S'Pf

^ «
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THE CARY LETTERS
EDITED AT THE REQUEST OF
THE FAMILY

BY
C. G. C.

CAMBRIDGE
l^rinteli at t^t J5itocc^ibe ^te^^

M DCCC XCI

TREFACE

N arranging the letters which make this volume
attention has not always been paid to dates, as
in some places it seemed to me that a better
idea would be given of the writers by letting a succes
sion of letters follow from the same person. My chief
wish has been to make the characters of the former gen
eration clear to their descendants; and as I learned
from these letters to know those whom I had never
seen, I hope that I may succeed in what I have under
taken. As the work has gone on I have regretted very
much that some one had not thought of the plan while
those were still living who could have answered the
questions I would have liked so much to ask.
The series of letters by Miss Margaret G. Cary were
written at the request of her two nephews, George
Blankern Cary and Edward Montague Cary, and to
these are added extracts from a series of articles written
by her for a children's magazine. But as both letters
and maga:{ine articles were written after my aunt was

IV

PREFACE

seventy years old, they are naturally fragmentary recol
lections. I have preceded them by a slight genealogical
sketch, arranged from the family tree ; and following
this are such anecdotes and recollections as I have been
able to gather together.
C. G. C.

f;sife^

CONTENTS

I. Letters from Miss Margaret G. Cary.
To her Nephew, George Blankern Cary  /
To her Nephew, Edward M. Cary  ^8
II, Diary of Mrs. Margaret Graves Cary ; Letters from
Grenada, 1779-tygi.
Diary of Margaret Graves, Wife of Samuel Cary,
Esq., Mother of Samuel Cary  59
Letters from Grenada  64
III. Mrs. Gary's Letters from Chelsea, tygi-iyg6.
Letters from Mrs. Cary to her Son in Grenada, in tbe
Years 1791-1793  8^
IV. Letters from Mrs. Cary to her Son Sam ; Mr. Cary
to his Wife from the West Indies ; Lucius Cary to
his Mother, 1796-1798  116
Letters from Lucius Cary to his Mother  1^7
V. Letters from Mrs. Cary, Lucius Cary, and Miss Otis,
1800-181^  1^8
Miss Harriet Otis' s Recollections of Chelsea . , .191
VI. Letters from Miss Cary, Mrs. Cary, and William
Cary, 181 ^-1819  207

vi CONTENTS
VII. Miss Anne M. Gary's Canada fournal ; Miss Otis's
Saratoga Journal, 1S19  247
Journal written by Miss Harriet Otis during a Visit
to Saratoga  269
VIII. Various Letters, 1 819-1827  282
Appendix  327

INTRODUCTION

Y grandfather, Samuel Cary, was the son of Samuel
Cary and Margaret Graves. On his father's side,
he was descended from William Cary, of Bristol,
England, who was sheriff of Bristol in 1532 and mayor of
Bristol in 1546.
William Gary's grandson of the same name held the
same offices in 1599 and 1611. James Cary, son of Wil
liam last mentioned, married Eleanor Hawkins, emigrated
to America in 1639, ^"d landed in Charlestown, where he
drew a grant of land and died in 1681. His wife died in
1697, and both are buried in the old burying-ground of
Charlestown. James Gary's great-grandson, Samuel Cary, was born
November 29, 171 3; entered Harvard College in 1731 ;
was married to Margaret, daughter of Thomas Graves, of
Charlestown, December 24, 1741, and died December 8,
1769. The great-grandparents of Margaret Graves were Thomas
Graves and Katherine, daughter of the widow Coitmore.
Thomas Graves was born June 6, 1605, at Ratcliffe, in
the parish of Stepney and county of Middlesex, England,
and was baptized at the Church of St. Dunstan, in that
parish, June i6th of the same year. He came early to

viii INTRODUCTION
America, was made freeman in 1640, owned land both in
Woburn and in Charlestown, and with his wife was ad
mitted to the church in 1639. Previous to his arrival in
this country Mr, Graves had been a sea-captain, and after
his settlement here he pursued this course of life. During
the Protectorate of Oliver Cromwell, while on a mercantile
voyage, he signalized himself in an engagement with a
Dutch privateer, which he captured. The owners of the
vessel presented him with a silver punch-bowl, still pre
served at Ashford Hall in England ; and Cromwell pro
moted him to the command of a ship-of-war, with the title
of rear admiral. He died in 1681, and was buried in
Charlestown, Thomas, the grandson of Thomas and Katherine Graves,
married, first, Sybil Avery, who was the mother of his
children, and, for his second wife, the widow of Edward
Watts, of Chelsea, A third wife survived him, Phoebe,
widow of Leonard Vassall, of Boston. Margaret, the daugh
ter of Sybil Avery, married Samuel Cary, the son of Samuel
Cary and Mary Foster,
It was through Mrs. Watts that the Chelsea farm came
into the Cary family, and in endeavoring to make this
clear I was led to look for details concerning Governor
Bellingham's will in Samuel Sewall's Letter Book, pub
lished by the Massachusetts Historical Society. I give in
the Appendix ^ a long note found in the Letter Book, but the
simple facts are these : Governor Bellingham's son Sam
uel, a widower with one daughter, married in London a
widow named Elizabeth Savage. He had inherited from
his father estates in Chelsea, then called Winnisimmet,^
and, by mutual consent, this property was put in trust
1 See Appendix, note i ' Note 2.

INTRODUCTION ix
for Mr, and Mrs, Bellingham, and at her death was to
go by will to whomever she made her devisee ; or, failing
any will, to her next of kin, Mrs, Bellingham died at
sea, and, her will being decided to be invalid, the estate
passed to her sister, Mrs. Watts, who afterwards married
Thomas Graves, of Charlestown. Mrs. Watts left her prop
erty of three hundred and sixty-five acres in Chelsea to
her step-daughter Margaret Graves. The Charlestown estate
was left to Katherine Graves, who married James Russell,
and was the great-grandmother of James Russell Lowell.
Samuel and Margaret Cary had three sons : Samuel, born
at Charlestown, 1742 ; married to Sarah Gray, daughter of
Ellis Gray and Sarah Tyler ; died at Chelsea, August,
181 2. Jonathan, who died at sea, unmarried. Thomas,
born 1745 ; settled at Newburyport as a clergyman, and
died in 1808. His son Samuel was colleague of Dr. James
Freeman at King's Chapel, in Boston.
My grandfather, Samuel Cary, graduated from Harvard
College, and, receiving from his father one thousand pounds
sailed for the West Indies, where he went into business
at St. Kitts, on the island of Grenada.

LETTERS FROM MISS MARGARET G. CARY

TO HER NEPHEW, GEORGE BLANKERN CARY

January 23, 1843.
a EAR GEORGE, — I feel very desirous of conforming to
your request in writing down all the circumstances which
have reached me relating to our ancestors ; and if I fall
short of your expectations, you must attribute it not to
want of inclination, but to the heedlessness of youth, which, occu
pied with preset scenes, fails to pay that attention to the anec
dotes of age which would lay up an increasing fund for the benefit
of others, and also to the forgetfulness of age, which has already
come over me ; but what I can do I will, and begin forthwith.
The old story of three brothers coming from England — Bristol
in this instance — was exemplified in our line. One settled in
New England, one went to the South, the third I don't know where
to establish ; but you have the genealogy that my uncle Thomas
was so solicitous to draw up from memoranda he had collected and
entered into the blank pages of his family Bible, which is, I think,
in the possession of my brother, Mr. T. G. Cary, so I need not
trouble myself on that subject, but begin with my great-grandfather,
of whom I never heard much but that he married twice. Two of
his sons, who had owned ropewalks in Boston, after a while settled
in Nantucket, — Edward and Nathaniel. The first had a large
family ; the second lived a bachelor, but adopted a young lady by
the name of Russell, — a relation, I believe a niece, — and she
married a cousin, one of Edward's sons. They were married in
Charlestown, at Mrs, Cordis's, who was, I think, a sister of the
bride, and one of the old gentlemen came to Charlestown with the
young couple, and they all three passed a day at Chelsea, my father

2 THE CARY LETTERS
and mother having been at the wedding. It was a very pleasant
day. The old gentleman was tall and slender, and very gentle
manly in his manners. It must have been a'oout the year 1792, for
a daughter of this young couple visited us in 1810 or 1811, a fine
girl of about sixteen. She is still living at Nantucket, a widow,
with one or two children. Her husband was a physician, Dr. (Mor
ton ?). I am pretty sure it was Nathaniel who came to see the
young people married, for we had much discussion in the family
about naming your father Nathaniel when he made his appearance
among us, but hearing of the old gentleman's death put by the
intended compliment, for which I was very glad at. the time. One
of my great-grandfather's daughters married Mr. Soley, and lived
at Billerica, of whom Mrs. Adams and Mrs. Kettell of Charles
town were daughters, and three sons, John, Sam, and Nat Soley ;
the first of the three is still living. My grandfather's mother, I
think, was named Sibyl Foster Avery, and I beheve he had only
one own brother, named Richard, the father of Richard Cary who
was aide-de-camp to General Washington, and Nancy Cary who
married Mr. Nathaniel Dowse, brother to Edward.Dowse of Ded
ham, who married Mr. Quincy's aunt. Well, my grandfather, Sam
uel Cary, was sent to college (Cambridge). He had always a
strong desire to go to sea, which was opposed to the old gentle
man's views for him ; so that when he came from college, the very
day after receiving his degree, he was dressed in sailor's clothes
and set to work in hopes of disgusting him ; but noways discour
aged, he entered heartily into the business, and worked his way up
to a captain's station and owner of a ship. His home, I ought to
have mentioned before, was at Charlestown. Before I go further
I should like to say something of the person who was considered
as a witch and imprisoned as such. In those times of infatuation
it was almost always fatal to be suspected of witchcraft. The poor
and ignorant were in great danger, and often had their minds so
perplexed that they would join in the accusation against them
selves ; and those who had more sense than their neighbors, and
attempted to reason against the absurdity and wickedness of the
accusadons, were in still greater danger. Among these last was
our ancestress. Her husband had gone to England in his vessel ;
whether it was my great-grandfather, the old gentleman of whom I
have been writing, or his father, I am not certain, but probably the

MISS MARGAREI G, CARY 3
latter. Mrs. Cary was imprisoned soon after his departure, and
her daughter, Mrs. Switcher, or Sweetzer, gained access to her,
and, by changing clothes, succeeded in restoring her mother to
liberty. Assisted by her friends, she was put on board a ship
ready to sail for London, and arrived in the Thames soon after her
husband. He was on board his ship shaving himself when she
entered the cabin. He started, and exclaimed, " My wife ! I
really believe you are a witch, and have come over in an egg
shell.'' " Don't be a fool, Nat, like the rest of your countrymen,"
she replied. This is as my father used to relate the story, and
they returned together to America, by which time the people had
recovered their senses and deplored the many cruel deatbs which
had taken place.
I must now give you some account of the family into which
my grandfather married when he was thirty-one years of age, which
my father used to say was the right time for the Carys to con
nect themselves. Mr. Thomas Graves came out from England
to Charlestown. His son. Dr. Graves, was a physician, a very
respectable character and much beloved. When my father was-
a little boy at school. Dr. Graves came in one day and kissed him
and another grandson, Thomas Russell, afterwards an eminent
merchant in Boston, and gave each of them an English shilling.
He went home and died rather suddenly in his bed, having crossed
out in his books a great many sums due to him from those who
he thought could not easily pay. My father must have been very
small at the time, for he was carried to the funeral in the arms of
black Caesar, a house servant. Dr. Graves had been early left a
widower with two daughters, Margaret and Catherine. Catherine
was very handsome, quite a portly lady. Mrs. Dutton, her grand
daughter, has her portrait, taken by Copley. She married Judge
Russell. The house in Charlestown I suppose you know, but oh,
how sadly altered since the time of Judge Russell, and afterwards
of his daughter. Miss Sally Russell ! And next door lived Mrs.
Dowse, in the house her father built ; but I must not give way to
too many reminiscences, lest I lag in my story. Margaret, the other
daughter, was small in person, plain, being pitted with the small
pox, but very intelligent and active, and assisted her father fre
quently in his apothecary's shop. She married Captain Samuel
Cary. He continued to go to sea for many years, and was never

4 THE CARY LETTERS
long at home at a time. Consequently my grandmother had great
use for all her talents, particularly as she had in time three sons.
This was all her family, with Caesar and his wife as servants.
One night a robber broke into the house. She heard him, threw
on some clothes, and went into the entry just as he had reached
the top of the stairs. He was so alarmed at her sudden appear
ance and resolute manner that he hastily fetreated, dropping a
case-knife, with which he must have meant to alarm her if nothing
worse. She was always represented as a woman of a very reso
lute spirit, as well as of great prudence, for which she had need
with her sons. My father had great filial reverence for her mem
ory. He often spoke of her piety, fortitude, and activity both of
mind and body. There was a garden at the back of the house,
and one day some foolish boys were ridiculing my father for being
under the control of a woman, and taunted him by saying that he
dared not break off the branch of a fruit-tree that grew in it. He
got a hatchet, cut down the tree itself, and brought it round in
front of the house, crying out, " Sam Cary has cut down his mo-
•ther's pear-tree ! " His mother took no notice of it at the time, but
when they were alone together, she represented to him the folly
and weakness of his conduct, so that he deeply lamented it ; and
whenever he mentioned it, it was always in praise of her conduct
and acknowledgment of her good management. He always said
that whatever prosperity happened to him through life was for her
sake and in answer to her prayers. He was allowed great free
dom, as he was the eldest son and his father generally absent.
He gave frequent entertainments to his friends at his mother's
house, and heeded her direction, and she did everything to make
his home happy. The three brothers were very different charac
ters. Samuel preferred an active life of business, and was appren
ticed to Mr. Deblois of Boston, a merchant. Thomas was fond of
study, went through college, and was settled as a minister at New
buryport before he was twenty-one. He had many children, but
two sons only lived to grow up, both educated at college : one died
unmarried, and one was settled with the Rev. Mr. Freeman at the
King's Chapel in Boston, was married, had two sons, but the
whole family have passed away. The third brother, Jonathan, was
a captain. His voyages were between England and the West In
dies. In one of them the ship was lost, and every one on board

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 5
perished. When my grandmother was on her death-bed, she feared
that her husband did not intend to do as well by Samuel as by the
other two, having received the impression that he was gay and
would not make a good use of money. (At that time, according to
the English law, it was customary to give the eldest son a double
portion.) She therefore made him promise to give him a thou
sand pounds sterling. He fulfilled his promise, but when he gave
it to him, with a letter of introduction to his friend Mr. Manning,
of St. Kitts, he said to him : " There, sir, that is all you will ever
have from me. Do what you please with it, — throw it into the
sea if you like, — but don't apply to me for more." He must
have been a very stern old gentleman, — indeed, there were many
such formerly ; not living at home might be one cause of his na
ture not being more softened. He was very harsh with his sons
sometimes. My father used to relate an anecdote of his brother
Jonathan having done something once to offend the old gentle
man, I don't recollect what, but he was quite conscious of the
state of feeling towards him, and when he came home, on being
sent for, he took a seat very near the door, and being urged to
draw near the fire, he excused himself ; but when he saw his
father coming towards him he slipped out of the room and ran off.
Once after he had been to sea, after his mother's death, when his
father was living at Chelsea, he borrowed a horse, which having
rode very hard, and being afraid of encountering his father's dis
pleasure, he opened the west gate, gave the horse a touch of the
whip, sending him home, while he decamped himself. The parson,
as he was called in those days, was always a favorite with his
father. His studious, quiet habits and early settlement in life
were very agreeable to the old gentleman, though he was somewhat
anxious at his being made a minister at so early a period ; but
he never had reason to regret it. He went to Newburyport to at
tend the ordination, and put up at the house of Dr. Sawyer (Mrs-
G. G. Lee's father), and afterwards presented Mrs. Sawyer with the
leather-mounted fan which I have, and one or two other things
which had been his wife's. The fan, with a nun's-work muslin
neckkerchief, was given to me many years ago by Mrs. Sawyer.
The old gentleman passed the last few years of his life at Chelsea.
The farm had come to him through his wife. The house was what
is called an L-house, till he had the northeast corner built. He

6 THE CARY LETTERS
was very fond of sitting at the chamber window, which looked to
ward the hill, and watching the sheep and cows that were grazing
on it. Little was known of the transactions of his mind, but no
doubt there were estimable qualities there that, were they known,
would more than counterbalance the harshness without.- He was
once met at sea by a Spanish ship, which was in want of provisions,
and had otherwise suffered much by the tempestuous weather. He
gave ample relief and an abundant supply, and received from the
captain, and some passengers of rank who were on board, a very
handsome letter, recommending him in peace or war to the kind
attention and courtesy of any of their countrymen. Once, too, he
fell in with a privateer, and defended his ship very gallantly, and
it appears to me as if one of his pieces of plate was given in ac
knowledgment of his care of property at that time. It was then, I
think, he received a wound, which broke out afresh after he was
residing in Chelsea, and occasioned his death, — I believe as young
as sixty-three. When occasionally at home at Charlestown, in high
winds at night he used to light his pipe and go down to the wharves
and listen to the sounds produced in the ropes, which he said was
music to his ear. The neighbors used to say they slept quietly
while they knew that Captain Cary was watching. He had warm
friends in England and in the West Indies. There was one house
in London where he had been in the habit of putting up while on
shore. At one time he went there as usual, without being aware
that the house had changed owners, and was now in the hands of
a private family. He entere d familiarly, made himself comforta
ble, and ordered what he would like for dinner, then sat down to
examine some papers, and did not discover his mistake till dinner
v.as served and the host and hostess took their places. He was at
first mortified, but was soon reconciled and found himself in friendly
quarters. Living so much at sea no doubt reconciled him to sol
itude ; otherwise his last days would seem to be gloomy, for he
was living alone when taken ill, and old Mrs, Daniel Pratt, who
lived in the Pratt neighborhood, was called in to nurse him, which
she did faithfully. She was sister to General, afterwards Governor
Brooks, a nice old lady, who so entirely survived her memory that
when her brother came to see her the last time, he could not make
her remember him. Ah, my dear George, it is well that genera
tions succeed each other so fast. The useful part of life soon

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 7
glides away. Looking back on past generadons I cannot help
saying, " The fathers, where are they ? " Ah, where indeed 1 I
trust in higher states of existence, enjoying what is reserved for
those who do the will of God, — what will more than compensate
for the sorrows of life, and far beyond any of its pleasures. That you
may realize happiness, here and hereafter, is the wish of
Your affectionate aunt,
M. G. Cary.
February 24, 1843.
Dear George, — Thank you for your encouraging note, I will
endeavor to go on with my recital. Your grandfather served his
apprenticeship with Mr. Deblois ; he had few privileges there, and
never but one holiday. He requested that, and it was reluctantly
granted. He amused himself by first going on the water and then
calling on several of his friends, but before the day had passed he
was again at his desk, and Mr. Deblois was highly gratified by it.
He was of a very active disposition and discovered the energy of
his mind in early life, Mr. Deblois employed him in frequent
journeys to traders with whom he had dealings, particularly at
Middletown, in Connecticut, and he loved to allude in later life to
the pretty girls he had seen weeding onions in that neighborhood,
not very refined, one would suppose. His whole apprenticeship
passed over so well, and with so many proofs of Mr. D.'s confi
dence in his integrity and ability, that his father could find no fault
there, 'but probably was fearful that his affections might be too
early engaged, and he might form an imprudent connection. So
he sent him off to St. Kitts with a letter to his friend Mr. Manning,
afterwards a great banker in London, and the father of Mrs. Ben
Vaughan of Hallowell. Mr. Manning was requested lo give his
advice to the young man in such a manner as to secure his resi
dence in the island for some years. He prevailed on my father
to hire a large building to use for himself as a store, and to let
the adjoining rooms. This he did, and one of the inmates was
Mr. Stanley, a lawyer, a man of great wit and intelligence, in -whom
my father took great delight. Here he was several years engaged
in successful merchandise, buying cargoes and disposing of them.
When he first arrived at the island and had settled his plan of life,
having been told what great thieves the negroes were, he was

8 THE CARY LETTERS
roused from his sleep one night by a heavy shower of rain. You
have no idea how large and heavy the drops fall on a roof of a
house in that climate. He started up, thinking that his bags of rice
were being carried off. Excuse me for mentioning so small a cir
cumstance, but these little familiar anecdotes bring my father so
strongly before me that I know not how to pass them over. He
enjoyed this period of his life very much. He had several friends
living on plantations in the country, and he used to ride out on
Saturday afternoons and pass Sunday with one and another.
One night he returned home late from a party, and as he entered
his door he saw a negro coming downstairs with a basket of clean
clothes, which the washerwoman had brought to his chamber, on
his head. My father rushed forward to secure the thief, but he
was naked and oiled all over, with a knife in his mouth, against
which my father's hand struck as the negro threw the clothes
over him and made his escape. This proved a very serious acci
dent, for the wound not healing at once in that hot climate, there
was danger of mortification. Therefore, by the advice of physicians,
he was induced to come to Boston, and he put himself under the
care of Dr. Rand.
And here he renewed his early friendships with his cousins, Mr.
Thomas Russell, Mr. Joseph Barrell, Mr. Sarauel Otis, etc. He
had his arm in a sling; had a black man with him, who frequently
drove a chaise in which he took his rides ; dressed elegantly ; was
perfectly easy in his circumstances ; and had that perfect ease and
knowledge of the world which, with good manners, betokens a
gentleman. One day Mr. Otis invited him to attend a ball which
was to be held at a public house over the Neck. He declined at
first, on the plea of his lame hand and inability to dance, and be
sides, he did not want to have anything to do with the ladies ; but
finally Mr. Otis prevailed and he went. And this was the most
critical evening of his life. He saw Mr. Otis dancing with a lady
who fixed his attention, and he felt a strong desire to know more
of her. So he proposed to a lady who was sitting by him to dance.
She acceded, and they went to the bottom of the country-dance
next to Mr, Otis and his partner. My father whispered to Mr,
Otis to change partners. " Come, my dear,'' said Mr. Otis, " you
shan't dance with that lame man. Miss Gray is tired and will be
glad to sit down," So the business was soon settled, and all those

MISS MARGARET G, CARY 9
little attentions took place which are proper on such occasions ; and
after attending Miss Gray to the sideboard and then to a seat, Mr,
Cary devoted himself to her for the rest of the evening. But, as
he used to say, he had no thought of giving up his liberty, and for
a fortnight he endeavored to drive her from his thoughts, but it
would not do. He felt the necessity of seeing Miss Gray again,
and, fearing to involve himself by any open attempt, had recourse
to artifice. The house in which he boarded was in Cornhill, now
Washington Street; the mistress of the house kept a shop in the
front part. He applied to her to let him know when Miss Gray
came into it. She said that was very rare, for she was not often in
the street, but that, as she was going to make a purchase of some
silks, she would call on Miss Gray, and request her to stop on her
Way to Thursday lecture and give her opinion of them. Mr, Cary
thought this would do very well. " But how shall I let you know
when she is here, as there is no open communication between the
shop and your parlor?" "You a woman, and have no contri
vance ! Hand me that weight and the towel," which he placed on
a shelf. " There, pull the towel and the weight will fall down, and
I shall know that she is here." The plan went on very well. Miss
Gray kindly consented to call and look at the silks on her way to
lecture ; the towel was pulled, and the weight fell ; but Dr. Rand's
young man, who called every day to dress the hand, was then at
work on it. " Come, make haste,'' said his patient. " Why I don't
you feel, Mr. Cary ? If there is no feeling where I am probing, I
should be alarmed." " There, there I that will do for the present ;
I will let my servant bind it up ; " and, twisting his handkerchief
round the hand, he dismissed the young man (who carried a strange
report to the doctor) and got round to the door of the shop just as
Miss Gray was preparing to quit it. But, as he said, she could not
pass him, and, after fnaking inquiries after her health since he had
the pleasure of meeting her at the ball, he invited himself to pass
the evening with her.
My dear mother always evaded the question, when these particu
lars were narrated before her, whether she had been mutually
struck at the ball. But as she returned home, instead of proceed
ing to lecture, we children used to think she did not feel indiffer
ent. This must have taken place in the spring of 177 1. But as I
began this letter, my dear George, with an account of the early

lO THE CARY LETTERS
life of my father, I will endeavor in my next to say something of
my mother's family and herself that may interest you ; always re
questing you, my dear nephew, to excuse the little attention I pay
to style, having rather a hurried feeling while I do this exciting
though very interesting task, and being loath for more than one
reason to copy what I write, which would enable me to make cor
rections. It may be well for you to make minutes from what I
write, and burn the originals. Ever your affectionate aunt,
M. G. Gary.
March 3, 1843.
Dear George, — I must ask you to step back with me to one
Sunday morning in the spring of 1753 ; there, after the bells have
done chiming in Mr. Webster's church in the North Square, you
will find the congregation assembled, and a widow, " a widow in
deed," carrying up a sweet little baby, in the usual white robe, but
unusually ornamented with little black bows of ribbon all up and
down the dress. The Rev. Mr. Welstead takes it in his arms, and
giving "the outward sign of an inward and spiritual gift," with the
name of Sally and the blessing, restores her to her mother's arms,
while the audience, deeply interested, silently join their prayers
and blessings. This was the entrance into life of your dead grand
mother. Her father had been settled as a colleague with Mr,
Welstead. He was only thirty-seven years of age when he was
taken ill in the pulpit and died in a few hours. There is no one
to say how much he was beloved by the people, but from several
likenesses which were taken of him after his decease, and the care
with which some of his sermons were preserved and given to my
mother after her return to this country, I should think he was
valued very highly.
He had been devoted to his duty as a minister, leaving all sub
lunary cares to his wife. She kept the purse, and, being a prudent
woman, made a small salary suffice. They had three sons, but
were always very desirous of a daughter, and yet when that wish
was granted — as is often the case with our most ardent desires —
the widowed mother felt that it was an additional grief, for this
babe had a claim upon her tenderness beyond what she felt for
her sons. But He, to whom the past and the future are equally

MISS MARGARET G. CARY II
present with that which now is, provided this support for her old
age, while her sons were removed in an early stage of manhood.
Mr. Thomas Gray, brother to the deceased, a single man with
some property, — being in business, — was deeply affected by the
forlorn state of the little family, and kindly undertook to provide
for them. He was much esteemed by Mrs. Gray, and she con
sented to his proposition. Every week he put into her hands a
certain sum of money, and every day he dined with her. He had
a married sister, Mrs. Green, the grandmother of Miss Abby Joy,
at whose house he took tea and passed his evenings ;' and at an
other relation's, but I have entirely forgotten whom, he passed his
nights and breakfasted. He was a man of grave but mild man
ners, and of his benevolence there could be no doubt ; but my
dear mother felt considerable awe towards him, which perhaps
was of no disadvantage, as his influence in the family was always
considered useful by my grandmother. All school expenses were
paid by this uncle. One of the sons. Dr. William Gray, had
every advantage this country could bestow, and was afterwards
sent to Europe to visit the hospitals. He died of a consumption
soon after his return. My mother always spoke of this brother
with great affection. He interested himself very much in her im
provement, and gave her something, I forget what, for every page
of Young's " Night Thoughts " that she learnt by heart. An
other brother, Ellis, married, and had five children. He also died
of consumption. His three daughters married. Hannah was first
married to Judge Wilson, and lived in great style in Philadelphia ;
afterwards married Dr. Bartlett of Boston. Lucy married Dr.
Dobell of Philadelphia ; afterwards, Mr. Payne of Boston. Sally,
the eldest, but last married, to Judge Hall of Boston. One son
married young, Thomas, in New York ; the other, Ellis, died single
some years since. Mr. Ellis Gray Loring was named for hira. He
was appointed his guardian, and felt a parental care for him.
But all this time, you will say, where is the dear little Sally ?
Growing up under her mother's care and uncle's guardianship ;
often taking her work to pass the afternoon at her grandmother's.
Madam Tyler, whose portrait at Chelsea would not look so cross
if the soldiers who were quartered at Chelsea during the war
had not used it roughly, as they did many other pictures which
my grandfather. Captain Cary, had collected. But I must leave

1 2 THE CARY LE TTERS
her a little while longer, for I find that one of the three brothers
has not been accounted for, and I am ashamed to say that I have
forgotten his Christian name, but rather think it was John. He
married a lady of whom he was ardendy fond, but she died a short
dme after their marriage. His grief was inconsolable, but his
friends persuaded him to form another engagement. He offered
himself to Polly Smith, with whom he had been acquainted all his
life, for they went to school together, and it had been a comraon
saying among the children that they would be married. She ac
cepted him, they were married, but he never recovered his health
or spirits, and died within a year. This lady was afterwards Mrs.
Sam Otis. Well, Sally grew up, the darling of her mother and
grandmother. The house Mrs. Gray lived in was a little way
below the mill bridge in Hanover Street. There was a back door
which opened into a little garden or yard. There she used to sit
and eat her supper, — a piece of dry bread and a glass of water.
There was a dark closet in the house, where she went to indulge
sweet and bitter thoughts as she grew older, and she often told
me she had there shed many bitter tears ; yet she was not of a
sad mood, and one of the last persons who one would suppose
had ever indulged in romantic melancholy; but, as Young says,
" Sighs might sooner fail than cause to sigh," and perhaps her
intimate acquaintance with that writer might have encouraged this
state of feeling. She was generally of a lively disposition, always
fond of children, so much so that she would often bring a child
from the street, wash it nicely, and give it a piece of bread. She
had many friends-. Mrs. Coffin, the mother of the beautiful Mrs.
Derby, in her early days lived in Charlestown, My mother used
to go over the ferry, — there was no bridge then, — and she left
home with many charges not to venture in the boat if there were
any white-caps, that is, thunder clouds, rising. She used to pass
the house Captain Cary then lived in, and sometimes made him a
curtsey as he sat at his window or stood in his door. And Mrs.
Tudor, who is still living, and must be past ninety, at Washington,
was an intimate friend, and sat in the next pew at church. If she
was not a regular beauty as she grew up, she had at least that fas
cinating charm about her which attracted all hearts. She made a
visit at Worcester when she was fifteen, which she loved to dwell
upon as a time of great enjoyment. As a stranger she received

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 1 3
great attentions, and her age was overlooked. I have heard, among
others. General Knox, General Jackson, and Dr. Lathrop speak of
her air and gait in early life, the charm which extended round her :
" She trod the earth with an elasdc step, as if it was not good
enough for her to rest upon." She had a flow of spirits that sel
dom failed her. " Ah," said aunt Darby to her sometimes, " the
black ox will tread on your toe." She would laugh when she told
of this. Aunt Darby was a widowed sister of her mother's, who
lived at Madam Tyler's. Mr. Otis's first wife was a Gray, a cou
sin of my mother's, who was just eighteen when invited by them to
go to the ball over the Neck. I have told you, my dear George,
of the first meeting there of my father and mother, and of their
next meeting in the shop. The evening was passed together, and
confirmed all his ardent feelings. I believe he had no wavering
from that time, but continued his visits. He loved to describe her
dress and manners, and her treatment of him that evening. She
had found out, he said, his taste for simplicity and neatness, and
dressed herself in a striped linen gingham gown, buff and white.
They supped together at the little round mahogany table that is
still at Chelsea. " She did not lay out much upon the supper,"
he would say ; " a little celery, a little bread, a slice of butter.
Ah ! she was cunning enough ; she knew how to win me." And
from his account, they were almost immediately engaged ; but I
suppose lovers have very little notion of time, for one circumstance
shows plainly that they were not engaged before the next week,
for Uncle Tom, as he was called, happening to meet Mr. Cary,
who very likely put himself into the good gentleman's way, was
much pleased with him, and invited him to go to meeting with
him on Sunday, and take a seat in his pew ; but when he after
wards learned that Mr. Cary was paying attentions to his niece,
he was quite shocked for fear it should be thought that he was
courting the rich West Indian, and had designs on him. Well,
they were soon engaged, and quite happy, till letters arrived
obliging my father to return to St. Kitts and attend to business.
They parted after settling their correspondence, and Uncle Tom
said, " Miss " — he always called her so — " Miss has hung her
harp upon the willows." They were separated for eighteen months,
a much longer time than was at first intended, but circumstances
rendered it necessary. In the meantime love-gifts were frequent.

14 THE CARY LETTERS
¦ — a harpsichord from England, with a request to take lessons,
which, as my mother had a good ear and a delightful voice, she
soon accomplished, so as to give great pleasure ; a gold watch ; a
mahogany waiter, with a beautiful set of tea gear, etc., etc. But
I have reached my limits, and will bid you good-by for the present.
Your affectionate aunt,
M. G. Cary.

March 9, 1843,
Dear George, — I left you where the lovers had separated,
supposing it would be but for a short time, a few months, perhaps ;
but instead of that, it was for a year and a half. Many were the
letters which were exchanged between them and the love-tokens
which were received ; yet all was not peaceful and serene. Your
grandfather had appeared as a rich West Indian, which in those
days included everything that the imagination could paint. The
engagement made something of an eclat, and feelings of envy,
mixed with wonder, brought out a variety of remarks, which, though
really insignificant in themselves, must have given some pain to the
near friends from their being so long remembered, " Mr, Cary had
only amused himself, — he would never return." Then the cor
respondence could not go on as regularly as if carried on by land.
And a yet more serious occurrence took place : Mr. Otis, who was
warmly interested in the affair, and perhaps a little nettled at hear
ing such remarks, with a kindly meant but ill-judged interference,
wrote a letter to my father to inform him how much Miss Gray was
admired, and that she had danced at a ball, and was considered the
belle of the evening ; thus intending to excite just so much jeal
ousy as to quicken his motions and make him return immediately.
It was the only time ray mother had been prevailed upon to go
into any party at all during my father's absence, and Mr. Otis
made the most of it ; but he little knew the temperament he had
to deal with.
An indignant reply, expressive of the zeal rather than the ten
derness of his attachment, would have separated them forever, if it
had not been for the beautiful forbearance so characteristic of my
mother, and which enabled her to pass through life happily with a
companion who united great virtues to little self-control. In the
meanwhile my father was busily employed in winding up his affairs

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 1 5
in St. Kitts, and preparing a home more suitable for domestic
comfort, though at that time he had no thought of making it per
manent. A gentleman by the name of Bourryan, one of his intimate
friends, had a plantation in Grenada, of which he persuaded my
father to become manager. It was a sugar plantation, and was called
Simon. He was to have two white men under his direction, between
two or three hundred negroes, and his salary was something very
handsome, and the privileges were great, with the entire control of
everything. The estate was a very valuable one and in fine order,
the owner himself going to reside in England ; and in order to
secure his remaining in the island, Mr. Bourryan persuaded my
father to purchase a smaller estate on the other side of the island,
and advanced a considerable part of the payment. Thus my father
became encumbered with debt, from which he was never released
till the plantation was finally sold. Mr. Bourryan soon after died,
leaving his estate to his five sisters, to whom Mr, Charles Spooner
was guardian, all living in England.
It was one afternoon, at the close of September, 1772, that my
mother had been taking a ride with Captain Jonathan Cary, and
in driving up to the door he exclaimed, " My brother ! "
Yes, my father had arrived, and preparation was soon made
for the nuptials. Dresses were already in advance, furniture was
soon purchased for the house at Chelsea, and on the evening of the
5th of November they were married. That day was always one of
confusion in Boston while under the British government. It was
the celebration of the anniversary of " Gunpowder Treason and
Plot." The South Enders and North Enders, each carrying about
a representation of Guy Fawkes with a lantern in a cart, were in the
habit of meeting at the mill bridge, and what began in ridicule
ended in fight. On that occasion my uncle Captain Cary joined in
the frolic, directly after the wedding, and in the course of the even
ing was brought in senseless. There was, however, no fatal conse
quence and no lasting inconvenience. The winter was passed very
pleasantly by my parents. There were a number of young cou
ples with whom they associated intimately ; and though they were
occasionally at Chelsea, they were a great deal in Boston,
Early in the summer my father left for Grenada, My mother
then remained with my grandmother ; and the eldest son, Samuel,

i6

THE CARY LETTERS

was born in October, In the course of the winter, having had di
rections from my father, my mother left her infant with his grand
mother, and the Boston harbor being blocked up with ice, she went
to Newburyport, and sailed from there to Grenada. Oh, how
often she regretted not having yielded to the dictates of her feel
ings and taken her infant with her I But both parents had con
sulted the interest of the child, and they hoped the separation
would not be long.
My mother arrived safely, and was conducted to a residence
which became her home for eighteen years. Siraon was on the

First Floor.

Second Floor.

2 I 4
3 6 7

4 5 3 "

I. Dining-room.
.c. Drawing-room.
3- Housekeeper's room.
4. Pantry.
5. East gallery.
6. West gallery.
7. Stairs.

J. Mrs. Gary's chamber.
[ Spare chamber or nursery.
4. Dressing-room.
5. Play-gallery.
6. Bathing-room.
7. Margaret's study.
8. Gallery.
9. Stairs.

eastern side of the island. On a high flat hill was a beautiful
lawn. There stood the house, towards the eastern brow, an open
gallery to the west, a closed gallery with jalousies to the east, both
the length of the house, which contained a dining-room to the
south with a pantry beyond, and a drawing-room to the north, with
a housekeeper's room at the west side, opening to the west gallery ;
above were three chambers, besides a dressing-room over the north
east end of the gallery, and a similar square room over the north
end of the west gallery for a study, which was given up to Margaret
when she came from England. The remainder of the upper east
gallery was a play-room for the children ; there was also a long
narrow room, with tubs for bathing, over the pantry ; the stairs were
at the end of the west gallery, going to the upper gallery, which

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 1/
was also open, except the study, which had two sashed windows to
the west and north. At a little distance on the west side of the
house, a little to the north, was a kitchen ; opposite, to the south,
my father's writing-room, where he received persons on business,
and a large store-room with provisions. Beyond the kitchen, a
little farther to the north, was the hospital. If I have given you a
clear idea, you will see a large square place to the west of the house,
which was terminated by two tall, beautiful tamarind-trees, about
ten feet apart, between and in the shade of which was a low cot, in
which were always kept two or three sheep fattening.
Beyond, to the west, was a vegetable garden, fenced in ; north
of that, extending along the side of the garden and far beyond it,
a cashew walk. If I recollect right, it was as long as one side of
the Boston Common. The trees were tall and shady, and the fruit,
the shape of a pear with the nut at the end, was a bright red. On
the other side of the garden, to the south, was a tomb, fenced and
shaded, in quite a retired spot. Now go with me to the east side
of the house, A road leads down the hill to the north, and there
you see the sugar-house, with a distillery over it, the begass-house,
and the mill; mules laden with canes, each with a boy conducting;
men receiving the canes and feeding the fires. Look from the
brow of the hill, and you see a beautiful stream of water, what we
would call a small river, meandering between the verdant grassy
banks ; women washing their clothes, and beating them on a flat
rock ; a little higher up, women fishing, and finding fresh-water
mullet in abundance. Look beyond the river, on another hill, and
you see the negro-houses, shaded with palm-trees, cedar-trees, and
roseaux. Near at hand on the brow of the hill, to take off the ap
pearance of steepness, for the hill suddenly declined to the east,
was planted by my father two rows, twelve feet apart, of gallabar-
trees, closely joined together, making a very pleasant walk, though
they were not more than fifteen feet high. Beyond this walk, at
the south, a road led down the hill into another very level, fine
road, which conducted to Grenville Bay, usually called La Baye,
where there was a fine harbor, stores, dwelling-houses, etc. Ex
cuse me, my dear George, for going into all these particulars. The
gentlemen in that neighborhood, living some on their own estates,
but mostly like my father as agents, had all been single men and
in bachelor habits ; but the same year that my mother arrived, Mrs.
2

1 8 THE CARY LETTERS
Williams and her daughter, Mrs. Van Dussen, arrived from Eng
land, their husbands being already there ; also Mrs. Proudfoot
came out with her husband, and Mrs. Horsford, from Antigua.
This formed a very pleasant association. My mother was intimate
with them all, but particularly with the last-named. -A rough
building, which you would have taken for a barn, and had been for
merly occupied by the Roman Catholics, was now converted into
a church, and Parson Carew, afterwards Parson McMahone, was
the minister. It was at La Baye, and all rode there on horseback.
One Sunday my mother was the only person, with the minister and
clerk, to take the sacrament. The ladies met frequently, and gen
tlemen from the town of St. George's, and travelers from distant
islands and from England, were made welcome among them, in a
very sociable manner. The governor occasionally visited round.
General Matthews and Mr. Hume and his lady had a beautiful
plantation within three miles of Simon, where they passed a few
years, and then went back to Scotland. But where shall I end, or
rather where shall I begin?
My mother's time was very much taken up in the care of her
children, in regulating her household, in reading to my father,
writing to her mother, and entertaining company. My father was
on horseback every morning, riding round the plantation and giv
ing directions, or rather seeing that the directions given every
night were going on properly ; then to La Baye, returning home
to dinner ; at leisure in the afternoon to visit, or receive corapany,
or read. Every evening after tea the. negroes assembled in the
open space before the west gallery, each bringing a bundle of
sticks for fuel for the kitchen, the men on one side, the women
on the other, and an elderly man as a leader in prayer between
them. They all cast their fagots before thera, and answered to
their names as the list was called. Then they knelt reverently
and joined in prayer, kissed the ground, and, rising, sung a hymn
and departed.
The care of training servants for the house was no trifling
thing. My mother selected whom she pleased, but had to teach
them everything. She had, for the first few years, a cook who
had been sent to Paris for his education. He took the lead in
the kitchen, and though he did little himself, he taught those
under him. My father was a member of the General Assembly,

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 19
and had to be in St. George's occasionally. He was always very
independent in his principles, and sometimes gave his vote against
the governor. On one occasion particularly, when he had been
invited to dine at Government House, he felt rather embarrassed
at going there ; but he was cordially received, and General Mat
thews said something very pleasant, which set him quite at ease.
He had occasional rides also to his own plantation. Mount Pleas
ant, which was a coffee estate. This it was a favorite object
with him to change into sugar, and he accomplished it, but at
considerable expense. The war in the United States, which se
cured its freedom, excited great interest in hira and my mother.
Mr. Williams and Mr. Van Dussen, too, had been engaged in a
war in Canada, and knew a good deal of the American character,
and could converse freely with my father, who was always a great
politician and well acquainted with the geography of the country,
and his heart much engaged in the cause. He was also very at
tentive to his countrymen who came in vessels with lumber, flour,
etc., and was ready to assist thera in any difficulties.
Captain Thomas Pratt was ill at La Baye, and he had him
brought to his house, and my mother nur.=ed him with all the care
and kindness of a sister. And several captains, who were in
danger from arriving during a state of warfare, were received by
him and entertained, giving up his writing-room for their accom
modation, so that the governor threatened to send him to London
and have hira put in the Tower and punished as a rebel. But he
minded no risks ; and when General Cornwallis's army was taken,
and the news reached Grenada, Colonel Williams rode over to
Simon, and, giving the intelligence, charged my father not to stir
from his own house, for he knew that he could not conceal his
pleasure, and that it would be dangerous for him to express it.
The French war brought greater inconveniences to their own
door. The English families were obliged to take refuge with
their French friends, and great demands were made upon them for
clothing, bedding, provisions, besides money ; for the English fleet
— which had been eagerly looked for, and they saw it coming to
wards the harbor with great joy, hoping for speedy relief — was
fallen in with by Count d'Estaing, who cut off their hopes by sail
ing faster and drawing first into the harbor. However, the island
was soon retaken by the English, at the conclusion of peace,

20 THE CARY LETTERS
though for a time they suffered very much for want of provisions
and other necessaries. It was just before this war that Margaret,
their eldest daughter, was sent to England. It was always an im
portant object with ray father to have his children well educated,
and he always did in this respect to the very utmost of his ability.
It was a hard trial to my mother to have both her children absent,
but she was soon occupied in the care of Charles, who remained at
home till he was five, when he accompanied Sam — who had been
sent for to Grenada, and stayed at home just one month — to Eng
land, one of Mr, Horsford's sons, a fine boy, going with them.
Adieu, dear George. I depend on your interest in the subject
to excuse all deficiencies in the narrative.
Your affectionate aunt,
M. G. Cary.
I will insert here an account of aunt Margaret's school life
in England. A part of it is in her own words, as she gives
it more fully in her magazine articles, written for young
people, I have often heard from my aunts that the sepa
ration from her children was a great trial to my grand
mother, but she was always in the habit of conforming to
her husband's judgment. Every care was taken to insure
the little girl's comfort on the voyage. An attendant was
engaged, who had come from England with a lady ; and
Captain Cox, who commanded the ship, was a friend of Mr,
Gary's, On her arrival in England, Captain Cox took her
to his pleasant home near London, where she was received
with great kindness by his wife. She was placed at a board
ing-school at Walthamstow, passing her holidays with Mrs.
Cox. Aunt Margaret's recollections at eighty of what she
suffered at five must have been a good deal softened when
she said of this school : " I had great respect for the gov
erness, and though I had frequent punishment, no doubt
deserved it. When I was five yeais old I was to open the
dancing-master's ball by dancing a minuet with a boy about
my own age. When I was dressed and the time had coine,
the governess said to me, ' Now, you see that doll. It shall

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 21
be yours if you dance well ; but if you do not, I will tie you
to the bedpost, and whip you as long as I can stand over
you.' "
When aunt Margaret was seven years old she left this
school to be placed at a higher one, at Baddow, in Essex.
At the same time she, passed from the care of Mr. Cox to
that of a friend of her father, Mr. Spooner, who had inci
dentally heard that there was a child of Mr. Gary's in Eng
land, and wished to have her under his own charge. After
this her holidays were spent with Mr. and Mrs. Spooner,
either in London or at their place in Hampshire, called
Mottsfont. The circumstances connected with the Cary
and Spooner friendship have an interesting association for
our family.
Mr. Spooner's father was an intimate friend of my great
grandfather, Samuel Cary. On a visit to England, Mr, Cary
found that the elder Mr. Spooner had quarreled with and
disinherited his only son. Both men were of strong, pas
sionate natures, and a reconciliation seemed impossible till
Mr. Cary, with his equally determined character, said that
he would not leave England till Mr, Spooner should forgive
his son and change his will. He kept his word, and affec
tionate relations were restored. Soon after, the elder Mr.
Spooner died, leaving his son to inherit his large property ;
and he, in memory of what had passed, sent to Mr. Cary a
silver tea-kettle, requesting that it should be always kept in
the Cary family.
On it was this inscription : —
SAMUEL CARY
AmICO OPTIME MERITO
Carolus Spooner
caldarium hoc
D. D.
SACRUM APUD POSTEROS
SERVETUR FIDUM AMICITIA;
TESTIMONIUM

22 THE CARY LETTERS
On the reverse side is the Cary swan, and below it the
date 1760.
At the division of silver after my grandmother's death, this
tea-kettle came to my uncle Charles Spooner Cary, who had
been named for the giver. It remained at Chelsea until my
aunt Anne's death, when, according to my uncle's will, it
was drawn for by the descendants of his brothers. It came
to Thomas Graves Cary, of Cambridge, and was left by him
to Hamilton Wilkes Cary, the grandson of William Ferdi
nand Cary.
One other piece of family plate has also a pleasant as
sociation. During my grandfather's life in Grenada, two
maiden ladies were in danger of losing an estate through an
unjust claim upon it, and he had it in his power to prove
their title. As an expression of their gratitude they gave
him a silver 6pergne, a graceful centre ornament, used only
on great occasions on the Chelsea dinner table. This passed
to .my uncle Henry Cary, and was left in his will to his
sister-in-law, Mrs, Thomas G, Cary,
Aunt Margaret's account of the second school at which
she was placed is in curious contrast to the requirements of
the present day. She says : —
" Mrs, Carwardine was the name of the governess. There were
between seventy and eighty scholars, all boarders. Very great
order prevailed in the house ; every one knew her place at all
times. The bell rang early, and we all rose, half dressed, and
went to the long dressing-room, where the two half boarders as
sisted the younger ones. The bell rang ; we all went down to
the school-room. Stocks and backboards were ready, and about
thirty at a time stood in a row, with the feet turned out and hands
up, each one holding the two ends of a board, which was wide at
the back. When twenty minutes had passed, others took their
turn ; and those who were released went to one of the teachers,
turning their backs for her to shake the arms and put the two
elbows together; then they turned round, and made her a curtsey.
The next thing was to put on collars, to be worn all day. They
were made of steel, that went under the chin, with a strip that

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 23
reached with a hasp to the stays. Another kind, worn by some,
was clasped round the throat, descending to the shoulders, where
was a broad piece covered with leather, which confined it round the
waist. But I was preserved from either collar by my parents' par
ticular request, which I was glad of ; only, if I stooped over my
work or book, a bunch of holly full of prickles was placed under
my chin.
" When this first business of the morning was over, the governess
came in at the folding-door, and walked to the upper end of the
room, looking and bowing to one side and to the other, while we,
all standing in a large circle, curtsied to her. Then we knelt,
and one of the young ladies, whose turn it was, repeated a long
prayer ; and then those who were favorites would rush up to Mrs.
Carwardine and have a kiss, or a word of kindness. She was a
beautiful woman, very graceful and dignified, and had educated
mothers and daughters. Then we went to breakfast. At nine
o'clock the bell rang for school. There were four teachers, — two
French and two English. They heard lessons and reading, taught
fine work and fancy work, and kept order. Every one spoke
French. " There were five masters for drawing, music, writing and cipher
ing, geography and astronomy, composition and dancing ; and at
tending those studies we sat in the long dining-room. In the
school-room, besides history and poetry, — which were said to the
governess, — there was erabroidery, flowers, and filigree. To the
two last I attained, after finishing a sarapler, which was begun at
the first school with rows of letters, but finished when I was ten
years old, with about ten lines from a piece of poetry of Rowe's,
called the 'True 'End of Education.' It was worked with fine
black silk, in small letters, on very fine canvas, on one thread.
It cost me raany tears, but was completed at last, and was framed
and sent to Grenada."
It is rather pathetic to read how aunt Margaret's instruc
tion in dancing failed her at an important moment. After
her return home she went on an excursion with intimate
friends of the family, Mr. and Mrs. Marryat, who were the
parents of Captain Marryat, the novelist. They dined at the
governor's, and danced in the evening. " But," she says,

24 THE CARY LETTERS
" what predominated in my mind was a feeling of mortifica
tion at my manner of dancing. In all our contra-dances at
school we were accustomed to the Scotch hop, — twice on
one foot and then twice on the other, — keeping time to the
music. In cotillons we had the various steps, — contretemps,
glissade, rigadoon, etc. ; I forget the other names. Now, the
ladies that I was with had a graceful motion, without any
particular step, and I could not fall easily into their way.
If I had explained my difficulty to Miss Townsend, she could
have assisted me, I dare say ; but young people are reserved
from various causes, and I had not simplicity enough to ask
the assistance I needed,"
This desire to do everything in the best possible way
comes out amusingly in her long, minute letters later.
There is no conceit, but it is almost a matter of conscience
with her that her dignity should be maintained.
My uncle Sam, two years older than his sister, who had
been left with his grandmother in Chelsea, was also sent to
England, and when they were about fourteen and sixteen
the brother and sister returned to the West Indies together.
The sister writes : "My brother, though only sixteen, was
a man in dress and manners. There was less simplicity in
dress in those days (1789). He had his gold watch ; hair
dressed, frizzed and curled at the sides with powder ; small
clothes, with knee-buckles (pantaloons had not made their
appearance) ; silk stockings, and shoes with buckles, — a tall
and handsome person. He was perfect in my eyes ; some
times finding fault with me, but I never saw anything amiss
in him. He had brought the last new book, — a present to
my mother. It was a poem, called 'The Shipwreck,' by
Falconer. And then he talked so well ! A few days only
were allowed the mother and son to enjoy this happy meet
ing. He then went with my father to St. George's, to be
placed in a mercantile establishment, where he made himself
very useful, and so gained the confidence of his employers
that before he was twenty-one he was left executor by one
of them."

