Part 16

As to news—New York is not so gay as last Winter, few balls but a great many tea-parties. I believe I told you Mrs. Gillespie[86] has a daughter, and still more news. You never wrote me anything about the muslin for Arixene to work her a frock, ’tis so good an opportunity to send it that I have a great mind to get it notwithstanding. If you can, send the things I left to Louisa Davis in Boston. John and Charles would bring them on to me. Walter[87] will want the shirts as soon as the weather becomes warm. You say I have said nothing of Walter in any of my letters; he is so hearty and well I hardly thought of him when I wrote; he has not had a day’s sickness since I returned. I send him out walking frequently when ’tis so cold it quite makes the tears come; he trudges along with leading very well in the street, he never takes cold. He goes to bed at 6 o’clock, away in the room in the third story you used to sleep in, without fire or candle, and there he sleeps till Phœbe goes to bed to him. You know I am a great enemy to letting children sleep with a fire in the room; ’tis the universal practice here, and as long as I can avoid it I never mean to practice it; it subjects them to constant colds. They think I am very severe to suffer such a child to be put in the third story to sleep without a fire. I presume Aunt King and family are all well; they are going to have a fine _waffle_ party on Tuesday. I wish you were here to go, for the boys want to have a fine frolic. Kitty Bayard[88] is to be married in April to Duncan Campbell; all engaged since Wolsey and Susan were married. Mary Watts[89] is engaged to the big Doctor Romaine,—that is quite a surprise to every one: this is rumor. And now I have written all the trifling, I come to what is nearer my heart. You are not half particular enough about Octavia. Does Isabella live in the same house she did when we were there? Has Octavia nobody with her to take care of her child? I am very glad to hear they are so cheerful. Pappa you say has been sick but is quite recovered. How is Mamma this winter, quite recovered her health?

Adieu. E. S. B.

Feb. 15.

And so I must hear of all the important events of the family from anybody who casually may have it in their power to communicate them. Horatio has a fine son, I hear, of which I am very glad; congratulate them for me—do they mean to call him the same name as their other little boy? I suppose you have heard from John and Charles King[90] since they have been in Boston. If you would send the little bundle for them to bring on I should be very glad, and I wish you to get me 3 pr. of Mr. Smith’s little white worsted socks, such as I bo’t for Walter, only two or three sizes larger, big enough for him next winter,—don’t neglect it, for I wish for them very much. Let them be full large for a child 3 years old. How are all the family? Octavia, I don’t hear from anybody; you ought to write once a fortnight certainly. Poor Jane Watts is very low, confined to her bed,—I fear she will never go out again. Adieu; love to all. This is my second letter since I heard from you. I write more particularly that you may send those things by the boys.

Yours ever, E. S. B.

To Mrs. Octavia Browne.

New York, March 30, 1806.

My Dear Mother:

I am most impatiently looking for Miranda and hoping, tho’ I dare not place too much dependence on seeing my Father. I am better than when I wrote you before, tho’ still subject to these faint turns. I have become more used to them and they don’t alarm me. I ride frequently and take the air every fine day in some way or other. I have been free from a return of the nervous headache for a fortnight, till the night before last I had a return of the numbness and pain, tho’ not so severe as the last. I have a very good appetite and look very fat and rosy, but really am very weak and languid. I don’t know why I look so much better than I feel. Mary Murray is to be married a week from next Wednesday; she is very desirous that Miranda should get here; I really hope she may. Perhaps I may get courage enough to go myself if she comes in time, otherwise I don’t believe I shall venture; however, ’twill depend upon my feelings at the time. I shall look out the last of the week for Pappa and Miranda very seriously. I hope they are on their way now. Uncle’s oldest son, John Alsop, arrived here about a week since; he seems a very fine young man, rather taller than his Father,—he will be a second Uncle William, for he does not appear to have half got his height. Charles King has gone to Holland.

E. S. B.

Mrs. Mary Southgate.

[Illustration:

CHARLES KING

From a miniature in the possession of his daughter, Mrs. Martin ]

New York, April 27, 1806.

