Chapter VII: Part 7

She has had no pain, but only suffers from weakness. We shall go in
three or four days to Flushing, which is a fine, bracing air, and stay
there a few days till Eliza is smart enough to travel 10 miles a day.
I place full confidence in this journey; I am sure that the change of
air and scene, and more than all, the prospect of home, will render it
truly beneficial. We are at Mr. Bowne’s mother’s, for we have shut our
house up. She is a fine old lady, and Caroline is perfectly amiable
and as attentive as possible. I am very glad we are here and in the
neighborhood of Mrs. Bogert, for she is all goodness. I grow more and
more anxious every hour to get home. The city is quite deserted,
though it never was more healthy. There are as few deaths as there
were in the winter. There has been two weeks of _very cool_ weather. I
go wandering about and see scarcely a face I know. I used to complain
last winter of our large acquaintance, and having the house full of
company, but now I exclaim out half a dozen times a day that “I wished
I could see some one I knew.” There are gentlemen enough, but no
ladies. Uncle and Aunt, I suppose, have nearly set out for
Scarborough. I wish we were to be there whilst they are with you. You
can have no idea how very anxious I am to return. Was I not so much
occupied I should be positively _homesick_, but I have no time to
_think_ but upon one subject. Kiss the dear children for us _all_, for
we are equally anxious to see you. Remember me very affectionately to
Sister Boyd and to the children. Before I leave here I shall be in
need of a little money. I won’t seal my letter to-night, but will
write you how she is to-morrow.

July 31.

I did not finish my letter this morning because Eliza did not feel as
well as usual, but this afternoon she is better. She is in charming
spirits and so very well that we are delighted. She gives her best
love to you; says _she_ don’t feel _at all_ obliged to you for your
wishes, and is determined not to join with you. The old lady desires
to be remembered, and says,—“If thee was here, thee could do no more
for thy child than we have.” Indeed she is the most tender,
affectionate of women. My best love to my Father. We are in the full
of seeing you soon. I shall not make it long before I write again.

Yours affectionately,
O. SOUTHGATE.

June 3, 1805.

Dear Octavia:

Mamma arrived safe and well on Wednesday morning to our great joy,
after having a pleasant passage from Newport, staying two days in
Boston, two in Newport, and one in Providence. We are going to Uncle’s
to dine to-day, and I can’t persuade Miranda to write a line to let
you know Mamma had come,—company coming in every minute, and can but
just steal a moment to write. Louise is with you,—I am more than half
vexed that I am to be disappointed of the charming winter I had
promised myself, with you and Louise to spend it with me, so you need
not be surprised if I am rather ill-natured at times. The secret is
out, and all your friends, beaux I mean, walk the other side of the
street when I meet them. Mary Murray called this morning; seemed
rather disappointed at not having a letter. Eliza Watts thanks you for
the wedding-cake as well as myself. Give my best love to Louise as
well as all my other friends. We go over into Jersey to-morrow,—E.
Watts and Susan go with us,—John Wadsworth. I wish you could have been
here while Mamma was. Adieu; write me soon, and expect a longer letter
as soon as I can command a little more time.

Your affectionate

E. S. BOWNE.

P. S. Remember I don’t call this a _letter_, so no lectures on that
head.

Jamaica, October 6, 1805.

