Part 11

Miss —— from N. Y. whom I mentioned in my last is a truly _fashionable_ City Belle. She is a fortune, but I believe not of family. The Gentleman she calls her father and whose name she takes ’tis said was hired by a British officer, her real father, to marry the mother and adopt the daughter, and a very large sum was given him. He appears an abandoned old rake, pale and sallow. Oh! he is a horrid-looking object, in a deep consumption I imagine; she is very attentive. But, good heavens! Ellen, I had no idea of a fashionable girl before—one that devotes her whole attention to fashion. I have much to tell you when I return, about the Miss Ashleys’ french style of dress. Mr. and Mrs. Ransselear[38] left Lebanon the day before we did with Mr. and Miss Westelo,[39] Mr. Welsh,[40] the Miss Stevensons, and Miss Livingston the Albany Belle,—all belong to Albany. Mr. and Miss Westelo, Miss Beakman, and Mr. Ransselear, who is Mayor of the City, called last evening and we all went to walk—went into Miss Westelo’s and spent a charming hour; all returned with us, and we engaged to go to meeting with Mr. and Miss Westelo and take tea at the Mayor’s this afternoon. Mr. Westelo is going to Balston in company with us and a Mr. Kane[41] of N. Y. whom we met at the Coffee House—very genteel man. Another little lawyer from Litchfield, who came in from Lebanon with us, is likewise, on Monday; so we shall have a very pleasant party. Mr. Kane says I shall meet one of their genteelest N. Y. beaux at Balston, Mr. Bowne. I wonder if it is the same I have heard you mention. I shall find out. About eleven o’clock, or rather twelve, I was surprised by some delightful music, a number of instruments, and most elegantly playing “Rise! Cynthia! rise!” I jumped up and by the light of the moon saw five gentlemen under the window. To Mr. Westelo I suppose we are indebted. “Washington March,” “Blue Bells of Scotland,” “Taste Life’s glad moments,” “Boston March,” and many other charming tunes—played most delightfully. I have heard no music since I left Salem till this, and I was really charmed. The bell will ring soon and I must finish this after meeting.—Sunday afternoon. The dinner was brought on the table just as the bell rang for meeting, so that we were obliged to stay at home this afternoon, and tell Mr. Westelo and his sister, who called again for me, as Mrs. Derby did not go out, that I would go to Mrs. Ranselear’s after meeting. In the morning, Mr. Derby and myself went to the New Dutch Church with Mr. and Miss Westelo and sat with them next pew to the Patroon’s, whom you saw in Salem with his beautiful wife.

After meeting, Mr. Westelo came with the Patroon and his wife to see us. She is really beautiful, dressed very plain; cotton cambric morning gown, white sarsnet cloak, hair plain, and black veil thrown carelessly over her head. They urged our dining there to-morrow, but Mr. Derby is determined to set out in the morning for Balston—the waters, all tell him, will be of great service—when we return we shall go and see them. A great number of elegant gentlemen are here in this house, many from N. Y., some going to the springs. Your Boston Mr. Amory and Mr. Lee would look rusty long side them. Hush, not a word!—Mr. Kane of N. Y., whose sister married Robert Morris, is here, will set out for the springs in company with us, Mr. Westelo and some others. We shall go to Lake George and probably make a party from Balston. Mrs. Derby has insisted on my wearing the sarsnet dress to-day as we shall drink tea at the Mayor’s, where the Patroon and wife will probably be. I am every moment reminded of your affectionate kindness, which I hope never to be insensible to.

You wrote Mamma, I suppose. I have not received a line from anybody; shall depend on finding letters at Pittsfield or Lebanon; do write me everything. I have so much to tell you that I cannot write. Mrs. Derby, I cannot tell you how much I owe her. She treats me with so much affection, and she says she believes Mr. Derby feels as much interest in me as if I were his daughter—wishes everything I wear should be becoming, and indeed they both treat me with all the attention and affection my most sanguine expectation could desire. I do not wish to be treated with more affection; think then, dear Ellen! how sensibly I must feel it, how gratifying to my feelings. I can never forget the obligation I owe to you and them. My best love to your husband; tell him when I return I shall have a whole world of news for him. I long to hear from you, do write soon. At Balston I will write again. Many people will be talking about my going this journey; many will censure me perhaps; if you, dear Ellen, should hear any of their ill-natured remarks you could not do me a greater favor than to vindicate my conduct. I have never for one moment since I left Salem regretted I came. The affectionate attention of Mr. and Mrs. Derby delights my very heart, ’twas more than I had a right to expect. I have received much delight in this tour, seen much elegant company, variety of character and manners. I am sensible it will be a source of great improvement, as well as pleasure. I shall have seen that style and splendor, which has so many magic charms when viewed at a distance, divested of its false place, we find it mingled with as many pains as any other situation in life, nay, more poignant pain. I feel that I shall not be at all injured by this life; though I enjoy myself highly and mingle with these people with much delight, I shall return happy and content. Mr. Derby is quite unwell, has taken nothing but milk since we left Salem, his stomach refuses everything else. I have strong hopes that the Balston waters will have a good effect. Everyone tells him so. A gentleman just from Balston says there is a great deal of company at the Springs, dance every other night. If the waters agree with Mr. Derby we shall stay a week or ten days. I have written home a number of times, which together with my journal take up all my leisure time, and that is stolen from the hrs. devoted to sleep. I would give anything for one line from you this moment. How delighted I shall be when I return! Any news from Martha? If any letter arrives for me send it on to Pittsfield. How charming it would be if we were all together going to the Springs! I have not time to write anything about Albany fine society—I believe full of Dutch houses. Adieu, love to all friends.

