partly Boniface closes the door with a bang. The driver gathers up the reins, the leaders prick up their ears, and with a word of command and a crack of the whip the coach is off up the street, the villagers go their several ways, and the twilight falls in restful quiet on the little town.

Old Stagecoach and Canal Inns in Lyons, N.Y.

 

Tollgate House at Fayetteville, N.Y.

 

"Slab City" in Cortland County

 Syracuse Post-Standard

September 24, 1933

 

  Forgotten Villages

Dutch Made Slab City

Thriving Little Hamlet

                      _____

First Grist Mill Now Used as Garage,

        Another Still Being Operated

                     ____

               By T. Elmer Bogardus

   One hundred and thirty-six years ago a pioneer struggled through the forest and undergrowth of southern Onondaga county sleeping by day and traveling by night to avoid hostile Indians.

   It wasn’t a long journey. It started at mopey Hill and ended on the top of a steep hill forming Tully valley and overlooking the swampy Tioughnioga river a few miles below the present Tully village.

   But although short, it was a difficult passage, and the man blazed a trail as he progressed so he could find his way back and not become lost in the maze of trees. The pioneer was named James Cravath, according to legend, and he was seeking the mile-square of land given him by the government.

   When he reached the hill he looked down and saw below him more woods and the swamp and, disheartened, turned back to Pompey Hill. The prospect of hewing those trees and conquering that swamp was too much, for the man already had grubbed some land in Pompey. But he returned the following year and built the town’s first home, a log cabin, on East Hill.

               Dutch Settled in Valley

   A year later came the hardy Dutch from Coxsackie, who heard  who heard Cravath had had not accepted is land grant. More fearless perhaps and more eager for homesteads, the Dutch went down into the valley and settled. 

   There was started Slab City, now a forgotten village on Route 11 in the town of Preble, Cortland County.  Slab City is a hamlet in the town of Preble, Cortland County, on US Route 11 southeast of Preble village.The Dutch came in 1798, and it wasn’t long before a thriving little hamlet was in the making.

   A school, the first in the town of Preble, was built in 1801 and the first teacher was Miss Ruth Thorp. The original building with few changes still stands, since it has been abandoned for six tears biome the children going to Homer for classes.

   Slab City received its name from the sawmills which sprung up on the Tioughnioga river. But those mills have mostly faded into history with the exception of the old Slab City cider, saw and grist mill owned and operated by Clayton Smith.

                           Grist Mill Built

   The first grist mill was built in 1805 by Samuel Woolson and rebuilt in 1827. The building is still intact and used as a garage and storehouse on the farm of Frank Fox.

   Directly behind the old mill are stone ruins of of a sawmill and the site of the dam which furnished water power many years ago. A cheese factory was built in 1863-64 by Moses and William Tallman , one of whom lived on the present  Fox farm, and the other on Earl Clark’s farm, directly across the road. It was Moses Tallman too, who started the Slab City mills now owned by Clayton Smith about 70 years ago. Following the first Dutch immigrants came Ryer Van Patten, another Dutchman, from Schenectady, in 1809. He was the great-grandfather of Mrs. Frank Fox. Mr. Fox’s came from the town of Homer in 1850.

  After Slab City was first founded it was in Onondaga county, but on April8, 1808, it became part of the town of Preble when Cortland county was founded. Not far from Slab City is another forgotten village, Baltimore, the history of which was related last week.

                       Not Much Lumber Turned Out

   Slab City once hummed with the activity of its saw, cider and grist mills. Thousands of fee of lumber were turned out every year from trees hewn from the steep hills of Tully Valley. The plank road on which was situated rang with the hoofs of fast horses, but these have been supplanted  by speeding motor cars on a fine cement pavement.

   In the distance is Mount Toppin, 1,700 feet above sea level, looking down on the ruins and memories of Slab City.

*Note: The area around the town of Preble was first settled in 1796, and the town itself was organized in 1808 during the same year Cortland County was created. Preble named after Commodore Edward Preble, a naval war hero. Slab City refers to a hamlet, a small settlement that exists in a larger town, where people first began to settle. This marker originally stated “Slab City: Site of Saw Mill 1800, Grist Mill 1806, School District No. 4 organized 1813, Present School built 1843” These were all important structures vital to the success of the town in its earliest stages.

 

       

Bronder's Hollow and Muller Hill

 Syracuse Post-Standard

July 1, 1934

Forgotten Villages

Mysterious Refugee’s Village Long Vanished

                            ____

Muller’s Stores and Mill Gone from Bronder’s Hollow

                            ____

By Elizabeth Pyke

   Seeking refuge from his enemies in the forest recess of hills above Chenango valley in what is now Madison county, did a future king of France , exiled from his native land during the reign of Napoleon, dwell incognito for several years in a mansion hewn from sturdy cherry trees. In a “hollow” among those hills he founded a settlement which after a brief colorful existence crumble back into forest wilds to become one of the forgotten villages of Central New York.