I am delighted, my Dear Octavia, to hear you are so finely, and the
more so as I hear it from _yourself_. I did not so soon expect such
fine effects from the new system of living; I am sure all will be well
now. A wedding I suppose next, for I conclude from the melancholy
pathos with which you say, you shall “neither have the independence of
a married woman, nor of a single,” that you don’t mean to try the
half-way being. However, let the man teaze if he will; do not think of
being married until your health is perfectly confirmed,—I would not
for the world. ’Tis so late in the season, ’tis not possible I can
come to see you this fall, even tho’ there should be two weddings in
November. And so you talk of spending the winter with me,—how you love
to tantalize!—and wish me to give you the pleasure of refusing me. You
know I should be delighted to have you, but you know you never mean to
visit New York as Miss Southgate again. Somebody would put on a graver
face than he did last fall on a like occasion, and as he had _as much
influence_ then as to counteract my wishes, I won’t subject myself to
the mortification of another defeat now I know his power to be much
greater. However I won’t ask, tho’ I shall be very happy to have you
with me. As for news, you give me more than I can you. We have left
Rockaway more than a week ago, still exiled from our home by this
dreadful calamity. We are at lodgings in Jamaica, where we shall
probably remain until ’tis safe removing to the City. Uncle and
Aunt,—Mr. and Mrs. Bogert,[73] have gone about 30 miles down the
Island, sporting for _Grouse_, and return to Jamaica until we can all
go in town. Mr. and Mrs. Rogers (Cruger that was) have taken a house
in Jamaica during the fever; the next door to this I lodge in. Mr. and
Mrs. Hayward[74] are with them, but leave here for Charleston this
week. I am in there half of my time. We make a snug little party at
_Brag_ in the evening frequently, and work together mornings. Mr.
Bowne goes to Greenwich, where all the business is transacted, on
Mondays and Thursdays, but returns the same night, so I am but little
alone. As to news—Miss Charlotte Manden Heard was married last week to
a _gentleman_ from _Demarara_, whom nobody knew she was engaged to
until he came a few weeks since and they were married. John Murray, I
believe, is at last really in love, tho’ ’tis not yet determined
whether the lady smiles or not. A Miss Rogers from Baltimore, whom he
met at the Springs,—a sweet interesting girl, ’tis said. Wolsey
Rogers[75] and Harriet Clarke[76] were talked of as a match at the
Springs. Mrs. Kane[77] staid at the Springs till she was so late she
could not venture to ride to Providence with her Mother, and the fever
kept her from New York, so was obliged to stop at Mrs. Gilbert
Livingstone’s[78]—Mr. Kane’s sister—at Red Hook, until able to resume
her journey home, which will probably be in November. Mrs. Fish[79]
has a daughter; great joy on the occasion. Give my love to Cousin
Pauline,[80] and tell her I congratulate her on the birth of her son.
What do Mary[81] and Paulina call their boys—Nathaniel and Enoch? I
hope not, never keep up such ugly names. Mr. B. says you must spend
the winter with us,—he will come under bonds to somebody to return you
safe. Give my best love to Sister Boyd, Horatio, and all the family at
home. Has any progress been made in the new house? I am sorry to say I
fear not—’tis pity,—I had almost said ’tis wrong. I am half mortified
when I hear of any of my acquaintance visiting Portland,—’tis true, I
declare,—tho’ Husband would scold me for saying so. Pappa is an
affectionate Father, yet therein he acts not up to his character. I
must check my pen—I am too much interested in this subject. Adieu;
make my compliments to all acquaintances and write me again soon. Love
to Miranda—tell her Mrs. Bogert talks much of her, and remind her from
me of Aunt’s sleeves; are they finished?—if they are, I hope she will
send them by Mrs. McKersen. I am working me a beautiful dress,—it will
be when ’tis done. By-the-by, any purchases for the coming occasion
will be executed with pleasure. Give my best love to (sister I had
almost said) Nabby,[82] and tell her I shall feel myself flattered by
any commission she will give me either in clothes or furniture; do
away her modesty in this thing, if you think I can be of any service
in that way, for I assure you ’twill gratify me. Tell Horatio[82] I am
impatient to thank him for giving so pleasant an acquisition to our
family, but I could do it more heartily in person in New York, if so I
might be indulged. Since you won’t be honest and tell the truth, I
won’t tell you what I’ll say to you. Do ask Papa if he could send us 6
or 8 barrels of potatoes, there is like to be a great scarcity in New
York; put them in the hold of the vessel or anywhere. Col. Barclay has
sent to Nova Scotia for a vessel load,—a housekeeper—

What a romantic conclusion.

Yours, E. B.

New York, Nov. 10, 1805.