ELIZA.

Mrs. Eleanor Coffin.

Salem, September 9, 1802.

My Dearest Mother:

Once more I am safe in Salem and my first thoughts turn toward home. I arrived last night. The attention I have received from Mr. and Mrs. Derby has been of a kind that I shall look forward with delight to a time when I may be able to return it as I wish. I am in perfect health and spirits and have enjoyed the journey more than I can express to you. I don’t know that I have had an unpleasant hour since I have been gone, and what is still more pleasing, I look back on every scene without regret or pain. At Leicester I went to Uncle Southgate’s, and Cousin William helped me into the carriage when I left the tavern the next morning. We did not return thro’ North-Hampton, and I consequently missed seeing Aunt Dickenson. I regret it extremely, but Mr. Derby was in such haste to return, that he left us at Worcester and took the stage. I therefore could not say a word of Hadley. I found two letters from Octavia on my return here; felt really grieved at Eliza Wait’s death; she must feel it sensibly as they were such intimate friends, yet time blunts the sharp pangs of affection, and when I return she will feel that happiness has only fled for a while to make its return more delightful. I have received more attentions at the Springs than in my whole life before, I know not why it was, but I went under every advantage. Mr. Derby is so well known and respected, and they are such charming people and treated me with so much affection, it could not be otherwise! Among the many gentlemen I have become acquainted and who have been attentive, one I believe is serious. I know not, my dearest Mother, how to introduce this subject, yet as I fear you may hear it from others and feel anxious for my welfare, I consider it a duty to tell you all. At Albany, on our way to Ballston, we put up at the same house with a _Mr. Bowne_ from New York; he went on to the Springs the same day we did, and from that time was particularly attentive to me; he was always of our parties to ride, went to Lake George in company with us, and came on to Lebanon when we did,—for 4 weeks I saw him every day and probably had a better opportunity of knowing him than if I had seen him as a common acquaintance in town for years. I felt cautious of encouraging his attentions, tho’ I did not wish to _discourage_ it,—there were so many _New Yorkers_ at the Springs who knew him perfectly that I easily learnt his character and reputation; he is a man of _business_, uniform in his conduct and _very much respected_; all this we knew from report. Mr. and Mrs. Derby were very much pleased with him, but conducted towards me with peculiar _delicacy_, left me entirely to myself, as on a subject of so much importance they scarcely dared give an opinion. I left myself in a situation truly embarrassing. At such a distance from all my friends,—my Father and Mother a perfect stranger to the person,—and prepossessed in his favor as much as so short an acquaintance would sanction,—his conduct was such as I shall ever reflect on with the greatest pleasure,—open, candid, generous, and delicate. He is a man in whom I could place the most unbounded confidence, nothing rash or impetuous in his disposition, but weighs maturely every circumstance; he knew I was not at liberty to encourage his addresses without the approbation of my Parents, and appeared as solicitous that I should act with strict propriety as one of my most disinterested friends. He advised me like a friend and would not have suffered me to do anything improper. He only required I would not discourage his addresses till he had an opportunity of making known to my Parents his character and wishes—this I promised and went so far as to tell him I approved him as far as I knew him, but the decision must rest with my Parents, their wishes were my law. He insisted upon coming on immediately: that I absolutely refused to consent to. But all my persuasion to wait till winter had no effect; the first of October he _will come_. I could not prevent it without a positive _refusal_; this I felt no disposition to give. And now, my dearest Mother, I submit myself wholly to the wishes of my Father and you, convinced that my happiness is your warmest wish, and to promote it has ever been your study. That I feel deeply interested in Mr. Bowne I candidly acknowledge, and from the knowledge I have of his heart and character I think him better calculated to promote my happiness than any person I have yet seen; he is a firm, steady, serious man, nothing light or trifling in his character, and I have every reason to think he has well weighed his sentiments towards me,—nothing rash or premature. I have referred him wholly to you, and you, my dearest Parents, must decide. Octavia mentioned nothing about moving, but I am extremely anxious to know how soon we go into Portland and what house we shall have. Write me immediately on the subject, and let me know if you approve my conduct. Mr. Bowne wishes me to remain here until he comes on and then let him carry me home: this I objected to, but will depend on your advice. I shall be obliged to stay a few weeks longer,—Harriet Howards expects me a week in Cambridge, Mrs. Sumner a week in Boston, and Mrs. Hasket Derby another week. I am now with Ellen and shall stay till Mrs. Coffin comes up, then according to promise go to Mrs. Lucy Derby’s. I feel extremely anxious to hear you have moved into town, and shall most probably be here until then; write me immediately. If you wish any furniture, Mrs. Sumner will assist me in purchasing whatever you wish. I mentioned in my letter, when I set out on this journey I borrowed 15 dollars of Ellen; I wish you to send it to me immediately after receiving this, if you have not already sent it. I shall likewise stand in need of a little, as I have unavoidably incurred many expenses in this journey which I should not otherwise have done. Mr. Derby has loaded me with obligations, all my expenses he defrayed as if I was his daughter, and in such a manner as endears him more than I can express. You cannot imagine how interested they both are in the subject I have been writing you upon,—my nearest friends cannot feel more, they have witnessed the whole progress, and if you knew them, would be convinced they would not have let me act improperly, they both approve my conduct. I wish my Father would write to Mr. Derby and know what he says of Mr. B.’s character. I don’t know but ’tis a subject too delicate to give his opinion, but I can conceive that my Father might request it without any impropriety; and do, my Dear Mother, beg him to say any thing in his power to convince him that we all feel sensibly their great attention to me. You know not how anxious I feel for my Father to write him something of that kind, not that they appear to expect it, but on the contrary insist that they have been more obliged than I have, and really seem to think so; but this rather strengthens than lessens the obligation, nothing should have induced me to receive such from people who felt they were conferring favors. I long to hear when we move into Portland, _do_ write me. My best love to Horatio and Octavia, and tell them I shall write as soon as possible. I found a large packet of 5 sheets from Martha, dated Paris, June 28th; tells me every thing, speaks almost in raptures of Buonaparte, says Uncle Rufus has a little son[42] about 12 years old at school there, one of the finest boys she ever saw. I find most of the Southern people whom we met at the Springs, think Uncle Rufus stands as good a chance of being President as any one spoken of. I have listened for hours to his praises when not one knew how much I was interested; it was known from Mrs. Derby I was his niece, and it really gave me great consequence. I thought of Mrs. Dewitt and laughed. Judge Sedgwick told me had letters from him as late as June, and that he was determined on returning in the Spring. I long to hear from home. My love to all my friends, and believe me, with every sentiment of _duty_ and _affection_,

