Part 3
Now Mamma, what do you think I am going to ask for?—a wig. Eleanor[10] has got a new one just like my hair and only 5 dollars, Mrs. Mayo one just like it. I must either cut my hair or have one, I cannot dress it at all _stylish_. Mrs. Coffin bought Eleanor’s and says that she will write to Mrs. Sumner to get me one just like it; how much time it will save—in one year we could save it in pins and paper, besides the _trouble_. At the assembly I was quite ashamed of my head, for nobody has long hair. If you will consent to my having one do send me over a 5 dollar bill by the post immediately after you receive this, for I am in hopes to have it for the next Assembly—do send me word immediately if you can let me have one. Tell Octavia she must write soon, and that there are many inquiries after her.
ELIZA.
To Octavia Southgate—Mrs. Frazier’s.
12th of June, 1800. Hanover Street, Boston.
In the Hospital! Bless your heart, I am not there! Who told you I was? Mr. Davis I know, if you see him tell him I shall scold him for it. Martha has heard the same; true I had some idea of going in, but gave it up as soon as I heard Dr. Coffin did not attend. Horatio did likewise. Your last to Mamma is dated from Mrs. Frazier’s; how, Octavia, shall we discharge the debt of gratitude which we owe her? it had exceeded my hopes of payment before you went, surely it is now doubled. You mention nothing of any letters from me; I have written several and in one told you particularly that Mamma wished you by all means to take lessons in music; you don’t tell us what you have done since you have been in Medford. Martha writes me that you are to spend part of vacation at Mrs. Sumner’s. What has become of Ann and Harriett? I am out of patience waiting for them, why don’t they write, it is an age since I have had one line. Col. Boyd I hope will bring some letters from all of you. I have heard that Eleanor Coffin received attentions from Sam Davis when in Boston, did you hear of it? Martha writes me too that Mr. Andrews is paying attention to a young lady in Boston, but does not mention her name, _Miss Packman_ I guess; he was said to be her swain last winter. Mary Porter went home last week, I went with her, she has now gone to Topsham to tarry until uncle returns. I anxiously expect a letter from Ann or Harriett to know the reason that they don’t hasten their visit. I am learning my 12th tune, Octavia, I almost worship my Instrument,—it reciprocates my sorrows and joys, and is my bosom companion. How I long to have you return! I have hardly attempted to sing since you went away. I am sure I shall not dare to when you return. I must enjoy my triumph while you are absent; my musical talents will be dim when compared with the lustre of yours. Pooh, Eliza, you are not envious? no! I will excel in something else if not in music. Oh nonsense, this spirit of emulation in families is destructive of concord and harmony, at least I will endeavor to excel you in _sisterly affection_. If you outshine me in accomplishments, will it not be all in the family? Certainly. How I wish I had a _balloon_, I would see you and all my friends in Boston in a trice. I have not got one. Do tell me is Ann the same dear good friend and as much my _sister romp_ as ever? Tell her I am so affronted with her that I won’t speak to her. Sister Boyd is over, won’t go home this week; about your work, I will go down stairs and ask Mamma,—a _mourning piece_ with a figure in it, and two other pictures, _mates_—figures of females I think handsomer than Landscapes. Mrs. Rawson knows what is best,—thus says Mamma—she don’t wish any screens. Mr. Little, the bearer of this, another beau I send you, and here is poor _I_ not a bit of a one, _Doc. Bacon_ excepted, and even _him_, _Cousin Mary_, selfish creature, has lugged off his _heart_ and left the remainder here, so we might as well have a stump—poor soul, his face looks like a _Piana_,[11] one continued blush—I suppose for fear of hearing her name mentioned, and she, unreasonable creature! thinks he is not all perfection. Unaccountable taste! he is very _delightsome_ surely,—how long shall I rant at this rate. I long to go to Portland and then I shall see some being that looks like a beau—or a monkey, or anything you please;—To supply the loss I often look out the window, till my imagination forms one out of a tree or anything that I see, we can imagine anything you know. Bless my soul, Mr. L. is waiting!
ELIZA.
Give my love, respects, everything, to all.
July 3rd, 1800.