Horatio is really married then; and we not married; and I suppose the
next account your ladyship will be added to the list. How swimmingly
you all go on! What a tremendous _marrying_ place Portland is. New
Yorkers don’t marry—sad sett of them. I am half angry to think you are
marrying in such an out-of-the-way season, that ’tis impossible any
one can come to see you. However, I hope to come early in the summer,
if nothing happens to prevent, and spend 3 or 4 months. I shall have
so many new relations that ’twill be necessary to come often to keep
an account. Robert Murray[83] came home quite delighted with his
eastern visit, but disappointed at seeing so little of Miranda. What
has been the matter with her, any thing more than a heavy cold? I wish
she was here with all my heart. I am quite alone and require a
companion more than ever, but I suppose Mamma could not hear of that.
I wish Arixene and Mary could have found a good opportunity to come
this fall, and we could take them home in the summer,—but I suppose I
must be content. We have been in town since the 31st of October, the
day your letter was dated; it has been a long time in coming. I got it
only last evening. Mr. Bowne had found out Capt. Libby, and we were
preparing to send the sheeting and diaper by him; he sails the last of
the week; the other things you wish we will send as many as can be
procured before the vessel sails, but ’twill be impossible to get any
_plate made_ to send for several weeks,—we will order it immediately,
and as it will not be bulky, there will probably be no difficulty in
finding a conveyance. We made a sketch of the articles you wished and
of the pieces, which cannot be very incorrect, as I took them all from
our own furniture book, and we calculated that the whole of Mamma’s
plate and another suit of curtains for Nabby included would come at
about 400 dollars. Mr. B. has 340 in his hands of Pappa’s, about the
sum that would buy all the things but Mamma’s plate and Nabby’s
curtains; however, that makes not the least difference to Mr. Bowne,
as he desires me to say he shall execute the commissions with great
pleasure, and ’twill be no inconvenience to him to purchase the other
articles, and I merely mentioned it as I did not know that you knew
the real sum in Mr. Bowne’s hands. ’Tis very lucky there is so direct
an opportunity to Scarborough; we shall endeavor to send as many
things as possible. Shopping at present is a prohibited pleasure to
me, but as all the things can be better procured at wholesale stores,
and my husband has both a great deal of taste and judgment in those
things, and makes better bargains than I do, you will be no sufferer
by the loss of my services in that,—and I can have anything sent to me
to look at, and therefore ’tis quite as well as if I went for them. I
don’t mean you shall understand because I don’t go shopping that I am
confined to the house. On the contrary, I am much better than could be
expected and hope with care to do very well. I shall go out very
little until the middle or last of the winter, when I hope, if I
continue well, to be most as smart as other people. My husband does
not allow me to go into a shop. I laugh at him and tell him I don’t
believe but the health of his _purse_ is _one-half_ his concern—a fine
excuse. Mrs. Bogert is in expectation of seeing Lucia Wadsworth when
the General comes on. I have been confined to the house with a severe
cold since Thursday,—Friday and Saturday was quite sick, and to-day
feel unfit for anything almost but my bed. Adieu; my best love to all
the family. You mentioned nothing of the Cypher on the Plate: O. S. or
B.—or your crest, or William’s crest, if you can find them out,—I
suppose we could here,—or what? Mamma’s I suppose will be S. only. I
have a great mind to tell you what a saucy thing my husband said on
your anxiety—that the bowls and edges of the spoons should not be
sharp; but I leave you to guess, or if you can’t, perhaps William may
help you to an explanation.

Adieu. Yours ever,
E. S. BOWNE.

Miss Octavia Southgate.

November 14, 1805.

Capt. Libby sails to-morrow; we have got as many things as possible.
There is not a piece of embossed Buff in New York, nor of plain
either, there is not more than 2 pair alike, therefore I have done
nothing about the trimmings. I fancy Boston is a better place for
those things than New York. The most fashionable beds have draperies
the same as my dimity window curtains. However, if you think best I
will look farther, and perhaps there will be something new open in a
week or two. There is but one barrel urn in the city. Mr. B. was two
days in pursuit of one; he purchased this and sent it back: ’twas
brown, and no plate on it except the nose. I can get you one like mine
for $25. Let me know immediately respecting these things. Yesterday
the Silversmith came for instructions respecting the plate, and bro’t
patterns for me to look at. I ordered a set of tea-things for Mamma
the same as mine; I think them handsomer than any I see. The man is to
send me some patterns to look at which he thinks are similar to your
description. On the next page I will make a list of the goods and
pieces copied from the bills.