Your daughter ELIZA.

[Illustration:

Mr. WALTER BOWNE

From a miniature by Malbone, in possession of W. B. Lawrence

ARTOTYPE. E BIERSTADT, N. Y. ]

Martha sent me a most elegant Indispensable, white lutestring spangled with silver, and a beautiful bracelet for the arm made of her hair; she is too good—to love me as she says, more than ever.

Portland, Nov. — Friday, — 1802.

Mr. Davis is going on to Boston and will have a letter for you. I am delighted to hear that Mamma is better. I send you some of Miss Homer’s wedding cake; married on Monday. You say Rufus Emerson has returned and tells them a great many stories; when you write next tell me what he says, and where he heard, and all about it, for everything interests me. Mr. Bowne has not arrived, I am out of all patience, cannot imagine what detains him,—4 weeks to-morrow since he took Mr. Codman’s letter. These Quakers are governed by such a _slow spirit_—I wish the deuce had them. I shall be really uneasy if he don’t come soon. I want some _money_, my last dollar I gave Horatio to buy Mamma’s _oranges_. I have written to Mrs. Derby to buy me a _winter gown_; in her last she says she has bought it but does not mention the price. I wish the money to send to her soon as I hear; a little likewise for occasional expenses, ’tis not pleasant to be without. I have been in but one party since Mamma’s sickness; shall certainly not go out more than I can possibly avoid. Mrs. Derby is quite out at Mr. B.’s not coming. I’ll not be so ungenerous as to condemn him without giving an opportunity of vindicating himself, some circumstances I know not of may detain him. All our friends are well. Send me the money as soon as possible; and don’t forget to tell particularly what Rufus says, whom he saw, what they told him, and when he heard all. In some cases trifles acquire importance—mole hills become mountains. Adieu.