My Dear Mother:

Before you receive this my Father will be with you. He says I need not fear any thing, that I am in a very fair way of doing well; he will tell you all the particulars better than I could write. He got quite homesick, we could not prevail on him to lengthen his visit or go to the Springs and return here. I promised to let you hear from me once a week how I got along. For the last 3 days I have been finely, for me; the fore part of the day I am often very faint—all the forenoon, but generally better towards evening. ’Tis a great comfort to me to have Miranda with me, as I am a great part of the time unfit for anything. My head has been much more clear and comfortable for the last few days than for some time past. Tell Father there was a meeting called last evening of the Federalists in the city, to make some further remonstrances on the defenceless state of the Port of New York, occasioned by an accident that has set the whole City in an uproar. There are 3 British Frigates at the Hook, a few miles from the City, that fire upon all the vessels that come in or go out, and search them. They have sent several on to Halifax, and yesterday they fired in a most wanton manner upon a little coaster that was entering the harbor with only three men on board, and before they had time to come to as they were preparing to do, they fired again, and killed one of the men dead upon the spot,—he was brought up and the body exposed to view on one of the wharves, where several thousand people were collected to see it,—it put the City in great confusion, and this meeting was called in consequence—where Uncle made a very elegant speech. I am very sorry Father had not been here, it would have gratified him. ’Tis the first time he has spoken in public since his return to this Country. The British Consul had sent several boats of provisions down to the frigates—which as soon as ’twas known the Pilot-boats went after and brought them all back,—they were loaded upon carts and carried in procession thro’ the streets to the poor house, attended by a prodigious mob—huzzaing, and the English and American colors fixed on the carts; they demanded the Commander of the frigate to be given up as a murderer by the British Consul,—he replied he had no power over him. It has made a prodigious noise in the City, as you may imagine. So much for Father;—I shall expect to hear to-morrow when he got to Providence. Adieu, my dear Mother.

Ever your affectionate E. S. BOWNE.

May 18.

By way of punishment, if it is any, I have denied myself the pleasure of answering your letter till I thought you would begin really to wish for a letter. However, I quite want to hear again, and as there is little hope of that until I answer yours, I’ll e’en set about it at once. William Weeks told me he saw you in Portland the day before he left there. I wonder he did not tell you he was coming to New York. Mr. Isaac McLellan is here too from Portland. You did not write to me half particulars; you said nothing about Arixene.

Sunday, May 25, 1806.

After a week has elapsed I resume my pen to finish my letter. I was expecting Mr. Isaac McLellan to call and let me know when he should return, as I intended writing by him, but he has left town without my knowing it. Now for news, which I suppose you are very anxious to hear. In the first place—Miss Laurelia Dashaway is married to Mr. Hawkes. On Saturday morning, 8 o’clock, Trinity Church was opened on purpose for the occasion; something singular, as it would not be like Miss Laurelia. But what do you think—Mr. Grellet has taken French leave of New York—sailed for France about a fortnight ago, without anybody’s knowing their intention till they were gone. There are many conjectures upon the occasion not very favorable to the state of their finances. ’Tis said his friends were very averse to her going with him. If she had not, I suspect she must have sympathized with Madame Jerome Buonoparte and many other poor Madames that have founded their hopes on the fidelity of a Frenchman. Poor Mrs. Ogden has another little petticoated little John Murray—4 daughters!—I am sorry it was not a boy. What should you think to see me come home without Mr. Bowne? I strongly fear he won’t have it in his power to leave the office more than once in the Season; if so, I would much prefer him to come for me in the Autumn. However, we have made no arrangements yet. Walter grows such a playful little rogue, he is always in mischief; I am just leaving off his caps; I want his hair to grow before his Grandmamma sees him; he won’t look so pretty without his caps. He creeps so much I find it impossible to keep him so nice as I used to. Poor Harriet Beam I think is going rapidly in a decline, she has been confined to her room 5 or 6 weeks. I have not seen the Wattses this some time; they are gone to Passaic Falls with a little party,—Maria Laight, Mr. Delort, Robert Harney, etc. My love to all; write me soon particularly. I hope soon to be with you. How is Sister Boyd’s infant?

Yours ever, E. S. BOWNE.

Miss Miranda Southgate.

New York, Nov. 8, 1806.

My Dear Octavia:

I am quite anxious to hear good news from you. Miranda has been in Jamaica this fortnight; she has taken a frock and cap along with her to work for you; I hope she will have it finished when she returns. Maria Denning is married, and William Duer has returned to New Orleans; left her with her friends for the winter. Amelia was married to Mr. Gillespie in the spring; lives at home yet.