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 2$
March 24, 1843,
Dear George, — Not a word have I said of the beauty of the
country in general, and of Simon in particular; and even in sketch
ing the different features of the lawn on which the house, stood, I
have omitted a row of negro-houses which ran along the garden fence
on the east side, between the cashew walk and the little burying-
place, which was further back and sheltered from view, and a
"flower fence,'' as it was called, about ten feet high, which was
planted all along the south side of the lawn, and from which was
gathered every day in the year a particular kind of pea, which was
very wholesome and pleasant. The plantations all around were
beautiful and in complete cultivation, and several of them in sight ;
for alternate hill and dale aided the representation. From the gal
leries on the west side of the house there was a view of Mount
Home, where the Horsfords lived ; and above, of the highest
mountain on the island, which it was supposed had formerly been a
volcano. In the middle was a lake which could not be fathomed,
and the soil all round it was very rich, and abounded with trees and
wild fruits. There was an inn kept there for the convenience of trav
elers, where I once passed the night with a few friends on my way
to St. George's, and found it cold enough to be glad of blankets.
There my father used to stop when he was going to town, and
once, when it had been very dry for a long tirae and rain much
wanted, he congratulated my mother in a note upon having had a
fine shower upon the estate, for he was above the cloud and saw
it roll down to Simon ; she at the same time dispatching a mes
senger with a suit of clothes, thinking my father had been exposed
to the rain.
The verdure of the green can hardly be imagined. It was what
the poets would call a laughing green, and many of the trees were
of that light and waving texture that, by the simple aid of the
winds, they formed themselves into natural arbors, and in the least
cultivated parts of the country Nature seemed to frolic without any
restraint. O beautiful country! Dear native land! Had thy
moral excellence been equal to thy natural advantages, how gladly
would I have clung to the soil which yielded daily fresh flowers to
the feet ! But the fragrance of the air, the beauty of the clouds,
the rich luxuriance of vegetation, the bright radiance of the moon,
the all-prolific sun, tempered only by the east wind which rose

26 THE CARY LETTERS
daily from the ocean, — all, and much more, could not satisfy the
rational mind.
My father had that vigorous cast of mind that he was always
looking for improvement. In conversation he had an uncommon
talent for drawing forth the knowledge of others ; he had great
penetration into character, and books were also his resort for infor
mation. He sent to England for a library, and had a valuable col
lection, some of which were given away and many lost at the time
of quitting the island ; but a part of every day was given to reading,
and ray mother's voice lent a charm to whatever she read. Men
of sense and information visited intimately at the house ; and
though they lived in the country, there was no feeling of solitari
ness. But sorrow found its way to my dear mother's heart. Besides
the absence of her children, which was a severe trial, and of her
mother, whom she tenderly loved, she had a little daughter, named
Harriet, who lived only five months. The loss of her preyed
much on my mother's spirits. She was placed in the tomb which
I have described, and ray mother used to go there and weep when
her husband was away. Firm as her spirit was in latter years,
that firmness was gradually acquired, and she had not then learnt
the lesson of her after-life. A little son, only a few days old, was
also deposited there. In 1784 my father had a fever, which re
duced him very low. From day to day he was expected to die.
He had lost his appetite entirely, and took nothing but medicine.
My mother had watched with him incessantly. It so happened
that there was a lady in the house, a friend ; something relishing
was carried through the entry to her. " Bring that to me," said
my father, who smelt it. My mother took it from her friend's
hands, and, bringing it into the chamber, said, " But you cannot
eat it." "Indeed I can," said he, and it seemed to invigorate him
from that moment. " Throw all those phials out of the window ;
I will take no more medicine." And as he grew gradually better,
he yielded to the advice of his friends and engaged a passage for
himself and my mother in a ship preparing to sail for Newport.
They had then two children, — Sarah, not more than one year old,
and Lucius, fourteen months older. They were kindly taken under
Mr. and Mrs. Horsford's care, who were godfather and godmother
to Sarah, and removed to Mount Home. After they had been on

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 27
board a few days, my father's health was so perfectly restored that
he only wished to meet with a vessel going to the West Indies, that
he might take a passage back ; and my mother was very much
afraid that he would ; for, being on the way, she ardently desired to
see her mother once more. They arrived safely at Newport ; and
though my father called himself well, I have often heard him re
peat a saying of a woman who stood at her door as they were
walking up the street on first landing, — "I pity that poor girl ; she
will soon lose her father." It was there, I believe, that they be
came acquainted with Colonel Perkins, and traveled in the stage
with him to Boston. The meeting was tender and affectionate, as
you may suppose, between Madam Gray and her daughter. They
passed two months together at Chelsea. Good old Fanny, who is
still living at Chelsea, was of the party, and the old lady undertook
to teach her to read, and she did make some progress. My grand
mother would have kept her with her. But no ; if mistress stayed,
she was willing to stay, too ; but if she went, Fanny would not
be left behind.
It was the beginning of January, 1785, a cold, dismal season,
that, once more taking leave of the dear old lady and leaving her
at Chelsea, they went to Salem, then a long, winding road, and were
kindly received at old Mr. Derby's, where they passed the night,
and went on board a brig the next day, which my father had pur
chased and loaded, intending to freight with sugar to England and
sell there. They had not been out raany hours when a dreadful
storm came on. They were in imminent danger ; everything was
swept off the deck, the trunks broke away from the lashings, the
crockery was broken to pieces. " Oh, my old coat ! " said my fa
ther, who, always calm in danger, wished to divert my mother's
attention. Just then a fine sheep that had been put on board
was caught by the horns and swung aloft. My mother, who could
hardly keep in her berth, exclaimed, " Oh, the poor sheep ! " The
ropes were so swollen with frost that they could not be managed.
But on the second day the storm abated and the captain came
down to inform them that the danger was over, but that he had
never been out in so bad a storm before. They soon after got into
the Gulf Stream and had pleasant weather ; but their voyage was
long and tedious, for the vessel was not only much injured by the
gale, but it was found, on examination after their arrival, not to

28 THE CARY LETTERS
have been seaworthy. My father could never speak on the sub
ject without indignation of those persons who had sold it to him.
But by the mercy of God they were preserved and arrived at
Grenada, though not till they had been quite given up by their
friends ; for, knowing of the tirae of their sailing, there was a strong
belief that they had been shipwrecked. Dear Lucius and Sarah
were taken to their home, and glad to be once more folded to their
mother's bosom. It was from this time, I believe, that the family
were in the habit of passing the rainy season at Mount Pleasant.
That was thought to be a more healthy residence, but I will not
undertake to give an account of it on this page. The recollections
which rise in my mind seem to place me in the position of the
traveler who sees Alps on Alps arise, and no prospect of getting
to the end of his journey. If they give you pleasure, dear George,
I shall feel satisfied. As regards myself, the more I contemplate
the characters of my parents in their journey through life, the bet
ter I understand the motives of their conduct, the more grateful
I feel for their care and protection of me. We seldom know, till a
separation takes place, how much is due to a parent's solicitude.
It has not always the appearance of affection ; but the zeal that
necessarily sometimes takes the form of anger is itself founded in
love. Your affectionate aunt,
M. G. Cary.
April 4, 1843,
Dear George, — In introducing you to Mount Pleasant, I must
observe that it was strongly contrasted with Siraon in several re
spects, particularly when ray mother and the children went first
to make a residence there during the unhealthy months, which was
during the wet weather from September to December. It was on
the slope of a high hill, backed by mountains still higher, and
on either side the hills rose high ; but the view in front was of the
ocean, and all the vessels coming from or going to Europe passed
before it, and were looked down upon. When the weather Was
unusually clear, which generally portended a storm, St. Vincent
and some smaller islands could be seen, and the skies at sunset
were very beautiful. The house consisted of a closed gallery;
in front, wooden shutters to the windows on the outside, two win-

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 29
dows on each side the door and one at each end ; a square hall
in the middle of the building, which was the eating-room, at the
north side of which was a small drawing-room with a window on
one side opening to the light. On the other gallery a door opened
into what was called the long chamber, where the children slept,
and which had two windows opening into a flower garden ; be
tween that and the hall was a staircase, concealed by a door,
which led up to my mother's chamber, with a light closet to the
southwest ; as the roof was sloping, there was no other room up
stairs ; a window on each of three sides made it light and airy.
To the east of the hall was also a small room with windows open
ing to the hall and abroad ; also a door into the spare chamber,
one abroad and one into a store-room or pantry, from which there
was a passage by the side of the little garden to a building which
was one half a kitchen and the other a play-room for the children.
The only glazed window in the house was in my mother's closet.
She often read or wrote there of an evening in the frequent ab
sence of my father ; for his superintendence at Simon obliged him
to make that at all times his principal residence. In front of the
building the land went gently sloping to the sugar works, though
there was a bank between, and a road on each side of the house
which conducted to the works. There were two rows of cocoa-nut-
trees on each side of the lawn from the house, planted by my
dear father, and which were in full bearing at a period of which
I shall afterwards write, when he needed all sorts of consolation.
The hospital was at a little distance on the south side of the
house, behind the kitchen, and the negro-houses on another rising,
to the south.
There was very little society in the vicinity. Madame Lamel-
lerie, a French widow, with her family, was the chief person ;
but as she did not speak English, and my parents did not speak
French, there was never any intimacy, but kind feeling, and, from
being next neighbors, occasional dealings in the way of barter and
so forth. One valuable person, however, lived in the neighbor
hood, Mr. Samuel Sandbach. He was an old bachelor of a pe
culiar character. With many oddities he had strong sense and a
benevolent mind. He was always a welcome guest. His friend
ship was warm and sincere ; and after he quitted the West Indies,
having made property, and leaving a nephew on his plantation, he

30 THE CARY LETTERS
kept up a correspondence, with my mother principally, till his
death. He was godfather to my brother Henry, and sent his pic
ture with a hundred pounds sterling to him, after the family came
to Chelsea. I cannot tell you the dimensions of the plantation.
There were about eighty negroes, and, though it was not large, it
was in good cultivation, under the care of a manager. When my
father first owned it, it was in coffee. At considerable expense it
had been brought into sugar. Very soon after, the whole island
was infested with swarms of ants. They were so troublesome in
the houses that the legs of the bedsteads had to be put into pails
of water to keep them out, and in the fields they made sad havoc
with the canes, A high reward was offered to any one who could
remedy the evil ; but nothing succeeded till a hurricane took place,
the most severe that had ever been known in the island, — though
it was called the tail of the hurricane, it being much more severe
in Barbadoes and other places. My father was at Simon, my
mother at Mount Pleasant, when it took place. Sorry I am that
I did not take down from my dear mother's own lips an account
of this tremendous storm. It came on gradually, allowing her to
take many precautions. The children were at home, and many
of the negroes with her. The manager was also in the house.
The doors and windows were made as secure as possible. It com
menced at noon, continually increasing, the wind blowing from all
quarters ; through the night the roof of the house playing up and
down, every moment they expected it to blow off. My father was
very anxious about the family, and consulted with his overseer in
the morning to know whether it was possible to find a man on the
estate who would venture to carry a note to Mount Pleasant.
He thought, if any one could, it was Mark. This was a fellow who
had often been accused of theft, but always contrived to escape,
proving that he had been in such a place at one time and in
another very soon after ; yet the poultry disappeared, and he was
always suspected by the people in the neighborhood. My father
called for him and offered him a suit of clothes and a hat if he
could carry a note for him and bring back an answer, at the same
time leaving hira in perfect freedom. He considered for a few
moments, and then undertook it. Early in the afternoon he was
at the door, and raade himself heard. It was a great relief to my
mother to know that my father was out of danger, and that she

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 31
could assure him of her safety. Mark rested a Httle while, and
was soon ready to set out again. It is necessary to have sorae
idea of the confusion of the elements, the heavy winds, the pour
ing down of the rain, the increase of the rivers, from being small
streams overflowing their banks, and rushing with tremendous
power, carrying trees and houses before them, to realize the reso
lution of this negro, who actually arrived, though at a late hour
that night, and presented himself to my father, who was walking
the gallery with a restless step. " Here 's Mark ! " called out many
voices at the same time. He came in breathless. " So you could
not go far. How far did you go ? " But he soon produced the
note, and was amply repaid for his exertion in the approbation and
applause of his master and his fellows. " How could you possibly
have crossed such and such rivers ? How could you get there ? "
And then he told how he hid himself under the bushes when the
wind blew so strong that he could not stand it, and made the best
of his way, often on his hands and knees, when the wind lulled,
and in crossing the rivers he looked for a good landing-place on
the other side, and then went to some distance above, that he
might go with the current and be landed at the least risk. My
father had been hearing from some of the old negroes the doings
of this Mark, — how he always chose the windy nights to be out
in and comrait his depredations. They told this to encourage my
father, who was anxious for the man after he had set out ; but
those who knew him well thought he would succeed. " And how
is it, Mark, that you do such things as I have heard of, and tell
lies about it ? What can I do to make you a better man ? " " Oh,
if massa will make me a driver, I won't do so any more ; and I
take <!are no one else shall do so." He was made a driver, and
kept his resolution. This hurricane was another great expense to
my father, for the house as well as the sugar works were so much
shattered that they required great renewal.
In referring to these prominent circumstances in his life, he
would often say that he had many times expected to be ruined,
but that his head was always kept above water, and he loved to
acknowledge the care of an overruling Providence. About this
time, Mr. and Mrs. Barry purchased an estate joining on the north
side. Both their house and Madame Lamellerie's, on the south
side, were out of sight ; and I believe it was a mile and a half to

32 THE CARY LETTERS
Mr. Barry's, for the ride was down to the seaside and then up
towards the hills. They were very pleasant people, and a very
friendly intercourse was established with' them, dining at one an
other's houses alternately, at which times all the children accora-
panied their parents. Mrs. Barry was godmother to my sister
Anne, and raany pretty presents were made by her to her god
daughter. But Anne was named for Mrs. Proudfoot, who was a
Miss Anne Montague, and belonged to a family of considerable
distinction in England. She had died a year or two before ; my
mother always thought, of grief. She was a woman of a great
deal of wit and highly accomplished. She had one child, born
after she resided in Grenada, — a very fine boy. He was about
five years of age, when, playing out on the ground.s, he tried to
move a garden roller, and then put himself upon it. His weight
caused it to move, and it rolled over and crushed him. The agony
of his mother was very great. She could not bear the sight of a
child afterwards, and the moment she came to visit my mother the
little ones all ran away to hide from her.
Mr. and Mrs. Barry were the more highly valued as neighbors
because Mount Pleasant was in a retired part of the island, and
not often visited by strangers. Simon, on the contrary, was not
only in a pleasant neighborhood, but there was a church and cler
gyman ; and strangers generally who came to the island liked to
visit the plantations, and would come with letters of introduction,
and depended on being hospitably entertained for a week or more.
And among acquaintances it was no uncommon circumstance for a
negro boy to arrive with a wallet or basket on his back, or more
frequently on his head, saying, " Which is my master's chamber ?
he is coming to make you a visit ; " and it was always easy to ac
commodate, for a hammock would do if a bed was not to be had
I do not know in which year to place the unfortunate duel in
which Mr. Blankern ^ was killed, but I believe you have the date.
The circumstances, as well as I can remember, were these : Mr.
Blankern, a very amiable raan and much beloved by his friends,
was connected in business with Mr, Bosanquet, He was living in
England, but came out to Grenada in consequence of some infor
mation he had received from Mr. Bosanquet. I never heard any
1 Both my uncle George and his eldest son, for whom aunt Margaret was
writing, were named for Mr. Blankern.

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 33
particulars of the business, what it was ; but they were both dining
one day at Mr. Ferguson's, when high words passed between them,
and Mr. Blankern said, "If you had written me the truth I should
not have come out." A silence followed ; they called for their
horses and rode away, and though in opposite directions at first,
yet no doubt with mutual understanding, for, riding round, they
soon met. Mr. Ferguson, knowing so well the habits of the coun
try in regard to the horrid practice of dueling, and what had passed
between them at his table, was at no loss to conjecture what the
consequence would be ; he therefore mounted his horse, and ascer
tained their meeting and going into a cane-piece together. Pie
then rode to Simon and gave my father the information. He was
on his horse iramediately, and would have hastened on, but Mr. F.
held back, and it was necessary for him to accompany to show the
spot. They reached the cane-piece just as they heard a pistol go
off. "One is down," said Mr. F. ; but presently a second pistol
was fired, and they soon reached the parties. (Mr. F. judged that
one was mortally injured by not immediately after hearing the
second shot.) Mr. Blankern was lying on the ground, reclining on
his right arm. My father went immediately to him, while Mr. F,
went to Mr. Bosanquet, who was bleeding. " Are you wounded ? "
"Yes," said Mr. Blankern, "the bullet entered just below the ribs
on this side and has passed through to the other," " In the left
side ? Were you running away ? " " Oh no, Mr, Cary, nothing of
that kind I Bosanquet gave the challenge. I fired first and he fell,
as I thought never to rise again, I went to him, when he suddenly
rose with his pistol, and I turned sideways to make my body as
thin as I could, being so near, but I had no thought of running
away," By this time he was exhausted, Mr, Bosanquet's was
only a flesh wound. He was soon able to take care of himself,
and Mr. F, procured a hammock and negroes to carry Mr, Blan
kern to Simon. Though he suffered ranch, he made no complaint.
He was unwilling at first to have the ball extracted, which the sur
geon thought necessary ; but on my father's saying, " You will be
thought obstinate if you do not submit to the operation," he re
plied, " Oh, there is nothing of that kind in my character I assure
you." He immediately pointed to the spot where the bullet had
lodged, and it fell into my father's hand. The surgeon pronounced
it to be a mortal wound. He requested "to be left alone with
3

34 THE CARY LETTERS
Mr, Cary," He then explained his circumstances to my father,
gave an account of what had passed with Mr, Bosanquet, and ob
served that, after what he had said, Mr, B. could not have done
otherwise ; that he forgave him with all his heart, and that, as he
would no doubt have to undergo a trial and my father would ap
pear as a witness, he wished him to repeat his words and say that
it was a hasty thing and unavoidable, and that he forgave him.
He also requested my father, while Mr. Bosanquet's heart was
softened by what had passed, to request him at once to make pro
vision for his two sisters who were in England. His friends were
then permitted to come in, and he conversed with great composure
to the end.
I don't know how it is, but I don't seem to go on very fast. We
are apt to think people write a great deal for the sake of making
a book, but I think I shall be more lenient in future. When the
mind is full it is difficult to select, and these once familiar scenes
dispose me to meditate and linger, regardless how time is hasten
ing on. Excuse as usual, dear George, and believe me.
Your affectionate aunt, M. G. Cary.
April 14, 1843.
Dear George, — It was the latter end of November, 1789, —
I do not recollect the day of the month, but about the 29th, — the
ocean calm as a lake, the blue waves glistening in the sun, the
trade-wind blowing freshly and cooling the hot atmosphere, when
the ship Grenville Bay, Captain Siddell, was making her way to
the island of Grenada. The passengers assembled on the deck
and admired the flying-fish and dolphins ; but other thoughts filled
their hearts, too intimate to be expressed aloud. Mr. Townsend
was returning from England with his eldest daughter, who had
been on a visit to friends in Scotland. Miss Horsford had passed
the last two years at school, and was coming back to her home.
Sam Cary and his sister were returning to their parents after a
long absence. As they approached the island the verdure was
refreshing and the form of the hills attractive, as the wind took one
mill, and then another higher up, and still another, till all were in
motion, " Hoist up the signal," said the captain ; " we shall soon
be in full view of Mount Pleasant." No sooner said than done,
for all had been prepared ; when, turning a point, we came before

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 35
the plantation and in sight of the house, but too far off, owing to
the lightness of the winds, to distinguish any objects smaller than
a house and a mill. In the meantime my mother was seated at
her work-table in the gallery, my father walking the gallery, and
every now and then looking abroad through his spy-glass, which
was seldom out of his hand when he was at leisure. "Ah, there
they are ! there are our dear children ! Fido, saddle my horse
immediately. My dear, I shall have but just time to ride to Gon-
yave before night. I will take a sloop there in the morning and
go to St. George's, and bring the children to you the day after.
Let Fanny go with me, that she raay attend to Margaret."
The ship continued her course quietly, and with all her sails set,
the light wind wafted her gently along ; but she did not reach the
harbor till eight o'clock in the evening.
The passengers got into a boat and were landed up a creek on
the Belmont estate, the residence of Mr. Townsend. The news of
an arrival was soon spread abroad ; the family, who were visiting,
were very quickly at home, and after mutual congratulations we
soon retired to our apartments. Mine was on the ground floor,
and when I looked out of the window in the morning nothing could
be more beautiful. It was ten o'clock before my father reached
Belmont. We were introduced to hira, and left alone for a couple
of hours. My brother, who was sixteen, was in all respects a gen
tleman in his appearance and manners ; he had left school almost
a twelvemonth before, and had been placed in Mr. Manning's
counting-house, attending to business and studying the Spanish
and Italian languages. He had a great deal of conversation with
my father. I answered his questions, but had little to corarauni-
cate. We then retired to dress for dinner. The faraily were
preparing for a ball to be given by the governor that evening.
Mrs. Townsend and the young ladies were making dresses with
new materials that had been brought out on the ship ; Miss Hors
ford had procured from the vessel all that she wanted for the even
ing. My brother was commissioned by me to procure certain arti
cles for the occasion and also for himself ; but when my father
was informed of it he put a decided negative. He had no objec
tion to'Sam's doing what he pleased, but he did not choose that
Margaret should go to the ball, nor that her trunks should be
opened till they reached her mother's hands ; neither should he

36 THE CARY LETTERS
go to the ball. It was a great disappointment, which I have won
dered and laughed at since, and thought how properly my father
had decided. Mr. Townsend remained with my father till he had
retired for the night, and Mrs. Townsend's third daughter Sophia,
about my age, with me. One circumstance I will mention, as it
may interest you, and point out a subject that was very much on
the carpet in those days. Natural affection I had heard very fre
quently discussed, and it was believed by many that parents might
know their children and children their parents from the natural
tie of affection, — a certain sympathy which could not be mis
taken. Under this impression I went out to the West Indies ;
but the very first day it received a check, for when I returned to
the drawing-room before dinner, where several gentlemen were
assembled, I walked towards a sofa where one was sitting who,
having the same colored coat on and being about the size of my
father, I took for him. He immediately came to me, and I felt
the value of his protection, though I was smarting under my dis
appointment. Soon after, Lavater's work on Physiognomy be
came a principal subject of conversation, as now Phrenology ; and
though there may be something worth noticing in all, when car
ried to an extreme they are apt to limit instead of extending per
ception. About noon all things were ready, the trunks were on board the
sloop, and, taking leave of our kind friends, we once more em
barked. And now my dear father, to his great surprise, found
out that both his children were short-sighted. Accustomed him
self to taking cognizance of everything which came in his way, he
felt disappointed, in pointing out the different places as we passed,
that they were not more than half seen. It was late in the after
noon when we arrived at Lamellerie Bay. After being rowed to
the beach, which was covered with foam, I was surprised at being
taken up in the arms of a strong negro, vi'ho placed me on the
shore ; and then I was desired to lie down on a hammock, and
so carried by two negroes up a steep road to Mount Pleasant,
about one half a mile. There at last I was received by my dear
mother. It was not many days before my father and brother left
us for St, George's. A place in the store of Morris & "Postle-
thwaite had been secured for my brother, and he was bound till
twenty-one.

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 37
Everything was new, and many things delightful to me. My
young brothers and sisters I took great pleasure in. Dear Lucius
did not seem, indeed, much younger, for though only in his ninth
year he was forward of his age, took the lead among the little
ones, rode on horseback, played backgammon, etc., and could
walk about and show me the best wild fruits, and particularly the
best oranges. But above all my chief comfort was in ray mother.
Everything she did and said was just what was most agreeable
and right. I felt too much awe of my father to be easy and con-
versible with him, but I loved to listen to his anecdotes and con
versation, and admired him exceedingly. With my mother I was
quite at ease and delighted in talking with her, and in my father's
absence had frequent opportunities. He generally passed Sun
days with us. As there was no church in the neighborhood, my
mother read the Episcopal service and a sermon, and taught the
children their catechism in the course of the day, and every even
ing the following hymn was sung : — ¦
" Indulgent God, whose bounteous care
O'er all thy works is shown.
Oh, grateful, let my praise and prayer
Ascend before thy throne.
" What mercies has this day bestowed,
How largely hast thou blessed
My cup with plenty overflowed.
And with content my breast !
" Safe 'midst a thousand latent snares
Thy careful hand has led ;
And now, exempt from anxious cares,
I press the downy bed.
" I fall this night into thy arms,
Which I have proved so kind ;
Oh, keep my body from all harms.
And from all sin my mind.
" So bless each future day and night,
Till life's fond scene is o'er ;
And then to realms of endless light,
Oh, aid my soul to soar."
Often, in after days, when my father had been talking of pain
ful things and felt overwhelmed with cares, he would say : " Come,

38 THE CARY LETTERS
my dear, sing ' Indulgent God ; ' " and, though it was an evening
hymn, it made no difference; we laid down our work and joined
our dear mother.
At the beginning of January we moved to Siraon. I had been
taught by my father to ride on horseback, and shall never forget
how near I was to falling off the first time, as I was following him
down a steep path, being so surprised and off my guard by a
beautiful large butterfly, the most brilliant I had ever seen. I
accompanied my father to Simon. My mother remained to pack
up, and sent all the clothing, etc., on the heads of negroes, which
I received and placed according to her direction. She soon fol
lowed with the children, herself on horseback, and each of the
others, except Lucius who rode on a mule, on the shoulders of
negroes. Here I met my friend, Miss Horsford, and became acquainted
with all the friends in the neighborhood. And now, for the pres
ent, I will bid you adieu, dear George, often thanking you for your
kind note, and replying to your two questions. I am quite sure
that the name Montagu should be spelt without an e. You will
find it so in the family Bible, and I have met with it so several
times lately in the " Life of Wilberforce." The arms of the family
of Gray (this is the way my mother always spelt it) was a lion
rampant. I believe it is quartered with the roses on the silver
waiter which accompanied the ostrich egg and belongs to me.
The Graves arms, a crowned eagle, I think is quartered on the
coffee-pot which is your father's. Your affectionate aunt,
M, G. Cary.

TO HER NEPHEW, EDWARD M. CARY.
83 Pinckney Street, November 1, 1853.
Dear Edward, — You wished to know something of my dear
brother Lucius. There are times when everything in this world
seems so fleeting, and generations pass so rapidly one after an
other, that it hardly seems worth while to make records ; but I
must not forget the feelings of youth, and how I have listened to
accounts of those who have gone before, and, as your dear father

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 39
said, "Never mind the writing," I will run on with what I do
know before my memory is more failing and my eyes less able to
direct the pen.
The children of our family came in pairs, — Sam and Margaret,
Charles and a little Harriet, who died in her fifth month ; then
Lucius, born the 4th of September, 1782 ; and Sarah (Mrs. Tuck
erman), 22d November, 1783. In 1785 my father's health made
it necessary for him to come to New England, Lucius and Sarah
were kindly taken care of by Mr, and Mrs. Horsford at Mount
Home. I have mentioned in a former letter how dangerous and
protracted was the voyage of my parents in returning to the West
Indies ; so much so that it was feared the vessel in which they
embarked had foundered at sea. Great was the joy when they at
last arrived at Grenada and took the children home. There was an
intention expressed of sending Lucius to England, but my father
found the expense of the three eldest as much as he could sup
port. When I reached home in 1789 Lucius had entered his
eighth year. I often think of him with surprise when I compare
him in my recollection with boys of that age, he seemed so for
ward, that is, in acting v/ith judgment and taking care of the four
younger ones. The eldest at home is generally more advanced,
and feels some care. He had been altogether instructed by my
mother, and partook much of the reasonableness — for want of a
better word — of her character. She never acted from impulse,
but always from judgment. I never knew any one who had a
more "prudent, cautious self-control," which the poet says "is wis
dom's root."
She had deep feehngs, but they never interfered with duty ; and
it must have been a great advantage to Lucius to pass his early
years under such influence, for his nature was quick and his tem
perament very warm. When we came to Boston in 1791, Lucius
was placed in Mr. Ticknor's family, and attended school. Deacon
Ticknor he was called ; but I am not sure how he was connected
with prominent characters of that name at the present day. He
made good advance in his studies, and had always a love of learn
ing. He passed his Sundays at home, and he joined the rest of us
in writing little essays once a week, which were placed in a white
cream-pot, which had lost its handle, on the centre of the break
fast-table. We called it the " lion's mouth," and our dear mother

40 THE CARY LETTERS
took out one paper at a time, and read it aloud, — my father lis
tening with impartial ears, — and it was the opinion of each of us
that our pieces were improved by her reading. No trace of them
now remains, but I dare say it did us all good at the time. I be
lieve Henry was the youngest scribbler among us. It ended with
Lucius being called to Philadelphia by my dear brother Sam, who
had commenced business there in company with a friend whom he
had known in the West Indies, and who was related to the gen
tleman who discovered Sam in one of the islands, I think Tobago,
after the insurrection in Grenada, in which Sara had an active
part in a regiment under governraent, and lost his health. This
kind friend gave him the means and sent him home to Chelsea,
and afterwards encouraged his going into business at the South.
But the connection did not last long. The time that Lucius was
in Philadelphia was very pleasant to him, and advantageous in
many respects. Hannah Gray, a cousin, daughter of ray mother's
brother Ellis Gray, had married Judge Wilson, a widower with
grown-up children, and living in great style. It was a happy
connection while it lasted ; but he died, and Mrs. Wilson returned
to her mother's, and after some years married Dr. Bartlett.
My brother Sam returned to the West Indies, and found a situ
ation for Lucius in Demerara, where he remained till he came of
age, in 1803, when he made a visit to Chelsea.
We were all, as you may suppose, delighted to see him. He
came in fine spirits, ready to enjoy any pleasure, domestic or so
cial. Aunt Gray's family welcomed him cordially, and renewed
the intimacy which had been formed in Philadelphia. When he
first came among us, he thought his four sisters were so much
alike that he should never know thera apart, but that illusion soon
passed away. He stayed but a few months araong us, and during
that time visited Bath. He had some knowledge of merchants
there, and was impadent to be in business. He was very quick
in his feelings, his natural temperament having been increased by
a residence in a hot climate and among slaves. Many a gentle
hint and kind reproof he received from his dear mother, all which
he acknowledged in a beautiful note which he sent by the pilot
when he left us, and assured his kind monitor that he should
profit by her advice ; and I mention this trait of his character only
to express my admiration of the self-control which he acquired.

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 4 1
for all his warmth became merged in kind affection. He did not
remain long in Demerara, but in 1807 or 1808 went into business
with his brother Henry in New York. This did not continue more
than two or three years, when he returned to the West Indies, and
resided as a merchant for sorae time at Bermuda.
In 1812 he indulged himself with a visit to England. He laid
his plan to go to England first, and then to make a visit at Chel
sea. But oh, how deeply he regretted that he had not proposed
to himself to come to Chelsea first ! When he reached the toll
house on the Chelsea side of the bridge, he inquired after the fam
ily and learned the death of our dear father. The shock was very
great and our meeting very mournful for a while. I see him now,
in my memory, walking the little parlor in an agony. He loved
his father dearly ; he came full of affection ; he expected a cordial
sympathy in his prospects, and to meet the approbation of one
whom he highly reverenced, and who could enter into all his plans ;
and then to think that by coming here first he might have seen
and enjoyed hira — Oh, that " last, last silence of a friend,"
when so much has been left unsaid ! Who has not felt it ?
And now, I believe, it was after this period that Lucius and
Henry went into business together. I have no dates at hand to
refer to, and my memory fails me much in regard to them. I
know it was in 18 15 that Lucius took me to New York, where I
visited Mr. Atkinson's family, and then to Philadelphia, where Mrs.
Hill and the Henrys were boarding at Mr. Thunn's ; and after that
he took Anne to Niagara and Canada. However, he returned to
the West Indies frora New York and lived at Berrauda, where, and
at Jamaica, he made a fortune sufficient to justify hira, as he sup
posed, to live in England on his incorae. He chartered a schooner,
and came to Boston in the summer of 1825 ; time enough to pass
a few weeks with his dear mother, who died soon after his visit.
He was full of affection, had drawn plans for the improvement of
the house, and arranged a plan for each of his sisters to receive
fifty dollars every Christmas. In 1826 he went to England, but
his constitution was worn out in the West Indies. He went to
Bristol for his health, and there, after a few days' confinement to
his bed, he died. He had made an acquaintance in the short tirae
he was at Bristol, who wrote an account of his illness and death
and attended the funeral. He had made his will before he had

42 THE CARY LETTERS
left the West Indies, and supposed his property worth $30,000.
To each of his sisters he had left ?3,ooo. But in the West Indies
it is wonderful how little riches are to be depended on. He had
a partner. Whether he was faithful or not I dare not say. Our
dear brother William, though he was just engaged to be married
to Miss Nancy Perkins, kindly undertook to go to Jamaica and
secure what he could of the property. This only amounted to
something near the legacy to his sisters, — over, but I forget how
much, $2,000 apiece, but which has made us all corafortable, in
addition to the $2,000 left by our dear father to each before the
general division of his property. If it had not been for William's
promptness and energy, it is not likely anything could have been
secured ; and if dear Lucius's life had been prolonged, he might
have found himself at a loss for the independence he had promised
himself, and in a strange land this would have been doubly pain
ful. He liked to weigh the question whether there was most en
joyment in making a fortune or in spending it, and I believe he
generally decided in favor of the former. That he did enjoy, and
it was in mercy that he was preserved from feeling the disappoint
ment of his plan of life. He died in August, 1826, — just a year
after my mother. He was an excellent son, a kind brother, a
faithful friend, generous and noble in all his dealings. His Bible
was his companion, and the gift of a friend. Having fulfilled his
duties here, we may trust him to the sure mercies of our Heavenly
Father, This is but the commencement of life, but how unlimited
its extension ! But, short as it is, the direction the spirit takes
here will carry it through all eternity. Adieu.
Your affectionate aunt,
M. G. Gary.
My aunt's letters to her nephews end here ; but she car
ried her family story to a later date in the magazine articles
already mentioned, and I shall make use of them where I
can. After an absence of nineteen years in all, my grandfather
and grandmother returned to America, leaving their eldest
son in Grenada engaged in business, but bringing with them
seven children and three of their black servants. Two of

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 43
these, Charlotte and Pompey, grew homesick and returned
to Grenada ; but one, Fanny Fairweather, ended her days
in Chelsea, and was so identified with the family that I must
give her a place when I describe the farm presently. The
family had a tedious, rough voyage, lasting into the fourth
week, and they arrived on the second day of July, 1791,
Aunt Margaret describes the arrival : —
" The Boston bells were ringing for eleven o'clock ; they did
then, and for years afterwards. My father's plan had been all
along to take one of the Chelsea ferry-boats, put all the family
on board, and go home, expecting to find the dear grandmother
there to receive us. We were all in the cabin, preparing to quit
the ship, except my father, who was on deck. Mr. Harrison Gray
Otis, a young man just rising into celebrity, who had the care of
my father's affairs, came on board and gave some information that
altered the plan of going at once to Chelsea into accepting an
invitation to his house. My dear mother remonstrated at first,
but yielded as usual.
" We landed at Long Wharf, and filled two hacks. There were
twelve of us in all, and we were most kindly received by Mrs.
Otis, a young married lady, confined just three weeks with her first
child. I went up with my mother into a chamber to take off our
bonnets, and my aunt Gray and two of her daughters carae up
to us, all dressed in new mourning. Before they spoke, like a flash
it struck to ray mother's heart. ' Is ray mother dead ? ' It was
too true ; she had died while we were on our passage. The dear
old lady had made all the arrangements she could in the Chelsea
house, half of which was occupied by the farmers, and had then
gone to Boston to await our arrival. There she was taken ill with
a bilious colic, and had died. My father learned it from Mr. Ods,
but knew not how to give the information, thinking my dear
raother had better go on shore first. It was Saturday. Part of the
family went home with my aunt ; the baby and I remained with
my father and mother at Mr. Ods's.
" In the afternoon I walked up Beacon Hill with some young
ladies. It was much higher than it is now, and we had a fine view
from it. We went up by steps part of the way. It was covered
with grass and dandelions, and the tall beacon was there. On the

44 THE CARY LETTERS
4th of July I accompanied my father and mother, with one or two
of the children, in a hack to Chelsea ; the rest of the family went
over the ferry.
" Chelsea, on our arrival, presented a strong contrast to the lux
uriant country we had left. We went in at a gate, and through
two rows of cherry-trees, up to the house, at one comer of which
was a pear-tree, another at some distance in front, and a tall pear-
tree behind the barn. These were all the trees, except an apple
orchard at the back of the house, sheltered by a hill on which
were two cedar-trees. My father soon set out elms, chestnuts,
and oaks. As the Lombardy poplars were then just coming into
fashion, and were of rapid growth, as soon as the banks were
formed before the house he planted thera, and we had the benefit
of their shade till other trees were ready to take their place. But
it was ho'me to us. My parents loved it ; they had passed the first
months of their married life there. It was a family estate, a farm
of three hundred and sixty-five acres, and my father hoped to cul
tivate it so as to bring it into good order, by hiring help and super
intending himself, after the present year.
" My dear mother's spirits were much depressed at first, but the
necessary cares of the family kept her from dwelling too much on
her disappointment. The children gamboled round the house
and had playground enough ; there were no fences, except on the
road. My mother took possession of the east window in the par
lor, saying, ' This will be my seat ;' and I took a south one. One
great source of pleasure was ray mother's reading. My father en
joyed it inexpressibly ; her voice was music to his ear. There was
no Chelsea bridge and turnpike at that tirae ; the distance to Bos
ton was six miles round over Maiden bridge, which had been built
but a very few years ; or we could go in a sailboat across the ferry,
dependent on wdnd and tide,"
Though the Chelsea house is still standing, and some of
the ground about it remains unsold, there is nothing left to
give an idea of " The Retreat," as it was called, and I would
like, if possible, to bring out of my early recollections a little
sketch of the home from which many of the letters con
tained in this volume were written. The house originally
built upon the land was intended, so I have been told, as a

t/3 ZDo I

Iu

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 45
lodge for sporting purposes, and, though never an elaborate
mansion, still it must have received large additions. One
of the family remembers finding an account-book of my
grandfather's, showing that he himself had spent twelve
thousand dollars upon it, — a large sum for those days, —
and he devoted himself to planting as soon as he arrived at
Chelsea in 1791. My recollection of the place begins some
where in the thirties of this century, and then the trees
were well grown and tall. The large square house stood
nearly at the foot of Powder-horn Hill, the gradual slope
rising behind it being filled with 'an apple orchard. My
grandmother speaks of the annoyance of finding the farmer's
family occupying a part of the house ; but that was changed
as soon as it could be done. In my day there was a neat
farmer's establishment built at right angles with the house,
and facing the wide green, beyond which was the stable and
barn, — that delightful great barn where the cows stood in
rows of stalls, with haymows piled above, and the swallows
seemed to never cease sweeping round and round among
the dark rafters in the roof.
The house stood facing the south ; within, ample square
rooms, wide hallways and staircases. On the left, the west
parlor, with deep window-seats, old portraits, and best fur
niture ; opposite, the east parlor, where the great family of
children had all grown up, and where had been a bench on
which the long row of little boys used to be required to sit
when they were in the house, — such a very long row that
apparently one more or less was not easily noticed. One
of my uncles has told me that they discovered, after close
observation, that, in the time which it took their father to
pace from the east parlor to the west and back again, a nim
ble boy could race across the green and disappear within
the barn-doors, and never be missed by the father's keen
eye, — but not keen enough to see where the ranks had
closed up.
I find an allusion to this very bench in a letter of my

46 THE CARY LETTERS
uncle William to his sister Anne in 1833, eight years after
his mother's death, and when the household had dwindled
to a very small one; but it shows that it must have been a
very happy home to be remembered so vividly. He says :
" Tom tells me that the dear old place looks cheerful and
inviting to those who, like me, have frolicked in the sun
beams there in days of yore ; and when I think of the east
parlor and the space to the barn, I always feel the spirit for
football and base stir up within me. I hope one of these
days to come to be gratified by seeing my Willie take my
place in such sports, whilst I stand in the east window be
fore the bench where the old crack is that admits such a
quantum of air, and judge of his skill with his cousins."
The only thing really fine about the house was a wide oak
staircase, with beautiful balustrade and two square landings.
When the sun was shining into the hall from the large win
dow above, there was an agreeable thrill in thinking that,
just where some strips of wood had been let into the lower
stairs, there had fallen spots of blood as the body of a young
officer, who had shot himself for love, was brought down the
stairway; but at bedtime, when the parlor door had closed,
and we with the flickering candle were on our way over
those two steps, that love story was not an encouraging thing
to remember. On each side of the broad, low doorstep, and
porch covered with creepers, were flower-beds, the constant
care of aunt Harriet, whose two delights were gardening and
painting. In front of the door came the driveway ; then a
flight of steps over the high bank ; a little grassed terrace,
where great bushes of lilac and syringa grew; then another
bank, and a most delightful old garden. No gravel walks
or ribbon beds, but wide grass paths between banks planted
with bushes of fruit and flowers,— cherry, apple, and peach
trees making shade everywhere. Beyond the garden, and
stretching on each side, was the orchard. Another place
where we delighted to play was the Dell ; and this was a
deep circle dipping into the middle of the orchard like a

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 47
gigantic bowl. It was quite regular in shape, but must have
been in the original lay of the land ; for the trees which
grew on the sides were so old that several of them had hollow
trunks big enough to " keep house " in with our dolls. The
turnpike did not exist till long after the family had returned
from the West Indies, and was cut through the farm, which
reached beyond it to the foot of Mount Bellingham, I do
not know how far the farm originally extended east and
west,' but, as I remember it, there were two gates, — the
western opening on a road which ran from the turnpike
toward Maiden ; the eastern directly upon the turnpike, from
which, a little farther on, the road branched off to Chelsea
Beach, — now Revere. Every one coming from the direction
of Boston entered by the west gate, and drove over a grass
road through the orchard. This must have been just as
aunt Margaret described it when the family returned from
Grenada, except that the trees had grown large and shady.
From the house to the east gate my grandfather had planted
a double row of elms, which had grown to form a beautiful
green archway, with Powder-horn Hill rising on one side,
while on the other the orchard and garden sloped away.
Directly behind the house rose the hill ; nothing now, I
believe, but an inconveniently steep place to put rows of
houses ; but in those days it was covered with short grass,
little zigzag paths being cut to reach the top easily ;
and, when there, you had a view of the sea across the
marshes on one side, and over the ridge you looked down on
farms and orchards and country roads, — the Pratt neigh
borhood it was called. Forty or fifty years ago there were
still to be seen on the summit the remains of a redoubt, put
there in the early days of the Revolution, when the place
was occupied by our troops.
At the west corner of the house a group of pines had
been planted, just where the ground sloped down to the
orchard, and at the foot of this slope came old Fanny Fair-
weather's little red cottage. She had been nurse to my

48 THE CARY LETTERS
father, who was born the first summer at Chelsea, and when
I first remember her I supposed she had lived there forever
with her cat and her parrot and her pipe. Her story was
this : One day, in walking through the street in St, Kitts,
my grandmother saw a little girl about seven years old stand
ing on the sale block with other slaves. She was moved by
the child's attitude, with hands folded upon her breast and
a very sad expression in her face. She said to her husband :
" I must own that child." And so Fanny became hers and
was brought up by her mistress very much apart from the
other servants. From Fanny, when older, she learned the
story of her capture. With the rest of her family she lived
in Africa, and one day, while sitting outside the cabin tend
ing her baby sister, men rushed out from the woods, seized
her and carried her on board a vessel, and brought her over
to this slave market, where she was saved from further mis
ery by this kindest of friends. Old and young, every one
went to say a word to black Fanny, and we children always
saw that she was kept supplied with needles threaded, and
the thread twisted back and forth to keep them in the needle-
book. She had a general adoration for the family, but her
highest mark of appreciation was the gift of one of the par
rot's cast-off tail feathers. She lived in her little home till
she grew so feeble that she consented to come up to the
house, where she could receive better care, and died tended
by my aunts.
For the first year after the return to America the life at
Chelsea was one of ease. The eldest son, Sam, had been
left at Grenada in charge of the estate ; Charles, the third
child, was at school in England ; and Margaret, who came
between these two, was now her mother's constant com
panion. Beside these, a long line of boys and girls had
been born in Grenada, — Lucius, Edward, Henry, Sarah,
Harriet, Anne, Lucius, the eldest of these, was put at school
in Boston, and lived in Deacon Ticknor's family ; and the
next three at Mr, Woodbury's school in Medford. In Sep-

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 49
tember, after their arrival, a boy was born, — Thomas Graves.
Aunt Margaret says : —
" In the winter ray mother and I took frequent rides to Medford,
with Pompey to drive, carrying warm articles to the children, and
almost daily rides to see the little nursling. My father was busy
making improvements on the farm. We had friends to dinner
occasionally, and, what was quite frequent in Boston at that time,
little supper parties, which were very pleasant and sociable. We
always took care to fix on moonlight nights for our parties, that our
friends might return home comfortably."
Beside the Boston friends there were now and then arri
vals from Grenada, and West Indian hospitality was carried
out in New England. Aimt Anne used to tell us of a gen
tleman arriving with a black servant who slept on a mat
outside the door of the west chamber, which was occupied by
his master. Greater hospitality was shown in another story
of aunt Anne's. On the night when her brother Edward lay
dying, two belated travelers came to the door to inquire the
way, and finding how long the road was to Boston, — for it
was before the days of the Charlestown bridge, — asked for
a night's lodging. It was a stormy night, and my grand
mother said that they must not be turned away. So beds
were put for them in the west parlor, and a supper given
them ; but they were told that death was in the house, and
were asked to go on their way when morning came.
Everything now seemed to promise a life of ease for my
grandparents, the best education for their children, and good
business prospects for the elder sons, when a sudden change
came. I will copy from aunt Margaret's story : —
" In little more than a year after we sailed from Grenada an in
surrection took place on the island, occasioned by the coming of
French negroes from the other islands. They produced such an
excitement that one morning large parties of negroes collected
and went to different plantations, seizing more than forty of the
white inhabitants, carrying them into the mountains, confining them
in one room, and keeping constant guard over thera.
4

50 THE CARY LETTERS
" The governor, Mr. Hume, had been warned of their intendon,
but paid no heed to it ; and even after the insurrection had broken
out, he was persuaded by his raost intimate friend, Mr. Carapbell,
to go round the island and show himself, quite sure that they would
submit to him. It was a strange infatuation. Those two gentle-
raen went in a sloop to Gouyave. They could not persuade the
captain to go near the land, so they took a boat and went on shore.
A party of blacks immediately surrounded thera, and took them to
the same room where the rest were confined, and so limited in
space that they had to take turns to lie down.
" The first movement had occurred on a Monday morning, and
Mr. Rose ^ happened to have his wife's prayer-book in his coat
pocket. He had been roused from his bed by the tumult without,
and was only allowed to dress. This book was the greatest com
fort to the poor prisoners. After being confined for many days —
I believe three weeks — they were taken out, one by one, and shot.
Only two escaped, — the clergj-man and the physician. They
needed the services of the latter, and there were friends of the
former among them to whom he had been kind.
" My father's negroes all proved faithful. Four of the best men
were murdered by the French for refusing to join them. They
burnt the dwelling-house and negro-houses, and were going to set
fire to the sugar works when some alarm caused them to hasten
away. My brother, with the manager of the plantation, — who had
hastened at the first alarm to St. George's, — went in a sloop, and
took the remainder of the negroes, about seventy, to St. George's,
where they were placed on a plantation and merely worked for
their living. My father would, in all probability, have been taken
with the rest, raany of them his intimate friends. My dear brother
belonged to the militia, and went through great exposure. For a
long tirae he did not take off his clothes, and was exposed to great
hardships, several of his friends dying in his arms. A printed ac
count was given of the affair, and he was raentioned in it with
approbation. " These disasters obliged my father to visit the West Indies. He
was taken prisoner, with the ship in which he sailed, by a French
1 This was Mr. Rose of whom mention is made in one of my grandmother's
letters as a lover of aunt Margaret's friend. Miss Horsford. They had not been
long married, and she was left with an infant child.

MISS MARGARET G. CARY SI
man-of-war, and carried to Martinique. The passengers had been
transferred to the French vessel, and while walking the ship one
day he recognized a former negro servant, Pompey, who had come
from Grenada with the faraily, and lived some years at Chelsea.
It was to Pompey's violin that the children had often danced in
the west parlor. His master signed to him not to approach, but
in his walk, passing near him, said, in a tone and manner only to
be observed by Pompey, ' When you reach America, go at once
to Chelsea, see your mistress, and tell her I am a prisoner, but hope
to procure safe release.' Porapey executed his comraission faith
fully. In Martinique ray father was tried for his life by Louis
Fedon, an upstart into whose hands was placed teraporary power ;
and, as he stood before this judge, was urged by the captain and
another passenger to declare himself a subject of the United States,
in order to save his life ; but this he refused to do, knowing that
he was a British subject owning property in Grenada, though born
in Massachusetts, not having become naturalized since the Rev
olution. But happily, as nothing could be found against him,
and probably the firmness of his spirit was respected, he was
allowed to depart in an exchange of prisoners."
The losses in Grenada changed the whole aspect of life
at the farm. The children were recalled from school, and
strict economy was practiced from this time. Aunt Marga
ret's English education enabled her to serve as governess
to the younger sisters, and also to the boys as long as they
could remain at home. Thomas, the eldest of the four boys
born at Chelsea, after entering Harvard College, fitted his
two brothers, Robert and William, for the same institution.
George, who went into business, provided a younger brother
with lessons in French, that he himself might be taught
second hand in his leisure hours. My grandfather returned
from his expedition to the West Indies a poor man, and so
remained till his death. From this time the heads of the
family remained stationary at Chelsea, two absolutely devoted
people one to the other, and having their interest with the
outside world maintained by the coming and going of their
children. All this is told in the letters, and it only remains
for me to give the family events alluded to in them.

52 THE CARY LETTERS
In i8io my uncle Sam died. He came out to America
after the insurrection, very much broken in health. After a
visit to Chelsea he went to Philadelphia, hoping to remain
there permanently, but later he found it expedient to return
to the West Indies. There he continued, doing the best for
the family interests, his object in life seeming to be to re
lieve his father of the burden of so large a family. Finding
his health failing, he took passage in a ship for home; but
it was too late, and he died a week before the vessel ar
rived in Boston, The news reached the family first through
a newspaper. Later came a letter from the captain, which
had been delayed, and then one of the brothers drove from
Chelsea to Newburyport to bring back his boxes and pos
sessions from the vessel on which he had sailed. The re
lation between him and his mother was very close. It always
seemed as if their separation in his babyhood had given an
intensity to her appreciation of him as her first-born. Ed
ward, one of the West Indian children, died of consumption
at the age of twenty ; and his death, so I have heard, led to
the marriage of his sister Sarah to the Rev, Joseph Tucker
man, Mr, Tuckerman had just been settled over the Uni
tarian parish in Chelsea, and, in his great kindness to the
young brother, fell in love with my aunt Sarah, who was a
beautiful girl, and had nursed her brother through his ill
ness. The parsonage was not far from the Retreat, being
about two miles farther along the turnpike, which had been
built by that time. The church was still farther away, in
the direction of the beach. Though the town has now grown
up about it, I remember it standing quite alone, and with
nothing between it and the sea, — a queer little high-shoul
dered church, with thick-set spire, just such as one sees in
old-fashioned story-books. Inside, the pews were square,
with high railings made by rows of round balls set on per
pendicular rods.
My grandfather's death came in 1812. It had been a
marriage of love from first to last. He was a man of impe-

MISS MARGARET G. CARY S3
rious nature, at times giving way to high temper, but with
all that, deeply religious. My grandmother seems to have
been a woman with great influence over those about her.
With all these sons, scattered in different places, her corre
spondence was constant and most open, and to her husband
her devotion was absolute. Madame de Chanal, of whom we
hear in aunt Margaret's letters as little Blois Henry, has
written to me that, even as a child at Chelsea, she always
looked upon my grandmother as living for her husband, —
reading to him and walking with him, a long daily drive to
gether being a part of their routine of life.
With our grandfather's character and previous life of pros
perity and importance on a plantation, the change to reduced
means and to all the sacrifices necessary in such a great
family of children must have required him to exercise a
constant restraint upon himself. I know, from what I have
heard, that he did not always succeed in controlling himself ;
but his wife's love showed itself as strongly in helping him
to be his nobler self as in giving him her constant com
panionship. With his death her own personal happiness
seemed to come to an end ; but there were still twelve
years more in which she was to be everything to her chil
dren, and she shared the happiness of their lives, though for
the loss of her own she never ceased to mourn.
The life at Chelsea, as I gather it from my memory of the
conversation of our aunts, was that of a large family with
education and tastes which made them a happy community
among themselves, Reading aloud was an institution of the
household, — Shakespeare, the old comedies, poetry, and
every new book attainable. One of my father's Chelsea
stories gives a vivid picture of his mother's absorbed audi
ence, and the intense quiet of those winter evenings. They
were in the middle of the " Mysteries of Udolpho," and he,
leaving his seat to put a fresh log on the fire, took the
chance to peep through the curtains, and found that a snow
storm had begun. Some plan for the next day was on foot.