1 piece Irish sheeting, 48 yards, at 5 $30.00
1 piece Irish sheeting, 55 yards, at 6/6 44.69
6 yards Fine Linen, at 7/6 5.62
12 Damask Napkins, at 8 12.00
1 piece fine Diaper 27 yards, at 5/6 18.56
2 Breakfast Cloths, at 14 3.50
1 plated Castor best kind, 12.00
1 plated Cake Basket silver rims, 18.00
2 Pearl tea-pots, 2.25; 1 Trunk, 2.50 4.75
———————
$149.12

The sheeting is quite as cheap as mine, the fine I like very much and
think it quite a bargain. The Diaper is not quite so cheap as mine,
but it has risen; the tablecloths are cheap, the linen is high I
think. The Cake Basket is very cheap, $2 cheaper than mine, and rather
handsomer I think. I could get no crimson marking, but send you a few
skeins of cotton which I procured with much difficulty. The napkins
are not the kind I wished, but there was none of those excepting at 2
places, and they were 18/–22/ a piece. I thought these pretty and
would answer your purpose. I enclose the marking cotton and the key of
the trunk. Adieu.

Yours ever, E. S. BOWNE.

P. S. The bills are in Miranda’s book in the trunk.

JAMES GORE KING

From a miniature in the possession of A. Gracie King, Esq.
]

Jan. 14, 1806.

My dear Miranda:

Mr. Abbot is here from Brunswick and will take a letter for me to any
of my friends. I should not have been surprised any more to have seen
the cupola of the college itself walk into the room than I was to see
Mr. Abbot, I could hardly believe my eyes; but I could not but _know_
him, as I know nobody like him: he always seems like a frightened
bird—so hurried in his manner and conversation. How much he looked
like some of Timothy Dexter’s wooden men—at commencement last year; it
came across my mind while he was sitting by me yesterday,—’twas well I
was alone, or I should have certainly laughed. Frederic,[84] I
suppose, is at home, tho’ Mr. A. could not tell me. John[85] and
Charles King have some thought of going to Portland. I have told them
they had better go some other time, as they will find Portland so dull
and none of you in quite so good spirits. James is here and they
return with him. You ask about Jane Watts—nobody sees her, she is
entirely confined to her room. Doctor Burchea attends her now; her
cough they think a little better, but she is not able to sleep at all
without laudanum. I have no expectation she will recover, the family
seem to have.

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.

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.