ELIZA.

Love to Mamma, and tell her I am out of all patience.

Miss Octavia Southgate.

Boston, May 30, 1803.

Here we are, my dear Octavia, at Mrs. Carter’s Boarding House, and tho’ we have endeavored to keep ourselves as much out of the way as possible, a great many people have called to pay their respects to Mr. and Mrs. Bowne. The first person we met driving thro’ Salem was Mr. _Lee_ just coming in town; he bowed very low and pass’d. We went to a public house and had not been there 3 minutes before Mr. Lee came in determined to be the first to call on us; he shook hands very cordially, congratulated us, and went with us up to Ellen’s. We promised to drive with Ellen, and went to see Mrs. H. Derby; spent a charming hour and returned to Ellen’s, dined, and all went to Lucy Derby’s to tea, Mr. Lee and a dozen others. Mr. Bowne and myself called on Mrs. Grey, and after a very pleasant day returned to Ellen’s and stayed the night, and the next morning, which was Wednesday, came into Boston,—’twas _election day_ and all the world was in motion. I could not bear to come to Mrs. Carter’s, but Mr. Bowne thought he ought to. Mr. Lee got to Boston as soon as we did and came immediately to see us and offer his services; he has been here again this morning and is going to ride into the country with us to show us some fine seats. Doctor Boice, Mr. Davis, Mr. Cabot, Charles Bradbury, Tom Coffin and a dozen other gentlemen, whose names I have forgot, and who came with the Miss Lowells and Miss Russells. We have prevented all invitations on, by constantly saying we were going out of town immediately. Mr. Lee insisted, when I expressed a wish to see Miss _Wyre_, on letting her know I was in town,—he went and she came immediately back. I was very glad to see her and she appeared so herself at seeing me. Some ladies and gentlemen came in; and after they were gone, Alicia, Mr. B. and myself went a-shopping;—the fashions for bonnets, Octavia, are very ugly; Alicia had a large, white glazed cambric one made without pasteboard. But I have not told you how Gen. Knox[43] found us out at Newburyport. We always kept by ourselves, but in passing the entry Gen’l Knox, who had just come in the stage, met Mr. B. and asked where he was from—(Mr. Bowne kept here with Mrs. Carter when Gen’l Knox was here last winter); he told him from the Eastward.—Alone?—no.—Who is with you?—_Mrs. Bowne._ So plump a question he could not evade, so the General insisted on being introduced to the bride. I was walking the room and reading, perfectly unsuspicious, when the opening of the door and Mr. Bowne’s voice—“Gen’l Knox, my love,” quite roused me; he came up, took my hand very gracefully, pres’t it to his lips and begged leave to congratulate me on the event that had lately taken place. After a few minutes’ conversation—“And pray, sir,” said he, turning to Mr. Bowne—“when did this happy event take place?” I felt my face glow, but Mr. Bowne, always delicate and collected, said—“’Tis not a fortnight since, Sir.” The stage drove to the door, and after hoping to see us at Mrs. Carter’s he took his leave, and this morning—(he was out all day yesterday)—I found him waiting in the breakfast room to see me. He introduced me to General Pinckney[44] and his family from Carolina,—Gen’l Pinckney, they say, is to be our next President. “_Mr. Bowne_,” said Gen’l Knox to Gen. P., “has done us the honor to come to the District of Maine for a bud to transplant in New York.” He was very polite and said “he must find us out in New York.” Only think, I never thought of the _wedding-cake_ when I was at Salem. You would laugh to hear “_Mrs. Bowne_” and “Miss Southgate” all in a breath—“How do you do, Miss Southgate?”—“I beg pardon, _Mrs. Bowne_,” and do it on purpose I believe; when I hear an old acquaintance call me “Mrs. Bowne” it really makes me stare at first, it sounds so very odd. Mr. B. will be in, in a moment—and if I don’t seal my letter, he will insist on seeing it, so love to all. I depend on finding letters at New Haven. I have a thousand things to say,—(some ladies enquire for Mrs. Bowne, so says the servant,—I’ll tell you who they are when I come up,)—Mrs. Bartlett and Alicia; they insist on our taking tea and spending the evening; we promised if we did not leave town after dinner that we would. Adieu, adieu. Mr. Bowne sends a great deal of love.

Your affectionate sister, ELIZA BOWNE.

[Illustration:

THE LYMAN PLACE—WALTHAM ]

New Haven, June 1, 1803.