54 THE CARY LETTERS
and, as he slipped into his place again, he whispered, " Har
riet, it snows," and the shriek she gave was worthy of Mrs.
Radcliffe's heroine.
There must have been a great deal of poetry written, ap
parently because it was the custom of the time to express
one's self in poetry, as well as in prose, — with rhymes, if
feasible, but if not, in blank verse. There were hoards of
this, written on scraps of paper and in little blank books,
lying at the bottom of the boxes of family letters.
The intimate friends of the house lived chiefly in Boston,
and the daughters made visits to them, and had their own
friends to stay at Chelsea. There were also relatives and
friends in Portsmouth and Newburyport, Pleasant relations
always existed with the families living near them ; and I
remember what was called the Pratt neighborhood, on the
other side of Powder-horn Hill, and how I used to drive
there with aunt Anne when she went to make visits. There
was a story of aunt Margaret's becoming much interested
in a young girl, the daughter of a farmer near by, and ask
ing her to spend the day; and how, on the day named,
aunt Margaret at a very early hour opened her blinds to
watch for the sunrise, and on the doorstep sat the visitor,
having been deposited there by her brother when he drove
by with his milk cart on the way to Boston. In connection
with friends of a different stamp from the early visitor, aunt
Margaret tells a little incident connecting our New England
aunt, for a moment or two in her life, with royalty. It oc
curred when she was staying in Boston with a young friend
to whom she was to act as bridesmaid.
" It so happened that Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, the fourth
son of King George III. of England, arrived in Boston from
Canada, with his two aides-de-camp. He put up at the British
consul's, and a great many gentlemen and ladies called one even
ing, and were introduced. As I was staying at Mr. G.'s, I went
as one of the family. The aides were very pleasant men and
becarae acquainted with the young engaged couple, and told the

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 55
bride they should bring the prince to call on her after she was
married. One day, while we were seated at dinner, they really
arrived, were shown into the front parlor, and we all went to pay
our respects to royalty. Mr. and Mrs. G. went first. When the
bride entered the prince saluted her. Mr. G. said, ' More duty for
your royal highness, — the bridesraaids.' So Miss A. and I both
received the corapliment. I can smile now to think how differently
we received it. Miss A. had not seen the prince before, but was
very desirous of an opportunity, and had been contriving a variety
of ways to obtain her desire. But now, not only to see but to re
ceive a salute from hira, pleased her so much that she wrote word
of it afterwards to one of her brothers, with sorae ludicrous ob
servations, such as she did not intend to wash her face again. I
felt raortified and vexed with Mr. G., who had occasioned it."
The marriages of her sons brought great interest into my
grandmother's life, and there were visits to Brattleboro' and
New York, and to her son George's house in Boston, as well
as constant communication with the parsonage. There
would be scarcely as much material for a letter nowadays in
a journey from here to California as there was then in a two
or three days' trip to New York,
My grandmother died in the summer of 1824, and after
that there were great changes in the Chelsea circle. First
came the death of my uncle Lucius, who was a devoted
brother to them all ; but, I think, the special friend of his sis
ter Anne.
Then Dr. Tuckerman, whose health had been delicate for
some time, removed to Boston to take the position of minis-
ter-at-large among the poor ; and, a year or two later, aunt
Margaret decided to make her home in Boston among her
Swedenborgian friends. The household then had dwindled
to three, — uncle Charles and his sisters Anne and Harriet.
Uncle Charles was the most reserved of all the brothers.
The trait I most recollect about him was a low and very
agreeable voice ; but, with all his shyness, he had been
capable of once putting himself forward in asserting his firm
principles. When the crash came, and all the boys were

56 THE CARY LETTERS
called upon to work, Charles was summoned back from Eng
land, where he was at school, and finally chose the sea for
his career. He had risen to be a captain, and had had com
mand of several ships ; but in those days opium entered
largely into the trade with China, whither his voyages had
been made, and there came a time when he was called upon
to choose between receiving the appointment to a new ship
and obeying his conscientious scruples. I cannot give the
particulars, but I remember that a much respected old Can
ton merchant once said to a member of the family, " Do
you know that your uncle Charles Cary was a moral hero,'"'
and then told the story of the circumstances under which
he left the service. The brother and sisters were a very
congenial trio, I think, being all cultivated and occupied peo
ple, and Chelsea was the playground for all the children
in the family.
At the death of Mrs. Henry Cary, in New York, my aunts
undertook the charge of the son she left, who was then a
young raan, and had been subject to epilepsy from his child
hood. A number of years were given up to devotion to this
poor fellow. They really loved him, and all endeavors from
others of the family to induce them to allow a different ar
rangement to be made were ineffectual; until my uncle Henry
married, for his second wife. Miss Elizabeth Lowis, an Eng
lish lady. She, seeing clearly what was best for both par
ties, insisted upon my uncle's making a permanent establish
ment for his son, where he could be properly cared for
without inflicting too much inconvenience on others. The
aunts had given not only devoted care, but real love to the
unfortunate nephew, and were truly grieved to give him up;
but he was replaced by a happier interest in the little daugh
ters of their brother Robert, who made his home at Chelsea
after the death of his wife.
In the later years of aunt Margaret's life, she returned to
her family once more, Fler choosing to live apart from
them so long never seemed to weaken the tie between them

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 57
all, and she took her place again as elder sister, — the " sis
ter ' Marget ' " whose woi^d was law to the younger ones.
It was a very happy household of old brothers and sisters.
I remember when my uncle Robert died (a white-haired man)
hearing aunt Margaret say, the first day she returned to take
her place in the parlor after his death, " Ah, how we do miss
the dear fellow!" I think that she went next, at ninety-
two. Her brother Charles' death followed, leaving Anne
and Harriet, but not alone, for the two nieces living with
them were all that daughters could have been.
It was about the year 1855 that it was decided among all
the brothers and sisters that the time had come to dispose
of a part at least of the farm. A sale was made to the Cary
Improvement Company of all but the house and enough
land to give some sense of seclusion, — a painful change at
first, but a wise one, and, as I have heard my aunts say, car
rying out possibilities contemplated by their father. As time
went on there were great advantages in the growing neigh
borhood, bringing them friends and added conveniences of
life. Two years before aunt Harriet's death, she fell and broke
her hip, and for the rest of her days was confined to her
chair, I hope it was not a very sad two years, for I always
remember the pleasant sight of the two sisters, aunt Anne
tending and sitting beside aunt Harriet in the west room,
which had been the guest chamber of early days, and was
then the place where every one gathered about the invalid.
Aunt Anne outlived her sister ten or twelve years. To
be left the last of such a large household is a grievous thing
to contemplate ; but there were love and devoted care to the
last, and young life of still another generation growing up
about her in her nieces' children. Her brothers George and
William were left to her till within two years of her death.
Once a week they met at Chelsea, and these visits were
fete days. After they had gone, the one person left who
had recollections of the time when aunt Anne was still a

58 THE CARY LETTERS
young woman was my cousin, Mrs. Becker, daughter of Mrs.
Tuckerman. She was the first granddaughter, and, born the
winter after my grandfather's death, had been a great bless
ing to them all. In these last days I think that a visit from
her was aunt Anne's keenest pleasure. "We two remem
ber the same things," I have heard her say.
My last recollection of aunt Anne is within three weeks
of her death. I had gone to Chelsea one morning, and
found her reading Farrar's " Life of Christ," and asked her
if she would not finish her chapter aloud to me. I do not
think her voice had ever a more clear and delightful enun
ciation, or more variety of tone in the days when she did
her best to teach us the accomplishment which added so
much to the life at Chelsea, when it was a solitary country
place. Her death came peacefully, attended by those who
loved her dearly, and with her ended the story of the Cary
family who landed from the West Indies a century ago.

II

1

1

DIARY OF MRS. MARGARET GRAVES CARY;
LETTERS FROM GRENADA, 1779-1791
DIARY OF MARGARET GRAVES, WIFE OF SAMUEL
CARY, ESQ., MOTHER OF SAMUEL CARY
T seems fitting to precede these letters with an old
diary of Margaret Graves Cary, my grandfather
Gary's mother, especially as it was through her that
the Chelsea farm passed into her son's possession,
I give only the diary ; but there are in the manuscript, written
on sheets of foolscap now brown with age, many extracts in
prose and poetry. On the outside is stitched a bit of paper,
and in my aunt Anne's hand is written : " These pages were
written by Margaret Graves, who was born July 19th, 1719
— married Dec, 24th, 1741, to Samuel Cary, She died Oct.
Sth, 1762, aged 44, Our honored grandmother,"
The diary came to Mrs, Cary at the death of Mrs. Thomas
Cary, of Newburyport, the widow of " the Parson," as he is
called in the letters.
May 15, 1742. — This day I received the agreeable news of the
safe arrival of my dear consort in St. Kitts.
Lord, be pleased to grant that we may raake a right improve
ment of so great a raercy.
Lord, what shall we render unto thee for all these mercies we
receive from thee ?
Lord, be pleased to grant that we may always have a grateful
sense of thy goodness to us in thy regard.
May 24, 1742. — This day I am taking the care of a faraily upon
me. Lord, grant that I raay not be so taken up with the world as

6o THE CARY LETTERS
to neglect ray great concern ; and grant, O Lord, that I may be
have myself wisely and prudently «i every state in which it shall
please God to call me.
Saturday, May 29, 1742. — I received a letter frora my dear
consort, wherein he acquainted me with the wonderful goodness of
God to him in raising him frora sickness to health again. Lord,
grant that our hearts raay be sensibly taught by thy goodness and
raercy to us.
Lord, as thou art daily showering down of thy favors upon us, so
grant that we may be lifting up our hearts to thee.
jfuiie 14, 1742. — This day I received a letter from my dear
consort, with an account of his health, likewise many other valuable
things. Lord, I would be humbly thankful to thee for thy good
ness to me in continuing his health, and likewise treasuring our
substance frora the hands of our eneraies.
yiine 21, 1742. — This day I gave myself up unto the Lord in
an everlasting covenant never to be forgotten. Lord, give me
grace to live up to the profession that I have now made.
July 18, 1742, — This day I received the melancholy news of
the loss that ray dear consort raet with.
Lord, grant that all the dispensations of thy Divine Providence
may work for our everlasting good,
Septei7iber 20, 1742. — This day God was pleased to appear for
rae in a wonderful manner, in a time of great difficulty and distress,
and made rae the living raother of a living and perfect child.
Lord, what shall I render to thee for all thy goodness and
mercy vouchsafed unto me ?
yanuary 2, 1743. — This day I was in great danger of being con
sumed by fire, but the Lord was pleased to appear for me, and won
derfully to put a stop to it. Lord, grant me grace to be humbly
thankful to thee for thy mercies.
My child has had a long illness which has brought hira very
low, but the Lord has been pleased to rebuke it. O Lord, be
pleased to perfect his health, and grant me grace to see the rod
and who has appointed it, and be so wise as to make a right im
provement of it,
June 3, 1744, — This day we had a dreadful shock of an earth
quake. Lord, grant that the surprise I was in may make me care
ful to prepare to meet my Judge.

MRS. MARGARET G. CARY 6 1
June 4, 1744. — Lord, thou hast this day brought death into the
house. Oh, grant that we may be all quickened hereby to prepare
for our dissolution.
December 24, 1744. — Lord, thou hast this day brought death
into the house again. Oh, grant me grace to examine myself and
see wherefore the Lord is contending with me ; and, O Lord, be
pleased to sanctify all thy dealings toward me.
Lord, thou hast visited rae with the rod of affliction, not only in
sending death into the family, but in the long absence of ray dear
est friend. Lord, I know I have sinned in setting my heart too
much upon him ; in loving the creature I have forgot my Creator,
But, O Lord, thou knowest how to forgive the frailty of our nature.
O Lord, be pleased to return him yet again, and grant that my eyes
may see him ; then will I praise thy great name for all thy goodness
to me and mine.
January 7, 1745. — This day God was pleased to return my
dearest friend after a long and tedious absence. Lord, grant that
I may now perform the vows and promises I raade in the day of
my distress, and live raore to thy glory than ever I have done, and
be pleased to sanctify the losses and disappointments we have met
with. Alay 2"], 1745. — This day I lost the company of my dearest
friend. Lord, be pleased to take him under thy Divine protection,
and keep him from all evil and return him in safety.
October 7, 1745. — This day I was safely delivered of a son.
God was pleased to appear for me in a wonderful manner in my
distress. 1 called upon him, and he heard and answered rae in a
way of mercy. Lord, grant that a sense of thy goodness raay al
ways abide upon me.
September 19, 1746. -:- This day I heard of the wonderful deliv
erance my dear consort met with from the hands of his enemies,
and that he was in the greatest danger. O Lord, be pleased to
grant our souls may be sensibly taught with thy goodness to us ;
that all thy mercy may lead us to repentance; and, O Lord, be
pleased to take him under thy Divine protection in all times to
come, and return him in safety.
February 10, 1747. — This day the Lord was pleased to appear
for me and spare my life when in great danger. Lord, grant me
grace to spend my spared life to thy glory.

62 THE CARY LETTERS
February 12, 1747. — This day I heard the melancholy news that
my dear consort was taken. Lord, be pleased to sancdfy all thy
dealings towards us, and enable us to behave aright under all thy
dealings ; and, O Lord, be pleased to redeem him from the hands
of his enemies, and return him in safety.
June 19, 1747. — This day it pleased God to take away my
honored father in a very sudden and awful manner. Lord, be
pleased to sanctify this affliction to rae and all concerned. O
Lord, I am oppressed, undertake for me ; fathers of the flesh
pity their distressed children when they complain to them, and
wilt not thou, O Lord, whose compassion so far exceeds creatures'
compassions as the sea exceeds a drop ? O my Father, pity rae,
support me, deliver me ; and now father and mother have forsaken
us, will the Lord be pleased to take us up, and be our God and
Father unto death ?
July 15, 1747. — This day I heard the joyful news that my dear
consort was returned from the hands of his enemies ; and now,
O Lord, would I bless thy great name for all thy mercy vouchsafed
to us. Be pleased to be with him, and keep him from all evil, and
return him again in safety ; and grant that my eyes raay see him,
and that we may bless thy name together.
My dear Sammy is dangerously sick of a fever, but, O Lord, thou
canst help and heal him. Whither else should we go but unto the
Lord ? Be pleased to bless the means used with him, and grant
rae grace to behave aright under this affliction, to see the rod and
fall down and worship thee.
November 19, 1748. — This day God was pleased to return my
dear consort after an absence of almost four years. Lord, grant
that I may be thankful for this thy great mercy to me, and that we
may both bless and praise thy name together.
It has pleased God to hear my prayers, and raise my dear son to
health again. Lord, grant that he may live to thy glory, and that
I may praise thy narae for all thy goodness and mercy, and trust
in thee in all times to come.
October 21, 1749. — This day I was safely delivered of another
son. God was pleased to appear for me. In my distress, I called
upon him, and he heard me, although I am so unworthy of any
mercy; therefore will I call upon him so long as I live. Lord,
grant that I may live raore to thy glory than I have yet done.

MRS. MARGARET G. CARY 63
March 6, 1750. — This day I lost the corapany of my dearest
friend. Lord, be pleased to take him under thy Divine protection,
and return him in safety, and grant that we may meet again in this
world, and that we may meet and praise thy holy name forever in
the world to come. It has pleased God to visit ray poor baby with
long weakness, but he has now appeared for hira and begun to
raise him up.
June I, 1752. — This day ray dear children were inoculated.
O Lord, be pleased to grant a blessing on the means used, and
appear for thera now in the time of their distress. Lord, I beg, for
Christ's sake, thou wouldst not punish me for my sins by taking
these dear children frora rae.
November 14, 175^. — This day I meet with a great disappoint
ment in my dearest friend's not coraing home. Lord, sanctify this
disappointment and all others I raeet with.
December 24, 1752. — This evening I have been reflecting upon
this day eleven years, when the providence of God brought us into
this dear relation of husband and wife. Great cause I have to lament
that I have no better filled up my place with useful service. I would
take shame and lie low, and I beg pardon for my dear Redeemer's
sake. I would also call to mind some of very many mercies I have
enjoyed. How many evils hath the Lord kept rae frora, which
have overtaken others ! We have had our difficulties, but God hath
graciously supported us. Sometiraes losses have been our exercise,
but God hath graciously been with us in six troubles, and in seven
he hath not withdrawn his arm. We have wanted no good thing ;
nothing so much as thankful hearts and improving spirits, and what
a sharae is it that we have been wanting !
We have several children, and their lives have been continued
to us, blessed be our gracious God ! O that our children raay live
in thy sight ! Hast thou not said, I will be the God of thy seed
also ? Blessed be God, we are yet a faraily not broken up by death,
nor any other distressing providence, as is the case of so many at
this day. I know not what another year may be to us ; it may be
the parting year.
I have just heard of the safe arrival of ray dear consort at Lon
don, and the many dangers and difficulties he has undergone, and
that he had liked to have foundered at sea. O Lord, I would bless
and praise thy narae that thou wast pleased to appear for him in
the time of his distress.

64 THE CARY LETTERS
October 17, 1759. — This day it pleased God to return my dear
consort, after a very long absence. Lord, I would bless and praise
thy great and glorious name for all thy mercies, and especially for
this.
LETTERS FROM GRENADA.
FROM MRS. S. CARY TO MRS. PLLIS GRAY, AFTERWARDS MRS. SAMUEL
OTIS.
GrenaD-^, October 29, 1779.
It is with the utmost satisfaction, my dear sister, I sit down to
assure you how much pleasure I feel at the agreeable connection
you have formed with my brother. It is in my estimation the raost
agreeable circumstance that has occurred during my absence, and
I hope you will do me justice to believe that nothing should have
prevented rae from writing you long before but the uncertain chan
nels through which our letters have been hitherto conveyed. It is
distressing to be obliged to live in a state of separation from our
friends at any rate, but it becomes intolerable when we are de
prived of corresponding with them. I have received but two let
ters in three years from any of ray faraily. I am convinced, how
ever, that they do write, but some particular friends we have here
pick up all the letters, imagining, I suppose, that we hold a trea
sonable correspondence. I wish I had anything entertaining or new
to communicate, but you must expect nothing from this. When I
tell you that I ara situated in a fine island, every corner of which
abounds with the raost beautiful prospects, I have said everything ;
for we have little society here, and was it not for one lady for
whom I have a particular regard I should scarce ever mount my
horse, who, I must tell you, shares so largely in my esteem that I
have named him Chelsea, — a place you have become as well ac
quainted with, I hope, as I am, and where I promise myself much
pleasure in your company.
Mr. Cary joins me in all I say or think on. We are one in every
thing, my dear sister, and cannot differ in our regard for you. I
beg you will do me the favor to present our joint compliments to
your mararaa and faraily, for whora, I assure you, I have great per
sonal esteem. I am, ray dear sister. Yours affectionately,
S. Cary.

MRS, SAMUEL CARY 65
TO MRS. POLLY GRAY, IN BOSTON. Grenada, May 25, 1780.
My DEAR Sister, — I ara unable to determine which predomi
nates most in ray mind at present, real grief for the loss of your dear
husband or the tender participation I take in your distresses. Both
afflict me. I wish I could say anything that would afford you com
fort ; but, alas ! I stand too much in need of it myself. I loved ray
brother. I feel raost sensibly his death. Many happy hours had
I proraised myself I should, in some future day, pass in conversa
tion with him and you. The connection, indeed, gave me pleas
ure ; but we raust submit to the dispositions of Heaven, which,
however distressing, are always wise and intended for our advan
tage. I don't know anything so likely to console a serious mind
for the loss of a beloved object as the agreeable prospect of an
hereafter, where friendship will be truly permanent and uninter
rupted by those things which so often occur in this life to disturb
our domestic comforts and raake them less complete. My tears
flow too fast to dwell longer on this melancholy subject.
I received your obliging letter of March 11. I am very glad of
so early an opportunity of returning you an answer. You will see
how desirous I am of continuing the correspondence by the fre
quency of my letters. It will always give me pleasure to hear from
you. I hope, in that respect, your ideas will concur with mine.
Let us form a friendship, my dear, before we meet ; for that, I am
sure, would be an additional happiness to my poor brother, who, I
make no doubt, is permitted to watch over you and me as our
guardian angel.
I am very glad to find, by your letter, that you are to be at
Chelsea with our dear marama this suraraer, and ara obliged by
your kind wishes to raake Mr. C. and rayself of the party. Be
assured nothing would afford me so much pleasure, but it is at
present our lot to Kve in a state of separation from everything that
could give life a relish. We must submit for a tirae, though I would
fain flatter myself that will soon expire. Heaven grant it raay.
I am, my dear sister, with best wishes for your health and hap
piness, in which Mr. C. sincerely joins, with esteem.
Your affectionate
S. C.

66 THE CARY LETTERS
TO MRS. SAMUEL OTIS. Simon, March lo, 1784.
My DEAR Mrs. Otis, ... I am glad to find you and Mr. Otis
approve of Master Sam's coming out here ; at the same time I
smile when reading that part of your letter where you say, "a
boy in his station of life ought," etc. Ah, ray dear, you Httle know
what you say, — at least if you allude to any future prospect of
fortune. Upon the subject of ray dear mararaa I scarcely know what to say.
My feelings for her are not to be expressed, but how shall I inform
her that it is impossible for us to see her next summer? It is a
difficult and even dangerous task ; had n't she borne greater trials,
I dare not do it. But shall I prevail on her to believe that the
trial is greater to us ? She will not believe it, contrary to every
thing I write her. She thinks we are building up a fortune for
ourselves without bestowing a thought on her ; but, my dear, why
should I trespass so much on your patience, and, by taking the
privilege of a friend, pain you by the recital of ray distresses ? But
I am sure you will forgive me, . . .
Mr. C. is at present absent from home, nor do I believe he will
now be able to write Mr. Otis, notwithstanding he fully intended
to do it when he left me. The friendship which has subsisted
between our two gentlemen, my dear, and which absence nor time
can lessen, is one very great reason why I impatiently wait the
time of our return to America.
I cannot conclude my letter without telling you how much I
shall ever feel indebted to you and Mr, Otis for the tender atten
tion you bestowed on my dear boy when in America ; to Mr. Otis
say everything for me that will be expressive of what you yourself
would feel on a similar occasion. My own words, I find, will by
no means convey the feeling of ray raind to one who has so faith
fully acted the part of a friend in being a father to my son, for
in that light shall I ever think Mr, Otis has acted ever since my
dear Ellis's death. Make my affectionate regards to him, and tell
him he is dearer to us than ever ; I only long for an opportunity
of telling him so in person. Pray raake ray compliraents to my
cousins. I heard much in commendation of them the other day.
I ara, dear Mrs. Otis, your obliged and affectionate friend,
Sarah Gary.

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 67
Simon, March 29, 1785.
My dear Mrs. Otis, — Instead of giving you an account of
myself, I should rather ask one of you. Considering the month
of March, I suppose then everything that is agreeable, — a lovely
infant, a doating mother, a fond husband, relations of all sorts,
numerous friends, cakes, cordials, etc., etc, and, to crown the
whole, your happy self. Tell me, my dear, if you intend, like other
town ladies, to sacrifice the pleasure of nursing the dear one to
fashion i If you do I pity you, for you are possessed of too much
sensibility to do it without giving yourself great pain.
You will have heard everything of our voyage from mararaa, and
I have no descriptive faculty to paint jn its full force the horrors of
a storm at sea ; if I had, indeed, would such a subject be amusing ?
Suffice it then to say, that during the gloomy hours my heart and
my hands were lifted up to that Almighty Being who is present in
all places ; and, before the storm abated, I had almost learned to
submit quietly to the worst that could happen. I had long been
sensible, ray friend, of my own inability to judge of what is right
and best for myself ; it is not wonderful, therefore, that I should
desire to submit to the decision of Him who always judges right,
I had one consolation, and that was great indeed, which you, I
know will allow, I was by the side of a husband and friend, for
whora I had cheerfully encountered the dangers of the sea, and
with whora, had it pleased the great Author of Nature that it
should be so, I would cheerfully have quitted life and all its un
substantial pleasures. I have much on my mind to say to you,
but the truth is I have already wrote you a strange sort of uncon
nected letter, — this you will probably observe before you get thus
far. I have for this only one apology to make, and that is, the
extreme anxiety I feel occasioned by the inoculation for the small
pox of my dear little boy and girl. The operation was performed
about three hours ago, and though it was taken frora a most fa
vorable subject and the season is extremely favorable, yet I can
not help strange forebodings of mind on the introduction of so
fatal and shocking a distemper into my family, softened, indeed,
by the art of the physician, but even then sometimes dreadful in its
consequences. At present I cannot write you a longer nor more correct letter.
Mr. Cary was under the necessity of going to the other side of the

68 THE CARY LETTERS
island on particular business, and will be greatly disappointed if he
don't return tiraely to write by this conveyance to Mr, Otis, to
whom I beg my best and humble respects. Love to all ray charming
cousins, and compliments to all those you know I esteem, partic
ularly to your mamma, Mrs, Warren, and Miss Otis.
Yours most affectionately, S. Cary.
Mount Pleasant, January i, 1786,
Dear Mrs. Otis, — Your obliging favor of 26th September
found me low-spirited, alone, and unwell. Its style, therefore,
corresponded exactly with my feelings ; in such a state of mind
gayety is disagreeable, and melancholy reduces one to despondency,
but there is a certain seriousness which never fails to please and
fix us in a sort of delightful calm that makes indifferent the events
before us. My little Lucius observed to me that I had not drank
my tea, — for we were at breakfast. I was sorry to be interrupted,
and could have remained in that peaceful state the remainder of
the day, I had been musing upon the contents of your letter, and
upon the precarious enjoyraent of life, and, by coraparing the pres
ent with my idea of a future state, I had almost taken up my
abode there. I was prepared to receive your information ; I had
already sympathized with you, and over Mr. Otis's letter of 31st
August I had shed raany tears ; his letter also found me alone, and
I took the liberty of opening it, though addressed to Mr. Cary.
I beheve you when you say that dissipation and extravagance
brought not on the raisfortune. Considering the peculiar situation
of the tiraes, expect not, my dear, to be the only sufferers ; other
families as well as yours will share the too public calamity which
so long has threatened our countrymen, but Mr. O., well versed as
he is in mercantile affairs, will erelong retrieve his embarrass
ments, I hope, and his prospects wear a more pleasing face. At
present I know I feel for you the many disagreeable and unplea.s-
ant circumstances attending your situation ; but you, my friend,
with your discretion and steadiness, are calculated to endure the
afflictions of life better than any one I know ; and for Mr. Ods, he
has both religion and philosophy to bear this heavy trial. I think,
with you, that Miss R. has made a vow never to marry ; but rely
upon it she has been disappointed in the object, for I cannot think

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 69
that a young lady of her seeming sensibility can have been proof
against the powerful charms of love.
For your son Harry, who is the finest young man I know, and
deserves the most, I can only say I am sorry that his expectations
are disappointed. Give my sincere regards to him and to my
charraing cousins Betsy and Nabby, and ditto to Masters Sam and
George. Tell Mr. Otis I have only two male friends, one of whora is
himself. Give my love to hira, therefore, and accept the sarae
yourself. From your sincerely affectionate and obliged,
S. Cary.
Present my best respects to your papa, marama, and their family.
Simon, May 20, 1786.
Dear Mrs. Otis, — If you feel as much pleasure when you
receive a letter from me as I do upon the receipt of one of yours,
you would certainly never omit an opportunity of writing. Upon
this principle I now sit down to write to you, although you are in
arrears ; but I waive all ceremony with a friend I love. Your last
letter was dated September 26th. I hope you have received my
several epistles, particularly the last by Mr. Douglas's schooner,
which, if I mistake not, sailed in February. I am very impatient
for answers to those letters. Dear Mrs. Otis, is there anything
more to be regretted than a state of separation from those we love
and value? I have not had a line from mamma since last Decem
ber, nor can I ever learn anything of her but from herself. I hope
she is settled at Chelsea to her mind. It is certainly the spot that
seemed always most agreeable to her. May I not hope that you
sometimes accompany Mr. Otis in his visits to the farm ? How
happy would the dear old lady be to see you there ! You have no
friends, my dear, that feel raore your situation than Mr. C. and I.
We often talk of you. I hope Harry is better ; his ill-health would
be justly esteemed a greater calamity by his father than the loss of
fortune. How is Betsy ? I should be greatly pleased if she
would favor rae with a letter. Give my love to her, and also to
cousin Harry.
I assure you I am more than ever desirous of returning to Chel
sea. Whether it is that, as I find the more I see of life, the less

70 THE CARY LETTERS
worthy it is of pursuit, or that growing old I ara anxious to get to
a resting place, or that the pleasing picture mararaa draws of the
improvements upon the farm operate stronger than usual upon
my mind, I know not, but I feel an impatience to quit this country
that I have not felt before.
My dear friend, adieu, Mr. Cary unites with rae in kindest and
most affectionate regards to you. He writes to Mr, Otis, to whom
I beg you will make my best and sincerest respects. Make my
compliments to your papa, mamma, and their family, and also to
Mrs. and Mr. Storer, When you see Mrs. Warren, tell her I very
often think of her, and always with pleasure.
This letter is certainly more calculated to inspire rather than
dissipate pensive thoughts ; but I am grown grave, I think, and,
whether I will or not, my letters will be so.
Yours most affectionately, S. Cary.
Simon, May 24, 1787.
My dear Mrs, Otis, — You very undeservedly tax yourself with
indolence, and had no occasion to apologize as you since have done
for not wridng to me. The painful situation of your mind after
the loss of your excellent mother was to me, who condoled in the
sincerest manner with you and your family, a very sufficient reason
for the disappointment I felt, on the arrival of Mr. Dowse, at not
receiving a letter from you. I am very glad of the present oppor
tunity of answering your obliging favor of July nth. Engrossed by
domestic care, I now scarcely ever take a pen in hand, excepting only
to write the young folks in England. Those here are very young
and require attention. It is not here, as in Boston, that children
are sent to school to be out of mamma's way, or confined to a nur
sery in the upper part of the house. Here they play, sing, dance,
bathe, all under my own eye. We are always together. I am
nurse; school-mistress, and mother, alternately ; and I am of opin
ion that Providence designed me for the situation, for I feel no
regret at refusing to join in a ball or other amusements at our capi
tal. To a woman of fashion, what an insipid animal I must be!
I write thus much about myself to induce you to write me a great
deal about your concerns ; and I entreat of you, my dear Mrs. Otis,
to let me hear from you oftener. It must be allowed we are excel-

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 7 1
lent correspondents, when I am set down May 24th to answer your
last letter of July nth.
Being in haste, Pratt just sailing, I have only time to unite Mr.
Cary's regards with mine to you and family. I hope you are all
perfectly well ; for in health, I think, every misfortune seems to
lighten. Adieu, my dear Mrs. Otis, and believe me to be, very
sincerely. Your obliged and affectionate
S. Cary.
I sat down to answer your letter, which, by the by, I have not
done ; and so you see I shall have another excuse for writing to
you again. Mount Pleasant, Noveinber 12, 1790.
How much did I feel rayself obliged to ray dear Mrs. Otis for her
kind favor by Mr. and Mrs. Marryat. You were then in spirits, but
what a sad reverse have you since experienced in the loss of your
sweet Abbe ! I well know how dear she was to you, and how de
serving of your love. I feel more for you and Mr. Otis than I can
express in these repeated trials. I wish I could say anything that
could afford you comfort; but, alas ! there is no reasoning against
sorrow, time alone can make us submit to the bitter cup. You are
young, ray dear friend, yet have seen much affliction, and wisely
conclude that the human heart is not easily broken, as people are
apt to imagine. It is your piety that makes you think so. Reli
gion makes us wise, and every one allows that adversity is a good
school. You know what the inimitable Shakespeare says, — I
believe he was religious, — " Adversity, like a toad all foul and
venomous, still wears a precious jewel in its head." Religion, I
am of opinion, is sufficient to subdue the worst of misfortune and
reconcile the mind to affliction.
I have just received letters from my raother. She writes in spir
its, and I am satisfied with all I have heard relating to her ; but as
every joy has its alloy, so has mine. The parson, whom I find so
dear to us both, and whom I love as if he was my own brother,
has had some late shocks of a paralytic disorder, that I fear he will
never recover. How much pleasure did we promise ourselves in
his society! It is now fixed on that we return home and setde
down at Chelsea in May or June. We shall certainly, barring acci
dents, leave Grenada ; and I assure you that it is no small mordfi-

72 THE CARY LETTERS
cation that you and Mr. Otis are going to remove to Philadelphia.
We cannot have everything, — the things we most wish for do not
always gratify us, you know.
I ara a happy mother in having the raost promising children. I
look forward with great delight, and hope I shaH not raeet a dis
appointment. I ara glad to find my cousin Harry so agreeably settled in life
with the woman he loves. I used to banter him, you know, and
say he should have one of my daughters. Pray give my sincerest
regards to your dear husband, in which and in all mine unites. He
is very well. I am, ray dear sister^ for I think you are as dear to
me. Your very affectionate S. C.
P. S. — Write me, I entreat you, and let me know when you are
settled at Philadelphia. There are frequent opportunities from this
for that place.
The eldest son Sam, having been left as an infant with
his grandmother Gray when his parents went to the West
Indies, remained with her to be educated, and when about
ten years old joined them in Grenada. After a few weeks
at home, he, with a younger brother Charles, was sent to
school in England. Though this letter to the grandmother
is but a school-boy's composition, I give it as belonging as
essentially to the last century as do those of his elders. The
original is carefully illustrated with diagrams of the school
gardens. SAMUEL CARY, JR., TO HIS GRANDMOTHER, MADAM GRAY.
London, August 23, 1789.
Dear Madam, — I now sit down to give you some account of
myself for these few years past. I think it is hardly possible that
you can have conceived any clear idea of my situation from the
unconnected, half-filled sheets I have sent you ; unless, therefore,
you have heard of it through some other channel, it is fair to sup
pose you remain still in ignorance of it. Without wasting any
more time or paper in a preface, I will, if you please, proceed.
You will, no doubt, be surprised to hear that in a school many

SAMUEL CARY, JR 73
crimes are committed which in the wide world would be punished
even with death ; but on the other hand, to balance these, there are
such instances of generosity, resolution, noble friendship, and hon
esty, as would delight you. A school is, in fact, a little world.
Not a quality, good or bad, but may be found there. In short, a
school gives a boy an idea of the grand busUe he is afterwards to
undergo through the world, and the rubs he meets with there in
spire him with a degree of resolution never to be acquired under
the eye of a mamma. I was not only surprised but delighted to
find myself at a school with a hundred playfellows. There are
never wanting a set of boys ready to instruct a newcomer in every
thing about the school. They are, in general, a lazy, idle set who
are tired of their task before they set about it, and think every
thing that comes from home for a few hours inestimable. These
soon laid hold of rae, and, after drawing from me all and some
thing raore than I knew, let me into a great many things which
before I had not the least conception of, — so that in a few hours
I was made acquainted with the tirae set apart for business and
play ; that which related to eating and drinking ; how long I was to
sleep in summer, the sarae in winter ; who such and such boys
were, the actions they were famous for ; the different games played
at in summer and winter ; and, to close all, they acquainted me, as
a valuable secret, with their own observations on the different mas
ters, the questions they would ask me, and the answers I was to
make. But all this was of no use to me when I came to be ex
amined before Mr. Rawes the next day. He asked rae the very
easiest parts of the elements of Latin, I had been so long from
Mr. Payson that I had almost forgot what Latin I had learned
with him, and, Mr. Rawes asking me about it in a different man
ner from that in which I learned it, I could not satisfy him ; so
that I was put on a footing with Master Horsford, in order that
we might both start together, which hurt me not a litde, I can as
sure you. In the afternoon again my pride was brought down.
Mr. Rawes asked me if I could write well. Now every man on
earth is allowed some share of vanity, then why should it be re
fused to a boy? I answered that I could write pretty well, and he
gave me a copy-book such as is given to those who can write
a decent hand. He then inquired of George how he could write.
" Not very well, sir," answered my friend. Mr. Rawes then gave

74 THE CARY LETTERS
him a small book, such as he gives to those who can hardly form a
letter. But when our copies came to be compared, the master
ordered us (death to my pride !) to exchange books ; and a num
ber of jokes were passed on my pot-hooks and hangers. But in a
month or two I found that everything Mr. Payson had taught rae
was not thrown away. I had passed twice over my Rudiments
before Master Horsford had got through his orfce. However, Mr.
Rawes thought we ought both to be advanced. We were so, but
I was put into Erasmus and he only into the next book to that in
which he was before. You may not, perhaps, understand me ; suffice
it to say, then, that I was advanced what is reckoned a whole year's
work. ... It is now about a year since all our class was examined,
when, to set my vanity in a blaze, I was declared to be the best,
after an examination which set us all tilting. When I left school
I was reckoned the first Latin scholar ; the second in French ; in
arithmetic there were several before me ; in writing I was excelled
by many ; in geography I was the first, rather I believe because
there was no one who knew much of it than on account of my own
excellence, . . .
I believe there was never known in that school before such a
boy as George Horsford. I myself heard Mr. Rawes say to a
gentleman who inquired about us : " Cary is going on very well,
but had I a school of boys like Horsford I should think myself
master of a heaven." I really do not think the whole annals of
the school can afford three instances of advancement like his.
When we heard of his death, not a boy but did regret him, not an
eye but did fiow for him, I was not his most intimate friend.
He had another, whom I heard say after his death, with tears in
his eyes, " Ah, I shall never have a friend like Horsford.'' When
ever he could command a sixpence, it was as much mine as his.
Once, when he had just money enough to lend me to enable me
to see an entertainment which was exhibited in the town, rather
than go himself he offered it to me, because he had been there
and I had not, and was exceedingly grieved that I would not accept
his generous offer. In fine, had he lived he would have been far
more complete than I am. . . . There was a nephew of Mr. Spooner
there, with whom I spent almost every vacation. I was very fond
of hira. He remained at school, after I went, for two years, and

SAMUEL CARY, JR 75
then went over to Madeira, and an epistolary correspondence was
agreed upon between us. When I first went to Bromley, there was
nothing but the bare playground for the boys to play in ; but I had
not been there many months when some of the largest boys asked
leave for sorae part of the yard to be allotted for gardens. At
length a resolution was taken to beg leave for a particularly agree
able spot by two young gentlemen with more eagerness in their
hearts than money in their purses, — Master Horsford and your
raost obedient. Mr. Rawes asked me how much money I had to
build a garden. Eighteen pence was the answer. How much had
my friend ? The same. Well, three shillings were looked upon as
insufficient, and our request fell to the ground. However, this did
not discourage rae. Have a garden I would, money or no money.
There was one which belonged to a boy who wanted to give it
away, but was obliged to keep it, for nobody would have it. This
I accordingly took, upon condition that I should keep it in repair,
with not the value of one farthing in money about me. What was
to be done ? The boy of whom I had it was very pressing upon
me to rebuild it. I could not do otherwise without injuring my
reputation, and exposing myself to the ridicule of those who were
as poor as myself, and who would be very loud in exclaiming
against me in order to save themselves from any suspicion of pov
erty ; for one would naturally be inclined to suppose that, if a per
son were to fall down himself, he could not have the heart to blame
others for doing the same.
Horsford begged me to let him have a share in the garden. He
would put in sixpence a week and I threepence,. and we might set
tle matters when I had money. I yielded to this. Ninepence
would do something. Sixpence went to buy laths to fortify the
place; but then nails were wanting of different sorts. Threepence
went for these. This was spent the first day. The next, more
laths were wanting. What could we do? Why, after a long con
sultation, we agreed to borrow some raoney of the pastry cook.
We did, and preserved our reputations, of which we were as care
ful as any tradesmen in London ; for as soon as it is known at a
school that a boy's raoney is all gone he sinks into contempt. The
holidays approached. We returned with money enough to build
three or four gardens ; but bad management ruined us.
. . . Farewell. Believe me, dear madam.
Yours most affectionately, Samuel Gary, Jr.

l6 THE CARY LETTERS
In 1790 Sam, the eldest son, left the family home to begin
a business life at St. Kitts, on the other side of the island,
and these letters were written to him by his mother : —
MRS. GARY TO HER SON.
Mount Pleasant, Saturday Morning.
My dear Sam, — I received your favor of Wednesday noon,
and also that of Thursday morning, with peculiar pleasure. I had
no idea of asking those questions you supposed, not imagining
that, in the short time you have been in town, you had an oppor
tunity of cultivating any acquaintance, or knowing anything of the
people about you, and much less supposed you capable of saying
how you liked your situation. I have perceived that you are not
hasty in forraing your opinion, — a circumstance very pleasing to
rae, and which will give you an advantage in the choice of your
acquaintance ; for, however agreeably or disagreeably a person
strikes at first view, it is by no means a certain way of conclusion,
either against or in his favor. Time only and observation can en
able you to raake a just distincdon, and, in the mean time, as you
must unavoidably associate wiih somebody, your very becoming re
serve will secure you from what is certainly most to be feared, —
a set of companions whose gross manners and way of life are a
reflection upon human nature. I confess I am not afraid of your
descending so low; but there is another set of people who call
themselves, and have really the appearance of, gentlemen, but
who, although perhaps more refined in their manners, are no less
criminal in the sight of that Being whose eye is ever upon us, and
who, whatever fashionable doctrine may say to the contrary, will be
just as wise as merciful, and who will not, cannot be offended with
impunity. So far are my serious thoughts submitted to your re
flections. We begin now to talk of going to Simon, but not next week, so
we shall have the pleasure of your corapany once more here before
we quit. I send you as follows : 2 pairs of smallcloaths, 2 waist
coats, 3 pairs stockings, 3 pocket handkerchiefs, 3 cravats, your
slippers, and a counterpane, lest our friend Cato should not have
accommodated you. Send back whatever you think proper. Say
how you do. I fear nothing so much as your not keeping your

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 77
health. Send back your trunk. Your father, your little friend
May, and all the little folks send love to you. I have only one
word more to say, — study economy. Do you come on with your
Spanish ? What time do you appropriate to study ?
My dear boy, I ara most tenderly and affectionately your S. C.
MRS. GARY TO HER SON. \ Wednesday Morning.
My DEAR Sam, — I send as follows : 4 cravats, 4 smallcloaths,
I w. trousers, 3 pocket handkerchiefs, 4 w. stockings, 2 towels, 4
waistcoats. Don't send your shirts here, in consequence of ray
telling you how many you had in town, and saying that I should
not send any more without you wrote for them, I can readily be
lieve that they may be better done up in town, as my own washer
woman is very sick, and in her room I have a very bad one. Act
yourself in everything. I 'ra very sorry to find you have been in
disposed, and, I 'm told, look pale, owing probably to the sedentary
life you lead. You should take as much exercise as your business
will allow of ; and if you could use the cold bath once a week, I
should think it would be highly salutary to you. I cannot but
congratulate you upon your philosophical sentiments coramunicated
in your letter before the last, and am glad to find that you set a
value upon the morals of the wise Seneca. Nothing gives me
greater pleasure than your looking forward to Araerica, yet I can
not but agree in part with what your father proposes, which is, if
anything very highly advantageous offers when you come of age, to
remain in this country for three or four years longer, it should not
be rejected, if it will furnish you with a sufficient capital to sit down
afterwards in business in America, Yet, after all, I know your
father's wish would be to see you there as soon as you corae of
age, were he to consult only his own inclinations ; but every good
parent is ready to sacrifice his dearest wishes for the advantage of
a beloved child. You grow every day upon the affections of your
father. The more he sees and knows of you, the raore dear are you
to him. I wish my dear Charles may be as high in his opinion at
your age as you are. I know how grateful to an ingenuous mind
is the praise of a beloved and revered parent, and cannot, there
fore, conceal from you the above sentiments.

78 THE CARY LETTERS
If you please, make my compliments to Mr. Badge, although I
have not a personal acquaintance with him, and say that I am not
likely to see Mrs. Beatty on this side of the country. If he thinks
she has a letter for him and will write a note to her, I can forward
it. I believe I have got all the volumes I borrowed from Mrs. B.,
— three of Cicero's Letters and three of his Orations, with two vol
umes of Pliny's Letters. If you have any, it must be one of the
latter, for there are but three of each of the former.
I am, my dear boy, your most affectionate S. C.
Your father set off this morning for town ; in your trunk is a
bundle for hira. The young folks all send love. I ara told to
observe that your letters, bills, parcels, etc., never contain a good
6', the only bad letter you make. I mention it because I know
how easily you can rectify such a trifle.
MRS. GARY TO HER SON SAMUEL.
I cannot but approve of your sentiments of religion, because
they correspond with my own. Confined to no particular form of
worship, it is enough for me to know that my dear boy adores and
reverences that greatest and best of Beings who, according to the
inimitable Doctor Young, surveys naught on earth with equal
pleasure to a grateful heart. As to stated times for private devotion,
I cannot but think it highly acceptable to the Deity ; and this I ara
sure of: that secret prayer conduces more than can well be imag
ined to the propriety of our outward behavior, softens and polishes
the manners, and gives us a firmness of mind to withstand every
temptation of doing what the judgment disapproves. Yet, if the
heart cannot regularly engage in this duty, I think, with you, that it
must be omitted. Any other than sincere devotion seems to me to
be mere mockery, and I believe religion has suffered more from
false pretenders than from the most open infidelity. The Judge of
all the earth will do right. He sees and knows our inconstancy, and
makes every allowance for us ; at the same time, is ready to hear
and receive our praises and petitions when we ask and offer them.
Wise as well as good, easy of access upon every occasion, and
expects not perfection while we are confined to this mouldering
clay, knowing the difficulty of the passage. He has given us reason

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 79
to guide us through, and, by his excellent example when here upon
earth, has shown us how to live. One thing let me recomraend to
my dear boy : your principles of religion once fixed, keep them
within your own breast and avoid any disquisitions upon the sub
ject. I have reasons for this that I raust communicate in some
other letter.
The death of Mr. Spooner, I assure you, shocked me very much,
and, notwithstanding it will certainly accelerate our voyage to
America, it is an event which gives me sorae pain. Charles, I
fear, will be a great sufferer. I am very glad Lucius did not go to
England, and am quite contented to give him an American educa
tion. Your father is by no means as well as I wish, although
much better ; for his sake raore than my own, I wish to quit this
country. My raother, too, whom I most tenderly love, requires
ray attention, and wishes once raore to see, what she must hold
very dear, her only child. Oh, ray, son, if it please Heaven to
allow her a sight of you before her death, I think she will die satis
fied. After a painful journey through life, she has yet the expecta
tion of sorae felicity, of which she says she has tasted very little,
although sixty-seven years old.
I received three dollars by Carabridge with your apology, which
is always sufficient for anything that you are capable of doing.
The little folks and Marget all unite in love to you. We were
greatly disappointed in not seeing you the other day.
Yours affectionately,
S. C.
MRS. CARY TO HER SON.
Wednesday, 1 1 o'clock.
My DEAR Sam, — I send as follows : 3 pair smallcloaths, 2
waistcoats, 5 pair stockings, 3 pocket handkerchiefs, 4 cravats.
By my account you have 13 shirts in town, I shall not, therefore,
send more unless you wish it. Mrs. Beatty is arrived. She will
therefore call for her books. Have you not two more volumes
in town ? Cicero's Orations, I think. You raay return them by
the bearer.
Your father will acquaint you with all our domestic affairs. I
refer you to him. Pray give him or send to him the bundle and
letters in your trunk. I hope my dear Sam is perfectly well. I

8o THE CARY LETTERS
wish for nothing more. In regard to everything relative to busi
ness and the pleasing of Mr. M., 1 have not a doubt. " Of what
then, marama, have you a doubt ? "
If those English letters of Marget's are not gone forward, re
turn them to me. Nobody writes to her, and I think she lessens
herself by writing to them.
I don't think I shall go to Siraon again. If I do, it will be for
a longer time than a fortnight. Marget is very anxious of going,
and I believe her papa will take her over for a week or two.
I have directed Sunday to carry back to Mrs. Townsend's her
fringe frame.
Farewell, my dear Sam, Be virtuous and happy.
Yours most affectionately, S. C.
I am glad you have got some nankin.
Marget and the young folk send love.
MRS. GARY TO HER SON, Wednesday, 12 o'clock.
Does anything I say inspire my dear Sam with resolution to
pursue what he has promised ? How happy, then, am I ! Every
thing within the compass of my ability you may expect. Yes, thank
God, to whom I bend in grateful adoration for having given me a
son who, uninfluenced by prejudice, is deterrained to pursue a line
of conduct that will reflect honor upon hiraself and his friends.
The time will soon slip away, ray love, and then you may act your
self. Yet I cannot but hope that, even then, though, as the vulgar
saying is, you will be your own master, you will always pay a def
erence to the advice of those you most love and revere, and who
must always be so nearly interested in your welfare.
I 'm half inclined to suspect that you think book-keeping tire
some ; yet, if you do, I do not wish you to tell me so, for I could
not prevent it, and besides it is wise to seem to like what is for our
benefit, if the mode is not perfectly agreeable to us. I know you
are closely confined, but there is a method of making every busi
ness light and easy. I hope you have found that method. At any
rate, I think your situation iraproved by the exchange, bandied
about as you were, — often without a dinner, as often without a
bed (or, what 's as bad, a dirty hammock without pillow or linen).

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 8 1
and exposed to all sorts of inconvenience. I hope you find tirae
to take a little fresh air either in morning or evening. I fear noth
ing but your want of health.
I won't allow you to be as good a decipherer as myself until
you have raade out the whole of the paragraph. I confess you got
off extremely well. You are in my estimation the best boy in the
world ; but I won't answer for that being the opinion of more
than three or four other people. Why did you not write your
father ? He wrote you a letter which I put into the trunk and
you must have received, though he seems to doubt it. He set off,
along with the President, this morning for Marques. That old —
Proudfoot is going to give a ball to Madame Hook, etc., etc., to
morrow night. He is in his dotage, and gives daily proofs of it.
There is to be a ball at Gouyave also, to which we have had an
invitation ; but I scarce need say, we don't go,
I send you two pair smallclothes. Pray say if they fit, and if you
should like to wear drawers with them.
Marget is writing to you,
S. C.
FROM MRS. CARY TO HER SON.
Of late I am a great invalid, and never well a whole day together.
This you can say when asked. I am now so much indisposed as
to be unable to write you what I intended. My disappointment,
I confess, was not small on Christmas Day ; but I always readily
give up the pleasure of seeing you for your advantage. I ara satis
fied with your inclination to be with me, and submit to necessity.
Your father was pleased, I was so, too, with your letter. I could
see satisfaction in every feature of his face. He read your letter
over and over again with redoubled pleasure, and at that moment
thought himself the happiest of fathers. 1 tell you this because
I know that to a mind like yours it can have no ill effect. The
praises of a parent are grateful to the ears of a good son. May
you continue to deserve them ! Shall I confess to you what part
pleased rae the raost ? Your raodesty in allowing your inability to
undertake the charge. Nothing can be raore agreeable than a
modest diffidence in a young person. You acted with judgment,
and I am truly happy to find that inclination concurred. To see
you happy makes me so.
6

82 THE CARY LETTERS
I began your Tasso's " Jerusalem " last evening, when I read
his life and the first book. One can scarcely read the former with
out being prepossessed in favor of the latter. The happy concur
rence of philosophy and poetry can hardly fail making an amiable
character. The appearance of the angel to Godfrey, his submission
and reverence to the heavenly messenger, etc., etc., is truly elegant
and beautiful. I cannot write more, but now shall acquaint you
with my sentiments as I go along, which, for many reasons, will be
but very slowly. Your father is at Simon, I am happy to say, quite
well. My dear Marget looked into your coat pocket, and found
one of Marget's letters. This was rather careless of brother Sara,
and she is now writing to you upon it. You must apologize as you
can. If you think as I do, you '11 have your coat washed. It
wants buttons also, which I will put on when you send it back.
Yours most affectionately, S. C.
Write me word what ships are arrived and are now gone down.
Forty-three hogsheads of our sugar averaged sixty shillings, — a
good price if our neighbors did not exceed it.
Wednesday, 12 o'clock.
This was written upon the eve of sailing for America
when Sam was to remain in the West Indies. He had been
with the family for two days ; and his mother being in deli
cate health, her husband had been unwilling that she should
risk the agitation of a parting interview.
MRS. GARY TO HER SON SAMUEL. Friday Evening, 7 o'clock.
Oh, my dear child, you have deprived me of all my fortitude I
While you were with me, I would not allow myself to think of our
separation ; and as I saw you in excellent health and seeming
spirits, I thought of nothing but the happy moment when I should
embrace you at Chelsea. I felicitated rayself upon my good be
havior on Tuesday night, after I got into my room ; and though
I dropped some tears, as there was no witness, I hoped all would
pass over, and no one would suspect that I quitted you with reluc
tance. I felt calm and resigned. My mind felt no disturbance.