I have been in daily expectation of hearing farther from you, my dear
Miranda. I received a letter from Octavia by the same mail that
brought me yours, informing me of the melancholy change in their
prospects, which I answered immediately and used every argument I
thought could console her at such a time. Her firmness and resolution
in relating the particulars, her reasoning on the subject, displayed
the real superiority of her mind. She has had severe trials; the
danger of her child, and now this stroke; I tremble when I think with
how much less firmness I should probably have acted in the same
trials. I am extremely anxious to hear all the particulars of their
failure, how Mr. Browne bears it, where they will spend their winter.
I wish with all my heart Octavia and her child would come and stay
with me until Mr. Browne could arrange his affairs a little. But I
suppose ’twould be in vain to urge her to leave her husband at this
time. You mention that you were in hopes Papa would secure Octavia’s
furniture for her. I wish you would write me particularly if he did.
Octavia writes me he attached all the personal property he knew of at
the time. Pappa too I fear will be quite a sufferer by their failure.
I hear Webster is gone,—he, I think, had money of my Father’s. Mr.
Bowne has always thought he played rather a hazardous game in letting
out money in that way. I hope he is not materially injured,—he will,
at any rate, have the consolation to know that the education of his
children is principally accomplished; he will always have enough to
live with comfort and ease, and as to leaving a great deal, I think
’tis very immaterial. I am glad to find his stock here has produced a
very good dividend this month. I hope this won’t depress his spirits
any,—old people feel the loss of property much more than younger ones.
However, Papa’s is nothing to mention at these times, as he is not in
debt, has a good farm, and will always have all the comforts of life;
indeed, I think ’twill have a good effect. He has always been
determined on leaving such a sum untouched, and from that darling
object has deprived himself of the comfort of a comfortable house for
many years past. Accident has interfered with the fulfilment of his
plan; he will now enjoy what he has left without thinking of leaving
just so much; his children are, or soon will be grown up, and he ought
to have no other care but to enjoy what he has dearly earned, now in
his old age. I am sure all his children most heartily wish it, if he
should not leave a farthing for them. Old Mr. Codwise has failed, a
dreadful thing for so old a man. Mr. Macomb [Ann and Robert’s father]
is gone too; all the Franklins too, and a great many others I do not
now recollect. Adieu; write me immediately and tell me every
particular. My love to Arixene; is she at Miss Martin’s, for I have
never heard?

E. S. BOWNE.

Miss Miranda Southgate.

Boston, December 21, 1808.

My best Friends:

In consequence of a letter from Mr. Bowne, received this day, I have
to inform you that instead of proceeding to Scarborough, my next
journey is to New York. He writes me that by the advice of Mr. King
they have concluded it will be best for Eliza to go to Charleston,
South Carolina, in order to avoid the severity of our winter; that he
is under the necessity of remaining in New York till February himself,
and that he wishes me to return and go on with Eliza and Octavia as
soon as I can. As I have nothing of consequence to prevent me, I shall
leave this in a day or two for New York, and shall be fully satisfied
if I can render them the least service by my attentions. With
sentiments of the highest esteem and regard,

I am your obedient servant W. BROWNE.

To Mr. and Mrs. Southgate.

New York, Dec. 27, 1808.

You are anxious, my Dear Mother, to hear from my own hand how I am.
Octavia has told you all my complaints: my cough is extremely
obstinate, I have occasionally a little fever, tho’ quite irregular
and sometimes a week without any. I have a new Physician to attend me;
he is a Frenchman of great celebrity, particularly in Pulmonary
complaints, and has been wonderfully successful in the cure of coughs;
he keeps me on a milk diet, but allows me to eat eggs and oysters. He
does not give any opiates; Paregoric and Laudanum he entirely
disapproves of; he gives no medicine but a decoction of Roots and
Flowers;—the _Iceland Moss_ or _Lichen_ made in a tea he gives a great
deal of, and for cough I take a white Pectoral lotion he calls it,
made principally of White Almonds, Gum Arabic, Gum Tragacanth (or
something like it), the Syrup of Muskmelon seeds. He thinks I am much
better already. I have no pain at all, and have not had any. My cough
seems to be all my disorder. He thinks he can cure that; indeed he
speaks with perfect confidence, and says he has no doubt as soon as I
get to warmer weather, my cough will soon leave me. Mr. Browne got
here last night, and we shall probably sail by Sunday at farthest.
Octavia will write particularly. You will hear from me, my Dear
Mother, often,—at present my mind seems so occupied; leaving my
children, preparing to go, and making arrangements to shut up my
house. ’Tis quite a trial to leave my little ones; I leave them at
their Grandmother’s. My little Mary[95] has a wet-nurse; she is a
fine, lively child, and thrives fast. Adieu, my Dear Mother; I did not
think I could have written half as much; love to all my friends.

ELIZA S. BOWNE.

Charleston, South Carolina, Jan. 1, 1809.