   History records no such interlude in the life of the 19th century French monarchs who sought haven in other lands during the supremacy of Napoleon. But history is sufficiently vague about the details of French royalty in exile to leave a tempting loophole for romantic surmises of Central New Yorkers who’s imagination has been stimulated by accounts of the mysterious French refugee. He secreted himself in a fortress-like dwelling in the inaccessible hills near Slab City, now Georgetown a century and a quarter ago. He lived there like a feudal lord of old France, although he called himself plain Louis Anathe Muller.*

                            Bullet-Proof Chateau

   This story had its beginning in 1808, when a Frenchman who never ventured forth without an armed bodyguard, purchased 2,700 acres of land in this isolated region, and employed 160 men, whom he paid in gold and silver, to construct a palatial, bullet-proof chateau on the summit of the highest hill on his estate.

   Beside a stream a mile southeast of his homestead, in a valley known to this day as Bronder’s Hollow after John Passon Bronder, one of the men who had accompanied him this country, the Frenchman who called himself Muller, established a village which contained two stores, a mill and a storehouse, as well as numerous dwellings.  

   During the half dozen years that he lived in this forest mansion, Muller’s reticence and eccentric conduct greatly stirred  the curiosity of his neighbors and gave rise to many wild rumors as to this identity, But never by an idle word did he betray his real story,  and then when after hearing of the collapse of Napoleon’s fortunes he departed jubilant to France , he left in his wake  a mystery which never has been explained  to the full satisfaction of his Central New York acquaintances or their descendants.

                                Home Burned

   The modern visitor to the site of the old Muller house, which was leveled by fire in 1907, must stretch his imagination to believe  that this was once the estate of a French nobleman. If he drives along the narrow country road that winds across the hills towards Bronder’s Hollow, he will pass densely wooded stretches that look as if they never had known the pioneer’s axe.

   A few bleak gray farmhouses with desolation staring through their painless windows, decrepit barns with doors that creak on rusty hinges,  and the shapeless frames of occasional abandoned automobiles  along the way are the only evidence that man ever conquered or cultivated this isolated territory. The stream beside which Muller established his settlement still meanders through Bronder’s Hollow, and in the picturesque old house  once run as a hotel by John Passon Bronder, Frank Stone today lives alone and raises crops on the site of the old vanished village. 

                               Village Gone

   There is left, however, no vestige of the stores, the mill, the storehouse, or the dwellings which once stood in Bronder’s Hollow. Mr. Stone recalls that his father, Samuel Stone  years ago tore down the remnants of one of the old stores and erected in its place a horse-barn which now in turn is falling onto decay. Mr. Stone’s farmhouse, the former hotel, is the only landmark which remains.

   Yet back in the days when Syracuse was just a “corners” in a dismal swamp, there was on the top of Muller Hill a clearing of several hundred acres where avenues of fine shade trees led up to an imposing mansion. Waters of an artificial pond sparkled in the sunlight, a strong high fence enclosed a park where deer, rabbits and other game roamed at leisure, and statuary embellished grounds which had been tastefully laid out with walks and shrubbery.  Here, in the heart of precipitous holland tangled forests was an estate quite befitting a nobleman whom rumor identified as a member of the royal family of France.

                                                            Muller Unhappy

    Bur despite the wild beauty of his forest retreat, despite the protection of his retinue of French servants, two of whom, armed and liveried, formed his body guard whoever he road abroad, and despite the companionship of his American wife and his two small children, Louis Anathe Muller was not a happy man. 

   Perhaps he was haunted by memories of a harrowing escape from the guillotine which had spilt so much aristocratic blood in France Unquestionably, he feared the vengeance of Napoleon and trembled lest some spy should penetrate his seclusion.

   When Muller departed for France after the downfall of Napoleon, he left his Central New York property  in the hands of an agent who proved untrustworthy , and two years later, in 1816, he returned to find his house stripped of its rich furniture, his garden covered with weeds, and his village forsaken.

   After viewing the wreck, he sold the land to Abijah Weston, a New York City merchant, for the sum of $10,500; and then went back to France, where no doubt he reclaimed a prouder name than plain Louis Anathe Muller, and calmly wiped out this American chapter  off the slate of his life with never a qualm for the throes of curiosity which were bound torture posterity when it encountered the mystery of Muller Hill.

                                                      Notes

*Louis Anathe Muller was a wealthy French émigré who in 1808 purchased 2,700 acres of land in what is now known as Muller Hill in Georgetown, New York. He lived on Payne Street in Hamilton, New York for a year with his wife and son while 300 acres of densely forested land was cleared by 150 men for a lavishly furnished fortress of a house measuring 70 feet by 30 with thick walls made of black cherry wood. Also on the property were a saw mill, several out buildings, fish pond and a game reserve enclosed by a stout palisade.