MRS. SAMUEL CARY „ 83
and I encouraged none but the pleasing idea of being possessed of
the finest boy in Grenada, who I was very sure was quite capable
of taking proper care of himself, and who would be an honor to his
father and mother. If a thought of leaving you behind sometimes
intruded upon me, I checked it by returning, with uplifted hands and
heart, my grateful thanks to that best of Beings, who, though he had
brought me to the trial of separating from my son, had just restored
hira from sickness to perfect health. This consoled me, and as we
lay awake in the night, I was so far mistress of myself as to talk
about you with your father. I confess, when I got up in the morn
ing, ray spirits failed. I heard you walk and talk, but had deter
mined not to trust myself with seeing you. I held ray resolution,
and notwithstanding your message suffered you to depart. I knew
ray own feelings too well and was afraid you, would have caught
the contagion. You love me. I see it with pleasure, and no mother
ever loved a son better than I love you. Let us then, my dear boy,
mutually endeavor to show that firmness so necessary upon the
occasion. Your gently upbraiding me in your letter for not per
mitting you to see me convinces me now that I have acted right.
I should have lost rayself and unmanned you. Write me, if it be
but two lines. I will leave a letter for you. We sail on Sunday.
The Httle folks all love you, and wished to have seen you again.
We will take care they never forget you.
I cannot let this opportunity pass without giving you a few lines.
The boy returns to-morrow evening. Your father desires me to
tell you that this ink is so white that he could not see to write you
two lines ; that every time he sees you you are more dear to him ;
that he goes away with the idea of your being as well placed as you
can possibly be ; he has had a very sadsfactory letter from Mr. P.
about you ; and that he wishes you all the felicity this life is capa
ble of bestowing.
My best wishes and ray prayers attend you.
Yours raost affectionately, S. C.
I have seen Captain Fairchild. He has proraised to take the
sweetmeats ; Trickey is to deliver them.
I believe you will scarcely be able to read this. I never wrote
with worse implements ; besides that, I write in a hurry. Captain

•84 ^THE CARY LETTERS
Fairchild has also got your memorandum for books, and you '11 re
ceive thera by first opportunity. MRS. GARY TO HER SON. Saturday, 5 o'clock.
I had a secret wish that my dear Sam might accompany us here
and remain until we sailed, but to what purpose ? Could I love
and admire hira more than I now do, or if I could would it not
have been wrong ? Are we not forbidden to place our affections
upon earthly objects ? No, my son, it is well I did not solicit your
stay, for the same reason that I would not, dared not, trust rayself
with seeing you last Wednesday.
I intended to have written you a longer letter. I 'm so often
interrupted, it 's irapossible. Saturday Evening, 9 o'clock.
I 'm this moment favored with my dear Sara's letter of to-day.
You ask rae to raake you some request. What can I make you ?
Have you not promised me all I wished ? Remember those
lines : — " What conscience dictates to be done.
Or warns me not to do.
This teach me more than hell to shun.
That more than heaven pursue."
Why point out to you a path of virtue ? You are capable of
judging. May you never feel the remorse attendant upon an in
genuous mind, or rather may you never experience a guilty mo
ment ! Yet raethinks I had something to request, but words are
wanting to convey my ideas. Let this then suffice : be temperate ;
this will convey what I wish, and upon this virtue perhaps de
pends all others. One moment of intoxication is sufficient to over
throw every good resolution, I have never, my dear boy, discov
ered any propensity to intemperance in you, but I 've chosen this
channel to convey my sentiments of everything else.
I am, ray dear Sam, Your affectionate raother, S. C.
Marget and papa send best love. Excuse haste. To-morrow,
at nine o'clock, we shall sail. Sunday, 6 o'clock.
Farewell, farewell, my dear son ; take care of yourself.

Ill

MRS. CARYS LETTERS FROM CHELSEA
1791-1796
LETTERS FROM MRS. CARY TO HER SON IN GRENADA,
IN THE YEARS 1791-1793
MRS. CARY TO HER SON
Chelsea, July 14, 1791.
HERE has ray dear Sam, at so early a period, learned to
know the proper estimate of human life ? Not surely
from experience. How truly did you prognosticate that
we proraised ourselves too much pleasure in our return
to Chelsea ! Ah, my dear son ! ray tears flow while I write you
that my excellent mother died three weeks before our arrival. I
had not even the satisfaction of a last embrace. How difficult is it
to submit to the bitter cup ! With so sweet a disposition, so sensi
ble, and capable of assisting me in the doraestic duties, particularly
in forming the minds of my little people to virtue, I can never
cease to regret the loss, and am daily sensible how unfit I am for
so heavy a trial. Time only can cure the wound. The consola
tion of friends, however kindly intended, goes but Httle ways to
wards either reconciling me to this unexpected stroke, or making
me more patient or resigned to the Divine hand that has, for my
good perhaps, thought fit to inflict it.
We had a pleasant passage of twenty-seven days, and were in the
greatest spirits at the thoughts of our landing in Boston. It was
at nine in the morning of the 2d July that the pilot came on board,
and at eleven we went ashore ; but, previously, Harry Otis carae
on board (while I was in the cabin preparing my little ones, Marget
and papa were upon deck ready dressed) and acquainted the latter

86 THE CARY LETTERS
of my mother's death, who, with his usual presence of mind, most
kindly concealed it from me, and only prevented our intention of
coming immediately here, which you know we had determined to
do, and carried us all in two coaches up to Mr. Otis's. Accus
tomed to comply without hesitation to all his requests, I reconciled
myself to the disappointment of not seeing my dearest mother, but
intended to request of him to bring us over in the evening. How
ardently did I wish to fold her to my bosom ! But surely the mind
has sometimes a presentiment of its sorrows, for as soon as we got
to Mr. Otis's house a sort of deadly sickness seized upon ray spirits,
and I fell into a flood of tears. There should have been nothing
but felicitations and compliment on my part. He has been mar
ried about two years to one of the sweetest and most amiable of
women, who had just recovered from her lying-in ; but in vain did
I attempt even to affect to be gay. My mind was wholly absorbed
in my own melancholy ideas. In a few moments, however, your
aunt Gray with her daughter Sally came in. Their grave appear
ance and being dressed in mourning soon informed me, without
speaking, of the cause of my dejection. My mother had passed the
last winter in Boston at board, and had never since our absence
enjoyed herself and friends so well. Although she had had fre
quent attacks of illness, yet she recovered more dear and amiable
than ever to her friends ; but the last confinement of only a fort
night carried her off, to the inexpressible regret of every one who
knew her. She was sixty-nine years old. During her illness she
had very little recollection, and upon being asked whether she had
any particular message for either your father or me, she only an
swered, " Oh, how much will those dear children be disappointed
when they return ! " You will feel much on this account, but I
think it incumbent on me to acquaint you with all our joys and
sorrows ; you have a right, ray dear son, to be acquainted with
everything that relates to us. I know your kind participation in
the concerns of your faraily, and in this event your feelings will be
greatly interested.
Your letter by Dalton's sloop was a most welcome one. Noth
ing, at present, can make us gay, but it made me cheerful. You
wrote in excellent spirits. How much pain it gives me to reveal
anything to you that will for a moment depress them ! But you, who
could so well foresee, by my too great eagerness to see my mother.

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 87
that I should meet a disappointment, do not want anybody to tell
you that our journey is strewed with thorns as well as roses, and
that those who have most belief in the unerring wisdom of God are
most able to bear with firmness the vicissitudes of life. May you
have that firmness and that kind of philosophy only that is ever
the result of religion, pure and unmixed as our Saviour by his life
and example while here on earth has taught us. From that sub
mission and those examples I will endeavor to derive some conso
lation. I have still to write to Mrs. Horsford and Mrs. Barry, and
have not time to add more. Our confusion since coraing here
and the extreme heat of the weather prevent me from having it
in my power to send you anything but the book you so much
wished to have, " Lex. Mercatorio," which the captain will deliver
to you. Margaret is at Boston. Your father is perfectly well ;
he will find much to occupy his time and attention here ; he writes
you. Farewell, ray dear boy, and believe rae to be, with the most un
ceasing solicitude for your happiness,
Your affectionate mother, S. C.
Lucius desires me to tell his dear brother Sara that he is to be
fixed next week at school in Boston, more particulars of which I
shall send you in ray next. I ara most affectionately yours,
S. Gary.
MRS. GARY TO HER SON.
Retreat, Chelsea, October 2, 1791,
Monday Morning.
My DEAR Sam, — Since my last to you by Dalton's sloop I
have added another son to the little flock. He was christened by
the name of Thomas Graves a few days ago, and will be a month
old on Wednesday. I have quitted my room and returned again
to the necessary duties of ray family, and to my former serenity of
mind. I found it extremely difficult to reconcile to my mind the
loss of so dear a parent and friend as my mother ever was to me ;
indeed, I can never cease to regret her. My tears flow fresh at
the remembrance of past scenes which used to be enlivened by

88 THE CARY LETTERS
her company ; but I mourn only for myself. She is happy, for I
have always thought that dear friends unite, together in another
world. Whether it be really so or not, I know of nothing so
pleasing and at the same time soothing to an afflicted mind. On
her death -bed she lamented the disappointment that her dear
children would feel on their arrival frora Grenada. Do you not
think, my dear Sam, that it is a high gratification to a sensible
mind to be valued by dear friends ? For instance, I think you love
me. It does not excite my vanity, but adds to my felicity, and I
try to be more deserving of your love.
Thus far I was called below stairs, and Master Ned, supposing
the letter must be written by somebody, took the pen himself and
has made the blot you see. But, to proceed, take my thoughts as
they occur, and excuse all my errors. I have the most sincere
affection for you ; you are sensible of it, and it will in great meas
ure influence your conduct ; but I am going on too fast, and a
volume would scarcely contain my ideas upon the subject, if com
mitted to paper.
Let me thank you for your letter of Sth August by sloop Max
well, and hasten to assure you of the welcome reception of your
Httle Edgar. He is active, sensible, and, I believe, good ; but it
is rather early for me to judge. He has not yet been under my
own inspection. You shall know more of my opinion soon ; in the
meantime, hear how he is occupied. Margaret has undertaken to
teach him to read. He cleans knives, prepares the sideboard,
waits at table, brushes away flies while we are there, and will upon
the whole be very useful soon. At present there is no school for
him. It is much wanted at Chelsea, and is now in serious con
templation. It only remains to determine where the school is to
be built. As soon as it is. Master Bill (for that I find is his Chris
tian narae) and Henry are to become scholars. Writing, reading,
and arithmetic are, I suppose, the most you wish for him, and
at fourteen to be placed with a good master mechanic. This will
give you vast satisfaction, and unite him to you for life. Why
should you be desirous of concealing an action that does you honor?
You have done perfectly right. Your father approves of your con
duct, and received the little orphan with pleasure. I discovered
the emotion of his mind in his eyes, and know that he congrat
ulated himself upon having a son who, instead of incurring ex-

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 89
penses for frolicking and dissipation, knew how to retrench even a
necessary allowance of pocket money for the relief of an object in
distress. I have still much to say upon the subjects of your differ
ent letters, but Mrs. and Mr. Horsford and Harriet being here, and
my head and eyes a litde painful, I am obliged to shorten my let
ter. Margaret is writing to you. Mrs. Horsford desires her com
pliments. You, who know the world, should not have supposed
that your adopting the little fellow could be long a secret, even
were it necessary. It had flown over the town of Boston before
we received your letters, or ere your father had seen the captain.
How much have I to say to you ; how reluctantly do I quit my
pen !
Adieu, adieu ! Your most affectionate mother, Sarah Gary.
My dear Sam, — Thank you for your letter by Dummit, and
for the boy, who promises very fair. I shall write to you by Mr.
Horsford. Hope you got ray letter by S. W. Dalton's sloop.
Present my respectful compliments to Mr. Smith and Mr. Webster.
Yours most affectionately, Samuel Gary,
Say when Mr. Morris sailed. Write rae often.
MRS. GARY TO HER SON SAMUEL.
Retreat, Chelsea, November 11, 1791.
My dear Boy, — My last letter to you was forwarded by the
Maxwell, which I hope you got safe. I now sit down to acquaint
you with everything passing here in our domestic circle that I
think can in any way interest you. Mr. and Mrs. Horsford and
Miss take their departure next Sunday, and seem, if I may judge,
much, pleased with their trip to Boston, as well indeed they may
be after such a recruit of health and spirits to my friend Mrs.
Horsford, who seems perfectly recovered, and much disposed to sit
down here were their circumstances eligible. Harriet has raade a
conquest of Mr. Rose, but under the rose ; therefore take no notice
of it. The gentleman is fond of her to distraction, as the terra is ;
but she, not fancying his person, will, I suspect, reject him, for
which we old folks, papa in particular, think her a f  . My dear

90 THE CARY LETTERS
Marget, on her part, declares openly in favor of the senfiraents of
her dear Harriet, and thinks a young lady should not dispose of
her person without her affections, and, on the whole, prefers love
in a cottage with a man of her choice, to the wealth of the Indies
with one she could never love. I confess these were also my sen
timents once when a girl, but as we grow into years and learn to
deliberate, we think differently. If Miss H. does not absolutely
dislike, and has no partiality for any one ^else, we may reasonably
conclude she will be tolerably happy with Mr. R. How many
anxieties will she escape by uniting herself to a man who loves her,
and whose love perhaps may increase by that steady serenity
she will always possess, whether she gives pain or pleasure ! Those
wives who love the least, and at the same tirae conduct prudently,
I have always thought, possessed raore abundantly their husbands'
esteera ; while other poor, simple souls, whose every motive is to
give pleasure to the object on whora they dote, are often refused
with coldness. In short, you men are better controlled by women
whom you love than by those who love you. It is time now to
write upon some other subject. What shall I tell you that will
afford you the entertainment I wish? They talk here of a theatre ;
various are the opinions ; a town meeting has been twice held
upon the occasion, and, I believe, it is finally referred to the Gen
eral Court for approbation. Much is said about the good and bad
effect it may have upon the morals of our country. Be it as it raay,
the great question is whether Boston is upon such a footing of
respectability as to give the necessary encouragement to those
players who are raost eminent in their profession.
Since coming here I have hardly had a moraent's leisure, and as
yet no one of the rules laid down in Grenada, and which you saw,
has been put in practice. Mr. Low's family are here, and are to
remain during the winter ; the kitchen in common to us both, and
everything as contrary to my wish as possible. Lucius is at school
in Boston, which I believe I wrote you. He is very well. What
disappointments and unforeseen accidents assail us poor mortals !
Your father and I set out the other day to visit the little girls,
Sarah and Nancy, at Medford, where, I wrote you in my last, we
had placed them, at a boarding-school of great repute. My first
visit there. How much pleasure did I not promise myself in seeing
them, and inviting thera, as I intended doing, to corae horae next

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 91
week at Thanksgiving to meet Lucius ! But my pleasure was
soon dampened by finding my dear girls both with the whooping-
cough. The fear of infecdon to the younger ones at home obliged
us to leave them behind ; but no one can possibly conceive how
much I suffer about them, although the disease is raild at present.
This school is kept by a clergyman and his sister, — the former a
litde man of strict morals and mild manners ; the latter sensible,
extremely raasculine in her person and raanners, and said to be
severe and reserved in her disposition, a maiden of about forty-five.
This is not the woraan I should have chosen for ray little girls, yet
you never saw in your whole life two children so much improved.
[ Unfinished!] MR. GARY TO HIS SON.
Chelsea, December 16, 1791.
My dear Sam, — Your letter of October 13th is just delivered
to me. I thank Heaven that you are in health. I have sorae reason
to beHeve that Mr. Dalton's sloop has not yet sailed, and send this
in hopes of its overtaking her at New London. We all wrote to
you by Mr. and Mrs. Horsford, who are, I hope, safe arrived with
you by this time. They left here four weeks come Sunday.
Your mother, Marget and all are well. No children can be
have better than Lucius and Henry. Lucius is beloved by all in
school ; his master and his wife speak very highly of him.
Sarah and Nancy are two little women. They are so much
altered, and behave so well, you would not know thera. Ned
asked for a pen the other day ; he was asked what he was going to
do with it. His answer was, " Write a letter to brother Sam." No
parent was ever blest with raore promising children. God bless
you, my very dear son, and beHeve me.
Yours most affectionately, Samuel Cary.
I have just received a letter frora Charles. Little Tom is a fine
child. Your boy Bill is a good boy ; he goes with his book every
day to your sister, who, for your sake, pays great attention to hira.
We shall soon have a school-master. Every one sends love to
you. Pray present my compliments to Mr. P., and kind regards to
Mr. Barry. I shaH write to him soon.

92 THE CARY LETTERS
MRS. CARY TO HER SON.
Allow me also to thank you, my dear Sam, for your letter of
October 13th, handed to me this afternoon by Mr. Richard Cary,
your father's cousin, a raan whom you would much admire, and
who wishes to take you by the hand. I hope you have received
ere this our letters by Mr. Horsford, and a bag of nuts, — a small
testimony, indeed, of mamma's remembrance of her dear boy. But
even that was thought a favor by the captain. In short, Mr.
Horsford's baggage, and the other passengers', occupied every
corner. Ah, my dear boy ! you need not any new proof of ray
love. Methinks now you smile and say, " Indeed, my raother is
very ranch mistaken ; around of beef, which I might have presented
to a friend, and a pot of preserved quinces, would have been a very
agreeable proof, although I am already convinced of her kindness."
Well, then, next opportunity shall convey you something more.
Our little school-house is now nearly finished, which will be pro
vided with a raaster, and take some of the young folks off my
hands. Bill is a very good boy; we tell hira, when he has done
anything well, that he shall be an East India captain. I shall by
next opportunity write raore. Adieu ! Yours, Sarah Gary.
mrs. gary to her son.
Retreat, Chelsea, March 4, 1792.
My DEAR Sam, — Your last letter, being dated in October, and
acquainting us with your being disappointed in the sailing of
Dalton's sloop, by which you intended sending us a large packet,
makes me now very impatient. You were certainly right in obeying
the request of your father. Every species of economy is necessary
to be observed by us all, yet I will confess to you that we almost
wished you had for once deviated from the line. This, I allow,
proceeded at the moment from a desire of self-gratification. You
acted right. Opportunities to Philadelphia, and other places to the
southward, will be the raost frequent; don't, therefore, ever omit
to send a single letter to any port that will afford a channel of in
formation from you.
We received a letter from Charles, dated Septeraber 25th. He

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 93
was very well. He says he intends writing to you, and was in
daily expectation of hearing from you. The letter was written at
school, and those letters only serve to acquaint us with his health,
and what progress he makes in his handwriting. Of his senti
ments it is impossible to judge. Mr. Marryat had been to see him,
and given him an invitation to his house.
You wrote some tirae ago to request one of the rainiature pic
tures. I should be happy to gratify you with mine, but no consid
eration could prevail upon me to part with your father's, for num
berless reasons. He has, perhaps, the same reason for refusing to
part with mine. If my purse would allow of a little trifling in that
way, I would sit again, and request yours in return. Although ab
sence nor time can efface you from my raind, yet to look on the
pictures of those we love excites the tenderest and most pleasing
emotions, and raakes them, if possible, more dear and amiable to
our hearts and affections. In the absence of our friends we con
template only their virtues ; those, too, heightened greatly by the
loss of their company and conversation. We look on the little
representation, forget their faults, and think them all perfection, as
certainly we would wish to appear to one another. Yet how vain
the wish ! In another life, perhaps, when in different pursuits, and
surrounding objects more calculated to calm and harraonize the
human passions, we may appear, what in reality we doubtless shall
be, as perfect as Him who made us.
The winter, which we all so much trembled at the thought of, is
at length over, and I think, upon the whole, not quite so tedious as
we expected, although we have been confined here about six
weeks, when no one thought of venturing to see us. Mr. and Mrs.
Codman, our particular friends, once attempted it in a sleigh, but
the horses could not combat the roads, and they were obliged to
return horae. The opening spring in this country is delightful, and
compensates for a cold winter. We have been in Boston twice,
and next week we go for the third time for a few days. I long
much to hear from you particularly. I would be acquainted, if I
could, with all your actions, hoping and believing that they would
bear a scrutiny. The writer of such sentiments as those contained
in your letter of August 8th, by the little boy you sent, must be in
capable of doing wrong. My two little girls at Medford are just
recovering from the whooping-cough ; the others are all well ; and

94 THE CARY LETTERS
the school being completed, with a master at its head, relieves me
very mush. My dear little Ned, now at my elbow, is scrawling a
letter, and, though he cannot write, says, " My dear Sam, I will
tell you raore stories." Farewell, ray dear boy.
Most affectionately yours, Sarah Gary.
Margaret is well and now writes to you. Your father is now
wrhing to Mr. Barry. He wrote you a little while ago via New
London ; desires to be kindly remembered to you. He is in ex
cellent health.
My DEAR Sam, — Remember rae kindly to all our friends. I
am very impatient for a letter from you. Write by every vessel
coming to the continent. Yours affectionately,
Samuel Gary.
mrs, gary to her son samuel.
Retreat, Chelsea, April 20, 1792.
I thank you, ray dear boy, for your letter of February 4th. I have
never yet seen Captain Rogers. He has raet with some difficulty
with his men, and has never, he says, had it in his power to come
out here. He has spoken, I ara told, sorae things very much in
your praise. I feel, in consequence, a sort of partiality towards
him. We have a very beautiful young girl here on a visit to M.,
sister of Mrs. Marryat, who has rejected him for being a sailor,
though in other respects agreeable. You write in charming spirits.
May that sweet vivacity so natural to a youthful heart be raany
years your companion ! I admire very much your idea of raaking
a farmer a gentleman farmer too, I perceive, intending to set all
the females to spinning ; though in that respect there^is not a clown
of them all that does not raake his Dolly do her share of the labor,
and, in case of refusal, would exercise an authority becoraing his
betters. But my dear Sara is far better engaged in raore worldly
pursuits ; the public is the field in which you are to shine. At sixty
years of age perhaps you may sit down at Chelsea. Here in
deed will there be a retirement you might desire. I gladly hear
you say how little tirae you can call your own. Happy moments !
none in a whole life happier. I congratulate you, my dear boy.

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 95
upon your natural or acquired (I know not which) methodical man
ner of conduct. I rise early myself, and in idea rise every morning
now with you ; and, will you beHeve me, so far am I from desir
ing to join you, that I walk softly lest I should disturb some fine
spun, delicate reflection, and throw into disorder those principles
that are to govern your actions. I am satisfied to know that you
thus arrange your affairs, and should be too happy if I had you with
rae. With such sentiments as yours you can never be unhappy.
You view, you say, everything on the bright side. If then, in your
little affairs, things do not always go on as you wish, you have the
satisfaction at least of an easy conscience, — of having strove to the
best of your power towards success, and must therefore leave the
issue. This life, my dear, is but a teraporary habitation, merely to
try our patience and faith. That great Being doubtless, unseen,
watches and presides over us, — smiles to see his children so easily
agitated by trifles that in the great scale deserve not a remembrance.
You never appeared dearer to me than at the present moment. Go
on in so laudable a design; fix for each new day those principles
that are to guide you; and you will daily enjoy that satisfaction
and tranquillity that the world, with all its charms and allurements,
can never rob you of.
Sarah and Nancy are now at home, and as much improved as
possible. We talk of sending Henry to the same school. The
finances will not hold out at Chelsea all the year round for a man's
school, and a woman is now to be substituted, for the little chil
dren. During the summer those boys who do not go to school in
Chelsea will stay at home to assist their father in the culture of
the land. BiH wih stand the same chance as those. You ask me
if I ever keep copies of my letters. I never do, and I am glad
I never write upon subjects that would make it necessary. I wish,
however, you could scrape out a little more information from them.
I am less fond of writing than I used to be, and were it not for
writing a few Hnes to you now and then, and one or at most two
others, I should seldom take a pen in hand.
I am mordfied I cannot get a bottle of peppermint water for
poor Catharine Jean, but it is not to be had in Chelsea just now.
I will take care to lay in enough of it next fall, that I raay have
an opportunity of sending her sorae. When you go to Simon, say
everything that is kind to her from me.

96 THE CARY LETTERS
The fine spring is just at hand and will amply repay us for the
troubles of winter. At our time of life we have great resolution
to undertake to settle a farm. We have everything to do and
almost every tree to plant ; but in point of situation Nature has
done a great deal. An extensive prospect on either side, the town
of Boston in front, a fine lawn before the house, all rural and ro
mantic at the back, — it is impossible to be displeased ; nay, not
to be enraptured with it. Your father never enjoyed better health.
Sometiraes, indeed, he complains of his side, and the old cough
still hangs about him at every recent cold ; but his general health
was never better.
Margaret is writing to you, Lucius is an excellent boy. His
master speaks in the highest terms of him. If you ever get a let
ter from Charles written out of school, you 'II oblige me by sending
it. I hate those formal written episdes that disguise the feelings
of the heart.
A theatre is totally rejected. There has been a set of stroUing
players, who were suffered to exhibit three or four times under the
name of a concert ; but finally the doors of the room were ordered
to be shut, and they decamped. The present set of raen at the
head of government must be removed before plays will be sanc
tioned by authority. I am, my dear boy.
Most affectionately yours, Sarah Gary.
mrs. gary to her son.
Retreat, Chelsea, May 20, 1792.
My dear Sam, — .Accept my sincerest thanks for your letter by
the sloop Maxwell, containing so raany kind and endearing expres
sions of regard. Were I not to measure your affection by my own
for you, I should half suspect you of flattery ; but viewed in that
lightj you cannot say too much, and I know that you are above
dissimulation. How happy, then, do I esteem rayself in possess
ing the affections of so dear a child. It has been said that chil
dren do not feel that warmth, that tender love for parents the
latter do for them ; but as such an opinion always hurt my feel
ings when blessed with a parent, I shall for my own sake and for
my children's also declare myself of quite a contrary way of think
ing, and have great foundation I think to say that the affection
is mutual, — equal on both sides.

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 97
You were too hasty in conderaning the conveyance of your letter,
as the fact will prove. Our letters arrived too late at New Lon
don, and did not go by Dalton's sloop, and you therefore probably
received them as soon as they arrived at Grenada ; so you see we
sometimes quarrel with the world without occasion, and often, too,
is it unjust to us without foundation. Your observation relating to
the great power of riches is too true. All bend submissively to the
great and affluent. However, as no one can say they are in the least
degree incompatible with what the good Dr. Watts calls true riches.!
so I think a young man may very laudably aim at them, for no
man in his senses would object to a certain good unaccompanied
by any apparent evil ; and it is the use, not the abuse, of it that
requires our attention, as you express your thoughts (in my opin
ion very sensibly) about a theatre.
I have very, very much to say to you, but as a friend of mine
always used to close her letters to rae, so I raust close mine to you,
by saying my time is limited ; which, although it might not have
been always the case, is really so now with me. Your father re
ceived a letter vid New York, informing us you were well. This
affords us all most sensible pleasure.
Adieu, my dear boy. Write as often as you can, and believe
me to be, with most sincere esteem and love.
Your affectionate
Mother.
P. S. — A more particular answer to your letter by next oppor
tunity, with further thoughts upon matrimony, of which I hope you
will have no serious thoughts these twelve years, — a certain stop
to promotion of all sorts.
You will receive Tasso's " Jerusalem " directed to the particular
care of George Rose, Esq.
Do keep up the correspondence with Charles ; and if you receive
any letters out of school, pray forward them for our perusal. Write
to him after what you wrote to him, or else he will not write to you.
MRS. GARY TO HER SON.
Retreat, Chelsea, July lo, 1792.
My DEAR Sam, — I wrote you the latter end of, April by Cap
tain Rogers, and in June by the sloop Maxwell. Your father has
7

98 THE CARY LETTERS
since received a letter from you by the ship Grape, wherein you
say your time is so fully occupied that you cannot write either to
M. or to me. Both she and I would wish always to hear from you
by every possible opportunity, yet most readily admit of your ex
cuse. Business is the first object at present with you, to which
everything must give place; and while a line to any one of us gives
information of your health, we shall endeavor to be satisfied. I
answered fully, I think, your letter of March 27th, excepting only
that part mentioning Richard Cary's having attempted the conver
sion of the Indians to the Christian religion. Where, dear Sam,
did you get such information ? It is new to me. He was aide-de
camp to Washington, and conducted with the greatest propriety
during the late war. You have often heard me mention him for
his pleasing address. There was always since my remembrance a
Society for Propagating the Gospel among the Indians, with how
much success I am not able to tell, but I am rather inclined to
believe very little ; for I remember, about twenty-two years since,
one Indian who was converted, and afterwards brought here by one
of our clergy, and really so far civilized as to be introduced into our
meeting-houses, where he actually preached several tiraes, but, like
poor puss in the fable, he could not disguise his natural propensi
ties, one of which was the iramoderate use of strong drink. New
England rum, I ara told, is a temptation the best of those poor
creatures can never withstand, and which baffles all the eloquence
of those who wish a reform among thera. As to their religion,
there are various accounts about it. Some say they worship the
sun, and at break of day every person upward of twelve years old
goes to the waterside until sunrise, then offers tobacco to this
planet, and does the same again at sunset ; that they acknowledge
one Supreme God, but do not adore him, believing him to be too
far exalted above them, and too happy in himself to be concerned
about the trifling affairs of poor mortals. My dear Sam, is not the
particular mode of their worship as acceptable to their Maker as
ours ? Why are we arrogantly to presume to dictate to any sect
of people if they have not the advantages of Christianity revealed
to them ? Neither will the fruits of that holy religion be expected
to influence their conduct. For wise purposes, no doubt, have our
doctrines been withheld from them. The Judge of all the earth
will do right. He is the great Creator of all, and doubdess re-

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 99
ceives with equal condescension the worship of the Pagan and the
Christian. Do these sentiments agree with yours ?
Your friend McClure, I find, bears you in mind, whether present
or absent. He wrote a few lines to your father from Tobago April
26th, informing us all that he left our worthy son and his dear friend,
as he expressed it, perfectly well in Grenada a week before.
This convinces me of the goodness of this young man's heart at
least, and of his superiority to most people, who think Httle of the
concerns of others.
Last week we sent Henry to join Sarah and Nancy at Medford.
Mr. Woodbridge keeps up his reputation as a master, and has now
actually seventy scholars upon his list. My Httle loves, Ned,
Harriet, and Tom, are all perfecdy well. Lucius is well, and M.
answers for herself, as does also your father, who enjoys an excel
lent state of health.
Farewell, my dear boy, and believe me to be
Yours most affectionately, S. Gary.
When you see Mrs. Barry make my regards to her.
FROM MRS. GARY TO HER SON.
Retreat, Chelsea, September 13, 1792.
My DEAR Boy, — Although I have desired M. to apologize for
my not writing, not thinking I should have, sufficient leisure, ray
two little folks being extreraely unwell and occupying the most of
my time, yet, now I find the vessel is not quite so near sailing and
the letters not gone to the captain, I can better indulge myself
with an hour or two at ray pen, I received yours of July 30th. It
gives me pleasure to observe your health and spirits. If at any
time my praises appear to you to exceed the bounds of truth, you
rightly attribute it to a parent's pardality ; and though my letters
may generally seem to commend my son, it is because I conceive
he means to put in force all those expressions of duty, obedience,
and affection, perseverance, economy, and industry, that he pro
fesses himself capable of doing, so often in his letters. Those
words are important, not empty names. Let your conduct evince
that those professions are sincere, a line of conduct your father
has marked out for you to follow, and your feelings must be of an
extraordinary nature not to obey. Your present situation, even if
you do not approve, should be cheerfully submitted to frora pro-

TOO THE CARY LETTERS
priety, as his choice. When you come of age you have the same
tie, in ray opinion, if, as you repeatedly declare, your highest
ambition and wish is to please hira. If, my love, you have scru
ples concerning particular modes of carrying on business, inquire
of those you most esteera, sensible, honest men, how they reconcile
to their feelings carrying on an intercourse that seems to you so
unjust, — Mr. Morris, for instance, for whom I know you have a
great veneration ; Mr. Barry, also, and many others. The senti
ments of good men should decide you ; a young man never need
be under any apprehension of doing wrong, provided he has dis
cernment enough to distinguish character. Good men reside in all
countries, and the feelings of every raan of honor are the same.
Converse frequently upon every subject that you have any scruples
about, and you will soon be able to form a medium of opinion
satisfactory to yourself ; and you have a double advantage, being
so young a man, and disengaged frora business of your own. When
you make inquiries of your companion, whoever he raay be, it will
be like talking of his affairs, and not the modves that led to it.
The scruples one feels are sometimes better concealed. If, after
all, your sentiments remain the same, and you should be unhappy
in the line of business that so sensibly affects you, I know the
sentiraents and generosity of your father so well that I think I
may venture to say that he will give up his expectations, though
till now very great, rather than your happiness should in any the
least degree be affected. Do not determine hastily; you have three
years before you. It is my private opinion that you will never
have so advantageous an offer, but particularly before you are of
age. Your sentiments in the above-mentioned period of time will
change, be assured. At present, your doing business on the Sab
bath I take to be the line of your duty, an unavoidable necessity,
which you should do cheerfully in compliance to the custom of the
house you live in, and in obedience to those you serve.
If Mr. Richard Cary should go to St. Croix, as he talks of
doing, he will probably also make a visit to Grenada. You will then
see a man of agreeable raanners, rather gay than grave; as such I
think I have always mentioned him. I believe he never had the
most distant thought of setting himself up for a reformer in visit
ing the Indians, The wisest way is to be satisfied with our situation,
in which there will always be found peace of mind, if we choose to
embrace it. Happiness is within the reach of most men, and by

MRS. SAMUEL CARY lOI
no means so partially bestowed as many young people are apt to
imagine. Your boy Bill is placed with a shoemaker, where he will be fast
bound until twenty-one years old. He will be taught to read
and write, which is perhaps more than he deserves. One hint let
rae give my dear son : never depart out of the common line of
conduct to find satisfaction of mind. The idea will certainly
deceive you ; and whatever you may have conceived from my letters,
I always thought you would have done better to have found out
the father of the boy, and insisted, as far as you were able, upon his
doing his duty towards him. If a man chooses to abandon his
child, I don't know that any one is justified in adopting hira. It is a
bad precedent. Laws were made for unnatural fathers, as well as
for those who offend against the community in which they live in
any other way. I must take this opportunity of saying that you
have the best and the most generous of fathers, or the boy would
have been returned upon your hands. For my part, the trouble of
having him would have been nothing, had he been innocent and
good. Bad language, indecent behavior, and lying have been cus-
toraary to him from his infancy. Henry and Ned have both been
twice whipped for repeating words that shocked me, learned frora
him. These things I have always endeavored to conceal for fear
of hurting your feelings, and should not now have mentioned thera ;
but, indeed, I have been led to believe, frora a certain cast of senti-
raent in your letters of late, that you will erelong do some precipi
tate action that will occasion you trouble. Perhaps I raay be mis
taken ; I hope I am. The anxieties of parents are sometimes
without a cause. I hope, at any rate, not to be presented with
another child.
I have written you a long letter, and could still add, if I thought
I could say anything more the observance of which would prove ser
viceable to you. You startled me, indeed, when I came to that part
of your letter where you mention matrimony ; that would be mad
ness in the extreme. I ara glad, however, to find that our senti
raents accord there. Twenty-five is a good age, provided there is
a sufficient fund lo maintain a family. Matrimony at twenty-five,
in ray opinion, is not necessary to restrain frora vice or ambition ;
all danger of the former is before that age entirely over with a
sensible man, and frora the latter a young man and a sensible one
should never wish to be preserved.

I02 THE CARY LETTERS
Our dear Charles, — I know not what will be his destination ; at
present nothing is fixed. The advantage of children is all good
parents ever aim at; ready at all times to sacrifice their own good,
they submit even to the loss of their society and company. I
should be as happy as any mother, I believe, in having ray young
folks near me. But for their good I resign all satisfaction of that
sort with pleasure. It is the same with your father. He writes
you by this opportunity.
Adieu, my dear Sam, and believe me to be.
Your affectionate raother,
Sarah Gary.
I shall answer your letter more fully by next opportunity.
FROM MRS. GARY TO HER SON. November 28, 1792.
My dear Sam, — I take up my pen just to say we are all per
fectly ^ell, and it is with pleasure I can felicitate you upon being
so, too, the 9th of last October, which pleasing information I have
just received from Mrs. Barry. Her letter carae via Portland, one
hundred and twenty miles from us. Captain Brown. I suppose
you knew nothing of the opportunity, as both Mr. and Mrs. B. have
written in great haste. I have much to say to you, my love, but
ray tirae will not now permit. Your father wrote you a few days
ago by Captain Par from Boston.
I expect to be confined in a very few days, when I shall present
you with another Httle brother or sister. You see, my dear son,
with such a family, how necessary your steady perseverance in
the line you have adopted of business and economy will be.
Al! join me in love and kindest remembrances to you, particu
larly your father. I am most affectionately yours,
Sarah Gary.
mrs, gary to her son.
Retreat, October 8, 1793.
My dear Boy, — Your letter general, received from St, Lucca,
dated loth June, we all received with pleasure. Since the death
of Mr. Morris, but little of your tirae is dedicated to your friends ;
indeed, I readily give up my share of your favors in consideration
of the importance derived to you from such a confidence. He

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 103
could not have paid you a greater compliment than by making you
his executor, and I am very sure you will faithfully discharge your
trust. I am happy to find by your writing that you are quite well.
Long raay you continue so ! My heart and hands are lifted up to
that Being who is the author of all our comforts for his preserva
tion of you during the late mortality in Grenada. A similar kind
has prevailed in Philadelphia to a greater degree, and, considering
the free communication between the two States, we are not without
great apprehension here, although every precaution that human
reason can suggest is used. Take care of yourself ; indeed, there
is so much self-approbation and pleasure in a well-regulated tem
perance that one would scarcely think it necessary to insist upon
the subject, did we not see daily young people fall a prey to their
own want of prudence and moderation. If you, my dear Sam,
sometimes deviate from certain rules, I think you return with dou
ble delight to those you have accustoraed yourself to observe, and
not without a little reraorse for having stepped aside. This is nat
ural to an ingenuous raind. It is impossible that you, who I think
entertain rigid sentiments of propriety and conduct, can ever es
sentially fail in either. Your late letters give me pleasure. They
are the dictates of a mind seemingly at ease, calmly reflecting upon
future life, weighing circumstances, concluding hastily upon none.
We have but little in the domestic way. Two marriages, indeed,
have taken place in the faraily, — Miss Hannah Gray to Judge
Wilson, and Mr. Edward Gary to Miss Nabby Russell. The former
has occasioned sorae conversation on account of the gentleman's
age, he being fifty-one and the lady nineteen. He is judge of our
Supreme Court, — rich, sensible, and quite a gentleman in his
manners and conduct. He has, also, six children. These I men
tion as an obstacle, though the lady saw none. She is an amiable,
worthy girl, and very genteel in her person. Mr. Edward Gary is,
perhaps, a relation that you did not know you had, from Nantucket,
a second cousin ; the family is very numerous. Jack Williams is
a very clever young fellow, studying law with Harry Otis. Young
Goodall is at Carolina, not a great deal better than he should be,
as I ara told ; so you see the raost proraising geniuses do not
always turn out well. This, I beHeve, I mentioned in former let
ters, but you seemed more than once solicitous to hear of them.
Charles is very well settled at Mr. Godman's counting-house in

104 THE CARY LETTERS
Boston. I read the paragraphs in your St. Lucca letter designed
for hira, and he said he would write to you ; but he seems to me
to have an aversion to that employraent, although he writes an
exceeding good hand, and does not seera to want abilities.
The law prohibiting stage plays is repealed, and they are actually
building an elegant theatre in Boston ; still, there are many who
disapprove of the thing, and foresee disagreeable consequences.
Tell ray dear friend, Mrs. Horsford, that I am gready obliged for
her letter, and will answer it by the next opportunity. Mention
Hannah Gray's marriage to her. Your father writes you he is very
well, excepting only the remains of a cold, which none of us has
escaped. I am, my dear Sam, your affecdonate mother, Sarah Gary.
P, S. Since the above, our governor, Mr. Hancock, is dead.
Letters of the years 1 794-1 795, with the first ill-tidings of
the insurrection in Grenada.
FROM MRS. GARY TO HER SON SAMUEL, AT SAINT GEORGE's,
GRENADA. Retreat, May 24, 1794.
My dear Son, — The unavoidable miscarriage of letters, and
your absence from Grenada, has occasioned me much anxiety. I
hasten now to answer your several letters of 4th June, 15th February,
and Sth March. To the first, as you do not wish to have the subject
renewed, I shall only reply that, let your feelings have been ever
so much hurt, my own on that occasion were far more so ; nor can
I express what my letter 13th September cost me ; not that I
wished to retract from anything I said, but that, there had been ever
any occasion to write it. I do not remember the contents, but
you ascribe a degree of asperity to rae that I think is not in ray
composition. I well remember that all I meant to convey were
such sentiments as might convince you that, at your early period
of life, you should rather submit to the plans adopted by your
father for you than presume to dictate for yourself. I thank you
for the deference you pay to my opinion, because, as I always give
you the best advice I can, it is a vast satisfaction to find it is not
thrown away. I look back with pleasure upon the time you and I

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 105
passed together, and recollect many conversations as we walked
together in the front gallery at Mount Pleasant ; and at others,
when we were alone in ray charaber, how seriously did I recom
mend you to abate of that impatience and warmth of temper I had
discovered in you, and to submit to your situation. The zeal of
friendship, as well as the affection of a mother, dictated my advice,
and I reflect with pleasure upon your tender and dutiful attention
to all I said. You promised to be all I wished you, and I believe
you have faithfully performed it as far as it is in your power. Totally
to overcome a disposition naturally hasty is not, perhaps, in the
power of any one, but every one can correct it. It is the govern
ment of our passions at which we should aim. We should be dull
companions without thera, and mere blanks in society. Apropos,
pray, when you have nothing else to do, say who you pass your
tirae with. I should much like to know your friends and acquaint
ance, and the employraent of your hours separate from business.
I well know the common routine of people in your part of the
world ; but do you fall in with the habits and manners of those
with whom you converse, or have you firmness to mark out for
yourself a line of conduct irreproachable to your conscience, — an
important witness, — or rather, as the inimitable Young expresses
it, " that sly informer who stands behind the scene and marks
down every fault " ? I should, perhaps, apologize for asking the
question to one of your sentiments and excellent principles, — such
at least when we parted, — did I not know the temptations which
beset a young person in the part of the world in which you are
destined to reside ; don't, therefore, ray dear boy, be offended at
ray suspicions, nor imagine that I wish for an exact account of the
employment of tirae destined for amusement. I write carelessly
and without study to you. The thoughts that occur I commit to
paper without any nice reflections about consequences or giving
pain. I flatter myself that your pleasures as well as your business
are regulated by reason and propriety. I find, if I were to go on
writing all and every thought that occurs to me, I should far ex
ceed the limits of a letter ; nor would you indeed have patience to
peruse them.
In as few words as I can, I shall now inform you of little Edgar.
He has absolutely decamped, as we all believe, to the West In
dies. A Captain Stevens had engaged to take him as cabin boy.

I06 THE CARY LETTERS
and requested that he might remain in his family until his depar
ture to Virginia, to which your father consented 7 but in five or six
days he misbehaved, and returned home. As he came without
any letter or previous mention of him from Captain Stevens, your
father thought proper to send him back again, with his compli
ments, requesting a note and the reason of his return. The young
gentleman, however, never carae back again, nor did Captain Ste
vens see him afterwards, but acquainted us that he had given a
note to little Edgar (which the boy had in his pocket when he
carae here), saying he was so ill-disposed and behaved so badly
in his house that he did not care to have anything to say to him.
Captain S. acquainted your father upon 'Change that Edgar had
declared to a servant in his house he would never deliver the note.
You may think, probably, that I congratulate myself upon the
child's escape. It is very true that to be rid of him was ray most
ardent wish, but not in such a way. My feelings are hurt more
than I can express. To bind him to some good man at a little
distance from us, that we might now and then see how he went
on, was what I wished, but that was not to be done. No boy can
be bound without his own consent until arrived at the age of four
teen, and he was by his own account only twelve ; and without
being bound no one would take him. For this reason we could
not continue him with the shoemaker, of whom I wrote you in a
former letter. This poor boy's fate will I believe be uncomraon.
In his mind there seems to be a struggle between good and evil ;
the latter, I fear, will greatly predominate, for he has an evident
propensity to vice ; and now he is gone, no one to advise nor rouse
into action the few good qualities he raay be possessed of. If
you should ever see him, your own humanity will lead you to serve
him, and indeed provide for him, should he really be in distress,
if it is in your power ; but hold him at a distance from your per
son. Would you undertake to use him with kindness and lenity,
he will surely make you an ungrateful return ; and, on the other
hand, should you offer to beat and correct him, you hurt your own
feelings, and he is too hardened to receive benefit. Every method
has been tried, depend upon it, and you may believe me when I
assure you he is a true emblem of the adder in the fable, who,
when he had received every benefit from the poor countryman,
began to bite and hiss at all around him. Now for the 15th Feb-

MRS, SAMUEL CARY 107
ruary letter, containing exacdy ten lines. You have put us quite
on a footing. I suppose you thought that if you only wrote to one,
the other might take offense. Let me assure you, however, that
would not have been the case. We have too great an affection to
harbor any of those sort of jealousies. We received a mutual sat-
isfacdon upon the receipt of the letter ; but, joking apart, I suppose
your want of time was the cause. In future, then, as I would not
deprive ray dear girl of a full share of her brother's correspond
ence, I will be satisfied with a letter from you by every other op
portunity. In your letter Sth March I observe what you say of visiting us.
I have no occasion, I believe, to say it is an event that would give
me pleasure ; that, however, is a point upon which your father and
you must decide, • — • an affair in which I can have no voice. If you
settle in the West Indies, I think with you that it will be highly
proper to arrange your affairs on a permanent footing before you
quit to visit us ; and much as I love you, and however eager I raay
be to see you here, I would sooner forego that pleasure than you
should come and sit down in your father's house, as you say, wait
ing for business. In those few words, my dear son, you have de
fined what appeared enigmatical to you in ray letter 13 th Febru
ary : that is, the ambition I think a sensible man should never be
without, and I thank God, ray dear boy, you do not need me nor
any one else to " stimulate you to rise in the world." That is a
laudable ambition, and by no means incompatible with strict hon
esty. Your prospects are very good, and I should be ashamed to
discover so much of the weakness of a mother as to venture to
make an objection. I have seen enough of the world to convince
me that probity, honor, and honesty are not confined to pardcular
places, and that happiness is in,a man's own mind and the rectitude
of his own conduct. Mr. Smith's character is good, and in the
West Indies you can never have a more advantageous offer.
My dear son, Sarah, Nancy, Henry, all write to you. I have not
time now to say so much of them as I wish. Lucius is very de
sirous of being with you, and remembers you with pleasure. The
younger ones — Edward, Harriet, Thoraas Graves, George, and
Robert — are all well. Charles, I find, does not write to you. He
is, at present, extremely reserved, 1 am unable to say what this
proceeds from. He is remarkably steady for so young a person.

I08 THE CARY LETTERS
goes regularly home every night at dark, and passes his evenings
in his own chamber in reading or writing, and I believe has very
little acquaintance in Boston. His reserve appears to me to be
great diffidence of himself. This will wear off as he grows older,
and we shall then see what he is. Mr. Codman is highly satisfied
with his conduct in the store, and the woman with whora he boards
speaks much in his praise.
Adieu, my dearest Sam.
Believe me to be, with the sincerest affection, yours,
Sarah Gary.
Your father, who is well, writes you by this opportunity.
FROM MRS. GARY TO HER SON SAMUEL, AT ST. GEORGe'S, GRENADA.
Retreat, Chelsea, December 14, 1794.
My DEAR Son, — I received with most peculiar pleasure and
satisfaction your letter of September 4th. Since then your father
has received one dated October 9th ; a short letter, written in haste,
— an assurance however of your being perfectly well, which is
always to us of the first importance. If you have health, which is
the first and best gift of Heaven, I make no doubt of your success
in future life, I know not what may have slipped from my pen,
writing carelessly and without study, as I am too fond of doing,
and by that means cannot escape sometimes giving pain uninten
tionally to those I love ; but you have given me so minute an ac
count of yourself, and with an air of some small suspicion, as if
you thought I believed your conduct would not altogether bear a
scrutiny. Let me then take this opportunity to assure you that I
think you incapable of doing wrong, and the free, unconstrained
declaration of sentiments that you have made to me when you could
have no view in deceiving, or wishing to appear what you were not,
convinced me that your conduct would always be that which is
dictated by strict honor and rectitude. I have been long persuaded
that goodness and worth are not confined to particular places. There
is less appearance of piety, perhaps, in the West Indies than here,
but I believe as much sincerity. Immoral and wicked raen are
found in all countries ; but, for my part, I ara more afraid of those
who conceal vice under a mask of virtue than of those who are
openly vicious ; but neither one nor the other have you or I any-

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 109
thing to do with. They are to be judged by a higher Power, who
no doubt takes delight in those who worship Him in truth and sin
cerity. It is not reasonable I think to suppose otherwise. God
cannot be indifferent to the actions of men ; and let us never for
get this solemn truth : that we were made for perfect bliss in another
life far superior to this, and take care that we do not by any im
prudence of our own forfeit so great, so inestimable, a blessing.
Without any cavils about religion, which I never enter into, I am
resolved to recommend to all ray young folks (and you are cer
tainly included in the number) the whole of the New Testament
as the foundation of their religion, wherever it relates to the life
and doctrine of our blessed Saviour, and enjoin it upon thera to
read that sacred volume with a desire to reap a lasting benefit,
endeavoring to raake it, as far as possible, the rule of their life and
actions. We seldom hear from England. Your father had a letter from
Mr. Sandbach, dated in September, but never received one from
Mr. Barry since his being there. He is now, I suppose, returned
to Grenada. I really hope he has, for Mrs. Barry's sake, for whom
I have been very anxious ever since he left her, although it is gen
erally found that women, when they are obliged to make an exer
tion, can get through difficulties as well as the men. When you next
go there, give my love to her, and say that I intend writing very
soon to her, if I do not by this opportunity, I have, as you know,
a very great regard for her. We have various reports here of fleets
and armies being sent to capture the islands, and also of those of the
English being sent for their defense, but nothing positive. I pray
God for peace. I fear nothing so much as your father being obHged
to quit us, and I know of nothing but the capture of Grenada that
can raake it necessary ; at least, I believe he thinks so at present.
All parties and both sexes daily deprecate the dreadful commo
tions in France, and hope everything from the moderation of the
present conventioli. It is the subject of general conversation here.
I suppose it is the same with you.
My little folks are extremely grateful to you for your letters, and
your father and myself feel great delight at the affectionate and
sweet idea you entertain of lending your aid to bring them forward
into life and of being serviceable to them. I pray daily to God to
give you success in your prospects, for your sake as well as theirs.

IIO THE CARY LETTERS
It is generally observed that if the eldest of a large family conducts
properly, the rest follow the example ; and I assure you they all
look up to you as a pattern they are surely to copy.
Your last letter is that of a man of sense who thinks and acts
properly. You reason thus : my situation is not what I admire ;
those I am obliged, for want of other society, to make friends and
companions of are not to my taste nor of my way of thinking, but I
cannot help it ; my father, who loves me, would do anything to make
me happy, but it is not in his power ; he has eight sons, of which
number I am the eldest ; if by ray industry and econoray I can make
a little independency, I shall not only raake myself respectable with
out distressing my father's feelings, but be able to lend my assist
ance in bringing my brothers forward into life. This shall satisfy
rae, and frora henceforward this shall be ray pleasure and ray am
bition. We live here vastly happy, and every tree your father plants he
promises himself will benefit his children, and if we do not reap
the fruits of it they may ; and that is a stimulus sufficient to a good
parent. As you are the eldest, this spot will probably be yours.
At the decline of life a retreat is agreeable to a raan of sense and
reflection ; but more particularly so if, after the storms of life are
over, he can meet with a woman of the same taste and way of
thinking. I believe I was wrong once when I mentioned your not
thinking of retiring until you were sixty. I would rather it should
be forty, or even sooner, if you make a capitaf sufficient to live
upon your income. Retiring to a farm is by no means retiring to
be idle. Your father is always employed in overseeing and direct
ing his workmen in planting trees, running out fences, ditching,
etc. ; but still a farm alone is not sufficient of itself to raaintain a
family genteelly. So you see there is something to be done before
a man can sit quietly down with propriety. The life of a farmer
is laborious and full of care. The high price of labor runs away
with the profits, and he raust himself become one of those laborers
unless he has a resource beyond what the farm can give hira. If,
therefore, ray dear son, you can make eight or ten thousand ster
ling, you will be entitled to retire to any spot that is most agree
able to you. I hope it may be in this country, not far distant from
town, and I think you may enjoy all the happiness this life is capa
ble of bestowing. Notwithstanding I have written so much, I

MRS. SAMUEL CARY III
have still one thing on my raind to say to you : As you were much
hurt formerly at the neglect you were obliged to show to public
worship, I hope and believe now that you are certainly at liberty
to act yourself. This is a duty that you will never fail to perform.
Parson Dent, whom you once mentioned in your letter, is a man
of principle and an honor to his cloth. I should think you would
hear him with benefit as well as pleasure. And how admirably
calculated to animate devotion is the whole of the church service !
One can hardly read it in private without feeling an emotion of
love and gratitude to the Supreme Being ; but how greatly is its
beauty enhanced when well read in public with the addition of
singing and music ! It inspires me with the highest ideas of the
greatness and majesty of the Deity I ara worshiping, and for the
time I scarcely think myself mortal.
Our dear Margaret (who is more than a good daughter ; she is a
sweet friend and companion, and, you would say if you could see
her, is a fine woman) writes to you now, although I believe her let
ter is not just written. She thinks and talks often of you, as do
Charles, Lucius, Sarah, etc. ; but who can think or talk so often
as your father and I of a son who is as dear as possible to our
hearts and affections ? I have still one thing raore to add : you
say in a forraer letter that if nothing else turns up you can be
come a clerk. Certainly, my dear, a young person of industry and
abilities has nothing to fear. Courage, my son ! if one plan will
not do, another will. Success and health attend you. Farewell.
Write, I entreat of you, and acquaint us of every step relative to
an establishment. Your affectionate raother, Sarah Gary.
FROM MRS. GARY TO HER SON SAMUEL, IN GRENADA,
Retreat, July 14, 1795.
My dear Sam, — Your last letter, dated at Trinidad, Septera
ber 4th, is the last I received from you. I perused and re-perused it
with pleasure. Since, your father has received several from you.
But one frora Mr. Jones, previous to your last of 12th May, has given
inexpressible pain. It was accompanied with one frora my friend,
Mrs. Horsford, and another from Mrs. Rose, giving us a detail of
the insurrection in your island. Think, my dear boy, of our anxi
ety for you, which is not lessened by the receipt of your letter.