Our most esteemed Friends:

We have now been in the City a week. We find that Eliza has gained a
little strength since she arrived, and that her cough is not quite so
distressing as before we left New York. She complains of no pain, but
her fever and night sweats continue to trouble her every other day and
night, as was the case before. She can walk about her room with ease;
and she rides when the weather is fine, which she is much pleased
with, and no doubt it is of great service to her. The streets are
entirely of sand, as smooth as possible, no pavements, not a stone to
be seen, which renders it very easy riding for her. It is as warm as
our first of May, (if not the middle,) and when the weather is fair,
the air is clear, very mild and refreshing. The change is so great
between this and New York that I cannot help thinking it must have a
great and good effect on Eliza. I find as to myself that my cough is
done away entirely, and I had a little of it most all the time at home
in winter. Octavia has certainly grown fat, and our little Frederic is
very well indeed. Eliza eats hominy, rice and milk, eggs and oysters
cooked in various ways, vegetables too, which we find in great
perfection here; fruit is plenty of almost every description. The
oranges raised here are not sweet but are very large. Their olives,
grapes, and figs are excellent. Their meats and fish are not so good
as ours. Their Poultry is fine; a great plenty of Venison, wild ducks,
and small sea-fowl; green peas we shall have in about a month; so
that, beside the change of climate, we have many of the luxuries of a
Northern summer. Uncle King gave us letters to Gen. C. C. Pinckney and
his brother Major Thomas Pinckney,—both of them being out of town at
their plantation; their sister, Mrs. Hovey, received the letters and
has been very attentive and kind to us all. She is a widow, about 55 I
should judge, of the first respectability, and appears a very
pleasant, amiable and cheerful old lady. She sends some nice things to
Eliza almost every day. Her daughters, Mrs. Rutledge, two Miss
Pinckneys (daughters of the General), Mrs. Gilchrist and daughter, Mr.
and Mrs. Mannigault, Mrs. Middleton, Mr. and Mrs. Izard,[96] Mr. and
Mrs. Dessault and Mr. Heyward make an extensive acquaintance for us.
They all seem very kind and hospitable to us, plain and open in their
manners, and yet the most genteel and easy. Eliza has seen only Mrs.
Hovey, Mrs. Rutledge, and the two Miss Pinckneys, but she thinks in a
few days to be able to receive short visits from a few of her friends,
and even thinks it may be of consequence to enliven her. She rides
whenever the weather is fine, and is very much pleased with the
appearance of everything growing in the gardens here so like our June.
We have had one visit from a Physician only; he thinks taking a little
blood from her would be of service, but she has not yet consented. He
approved of her diet and of the Iceland Moss tea which was recommended
at New York, and which is said here to have had a great effect in
removing complaints of the cough. Mrs. Mannigault told us yesterday
she found immediate relief from it after she had been sick a long
time. We expect Mr. Bowne in the course of a fortnight, and then I
expect to return toward Scarborough immediately. We hope to hear from
you in a few days; not a word have we yet from New York since we
arrived. Our darling boy we think we see every day playing about us,
without thinking who admires him at the distance of 1100 miles.

Our best wishes attend you always.

Affectionately, W. BROWNE.

To Mr. and Mrs. Southgate.

Charleston, Jan. 28, 1809.

Dear Caroline, I send by Capt. Crowel a little pair of shoes for Mary,
a little Cuckoo toy for Walter, and a tumbler of Orange Marmalade for
Mother. I have had only one letter from New York since I have been
here, and that from Mary Perkins, not one line from my husband. I can
tell you nothing flattering of my health: I am very miserable; at
present I have a kind of intermittent Fever; this afternoon I shall
take an emetic, and hope a good effect. How are my dear little ones?—I
hope not too troublesome. Octavia is in fine health and grows quite
fat for her. Frederic has been unusually troublesome. My dear little
Walter!—I hardly trust myself to think of them,—precious children—how
they bind me to life! Adieu. I have a bad headache and low-spirited
to-day.

ELIZA.

Caroline Bowne (with 2 small parcels),
No. 288 Pearl Street,
Blazing Star. New York.

This appears to be the last letter written by Mrs. Bowne. (M. K. L.)

From Mrs. William Browne to Mrs. King.

Charleston, February 2, 1809.