Miss Pell was married last week to Robert MacComb; they are making a prodigious dash. I went to pay the bride’s visit on Friday; they had an elegant ball and supper in the evening, as it was the last day of seeing Company; 7 brides-maids and 7 Bride-men, most superb dresses; the bride’s pearls cost 1,500 dollars; they spend the winter in Charleston. Adieu! Love to all friends, and tell your husband to write me immediately after this great event. I am looking forward to a happy summer spent among you. Best love to Isabella and family, Horatio and family. How is Robert Southgate junr.? That is as it ought to be. Pappa is pleased I dare say.

Yours ever, ELIZA S. BOWNE.

My Dear Mother:

I find it quite in vain to wait for a letter from Miranda, and she has left me to chance and uncertainty to know whether she has ever arrived at Providence, but luckily, from constant enquiries, I have learnt she did arrive safe, and from some other accidental information, that she was to leave Boston last Thursday for home, with Judge Thatcher. I presume by this she is with you. As the Spring opens I begin to look forward to my Eastern visit. Octavia’s boy is as beautiful as a cherub, I hear.

Saturday, 18th.

Miranda:

Mrs. Derby has returned from Philadelphia, and intends leaving here for Boston on Tuesday. She spent a long sociable day with me yesterday and I found it quite a treat; I have seen so little of her but in mix’t parties that it hardly seems like a visit. She is almost worn out with dissipation, and I greatly fear her constitution has suffered an injury from this kind of life it will never recover. She has absolutely refused all invitations since her return, and means to rest for a few days while she remains here; she takes one of our _belles_ on to Boston with her,—Miss Fairlie;[91] Miranda knows her. Martha had a letter from Mrs. Sumner yesterday, where she mentions Miranda leaving there for home the Sunday before with Mr. and Mrs. Kinsman; I am really hurt at her unaccountable silence. I promised to tell her all the news and account of all the parties after she left me, but I was quite provoked at her not writing. Tell her, however, that there seems no end to the gaiety this Spring; it does not abate as yet at all. The day after she left me I paid the bride’s visit to young Mrs. Murray; there was a prodigious crowd, a hundred and fifty at least, and many never sat down at all. Madame Moreau[92] wore a long black velvet dress with Pearl ornaments, looking elegantly. The next day I dined at Uncle Rufus King’s with company; on Tuesday following, went to a ball at Mrs. Stevens’;[93] next day, a ball at Miss Murray’s, very pleasant; they very much regretted her not being here; she was intended to be one of the Bridesmaids; and the day after the last Assembly, as you may suppose, was completely tired dancing three nights in succession. Last Friday I was at a ball at the Watts’s, and the week before at Miss Lyde’s[94] to a ball, and Mrs. Turnbull’s to a monstrous tea-party. Yesterday at Mrs. Morris’. On Monday next Aunt King has a very large party. On Tuesday I go to Mrs. Stoughton’s, on Thursday to Mrs. Hopkins’, and on Friday dine at Mrs. Bogert’s, and this evening to Mrs. Henderson’s to a _ball_. I think it will be one of the most elegant we have had this winter. I wish Miranda was here,—so much for Miranda. Adieu! I have promised to go shopping with Mrs. Derby this morning and ’tis growing late. I look forward with delight to the approaching summer spent amidst all my family.

Give my affectionate regard to all.

Ever yours, E. S. BOWNE.

New York, Dec. 1, 1807.

