Six miles beyond Batavia, on the road to Le Roy, is the little
village of Stafford; some twenty or thirty houses bordering the
highway; a church, a schoolhouse, the old stage tavern, and
several buildings that are to-day very much as they were nearly
one hundred years ago. This is the one place which remains very
much as it was seventy-five years ago when Morgan was kidnapped
and taken through to Canandaigua. As one approaches the little
village, on the left hand side of the highway set far back in an
open field is an old stone church long since abandoned and
disused, but so substantially built that it has defied time and
weather. It is a monument to the liberality of the people of that
locality in those early days, for it was erected for the
accommodation of worshippers regardless of sect; it was at the
disposal of any denomination that might wish to hold services
therein. Apparently the foundation of the weather-beaten structure
was too liberal, for it has been many years since it has been used
for any purpose whatsoever.
As one approaches the bridge crossing the little stream which cuts
the village in two, there is at the left on the bank of the stream
a large three-story stone dwelling. Eighty years ago the first
story of this dwelling was occupied as a store; the third story
was the Masonic lodge-room, and no doubt the events leading up to
the disappearance of Morgan were warmly discussed within the four
walls of this old building. Across from the three-story stone
building is a brick house set well back from the highway,
surrounded by shrubbery, and approached by a gravel walk bordered
by old-fashioned boxwood hedges. This house was built in 1812, and
is still well preserved. For many years it was a quite famous
private school for young ladies, kept by a Mr. Radcliffe.
Across the little bridge on the right is a low stone building now
used as a blacksmith shop, but which eighty years ago was a
dwelling. A little farther on the opposite side of the street is
the old stage tavern, still kept as a tavern, and to-day in
substantially the same condition inside and out as it was
seventy-five years ago. It is now only a roadside inn, but before
railroads were, through stages from Buffalo, Albany, and New York
stopped here. A charming old lady living just opposite, said,--
"I have sat on this porch many a day and watched the stages and
private coaches come rattling up with horn and whip and carrying
Here's a piece of wisdom on driving or cute car quote to study:
The longest journey begins with a single step, not with a turn of the ignition key. ~Edward Abbey
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