   Louis Muller lived on this estate from 1809 through 1814. In the wake of Napoleon’s defeat, he left his property in the hands of a caretaker and temporarily packed the family off to New York City while he returned to France. Returning in 1816, he found the house picked clean and the caretaker long gone. Shortly thereafter he sold the property and left for parts unknown. In 1905 the house burned to the ground. 

   Many articles have been written on the mysterious identity of Louis A. Muller. There were rumors he was French royalty fleeing from the wrath of Napoleon but there is no evidence to support that claim. Samuel Buell Sisson (1883-1947), Colgate Class of 1905 and Colgate University trustee (1938-1945) extensively researched Muller’s identity in the 1930’s and 1940’s. Sisson’s father, Eugene Pardon Sisson, was born in the Muller house in January 1845. Eugene Sisson was principal of the Colgate Academy from 1888 to 1889 and 1895 to 1896 and taught Mathematics at Colgate from 1912 to 1921.

   Samuel Sisson research led him to believe that Muller was a General in the King Louis XVI of France’s Life Guards. After the royal family were captured, Muller and Angel De Ferriere, another officer in the same unit fled and eventually came to New York and purchased land in Madison county. Historical marker for Muller house on Muller Hill Road in Georgetown one mile or so west of the intersection with Chapin Road. An extensive collection of Muller’s  is in Special Collections (M2044) at Colgate University Archives.

Muller's Estate Sale

The sale of Muller's estate to Abijah Weston can be found in book of deeds L beginning at page 515. Altogether the deed conveys 1,628.5 acres of land, the house, barns, grist mill, saw mill and other improvements for the sum of $10,500. It was commonly thought that Muller was French royalty living under an assumed identity; some even voice the possibility that he was the Comte d'Artois who later became Charles X, King of France. Others have said he was Charles Ferdinand, the Duc de Berry son of King Charles X. Only two things will ever truly be known about the man on Muller Hill. First he was French, and second we will never know who the mysterious man truly was.

"Lazyville" in Madison County

 Waterville Times, December 3, 1931

Deserted Village in Madison County

Hamlet of Fifteen Houses Now Eery Place - Surrounded by Forest on High Land of Georgetown - 

Norwich-DeRuyter Railroad Recalled

Did you know that there is in Madison county a deserteed village, a settlement in which today there resides not a soul? Yes, it was in reality a village or settlement, a collection of 15 houses, but with no commercial buildings. It was not a logging camp or other specially constructed

settlement, but a hamlet that grew up naturally. And in what a location.

   This settlement was in the Crumb Hill section of Georgetown and went by the euphonious name of Lazyville. It as on one of the highest points of the town and is completely surrounded by forest. As one drives through Georgetown toward South Otselic, there is a road just west of the village that leads to the Muller Hill section. Take this road and drive along for about a mile when a fork in the road will be noticed. Take the left-hand fork and go as far as your auto can proceed. It isn't much of a road after you leave the forks, and finally you will find that an auto can go no further. From there on it is a hike of about a mile to reach Lazyville. And when you get there you will find

little. 

   There are three frame houses, several slab-sided houses and one or two log cabins. Several of the buildings have tumbled down and all present a woe-begone condition.Until about a year ago a man resided there, but he was overcome by lonesomeness and moved to Georgetown.

   Jerome Brown is believed to have been the first settler of Lazyville. He made a clearing in the forest and built a home. Others came and built there, the Davenports, Shermans, etc. Today all are gone. The only industry that graced Lazyville (Jerome Brown is also credited with

naming the hamlet) was a sawmill. This was put in operation by Ral. Merchant at the time the Norwich-DeRuyter branch of the Midland was built.

   At that brings up another question: How many know that at one time there was a railroad between Norwich and DeRuyter? Few living today know of this and those who are have almost forgotten it. The road went right over Crumb Hill in Georgetown and down into DeRuyter. The grades were excessive and an engine could pull only a small train over the road. In many places there were long and high trestles, and it was quite a stunt for the boys of the section to walk across these trestles.

   Frank Stone of Brander Hollow recalls a Sunday School excursion that was run over the road from Norwich to Ithaca. This was some 55 years ago. The train had seven or eight coaches and each was packed to capacity. The trip to Ithaca was made all right, but on the return home the engine could not pull the train up the grade from Quaker Basin to the crest of Crumb Hill. The train stalled, backed down into DeRuyter and waited for another engine to come from Cortland to boost them over the grade. Many were late in doing their evening chores that day.

   The railroad was operated only a short time and proved too expensive to operate for the returns received, and it was finally abandoned. The roadbed and grade are still plainly seen but the rails and ties were removed long ago.