112 THE CARY LETTERS
May i2th. Nor can it be while we value your life beyond the loss
of property. While in reading the account given by Mrs. Horsford,
and of the ardor and bravery you showed in aiding to subdue
the raulattoes and other insurgents, and of your being perfecdy
well, I confess I am highly gratified, but a moment's reflection
cools ray ambition, and makes me regret those qualities that before
I so ranch comraended. It is the fear of losing you ; and I am
ready to subrait to the raortification of your being charged with
cowardice and rendered unfit for the use of arms, so that your life
be spared, which is now made doubly valuable by the danger to
which you are daily exposed. Heaven grant the next letters may
be what we so earnestly pray for, which is first your safety, and
next an entire subjugation of the insurgents. The rest we raust
endeavor to submit to. You will see by your father's letter that
he has taken every possible step to lessen our family expenses.
The children are all at home, and Charles is learning navigation.
I am always present with you. My first thoughts in the morning
and the last at night are recommending you to the Divine protec
tion ; and for myself and your father I pray for resignation to the
will of Heaven. We sit in our chairs, our eyes often meet, and we
are conscious that our thoughts are the same, but know them to
be too terrible to communicate to one another. You are the sub
ject, and who can venture to express even to the partner of every
pain and pleasure what the mind can scarcely bear to think on ?
One consolation Heaven has allowed to every refiecting mortal : —
that a Supreme Being governs the universe, and that this Lord of
all the earth will do right. I have one peculiar satisfaction : When
the first report was circulated of an insurrection in Grenada, your
father talked seriously of quitting us, A more deliberate and cooler
reflection convinced him of the inutility of such a step. I thank
God for it, and rejoiced to see that part of your letter wherein you
say that you do not see any necessity for his presence ; and I am
happy to tell ray dear Sam that his father approves entirely of his
conduct. Your securing the sugar and rum, shipping it, sending
the bill forward, and securing the safety of the poor negroes as far
as it was in your power are steps that prove to him he has a son
in whora he can confide, and who would in every point act as well
as if he was on the spot hiraself.
July i6th. — Upon looking over the above, I am dissatisfied with

MRS. SAMUEL CARY II3
it all. If, however, you are in as bad a situation in your island
as my fears represent to my imagination, my letter will be in uni
son with your feelings. If otherwise, you will make allowance for
my fears and the gloominess of ray letter, the result of my anxiety
for you. Farewell, my dear Sam. Heaven bless and preserve you,
and allow us at least the hope of meeting in some future day to
gether. Your father is writing you. He enjoys charraing health,
and but for his apprehensions about you, I might add, charming
spirits too. There is a fine ship building in Charlestown, in whicli,
I beHeve, Charles will sail for the East Indies. Margaret and he,
as do all the other young folks, write in most affectionate remem
brances to you. Your truly affectionate mother,
Sarah Gary.
mrs. gary to her son samuel in grenada.
November 13, 1795.
My dear Sam, — The last letter I received from you was dated
Sept, 4, 1794. Do not think I mean to upbraid you for letting so
long a time elapse without writing me again. You have written
your father, and that is the same thing as writing to rae ; but if I
were dissatisfied with that, the situation of the tiraes in your island
would sufficiently exculpate you from any blame. Our last accounts
of you were August 12th. Among other anxieties attending our situ
ation, think what we suffer upon your account, not only in regard
to your personal danger, exposed as you have been, and for aught
I know still are, but because you are not engaged in any particular
line of business satisfactory to yourself and us. Over and above
this the pain of not being able to give you any assistance. This
you are fully sensible of, and endeavor, in all'your letters, in imagi
nation at least, to become yourself a father, that you may know
what he feels in having a beloved son situated as you are. You
tell us to be easy upon your account ; that you shall not only be
able to fix yourself in business, but assist your brother. This is
acting the part of a good son, and Heaven will doubtless reward
you for it. Gould you know all we suffer — the sleepless nights
and unavailing anxiety that your father passes in thinking of you —
you would allow that your own idea of his feelings falls far short of
the reality. Add to this the situation of Mount Pleasant, hitherto
8

114 THE CARY LETTERS
our whole dependence, and a fund, as we thought and had reason
to think, for education and some little fortune for our children.
Although by your last letter the works were sdll standing, yet it
will be a long time before things come into their old channel ; the
loss of negroes, the still more certain loss of mules, cattle, etc. ; the
destruction of the dwelling and negro houses, with the loss of the
last crop (excepting what my dear Sam, at the risk of his life, se
cured for us), and necessary expenses which must attend the next ;
with many other similar circumstances that are yet to corae to our
knowledge. There is yet more on my mind than I have told
you : this is my fear that your father will be obliged to go to Gre
nada. Mr, McCarthy seems to be a good man in whom we may
place confidence. His salary then ought to be raised, so as to
raake it an object to him to go there again when things are rein
stated as forraerly. Managers will be scarce after the loss of so
many good men, araong whom I am sorry to find poor Kennard
was one ; and I remember the timidity of those few who could be
obtained from the old islands as managers ; although the temptation
of gain was very great, it could not overcome their fears of loss of
health, which was, unjustly I think, said by them to be the sure
consequence of living in Grenada, It may be otherwise now. At
any rate do all you can to retain McCarthy. He knows the dis
position of the negroes, and, frora his so readily accorapanying you
to the plantation in such a moment of danger, showed himself at
tached to your father's interest ; and by his writing and manner of
speaking of the negroes in his former letters, I judge him to be a
humane raan, — a qualification of the highest importance. Should
Mr. Barry and you conclude to place him there again, and the
latter return to Mr. Williams, I should hope there will be no ne
cessity for your father to go. This is our third year of raanaging
this farm, and probably, by living upon it and attending to the direc
tion ourselves, we shall secure a comfortable livelihood when other
resources fail.
We have a small school-house close by, where the children are
taught reading, writing, and arithmetic. While your father and I
remain together superintending their education, together with the
business of the farm, the whole will flourish. Should a separation
take place, I know not the consequence. His loss would be irrepa
rable. If the whole devolves on me, I doubt, greatly doubt, my

MRS. SAMUEL CARY II5
ability to discharge so important a trust. Think of this, my dear
Sam, should you be so fortunate as to quell the dreadful rebel
lion in your island. At present I know there is a stagnation to
all business ; and, since writing the above, your father has seen
Mr. Stewart from there, who has given such a deplorable account
of the destrucdon of property, want of provision, etc., that I am
almost tempted to throw aside my pen, and indeed I must ; for
what can I say ? Our apprehensions are greater than I can ex
press, and still increased by our not hearing from you. We are told
of troops having gone out, and being immediately divided between
Grenada and St. Vincent. Heaven grant this raay be true ! If
you don't get letters, it is not because we do not write. We never
miss an opportunity, particularly your father. These now, I think,
cannot miscarry, for Captain Sunbeck has promised to keep them
until a certain opportunity offers for Grenada. He is going to
Burbish, somewhere near the Spanish Main.
Charles will soon sail for the East Indies, — perhaps in six weeks
from the present tirae. I have already written you, I believe, about
it in former letters. Thus you see how the feelings of a parent's
heart are exercised, after ten thousand cares in bringing them for
ward to manhood, and the flattering expectation of their society as
a compensation. Duty, inclination, or necessity steps in, and by
a separation precludes the raost pleasing hopes. Farewell, my
dear, dear Sam, Heaven bless you and send us good news. Your
father and Margaret write you by this opportunity, and all the
young folks desire their love to you.
Yours most affectionately, Sarah Gary.
Give ray love to Mrs. Horsford and Mrs. Barry. I have written
them both very lately. I feel most sensibly the distress and incon
venience of their situation.

IV

LETTERS FROM MRS. CARY TO HER SON SAM ;
MR. CARY TO HIS WIFE FROM THE WEST
INDIES ; LUCIUS CARY TO HIS MOTHER
1796-1798
AM CARY returned from Grenada after the ne
gro insurrection very much broken in health. He
gradually recovered in the Chelsea home, and then
went to Philadelphia to establish himself in busi
ness, taking with him his younger brother Lucius.

FROM MRS. cary TO HER SON SAMUEL AT PHILADELPHIA.
Retreat, May ii, 1796.
Like a pleasing dream, the company and society of my dear
Sara have left a sweet irapression. To enjoy luxuries we must
endure hardships. Had I never known the pain of absence, I
could not have been susceptible of so exquisite a delight as your
return afforded me. Even your departure has occasioned no alter
ation in the calm serenity of my mind. Now that I have seen and
conversed with you, and know that you are engaged in transacting
business agreeable to yourself, and that your health is fast ap
proaching, you have left me nothing to regret but that I did not ac
company you down to the ferry along with your father, — a satisfac
tion frora which I should have derived much pleasure. Yesterday
we were favored with your letter of May ist. The young folks were
highly gratified by your kind present, disposed in the following
order, all in a row, according to seniority : a dollar to each of the
elder ones, and one divided between the younger ones, presenting
at the same time your unfeigned love for them. Indeed, they did

MRS. SAMUEL CARY I17
not require the testimony (although a very pleasing one). You
have made a lasting impression upon their affections. Even
George says, " Well, I know he is ray cousin." Sarah has suffered
much. She entered the parlor about a minute after you left us, in
order to take a last leave. She ran out immediately at the back
entry to follow you, but it was too late. You had got outside the
gate, and she burst into tears, which produced a little lesson of
morality frora raarama (who however wanted consolation herself)
upon the disappointment and uncertainty of our dearest enjoy
ments. Considering I am writing by the post, you may think me,
perhaps, rather too prolix. That remains however to be decided
by the value you put upon my letters. I will therefore run the
hazard, and fill up at least half of this sheet, if I can find matter.
I write when I have nothing else to do. You 'II allow, I believe,
that is very seldom. You went away raore partial to Boston, I
think, than you came to it. I ara very glad of it. All strangers
admire its hospitality. This is a virtue raore practiced there, per
haps, than in any other place upon the continent. You were lucky
not to be troubled with feasting at large parties by residing all the
time at home, and so escaped invitations. These would have de
layed the progress you were raaking in the recovery of your health,
and were besides but ill-suited, I believe, with your inclination, which
I wish you raay be as able to follow at Philadelphia. But why do I
say " able," when I know so well that you have resolution equal to
your determination ? Follow but your judgment, and you can never
err. The perfect recovery of your health depends on temperance
and regularity. Farewell, my dear Sara. When I suggested the
idea of filling this half of the sheet, I did not suspect that I should
undertake to be your adviser ; but ray solicitude for you led rae into
the error. Your health is of the highest importance to yourself
and us, and I was naturally led into a subject so" very near my
heart. By your care of yourself you raake your own fortune, and
remake (if I raay be allowed such an expression) that of your
father ; besides, what is of more consequence, save him the trouble
of going to the West Indies, and rae the pain, the inexpressible
pain, of parting with hira. Yours raost affectionately,
Sarah Gary.

II 8 THE CARY LETTERS
MRS. CARY TO HER SON SAMUEL IN PHILADELPHIA.
Retreat, December 23, 1796.
You are unreasonable and impatient, and complain that it is
three weeks since you wrote me, and have not yet received an an
swer. You do not surely reflect that your letter had to travel as
many miles before it reached my hands as mine had to travel before
it got to yours, which, I suppose, was in a very few days, or perhaps
hours, after the date of yours, — as soon, indeed, as it could be con
veyed ; for, on its receipt, I imraediately wrote an answer at eleven
at night, the next being post day. I was willing to convince you
of the pleasure you had iraparted to me by the particulars you had
written me of your father. Excuse what may, perhaps, appear to
be a reproof, designed, my dear Sam, to check an impetuosity which
I have sometimes before now discovered in you. You express
also a sort of astonishment that Lucius had not come on. It is
very true that you mentioned it, yet not positively ; otherwise I
should not have replied that I hoped not till spring. You now, in
your last, request that he may be sent on immediately, and imme
diately he shall be sent on ; for, painful as it is to me to part with
hira, I am too sensible of the advantage he will certainly derive
by being with you, to think of a refusal. He will therefore set
out next Monday week along with Mr. Sullivan, who is, very for
tunately I think, going to Philadelphia. I confess I think the
weather too severe for hira, but he will be well clad and is also
a lad of resolution. For my part, I would equally guard against
the effects of my own feelings for hira and of imprudence, and
have therefore consulted Mr, Hays, who is of opinion that " young
Mr, Gary should be gratified in his request of having his brother
Lucius sent to hira." You raay think, perhaps, I have made rather
too free with your letter, .Excuse me, however, dear Sam, I hope
I shall receive many, very raany, more of them. I am most ten
derly concerned in everything that relates to you, and cannot think
of any action of yours with indifference. I received the thirty dol
lars safe, and shall do as you desire. Lucius has many fears. You
will find him extremely reserved, also ; and it is from me only that
you must learn that he thinks himself very ill-calculated to serve
you in capacity of a clerk. His advantages, you know perfecdy
well, have been few. He has, perhaps, received raore inforraation
from your father, the short time they were together, than at school.

MRS. SAMUEL CARY II9
He has, however, with this diffidence from which arise his fears,
a strong, quick resentment and exquisitely tender feelings. Such
as I send him to you, be a father as well as a brother to him ; and
believe I am perfecdy satisfied with the idea of resigning him en
tirely to your care. In short, make him like yourself. I rejoice at
your agreeable prospects. I include you always in ray prayers. I
hope you do the same for me. I am convinced there is no satis
faction without religion. It gives a relish to all our rational pleas
ures, and I ara fully persuaded you never allowed yourself any
others. I am in hopes your father had a pleasant voyage. There
is nothing now I wish for but a letter from him. When I know he
is safe arrived in Grenada I shall be tranquil, and hope the best
consequences will arise from his being on the spot. That alone
can calm my fears and resign me to so painful an absence. We
go on very well here; in want of nothing, although it is pleasing
to me to receive so kind an offer from you. I shall certainly ap
ply to you, if there be occasion. Farewell, my dear son ; let me
hear often from you, I entreat you. I shall pay postage with pleas
ure. Margaret says she shall write you a long letter by Lucius.
We had talked of your passing Christmas with us, but we were
too sanguine in our expectations, it seems. You can never be
more beloved and admired certainly in any house than you are in
this. We must, however, submit to your time, and give up pleas
ure for the sake of your business, which, I am now happy to find,
is likely to be confined in good part to this continent.
Your most affectionate mother, Sarah Gary.
P. S. — When you see Mrs. Breck and Mrs. Williams, present
my remembrances to them.
MRS. GARY TO HER SON SAMUEL IN PHILADELPHIA.
Retreat, February 4, 1797.
My DEAR Son, — I was just thinking of preparing a letter for
you against Mr. Bennett should call (who, as you observe, is rather
heavily loaded), as he engaged to do when your favor of January
6th was handed me. I was rather hasty, perhaps, in my condem
nation of you the other day, and, like many other irritable people.

I20 THE CARY LETTERS
the pain recoils at last on myself. Your apology is so handsomely
written, and so much what I wished and expected to receive frora
you, I feel rayself the offender, and am tempted in my turn to
apologize to you. When we pain the sensibility of those we love,
what do we but give each other fresh opportunities to prove the re
ciprocal affection which serves to unite us more tenderly than ever,
as, " the falling out of lovers," etc. ? You may remember the old
adage, and I know no reason why it should not be applied to
others, you and me, for instance. It should always, as in our case,
be accidental; design would probably have a contrary effect, and
no man, or woman either, in his senses, I should suppose, would
give or take offense merely for the pleasure resulting from a recon
cilement. You do indeed, my dearest Sam, express the greatest
anxiety, the most affectionate solicitude, about me in your letters.
You have my fullest pardon, therefore, and in future a hasty ex
pression of yours shall never give me pain, at least shall never
excite my anger. You acted certainly right in preparing to receive
Lucius. The moment I conceived that you earnestly wished to
have him, I set all hands in motion around me, being convinced
that when you found it necessary to have an apprentice, if Lucius
was not ready, some one else must take the place. He is, I find,
safe with you, or rather I hope he is. He wrote me a letter from
New York, from whence he was to go the ensuing week, and men
tions much of Mr. Godman's civilities to hira. I make my partic
ular observations on the several paragraphs of your letters, but the
following I shall reply to : "I presume you do not expect that by
putting him with me, now he is of a warm temper, he will leave me
tame." Believe me, my dear Sam, I do not wish it, and much less
expect it; but with you, and by your example, I expect he will learn
to coramand that warmth of temper which makes you, and will make
him, so much more estimable for possessing it. As to your other
sentiments, I read them again and again with pleasure, as they
serve to convince me of that modest and delicate reserve that is
backward in acknowledging its own merits, which I have long ad
mired and care not how long you possess, for I think it equally
pleasing and meritorious in an old as a young person. Your
father will, I know, be most highly gratified when he knows it.
Some of the last words he said to me were, " I shall be happy to
hear that Lucius and ray dear Sara are together ; the more I think

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 121
of it the better I am pleased. He will make him like himself."
And in his last letter, which he wrote me in Philadelphia, he con
firms it. I ara a little chagrined at what you tell me of the uncer
tainty of your stay there. I am, however, persuaded you will do
whatever is best for yourself and for your brother. In all cases, in
every possible, probable or improbable event, I am determined to
confide wholly in you and be satisfied. He is, I find, to live in the
house with Bennett, which I think must be very agreeable to him.
Just say in your next letter what terms he is to be upon. Will any
part of his clothing or supply devolve upon me ? He is at present
clothed only for the winter. In short, tell me everything relating to
himself and you. We like Mr. and Mrs. Bennett very much. I
dare say they are a very worthy pair. They carae out here last
Sunday, and promised to repeat their visit. He very politely of
fered to serve me, but I do not need his assistance ; and I observe also
what you say in the latter part of your letter by Mr. Bennett, that
you suppose that I should not think of applying to him. I cer
tainly should not, nor indeed should I to any one else while you
are so near rae, especially after your kind offers. Your father de
sired me, if I had occasion to do it, to apply to Mr. Hays, and give
him an order on you. I have no thought of doing this, for I am
determined to make the farm adequate to my expenses, or rather
to regulate my expenses to the income of the farm, during, if possi
ble, the absence of your father. When Mr. Bennett returns, I
hope we shall see you here : in the meantime write me as fre
quently as possible. I know I have no right yet to expect a letter
from your father, yet I have scarcely patience to wait the three or
four weeks longer that you tell me of before I can get a letter from
him. It is three months this day since his departure, but in my
mind at least three years, and I fear it is not improbable he may
be absent as many. For one year I would gladly compound, but
am ill-prepared for raore. Yet I know how rare it is for a raan to
prescribe limits to hiraself in regard to his stay in the West Indies,
and although I have lived there so many years I cannot account
for that fascinating power that leads and so misguides the judg
ment. They are all birds of passage, and always say they shall
quit the country the next year ; yet years roll on, and their resolu
tion is not put in practice. I will not however indulge a thought
of your father's longer continuance than raerely to obtain a credit.

122 THE CARY LETTERS
and restore his plantation to its former state of strength and culti
vation. I flatter myself his ties here are too strong to admit of
unnecessary absence.
I received yours, also, of December 27th. I have much on my
mind to reply to that letter ; yet this is already of an unconscion
able length, and I think I will take another opportunity. February I'jth.
My DEAR Sam, — Long since the above was written, you must
have been informed of your father's unfortunate capture. I have
just received a second letter from him, dated January 21st, informing
me that he was to be sent in a flag to Martinique the very next
day. He writes in spirits and is very well, but laments the cruel
delay to his affairs. He has written you several tiraes, but men
tions particularly letters he had sent to you and me by Mr. Gou
verneur via New York. Mr, Bennett sets off Monday, and we shall
most impatiently wait your coming after he gets home.
Yours most affectionately,
Sarah Gary.
Retreat, February 20, 1797.
My DEAR Sam, — I had already sent ray letiers to go by Mr.
Bennett, when your favor of 31st ult. was handed rae, and as he
does not leave Boston until to-morrow, I will add a few lines in
reply. The first intelligence I got of your father's capture was
from himself, in a letter from Guadaloupe, January 4th, since which
I have had two others from the same place. He mentions having
written to you on December 19th a particular account of his situa
tion, and refers me to long letters that he had written by Mr.
Gouverneur vid. New York, I think with you that the detention
from his affairs is all that he will suffer ; yet I was quite sick the
first days after I heard the news, frora apprehension that what I
had already heard was only preparatory to something worse. So
ingenious is the human mind in creating evils for itself ! My last
letter, however, written in excellent spirits and expressing all the
fortitude that I know the writer is possessed of on every great
occasion, and determining to submit quietly to ills that could not be
prevented, ray grief was dispelled, and I am pretty nearly restored
to my usual tranquillity. My dear Sam, I hope nothing will prevent

SAMUEL CARY 1 23
your coming on when Mr. Bennett returns. I ara impatient to see
you. Farewell. Yours most affecdonately, Sarah Gary.
Letters written by Mr. Cary to his wife during his absence
in the West Indies in the years 1 796-1 797,
New York, Friday, November 11, 1796.
My VERY DEAR Sally, — I arrived here yesterday morning,
and found a letter from our son ; and, as it will give you pleasure,
I inclose it. It was handed me by Mr. W. Codman, with whom I
am to dine this day. I took tea yesterday with my old friend Mr.
Kemble, to-morrow dine with hira, and Monday go still farther
from you. How painful the thought ! But it must be. My depen
dence is on Heaven. We shall not be disappointed, but meet, I
hope, never to part again. The weather is such I cannot see the
city. There is a young gentleman going from the house on Mon
day who will take it to Boston. I will therefore keep ray letter
open until Sunday night, and if I raeet with anything worth your
notice, mention it. Mrs. Kemble appears to be a very fine woman.
She has four fine children, — three sons and a daughter.
Friday evening. Instead of going to the play, I have returned
home to think of and write to the best of women. Mrs. Codman
is now quite recovered, has one fine boy, and they are a very happy
pair. He took me out in his chair to see the North River, and the
improvements of that part of the city ; they are very great, and far
exceed anything doing your way. My journey was, on the whole,
a very unpleasant one, and if it had not been for the company of a
Mr. McGregor, of Londonderry, it would have been exceedingly
so. The riding two or three hours before day is very disagreeable.
I have given him leave to call or send in the spring for two dozen
cuttings of Lombardy poplars, about two feet long. Should he call,
let Mr. Low cut them off one of the trees.
In the memoranda left with you, please observe that there are
three cows to be sold in the spring or suraraer. They are, I find as
I came along, worth from forty to fifty dollars without the calf. I
mention this as there is no price fixed to them, and as we sold them
this year for twenty-five dollars I did not know but Mr. Low might

124 THE CARY LETTERS
think thirty a good price ; but all kinds of stock have risen. All
the calves are to be kept. I shall expect a letter from you respect
ing the dyke when I get to Philadelphia, as there has been no
storm nor rain, Mr. Lawrence must have had a fine time.
The more I think of it, the more I am convinced it is best for
Lucius to go to Philadelphia, if sent for, and all of the boys, as
they grow up, to go from home, painful as it is to part with thera.
Sunday morning. Yesterday I dined with Mr, Kerable, and am
very much pleased with his family. This afternoon I go on, and
will write to you as soon as I get there. Am called down to Kem
ble, and the man has called for my trunks.
I shall always be yours, most affectionately, Samuel Gary.
Give my love to all the children and Margaret. How I love
you ! Philadelphia, November 7, 1796.
My dear Sally, — You will be surprised to receive this by our
son, but it must be so. I met Mr. Alexander Eraser here, going
to Grenada with him. I am to leave this on Saturday morning for
Martinique and Grenada. I have just settled with him and seen
the brig, which appears to be a very fine vessel. For particulars
I must refer you to your son, who only knew this morning that he
must stay sorae time longer. As I ara deterrained to think what
ever is is right, I ara satisfied ; but Heaven only knows what I at
this moment feel, and this you may be assured of, thou dearest and
best of women, that the moment I can come to you I will ; but it
is likely that raany of my letters may be destroyed, and it may be
some time before you can hear from me, though you never will be
a moraent out of ray thoughts. Oh, my dear, dear wife, take care
of your health for my sake, for our dear children's sake. Notwith
standing what I may have wrote respecting the farm, act yourself,
do what appears to you best. Sam will do well and be a comfort
to you ; but what can afford it to me when you are absent ? I have
done. We have been- to dine with Mr. Brick. They are a worthy and
happy faraily. How happened it that I had no letter for the Miss
Bricks? how was it, my dear Margaret ?
I hope I shall have a letter frora you before I leave this. I am
impatient to hear what Mr. Lawrence has done. The dyke is long

SAMUEL CARY 1 25
before this complete. Sam has just informed rae that Mr. Bennett
wishes to go to Boston, so that this will go by him, and it may be
sorae time before you see him ; but as he is to remain here all the
winter, write to him and desire he will write to you. I shall give
hira this to inclose. Pray write to me often and fully.
Yesterday I dined with Mr. and Mrs. Otis, and have been in and
out often. I left Mr. W. Codman very unwell again. I have seen
no place like Chelsea. Here are fine streets and large houses, but
a dead flat ; no prospect. If we do not sail to-morrow, your son is
to dine with rae at Judge Wilson's. He returned last night. I have
been to see them this morning, the i8th.
Friday evening. I have now corae up to ray room to take leave
of you. Let my dear Lucius do just as his brother would have
him. Tell Charles how dear he is Ito rae. Let him consider Mr.
Noyes and Mr. Jones, as well as Mr. Codman, his friends. The
East India trade is the first, and Russia the next. Desire him to
write me freely. He has an opinion of his own, and I love him
for it.
Sarah and Nancy will, as they love rae, follow the example of
their sister, ray dear Margaret ; and she will do everything she can
to make you happy. Kiss Harriet and Robert and William for
me. I now look at Henry ; he comes forward next ; let him be
all attention. Oh, my dear son, now is your time ; pay great atten
tion to your reading, writing. See, I love you dearly ; love yourself.
If my dear boys — Edward, Thomas, and George — will love their
books and learn to read, they shall have half a dollar a year, and
I will give thera all something handsome when I return. Remem
ber me kindly to Charlotte. She shall be informed about her
friends ; also Betsy, Madam Stowers, Mr, Low, and Mr. Miles.
Present my compliraents to Mr. Payson, and all other of our
friends. You cannot want. Your son is in a fine way ; people
know his worth. He is dearer to me than ever. Heaven will smile
on us. If you are but well, all will be so. You do not know how
much I love you. That Heaven will give you health and peace
of raind is my first and last prayer every day. Adieu, thou dearest
and best of women. Be assured I have no wish but for your ease.
No man ever had a more sincere affection for his wife than I have
for you.
Samuel Gary.

126 THE CARY LETTERS
P. S. I have desired that this may go by the post, as I know
you want to hear from me as much as I do from you.
Mr. Eraser has just called to say that the vessel goes down in
the morning, and that we are to follow on Sunday morning.
Saturday morning. Our vessel is now going, and in the morning
I leave this. The post has come in, and no letters for me ; but
don't be uneasy. Your son will send off a vessel the next week,
which will perhaps be there before us. By her it will come. Once
more, adieu. When Mr, Bennett goes to Boston he will call on you.
Adieu, my dear children. Love and obey your dear raother.
Guadaloupe, December 26, 1796.
I wrote to Sara on the 19th inst, inforraing our being brought
into this island by a privateer on the 14th ; and, as there is a ves
sel going in a day or two to Newburyport, I have obtained leave
to write to you, thou dearest and best of woraen. After being out
twenty days frora Philadelphia, we raet with a sraall schooner that
brought the vessel here ; and here, except the being confined on
board a guard-ship, we raet with very kind treatraent. The officers
are all gentleraen, who have made our confinement as agreeable as
it is in their power. The commissary we are greatly indebted to.
He every morning sends us two bottles of milk, so we are in good
health and spirits. I must therefore request that you will make
yourself easy on my account. We expect leave to go from this
island in a few days ; and before this is handed to you it is raost
likely I shall be at Grenada. But remember how much depends
on your health, and that, on your peace of mind. This little deten
tion will, when it is over, serve to increase the pleasure I yet ex
pect to enjoy with you and my dear children at Chelsea. Write
to Sam on the receipt of this letter and let him know, if he should
not have received ray letter, the situation I am in. Tell hira that
I am to be permitted to take his boy George with me. The litde
fellow has been very useful to me and is a very good boy. The
night of the 14th, being the night of the full moon, I spent on the
deck of the little privateer, and there received several marks of
friendship. The captain offered me his bed; but it being too hot
below, in a vessel of twenty-five ton and forty men, I reraained on
the deck. There I found it cold, being hurried on board without
anything ; but one of the men, feeling for ray situation, came with

SAMUEL CARY 1 27
his greatcoat and covered me. The captain also] showed great
attention, and did all in his power to give us care. The next morn
ing we found our brig at Port Louis, and at twelve o'clock were
ordered to the Bay Maho, where we now are, momently expecting
an order from the general saying how we are to be disposed of.
As soon as I get into an English island I shall write to you again,
and to our son, not that I have any more to say, but to inform you
how I shall proceed.
I came out with Captain Brenton, a very agreeable, pleasant
man, to whom I am greatly obliged for his civility. I have men
tioned him to Sam, and shall again when I write to him. We are
allowed to take our trunks,
" Oh, let my arms thus press thee to my heart.
That labors with the longings of my love.
Struggles and heaves, and fain would out to meet thee."
Tell ray dear Margaret that every day at twelve o'clock, and
many times oftener, I view her heart, although she has never raade
known its contents.
" Who is it that will doubt
The care of Heaven, or think immortal
Powers are slow, 'cause they take the privilege
To choose their own time when they will send their blessing down ?
How poor are they that have not patience !
What wound did ever heal but by degrees ?
O heaven-born Patience, source ot peace and rest,
Descend ; infuse thy spirit through my breast.
That I may calmly meet the hour of fate.
My foes forgiven, and triumph o'er their hate."
When I think of you I cannot help saying : —
" Tell me, O ye Powers, —
For I '11 be calm, — was I not worthy of your care ?
And why, ye gods, was Virtue made to suffer,
Unless this world be but as fire to purge
Her dross, that she may mount and be a star ? "
2SM. We are still waiting to hear frora Basseterre, where the
general is.
2()th. We were sent here last night, and are now ordered to
Basseterre. I have not time now to write to Sara ; let him know
the contents of this letter. From Basseterre we expect to be
sent to Martinique.
I am, best of women, yours most affectionately,
Samuel Gary.

128 THE CARY LETTERS
Basseterre, Guadaloupe, January 5, 1797.
I wrote to you yesterday by Captain Gross, bound to Boston,
and on the 29th inst. by the way of Virginia ; and now, thou dear
est and best of women, I have set down to write by my friend Mr.
Kemble's brother, Mr. Gouverneur, who is here from France, and
bound in a few days for New York. I have already before wrote
to our son Sam twice, — yesterday by Captain Gross and once be
fore, — but for fear my letters should not reach you, I shall again
repeat that we were taken by a small privateer and carried into the
Bay Maho, in this island, on the 14th ultimo; that after being kept
fifteen days a prisoner with Mr. Eraser, — eight on board our brig
and seven on board the guard-ship, — we were carried in a boat to
Point Peter and brought here the 30th ultimo ; and when we shall
be released is yet uncertain. We are allowed to walk about the
town, and are boarding in a very good house. Our health and
spirits are good, considering our situation. Thus, my very dear
and lovely wife, am I confined here when the interest of my faraily
calls me to Grenada. I must sa}', as a good man said before, "all
these things are against me ; " but if I should be able to return to
you, this disappointment will serve to sweeten the close of life, and
I am strongly impressed with an idea that this will turn out yet for
our good, though at present the cloud is dark. There is nothing
that gives me so much satisfaction as that our son is fixed in
America. I raet a friend of his named Bruramell, who has made
a purchase at Demerara, and, he thinks, a fortune. He was at sea,
bound to Liverpool for his health, poor young man. I wish he may
reach the land. For all Demerara, I would not see Sam in such a
situation. Tell Margaret that I ara reminded of her whenever I
take out my watch. Sarah and Nancy continue, I make no doubt,
to make you happy. I have wrote all the children's names in the
almanac I carry in my pocket, and, when walking my room, look it
over, which of course carries ray mind to Chelsea. I had on the
passage wrote you a long letter; but as letters of this kind only
meet the feelings of those to whom they are wrote, I was obliged
to destroy it ; but I shall, when I get to Grenada, give an account
of the passage, which was very pleasant until we got taken.
I shall continue to write to you every day until my friend sails,
and give every little thing as they rise in my raind, though per
haps you may have had some of them before. If you have, you '11

SAMUEL CARY 1 29
excuse their being wrote over again, as they come from me, and
done with a view of amusing you and my very dear children for
a moraent. The night of the 14th ultimo was the full moon, which I .spent
lying on the deck of the Httle privateer of only twenty-five tons,
— not much bigger than the ferry-boat, — with forty men of all
colors. I could not help observing to Mr. F. that my family were
that evening thinking of me, as I was of them. The night was
beautiful, and, if it had not been for the seas coraing over us every
now and then, it was not unpleasantly spent, as my mind was full
of gradtude that you were safe. It removed all pain on ray own
account. One of the men, seeing me wet and cold, came and
covered me with a greatcoat ; for the cabin, as it was called, was
so small and hot that there was no staying in it.
I found my son's boy George very useful. He is suffered to
remain with me, and my bedding and two trunks ; but raany things
have been taken frora me by some unknown hand. You will keep
your son informed of what I write, for it is more likely that your
letters will go safe than his. Every one declines carrying a letter
to a merchant, for fear of what it may contain ; but this you will
receive, as it 's put into the hands of a gentleman to whom I am
under obligation. He is brother to the gentleman that dined with
us at Chelsea, and to Mrs. Kemble, who I have already wrote you
is a very lovely woman. Sam is all I could wish. Heaven will
bless him for his attention to me. Le: all my children know how
kind he was to me. If the prayers of a father are heard, he will
be blest. I want a letter from you, to hear something of the
school, the dyke, the farm, Mr. Low, etc., etc.
I was much surprised when the commissary ordered us on board
a small sloop at Point Peter to come to this place, to meet Pora
pey. The poor fellow was glad to see rae, but soon showed his
pain when he found I was a prisoner, and he was suffered to stay
but a few moments. He has promised to go to Chelsea as soon as
he arrives.
I must bid you adieu, and lie down on the floor ; I shall not be
able to lie on a bed again. Seven nights I slept on the deck of a
guard-ship, between two 24-pounders, — one fired at daylight and
again in the evening, — but it is nothing. I am now as hardy as
9

I30 THE CARY LETTERS
when we were first acquainted. Heaven has watched over my
health. Basseterre, January 4, 1797.
I have this moment heard of an opportunity of writing to you,
thou dearest and best of women. I wrote to my son Sam from
the Bay of Maho on the 19th ultimo, and to you from Point Peter
on the 29th, of our being taken by a privateer on the 14th, and car
ried into the Bay Maho in the island. My letter to you went by
way of Virginia, which I hope you will receive. We still remain
prisoners, and when we shall be exchanged or get away it is im
possible to say. We have raet with civil treatment, but being con
fined here is painful ; it is attended with a heavy expense, and how
I shall pay it I at present know not. Thus are all our plans frus
trated, and at the tirae I am most wanted on the plantation I am
kept from it, but I will not complain.
" The ways of Heaven are dark and intricate.
Puzzled in mazes and perplexed with errors.
Our understanding traces them in vain.
Lost and bewildered in the, fruitless search ;
Nor see with how much art the windings run.
Nor where the regular confusion ends."
We board with a very good man, and now have liberty to walk
about the town. I fear more for you than for myself. If you will
have patience and be at ease, your health will be continued, and
think how much depends on you. As for me, I am got to a time
of life when a hot climate suits best ; therefore let rae beg of you
not to be uneasy on my account ; all will go well yet, if you are but
in health. " Oh, thou art my soul itself ; wealth, friendship, honor,
All present joys and earnest of all future
Are summed in thee ; methinks, when in thy arms
And leaning on thy breast, ore moment more
Than a long thousand years of vulgar hours."
If I could have foreseen this I should have been with you, but
Mr. Eraser and I continue well and in spirits, and I cannot help
thinking that whatever is is right, and that this may yet turn out
for our good ; it will at least, if ever I get home, raake it dearer to
me, if possible, than it was.
I need not beg of you to attend to the children. I now wish I
had learned French ; let Lucius attend closely to it, and Henry as
soon as he has the Latin ; -but, above all things, let thera learn to

SAMUEL CARY 131
be good. What a life ! How full of thorns ! But have done ; to
be with you is the constant wish of my soul. Give my love to all
the children, and remember me to all our friends. I am, best of
woraen. Yours most affectionately, Samuel Gary.
Basseterre, Guadaloupe, /a«aarj/ 21, 1797,
Here Providence seemed to speak in language most persuasive :
" Gome, silly man, leave the wild tumult and endless struggle, the
glittering follies, the false and spurious pleasures which artifice
creates to seduce you from the true. Dwell here, and in the lap of
Nature study rae."
" Here, oh here ! " exclairaed I, in a transport which bereft rae
for a time of every other consideration, "here will I dwell forever.''
The charm was too finely spun to withstand the hard tugs of fact,
and all its precious delusions vanished before a host of gloomy
truths, — deranged affairs; family far off, with the distance daily
increasing ; the hazards and the hardships of a long journey. I
hung my head in sorrow, offering up a prayer to protect my fam
ily, strengthen rayself, and bring us once more together.
If my dear wife receives all the letters I write, she will, I fear,
complain of postage. The day after I closed my letter to you by
Mr. Gouverneur, I wrote to my dear Margaret and sent it on to go
by him, and since wrote a few lines by a vessel for New York, to
our son. We still are here, but my raind is at ease, as I have the
general's word that it shall not be long before we are sent away.
I could have wished that ray situation had been such as I might
have been acquainted with him, I confess I think highly of him.
He is one of those that are brought into view by tiraes like these
that'are just past, for I conceive the game to be over and peace at
hand. I pray that I may not be mistaken, and that we may once
more be so happy as to raeet at Chelsea. I have, perhaps, in some
of my letters, said too much in favor of Citizen Hugues for those
that are sore with losses ; but depend on it I have wrote you ho
more than the truth, but remember the truth is not always to be
spoken. You '11 therefore keep what I have wrote to yourself. I
will, when I get from this, write ray son Sam a letter that he may
make public.

132 THE CARY LETTERS
I began with a sentiment of Mr. Campbell's from his " Journey
Overland to India," which I have in one of my letters requested
you will give our children an opportunity of reading.
January 20th. — When )'ou write to me, pray mention the dates
of the letters you receive frora me, and, if you can, by whom they
come. A vessel of Mr. Lyman's is just brought in with luraber
for Boston. The captain inforras rae that a vessel with mails
sailed two days before hira for Grenada, so that I hope when I
arrive I shall find letters frora you.
21st. — I ara this raoraent informed that there is a vessel to sail
in the morning for Boston. I shall therefore forward this, and al
though I cannot say when we shall get away, I can say it will not
be long first. Give my love to all the children. I refer you to
what I have wrote by Mr. G., who will sail in six or eight days for
New York. He has been very kind and polite to us, offering
money and assisting us greatly. I have mentioned to our son, in
my letters I have wrote to you, to give my love to our dear Charles.
I shall write to him when I get to Grenada.
Pray remember me to all my friends, and be assured I am in
good health, and as good spirits as my situation will allow, or better,
we having received certain accounts that a peace will take place by
the spring. Therefore, thou dearest and best of women, keep up
your spirits and all will go well yet. We are told that a flag is to
be sent from this to Martinique the day after to-raorrow, in which
we prisoners are to go. Adieu, ray dear, dear Sally, and believe
me Yours most affectionately,
Samuel Gary,
Grenada, February 4, 1797.
My dear Sally, — I arrived here the 30th. Left Guadaloupe
the 24th, and after two days and two nights, with sixty prisoners,
got to Martinique; was kindly received by Mr. Higgins ; left there
at five o'clock in the afternoon, the 28th, in an armed schooner,
and at one o'clock the next morning was attacked by a privateer,
which we expected would have carried us back ; but after firing
and receiving our fire until seven the next morning, left us to
pursue a brig coming out of St. Vincent. I received your letter of
November 25th at St. George's, — it was a most welcome one to
me, — with my dear Margaret's and ray good son Lucius', for
which they have ray kind thanks.

SAMUEL CARY 133
I don't know what to say to you about the plantation. Nothing
can be raade this year, and I fear very little the next ; we have
lost thirty negroes and have only fifty left. I have been with
Madam L. to buy or rent hers, but I fear she will do neither. She
has promised rae the preference ; but says, as she always did, that
she wishes to live and die on that place ; but until there is a peace
nothing can be done. I wish to see my son Sam after he has
been to Martinique, where Mr, Higgins is expecting him. I have
but one wish : that is tq be with you. Gould I either buy or rent
Madam's I might be able to return or sell my own, but people in
general have been so unhealthy that they have not spirits to make
engagements. Mr. Webster is dead, some litde before I arrived,
and Mr. Cooper and Mr. Wm. Sandbach and Mr. McCarthy, with
whom I stay, are down every other day with the fever. The
Quarter of Duquesnes looks better than I expected to find it, and
the next year will make a good crop. The island is in want of
everything ; fish at six dollars ; mules from ;^40 to ;^45 sterling ;
the fleet not arrived yet frora England. I was obliged to destroy
Mr. David Green's and Mr. Adams's letters to Mr. Munroe. Let
Mr. Adams know this. I could not write it from Guadaloupe, for
fear my letters should be seen before I left that island, and they
should find I had letters they did not see.
I have sent to town for two thousand feet of boards to board up
the mule pen, which will make me a sraall chamber and a room
to dine in. Nancy, as soon as I got to St. George's, came to me,
and when I was coraing up in a sloop, offered to break up house
keeping and corae with rae. She was keeping shop, and, Mr. Ste
phens, who is in St. George's, tells me, doing very well. But if I
should be sick, I have no one to take care of me, and as nothing
can be raade this year, she will save an overseer and take care of
my things. I hardly know what to write, nor can I tell you just
my situation. The large estates will soon do well, who have money
to buy stock. My friend Sandbach will not feel his loss two years
hence. I have raentioned to young Sandbach the buying our plan
tation ; but he has nothing, nor will he do anything while his uncle
lives, for fear of offending him. Mr. McCarthy thinks we shall
come about again.
Mr. Alexander Campbell, a partner of the Glasgow house, is
expected out in the fleet. Industry and economy raay do great

134 THE CARY LETTERS
things, but we are so weak — not having one mule left — that I
have my doubts. If I could see Sam, we might come to sorae de
termination; at present we are weeding the lanes for next year,
that is for 1798. But you must keep up your spirits and go on
with your attention to the children, and be assured I '11 do all I
can to get back. I wrote you four times from Guadaloupe, and a
very long letter to you and to Margaret by Mr. Gouverneur, which
I am sure you will receive. I don't know yet how this is to go.
I also wrote you frora New York and from Philadelphia. It gave
me great pleasure to find the dyke was completed, and that you
were so easily settled. You raust take all on yourself. I hope
nothing will remove Mr. Low from you the next summer. I can't
think of any alteration that can be made ; but if it should appear
to Mr. Low that he can do better let him, and you will soon know
yourself. He will raise as many colts and cattle as he can ; he
can't well have too raany young cattle and colts. Only let hira
attend to the walls and putting up the fences to keep the cattle
off the dyke land and other mowing land. I am sure you will do
what is right, and I ara and always shall be pleased with whatever
you do. Remind Mr. Low of keeping the tool-house and corn-barn
locked. I am glad to find all hands were carting stones to the
dyke. Now it is up, keep it ; it will soon pay for itself. I sup
pose they will keep the fresh water on it long enough to get out
all the salt.
I am glad to find your corn is free from sraut. Mr. Higgins
has a great regard for your son Sam, and is sure he will make his
fortune, and thinks Lucius does well to go to Philadelphia. If he
had been ray brother he could not have said more, and wanted to
do more than I would consent to ; but I am to keep him informed
of ray situation, and he assured me that I shall not want assist
ance-. But when my worthy son has been with him and comes to
me, we shall be able to fall on some plan that will, I hope,
make you and me happy the few years we have to live. Pray be
particular when you write. I should have been happy to have seen
my dear young folks in their new dress. Why did you not write
Mrs. Barry ? Mrs. Bowford is well. Mrs. B. is gone over to her
estate. As there are few or no horses, I came up in a sloop, so
cannot say just how Charlotte's mother is, but believe she is well ;
as soon as I can hear, will let you know. Give my love to every-

SAMUEL CARY 135
body, and believe me, thou dearest and best of women, yours most
affectionately, Samuel Gary.
I never was in better health. As I expect my son Sam will be
on his way out when you receive this, don't write ; but if anything
has stopped him, pray let him know imraediately what I write, and
that Mr. Higgins says he must see him, I think if he does come
we may be able perhaps to return together, for if it is possible I
will rent or sell. I don't write to hira now, not knowing into whose
hands my letter may fall. I wrote hira a few lines from Martinique.
I saw young Oliver, the ferryman's son, at Guadaloupe, who told
me you were all well in Deceraber, but could give rae no account
of the dyke. Remember me kindly to Betsy. Pray remember to
root out the whiteweed. Please to look over the directions, and
often remind Mr. Low of it. I desire my dear Margaret to present
my kind regards to her friend Mrs. Andrews ; I hope they will long
continue so. Lucius writes well and a good letter.
Grenada, March 15, 1797.
My dear and amiable Wife, — I wrote you two days ago by
the way of Newburyport. Since then I have heard of Mr. Gou-
verneur's being taken by an English man-of-war and carried into
Martinique, so that it will be some time before you get the letters
I wrote to Margaret and Sam by him, if they should not be thrown
into the sea ; however, if they reach you at last I shall be satisfied ;
some that I wrote from Guadaloupe I think must. I will not let
slip an opportunity of writing to you, if it is ever so few lines.
This makes the third letter since my arrival here the beginning of
February. I mentioned my having received your letter of the 25th
November with one frora Margaret and Lucius. If the whole of
Lucius' was his own, tell him I am exceedingly pleased with it, and
make no doubt, from his attention, he will soon be a man of busi
ness. Pray give my love to them all (I need not ask your attention
to their schooling, — their future happiness depends on it), and
remember me to all that ask after me. I hope you will receive
mine of the 3d ultimo, and Margaret the one of the iSth, I saw
Mrs. Horsford and Mrs. Barry yesterday. They are well, and live
in St. George's. Kitty, I wrote you, was married to Mr. Rose's
brother, Mr. G. Rose. The plantations are coraing about again.

136 THE CARY LETTERS
though slowly ; next year there will be good crops. I have been
down with a fever for fifteen or sixteen days, but by being brought
to town, with the attention of my friends, I 'ra as well as ever. I
hardly know what to say to you about ray own affairs. I hope it
will please Heaven that we may once raore meet. If our dear son
should corae to this part of the world, I hope I shall see him, that
we may corae to some determination. If he is not sailed, keep
hira informed of what I write. As to the farm, do the best you
can. I hope Mr. Low will not leave you ; but this I am sure of :
that no one will do better than you can, and act yourself. Do as
much as you can by shares ; the less money you have to pay the
better. Mention how the dyke land comes on. If the spring is
wet and crop plentiful, the more you have done for the harvest
the better ; if dry, labor will be lower and hay higher, of course.
The wood you will, I hope, get for salt hay, by giving good loads ;
and if the hay will not pay ray brother his interest, the horses
Brier and Bramble must be sold, and the spring is the time to
sell them, which you had better do at any rate, even if you should
keep the money by you. April is the time, — but I leave all to
yourself. The prospect of peace seems done away, therefore ray
return is now very uncertain ; and the price of everything is great.
The expense is beyond anything I thought of ; and it was expected
that at Trinidad we should find plenty of mules and cattle, but
there is not any to spare ; indeed, there never was a country in
greater want of everything than this is. I have several times re
quested you to let Mr. Adaras know that the letters he sent out
were thrown into the sea, with all that were on board. He will be
able to forward your letters. Pray write me of ten. I wonder much
that I have not received a line from Sam. He raust know how
acceptable a letter would be. If Mr. Page proves good pay, Mr.
Low will do well to continue to sell to hira. Should the dyke land
give a good crop, you will act wisely to let on shares, and not com
rait the error that Dr, Danford did the last year. You will please
remind Mr. Low that we want barn-room, and let him act accord
ingly ; but in this as in everything else you will direct as you see
best. By looking over the memorandum book you will see how
much can be put into the barn, and mill barn, and the sooner he
gets it to market the better,
I ara, best of women, yours raost affectionately,
Samuel Gary.

LUCIUS CARY 137
LETTERS FROM LUCIUS CARY TO HIS MOTHER.
Fourpence Reward {for Sharp Eyes and Honesty).
Lost, on the 25th inst, a Knife with two Blades (both broken),
with a pearl Handle, supposed to be lost soraewhere about the
Parlor. Whoever has Sharp Eyes enough to find it and honesty
to return it shall receive the above Reward. Lucius Gary.
December I, 1796.
This is to certify that I, Lucius Gary, of Chelsea, in the county
of Suffolk, have this ist of Deceraber, 1796, paid Edward M. Cary
Fourpence for finding a Knife which was lost, and now let no one
doubt his eyes and honesty. Lucius Gary.
Witness my hand.
Margaret Graves Gary.
Sarah Cary. Philadelphia, January 23, 1797-
My dear Mother, — I arrived here last Wednesday, and went
to my brother immediately. He received me very kindly and car
ried me to ray lodgings at the house of a Mr. Baker, a Quaker,
where I shall stay till Mr. and Mrs. Bennett come frora Boston,
which will be in a month. Well, the next morning my brother
came for me, and we went together to Mrs. Wilson's to deliver the
bundle. She was not at horae, but we saw Miss Wilson, who in
vited rae to corae on Sunday and go to church with them. We
then went to my brother's store, where he immediately employed
me to copy letters. I now get up in the morning, eat my break
fast, and open store. My brother comes down about eleven, and
we go about business till one, when we go to dinner, and come
back at two ; at night we shut up store and go home. Now I call
this a very lonesome life. I have not a single acquaintance. It
is now Monday morning, and I have found a Httle time to write.
I went to Mrs. W.'s yesterday. It snowed very hard, and no one
but Mr. W., junior, went to church. He is about as old as our
Charles, but a very simple sort of fellow, I received no invitation
to dinner, as I expected. You know I said in ray last letter that
I was going to the play. I went, and was ranch pleased.

1 3 8 THE CARY LE TTERS
I have found no circulating library yet. I have been quite
wretched since I left you for want of society, but I have exerted
all my philosophy and have almost conquered it.
My love to my dear Marget, Charlotte, Sarah, Henry, Nancy,
Edward, Harriet, Thomas, George, Robert. Kiss them all for rae,
and tell Williara I nick my nose every day to make me think
of him. Love to Nabby, Nancy P. Compliments to the young
couple and to the Misses B., to Messrs. L., and now, my dear
mother, believe me. Yours sincerely, LuGius Gary,
My brother sets out to-day for Baltimore. His love to you all.
He was much pleased with the shirts and buttons, — but I suppose
he will write. Philadelphia, February i, 1797,
My dear Mother, — I believe I can now say something ; for
the last tirae I wrote you I was so very homesick, as Ned calls it,
that I could scarcely do anything; however, I have almost got over
it now, but I assure you I had a tough job of it. Many a wretched
afternoon have I spent since I carae here till I almost fretted my
self to death. I am at the house of a Mrs. Baker, an Irish Quaker,
a very good sort of a woman. She has four children, all boys, and
such pets. O abomination ! a great fellow of seven years old can
not say A, B, G ; must cry if he cannot have anything. The young
est is about four and a half years old and in petticoats, who does
not know what a letter is. The two oldest are pretty good fellows.
I am to lodge here until Mr. Bennett comes, when I shall go into
his house, which I fancy will not be very soon. I get up in the
morning, comb ray hair, go to the kitchen, wash rayself, eat my
breakfast, go down to the store; at two o'clock go and eat my din
ner, come down to the store again. So I go on till Sunday, when
I go to Judge Wilson's, and commonly dine there, and every even
ing read French.
The other morning I was waked up by a furious ringing of the
bells. I dressed myself and went down. It was a house on fire.
It belongs to Mr, Brown, a printer. When he went to bed he left
the fire not well covered ; a coal juraped out and caught the floor
on fire ; before any one perceived it, it had got into the garret.
Mr. and Mrs. B, jumped out of bed and were going downstairs.