I believe, my Dear Mother, that you meant to give me a very close lesson in Economy—when you cut out the shirts for me to make. You had measured off the bodies of two and cut them part way in—and also the sleeves were marked,—after I had cut them off there was a quarter of a yard left. I now wanted the collars and all the trimmings. I made out after a great deal of planning to get out the shoulder pieces,—wrist-bands, 1 pair of neck gussets and one of sleeve do., are still wanting. I shall send this on by Mrs. Smith, and if you can find out when she returns I wish you would send some linen and some more shirts to make as I shall soon finish these, and can as well finish making up the piece here as at home. I was very sorry I did not wear my _habit_ down as I shall want it when I go to Wiscassett. If you can possibly find an opportunity, I wish you would send it to me. Aunt Porter’s child is one of the most troublesome ones I ever saw, he cries continually, and she is at present destitute of any help except a little girl about 12 years old. I wish, my Dear Mother, that you would forward all letters that come to Scarborough for me immediately. I hope you will enjoy yourself in Portland this week. I was almost tempted to wish to stay a week there,—there were so many parties, and so gay every body appeared—that I longed to stay and take part. I forgot all about it before I got to Topsham,—much as I enjoy society I never am unhappy when without it,—I cannot but feel happy that I was brought up in retirement,—since from habit at least, I have contracted a love for solitude, I never feel alone when I have my pen or my book. I feel that I ought to be very happy in the company of such a woman as Aunt Porter, for I really don’t know any one whose mind is more improved, and which makes her both a useful and instructing companion. Her sentiments and opinions are more like those I have formed than any person I know of. I think my disposition like hers, and I feel myself drawn towards her by an irresistible impulse, not an hour but she reminds me of you and I sincerely think her more like you than your own sister. I shall write you when I go farther East. I don’t know what I shall do about writing Octavia, as Mrs. Rawson told her I wrote on an improper subject when I asked her in my letter if Mr. Davis was paying attention to Eleanor Coffin, and she would not let her answer the question. This is _refining_ too much, and if I can’t write as I feel, I can’t write at all. Now I ask you, Mamma, if it is not quite a natural question when we hear that any of our friends are paid attention to by any gentleman, to ask a confirmation of the report from those we think most likely to know the particulars. Never did I write a line to Octavia but I should have been perfectly willing for you or my Father to have seen. You have always treated me more like a companion than a daughter, and therefore would make allowance for the volatile expressions I often make use of. I never felt the least restraint in company with my Parents which would induce me to stifle my gaiety, and you have kindly permitted me to rant over all my nonsense uncorrected, and I positively believe it has never injured. I must bid you good-night.
ELIZA.
Pray don’t forget to send some more shirts.
July 17, 1800.
I must again trouble my Dear Mother by requesting her to send on my spotted muslin. A week from next Saturday I set out for Wiscassett, in company with Uncle William and Aunt Porter. Uncle will fetch Ann[12] to meet us there, and as she has some acquaintance there we shall stay some time and aunt will leave us and return to Topsham; so long a visit in Wiscassett will oblige me to muster all my muslins, for I am informed they are so monstrous smart as to take no notice of any lady that can condescend to wear a calico gown, therefore, dear mother, to ensure me a favorable reception, pray send my spotted muslin by the next mail after you receive this, or I shall be on my way to Wiscassett. I shall go on horseback,—how I want my habit,—I wish it had not been so warm when I left home and I should have worn it. I am in hopes you will find an opportunity to send it by a private conveyance before I go, but my muslin you must certainly send by the mail. Aunt Porter’s little Rufus is very sick, poor child, he was born under an evil star. I believe Pandora opened her box upon him when he first came into existence. The mumps, I believe, now afflict him; night before last we were alarmed about him for fear of his having the Quinsy, but I believe he is in no danger of that now. I wish to hear from home very much.
ELIZA.
I shall anxiously await the arrival of the next mail after you receive this.
Scarborough, Sept. 14, 1800.
