John Benjamin was born in England in 1823. In 1849, at the age of 26, he immigrated to America with the goal of seeking opportunities in the new world and improving the life of his family. During his immigration and eventual settlement in Hutchinson, Minnesota, John saved many personal letters that were written by and to him. These letters, the subject of this web site, bring to life his immigration and the life of others during this courageous adventure. The most recent letters posted on this sight are on this front page. To see all the earlier letters, keep pressing the “Older Posts” button on the bottom of this page. The earliest letter recorded here is June 20, 1849. The letters…………









March 30, 1850 Elizabeth Garner to John Benjamin-1823

Holywell
March 30, 1850
My Dearest John,
I received your note on the 27th instant and am glad to hear that you are quite well as it leaves your Lizzy at present thank God for as you will doubtly be surprised to hear that I am in Holywell, but I am, dear, since five weeks I am quite unsettled yes.  My father has not got better, no no, never will he.  The man has __ __.  No my poor father is still in a weak state.  We think to give the house up in Flint.  What do you think, dearest?   I can persuade my brothers not to give it up.  I think they keep asking me what I think about it so I shall have your opinion on the subject and let me know as soon as possible.
My dearest John the day is Good Friday and my brother has gone to Bangor for a trip and I am left alone and I can avail myself in writing to you.  I could do nothing better than write to   the only one that I love in this world.  My dearest, I should of written to let you know that I was in Holywell, but   have been so busy.  I have my father’s house to attend to and my brothers and I have to serve in the shop as well so you see they keep me in full employment all the time.  Brother came to fetch me without me knowing that I want to go.  He told me I might as well be with him as at home but I should not of gone if you were in Flint but there is no one I care for in Flint therefore all places are alike for me.
My dearest John I am very low today and it is enough to make anyone low that has any feeling I think that this time last year you were in your native place, now where are you?  You are in a land of strangers and your Lizzy here pineing.  Oh my dearest John it was a sin that we were ever separated but tis done now – but:
Though the hills may now divide
And the waters angry roar
Consolation dwells beside me
When we meet to part no more
 
Yes dearest it may be our lot to meet again and oh I often picture in my mind our meeting.  Oh would not our meeting me a happy one. Do you think we shall ever meet again dearest?  Oh where should I be now was it not for hope?   Yes, I have a hope of one day meeting with my dearest John.  Whether that time is far off or near I am not able to say.  But if it should not be out lot to meet again on earth, oh may we meet on the right hand of God.  That will be a happy meeting where there is no sickness or sorrow, no weeping after or pineing after those we love there.  No, all tears shall be wiped from our eyes and we shall sing the song of the Lamb of God that died to redeem us. 
 
My dearest John I have but little news to tell you this time but I shall try to see what I have got to say.  I hope and trust that by this time you have received my for I wrote that same week I received it and I have worked you a card and sent it in it so should not like the letter to become lost.  My dearest John I dream a very singular dream about you.  Sometime back here I dreamt that you had some home and you came to our house first before going near home and you had a __ with you and I thought you looked so tall and the top of your head was as black as jet and it was curled and the end of the curls that hung down were as white as white could make them and I thought that I was afraid to go near you and you asked me did I not know you and I said I did & you asked me to come and fulfill my promise.  What promise say I?  You promised to be mine you said.  Oh but I did not think you would of gone so ugly and your hair white too & I thought you burst out of crying and said well and have I suffered all this for you Lizzy and you won’t have me after all but you know you promised faithfully to be mine and I thought I jumped to you and said so I will be your dear John for I could not bear to see you cry and I thought you staid yonder for a great while and I went with you home.   My dearest John I hope and I trust that you are not grieving – no don’t grieve my dear John.    Recollect that there is a Lizzy that would take all your trouble if she know how so don’t let your Lizzy beg of you not for if I know you were grieving I should be more miserable than I am.
 
Walter has had a good misfortune in the __ his arm is broke poor man.  I wrote to William to __ the letter to Holywell and I had it last Wednesday and do you know the glass belonging is that pretty Valentine was broke all to pieces.  I could not of thought that there were such pretty Valentines in America.  My dearest John I must now thank you kindly for it – this is not how we used to thank one another no.  Kisses were our payments were they not?  Yes but we must bid adieu to kisses for a while such as we need to give for I shall send you one on paper if you will __ of one or more. 
 
My dearest John I left this off since Friday night for my brother came home before I expected him and two __ __ with him so I had to get tea for them directly and I went home Saturday night it was half past 7 o’clock when I started for we were busy In the shop the servant came to send me a little of the way but before I got half way I was dripping wet so I called at your house for the __  umbrella for I did not think they would know me for Mary Ellen came to the door.  I had never spoken to her before but she made me come in and I went into the parlour.  She fetched your Mother and I had spoken to her before.  Oh! my  dear John I was grieved that I went there for your poor mother burst a crying as soon as she seen me but I told her she must not grieve that she would be injuring herself and it would not bring you back any sooner.  They wanted me to stop all night but I told them it was easier to open people’s mouths than to shut them for no one knew I was there.  Mary Ellen came to send me to the beddal but to tell the truth I was timid after she left me.  My dear John, have I done right or wrong in going there.  If I have, tell me my dearest John.
 
(The rest of this letter is missing)

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