LUCIUS CARY 139
but raet the fire on the staircase. There was no other remedy but
rushing through it. Mrs. B. was dreadfully burnt, and is since
dead. Her children were all of them first suffocated and then
burnt, — a boy of nine, two girls of thirteen and seven years old.
A servant-maid was also burnt to death, and there was not one of
the faraily escaped unhurt. Mr, B. was shockingly- burnt. What
a situation he is now in ! It is said that he beat his wife that night,
and long before treated her shamefully ; that, once before, she was
very sick, and the nurse was going to administer relief, but she said
"Let me die, for my heart is broken," May not this, my dear
raother, be called a judgment upon him ? Even to live must be
wretched to him. He was in good circumstances and kept his
carriage. He has suffered very Httle by the fire, his printing office,
which was below, being saved.
On to the southward, it is said, it has been as cold as nineteen
below zero, and two children have been frozen in their bed.
My love to my dear Charlotte, Sarah, Henry, Nancy, Ned, Har
riet, Tom, George, Robert. Kiss that dear little creature William
for me. Bite off a piece of his little cheek. My allowance when
I first came was one quarter of a dollar per week ; it is one half of
a dollar. Love to Mrs. Cheever, Messrs. L. and T.
My dear mother, believe me.
Ever your most affectionate son, Lucius Gary.
I sincerely beg my dear Margaret's pardon for such neglect in
not writing, but as soon as I have something to write about, which
I hope will be soon, I will make it up. My love and respects to
the worthy Mr. Hayes and family. Philadelphia, February 8, 1797,
Again I assume the pleasing task of writing to ray dear raother,
a liberty that I would not change for anything. I every day re
ceive fresh instances of kindness from my dear brother. He behaves
more like a father than a brother. Since I last wrote, nothing of
any consequence has happened, except the death of Mr. Brown.
Poor man ! he died in the raost exquisite torture, and I hear lost
both his arms and his sight. He had a son whom he had treated
so badly that he was obliged to leave his father's house. Even at

I40 THE CARY LETTERS
his death-bed he would have nothing to say to his son. Poor raan !
he is now released from all the cares of this world. My dear
mother, if I can do anything for you, you have but to write and
it shall be done directly. The market here is excellent. I pass
through a part of it every morning. Everything is so clean and
nice ; but there is one thing, and that is, you raust pay well for
everything you have. Chickens and ducks are three quarters of a
dollar a pair, and everything else in proportion.
I hope Henry comes on well with his book, Ned, too, I hope.
The admiral, I know, is a good scholar. George, ray man, can you
read yet ? Robert, how do you come on ? William, you must ask
mararaa to kiss you for me. Compliraents to Messrs. Low and
Turtle. How does Henry drive ?
My dear mother, I remain your affectionate son, Lucius Gary.
P, S. — I would give the world to see what Sara says about me,
so make little extracts from his letters and send them to rae, good
or bad. I beg ray flute may not be sold.
LUGIUS CARY TO HIS MOTHER.
Philadelphia, February 25, 1797.
My dear Mother, — • My brother has just received a letter
which he desires I should enclose directly. He expects to sail
about the 20th of March, and, without Mr. Bennett comes soon, he
will not be able to go to Boston. The letter, I suppose, is from
ray father, as I see his dear hand on the outside of it. What
transports there are at home on the receipt of it, — now all run
ning together, while the tear of expectation glistens in every eye !
My brother received a letter frora my father about the time he was
taken, so I heard the unfortunate news about the same time that
you did. I sympathize with you in our common grief.
I shall mind what you say about acquaintance ; but my dear,
dear raother, don't, I beg, be too frugal with your advice. Don't
suppose that I am one of your fine fellows that hate advice. I
love it dearly, especially when it comes frora such a mother as has
not her equal in the world. Do write me often, my dear raother,
and give rae some more advice. It is like the words that flowed
from old Nestor's mouth. Love to all. LuGius Gary.

LUCIUS CARY 141

LUGIUS GARY TO HIS MOTHER.

Philadelphia, March 10, 1797.
It is now Friday afternoon. My brother went this morning to
New York, and, as I have nothing to do, I thought I would write
you a few lines, though my dear raother you are very deeply in
ray debt. ... I have been to Rickett's Circus once, and twice to
the play. I have also had the pleasure of seeing General Wash
ington, Mrs. W., and faraily. I could hardly believe my eyes when
I saw this long-wished-for sight. I am now quite satisfied, for I
was afraid they would go away before I could get a sight of them ;
but I was determined to see them if it cost me ever so much.
It was not one of those momentary sights, it was a good long view ;
it was at the play. I had heard that they were going for the last
time, so I thought I would go, too ; and it was very lucky for me
that I did, though if I had been ten minutes later I should not
have been able to have got in ; however, I sat very near them.
The play was called " The Way to be Married." I liked it very
well. I have also seen one called " Columbus," which is a very
good one. I have my washing done here at four shillings, which
is a little better than half a dollar. I have been obliged to give up
one pair of my pantaloons, and have had a new pair of breeches.
I go regularly to church every Sunday with Judge Wilson's fam
ily, except when there is not room enough there ; then I go to
meeting, but always go to one or the other. As for male ac
quaintance, I have for instance Mr, Wilson's family, which con
sists of sorae very clever young fellows ; and those young appren
tices about our store, whora you know I must seem to like, whether
I do or not, to avoid the imputation of pride, which of all things
I dislike. I have also one other good acquaintance, and that is
Francis Coffin, who is Mrs. W. Godman's brother, and keeps Mr.
Godman's store at New York. With him I carry on a pleasing
correspondence by letter ; he is, indeed, a very clever fellow.
As for the female sex, I am such an awkward fellow, and make
so litde impression on them, that I have almost given them up.
I remain your affectionate and dutiful son,
Lucius Gary.
I believe this is our little George's birthday. Give my love to
the dear little fellow and the rest of them.

142 THE CARY LETTERS

LUCIUS CARY TO HIS MOTHER.

Philadelphia, July i, 1797,
My dear Mother, — I received your favor of 15th June a few
days ago, apprising me of the return of my father. Yes, my dear
parent, I congratulate you most sincerely upon this happy occa
sion ; to hear of your happiness is an addition to mine, and the joy
I feel at the thoughts of your being in such good spirits is more
than I can properly express. Yet where shall we find perfect hap
piness ? Nowhere I am persuaded can we find a situation which
has not something, some Httle inconvenience, to disturb the peace
of those who are in it. Thus, for instance, ourselves, who, while we
are rejoicing at the return of our father, at the same tirae our joy
is embittered with the thoughts of the loss sustained in the West
Indies. All will yet be well, depend upon it, my dear raother. I
am very glad to see you wait with such patience till that time
comes when you will be completely happy in having all your chil
dren round you, which, I do not doubt, will soon come. I agree
with you that the healthy situation of Retreat, and the company of
his faraily, will serve in a great measure to restore our dear father
to his wonted health and spirits. . . .
The books that I have read are principally lives, voyages, maga
zines, travels, histories, letters, and some novels, — such as the
lives of Mahomet, king of Prussia, and others ;. voyages of Cook
and Anson ; of George Barrington to Botany Bay ; magazines for
1794-1797 ; travels of Hunter, etc.; histories of France, of Charles
XII., Danish Massacre ; letters of Chesterfield ; novels : " Montal-
bert," " Fool of Quality," " Charles Towerly ; or. Bastille," " Char
lotte ; or. Tale of Truth," and a number of others.
In one of my forraer letters to you I said in the latter part of
it " that, as I could raake no impression on the fair sex, I was re
solved to give them up." This, no doubt, carried a great appear
ance of levity with it, and you might, perhaps, wonder what I
meant. It was quite a mistake, for I mean to say that they could
raake no impression on me, for you know being in company would
serve to take off that diffidence which I have hanging about rae,
Mr. and Mrs. Bennett I must not pass over in silence. They
are always extremely kind to me. They have an uncle and maiden

LUCIUS CARY 143
aunt and sister who reside about twenty miles from town. They
come to town sometiraes to see Mrs. B. ; and once, while they
were here, they invited rae to come up and see thera. Accord
ingly, a few days after, I went up with Mrs. B., and passed two
days very agreeably. The uncle is a very good farraer, and has
had a large farm, which he sold lately for ;^io,ooo currency. He
has now a small farm, which he hires, and lives very corafortably.
Talking with me about farming, he desired me, the next time I
wrote home, to ask my friends to send me some " French turnip
and beet seed." Now I should like extremely to oblige the old
gentleman. Gould you not, my dear mother, contrive to get it in
some way ? If, however, there is any difficulty in it, do not mind
it. I would thank you if you would send my flute on by my
brother when he visits you, for I regret the want of it very much.
. . . And now, my dear mother, let me put an end to this long
letter by subscribing myself, what I never shall cease to be.
Your raost affectionate and dutiful son, Lucius Gary.

LUCIUS GARY TO HIS MOTHER.
Philadelphia, January 4, 1798,
On Monday last I had the pleasure of receiving a letter from ray
dearest mother ; Mrs. Wilson, who arrived on Sunday evening,
acquainting me that my friends in Chelsea were all well.
Mrs. Bennett is now nearly recovered, and Fourth Street is again
blessed with her smiles. The little boy. Master Jaraes Thoraas
Benger Bennett, now nearly five months old, has lately been inocu
lated, and grows finely. I assure you, you did Mr. and Mrs. B.
no more than justice in calling 'em " a pattern of conjugal affec
tion," for, in my humble opinion, they have fully earned the famous
Flitch of Bacon. I wish it were possible that you could take a
look at our fireside one of these evenings ; I am almost sure you
would like it. At one side you 'd find the aforementioned couple
cooing away like two pigeons, and at the opposite corner, your son
Lucius reading, and every now and then stealing a sly look at
them ; in the intervening space, a friend or two ; the mug of beer
at the fire, and on the table glasses.

144 THE CARY LETTERS
The city is now perfectly cleared of yellow fever, and Philadel
phia looks as bright as ever. How happy do your repeated ex
pressions of love and affection make me, my dear mother ! With
how much pleasure would I do anything that would contribute in
any manner to the happiness of one whom I so dearly love and
honor !
I have got Campbell's " Journey Overland to India," and like it
very much. " The Studies of Nature " by St. Pierre is, I fancy, a
new publication, as I find it is not to be had here.
Mrs. Wilson informs me that we shall have the pleasure of
my brother's company here as soon as a convenient opportunity
presents. I ara determined to speak to hira respecting an old
promise of his to allow me a stated annual sum for clothes, — say
fifty dollars, which I think is little enough, for it has cost that
the last year, exclusive of shirts, which you know are dear ; then
I shall not be obliged to ask Mr, B. for everything.
Give my best love and duty to my dear, dear father. I am happy
to hear he enjoys such good health.
My love to them all. Adieu, my dearest mother. Believe rae
ever Your raost affectionate and dutiful son, Lucius Cary,
MRS. CARY TO HER SON SAMUEL, AT LLOYD'S COFFEE HOUSE,
LONDON, Retreat, August 25, 1798.
My DEAR Sam, — Your favor of June 20th, written while at Mar
tinique, lies before me. In fine spirits you had taken your passage
on board the Grenville Bay for England, the scene of your youth
ful hours. Is there, then, no period of our lives we can retrace with
out a sigh ? Alas, no ! If at your age you confess that you look
back with a raixture of pain and pleasure that leaves the mind in
doubt which is most predominant, thus shall it be with the longest
life, while all to come after the toil is over shall be permanent, as
it is unalloyed with even a painful reflection. Your excellent let
ter, so calculated to inspire every cheerful idea, has yet, I think,
made me more serious than if you had written a sermon. I sus
pect your spirits are artificial, not, as Margaret told you in her last

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 14S
letter that " mamma said you had written after dinner," which
was merely a jocular idea of the moment, and vanished as soon
as expressed. I must beg your pardon, therefore, my love, for
I ara certain you never justly incurred a suspicion of the kind.
But I know you think a great deal, and until you are fixed in
sorae permanent way of business have much room for serious re
flection. I congratulate you upon the progress I suppose you to have
made on the violin during your passage, and shall more readily
allow all your improvements when you come back, and more per
haps than you reaHy deserve. You have a taste for music ; culti
vate it as much as leisure from more important business will ad
mit. It will sweeten your journey through the rugged path of life
in many a bitter hour.
Charles is at last with us. He is in fine health, and as good
spirits as usual with hira. He is soon to leave us, having just en
gaged, or rather accepted, a berth as second mate on board the ship
Newport, Captain Tube, a ship owned by Mr. Hays and Coffin
Jones, bound to Virginia for freight, and from thence to London.
I beg you to remember rae raost kindly to Mr. and Mrs. Marryat
and to Mrs. Barry. We are in expectation of hearing frora you, if
not seeing you, very soon. Your father is perfectly well, as are
also the young folks. Adieu, my dear Sam, and believe me.
Your raost affectionate mother, Sarah Gary.
MR. GARY TO HIS SON SAMUEL AT THE CLOSE OF MRS. CARY'S
LETTER.
My DEAR Son, — Charles is on board a ship of Mr. Hays, and
will sail in two weeks for Virginia, and then straight for London.
I have just received a letter from Mr. Brande, dated July ; he had
made 47 hogsheads of sugar and shipped 45. I wrote to Mr.
Bennett in July to draw on me, but I have not heard from him
since. He then wrote me that he had used the letters and papers
you mentioned, and would send them on, but they have not come
to hand. News you get through the papers. Boston has been,
and they say now is, sickly. There was no keeping Charles at
home, and yet I fear his being taken, as we are now at war with
10

146 THE CARY LETTERS
the French. Remember me kindly to Mr. and Mrs. Marryat, to
Mr, Thornton, and in the kindest manner to Mr, Higgins.
Yours raost affectionately, Samuel Gary.
Charles wrote you by two opportunities.
After my grandfather's return from Grenada his son's
plans appear to have been altered, and both Sam and Lucius
returned to the West Indies, where the former remained till
his death in 1810. FROM MRS. GARY TO HER SON SAM.
Retreat, March 29, 1799.
This morning, looking over some letters of yours received during
your apprenticeship in Grenada, and others after I quitted you
and left that island, all strongly expressive of the tenderest and
most exalted love, together with the neat, sraall ring " to filial af
fection," has awakened all the mother in my soul. Ah, my loved
Sara, Heaven is witness how dear you are to me, and how amply you
have fulfilled my wishes respecting your conduct and manners
since that period, when by your letters it appears I expressed some
doubts at leaving you at so early an age. Yes, I know you in
corruptible, and that to God and your own conscience you will
ever acquit yourself. I am just in disposition to grow serious, for
which )'ou would not, I believe, thank rae. Well then, the old
gardener, a newly hired man by the narae of Greenleaf, is lopping
some of the branches from the fruit trees in the garden, whither
Lucius and your father are gone to superintend, while I ara writ
ing this letter, having only one half hour allowed me before tea.
Margaret, Sarah, and Nancy strolled to the cottage, and myself
free from interruption, with Harriet by my side, who only asks
that her thanks be presentedyfrj/ for your sweet remembrance (as
she calls it) of her in the gift of Noah's ark, farm-yard, and enraged
farmer. She is very certain, she says, that no one ever had so kind
and excellent a brother. I beg leave also to thank you for my
muff and tippet ; but thanks are very inadequate, my love, to the
grateful effusions of my heart. Suffice it, then, to acknowledge that
I shall always consider myself greatly your debtor. This last is

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 1 47
only a new proof, a new tesdraony, of that affection that I shall
ever, I hope, esteem it my pride to possess. I refer you to Mar.
garet for particulars relating to the gifts for the chddren. No one,
I think, is more highly gratified than herself in the elegant little
ebony paper case.
We are become impatient to hear from you; one of your vessels
is said to be missing ; the rest of the fleet safe arrived. There are
late accounts from Martinique, and we have been disappointed in
not receiving letters from you. The mind ever busy in creating
trouble for itself, we have only one conjecture, which is that your
vessel is the one missing. For my part I ara willing to hope for
the best, and not to despond, although the vessel you may be in
should be lagging behind, which is often the case in a fleet, where
one or more, I know, often sail more heavily than the rest.
Heaven grant you success, my dear, dear Sam, in your affairs. My
daily prayers are offered up for you.
I wish I had anything agreeable to write you about. We have
had a raost tedious winter, shut up during the whole tirae within
doors, and thought ourselves blessed in a cheerful fireside.
Farewell, my dear son, and beHeve me
Your most affectionate mother, Sarah Gary.
P. S. — Your father is perfectly well ; Henry at Billerica Acad
emy ; and Charles's ship, the Newport, been spoken twice within
a fortnight, and a probable supposition is that she is now in
Virginia, there to take a load of tobacco for London.
Retreat, y««^ 21, 1799.
My dear Sam, — I wrote you by Lucius, yet will not deny my
self the pleasure of saying. How do you do ? I hope the Sally will
reach Martinique safe. When I know that Lucius is in your hands
I shall be reconciled to his absence. I see nothing equally eligi
ble for him here ; for, separate from the difficulty of getting a place
in Boston, should the fever return there again, he raust have come
home ; and should it not, the extreme rigor of the winter season
would prevent my seeing him frequently. Those raothers are
happy who have their children always near them, and those who
have not must submit to the necessity of their absence. You, my
loved Sam, will one day know the pains inseparable from the

148 THE CARY LETTERS
bosora of a fond and dodng parent ; but I hope you will also know
the pleasures and feel the sarae delight (raore I think you cannot)
that I do when I contemplate your virtues. No offense, I hope,
my love. This is not flattery, for flattery is false praise. What I
say is founded on truth, " and truth alone is lovely," and a convic
tion that my love, my raore than parental love, or rather more than
comraon parents feel, is founded on your merits.
When shall I hear from you ? Your father is writing to you.
The business you have confided to him has thrown his thoughts
into a new channel. He is formed for business, which he always
undertakes with ardor. I am certain it will be serviceable to his
health and spirits. Why did he leave it off? As you are not by
rae, I will answer rayself. His fidelity, punctuality, and honor
were too rarely raet with amongst young fellows of his age, and
therefore seized upon by those gentlemen of St. Kitts and friends
of your grandfather, and converted to their own use. In return,
therefore, and to fix his attention to the spot where their interest
lay, they assisted hira in the purchase of a plantation in Grenada ;
for which piece of service, or disservice, I ara the last that ought to
complain, because it was the means of bringing us together for life.
I know not how I got into the conversation with you ; but be that
as it may, you must be satisfied now ; for my tirae, which I had
limited, is expired, and I will seal my letter before my good lord
reads it ; for you men are apt to be vain of the good opinion of
ladies, and it is bad policy in a wife to let her husband know to
the full extent her good opinion of him ; and so farewell.
I am, my dear Sam, Your most affectionate mother,
Sarah Gary.
Retreat, November 12, 1799.
Last May we were truly happy. Your safe arrival in the West
Indies ; Messrs. G.'s letters, with accounts, sales, etc. ; the com
mission you had thrown into the hands of your father, — all
together gave us a new turn of thoughts ; but, above all, your suc
cessful business raised us to a pitch of happiness and pleasure un
known to us since the insurrection in Grenada. How totally do
ease and prosperity lull the mind into a careless security ! But

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 149
the late accounts have sufficiently roused us, and how readily now
do we allow that the "cup of felicity pure and unmixed is not a
draught for mortals " !
In regard to the demand upon the estate, I think that will .surely
be settled without much difficulty. I well remeraber the transac
tion, as does certainly Mr. Sandbach, who will readily afford any
assistance in his power. Your father, who has written a long letter
to Messrs. C., I fear will think himself obliged to go to Grenada,
although he confesses that the plantation may be conducted without
him. He is undetermined what step to take. His mind is some
times deprived of all firmness; — now this, now that. He resolves,
then re-resolves, still remains undecided, and I dread a fit of sick
ness in his state of mind. He grows impatient to hear from you,
and seems to place his whole happiness in you, and blesses God
every day for having, as he says, blessed hira with a son in whora
he places such confidence and delight. I hope we shall soon hear
from you; for while you are well he cannot be wholly unhappy.
I flatter myself, for my part, that Messrs. G. may be prevailed on
to wait until the plantation holds up its head again, and do think
that if your father could transact any business, upon commission or
otherwise, so as to prevent any demands upon Mt. P. raore than
its expenses, there would be sorae good pickings yet, and it would
be able to free itself of the present load of debt, unless indeed
we should be so truly unfortunate as to have Gautiere demand
to pay a second time. Then indeed -we are corapletely ruined,
and neither equity nor honor reraaining in Grenada. Should we
be even obliged to engage in a lawsuit, it will be Httle short of
ruin. Oh, my dear, my loved Sara, bad as that will be, a separa
tion from your father will be far, far worse. God knows our views
for ourselves are very small, but with such a family I know not
how we are to wade through ; and amidst the pangs your father
suffers, is it amongst the least, think you, that he looks to you for
assistance now who ought to expect it from him ?
Sarah Gary.

ISO THE CARY LETTERS
LUCIUS GARY TO HIS MOTHER. Saint Pierre, July 3, 1799.
Well, my dearest raother, how do you do, and how have you been
for this long and tedious time that I have been absent from you ?
As for rae, I have been quite so so. We sailed from Boston on
Sunday the 9th day of June, and arrived here on Sunday the 29th,
which makes our passage twenty days, and which is ten days shorter
than any vessel now here has had from America. There is a brig
here which was even thirty-six days frora Gape Ann. We were ter
ribly frightened several tiraes. Every sail we saw was a privateer,
and we gave ourselves up for lost whenever one of them approached
us. Twice did I go below and put on all the clothes I could, and
put Citizen Beaujear's letter, with six dollars which I had left, into
my shoes ; however, we got clear, and are now safe at our destined
port. For the first week I was very sick, no appetite for anything.
I grew quite lean and meagre, but we had some good weather after
that, and I grew well again. I carae on shore on Monday morn
ing, and carried my father's letter to Mr. Brady. He received me
very civilly; told me my brother was just gone to Fort Royal, but
that I should remain at his house till his return, I was introduced
to Mrs, Brady and her little daughter, I like thera both very ranch
indeed, and have been treated with a politeness which I think I have
seldom experienced. My brother returned this morning, and re
ceived me with all the kindness and affection I could possibly have
wished or expected. He is gone to Fort Royal again this after
noon, and I am to stay at Mr. Brady's till he returns, which will be
the latter end of the week. I find that my brother is become a
housekeeper. His house is situated in the northern part of the
town, called the New City. I went with hira this raorning to it.
He is looking out now for a store.
Saint Pierre is a pleasant place, and about the size of Boston.
The streets are all paved, and with a gutter in the raiddle, through
which there is always a stream of water running. I now feel quite
contented and happy ; and if I can only please ray brother, which
shall be my utmost endeavor, and hear often from my dear parents,
I shall be perfectly so. Now and then I feel a kind of regret, and
think how many happy days I have spent at Chelsea ; but I always
stifle it with reminding myself how much it is for my good, how

LUCIUS CARY 151
lucky it was for me that I went to Philadelphia. Had I never
left horae, I should now, no doubt, be indulging a foolish weak
ness. I went yesterday to the tailor's, and was raeasured for a
coat, two waistcoats, and a pair of overalls.
This goes by an arraed brig to New York, which is the first ves
sel which has sailed frora this for Araerica since ray arrival. Give
my best love to my dear sister Margaret, Sarah, Nancy, Henry,
Ned, Harriet, and all the rest of my dear litde friends. Tell them
I love them all dearly and will not forget them, and believe me,
ray dear mother, to be ever
Your dutiful and affectionate son, LuGius Gary.
LUCIUS GARY TO HIS MOTHER.
Saint Pierre, July 14, 1799.
My DEAR Madam, — I am now at my brother's house. He ar
rived frora Fort Royal yesterday, and I left Mr. Brady's this raorning.
I wished to thank Mr. and Mrs. B. for their attention and civility
to me, but could not force myself to it (such is my excessive mod
esty). I have just dined, and ara going this afternoon to invite
Captain Ripley to dine with us to-morrow. My brother called me
into his room this morning, and told me that one hundred and
twenty pounds would be placed to the credit of my account at the
end of twelve months, beginning from the day I arrived, as an
allowance for clothes and pocket-money, which he said I should
find quite and not more than sufficient. This is exactly what I
wished. It appears to rae at present, and will no doubt to you,
that ,^120 ($267) is a great deal too ranch, but clothes here are
very high ; for the clothes I have had made here cost as follows :
a coat (but a very handsome blue one, five and a half dollars a
yard), sixteen dollars ; two waistcoats, three shillings apiece ; and
overalls, three dollars. I am very well fitted now, I think, for six
or eight months.
My brother goes to Barbadoes in about a week, and I am to
remain during his absence with Mr. Badge at Fort Royal. I have
seen Mr. B. several times. I like him very much. He is a com
mon-sized man, rather thick and tolerably handsome ; appears to
be very agreeable and good-humored.

152 THE CARY LETTERS
While I was at Mr. and Mrs. Brady's house, Mr. and Mrs. Mac
intosh drank tea there. Mrs. B., without mentioning my name,
observed that I was lately from Boston. Mr. MacL, after asking
me what part of Boston I lived in, and being told Chelsea, inquired
if I knew Mr. Gary there. I told him, yes, that he was my father.
" Mr. Gary your father ! Is it possible ! Ah ! You Mr. Cary's son !
Ay, ay ! indeed ! " He then began a long account of his reception
at Chelsea, and of his little friends there, and among them his
sweetheart Nancy ; declared that he should be very happy to see
me at his house when I was at leisure, and should be glad to oblige
any one belonging to a family from which he had received so many
civilities. It seems he got very little by his Grammars here, for
he put them at six dollars apiece, and no one would buy them, , . .
I am very sorry this is not written very well, but there is a
Frenchman playing the fiddle in the house opposite, and I cannot
help keeping time with hira. Pray give my love to my dear sister
Margaret, whom I shall do myself the pleasure of writing to soon,
to ray dear, good Sarah, and my sweet Nancy, It shall not be long
before I write them. Give my best love to my dear boys, Henry,
Ned, Tom, George, Robert, William, and to my good friend Har
riet, not forgetting the little cottager, with his father and motheri
who, I hope, both continue to enjoy health.
Believe rae, ray dear raother, to be, ever sincerely.
Your most affectionate and dutiful son, Lucius Gary.
LUCIUS GARY TO HIS MOTHER.
Fort Royal, October 4, 1799.
Yesterday I had the great pleasure of receiving ray dear mother's
much esteeraed favor of the 30th August, for which I return you
my best thanks, and beg you to believe that I pay due attention
to its contents in every respect. I observe what you say respect
ing my future prospects in life and my present situation. I assure
you I know no one single occupation in which I could be more
happy or more contented than in my present one ; as for a physi
cian, nothing would have been raore foreign to ray feelings. I
cannot help thinking that there is always a fatality attends these
things, and that all we are to do in the whole course of our lives is

LUCIUS CARY 153
determined long before we come into the world. Will you favor
me with your opinion on this subject ?
I am still with Mr. Badge here. As the quarter is at an end,
we are all very busy making up accounts ; but I believe we shall
finish in a week, when my brother goes to Barbadoes and I take a
trip to Grenada to see how my father's estate comes on there, and
frora whence I will write you. I promise myself much pleasure in
reviewing the places where I spent so much of my early life. I
fear I shall find thera too much altered to be able to trace any of
those scenes which once afforded me so much delight ; where in
nocence, happiness, and good-huraor all contributed to furnish us
with a continual round of amusement and pleasure. Oh, I shall
never forget it !
A most melancholy accident happened here lately, which has
thrown a damp on my spirits that I have hardly been able to re
move. There was here a young man with whom I became ac
quainted soon after ray coming here. Our acquaintance soon
grew into an intimacy. We shared all our arauseraents and pleas
ures, and thought but of pleasing each other. One day I missed
him, and went to the house where he lived. He was sick with a
fever, and despaired of. The next day I went. He was breathing
his last, and in half an hour, died. I had not even the consola
tion of bidding him farewell. The first time I went he was
asleep ; the next, insensible. I had half a dollar belonging to hira
in ray possession, with which I have bought a sraall penknife,
which, with ray raouming gloves, I will keep as a memorial of him,
and, while I live, shall never forget the worthy Robert Payne.
Believe me ever, my dear mother.
Your very affectionate and dutiful son, Lucius Gary.
LUCIUS GARY TO HIS MOTHER.
Fort Royal, December 3, 1799,
My DEAR Madam, ... As I have not many subjects to write
upon, I will just tell you how I pass my time. At five in the morn
ing I rise, and walk till six ; write until nine, when I breakfast ;
am exercising my pen until three, when I leave off to dress, which
with dinner employ me till five ; I then write again till sunset (six
o'clock), at which time I leave off and shut up ; six to eight, walk-

154 THE CARY LETTERS
ing ; eight to nine, contemplating ; nine to five, sleeping ; and
thus passes the day. Mr. Badge has two young men besides me.
One is the store-keeper, and the other an assistant to us both. I
ara book-keeper, and have lately been made cash-keeper, and re
ceived the key of the iron chest in due form (which, between you
and rae, I think shows a little confidence). My brother has been
quite unsettled these several months, and is not yet quite fixed at
St. Pierre ; but as soon as he is, which I hope will be in a month,
I shall return thither. St, Pierre is by far the largest and better
place ; besides, I shall have many raore opportunities of making
money than I ever should here. My brother is at present gone to
Grenada, so that I am disappointed in my expected jaunt thither;
however, I hope that pleasure is in reserve for me.
Give my very best love to my very dear boys, also to ray dear
girls, and believe me ever, ray dear mother.
Your very dutiful and affectionate son,
L. H. Gary.
LUCIUS GARY TO HIS MOTHER.
Mount Pleasant, May 8, i8oo.
My dear Mother, — Behold rae at length in Grenada, after
ten years' absence, visiting the place where I spent my earliest
youth and so many happy days. I arrived in St. George's on
Tuesday last, with introductory letters for Messrs, Orr, Campbell,
Naghten, and Sandbach, Soon after my arrival I waited on Mrs.
Horsford with a book frora my brother. As I went up the hill to
her house where she lives, I was thinking how I should introduce
myself. However, I had scarcely opened the door, when the old
lady came up to me and addressed me by name, and then intro
duced me to the two Misses Rose. I recollected them all quite
perfectly, particularly Mrs. H. I received an invitation to corae
and visit them on my return to town, which I shall comply with.
You may easily imagine what I felt when I arrived on the plan
tation. I recollected everything, — the works, negro-houses, and
gully ; even the rock at the corner and bottora of the hill did not
escape rae. I could turn my eyes nowhere that I did not meet
with some object which put me in mind of former times. The
negroes came up one by one and introduced themselves. There

LUCIUS CARY 155
were, however, very few which I recollected. They were all sur
prised to see me, and particularly old Constance, the cook, who
expressed ranch wonder at seeing rae grown so tall. They all in
quired after all the family very particularly, one by one, and de
sired rae to remember them to you, Charlotte, and Fanny. The
country, you may easily suppose, is very much altered since you
were there. On every estate appear old walls, etc., and all the
reraains of forraer splendor. I ara, at present, on the Resource
estate with Mr. Sandbach. He lives in the little cooper's shop on
the edge of the hill. He has a new house building where the old
one forraerly was, and intends to begin the garden again, which is
at present a heap of rubbish.
It is now quite dark, and I have no more time. I will there
fore take my leave until I arrive at St. George's. St. George's, May 20.
I arrived here this morning from the Maran estate, where I had
been spending a few days with Mr. Alexander Campbell by his
pardcular invitation. I dined yesterday with Mrs. Horsford and
family, and spent the day very pleasantly. She inquired after a
great raany people in America, and gave rae a long history of the
insurrection. I am much gratified with the confidence which you place in me
with regard to the disposal of my time. Depend upon it, it shall
always be my study to give you as well as myself pleasure by ever
conducting myself in such a manner as never to give either you or
my father the slightest cause to be displeased with my behavior.
I beg my best love to all my dear boys and girls, and am ever.
My dear mother,
Your truly affectionate son,
L. H. Gary.
lugius cary to his mother.
Fort Royal, Jidy 4, 1800.
My dear Mother, . . . Soon after I arrived frora Grenada,
my brother and rayself were preparing letters for Chelsea. My
brother asked me if I intended sending anything to Araerica. I

156 THE CARY LETTERS
told him that I was undetermined, as I had found no captain as
yet in whora I could confide. He then directed rae to put up some
old rum, sweetmeats, etc., and to send them to you, which I ac
cordingly did, and shipped them on board the schooner John, Gap-
tain Allen, of Boston, to ray father's address. He expressed hira
self in such ambiguous terms as induced rae to suppose that he
intended the present to be mine. I did not find out the mistake
until it was too late to rectify it, the box being sent and I having
mentioned it to you and my father as from rae. You now see the
ridiculous position in which I now ara, and I hope my father and
you will consider this explanation as a sufficient apology.
I am extreraely happy to hear frora you that the season is so
favorable and so charraing. We have no reason to complain on
this island. The French, you know, take much more pains with
their fruit-trees than the English, and we have always great abun
dance. I like the scheme very much that you have adopted of
planting poplars near the house. I would recommend setting some
of them in clusters, and also cutting the tops of those which are
thus planted, which you know will make them raore shady and
thicker. I should think also a peach-tree here and there would
be an improveraent. I was pleased and gratified in hearing that
Charles is so likely to do well for himself, and is situated so much
to his satisfaction. ... I will close this epistle firmly assured that
you will never have any reason to believe me other than.
My dear raother.
Your very affectionate and dutiful son,
L. H. Gary.
LUCIUS GARY TO HIS MOTHER.
Martinique, October 22, 1800.
My dear Mother, — Yours of the 22d of July I have received,
and have heard of an opportunity to answer it, but by the fleet
which sails on Sunday, ... I had the honor of conveying Miss
Bridgewater of Grenada on board the packet-boat this morning ;
but she did not vouchsafe me a single look or word, although I am
confident she knew me. I beHeve I am doomed to be unfortunate
with the ladies, who never take any notice of me. I observe your
mention of Henry, and your wish for his being settled. I assure

LUCIUS CARY 157
you I am quite interested for his future welfare, and sincerely wish
that he may procure a good situation ; but I see no likelihood of
his finding one here, though I should be much pleased at its taking
place. We have had very few arrivals here lately from America,
and not many frora England.
General Knox stopped here not long ago on his way to Jaraaica,
of which he is appointed lieutenant-governor. The correspondence
between England and these islands has been very much disturbed
lately. No less than seven packets were taken successively during
the last six months. Adrairal Duckworth, of the Leviathan, on his
way out, however, fell in with a sraall Spanish fleet, the principal
part of which he captured ; and three large ships were sold here to
speculators frora St. Thomas. i
The foregoing I put in for my father, to whom I shall write per
next opportunity, and now send some papers and magazines. I
beg to be always remembered to my father, and ara always, my
dear mother. Your very affectionate and dutiful son,
L. H. Gary.

V

LETTERS FROM MRS, CARY, LUCIUS CARY,
AND MISS OTIS
1S00-1815

SAM CARY TO HIS MOTHER
Martinique, February 13, 1800.
|Y DEAR MAD.AM, — I have received yours of the 17th
November, and acknowledged the receipt of it once or
twice, I believe, to my father. It is time I should per
sonally acknowledge it to yourself. We can all bear
our own misfortunes, I find, but not those of each other. Accuse
not me of too much refinement. What are these misfortunes which
fall so heavy upon us ? Our family is all in harmony ; its reputa
tion is uninjured. The young children are in a fair way of being
well educated, and the elder ones are contented with their lot. We
have not so much money as we want. There is every prospect
that at the end of this year Campbell's demand against us will be
reduced to ;^2,ooo, and we shall be free of all other debt except
that to ray uncle. With all this the estate will probably, in the
ensuing year, raise its head again. Oh, but you will say, this is not
all the effect of your father's exertions. You say true ; it is not an
effect resulting imraediately from his actual efforts, but it is the
consequence of the conduct he has pursued and the character he
has obtained in life. If my father had not been careful of my edu
cation, I could not have been the instrument used to convey as
sistance to him ; and if Mr. Higgins had not a high respect for
my father's character, he would have thought a ranch slighter pro
vision sufficient for me, my present opportunities being considered
by Mr. H. as the medium through which he may express his friend-

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 159
ship for my father. You think, I fancy, that amidst all the troubles
of the family I am the only one beyond the reach of misfortune.
Yes, Sam rises like a lark ; his day is unclouded, and the evening
closes upon him in peace ! Suffer yourself to be undeceived.
Homo sum. Envy me not, then, the consolation I have in think
ing that I have been regarded worthy of being used as the means
of comforting my father. Riches are a blessing.
Enough of morality. Let us be mortals like other people, and
talk scandal a little. Doctor H., of Grenada, has married Mrs. G.
and three children. I send some Grenada newspapers for your
amusement. Mrs. R. is supposed to be about to be married to
Mr. C, and Mrs. G. to Mr. A. These reports want confirraation.
The ladies themselves, as usual, know for their part nothing about
it. The latter match, if it be intended, must at all events be de
ferred in consequence of the death of old Mr. L., who three weeks
ago ended all his troubles in this world. Another widow at Gre
nada. Who bids ? Yours affectionately,
Sam Gary.
mrs. gary to her son sam.
June 17, 1800.
My DEAR Sam, — I thank you for your kind, philosophical,
moral, affectionate, and elegant letter of 14th of February. I like
to begin a letter with an acknowledgment of one received. It
never fails to put the reader into good-humor. ... I ara perfectly
satisfied with your conduct, and I hope you are so with mine. The
sentiments that fall frora your and ray pen are careless and un
studied, and never designed to give anything but pleasure.
The season is delightful. What pleasure would you not take in
walking with us to the dyke, which is full of fine fish, and proves a
new source of arauseraent to your father and his boys, who go out
every morning, between four and five o'clock, and bring us in a
plentiful supply for the table ! This place has become my favorite
Walk. It greatly exceeds, in my opinion, in beauty and variety, any
other view within our limits.
Farewell, my dear, dear Sam. Do not expect long letters, now
that they are likely to be so much exposed.
We have not heard from Charles, who, I have often wrote you, is

l60 THE CARY LETTERS
gone to the East Indies. Henry is at home learning French. The
young folks are all perfectly well. Your father and Marget are
writing to j'ou. Once raore adieu, and believe me
Most affectionately yours,
Sarah Gary.

MRS. GARY TO HER SON SAM.
Retreat, October 28, 1800.
Accept ray sincere thanks for your kind letter 13th June. Had
you been drawn by any other hand, I should have declared with
out hesitancy my dear Sara never sat for the picture. It seems to
convince me of a truth suggested by Dr. Blair, that every man (and
woman, I suppose) sustains in himself three characters : — the one
he bears in the eyes of the world, in his own, and in those of the
Supreme Being. As the last is undoubtedly raost just, so it is
also of most importance, and I have always had the greatest rea
son to believe that you raake that your rule of conduct. Corae,
my love, be just to yourself. I am afraid, upon so close a scrutiny,
we should all raake a bad figure. For ray part, I will not venture
to raake you my confessor, for had I your candor I should appear
much worse. We are as we were raade, and He who knows our
imperfections will have compassion on us, and give to those who
ask, that stability and aid so requisite to put in practice good and
virtuous resolutions. How can I, how shall I, how ought I, ex
press the feelings of my mind ? It is to you I am indebted for the
continuance of your father with his family, and for the peace of
mind he enjoys ; but affection and admiration have been ever the
ruling principles in my mind towards you, and overrule even my
gratitude ; yet, if I could, I wish to make you sensible of the latter.
I can only say that the former is greater, if possible, than ever.
I have nothing to tell you. The young folks are all writing, and
I hope you will be able to pick up something amongst their letters
that will entertain and please you. We have not heard yet of
Charles, I hope he will succeed this time, -^ now or never, it may
be said, — for his character will be, this voyage, too firmly fixed to
alter, I tremble when I look abroad and see children of one fam
ily so totally opposite in their disposition and actions, as you
know we frequently do, and ask myself what right I have to expect

MRS. SAMUEL CARY l6l
that my nine sons should all turn out in life and sustain their parts
equally well. The result is that I will endeavor raost faithfully to
inculcate those principles of religion and virtue in which I was my
self instructed, and see no reason why I should depart frora them,
and leave them in the hands of that Being who has supported,
comforted, and, I flatter myself, directed to the present time.
There are some people that never know when nor where to leave
off, and from a review of this letter I begin to think I shall appear
to belong to the number.
A small present, containing the following articles, my dear Sam
will do me the favor to accept of : —
2 large pots of quince-preserves.
I small pot of marmalade.
2 " pots of peaches.
I " pot of damsons.
I large " honey.
I " " peaches, pickled.
I " " mixed mangoes, peppers, cucumbers, pickled.
One of the large pots of quince and the nuts be so good as to give
to Lucius.
Farewell, my dear Sam. Success attend you, and all the happi
ness you wish yourself. Yours most affectionately, Sarah Gary.
mrs. cary to her son sam.
Retreat, Chelsea, November 19, 1800.
My DEAR Son, — I acknowledge your last favor of June 13th,
and have no occasion, I believe, to repeat that I derive the greatest
satisfaction frora your letters. The time will arrive, I trust, when
we shall have no further occasion to correspond by letter, — a sub
stitute at best for the delights of conversation. At present I do
not even flatter rayself with a thought of seeing you, knowing as
I do that the support of the family rests with you, and that it is
through your exertions alone that your father is enabled to reside
with me. I must therefore submit in silence, and hope for the
best, I know in whatever corner of the world your business calls
you, there it is most for your interest and ours you should be, I
know also that there is no corner secreted from that Being who has

1 62 THE CARY L.E TTERS
hitherto raade you his care, and prospered you beyond ray expec
tation. To Hira, ray love, I daily recoraraend you ; and as you have
a larger share of weight and anxiety upon your shoulders, so I
raost earnestly pray that you may have a larger proportion of his
aid and influence upon your mind and actions than ray other chil
dren. I did not intend to have written thus far without making a propo
sition to you, — the chief object, indeed, I had in writing this letter:
It is that you, my dear Sam, shall give me your picture, — a small
size, oval, and in a neat ebony frame. I do not wish you to incur
any great expense, only pray that it may be done by an artist in
his profession, having seen some intolerable daubs of late in gilt
frames. If you cannot have it well done in your island, I shall be
content to wait some future day, when perhaps business may call
you to England. There you will have a complete likeness taken.
Methinks I hear you reply that you once asked the sarae favor
of rae and was refused. It is very true ; but I was so circura-
stanced that I could not gratify you with propriety, and I assure
you I felt great pain in the refusal, although at that time, from
motives of prudence, I did not express it to you, Margaret is in
charming spirits and high health, as are all the rest of the family,
excepting your father and little William, Farewell, ray dear, dear
Sam, and believe me to be
Your truly affectionate mother,
Sarah Gary.
sam gary to his mother.
November 29, 1800.
What, Sam, just at the point of setting off for England, and we
only now hear of such an intendon, although you had it and com
municated it four months ago ! Indeed, madam, the fault is not
mine, if you did not hear of it. I only desired my secret might
not find its way out to this country yet awhile, and perhaps the
person intrusted with it took what he thought the raost effectual
method to prevent it by keeping it to himself. A bad excuse and
an impertinent one, dear Sam. But come, let us hear what is the
meaning of this voyage. How happens it that when you are trav
eling about in this manner you do not contrive to pay us a visit
here ? I suppose we are considered as your nobodies. Indeed,

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 163
my dear madam, it is not for want of inclination that I do not go
to see you, but business obliges me to absent rayself ; and you
know I wrote two years ago that I could not hope to return to you
while the war should continue.
Well, sir, we shall forgive you this time, but remember that,
though you raen pretend to be the only keepers of secrets, there are
some feraales who are as good at it as you are for your lives.
Approach and kiss our hands.
Well, now that ray peace is made, I shall set off without asking
leave of any one else, — sail for Barbadoes and then England,
not forgetting a good supply of woolens and flannels to meet the
northwesters I shall be greeted with in your latitudes. I shall take
care to make myself comfortable as I go on, both in this and other
respects. I grow too old to be cheated with the hope that the
instant I put my foot ashore in England I shall be a happy man.
Once nothing was wanting to make rae completely happy but to
get from the West Indies to America. Then, a visit to England
seemed Hke a visit to a new world. After that I was at a loss to
know what I wanted. Yesterday Doctor Johnson told me, —
" Active in indolence, abroad I roam
In quest of happiness which dwells at home.
With vain pursuits fatigued, at length I find
No place excludes it from an equal mind."
Now I am growing learned I shall be apt to puzzle you and my
self, too ; so, if you can raake anything of my letter in its present
state, you are welcome to it, for I shall not have time to write an
other. Ever your most affectionate son,
S. C.
MRS. CARY TO HER SON SAM.
Retreat, January 6, 1801.
Accept my thanks, my dear Sam, for your kind favor of Octo
ber 2 2d.
My dear Sam well knows it to be the wish of both father and
mother to cultivate and inform, as much as possible, the rainds of
their children. Several of the eldest are of an age to learn geog
raphy, and for want of a small terrestrial globe make very slow

164 THE CARY LETTERS
progress. Will you, therefore, send us one ? Do not let it be large
or expensive, and accompany it with a book entitled " Geographi
cal Games," by Abbd Gauder, with counters. These have been
lent us by Mr. Tudor, but they wished their return in so short a
time that very little proficiency could be raade. . . .
Of our domestic affairs I ought to say something. Since Low
has taken the farm at halves, we are more satisfied than ever, and
are freer frora care. His growing family is the only objection.
They have already two children, and one cannot feel the same in
difference towards them as to strangers, and consequently cannot
keep them at the same distance. All conveniences, they say, are
attended with difficulties, so to this we raust submit. Charlotte is
a good woman, and perhaps she never served me more essentially
than now, and in so doing she serves herself. Your father is re
lieved from the care of the men, and has no occasion, without he
chooses it, to trouble hiraself with the farm, excepting only to have
an eye to the produce as it is selling off ; for, although he places
great confidence in Low, and believes him to be strictly honest,
that he may not have even the temptation 10 be otherwise, your
father obliges him to settle accounts with him frequently and ac
quaint him with all his plans. When things go wrong (and where
do they always go right ?), you may believe it is a difficult matter to
remain a silent observer. Nor does he altogether, but admonishes
in private in the parlor. For my part, the back parlor is converted
into a small kitchen, and I seldom visit the other part of the house ;
and we have a door that separates the two entries, when we choose
to be alone. . . . Your father has exchanged a young horse (Dia
mond) for a horse (Puppet) for Marget, who is much pleased with
the thoughts of again making use of the saddle, and promises her
self much pleasure when the season of riding will permit. Is she
not a fine woraan ? Her letters must afford you exquisite pleasure.
I never can regret, my dear Sam, the disappointments, the almost
innumerable vexations, that have led to such delicate refinement,
such exalted worth, as she possesses. I wish you, ray dear, ray
beloved Sam, every pleasure that has virtue for its basis. Remera
ber us kindly to Mr. and Mrs. Marryat, and believe me.
Most affectionately,
Sarah Gary.

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 165
I am just going to write to Lucius. I tremble for his morals now
that you have left him. How much does such a youth require the
influence of good example, and how easily are they led to follow
the bad ! MRS. GARY TO HER SON SAM. Retreat, July, 1801.
Accept my thanks, my ever dear Sam, for your letter from Mar
tinique just before you sailed for England. After your letter to
your father, dated at sea, which filled ray whole soul with despon
dency, I can truly say I began to exert all ray little stock of forti
tude to prepare for your loss. My dear fellow, said I to myself,
discouraged with a review of his affairs ; involved, as he inevitably
must be, by those of his beloved father, — what but the loss of him
must be the result ? Add to these afflictive thoughts the not hear
ing from you from January until July, and judge of my feelings,
which I dare not disclose even to my best friend. Gloomy thoughts
and forebodings are contagious, and those who cannot disperse the
sorrows of those they love, ought at least to be silent. With evi
dent signs of despair your father would wake at midnight and say,
" Why do I not get a line from my dear son ? Spare him, O my
God ! spare him, and let not that greatest of all misfortunes, the
loss of one so dear, befall me ; " and then again, with Christian
piety, endeavor to submit to his fate. In June, Mr. T. Codman
arrived from England, and, on inquiry, said he thought he had
heard young Mr. Gary had arrived in England, although it was
accompanied with a doubt and concealed some time frora us, lest
we should put too ranch confidence in it ; yet, as soon as it reached
us, it conveyed to my mind so strong an intimation of truth, that
I shall always believe it to have been suggested by that kind, good
Being who is not so far distant as we are apt to imagine, and more
near in those agonizing moraents when, without his aid, nothing
huraan could save a feeling raind from total distraction. So, after
all, my loved Sam, your letter arrived safe and removed those
heavy clouds that seemed ready to overwhelm us. I thank God
for this favor, and think rayself supremely blessed in your safety. I
will not again, I think, be anxious about what shall happen to rae, and
say with the Stoics everything that happens is best. If Providence
sees fit to grant my desires they will be granted ; if otherwise I am
resolved to submit, and in a steady performance of my duty be

1 66 THE CARY LETTERS
resigned to every event. Do my own religious opinions teach
more ? I shall now be contented and happy and resigned even in
the hour of death.
Adieu ! Keep up your spirits, my love, and believe Heaven has
great good in store for you by and by. I am extremely disap
pointed, too, that you did not make us a visit at Chelsea, which I
dared not even propose. Yours most affectionately,
Sarah Gary.
mr. gary to his son sam.
Chelsea, October 13, 1801,
There is now before the General Court a petition for leave to
build a bridge from Chelsea to Charlestown Point, and to make a
turnpike road from Salera to it. I think it will be granted. One
survey goes through the farm just before the dyke. They are now
surveying Noddle's Island, and intend to ask for leave to build a
bridge from that to Chelsea. It is proposed to lay that out in
streets and house lots, and if it is done it will soon be the hand
somest part of Boston. We are going to ordain a very fine young
man the first Wednesday in November, so that Chelsea is now on
rising ground. Many respectable people are looking out for land
in this town. From Salem to Boston will be only twelve miles,
and eight tenths of all their imports are sent to Boston. The gen
tlemen of Salem tell me they will come by land, as they are much
damaged by water. It was proved that not less than three hun
dred people pass to and from Boston on business every day, and
the eastern country is growing very fast.
19th or 17th you were twenty-eight. May Heaven long continue
a life so inestimable to your family ! . . .
I am, my very dear son, yours most affectionately,
Samuel Gary.
mrs. gary to her son sam,
Chelsea, October, 1801.
A word now ot Chelsea. To supply the place of our old pastor,
we have had preaching for us Mr. Tuckerman, a young person of

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 167
pleasing address, and who has made himself so agreeable that the
town has agreed to give hira a call, to which he has consented,
and is very soon to be ordained our minister. His age is twenty-
three ; and as it is customary to present something useful and
acceptable to a new minister, and we being desirous of showing
every mark of respect to our future pastor, the females of the
community have resolved to present him with a silk gown ; for
which purpose Miss Hall and Miss Cary are actually now taking
their rounds soliciting subscribers. Do you not think the young
gentleman will be a little vain ? He appears to me truly devout
and disinterested, having taken up his profession upon a principle
of piety and ardent desire to enforce, both by preaching and prac
tice, the doctrines of our divine Master.
The globe is as elegant and handsome as possible, which, with
the assistance of Abbd Gautier, will afford delightful amusement
to some part of the family. The new play, called the " Faraily
Budget," must be highly instructive to both old and young ; will
require much self-examination, and no small acquaintance with the
sciences. How ranch, ray dearest Sam, are we all indebted to you
for these continual provisions of both mind and body, and for
those unceasing solicitudes that you continually express for our
welfare !
Charles sailed i8th August in thd ship Vancouver ; but you
know already his destination. Dear fellow, he has seen much
hardship, and looks quite old and weather-beaten. The worst I
hope is now over, since he has got to be first raate, and the cap
tain bears an excellent character. The letter you wrote him frora
England carae just in tirae, and I could see that it was truly grati
fying to his feelings. He wishes most ardently to meet you, and
speaks in the most endearing terms of you when you are men
tioned. His exterior is rough, but he is possessed of much sensi
bility and great love for his family ; indeed, he is devoted to us,
and has scarcely one acquaintance ; and if anything can spur hira
on to value riches, it will be that he may assist you in the care and
provision of those you love. Yours most affectionately,
Sarah Cary.