Syracuse Post-Standard

July 8, 1934

Forgotten Villages

Lazyville Never Had

   Chance to Be Village

                      ____

Poor Land and Shiftless Population

Prevented Growth of Hamlet

                      ____

  Perhaps Lazyville has no right to be listed among the forgotten villages of Central New York, for strictly speaking, it never was a village and it is not forgotten. Yet it would seem an oversight to neglect its vagabond lure.

   Even in the days of its prime, Lazyille did not rate as a village. It was just a cluster of shacks and farms isolated in a forest-fringed valley among the hills of Southwestern Madison county.

   Lazyville never had a store or a blacksmith shop or even a church like most of the other communities that once thrived and now are forgotten in Central New York. Had its inhabitants developed enough energy to start a store or a blacksmith shop, it would have ceased to be Lazyville.

                     People Pugnacious

  Perhaps it ought to have had a church, however. The story is told that folks in Lazyville not only were lazy, but were so pugnacious that before its present name was coined the settlement was popularly referred to as Battle Creek.

   Only once in its lackadaisical career was Lazyville stirred from its indolence. That was when a branch of the New York, Ontario & Western railroad was laid between DeRuyter and Norwich, and the area showed transient prospects of development.

   In those days, a man named Ral Merchant is said to have put a sawmill into operation in the little settlement. Owners of the railroad, however, soon found that their new branch lime was raking in debts instead of profits, and it was discontinued.

  Lazyville then sank back into its former apathy, and the sawmill went into a decline. Today, all traces of it have disappeared.

  Many of the forgotten villages of Central New York are so completely forgotten that even old-timers-shake their heads and deny ever having heard of them when their names are mentioned. But young as well as old folks in Southwestern Madison county know about Lazyville. 

 “Just follow the road over the hill,” they will advise you with a confident smile -if you interrupt their farm

labors to ask the way.

  So you turn off the. main highway a few miles east of DeRuyter, and drive along a narrow, unimproved road that winds through a lonely country-side. An unexpected fork temporarily baffles you. The road to the left ascends abruptly, and remembering that Lazyville lies “over the hill,” you probably will go  astray—to the left before you discover, a mile or so later, that after all the road to the right is the right road to Lazyville.

                           Deserted Farmhouse

   A tumbledown, deserted farmhouse on the crest of a rise which commands a generous view of rolling, thickly wooded hills greets you as you finally curve into Lazyville. In the valley below, stands another forlorn house, which apparently once was painted yellow. There remains little else to indicate that this was ever a settlement. 

   It is a dozen years or more since any one has lived in Lazyville, although farmers occasionally drive teams there to cut wood. Last to leave was farmer named Starr Palmer, who had found living in Lazyville too much like living in Lonesomeville. Two years ago, a log cabin with toppled-in roof lent a picturesque touch to the Lazyville landscape, but since then it has met the fate of other vanished dwellings of the settlement. Apple trees and berry bushes grow wild on the slopes descending from the lone, storm-battered farmhouse on the Lazyville hill.

                         Bullding Ruined

   Inside the building, scraggly hay is scattered about the floor, and a glance through the front window reveals a broken-down staircase upon one step of which reposes a very rusty berry-pail. Even if the inhabitants of Lazyville had been of a more industrious nature, the soil of the region is not adapted to cultivation. A farmer acquainted with its qualities once described the land as “so poor that a woodchuck would have to carry its lunch if its started across it.”

   But Lazyville has its attractions. The air is fragrant. Daisies,.butter-cups, and the red-orange “devil's paintbrush” blossoms-spatter the hill-sides with color, while tall grasses nod lazily in the summer breeze. It is not hard to understand why the settlers there were tempted to snooze in the noonday sun.

   Lazyville is said to have been dubbed first by a thrifty farmer dad Jerome Brown who lived in its vicinity and was vastly scornful, of the shiftless habits of his neighbors.

                      Vouches for Sale

   Frank Stone, who runs a farm a mile and a half from Lazyville in Bronder’s Hollow, vouches for the story that Brown once, upon being asked in DeRuyter where he lived, replied satirically that  he hailed from a neighborhood where folks were so lazy the place ought to be called Lazyville. It was the sort of name that was bound to stick. Today, the names of most of its settlers have been forgotten, and its history has deteriorated into legend, but Lazyville continues to be a mecca for countless visitors whose fancy has been captivated its whimsical name.

 

New Stage Line Between Chittenango and Ithaca

 Onondaga Register, Onondaga Hollow

Wednesday, January 26, 1825

   New Line of Stages. - A new line of Stages has recently been established, to run three times a week, from Chittenango, by way of Cazenovia and Homer, to Ithaca. From the well known characters of the proprietors, Mr. E. Cary, of Chittenango, and Mr. P. Westerman, of Homer, the public may rely upon regularity and good accommodations, and we hope they will be amply remunerated for their exertions.