You won’t write a line I find without a punctual answer, letter for letter. Could not you make any allowance for domestic engagements, etc., etc., and write me at present two for one, or were you afraid of the precedent; I might claim as a right hereafter what I owed merely to your indulgence. I have anxiously wished to hear again from little William Brown, for, notwithstanding your flattering accounts of his returning health, I felt so fully persuaded he would never recover that I could not but think he would relapse again. How happy I shall be to hear that my fears are groundless! If you have not written again before this reaches you, lose no time but write at once. I do not write to Octavia till I know whether she is in Boston or Portland. You must make it a rule, Miranda, to write me once a fortnight whether I answer or not. Charles King will tell you all the news of the fashionable world. I have been in no parties yet. The Theatre is quite the rage. I have been several times,—you have no idea how much it is improved, entirely altered,—looks light and gay,—a perfect contrast to its former appearance. Cooper draws crowded houses every night—I have been much delighted. Mr. Wolsey Rogers’ approaching nuptials seem anticipated as the opening of the winter campaign; of course the event is much talked of, not a mantua-maker in the city but will tell you some particulars of the bride’s wardrobe,—length of her train, etc., etc.;—a fine lady here, as Mustapha says, is estimated by the length of her tail. If it was not for using a most homely proverb, I would say “Every dog has his day.” Here was our friend John Murray and his bride last winter, making all ring; this winter quietly settled in Nassau St., just what I call comfortable, (you have not seen this new play about _comfortable_.) Poor Sterlitz, who has no way to discover his taste or judgment but by finding fault with everything, seems quite in a _fuze_ (is there such a word?) that Mr. Murray prefers his own comfort to dashing in high style. I suppose, Mrs. B. begins to feel all the palpitations and trepidations of a doating anxious mother in introducing her favorite daughter to the world. The next winter is the all-important era for the exhibition. Miss A., in my opinion, will make a little coquette—the bud seems expanding even now,—that extreme simplicity, which her mother encouraged by always talking of it before her, as if she was too young to understand, is now changing for an affectation of simplicity. I hope she will correct it; time will convince her that simplicity is only charming in inexperienced youth, or rather the kind of simplicity which she possesses. There _is_ a simplicity which gives a softness, a _tone_ (as a painter would say) to the whole character, but it springs uncontaminated from the guileless purity of the mind; all affectation of this serves but as a tattered veil thro’ which you constantly penetrate to the original deformity—Where have I rambled? Poor Mrs. Greene is dangerously ill, her friends have little hope of her recovery. On Saturday she was not expected to live the day,—bled several quarts at the lungs; she is a favorite with all who know her, a most valuable woman. On business:—Mamma told me something about getting muslin for Arixene—a frock to work, but I have forgotten whether she afterwards told me to get it or not. I can get very pretty for 2 dollars or 2 1–2; let me know. Tell Octavia I received the little hat which Mr. Browne bo’t for me in Boston, and shall send the little _tub_ and the rest of the money, as soon as I know she is in Boston. Fashions:—Ladies wear fawn-colored coats and bonnets of the same trimmed with velvet trimming, same color with lappets, cape and inner waistcoat. If I could find an opportunity I should send you a bonnet and Mamma a cap. Adieu,—tell Arixene to write to me. James King writes to Charles King he liked Arixene best of all the Cousins.

To Miss Miranda Southgate.

New York, Dec. 13, 1807.

I have been waiting some time to hear you were in Boston, but as I have not heard from any of the family for some weeks I shall write you and direct to Portland. I am rejoiced to hear that little William continues to recover fast, for Mrs. Derby writes me still later than Miranda that he is almost recovered. How happy you must feel! None but those who have suffered the anxiety can conceive the happiness of such a change. I don’t hear half often enough from you. Miranda writes but seldom. Charles King told me last evening, in his last letter from her she says she is going to spend part of the winter in Boston with you,—from that I conclude you intend going to housekeeping before Spring. I have been making a plan for you to make me a visit next Spring. I think there can be no objection to it; your husband can make arrangements to leave Boston for a month or a few weeks, I am sure. The accommodations in the stage to Providence are so good, you can go in half a day—take passage in a Packet and be in New York in three days with ease. You can either bring William with you, which I should wish you to, or leave him if you prefer it. Indeed I can see no objection to the plan. Your friends in New York have made particular enquiries respecting you. Mary Murray says you have quite given her up, that she has not received a line from you for some time—I don’t remember how long. I believe I told you Mrs. Ogden had lost her youngest child, about 5 months old. Harriet Beam, whom I believe you knew, died last week,—melancholy, so young. Mrs. Derby writes me her Father is still far from strong and firm, tho’ much better; very probable his constitution will never entirely recover this shock. I am much obliged to Mr. Browne for purchasing the little hat for Walter. It was not the kind I meant, however,—those here are worn only by girls, square crowns altogether for boys. Give my best love to Horatio and Nabby, Isabella and husband, Arixene—I want to send her a pattern to work a frock in; I have a very pretty one, with but little work on. Adieu; write me very particularly about William.

E. S. BOWNE.

To Mrs. Wm. Browne (Octavia Southgate).

New York, Jan. 13, 1808.