1 68 THE CARY LETTERS

MRS. CARY TO HER SON SAM.

Saturday, February 20, 1802,
I thank you, my dear Sam, for your letter of December, You
do not I hope write in the spirit of irony when you say you ex
pect to gain information araong a society so scientific when j'ou
visit us. Although I allow that since the globe, geographical
garaes, and " Family Budget " have arrived, my young folks have
at last the opportunity of improvement, and I allow also that they
possess inclination and capacities sufficiently enlarged to compre
hend with tolerable facility what their kind instructress daily lays
before them, yet they would shrink back with timidity and diffi
dence at the thought of being able to teach you. What Dean
Swift says of a woman's learning is enough, I think, to suppress
the greatest vanity : " After all, her boasted acquirements will, gen
erally speaking, be found to possess less of what is called learning
than a common schoolboy." The remark is just, although not so
much so as at the period when he wrote ; at least in this country,
young ladies stand nearly as good a chance as the other sex. The
only danger in the present mode is that in gaining mental know
ledge they depart from the delicacy of manner so highly essential
to female character, and which will always constitute one of its
greatest charms. Mine are secure from that danger. Confined to
domestic life, at a distance from the gay world, they have the finest
opportunity imaginable for the cultivation of their minds; fixing
religious principles, and fostering those virtues that will enable
them to look forward to that life where to be applauded should be
the highest ambition of every reasonable being.
Margaret, I see, is folding up innumerable pages. Do you not
observe by her letters that she is in fine spirits ? She has thrown
off a number of roraantic opinions that she once had, and is now
as agreeable as possible.
Adieu, my dear Sara, and believe me to be
Your most affectionate mother,
Sarah Gary.

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 1 69
MRS. GARY TO HER SON SAM.
Retreat, March 31, 1802,
Your wish, my dear, dear Sam, which concluded your letter, is
accomplished, and we have got through the winter all in high
health. The weather has been uncommonly radd ; snow in such
sraall quantities as to deny us the pleasure of making use of the
sleigh. . . .
I know not if you recollect behind the barn, as you ascend the
hill, there is a spring. The stream is sraall ; it, however, affords
sufficient water for the cattle, etc., and we thought it a great acqui
sition to the farm. Your father has lately discovered in the same
direction, a little higher up, a ranch finer spring. He will not yet
decide until the dry season, but thinks it probable that frora thence
water may be conveyed into the house. If so, I shall think ray
situation truly enviable, water being in my opinion one at least of
the greatest blessings of life. As it is supposed, the road will go
across the elm walk, and prevent the young folks from amusing
themselves in the bottom of the garden.
Your father has had the holes dug, and is going to plant willows
round the aforesaid spring, or near it, — I hardly know in what di
rection yet, — to allure the faraily to take tea there soraetimes, and
amuse their leisure hours. It will be a charraing spot, from which
there will be a good view of the road, etc. . . .
Farewell, ray dear Sara. I have heard it said that parents do
not pray with sufficient earnestness for their children. However
imperfect my prayers are in other respects, I ara sure they are
earnest ; nor do I ever address my Maker for one favor for myself
until I have first petitioned for them.
Yours most affectionately, Sarah Gary.
I am much gratified, as you will suppose, by the placing of
Henry. He cannot fail I think of pleasing, — faithful, raodest,
and complaisant qualities, partly natural to him, but cherished and
cultivated by his father at home.

I70 THE CARY LETTERS
MRS. GARY TO HER DAUGHTER ANN.
Retreat, _/«««¦ 7, 1802.
That I am sensible of the filial affection of my dear Ann I be
lieve I have no occasion to assure her. I never doubted it, having
had daily proofs from early childhood of cheerful obedience to
every coramand, and, I will add, anticipating too every wish of
mine as soon as it was formed, in everything within the compass
of her ability. . . .
You are sweetly situated, I think, with Mrs. Snow. I hope you
will never by a single expression or any action of yours take ad
vantage of her kind indulgence. She is entitled to all the respect
and politeness that you are capable of bestowing. In the latter
article, I am sorry to say, my dear girl is sometiraes strangely de
ficient. This is so amply in your own power to rectify, by observa
tion and a little presence of mind, that I am confident you will suc
ceed on the first trial. Your dancing master will give you hints
sufficient about your carriage and raanners if you will pay a proper
attendon to them. Be as reserved as you think proper, but as
your tutor he is entitled to civility, and ought to command your
whole attention, or you will make no improvement under him. In
closed are ;^2i 9s. 6d,, which I raust request you to pay to Miss
Lauman, my mantua-maker, as soon as possible ; the rest will buy
your slippers. I am your most affecdonate mother,
Sarah Gary.
mrs. gary to her son sam.
Chelsea, October 17, 1802.
This day twenty-nine years ago gave me a son and made me the
happiest of women, if I except the absence of your father at that
time, which was the only barrier. " Pure and unraixed felicity is
not a draught for mortals." Everything else conspired to bless
rae, — surrounded with kind, indulgent friends, with liberty to draw
on my brother for any sura that comfort or convenience required.
I cherished you as an angel sent from heaven, and three months
nursed you at my own breast, and God knows with what reluctance
I left you to the care of my mother, the best of women, but so it
was ordained. The first rudiments of your education were received

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 17 1
from her. The trial was severe. My affections were divided be
tween a beloved husband and a lovely infant who deservedly pos
sessed my tenderest regard. I tore myself from you, and for a
time was as I thought completely wretched. You were insensible
of your loss, and the idea of seeing your father brightened the
prospect, and I resolved to be as happy as circumstances would
allow. I arrived safe in Grenada. The war breaking out pre
vented so frequent a correspondence with Araerica as we wished,
which occasioned my often wishing that I had, although contrary
to your father's opinion, taken my dear boy with me ; and I know
that he often wished so, too. In the meantirae you improved
apace, and became the favorite of your friends, until at ten years
old we concluded to have you out to Grenada, and send you to
England to complete your education. Thus you see, my dear
Sam, that from step to step it has been ordered that you, the
sweet little fellow I resigned to my raother, should becorae at last
the protector of your family. My trial of quitting you and leaving
you in Grenada under Postlethwaite was greater than any I had
before experienced ; yet it was the only means of raaking you com
petent to performing the actions that have made you estimable
above what the affection and love we bore you would have raade
you to your family. Do you comprehend me, my love ?
O ray God ! I bless thee for giving me a son who not only
never occasioned me a moment's regret or pain, but who has sup
ported and provided for his family when, to huraan appearance,
they would have been deprived of every other resource, and who
has from his infancy been a source of delight and honor to his
father and mother.
Your birthday has led rae into the train of reflection in the fore
going. I know not what reflections it will occasion to my dear
Sam. Nothing unpleasing, I hope. I will now study for some
thing at least more entertaining.
Your father is writing to you. I never saw him in finer health
than at present. We are all well, and my dear, sensible Margaret,
thanking you for your provision for her ; she but acts as your
almoner, always dispensing to her sisters a part of her own portion,
instead of laying up against a period that may arrive (though I
hope distant) when the resource wdl fail. This is not a suggestion
of melancholy ; you may marry, and then not have it in your power

172 THE CARY LETTERS
to continue it so conveniently. Should that be the case, I will not
say I hope it is distant, for it would be hard if you should think
yourself obliged, for the sake of your family, to forego the pleasure
of uniting yourself to a lady you love. But if that lady should be
rich, Sara, riches you know are a good ingredient in marriage, and
certainly no barrier to love. Well, be it as it may, if you are satis
fied I shall be so. . . .
Margaret, I fitid, has given you some account of her sisters, and
the interest Mr. Tuckerman takes in their iraprovement, which,
with their own aid, will make them what we wish, I do not want
thera showy, nor to draw admiration, I wish them to shine in
domestic life, in order to obtain which the cultivation of the mind
is equally essential ; and any effort that will bring its powers into
action, either by writing or reflection or conversation, is truly de
sirable, and will indubitably make them raore lovely in the eyes of
those friends who are already partial to thera, and also in the eyes
of those who may become so. Should it make thera vain and
conceited, I should think their acquireraents purchased too dearly.
Nothing can corapensate, in my opinion, for the want of modesty
and humility. Harriet, now twelve years old, is growing a lovely
girl. She has no other tuition, you know, but Margaret, and could
not I think be better placed at present. We see little company,
but are so totally abstracted from the world that we do not require
it ; nor does it seera requisite at all to our pleasures, and but that in
retirement we contract a sort of rust, which gives young people an
air of awkwardness, I would not ask thera to quit home, where
all is peace and tranquillity, harmony of love, and persuade myself
that when they come abroad in the world and learn the practice
of that dissimulation (which they inevitably will) with which they
are now unacquainted, they will lose half their value. . . .
You will probably see a great many Americans in England. A
young fellow is hardly out of his time before he projects a design
of going there, and a great many married ladies go also.
We have had a fine summer and a good harvesting, plenty of
everything. This is the last harvest while Mr. Low is here. He,
poor fellow, quits us because his earnings are too small to maintain
a growing family. Your father has engaged another faraily to corae
to the house and take the farm at the halves. I feel much for
Charlotte; she has three children and is very poor. I know not

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 17 i
what Low plans for himself ; nothing yet decided on, I believe.
Farming is very laborious and very little profitable ; the price of
labor eats up the whole gain.
My loved Sam, may you and I, as well as those we love, live
such lives as to secure to ourselves that enjoyraent in the highest
degree our natures are capable of !
Yours raost affectionately,
Sarah Gary.
mr. gary to his son sam.
Chelsea, February 20, 1803.
My very dear Son, —
St. Domingo is lost to France, and the Spaniards are made the
cat's-paw by the French to sound the country. Should they dis
turb the peace of the country, it will cause a friendship between
this country and England that will be lasting. The expectation of
that keeps the French quiet. All sides seem determined to have
the Mississippi free and an establishment at the mouth. Mr. Jef
ferson being thought a friend to the French, they are now deter
mined to see how far they may go. I think it fortunate for this
country that he is in at the time of trial.
Yours most affectionately,
Samuel Gary.
margaret gary to her sister harriet.
Portland, September 18, 1804.
My dear Harriet, — You would be quite pleased to hear
little Hannah Robinson play on the pianoforte. She has only
been learning six or eight weeks, and she plays three tunes very
prettily. I raention this for your encouragement if at any future
time you should have an opportunity of learning.
I have not seen much of Portland yet. The players are here
from Boston. They have converted the assembly room into a
theatre. You have heard, I dare say, that Captain Robinson has a son
who is blind. He is now sixteen years of age. I cannot look at
him without feeling the greatest compassion ; for though he is of a

174 THE CARY LETTERS
mild, even disposition, yet he can get very litde improvement, and
raust of course feel often at a loss how to employ his raind. He
has a good many books read to him, but they are all novels. I
offered to read history to him, and have begun an account of the
late transactions in Switzerland, but a new novel has been intro
duced, and that, I ara afraid, will be laid aside. You know, ray
dear Harriet, we raust cultivate our taste for any valuable pursuit,
or else we shall not be able to take pleasure in it; everything may
be improved; no valuable attainment comes of itself. The more
you read history, the fonder you are of it. Improve the present
tirae, my dear girl ; you know not how suddenly you may be de
prived of one of your senses. Above all, let not indolence render
them useless to you while you possess them.
You would have been quite amused to have seen me last Satur
day evening. When I first came here, I learnt that there was a
bathing-house building like the one in Boston. It is on the wharf,
about as far as from our house to the bottom of the garden. Last
Saturday evening six of us, with Mr. Usley as our guard, went to
bathe. It was a sweet moonlight evening ; and as we had long,
loose gowns or pelisses on, with our heads bound in handkerchiefs,
and candles in oiir hands, we looked, I thought, like nuns walk
ing in a procession. It is a very nice bathing-house ; six rooms,
with each a large tub with two spouts, from which you can admit
hot or cold water as you please.
I remain your very affectionate sister,
M. G. Gary.
TO SAM GARY FROM HIS SISTER SARAH (AFTERWARDS MRS. TUCK
ERMAN).
June l6, lSo6.
My dear Brother Sam, — I have to - day witnessed a total
eclipse of the sun, the most grand and awful sight that I or per
haps any one ever beheld. I cannot tell if you could have been
sensible of it or not, but at any rate 1 think you raay feel sorae cu
riosity to know how it appeared here. In the first place, it was a
most beautiful day ; not one cloud to prevent the observation, or
encourage terror in the imagination of any one. At ten o'clock
we were first sensible of the moon's appearance, and observed her
by degrees obscure the whole sun, which happened at half after

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 1 75
eleven o'clock. And then, oh ! I cannot find a word to express
the grandeur and solemnity of the scene ; the glorious sun was
entirely covered by a black ball, which would indeed have been
frightful but that from the whole circle of the midnight ball he
gleamed forth his blessed rays of light as if to keep alive our hopes
of his return. This lasted about four minutes and then, impatient
of the gloom, he seemed to burst forth with greater splendor than
ever, and in an hour entirely emerged from it. Our light at the
time of greatest darkness was very Hke that the moon gives us
when not at the brightest. We saw about six stars, and the air
was cold and darap, like that of night. I wished that you were
with us, and would have given anything to hear you say soraething
about it.
We are all well, but have not heard from you for a great while.
I am in a great hurry, as all the letters have gone already and the
vessel sads to-morrow. Your very affectionate sister, S. G.
MRS. GARY TO HER SON LUGIUS.
Retreat, September 2, 1807,
Dearest Lucius, — The day after to-morrow brings you to
twenty-five, so our years roll on ; were you with us, it should be a
sort of jubilee; we would make merry. As it is, it will be a kind
of solitary remembrance, — a glass of wine, perhaps, to the health
of our son and brother, sincere and affectionate wishes for his
welfare, accompanied with the unavailing sigh of every individual
of the family at the distance that separates one so deservedly
dear. Charles left us the 31st ultimo, and sailed yesterday for
Matanzas. He is in the employ of an old Quaker, a bachelor of
eccentric character, in South Carolina. His coming here was un
expected and sudden. Meeting with a freight of sugars for Bos
ton, and the voyage being within the limits of his directions, he era-
braced the opportunity of visiting u.s, and brought with him a very
agreeable, gentleman-like raan as passenger, who is gone on to
Gerraany to raeet friends whom he has not seen these seven years.
He is in a ship and receives sixty dollars per month. I am truly
thankful that he has an employ. I dread idleness as the worst
evil, and a small income obtained by a man's own exertions will

176 THE CARY LETTERS
make him happier than great riches attached to a life of indolence.
Thomas is returned horae frora the academy, and has passed an
examination at college, which he is to enter in one raonth. The
bill you remitted will be appropriated to his use, and he is very
grateful for it. We shall use all the economy possible.
Adieu, my dearest Lucius. Your most affectionate mother, Sarah Gary.
This group of letters are all written by Lucius Cary to his
sister Anne, with whom he was specially intimate : —
Demerara, September 1 1, 1808.
My dear Nancy, — Although you do not acknowledge my ele
gant epistle, which I wrote you some months ago, I suppose you
have received it, but, being so much occupied with the thoughts of
matrimony, have forgot to say anything about it. Well, I am glad
to find that our friend Sarah has changed her plan, and leaves it to
you to stand up for the old maids ; but I have heard it said that
one wedding generally creates another, and I suppose you too will
find sorae inducement to follow her example.
I suppose there will be now more gossiping than ever at the
parsonage house. Pray, is that spot iraproved? I think it used to
look rather dreary without trees. I intend to build rae a small box
at the back of the orchard, just on the declivity of the hid, and call
it Mount Pleasant. Then, when you corae to see me, I will give
you a roast fowl and a clean table-cloth, and tell you a story every
day by way of dessert. In the meantime I am, dear Nancy,
Yours,
L. G.
Dear Nancy, — I have to thank you for your welcome letter of
May last, which I got a few days ago, and which gave me a great
deal of pleasure. I am glad you like the plan of the house on the
hill and anticipate so much pleasure frora it. Margaret (kind soul)
goes a step farther and sees it already filled with a doraestic circle ;
that is, a wife and thirteen children. How fond women are of
adding raatrimony to every scheme a man lays down to enjoy hira
self in a quiet way ! Is it because it is a favorite idea of their own

LUCIUS CARY 177
or do they think it a necessary ingredient to happiness ? I trust
the latter is a wrong conclusion, or a man in search of quiet and
contentment would be sadly hampered.
On looking back I find five years have passed over our heads
since they were last in the sarae room together. In five years more
I hope, my dear Nancy, to be enjoying the fruits of my separation
in your neighborhood, and if the passageway should be still unoc
cupied, and as much at ray service as you kindly say it is now, I
shall take possession. BeHeve rae, ray dear sister,
Your affectionate L. Gary.
Demerara, January 3, 1810,
Dearest Anne, — I steal a few minutes frora the weighty pur
suit of business — weighty and important to my mind, though no
doubt uninteresting and tiresome to the bystander — to answer
your favors of August and September, which came hand in hand
to amuse and delight rae.
You will, I hope, one day retrace your journey to Windsor with
me by your side, and give me ocular demonstration of the natural
beauties which you have described to rae in such a traveler-like
style. I think a family party one day would be very agreeable that
way. You and I would raake a very good couple in my phaeton,
Margaret and Charles in another carriage, and my father and
mother in theirs. We would go one road and come back another,
separate occasionally and meet again, have a parcel of letters to
some good country-people, and now and then leave the road for
an excursion on the water. Sometimes we would have the whole
party packed in a coach, and sometimes walk a few hundred miles
to shake off the effects of the confinement. Although you speak
of nothing but the beauty of the natural scenery, I suppose art
contributes to raake the jaunt raore agreeable. Fine turnpike roads
and fine inns on the road. Good shooting, good fishing, good eat
ing. Capital ! Capital !
Now do be a good girl, and don't go and spoil all these fine
scheraes by getting married. I assure you these husbands are a
very bad kind of people. They do a deal of mischief. No, no,
don't marry, that 's a good Nancy ! At this time, I suppose,
you are freezing quite hard with one of those terrible winters that

178 THE CARY LETTERS
infest the country. Plague take them ! the very remembrance
gives me an ague. Pray could not you send me some profiles of
our good friends at the Retreat ? You don't know how much pleas
ure they would give me. The sight of thera would irapart a sen
sation something like shaking hands for a moment. If you will
undertake to send me the whole family upon paper, I dare say
Henry will advance the necessary expense to procure them. So
no more upon that head. Do you take ? I am interrupted, so
raust bid you farewell, ray dear Anne, and remain.
Always yours affectionately, L. Gary.
Barbadoes, November, 1810.
My dear Nangy, — You will be surprised to see ray letter
dated from this place. Indeed, I am myself a little surprised to
find that I am not in Demerara, for, being so long accustomed to
that place, I am absolutely lost whenever I see or hear of any ob
ject unconnected with it. I have been here eight or ten days, and
principally occupied with amusing myself, making new acquaint
ances, eating good dinners and drinking good wines, etc. This is
quite a different place from the one I have left. One principal
difference is the more numerous society, the greater number of
ladies, and the superior mode of living. I should like it well
enough if it did not interfere with the plan I have laid down of
realizing something to retire with. In D,emerara raost people live
a secluded, toilsome life, with the expectation of reaping more en
joyment in another country. Here the good folks settle themselves
for life, get married, etc., and collect all the comforts they can
around them, without looking beyond the present time. Now,
which would you prefer ? But I know what your answer would
be : — that I should work ever so hard for a few years, and then
come and plant rayself by your side. Well, you have now got Sam
with you, and perhaps Charles, I suppose you are all quite exhila
rated this winter, and well you may be. Pray write me a full ac
count of everything.
My dear Nancy, I am getting some hair of mine set to send you,
and intended, if I had gone into Martinique, to send my mother
sorae of the French liquors ; but I shall write to Robert to do so
for rae. Among other little comforts here, I found a dentist, by

LUCIUS CARY 179
whom I have had my teeth set to rights. Being a good deal irregu
lar, he filed them to an equality. This was a process I had never
heard of before, and began to object to it, talking the old story
of the enamel being hurt ; but he soon sHenced me by pointing out
one tooth from which a splinter had been broken off twenty years
ago, and which was one of the best I had. He explained that
teeth grow, like one's nails, and require the edges filed at least
once a year.
Pray remeraber me kindly to everybody. Adieu, dearest Nancy.
I am ever Your affectionate brother, L. Gary.
Dear Nancy, — I hope this will find you pretty well, and en
joying the fine season of the year quite corafortably, either with
our good folks at Chelsea or with some of your worthy friends in
town. Not long ago I received your two favors of February and
March, accompanied by several others frora my raother, Margaret,
and Henry. I am coraing on here tolerably well, not being so
much confined to the desk as forraerly, I have had some leisure
to amuse myself in the country. Yesterday I returned frora an
excursion to a friend's estate, where I had never been before, and
am highly gratified in finding a number of plants which I had not
seen before, particularly a numerous collection of different species
of the palm-tree, which is very luxuriant. We have a flower here,
which I believe does not grow in cold countries, called the frangi-
pane, which is very beautiful and very fragrant. It grows on a
small tree, and resembles the tulip. We have also the Gape jessa
mine and the Otaheite gooseberry and cucumber in great perfec
tion. My mother writes me that you are attending lectures on botany,
and I look for a great deal of arauseraent from you in that way
when I see you. This being our shooting season, I have been
making great havoc among the plover and other game. I killed
fourteen parrots the other morning, beside a brace or two Gurry
Gurry, a sort of curlew. They are properly called the " scarlet ibis,"
and, as they fly with an uncomraon degree of regularity, make a
most beautiful appearance in the air. Next week I go to our dis
tant settlements to attack the ducks, and have great expectation of

l80 THE CARY LETTERS
good sport as well as cf good cheer. So you see I am getting on,
not losing sight of the " main chance " all the while, and laying
schemes of happiness and comfort with you in my old days. Adieu,
my dear Nancy. Affecdonately yours, L. Gary.
FROM MRS. CARY TO HER SON LUGIUS, AFTER THE DEATH OF HER
ELDEST SON. November i8, 1810.
My dear Lucius, — No language can convey to you the sur
prise and shock I have undergone in the late melancholy news of
the death of our dear Sam. Robert had written that he was un
well, and talked of going off the island for his recovery, yet this
did not prepare me. I supposed that a little change would answer
every purpose, and that he would by that means soon recruit. Still
less did I contemplate an intention of coming to America. Think
what was my agony when your father (in the tenderest manner
too) informed me he had just read in the newspaper that our dear
Sam had died on board a schooner (Bartlet) bound from Marti
nique to Marblehead ! I had a letter from you late in August,
where you mention particularly that he was quite well in June. In
short, I was wholly unprepared for the event.
As soon as the tide of grief had a little abated, we began to think
what was to be done, when your father received a letter from the
captain, which had been written early enough, but the stage man
had forgotten to deliver it or mislaid it untu the day after. Charles,
who is at present out of employraent, was commissioned to go and
receive the effects. He set off in the stage and our man in a horse
cart, and next morning returned with the baggage, and, I make no
doubt, everything that was his. The captain, whora we have not
yet seen at the Retreat, told Charles that your brother had been
calm and tranqud the whole of the voyage, and died a peaceful,
quiet death, for the most part silent, but always willing to reply to
any question asked of him. He went on board so extremely low
that those who accompanied him told the captain they did not
expect he would reach the shore. He was finally unable to ask for
what he wanted, and wrote down with a pencil his directions for
the medicine and little things he wished for in the night, and once
said, even cheerfully, " When I get by my brother-in-law's fireside

HENRY CARY loi
I shall soon be well," and asked if the vessel kept her courses.
Captain Bartlet had thirty-four days' passage from St. Pierre, and
our dear sufferer died twenty-two days after they sailed, on the
first day of November. This has been a dreadful blow to your
father. I know not which predominates most in his mind : — grati
tude to the Almighty for having given him so excellent a son and
sparing him so long, or the pain and grief of parting with him.
For my part, I desire and wish to submit to those decrees that I
know are inevitable, yet find I want that consolation that I en
deavor to bestow on him. What is this life, my dear Lucius, and
all besides ? Is it not vanity and folly in the extreme to forget that
we are fast hastening on to another ?
Farewell, my beloved Lucius ; take care of your health ; and if
occasionally you will write to Robert and give him your advice,
you will do him an essential service. I long to hear from you
again, and am Your most affectionate raother, Sarah Gary.
The following is an extract from a letter of Henry Cary
to his sister Anne, written after he had left home to settle
himself in New York : — New York, January 30, 181 1.
I wish I could pass one or two of those long storms with you
that you talk of ; we could then discuss this subject at full length,
and by availing of each other's reading and observations I doubt
not our opinions would approximate. Very different indeed are
the occupations of "horae " with rae. Some tirae or other I will
draw you a sketch of the characters who compose our fireside
circle at my lodgings of a Sunday evening. Ah, ray sweet girl,
there are no household gods to sanctify the fireside of a board
ing-house, and I sigh for a seat by your side upon the oaken set
tle, and look round for one of my mother's gratulatory smiles in
vain. And sometiraes, after having gone through a conversation
with you and an argument with Tom, I picture to myself the bus
tle of going to bed, which, to be sure, always used to be carried on
in great style at horae. I remember first comes my father's " Well,
child, it 's nine o'clock ! " So, then, ray mother starts some new

1 82 THE CARY LETTERS
subject, which lasts until half after nine ; then the cap is sent for,
and the head bound up, and a pin put in here and then another
there. Then comes "toasting feet." Then the watch is duly
handed to my father, which used to be my office. Then good
night to ray father ; presently after to my mother ; then a knocking,
not heard because Tora 's so furious in his arguraentation, laying
down the law with his left hand. Then it 's surraised that there
has been a knocking ; that's by Margaret, Then the knocking is
repeated. Harriet then makes a sort of half motion as if she
would go and see what it was for, though (faith !) not a step before
the expediency of the thing is proved. Then the bowl of tea,
which was forgotten, is carried up (which is sure to be brought
down next morning untouched, and drank by some unlucky wight).
Then comes down aunt Hill, with an anxious face, for Blois has
been quite naughty. Then follows a little discussion on educa
tion, and then I say good-night. Henry Gary.
" Aunt Hill," mentioned in this letter, was no relation,
but a very intimate friend of aunt Margaret's, and connected
with her by such strong interests that I shall again quote
from the magazine articles where I first find the friendship
mentioned : —
" In 1S05 I was invited by Mrs. Hdl — the widow of Mr. Hill,
who introduced the works of Swedenborg to Harvard College, and
of whom mention is made in the ' New Jerusalem Magazine ' —
to accompany her to Windsor, in Vermont, and visit her sister,
Mrs. Henry. It was only a hundred miles frora Boston, but was
two days' ride in the stage. The beauty of the country surpassed
anything I had seen in Massachusetts. The full moon rose, and
when the stage stopped at the gate of a very pretty wooden build
ing I felt as if soraething romantic was taking place. I was far
from home, not much acquainted with the gentleman and lady I
was about to visit, having only passed one day in company with
them. But when I entered, being received with great cordiality
by Mrs. Henry, I had time to look round and make observations.
There were two beautiful little girls, three and five years of age,
dressed in white frocks, low in the neck, on which there was a

MARGARET G. CARY 1 83
locket with their uncle Hill's hair, and worked caps tied under the
chin with blue ribbons. One had blue eyes, the other hazel. The
lady herself dressed gracefully in a costume that seemed particu
larly to becorae her, without much attention to fashion. All the
surroundings were in elegant style, though the house was siraple.
The table was prepared for tea, as we were waited for, with an urn
for hot water, which, before I read Cowper's poetical raention of
it, was always elegantly associated in my mind as I was accustomed
to see it in my early days.
" Mr. Henry had gone to the tavern (it was called so then) to
receive us, but as the stage drove directly to the house he missed
it. He came in by the time we had taken off our bonnets and got
seated in the parlor. His manners were those of a complete Irish
gentleman, and I was made to feel quite at my ease, and as if I
might give as well as receive pleasure. And there I passed the
summer, and a most interesting one it was to me. Those beautiful
children took fast hold of my heart, and always retained it. The
eldest, Sophia, at her early age, was a fine reader. It was quite
affecting to listen to her reading the Psalms, — a portion every day.
Her voice was so plaintive that it seemed as if she understood and
felt the sacred expressions. Dear little Blois (named for a lady
in England) sat on ray lap every raorning to learn her letters."
I have heard that before Mrs. Henry's death she expressed
a wish that her friend should take charge of her children ;
and though this was impossible from Mrs. Hill's prior claim
to them, and aunt Margaret's position at home, still she al
ways felt as much solicitude for the Henry sisters as if they
had belonged to her. Indeed, the whole Cary family were
very much attached to them, and their names constantly
recur in the letters. They were still very young, perhaps
eighteen and twenty, when their father decided to live in
France ; and his daughters joined him there, never to return
to this country ; but a constant intercourse by letter was
continued with aunt Margaret to the day of her death very
many years after, Sophia Henry married an Englishman
named Greville, and died young, Elizabeth — " little Blois "
— married a French officer. General de Chanal, who came to

1 84 THE CARY LETTERS
this country during the late Civil War, commissioned by the
emperor to inspect and report upon the artillery of the North
ern army, Madame de Chanal's affection for the friends of
her youth was continued into the next generation, and in a
beautiful old chateau in the south of France she returned the
hospitality she had received at Chelsea, She survived her
husband by some years, and died August 22, 1890, leaving
one daughter, — Beatrice, Baroness de Nyvenheim,
The next letters are from Lucius Cary, during a visit to
England, when he renewed the close friendship of West In
dian days between my grandparents and Mr. and Mrs. Mar
ryat. London, May 20, 1812.
Well, my dear mother, here am I in London, transported from
the land of mud, anxiety, and trouble to a fashionable first floor
in the gay metropolis. " My happy stars have given me some
money, and the conspiring winds have blown me hither to spend
it." No, not to spend it, say you ; to use it, not to abuse it. Well,
may we never differ more in opinion than we do upon this sub
ject! I did not find any letters from you, but since I got here I have
had the pleasure to receive your kind favors of December and
March, and to-morrow I shall get a packet dated in February. Be
lieve me, what you say has ray best attention. Your hints are
those of a tender mother and an anxious friend, and I should have
been disappointed if you had not favored me with them. You al
low that I have some experience, and I assure you that, exclusive
of the suggestions of propriety and virtue, I have an innate pride
sufficient to preserve me from any conduct which can cause my
friends to blush for me.
I have seen your friends Mr. and Mrs. Marryat. Was received
in the most cordial manner, and promise myself great happiness
and pleasure frora their acquaintance. I was afraid that the lapse
of time or sorae other cause would have lessened their friendship,
but it appears to have increased it. Araong other kind expressions
Mrs. M. told me that the last circumstance that would fade from
her memory would be the recollection of your kindness to her.
It was happily said, and as you will suppose warraed my heart.

LUCIUS CARY 185
Mr. M. is highly respected and esteemed^ by every one. They
have several children, but I have only seen the two eldest. The
son is a sensible lad and Miss M. a very pretty girl. In a week
or two I shall write you more fully about them, when I shall have
seen raore of thera and my other acquaintance, who will I think
be pretty extensive. At present I am quite employed in calling on
thera and filling up ray list of invitations for the ensuing fortnight,
after which I shall take a trip to some of the mineral springs.
Good-night, my dear mother. To-morrow I shall get another
letter from you. Give my kindest love to all the family.
I am ever your affectionate son, Lucius Gary.
Cheltenham, June 5, 1812,
Esteemed Friend, — I received thy letter dated in the third
raonth, but I have lost it. Yea, verily, it hath escaped frora me,
and raay serve to arause the sons and daughters of vanity, instead
of imparting unto my heart the thoughts of my beloved ; but I say
unto thee I will answer it nevertheless.
Well, my dear Nancy, I am here, — corae to Cheltenham for
three weeks for two reasons : one is because it is a fashionable,
agreeable place ; and the other from having been ordered by the
physicians to drink a course of the waters, which are peculiarly
beneficial to a constitution discomposed or debilitated by a warm
climate. It is the resort not only of invalids but of the gay and
idle, and has become of the most note next to Bath. I had long
a curiosity to visit a place of this kind. In those spots where you
and I have resided, the world has been occupied in both business
and pleasure, and we have never seen the latter unconnected with
the former. Now here we have no business ; we corae to enjoy our
selves. Of course every attention is paid to the provision of com
forts and amusements : — splendid hotels, public walks, baths, car
riages and horses, are prepared in abundance, — nothing wanting
to the visitor but a disposition to be happy. Now I, who reason
philosophically and endeavor to guard against disappointment,
like and praise all this ; but I know full well that the mind raust
be eraployed as well as amused, and that pleasure, when it becomes
the sole pursuit, gains speed and leads us through a path strewed
with discontent and ennui.

1 86 THE CARY LETTERS
I could not help coraplimenting myself upon the sagacity of this
remark on observing the effect such a life had upon a beautiful
young creature who is here for the first tirae to spend the season
and to enjoy herself. She burst into tears yesterday when describ
ing her situation to me. Thinks I to rayself, " What shall I say
to corafort her ? " " My dear Mrs.  ," says I, "you are young
and wealthy, possess nuraerous friends who love you, an agreeable
and affectionate husband who doats on you. Why then are you
unhappy ? " " Oh, Mr. Cary," says she, " ah this is very true, but
I ara so low-spirited that I ara ready to die, and what increases
my dejection is that I don't know the reason of it."
Now, from what you know of me, you will believe that if I see a
danger I will guard against it. I therefore vary my amusements
in such a way as to make a business of them, and do not look for
rapture or great delight frora pleasures which must be only occa
sionally enjoyed to afford such feelings. The season began on the
first of May, but has not yet reached its height. There is however
much company here, and araong thera a good many titles. Yes
terday we had a great public breakfast, with a grand gala in the
evening, and to-night a ball, — much beauty afloat, as you raay
suppose. By the way, one of ray fellow-lodgers is a fat old maid,
who, by the successive decease of all her relations, has come to the
possession of a fortune, called six thousand per annum. What do
you say, Nancy, shall I make an attack ? By the by, I must take
the opportunity, Miss Nancy Cary, to observe to you that often,
when engaged in scribbling the pages of nonsense which I some
times address to you ladies at the Retreat, my pen has been ar
rested by the doubt of their being'reserved for your own inspection.
For all I can tell, some long-nosed metaphysician or metaphysician-
ess raay be turning up his or her proboscis at the carelessness of
my style, or the frivolous subjects upon which even such a style is
employed. You know, for I think I heard you say so, that I am
proud, tenacious, dMd. peppery. So beware !
The scenery in the neighborhood of Cheltenham is extremely
beautiful, particularly at this beautiful season of the year ; but the
weather is still cold for me, and I ara now writing very corafortably
with a fire in ray apartraent. Between twelve and two, however,
I stroll araong the fields, bask in the sun, pluck flowers, and think
of you. How tender to the mind is the recollection of those years

LUCIUS CARY 187
of one's youth which were spent in the society of one's family,
among those to whom nature as well as habit attached us ! It
brings with it a soft emotion correspondent to the fond and irama-
ture sensibility of the former age. June I'^th.
I have not had a line from any of you, my dear girl, since writ
ing the above, so that I shall go on with my letter that I may
bring you into my debt. My acquaintances here all remark the
benefit I have derived from the waters, and I feel capitally. To
morrow I change my pump, and drink steel in place of iron. The
country air and temperate habits of the place are, however, great
causes of the improveraent of one's health. I find nothing does one
more good than little excursions of ten or twenty miles, which
afford a small change of climate without causing much fatigue-
Recollecting that I was near a place which I heard some years
ago was the abode of my old acquaintance, the fair Dorothea, I
scampered over there one fine morning, but I had not the pleasure
to see her, being in London. I spent a day with her brother and
his faraily, who are most amiable, good people, and I have engaged
to visit them again before I leave the county. You recollect how
fond I was of Dorothea.
Yesterday I made one of a party to Worcester, to accompany so
far an agreeable family who are returning to Ireland, and to-morrow
I visit Gloucester. On Wednesday next I quit this for the Bath
races, and in the following week go to London. Two brother West
Indians are here who sport their barouche, and they give me a seat
in it to Bath. I have met a good many West Indians since I ar
rived. No people are raore friendly to each other when they meet
in other countries. I think I can venture to say without the impu
tation of vanity (and I can hazard the assertion to you) that in
whatever part of the world I have been in I have had the good
fortune to meet attention and civility from, and to make one of the
most respectable part of, the coraraunity. People are often satis
fied if they are included in the mass of respectable corapany ; but
there is in every place a select, a superior society, who, while they
mingle with others, still preserve a distinction. Now it is my de
sire to be one of these, and to be so, not from introduction or
recommendation, but because it naturally belongs to me to be so.

1 88 THE CARY LETTERS
I will drop this at Bristol next week, if I find any Araerican ves
sels going from there. Give my best love to all the family. Kind
regards to my raother, and tell her that I have not missed church
since I landed in the country. Now this is what I would not care
to tell everybody. Good-by, my dear Nancy, my kind Ann, my
old playfellow, good-by. L. G.
FROM Miss HARRIET OTIS TO HARRIET CARY.
Washington, May \i, 1812.
Happy am I, my dear Harriet, that the point of etiquette, so
often disputed between us, has not deprived me of your very lively
and entertaining letter, which was handed to papa to-day as he sat
at his desk in the Senate chamber, and which, with many sly looks
at rae, who sat opposite hira in the ladies' gallery, he very delib
erately opened. So watchful an eye did I keep on him, or so
engaged was he in senatorial business, that he merely opened and
then deposited it where I was just tantalized with the sight without
the possibility of my reaching it. Thus situated, vainly did Mr,
Pope inveigh against French aggressions, or Mr, Campbell charge
him with being a turncoat and misrepresent everything he had said.
The Senate at length, in pity to my impatience, adjourned, and suf
fered me to laugh at leisure over your description of catastrophes
that might have been.
The reign of wonder is over in our great city. We have neither
counts to excite alarm, nor musical amateurs whose susceptibility is
well known, to feel it. Madame Bonaparte has gone home, but, as
I heard from no less a source than his Britannic Majesty's Envoy
Extraordinary's secretary, would be very glad to come back again
if she was not fearful that improper motives would be ascribed to
her. She is a terrible Httle tattler herself, and very naturally suspects
all the world of tattling likewise. Another of our belles, a Miss
Hay, granddaughter to the Secretary of State's lady, left here a
short time since. She was raet on the way by a Mrs. Duvall (nearly
as great a curiosity as the far-faraed raadarae of that narae), and
the last report of the fair damsel was that she was seen stretching
out her hands to Mrs. D. and begging to be taken back again. I
tell you all this to prove what a fascinating place this Washington
is, and to prevent your surprise that Congress seems bound as by

MISS OTIS 189
a spell. Since I have mentioned Mrs. Duvall, I will tell you a
little anecdote of her matrimonial career, — the commencement of
it at least, — which amused me considerably : She was an ancient
maiden named Jenny Gibbons. Her raother kept a boarding-house
in Philadelphia. Judge D. was inquiring for lodgings and thought
of going there. Some kind and considerate friend, knowing he
was a still, mild man, begged him not to go, " for Miss Jenny
would infallibly talk him to death." In spite of the warning the
judge had the unhappy courage to venture; and whether she fairly
talked away his senses and produced an intellectual death instead
of the natural one threatened is not known, but matrimony soon
after was the consequence. We have raet her several times, and
she talks, — ye powers, how she does talk !
A resolution passed the House yesterday empowering the Speaker
to recall the absent members imraediately. This looks indeed
like war. An immediate declaration will probably follow. It is
the duty of the Federal members to return and exert their strenu
ous though unavailing voices to save us from this evil.
We have a lady here who, if her courage does not evaporate in
bravado, will certainly, with the first sound of the drum, throw off
her female habiliments and adopt the helm and targe in their
stead. She is a granddaughter of Mrs. Washington, called now
Mrs. Gustis, having resumed her maiden name on being divorced
from her husband. She has entirely forsaken the principles of her
illustrious relative and adopted French politics, manners, and
friends. She talks so vehemently about war that she has been
nicknamed General even by her democratic friends.
Now let me tell you how sincerely glad I am that your winter
has passed away in such agreeable and elegant occupations, —
reading, music, painting, and visiting your old and new friends. I
wish you had heard a sweet little French lady sing " Begone, dull
care," the other evening at a party given by Mrs. Sheffey. She
sang without an instrument, and with a spirit and animation which
gave additional effect to her charraing voice. Her husband sang
with her. I have not left rayself room to say a kind word to your
dear mother and sisters. With true love and constancy, I am
Your affectionate friend, Harriet Otis.

190 THE CARY LETTERS
My grandfather died in August, 181 2, after a not very
long illness. It had been agreed between him and his wife
that the funeral service for whoever died first should be of
the simplest kind ; and it was at eight o'clock on Sunday
morning that the wife and children went to lay him in the
family vault under the Chelsea church.
The following is an extract from a letter of Lucius Cary
to his mother : —
" How happy you make me, my dear mother, by the expressions
of resignation and comfort which your letters contain ! The
contemplation of the virtues of the dear friend we have lost is
indeed a theme replete with sources of affection and consolation.
In attachraent and devotion to the welfare of his beloved faraily
he was excelled by none. His whole life was a pattern of the
duties of the man and Christian, and he has handed down to us
the same proud sense of honor and integrity which inspired hira
self. The calra tranquillity of his death proceeded frora the con
sciousness of a well-spent life, and is a trait which gives tenfold
force to the maxims of virtue which he inculcated. One trait
I have often admired in my dear father : and that is, the cheer
ful confidence with which he constantly spoke and acted on re
ligious subjects. He disarmed them of those terrors which too
often accompany the discussion of them, and tend to make one
averse to their consideration. What your sufferings have been, my
dear mother, I can in some degree judge by ray own, but the pain
of regret is mitigated by the recollection that I have left one parent
equally entitled to my admiration and esteem, and who has, if pos
sible, a more tender claim to my affection. Let us look to the
future, therefore, and consider how rich we all still are in the pos
session of our remaining friends. Please give ray best love to all
with you. You really, my dear mother, are fortunate in having
your dear girls on one side and your fine young men on the other."
I will insert here some extracts from the journal of one of
the most intimate friends of the Chelsea household : Miss
Harriet Otis. She was the daughter of Mrs, Samuel Otis,
to whom the earliest of the letters in this collection were

MISS OTIS 191
written ; and the intimacy, begun when Mrs. Otis and my
grandmother were sisters-in-law, was continued in the next
generation, I can remember the tone in which my aunts
always spoke of her as " dear Harriet Otis," for she died
when they were all young women. The letter from her to
my aunt Harriet was written while her father was Senator
at Washington. MISS HARRIET OTIS'S RECOLLECTIONS OF CHELSEA,
June I, 1809. — If my language ever did justice to the feelings
of my heart, it should describe with all the glow of affection the
days that have passed in the enjoyraent of all that friendship, rural
deHghts, and early associations can give. In the Retreat of t'his
most estimable family I have found, year after year, a felicity con
nected with all the best feelings of my heart, — a felicity which,
were I always to enjoy it, would tie my feeble, unaspiring heart too
closely to a world which would seem innocent and pure as that of
our first parents. I can hardly recollect the period when Chelsea
did not seem to me the most delightful abode I could imagine. To
other eyes it may seera less delightful, but there are no pleasures
for rae equal to a tranquil walk with the friend of my youthful
affection, just as the gleams of the departing sun give a "yellow
radiance " to the various landscapes which present themselves from
the hill. To rest at its sumrait in unutterable delight, and when
we have by turns gazed on the sublime spectacle which the ocean
offers, or turned with raild delight to the sweet view of fields cov
ered with verdure and hills with grain or woods, slowly to descend
with hearts too full for speech, and enter the enclosure of poplars
which surround the house, then to utter the language of gratitude
and admiration which such scenes cannot fail to inspire in hearts
beating in unison with each other's emotions, or to join in the even
ing hymn of gratitude which a united family breathe forth, — this,
all this, is what has rendered Chelsea to me the seat of purest
earthly felicity. There I seem to escape from the little vanities
that attend the engagements of a town life, the struggles of the
passions subside, my benevolence is enlarged, and my heart nearer
God. 1 can imagine no scene so dreary as that the thought of
days so passed cannot cheer. Grant that it may indeed cheer, not

192 THE CARY LETTERS
cause the spirit of repining for the loss of thera to overcast my
mind. The " shadow of change " is even now passing over these
abodes of peace and joy. In a very few years, the respectable, the
beloved heads of this house must close their eyes on this world,
and " the place which once knew them shall know them no
more." Then adieu forever to this cherished spot ; my sad heart
shall sighing say, as I pass the mansion-house and catch a glimpse
of its dark walls through the waving trees, " Where once ye dwelt
your name is heard no more." My heart sinks within me at the
melancholy picture my foreboding fancy has drawn.
August 2,, 1812. — The third year from that on which this fond
effusion was penned has been marked by the commencement of the
sad prophecy which was contained in the last lines. The vener
able father sleeps unconsciously at this moment, encircled by the
devoted wife and the doating, the respectful children, who, if they
had not an all-powerful Parent who never sleeps watching over
them, would sink under this sudden, this dreadful blow. I saw
him for the last time on Tuesday night. I walked to Chelsea.
Methought, as I approached the house, every object looked still
and mournful ; ray heart did not bound with rapture as it used to
do when I entered those dear enclosures. I ara glad it did not ;
the contrast with what was about to take place would have been
too dreadful. It was all fancy at the time, for within all was well,
and when I embraced Mrs. Gary, and received the welcoming hand
of him who always treated me with the affection of a parent, I felt
a wonted glow of pleasure. The evening passed cheerfull}', not
gayly ; all was still and tranquil, as if the exchange of time for
eternity would not be forced, shocking, or unthought of. Mr. Gary
asked me many questions relative to the past winter ; said he had
passed a remarkably pleasant one. There was something pecu
liarly gentle and impressive in his manner of saying so. At nine
he said, " Good-night, children," as he usually did, and little did
I think that I saw and heard him for the last time, I am happy
that I passed that night there. Ann begged me not to defer or
change the day, though far was she from thinking that any fatal
event would defeat our plans. I saw in an amiable point of view
a raan who, with great strength of passions, yet commanded my
respect, excited my interest, and even my affection. His mind
was a gigantic one. There was contained in it an ardor, a depth

MISS OTIS 193
of affection which could not easily be penetrated, and which was
repressed and concealed by a proud firmness and self-command
which were unequaled. He was pious, and had long fixed his
thoughts out of this world. To his wife he was — what shall I
say ? He adored her, he existed only in her sight, and yet the world
thought hira harsh. " The world," Margaret says, " did not know
my father ; did not give him credit for the virtues he possessed."
It is true ; but the tears of his children, the silent anguish of his
widow, bear ample testimony to thera.
August 26, 1814. — Yesterday I visited Chelsea, the first tirae
since my return from Washington. All, all was changed. I am fa
therless, and ray father's friend, the venerable head of this house,
had slept in dust for two long years. Let me remember how it
used to look as we sat in the west parlor. Mrs. Gary seated in
her armchair, sweetly smiling on her children ; Margaret beside
her, her hand on her raother's, looking as if the strength of earthly
feelings had long yielded their power to heavenly ones ; Harriet
at the harpsichord, accompanied by the flutes of her brothers ;
Mrs. Hill, leaning upon the instrument, eagerly catching every
sound that could break the perpetual silence to which she was
condemned ; Nancy and I sitting in the window-seat, watching
the moonbearas that quivered through the poplars, or amusing our
selves with the playful sallies of the dear little Henrys ; Mr. Cary,
lost in deep thought, arrayed in his flannel coat and white linen
cap, pacing the room with that peculiar majesty which always dis
tinguished him. Yesterday Mrs. Gary took my hand. " My dear
girl, you know not how solitary I feel sometimes, my family is so
diminished. I sit down in my corner quite alone ; often with only
ray two girls about rae, for the three are rarely at horae together."
My uncle Henry left home a year or two before his
father's death to go into business in New York, where he
married and continued to live until he went abroad after his
second marriage. He died in Florence in 1857. His cor
respondence with his mother was very constant, and I give
several of her letters and extracts from others written during
the two years after her husband's death : —
13

194 THE CARY LETTERS
Retreat, July 7, 1813.
Lucius speaks of his return as a thing fixed for the next year. How
much reason have we all to deprecate this war ! Without peace
there can be no business for Lucius, and he says he must not come
here to be idle. We are all well here. Ann, who is at present at
the parsonage, has derived new pleasure from her information on
botany, and to a mind like hers every new acquisition adds to
her happiness and that of her friends that surround her. The
company and conversation of ray dear girls are ray chief source of
pleasure ; they each of them have a select few that they visit and
are visited by, and have that source within which is sufficient to
" gild the hour " when alone. For my part, I have one friend in
Mrs, Otis, with whom I shall Hke sometimes to associate. I have
kind messages from many among the good and worthy, but never
shall I, my beloved Henry, return again to the world, nor enlarge
my acquaintance. Please God, I will go down the vale of life in my
tranquil, peaceful spot, the Retreat, and endeavor to endure those
days of existence Heaven shall please to add to rae, with humility,
and hope of a reunion in another life with your dear father, still
the dearest, and more dear, if possible, than before. I hope I
shall not throw a sombre cast over my letter ; I assure you I con
template that subject with increased delight, and in my most
happy moments. He is the subject of my thoughts ; I love to
contemplate his virtues, and trace the likeness in ray dear children.
Some tender expression recollected, some solicitude for me or for
his family, sorae important hint for ray conduct, wdl perhaps sug
gest itself to me, that shall insure a calra and cheerful day, or quiet
repose for the night. He must be supremely happy, for he had
brought his raind to that state of complete resignation and love to
his Redeemer recommended in the gospel, willing to leave all that
was dear on earth and follow Christ; and I recollect with great
pleasure, the day before his illness, he called me into the west
parlor ; the sun was just setting, and I never saw a more beautiful
scene. " See, Sally," said he, " my dear girl, how beautiful this is,
and I assure you I am fully sensible of the happiness we enjoy; yet
I ara perfectly willing to die." But perhaps I have mentioned this
to you before. Well, adieu, my dear Henry ! This short life wiU
soon be over ; let us live so as to secure an inheritance in the
promises of our blessed Saviour, and be superior to its trials.

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 1 95
September 27, 1813.
I know it will give ray beloved Henry pleasure to hear that
Robert'' stood his exaraination weH, and entered Harvard College
last Saturday, and was particularly correct in raathematics. The
president congratulated Tom for his assiduity, and said he thought
he must feel vast satisfaction. The boys are now in train to act
their part on the great theatre of life. Heaven grant they may act
it well ! I pray there may be no reason to repent their choice, and
that you and Lucius raay be fully corapensated by their good be
havior. I frequently recur to your sentiraents on education, but of
those more anon. I am writing in great haste to send my letter
by Tom, who is now at the breakfast table.
You were most kind, my dear fellow, in your offers of assistance
to their entering college, in a letter to Tom, but I think there will
be no occasion, as he told me he had wrote you ; should there be, I
cannot hesitate to apply to you. I shall expect to clothe him out
of your allowance, as I have now pretty well fitted him. In all
emergencies, under God, my dear son, I shall come to you. Your
kind offers can never be mistaken by me, who know so well their
sincerity. I feel an amazing relief of mind, having been appre
hensive one or perhaps both raight have been turned by, not hav
ing had the eclat of having been fitted by a professed tutor, and
should perhaps have felt indignant towards those who would have
refused them, if I had not accused them of injustice, knowing as I
did how indefatigably industrious the three had been for the last
twelvemonth. The last night of study, or rather the night previous
to Robert's presenting, he sat till two o'clock. So I think they
deserve their reward. All Tom's friends congratulate him. Adieu,
dearest Henry. Your most affectionate mother,
S. Gary.
Retreat, Ap7-il 20, 1814.
Thanks to my beloved Henry for the last kind favor of 9th
instant. George returned highly gratified by your reception and
accompanying him to Philadelphia. I ara gratified by your opin
ion of him, and do not hesitate to say I think he will justify it.
1 Robert and William were fitted for college by Thomas, the oldest of the
four Chelsea children.