I suppose I ought to commence my letter with an humble apology, begging forgiveness for past offences and promising to do better in future, but no, I will only tell you that I have been so much engaged since I got home from Topsham that I could not write you. Martha tells us you were in Boston last Sunday. Mamma thinks, Octavia, you are there too much, we do not know how often, but we hear of you there very often indeed. I think, my dear sister, you ought to improve every moment of your time, which is short, very short to complete your education. In November terminates the period of your instruction. The last you will receive perhaps ever, only what you may gain by observation. You will never cease to learn I hope, the world is a volume of instruction, which will afford you continual employment,—peruse it with attention and candor and you will never think the time thus employed misspent. I think, Octavia, I would not leave my school again until you finally leave it. You may—you will think this is harsh; you will not always think so; remember those that wish it must know better what is proper than you possibly can. Horatio will come on for you as soon as your quarter is out. We anticipate the time with pleasure; employ your time in such a manner as to make your improvements conspicuous. A boarding-school, I know, my dear Sister, is not like home, but reflect a moment, is it not necessary, _absolutely necessary_ to be more strict in the government of 20 or 30 young ladies, nearly of an age and different dispositions, than a private family? Your good sense will easily tell you it is. No task can be greater than the care of so many girls, it is impossible not to be _partial_, but we may conceal our partiality. I should have a poor opinion of any person that did not feel a love for merit, superior to what they can for the world in general. I should never approve of such general love. I say this not because I think you are discontented, far from it—your letters tell us quite the reverse and I believe it. Surely, Octavia, you must allow that no woman was ever better calculated to govern a school than Mrs. Rawson. She governs by the love with which she always inspires her scholars. You have been indulged, Octavia, so we have all. I was discontented when I first went from home. I dare say you have had some disagreeable sensations, yet your reason will convince you, you ought not to have had. You had no idea when you left home of any difference in your manner of living. I knew you would easily be reconciled to it and therefore said but little to you about it. Yesterday Miss Haskell’s letter, which I so much wished for and so highly prize, was sent me; tell her to trust no more letters to the politeness of Mr. Jewett,[13] for he will forget to deliver them; he has been studying in the same office with Horatio ever since he returned and never told him he had a letter for me till I told Horatio to ask him. I did get it at last and will answer it as soon as I have an opportunity, which I expect soon, my letters are of too little consequence to send by Post. Tell Miss Haskell how highly I am obliged to her for every letter, and how much it gratifies me to have her write thus. My love and esteem ever awaits our good Mrs. Rawson, and hope she does not intend my last letter shall go unanswered. Susan Wyman is still remembered as the companion of my amusements in Medford. Irene joins me in love to her. Betsey Bloom my love to her likewise.—Family are all well, Octavia, Sister Boyd is here, been with us several days. Let us hear from you when you have an opportunity. I should like to know how many tunes you play, but you have never answered any of my enquiries of this kind, therefore I suppose I ought not to make them. Your
ELIZA.
Octavia.
Scarborough, Sept. 14, 1800.
Tired, stupid, and sleepy, I feel that I can write nothing instructive or amusing. Oh these _summer balls_ are not the thing, but it was much more comfortable than I expected. My ears were continually assailed with lamentations that you were not present. Mr. Kinsman would certainly have gone out for you (so he said) had he ever been at our house. He really asked one or two gentlemen to go. He is a frothy fellow. He rattles without a spark of fancy and stuns you with his volubility, as anything hollow or empty always makes the most noise. I told him I received a letter from you yesterday. He gave a pious ejaculation to heaven, turned gracefully on his heel and entreated in the most humble manner that I would grant him a sight of one line! I refused as I thought him too insignificant an animal to be so much honored. Col. Boyd arrived last night, I found him in the parlor when I went down to breakfast, he enquired for you. Mr. Derby and Mr. Coffin will leave town to-day or to-morrow for Boston, they undoubtedly will call and see you. ’Twill be a good opportunity to send me the money if Mamma pleases. Harriet will sail to-morrow or next day, she sends an abundance of love.
ELIZA.
Octavia.
Bath, October, Sunday.
After a fortnight very pleasantly spent in Wiscassett I return to Bath. In my last I mentioned that Judge Lowell’s family were expected in Wiscassett; they came immediately after, and Eliza, the youngest, brought letters from Ellen Coffin, thus I very readily got acquainted with them. Judge Lowell appears to be one of the mildest, most amiable men I ever saw. Mrs. Lowell is a fine ladylike woman, yet her manners are such as would have been admired 50 years ago, there is too much appearance of whalebone and buckram to please the depraved taste of the present age. Nanny L., the oldest daughter, is animated, sensible, enthusiastic, and very easy and pleasing in her conversation and manners, you would be delighted with her conversation—’tis elegant and refined, she has no airs. Eliza is a little, charming, sweet creature, she is about 17 or 18, short, fat, and a blooming complexion, handsome blue eyes, light hair, beautiful dimples, artless and unaffected in her manners,—indeed I was delighted with her, she is so perfectly amiable in her appearance. I was much pleased at an acquaintance with them. At Wiscassett I was invited to accompany them to Bath, as they were going in a boat. I accepted with pleasure. In the morning, which was Monday, they called for me and I went with them as far as Tincham’s where they kept; at last, after a long debate, it was thought too hazardous to go by water while the wind blew so violently, ’twas determined to go by land. Mr. Lee took the two Miss Lowells and myself in his carriage, which holds 4 very charmingly. Judge Lowell and wife in a chaise with a boy to carry it back. Judge Bourne in a chair with a boy, and Mr. Merrill on horseback. About 5 miles on our way Mr. Lee took Mr. Merrill’s horse and he sat in with us, and he sang us a number of songs; we had a charming time. At the ferry Mr. Lee, Mr. Merrill, and the boys with the chaise left us; we then all got into a boat and landed at Uncle’s wharf; ’tis about 3 miles, a most charming sail, indeed we had a very pleasant time. They went directly to Page’s, and in the evening I went up to see them; left them at 8 and with real regret. I had passed several pleasant hours in their society. They set out in the morning for Portland. Only think of Eleanor going to be married; ’tis no more than I expected and believed at the moment I heard it. Poor Mrs. Sumner, what an afflicting loss she has met with, my heart bleeds while I think how _very fond_ she was of the little creature, she was a lovely child. How do all do at home? I long to get home, I never wanted to see home more in my life, yet I am very happy here. I wish Mamma would send me two of my cotton shifts and my habit or great-coat to ride home in; send them by Uncle. Pray get the instrument tuned. If you see Moses[14] soon tell him I think it impossible to find words to express my obligation to him for his many and long letters, yet I shall endeavour to convince him I have a due sense of them. I shall make all the return in my power. I was going up to Topsham this week. I wish to very much, but Mamma King and Uncle both going, Nanny would be quite alone, I must stay to comfort her. As to Aunt Porter I believe she will think I am never coming to Topsham. I begin to think so myself, but what am I to do? However I must. I shall go as soon as Uncle returns and stay till I return home. I want to see Aunt Porter very much. Write me soon and tell me what news you hear. Love to all. Is Pappa gone to Salem?
ELIZA.
To Octavia Southgate.
To Moses Porter.
My most charming Cousin! Most kind and condescending friend—teach me how I may express the grateful sense I have of the obligations I owe you; your many and long letters have chased away the spleen, they have rendered me cheerful and happy, and I almost forgot I was so far from home.—O shame on you! Moses, you know I hate this formality among friends, you know how gladly I would throw all these fashionable forms from our correspondence; but you still oppose me, you adhere to them with as much scrupulosity as to the ten commandments, and for aught I know you believe them equally essential to the salvation of your soul. But, Eliza, you have not answered my last letter! True, and if I had not have answered it, would you never have written me again—and I confess that I believe you would not—yet I am mortified and displeased that you value my letters so little, that the exertions to continue the correspondence must all come from me, that if I relax my zeal in the smallest degree it may drop to the ground without your helping hand to raise it. I do think you are a charming fellow,—would not write because I am in debt, well, be it so, my ceremonious friend,—I submit, and though I transgress by sending a half sheet more than you ever did, yet I assure you ’twas to convince you of the violence of my anger which could _induce_ me to forget the rules of politeness. I am at Wiscassett. I have seen Rebecca every day, she is handsome as ever, and we both of us were in constant expectation of seeing you for 2 or 3 days, you did not come and we were disappointed.
I leave here for Bath next week. I have had a ranting time, and if I did not feel so offended, I would tell you more about it.