196 THE CARY LETTERS
Of Charles you have a right impression, although you had formed
it so early in life. He does, indeed, " unite great worth with great
modesty," and proves the accuracy of your discernment. You
cannot think how well he looks. He often walks frora Medford,
seven miles I think, when the horse has had hard duty in the week,
and he thinks needs rest.
Do you want to know how I occupy my time ? I rise early ; my
dear girl, whose week it may be, rings the breakfast bell at half
past six. We read prayers iramediately, take our seats at table,
and, after passing half an hour together, rise and separate. I
work or read till ten ; settle the economy of the dinner table, and
other domestic affairs ; mix ten grains of soda in half a pint of fair
water, and take a ride. We dine constantly at one, and, as we do
not trouble ourselves with luxurious living, nor sitting long at the ta
ble, we have a whole afternoon for reading, working, and walking,
seldom annoyed by corapany ; take tea or coffee at six, after which
we have rausic, and retire each to our different occupations, which
are generally reading and working ; Tora and George, with each a
book, and for rayself, I come to my chamber, where I pass two hours
in retirement ; join my dear girls again, go to prayers, and retire for
the night at ten. Now to you this would be rather insipid, but to
us, who are accustomed so to live, it is happiness, and I assure
you no one goes from home without reluctance. For my part, I
sit down and take a retrospect of my past life, and am grateful to
the Almighty for carrying me so far on my journey, and am entirely
resigned to my situation, and comfort myself with the delightful
prospect of meeting again your beloved father, who will himself,
perhaps, introduce me to his own residence, whenever it shall
please Heaven to order it j and, although removed out of sight, I
am sensible he is near me, and am solicitous to do everything that
would formerly give hira pleasure, even in the article of my dress,
for he told me he should be my guardian angel. This persuasion
on my raind raakes me happy, leads me to contemplate God and
the happiness that awaits us in those mansions where there shall
be no separation. I read the Bible more than ever, in which I
take great delight, endeavoring to remember always those words of
the blessed Saviour, " Search the Scriptures ;"..." and they are
they which testify of me." I have been reading also the eloquent
sermons of Buckminster and Newton on the Prophecies ; also

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 197
" Charles the Fifth of Gerraany," by Robertson, with which I am
charmed. I dare say you have read it.
Your kindness and that of Lucius, my beloved Henry, in the
provision for the boys, and especially your remunerating me for
what I have advanced, endears you to rae. I did not expect it,
and I raay say not desire it, having arranged my affairs so as to
do very well without it. I will not however refuse it, and shall
repair my chaise. Yours ever,
S. G.
Tuesday Morning, 9 o'clock.
If my beloved Henry is safe and his calculation correct, he is
now in New York ; but as the roads raust be bad, I wdl allow two
more hours, and at eleven he will reach the end of his journey.
In the meantime I will write. What shall I write ? Out of the
abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh those thoughts that
first present. Pain and pleasure, how closely art thou allied ! A
gleam of the latter broke in upon me during your charming visit,
and for a while I forgot my sorrow ; but, alas ! since your depar
ture the raind turns again upon itself, and nourishes the grief that
reason and religion disapprove. My plan of happiness is forever
destroyed, and after the loss of my dear and honored husband
business and pleasure are equally irksorae or insipid. What shall
I do ? How endure the remnant of a life that for forty years has
been devoted to one object who possessed my best affections, my
whole of happiness, and all my tirae ? Even the daily domestic
duties that necessarily devolved on me were considered an inter
ruption, and consequently despatched as early in the day as possi
ble, the remainder in walking, reading, riding, and conversation.
We did not wish for society, and company was intrusion. These
reflections are involuntary, and are the natural result of such a
separation ; the hope of reunion alone can support me. I must try
to endure life as the Almighty sees fit, but erelong I shall follow.
Is that the case, I say to rayself ? Then why not wait patiently the
summons ? In a little while, according to nature's course, and per
haps before, you shall be introduced into a society where sorrow
never comes, where there shall be no more separation, where every
tear shall be wiped away, and you shall together worship Him who

198 THE CARY LETTERS
sitteth on the throne, and be like the angels that are in heaven.
This is the consolation, my dear Henry, that offers itself to rae
in my darkest and most gloomy hours. Heaven and heavenly
things must now occupy my time and thoughts, and with a new
heart, new affections, and a new object I commence my prepara
tion. The creature has engrossed hitherto those affections that
belonged to the Creator. It is not too late I hope to transfer
them to the right object. II o'clock.
My dear Henry will not thank me I fear for the above. I have
occupied my tirae, however, tranquilized my mind, and pleased
myself with the thought that you are safe arrived at New York.
When I unbosom myself, on paper or in conversation, to a friend
I love, it renovates me and I ara better for it. Do not therefore
notice in your letter anything relating to the first page ; neither
would I have you think those sentiraents the ebullition of the mo
ment. I can never change.
Adieu, my dearest Henry, and believe me, in every situation.
Yours most affectionately,
Sarah Gary.
Retreat, September 7, 1814.
Thanks to you, my beloved Henry, for yours of 25 th ult, inclosing
one from Lucius. How gladly would I repay the obligation in the
way you propose, and think myself most happy ! Well, when we
meet again. Ah ! who can say when that will be ! Things un
known, unthought of, at the present moment, may lengthen the
term of separation — But I have no desire to anticipate. The war
may last, but still I shall have the pleasure of communication with
New York. While parental and filial love such as ours exists, my
dear son, neither time nor distance can efface either ; and should
Death, who " calls for mdlions at a meal," arrest us, let the survivor
find consolation in the thought that those virtues strengthen be
yond the grave, and ties strongly bound here are still more strongly
bound in heaven. I am growing serious, but who can help being
so within so short a distance as I am from Charlestown, and par
ticularly as it is contemplated by many people whose judgment is
rarely wrong, that the English will land on Chelsea Beach ? I try

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 1 99
to keep my raind perfectly calra, and at the same tirae am very
sensible that I am not a woman of courage, and wHlingly confess
that an approaching enemy would induce me to run away without
thinking of property ; therefore, as it seems the part of prudence,
I think of packing up those articles that are most valuable, and se
curing to myself the use of a team upon emergency. Is not that right,
my dear Henry ? Our good governor, who has his uniform prepared
and means to take the coraraand upon hiraself in person, wdl. I
hope, with fifteen thousand brave fellows, repel our enemies. They
will have, to speak vulgarly, another guess reception than they had
at the capital. There is nothing said or scarcely talked of but this
invasion. Both sexes, all ages, think themselves competent to de
cide on the way and manner which will be pursued at the terrific
moment of landing in Charlestown ; and I suppose no old beggar-
woman — lest perhaps she should be found an impostor and spy
in disguise — will be suffered to pass without a strict exaraination
and cross-questioning. It was reported the other day, and by many
believed, that a spy, a British officer, had been introduced and
passed the evening at Commodore Bainbridge's as a stranger from
the country. Many families are removing frora Charlestown, with
all their furniture. Our greatest want, I fear, will be money. None
but Boston bills will pass now; all others are styled foreign. We
shall all corae under the denomination of croakers erelong, I
believe, as well as those you mention with you, who go to bed pre
pared for an alarm. Tora tries to persuade us females that we
shall certainly have at least ten hours' notice of the approach of
the enemy. What are you doing, dear H. ? Certainly you expect
to do military duty, do you not ? I wish you raight escape. Here
is our young cadet, who arrived at twenty-three years of age yester
day, in high spirits ; and because he knows nothing, fears nothing,
talks and laughs as if his company were invulnerable. Ah, my dear
fellow, let us pray for peace ; lasting, honorable peace. What high-
sounding words are these, but such as we once had a right to claim !
How fallen, how degraded, is this poor country ! Let us hope, at
least, not so low as never to rise again.
Yes, I have fought battles with Suvarof lately, and passed much
time with great men who were always my admiration, and now
more than ever. Have you read " Patronage " ? I never met any
where so admirable a display of character. George has this mo-

200 THE CARY LETTERS
ment entered the parlor after an absence of a fortnight to Stafford
Springs, where he has bathed and drunk the waters. Adieu,
dearest.
S. G.
Retreat, Monday Morning, October 10, 1814.
My beloved Henry, — I added a few lines on the last page of
Nancy's letter to you, and concluded with saying I should write you
as soon as my Plymouth jaunt was over. We set out on Tuesday
last (M., A., and H.), at eight o'clock in the morning, from Beacon
Street, with an easy coach, a pair of steady horses, and careful driver.
Without ranch incident arrived at Plymouth, and I was seated by
my old friend at six in the evening, who had been waiting her tea
for a whole hour. Eighty-six years of age, and the faculties of her
mind unimpaired ! Conversing with the same vivacity and pleas
ing address as she did the last time she and I met, twenty-one
years ago. Her son James is all-important to her, as I believe
Margaret, in a former letter to you, described. He is, and so are
they all high Democrats. We took care on both sides to avoid
the subject of war, although they have about two thousand men
under arms, expecting the British will attack them erelong, who,
for arauseraent perhaps, have peeped at them more than once, and
occasioned great alarm. I sat up till ten that night without feeling
the least fatigue, but the next morning I was scarcely able or will
ing to rise, which made me resolve to keep still the whole day, that
I might be able to set out the day after on my journey homewards.
I kept ray resolution, suffering the rest of the company to visit the
different raanufactories — cotton, iron, etc. — without rae, while I
sat in a low rocking-chair beside my venerable old friend, listening
to her tale of sorrow (for who at her years and long before has not
one to tell ?), and imparting as well as I was able that consolation,
that sovereign balm, which points to futurity. She was seated in
an old-fashioned easy-chair with a crimson damask covering, dressed
in a gown of black satin, a mob cap tied under the chin, and a
small, snug black bonnet, with a little green curtain to shade her
eyes, which have failed her very much of late years, so that she
cannot discern objects at a distance, nor either read or write. Her
little hands, which are still fair and almost transparent, were adorned
with rings, chiefly mourning ones ; but one which she has lately

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 201
received from the former President Adams, with his and his wife's
hair, she seems to value most highly. Her form is as thin as you
can conceive, and, were it not that she takes snuff, more interesting
than you can imagine. She will soon, I think, take her flight up
wards. She converses on death with the deepest reverence and
humility, so becoming, ray dear Henry, in poor mortals, the best of
whom have nothing to boast, and may say, with the excellent Peter :
" To whom shall we go ? thou hast the words of eternal life." We
had a charming visit, passing two nights and one day with my friend,
who appeared to be highly gratified ; and we parted with the hope
that if the next interview was not here, it would be in a better
world. My dear girls were all spirit, and as much gratified as ray
self. They alternately sang and rhymed, and in " converse sweet "
tried to remove any gloom that might remain upon my raind after
taking leave of a valued friend that I should not probably meet
any more ; and at quarter past five, after a most pleasant journey,
we reached Beacon Street, where I may say we were received with
the warmest friendship. Tom was the first to receive us, and after
an account of our journey, of Madam Warren, etc., to Mrs. Otis
and Harriet, we got fresh horses and proceeded iramediately to
Chelsea; And now, my dear Henry, I felicitate myself hourly, and I may
say, for the first twenty-four hours, raised my heart and hands to
Heaven in token of my gratitude for so sweet a situation as the
Retreat affords us. I would not, I think, if I had the power of
choosing, live in Plymouth were the whole county (and it is divided
into fifteen townships) presented me as a gift. Barren, rocky, sandy.
I am not either one of those who, according to Sterne, travel from
Dan to Beersheba and cry, " All is barren ! " but out of my friend's
home it seems to me there is nothing comely, nothing delightful.
How are you, my dear fellow ? Thank Heaven, as yet there is
no invasion of the enemy, and while there are only imaginary beings
to cope with, who 's afraid ! / ara raore afraid of the exposure of
the health of ray sons than of the dangers of real service this sea
son, now that it is so far advanced. Do, pray do, take care of your
self. A military life is so dangerous to the morals, so often a life of
dissipation, that, while an individual may be serving his country, he
raay also be underraining a fine constitution. With this view of
things, believe me, ray dear H., your happiness, your honor and

202 THE CARY LETTERS
reputation, are so interwoven in my very existence that I feel as if I
were standing on the precipice against which I would warn you.
God bless you, my dear son, and, if possible, still dearer friend.
Yours most affectionately,
Sarah Cary.
December 17, 1814.
How near we are approaching Christmas Day ! I wish you
could be with us. I dare not hope to see Lucius at this time, al
though he speaks strongly of coming ; nor indeed do I know of
anything that is likely to add to my happiness, save one which I
ought not to conceal from you. Our young attorney will become,
on that ever memorable and to all Christians delightful day, a
member of Christ's Church. He was propounded by Mr. Tucker
man the Sunday before last. Charles, too, joined our little com
munity three months since. Ought I not to consider myself a
happy mother that out of seven sons, four of them have voluntarily
and publicly given themselves to Hira who said, "Do this in re-
raembrance of rae " ? We have been a happy family hitherto ; may
we all be reunited hereafter !
I have nothing new to tell you, my dear fellow. Everything
goes on quietly at home. I rarely stir abroad. If I do, it is just
to see my dear Sarah for half an hour and back again to my sofa.
My little parlor is now very handsome with the new floor-cloth you
presented me, and to me will always be the pleasantest room in
the house. It is the remembrance of past pleasures in the society
of your dear and honored father that makes it delightful. In this
place I say to rayself : I sat reading such or such a book to him ;
in this, seated by his side, we conversed on such or such a topic,
and here, close at his side, I used to breakfast. These are asso
ciations that soothe and tranquilize the mind, and often raise the
depressed spirits, with the hope that a more perfect and complete
enjoyment is in store for us. Take care of yourself, and beHeve me.
Your sincerely affectionate mother, S. Gary.
Retreat, February 16, 1815.
It is a truth, my beloved Henry, that just as I had seated ray
self at my desk to write to you, Tom entered and presented me

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 203
with your kind favor of the 13th inst, inclosing one frora Lucius.
Do you not remeraber that your dear father used to say : " There is
a little cord that binds us together, and prevents our minds from
separating, although our bodies may be far distant from each
other " ? It must be so, and he is our guardian angel, as I have
been sensible many times of late. A Sunday or two ago (a bleak,
cold day) it seeraed that he offered me his hand, as he was wont to
do, and said, " My love, do not go out to-day." I did not go. Is
this enthusiasm ? By many so it would be construed. It maybe
so, but I will cherish these feelings as I go down the vale of life,
and he shall still guide and counsel me. Whether it be real or
imaginary, it will afford me pleasure, and soften the rough descent
that raay be before me.
I feel truly grateful for this intelligence. I find by your letter
that he has written nearly the same to you, and adds : " This is
Saturday, 5th December, and this is the hour you are all collected
to dine together. Would that I could spend the day with you !
However, I hope we shall have many more Saturdays in which we
shall have much enjoyment together. I often arause myself with
retracing, in ' my mind's eye,' all the little circumstances relating
to your retreat, in ' living o'er again ' the scenes I have taken a
share in there, and in executing the projects of amusement and
alteration which we have talked of so often and so earnestly."
Last evening I received yours of nth inst. You never need de
spair of entertaining me. If you should have dearth of matter that
would be agreeable to you to write, say something of yourself,
your opinions, your habits, — all important at all tiraes, — and as
I think you an excellent moralist, there too you have a subject
Everything seems to combine together just now to raake me cora-
placent, and, since I see that you have made a shipment of articles
to Charles, I know of nothing that I ought to be very anxious
about. My children are all in health and all virtuous. I have a
sweet little granddaughter, born on Sunday last; my dear Sarah
doing finely, and myself humble indeed, but submissive and thank
ful. These things make me remeraber a sentence of Sir William
Temple in a letter to Lady Essex : " If you look about you, and
consider the lives of others as well as your own ; if you think how
few are born with honor, and how many die without name or chil
dren ; how little beauty we see, and how few friends we hear of ;

204 THE CARY LETTERS
how many diseases and how much poverty there is in this world, —
you will fall down upon your knees, and instead of repining at one
affliction, wid admire so many blessings which you have received
from the hand of God."
Adieu, dear Henry ! I hope we shall see you at the Retreat in
March. I left the parsonage yesterday, where I have been stay
ing six weeks. Your most affectionate mother, Sarah Gary.
from lucius gary to his mother.
Bermuda, January lo, 1815.
My dear Mother, — It was on the ever memorable 5th of
November that, having brought all my affairs to a close, and bid
good-by to about a dozen old friends, whose lives and a congenial
ity of habits and minds had endeared them to me, I put myself
aboard the fleet, and with a fair wind made sail, I hope for the
last tirae, from Demerara. A few days brought us to Grenada,
where we had to call for the homeward-bound ships, and where,
very unexpectedly and to my great satisfaction, the admiral had
sent an order delaying their sailing for a fortnight. I was much
afraid I should not have been able to go on shore, but this circum
stance enabled me to make a tour of the island, raake several new
acquaintances, and renew a nuraber of old ones. Let me give
you an account of those who will interest you. Just before I left
Demerara I saw Isaac Horsford, who, after much hard labor and
trouble, has gone up there to better his fortune in the planting
line. We had a great deal of conversation respecting his faraily,
so that when I arrived at St. George's I knew where to look for
them. Kitty, I believe you know, married a second time, and is
now Mrs. Rowley, with six chddren, besides George Rose. I called
on her immediately, was very kindly received, and attended the
celebration of her wedding day.
Soon after, I went out to Grand Roy and spent two days with
Walter Cockburn, a son of the doctor, a fine young fellow, who is
married to Alicia Horsford, Both these sisters are very well mar
ried, Mr, Rowley being secretary of the island, besides holding
several other lucrative situations, and Walter the sole heir apparent
to his father, who has become very rich. The old gentleman I

LUCIUS CARY 205
need not describe to you. He looks just as he did when you saw
him last, and would be quite as active but for a fall which has
made him very lame.
You raay be sure I did not miss the opportunity of reviewing
the spot where I was born and spent my boyish days. I found Mr.
and Mrs. Horsford at Silver Arm, a sraall provision estate which
they have lately bought and retired to, to spend the remainder of
their lives. It is on the side of the hill above Mount Home, and
commands a view of the whole valley, — Paraclete, Simon, etc.
They were highly pleased to see me. We went back, in comparing
notes, to the year 1770; traveled over the whole history of the
connection between our two families from its commencement to
the present tirae. It would be in vain for rae, my dear mother, to
attempt to describe to you the tender and affectionate sensibility
which they showed while listening to my communications. I have
a thousand kind messages to you frora them both. They spoke
with a degree of exultation of the intimacy which had existed be
tween ray dear parents and them, and begged that it might con
tinue to exist with their children. Alicia showed me a teacup, the
only remaining one of a set you formerly gave her mother, and
which is kept with great care to feed baby.
Dr. Cockburn desired me to give his kindest regards to you and
all the faraily. He was very glad to see rae, and gave rae a very
handsome letter of introduction to his relation. Sir Jaraes Cock
burn, who is governor of this island. I brought also a letter of the
same kind from Mr. Horsford to General H., who is the lieuten
ant-governor, and no other than George Horsford, nephew to Mr.
H,, whose red coat I recollect at Simon very well when a boy.
I saw several of the old negroes, — Joe, who went with you to
Araerica in 1784, and Glasgow, both well and glad to see rae. I
spent my time on the island very well, and, after feasting to ray
heart's content on turtle fins and old wine, embarked in the fleet
for St Thomas, which is the general rendezvous. There I left
my ship and got on board one bound for this island, and here I
have just arrived after suffering all the misery attending a dirty
cabin, short commons, a long passage, and a gale of wind.
January 31. — Here I am, still. Since writing the foregoing, I
have been hard at work to get over, without success. I have raade
an application for a passage on the Narcissus (frigate), which

206 THE CARY LETTERS
sails for the coast to-morrow, with Commodore Decatur and his
officers, but I am much afraid I shall not obtain one. There is,
however, a Spanish brig going in eight or ten days to Amelia
Island, in Florida, and that is my only chance. I have had the
pleasure to receive your letter of the 29th August, via Demerara,
and by some prisoners to hear of Henry being well in Charleston
about six months ago.
Adieu, ray dear raother ! Give ray best love to all round the
dear circle at your fireside. Say that I hope soon to join thera,
and then for a bowl of punch and a song.
I am yours most affectionately,
L. G.
FROM MRS. GARY TO HER SON HENRY.
Chelsea, Retreat, March 23, 1815.
My DEAREST Henry, — I have the pleasure to inform you that
Lucius arrived between one and two o'clock yesterday. As Charles,
Harriet, and I sat at dinner, conversing very pleasantly of former
days, our attention was drawn towards the east window by a gen
tleman looking in upon us, which I thought extraordinary. A
fur cap and large greatcoat had so corapletely transformed my
dear Lucius that I did not immediately recognize him. As soon
as I did, you will easily believe that I sprang from my chair and
the emotions that followed araong us. I can hardly express the
sentiraents of gratitude I feel to the Author of all good, and re
peat often with delight Addison's hymn, " Oh, how shall words
with equal warmth," etc. We want nothing but you, my dear fel
low, to fill up the measure of our happiness. He is in fine health,
and desires his best and kindest remembrances, as do all our circle.
Yours most affectionately,
S. C.
P. S. — Ann was with our cousins, the Carys ; Margaret with Mrs.
Lee (charmed with Mary Ann) ; but we collected together at tea,
and sat down ten.

VI

LETTERS FROM MISS CARY, MRS. CARY, AND
WILLIAM CARY, 1815-1819

GIVE the next three letters in full, minute as
they are, because they describe what must have
been a great event, not only to aunt Margaret, but
to those who remained in Chelsea, Mr, Hogan,
who is mentioned, was a business partner with her brother
Henry, who had, at the time she wrote, established himself
in New York. He died many years before my uncle, but
the intimacy was continued with his family ; and when my
uncle Henry died in 1857, he left in his will an annuity to
Mr. Hogan's daughter. The Atkinsons, with whom aunt
Margaret stayed, were connected with the Chelsea Carys by
the marriage of Miss Mary Ann Atkinson to Samuel Cary,
their cousin, and son of the Rev, Thomas Cary, of Newbury
port. Samuel Cary was the colleague of Dr. James Freeman,
at King's Chapel. He died of consumption, leaving one son,
who died when he was fourteen. Mrs. Cary afterward mar
ried Colonel Samuel May. New York, April 20, 18 15.
Well, my beloved Ann, you will have heard, long perhaps be
fore you receive this, that I have arrived safely at this city, and
received a kind reception from the Atkinson family. Shall I go
into particulars and detail to you the various incidents and feelings
which the journey has given rise to, or leave you to conjecture the
all within a general outline ? Indolence, in part, and the reluctance
which human beings more or less feel at withdrawing the curtain

208 THE CARY LETTERS
from the heart check my pen and make rae hesitate. Yet, as this
long preamble has probably excited your curiosity, affection must
prevail and break down every barrier. The first day's ride through
a dreary country was enlivened by the pleasures of expectation
and the certainty of having left all well behind. We dined at
Framingham, supped at Worcester, and got into the stage there,
refreshed by a good cup of tea, full of grateful sentiments for the
happiness of ray situation in life, without any inclination to sleep,
and rather pleased to observe that the front of the carriage was
entirely open. The raoon shone bright. I put on additional cov
ering, and, heedless for a while of the roughness of the road,
indulged in those sublirae aspirations which raise the soul to a
higher state of existence, and cause it to forget its near connection
to an earthly nature which is ever aiming at dominion, and too
often engrosses the faculties of the mind. I sat on the back seat
with Lucius, who attempted to sleep. A young raan on the middle
seat laid his head on the mad, a huge leather case. The coachman
before and the horses beyond raade a long line, which, precipitating
with great rapidity down very steep hills, at first agreeably excited
my spirits, but the moon became clouded, the jolting terrible. I
thought of Henry's dreadful fall from a similar situation to that of
the man before me, and though I did not repent of having set out,
the contrast of the comfortable horae I had left raade my situation
totally cheerless. However, I do trust, my dear Ann, to a careful
Providence, who I knew would not suffer any accident to happen
which would not eventually be for ray good. We stopped at
Hartford to breakfast. I called for a basin of water, and made
some adjustments in my dress, for which I felt heartily glad, when,
returning to the room, where I hoped to have a comfortable refresh
ment with Lucius and our fellow-traveler, I found several gentle
men, boarders of the house, and after sitting a quarter of an hour
exposed to the curious looks of the loungers who kept dropping
in, among whom were two or three bold-looking officers, we went
into a long room to the breakfast table, which was filled by at least
forty persons, myself the only female. I made my escape as soon
as possible, really considering that a delicate woraan had better
not go from her own horae at all than meet with such company.
You know our dear Lucius's gentle, unassuming raanners. It is new
to him to have the care of a female, but he raight have avoided a

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 209
situation painful probably to both by desiring a room to ourselves.
I write freely, because I think it will give subjects of discussion at
the breakfast table at home.
At this town, Hartford, we took in three passengers, — one a
.sensible, loquacious lawyer ; one a true Connecticut wit ; and a
bold, independent, free-spoken young fellow, a brother of Captain
Lawrence, who appeared perfectly conscious of a very handsorae
face and person. We were in a coach so that we sat three and
three, facing each other, dear Lucius in the middle of the back
seat, which left me a corner. But he was so overcome by the
fatigue of the journey that he slept all the time ; and having no
place to rest his head, it waved about all round ; and in spite of my
utmost efforts I could not help smiling at last at the significant looks
and observations of the young lawyer, and for the only time during
the ride broke silence by observing that he had rode all night, and
the roads were very rough. I suppose raany ladies would have en
joyed a pleasant conversation with these three gentlemen, for they
were all sensible ; but I have no courage when it comes to such a
test, and it always appears to rae proper to keep within the liraits of
the person who takes, or should take, the lead. If Lucius had con
versed I might occasionally have ventured a remark, and as these
were all passengers in the steamboat we raight by that tirae have laid
claim to sorae acquaintance. Well, we arrived at New Haven at
two o'clock. Not a wink of sleep had I had, though the carriage,
being well filled, was more steady, and the road not so rough ; but
in reality it was raore dangerous, for it was a narrow, new-made
turnpike. I hardly knew how to get out of the stage from fatigue
We went into the hotel, found that the court was sitting, and the
rooms all occupied ; — to another, heard the sarae story, and
were directed to a tavern two or three streets off. There we were
admitted, had a dinner provided in a little while, and we were
desirous of being shown to our chambers. A black woman who
waited on us — and I had not then seen any other — said she would
see if we might go upstairs, then showed us into a chamber with two
beds ; however, we found another with four, and, leaving that to
Lucius, I prepared to take some rest, having settled with him that
he should deliver the letter to Mrs. Johnson, and meet me in the
parlor between five and six o'clock to go to tea with Miss Hill-
house. I took a good nap, dressed myself fresh, and, on going
14

2IO THE CARY LETTERS
into the parlor, learned from a young woman of the house that
Mrs. Johnson had called while I was asleep. Lucius soon joined
me. We went, though at a considerable distance, to return Mrs.
J.'s call, who had received Lucius very kindly, and offered to go
with us to see Miss Hillhouse. With Mrs. J. we took tea. She,
is a charming, open-hearted, sensible woman. She is living at N.
H., that her son may attend the coHege, and takes in boarders to
maintain hira and herself. She gave rae a very interesting account
of the collegians. There has been a great reform produced araong
many of thera lately, — those, too, who were the most dissipated.
Many of them became religiously impressed with a sense of their
danger from sin, which brought upon them the ridicule of others.
Dr. Dwight took up the subject very seriously, and, in addressing
himself to those who indulged in ridicule, entreated thera, if they
did not wish for salvation themselves, not to prevent those who did
from obtaining it. This had a great effect ; there is now no
laughter on the subject. About thirty young men appear to be
totally converted, and more than seventy are very religiously dis
posed ; four were taken into the church last Sunday. We had
a very cordial reception from Miss Hillhouse.
At the house where we lodged were two ladies frora New York,
whom I did not see till Wednesday morning ; but two young
woraen of the house told rae of them Tuesday evening, observing
that one of thera had come frora New York on the steamboat last
Friday, expecting to meet her husband ; that he had not yet
arrived, and she had just got a letter from him ordering her to
return home. This they raagnified to ray imagination by observing
that the ladies were very fond of the company of gentlemen whom
they were then entertaining in the front parlor, which had occa
sioned my passing by the door and going into a back room, where
I found these two charitable sisters sitting. Next morning at six
o'clock the carriage carae round to collect passengers for the
steamboat, and we got in with the two New York ladies, who ap
peared to me very ordinary and forward. I of course, from what
I had heard, was on the reserve. Of the steamboat I can never
say too much. It is indeed an admirable contrivance, going on
steadily against a strong tide and wind, and having every possible
accoramodation ; the rooms fitted up very handsomely, and the en
tertainment of the best kind : but there was a great swell of water

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 211
in going through the Sound, which continued for the first two
hours, and I was obHged to hold ray head very steadily and keep
quite still to prevent seasickness. I found assembled a great
many passengers, upwards of eighty, sixteen of whom were ladies.
I hoped to exchange civilities with some of the latter, but while
most of thera were at their ease, I felt restrained in my movements.
One lady came forward to me, and I was much pleased with her
countenance and manner ; but who should it prove to be but the
very one in quest of her husband ? Having taken off her coat
and bonnet, I did not at first know her. One matronly lady excited
my admiration by her good appearance and ease of manner. She
was doing a piece of work for one of her family ; but, having no
scissors, 1 lent her mine, with great pleasure at her request How
ever, that was soon over. One poor woman was sick, and very
pale. I advised her to go into the air, and sat with her in an
outer cabin, but she was soon obliged to retire altogether. Eight
o'clock was the breakfasting hour. The boat is long and narrow,
and arranged in this way below stairs. The ladies have a sepa-
Ladies' Ladies'
inner cabin. outer cabin. Dining-room. Gentlemen's cabins.

rate table, if they choose, but the intention is for all to meet in the
long dining-room. It was this day contrived by the matron, her sis
ters, and all who appeared to belong to her party, that a table should
be laid for the ladies in their cabin, and just as we were seating
ourselves they raoved off to the gentlemen, and left a party of six,
among whom I was one, to entertain ourselves. The breakfast
was, I dare say, in every respect as good, but who likes to be de
serted ? Those who remained were evidently of a lower class ;
two of them were, to me at least, of a suspicious character ; and
I confess I felt mortified, and could not help thinking Lucius
ought to have come forward and given me a higher stand. Those
who were left, except myself, who at least appeared serene, were
loud in their exclamations, and the married lady from New York
quite indignant, but very attentive to me, and took the head of the
table. My dear Lucius came to the door to see how I was accora-
modated. By that time I had made up my mind, and thought I
would not make myself eneraies by removing ; so I just bowed to

212 THE CARY LETTERS
him, though the New York lady wanted me to invite him to break
fast with us. On the whole, I certainly was more at my ease than
if I had gone into the long room. The ladies were soon re-assem
bled in their inner cabin, to which the encroaching sex found their
way. The weather prevented us females frora going on deck.
There were five hours to be disposed of before dinner. The dice,
the drafts, the cards, were all produced, and one way or other the
time was spent. I had my knitting, which I took out, and sitting
by myself worked steadily; but never did I feel myself so lonely as
in this idly busy scene, for only one besides me had any work ; no
one spoke to me. I felt I was a stranger. At twelve o'clock
Lucius came to visit me. This was the first time I had appeared
to the great people to have any one on board who cared for me.
We conversed half an hour together ; he had been taking a nap,
and having a conversation with his friend Jeffrey, whom he met on
deck, to his great pleasure. At dinner time the sarae ladies con
trived to make the same separation of parties, and at this time it
was more mortifying than before, for the ladies' table was not cov
ered,, and the New York lady, whom I have mentioned so often,
declared the reason was because we were to take the gentlemen's
leavings. But perhaps, my dear Ann, I am tedious, and what is
interesting at the moment passes so soon away that it is not worth
recalling. We had a very good dinner in a little while, and it was
served up immediately from the kitchen. I begin to be quite
ashamed of all I have written, and am more than half disposed to
tear the paper and begin anew. I beseech you not to think that
our dear Lucius was at all inattentive to me ; it was merely the
necessary course of things that made me appear lonely, and left
me to my own resources. The sun shone out for a Httle while in
the afternoon. All who had friends among the gentlemen went on
deck ; Lucius came for me, and we walked about together. The
rain soon drove us into the cabin. My knitting, as it progressed,
had caught the attention of the company, and the matronly lady I
mentioned came and sat by me, and learned how it was done.
We had a good deal of conversation about wool, etc. She took
me for a notable New Haven housewife, and wanted rae to recora
raend to her some person there who could spin merino, WeH,
evening came at last, and the boat arrived at seven o'clock at the
wharf. Lucius came to tell me he had seen Henry standing on the

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 213
wharf, and they had nodded to each other. Through the day I
had comforted myself with the delightful expectation of meeting
him. All this you can imagine. I watched the door, expecting
every moment to see my two brothers enter. There was another
entrance to the joom, and presently I heard Henry's voice on the
other side of me.
"Ah, Margaret, how do you do i " Oh, my Ann, what is there
in some merabers of our faraily that can thus repel affection, — in
those, too, who seem to feel it at times the strongest ? A thou
sand thoughts crowded to my mind. Why had I left home ? How
wrong I was to be impatient to come with Lucius ! All was de
lightful hurry around me, — brothers and sisters meeting with
warm embraces ; a father and daughter delightedly saluting each
other, though they appeared to have parted but a few days before.
Henry drew a seat directly before me and sat down. " Well,
Margaret, where are you going ? " (Can I tell you, Ann, the deso
late feeling of this moraent?) "If we had not met you here, Lu
cius meant, I believe, to take me to a hotel." " Well, my friends
are all very desirous of welcoming you. I have promised Mrs.
Atkinson, if you go anywhere but to a hotel, you wdl go to her."
" I don't know what I had best do,'' for at this moment I only
wished to be quite alone in the world, or, if possible, to be out of it
I ventured to ask how Mrs. Hogan's family did, "All well, and
will be very happy to see you. But Mrs. Hogan has been lamenting,
ever since she heard of your coming, that you had not corae a fort
night sooner, or a fortnight later ; for they have given up their
house, sold everything, and can't get into another decent one for
sorae time. They are in a very small place now, and could not pos
sibly accommodate you, and they regret it very much indeed."
My dear Ann has heard of a voice within, and probably ridiculed
it I have heard of it, and believed it credible, but never cour
ageously avowed my belief. Now I will do it, for in laying ray
heart open to you, I raust unfold its secret recesses. I declare to
you that at this raoraent I perceived distinctly pronounced within
me : " Go to Mrs. Atkinson's, make yourself agreeable to the faraily,
and be grateful to thera for receiving you." You may call this, if
you will, the decision of my judgment, but that is only adding cause
to cause. In a moment of such perplexity and doubt, what regu
lated my judgment ? You may call it imagination, my dear girl, I

214 THE CARY LETTERS
will not contest the point The effect was immediate. The hurry
of my spirit was calmed. I declared my intention to Henry, asked
if he had seen Lucius, and expressed my fear that he might be
anxiously looking for him on deck. This was the case. They
soon returned to me together, and got rae on shore through the
rain and raud. Here too we met George Atkinson, whora his
raother had kindly sent to assist in getting us ashore, and to repeat
her request that I would come immediately to her. When we were
in the carriage, Henry shook hands with me and bade me very
cordially " welcome to New York," inquired most affectionately
after every one at home, and with his usual veneration and love of
our beloved mother. " Well, Margaret, you '11 find a party at Mrs.
Atkinson's. She regretted having corapany, on your account, but
could not help it. You had better go at once to your charaber and
dress." I assented.
Now, my dear Ann, if I had tirae I should be glad to launch out
in praise of that affectionate hospitality with which I was welcomed
by the whole of this excellent family. Mrs. Atkinson met me in
the entry with the embrace of a tender raother, Emma and Eliza
followed. They all accompanied rae into the back parlor, regretted
having company, but hoped I should not mind it much, I only
begged leave to go into ray chamber to dress. You know, Ann,
how little I care for that beyond cleanliness, but I was deterrained
not to raortify Henry by my appearance. However, I passed
through an exam'nation. Henry walked round me. "Why, Mar
garet, I think you look very well." So that business was settled.
The evening passed pleasantly. There is nothing so wholesome
to the raind, my sweet Ann, as little mortifications of the nature I
had met that day. My spirit had been chastised, and I was ready
to meet with cordiality every advance of affection. And here I have
been treated with the greatest kindness ever since my arrival, and
am made quite at home. Mrs. Atkinson desires to be very affec
tionately remembered to our dear mother. She says that when
Emma returned from Boston and was giving an account of her
visit there, she exclairaed to Henry, " Oh, Mr. Gary, next to my
raother I love yours,"
Mrs, Stout sent word that she would come to tea, as she wished
to see me, but was very busy in the morning packing up. She is
going out of town to a beautiful place in the neighborhood, where

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 21 i,
I have promised to pass a day or two on my return. She is a de
lightful woman. Mrs. Hogan and Fanny called yesterday morn
ing. They were exacdy what I had expected to find them, from
all the accounts which we had heard. Fanny's appearance, owing
to dress, etc., was elegant I had not a good view of her face, but
she was very intent upon mine, as was Mrs. Hogan. I fancy their
curiosity to know us is as great as ours. I gave ray mother's re
gards to her, and told her how deeply we all felt her kind attentions
to Henry, particularly during his last illness. Mrs. Renwick is to
take tea here this afternoon. Lucius is to wait on Miss Kerable
here at twelve o'clock to-day. Miss K. raeans to invite rae to the
theatre (Henry says) this evening to see a young actor of a good
family in the part of Shylock. You see Henry's sister is kindly
received by his friends.
I don't know what inferences you will draw from what I have
written. Do you think I am " enjoying rayself," as we say, or not ?
There are two sorts of happiness of which ray mind is susceptible.
One the world offers as a lure, then withdraws it the moment I
find satisfaction in it Another, which increases by enjoyment, is
known only to my own soul, and proceeds immediately from that
source in which I " live, move, and have my being." Some
minds are so well ordered as to enjoy both without injury. To
thera, the good things of this world, far from being baneful, are
blessings. Adieu, dearest, dear girl. Kiss my dear mother and
Harriet and Sarah for me. Remeraber me affectionately to Mr.
Tuckerman, Charles, Tora, George, Robert, and William, and all
the dear little ones. Your affectionate sister,
M. G. Gary.
Philadelphia, April 28, 181 5.
Here I ara, ray beloved Ann, as warm as I wish to be the 27 th
July, — all nature kindling with the ardent beams of the sun, and
an atmosphere of love around me. I should really write to you
more, my beloved Ann, if I had not so much to say, but subjects
accumulate so fast that I ara bewildered among the variety. How
ever, I will hope for a private opportunity. My last letter, I think,
left off when I was expecting Miss Kemble. She came, accom
panied by Miss Howard, an amiable girl, her brother Gouverneur,

2l6 THE CARY LETTERS
and our two. I was unexpectedly delighted by her appearance and
manners. Instead of the pensive, downcast girl I had thought her,
she was all spirit and animation, raaking a party for the theatre
and making arrangements as if she were accustomed to take the
lead. I declined going with her, as Mrs. Renwick was to take tea
and pass the evening with us. Next came Mr. Hogan to call
on me. Oh, what a man ! more interesting far than I had con
ceived it possible, even from Henry's partial description. His
face is the expression of patient endurance, his manners those of
a complete gentleman, his conversation intelligent and thoughtful.
I gave my mother's compliments to him when he inquired after
her, and thanked him for all his kind attentions to Henry, particu
larly during his last illness. Turning up his eyes, and pressing his
hands in the most emphatic manner, he exclaimed : " Oh, Miss
Gary, your brother is not a man to receive attentions. When he is
sick we let him alone, and he goes his own way. At all other times
he is bestowing attentions." Every one at New York speaks of
Henry in the sarae warm manner ; whenever I expressed the satis
faction I felt at finding, him surrounded by such kind friends, 1 was
told he was an uncommon friend, that no one could do too much for
him. I had a good deal of interesting conversation with Henry
occasionally, for he was with me every day, and very attentive and
affectionate. Wednesday morning, a fine, clear day, we set off in the steam
boat, and reached Brunswick at three o'clock, after dining. The
company amused me much. I found myself raore at ease than
before, but the accommodations were not so good. We took care
to find plenty of fault with the dinner, which consisted principally
of hashes, except an excellent ham, and a very fine round of beef.
For my part, I put up with some turtle soup. The landing at
Brunswick presented an interesting scene. The stages were wait
ing for us. We had become in a manner acquainted with each
other, and formed parties agreeably to our inclinations. We filled
four carriages. The road was very bad, roots of trees having been
dug out and the holes left. We reached Trenton between eight
and nine ; supped, raade a great fuss to show our consequence
about lodging ; and after a variety of raanoeuvring, in which there
was no Httle selfishness displayed, all got to bed. At seven o'clock
we got on board a steamer, ghded down the Delaware, saw the

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 21 7
house at Trenton where General Moreau lived, came into view of
this fine city by twelve o'clock, and found Charles Thunn waiting
for us on the wharf. Landed, walked up to iSi Fifth, between
Pine and Spruce streets, and in two hours more was quite settled
in a large upper chamber prepared for my accommodation. I re
ceived cards for the Peace Ball ; and, urged to go, dressed and
accompanied Mrs. Hopkinson. All very splendid. Laid a weary
head on a soft pillow a little before three in the morning. Ever
since, been receiving and raaking visits.
A thousand thanks, ray sweet Ann, for your charraing letter. I
told Mrs. Stout, when she was expressing with all appearance of
sincerity the most cordial and kind affection towards me, that I
had a sister Ann, whora she would love a great deal better if she
ever knew her. This must be despatched at once. Adieu to all.
Yours ever,
M. G. G.
Philadelphia, M?y 5, 1815.
I despatched a letter to you yesterday, my beloved Ann, and
promised to begin another. Yours is still an unfailing source of
pleasure to rae. I never read a letter as often before. When it
occurs to me how far I am from home, that sorae weeks must
elapse before I sit down between you and my dear mother in quiet
enjoyment, the natural inertness of my disposition — for I can
think it nothing else — raises a fog around rae which only your
letter can dispel.
I have not yet said a word to you about Mr. and Mrs. Thunn,
and they deserve the kindest raention frora rae. Mrs. Thunn is an
interesting, sweet woraan, extremely well educated. She has told
me that in Germany it is customary, after a young lady has been
taught all the sciences, music, painting, etc., to put her for two
years under the care of a clergyman, who forms her religious prin
ciples, and obliges her to give in writing the conversations they have
together. She speaks with the highest reverence of her instructor,
who must have been a man of very liberal and pious sentiments.
She is a very good proficient in music and painting, very well read,
expresses herself with great propriety in our language, is very pleas
ing in her manners, and — which you know is a strong recommen
dation to me — a zealous reader of Swedenborg. Mr. Thunn,

2l8 THE CARY LETTERS
much older than his wife, is zealous in his religion, hospitable, kind,
but democratic. It would have done your heart good to have wit
nessed the affectionate manner in which Mrs. Hollingsworth received
me. She cherishes the most respectful remembrance of our dear
Sam, who was, you know, very intimate at her father's. We are to
pass the day with her to-morrow. This evening we pass at Bishop
White's ; his daughter, Mrs. McPherson, who lives with him, has
given the invitation. Adieu. May \i>th.
I often wish for you, my sweet Ann, and often for my dear Har
riet Last Saturday I particularly wished for the latter, when I
visited the Woodlands, a beautiful country-seat on the Schuylkill,
three miles frora the city. It belongs to the HamOton family.
The present generation consists of two Miss Hamiltons, two
brothers, and Mr, Lisle, a widower with two daughters. These all
live here during the summer. At present, the faraily have not
moved out Mrs. Hill had often been invited by the ladies. As
she wished to show me the place, it was indifferent whether they
were there or not It is a corapliment, you know, to go and ad
mire. The McGalls were so polite as to send their carriage. We
entered a handsorae gate; on each side was a porter's lodge;
passed over a fine gravel road between clumps of forest trees, and
arrived at an elegant building. Mrs. Hill asked if any of the famOy
were there. " No, nobody." Mrs. Hill wished to see the place,
and would alight for a little while. We went in, and a lady came
forward with great ease to receive us, — Miss Hamilton. She is
about fifty. Something about her made me think of my dear
mother. She was about her size, had much the same features, but
where was the expression ? I could not find it, though I fancied
that, if her affections had been called forth in the same manner, it
might have existed. But Molly Hamilton — I will say it though
I should have the whole sisterhood at my ears — is a complete
old maid. She is, however, a very energetic character. After the
death of a married sister, she took upon herself the entire care of
her nieces, who are now, I am told, fine girls.'' She is the princi
pal directress of the Woodlands, keeps several men constantly at
1 One of these nieces, Ellen Lisle, married Hartman Kuhn, of Philadelphia;
and her son Hartman was the husband of William F. Cary's daughter, Grace
Morris,

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 219
work, and is making great improvements. Her uncle, the last
owner, had improved the place very much ; had been in Europe, and
raade collections of beautiful paintings, which are arranged and
taken care of by this lady. Everything within doors is elegant
The piazza at the back looks upon the Schuylkill, which makes
many windings and passes away at a distance ; over it is a bridge
of one arch, on which there is a good deal of traveling. We went
into the gardens, which were in fine order, and through the hot-house,
which contains the greatest collection of plants in the United States.
When we had at Cambridge one flowering cereus, they had about
the same tirae twenty. Last winter Miss H. supplied the sick with
five or six hundred lemons from her own trees. She was very
civH, and pressed rae to come again. She goes out every morning
and stays till three o'clock, walks about without any regard to the
weather, and presents as plain an appearance as one of us going
into the garden to pick peas. It rained all the time we were there,
but she used no umbrella and seemed to defy the weather. Do you
think we brought home any of the beautiful flowers which were
growing in great abundance ? Not a leaf.^
May 2\th. — Well, dearly beloved, I have received the precious
packet frora Chelsea brought by Mrs. Otis ; have read it twice
over ; have conned every expression in every letter, and conclude
that all is well. Mrs. Otis is well. Mrs. Thorndike gone out to
buy a bonnet, which, Mrs. O. observed, " was the first thing Bos
tonians had to do when they arrived at this city." I bowed mine
at her, and felt pleased to think I had left off ray little black one.
I have not met with the least check to ray pleasure since I left
home, and I think it has all been of a rational kind ; perhaps I
should say with any disappointment, for I have visited some mourn
ful scenes. My friend was determined I should see everything,
and the prisoner and the maniac have both shared my attention.
Oh, ray beloved Ann, I have heard the song of madness, and seen
a frenzied female shake her chain, exulting in misery. I have
seen one hundred and twenty women, some young and beautiful,
convicted of various crimes, kept hard at work, besides six in sol
itary cells, and can I ever forget so much misery so far as to mur-
raur at the slight inconveniences and the light sorrows which oc
cur in ray happy life ?
1 This estate is now the Woodlands Cemetery.

220 THE CARY LETTERS
My beloved mother asks if Mrs. Hill is gratified by my visit. I
believe I ought to answer, without any affectation, that she is be
yond expression gratified by it I can hardly help laughing at
both of us, for she carries me just where she pleases. The dear
girls are indeed lovely, fonder of me than ever, full of affectionate
inquiries about the Retreat. Next Monday raorning, ray beloved
Ann, I shall set out on my return in the steamboat At Bruns
wick Lucius will take a gig and carry me to Mrs. Stout's, who is,
he says, importunate that I should pass a week with her. Mrs.
Renwick, too, is expecting the fulfillment of ray promise, and the
Atkinsons say I have raade them no visit as yet The Hogans,
too, are in their house, and expecting a visit from me. I go on
sipping pleasure and receiving the kindness of my fellow-creatures.
Love to our blessed raother and to all the faraily. To your dear
self, the disposal of the heart of
M. G. Gary.
W. F. CARY TO HIS SISTER ANN M. GARY.
New York, July 5, 1816.
My DEAREST Ann, . . . Yesterday was celebrated the anniver
sary of our independence, and all was a scene of noise and con
fusion in the city, and to avoid it I took a rarable into the coun
try with Kemble. We crossed the river to Jersey at Hoboken,
and walked frora thence to Hamilton's Monuraent, about three
miles and a half up the river, and after running over the rocks at
the edge of the river for the last half mile, we arrived at the
lamentable spot where such numbers have fallen. It is situated
about a rod from the edge of the water, on the side of a range
of high hills which run along behind it, thickly covered with trees
and evergreens. It struck me, as I sat there, that the monument
had better have been erected in any other place than here, be
cause I think it encourages many to follow his example, and to
deem it an honor to die in the manner and on the very spot where
so celebrated a character as Harailton had breathed his last The
grass is not suffered to grow on those unfortunate spots where
Hamilton and his opponent stood, from the frequent use that is
raade of thera. But a few weeks ago they were stained with the
blood of a misguided officer.
We passed the monument and went round the hills, which were

WILLIAM F. CARY 221
almost inaccessible, and came to an immense precipice about one
hundred and fifty feet perpendicular. It was situated forty or fifty
rods from the river. We went round the back of it, and suc
ceeded in climbing up the craggy rocks by the assistance of the
branches of the young trees which cover them, and came to its sum
mit, where we sat on the edge as near as was safe, and more than
admired the enchanting view.
There was a beautiful little valley at the foot, — just enough
trees and bushes to make it perfect. Here a mound of earth cov
ered with raoss, there a spot of grass to be seen, which afforded an
opportunity of seeing perched on the boughs the thrush, the blue-
jay, the wood robin ; and every little songster of the grove seemed
tuning his voice to give us a cordial welcome, and hopped from
branch to branch as if conscious of his own security. And whilst
we heard the soft, melodious notes of these little chanters, the
rooks, who sat in the tops of the tall, waving pines, as if inspired by
the same motive as their neighbors to arause us, raised their hoarse,
croaking voices, and joined their bass to this Httle band of rau-
sicians. On the opposite side of the river we saw country-seats
interspersed along its banks, with clumps and clusters of tall trees,
and indeed every natural beauty which could amuse the fancy
and please the imagination seemed presented to the sight ; and
whilst gazing around me with delight, wished that you were by
my side to partake of my exquisite pleasure. After feasting our
eyes upon these lovely prospects as long as our tirae would per
mit, we turned with reluctance towards home.
I suppose the care of the litde family will devolve on you, but
I hope it wdl not prevent the customary exercise of your pen.
Yours affectionately,
W. F. Cary.
Ask H. if she has once thought of ray purse or picture. Best
love to all. Thank T. for his letter, and R. also. I wish the latter
would write a little more fully, to give me at least one page.
WILLIAM F. GARY TO HIS MOTHER.
New York, August^, 1817.
My DEAREST Mother, — I received your affectionate letter last
Sunday morning while on a visit to Captain Philips, in the High-

222 THE CARY LETTERS
lands, where I went the preceding Tuesday for the purpose of
giving liberty for a few days both to body and mind, which, after
confinement of fifteen months, really required some more capa
cious range than the stifling streets of the city. It is a delight
ful spot, situated fifty miles above the city, directly opposite West
Point, and commands a fine view of the river in many parts for
the distance of about ten miles on either course, and raany noble
raountains frora eight to twelve hundred feet in height On ray
arrival I found Mr. Kemble, the Misses Kemble, and two or three
of their good aunts, etc., whose corapany you raay well imagine
added greatly to the pleasure of my visit. We rode every day
twelve or twenty miles, the ladies in the carriage, myself on horse
back, and soraetimes, to vary the scene, took a sail or a row upon
the river. The captain is a fine, sociable Englishman, of about
fifty ; possesses a large tract of land, which he inherited ; is, be
sides, very rich, and lives in the style of a Persian prince, the lord
of the land. W. Kemble came up on Saturday, and we returned
on Monday night at twelve o'clock in the steamboat from Albany.
I arrived on Tuesday morning at seven, greatly renovated in health
and spirits by ray country excursion. I was welcomed with the
joyous news of the arrival of " our dear Tom " in the city.
I have passed this week most happily, having been with Tora
every evening, and had much pleasant and interesting conversa
tion. He is greatly improved, and one of the finest fellows I ever
knew, and, although the time of his visit has been very limited, I
feel that I have derived infinite advantage from it It is impossible
for any one to live with him and not experience the beneficial
effects of his society, not only in strengthening and exalting the
mind, but also in acquiring that happy and contented disposition,
and that wish to add to the enjoyment of others, which excites the
good feelings of his fellow-beings towards him, as well as affords
himself the most agreeable satisfaction. The one who possesses
this noble disposition, takes a delight and makes it his study to
disseminate it araong his companions and friends, is most truly
happy ; he raust and deserves to be so.
Of our situation and local circumstances I need say nothing, as
Tom, having had ocular demonstration, will describe to you every
thing worth knowing respecting the Southern limb of the family,
and give all the minutiae which you wish me to write. It is a long

WILLIAM F. CARY 223
time since I have seen you, my dear mother, but I must keep it
in anticipation and hope for the best T.'s visit has corapensated,
in some small degree, for ray not sporting my face at the Retreat.
Lucius requests George wdl forward his gun per sloop Manilla
on her next voyage. I have spent my leisure time with T. ; there
fore ray good friends, to whom I am in debt, raust have patience.
It is late, and my pen is rather indifferent Please excuse the
hand. Your most affectionate son, W. F. Gary.
The three following letters are from William Cary to his
brother Tom, who was just engaged to Miss Mary Perkins ;
and in the second letter he speaks of his brother George's
attachment to Miss Helen Aylwin, whom he afterwards mar
ried. Chelsea, February 3, 1818,
My dear Tom,- — You may probably have heard before this of
ray visit to the Retreat I arrived here on the Sunday before last,
and found my mother and the family perfectly well. She, I think,
appears to be in as fine health as possible, and as active and
light and young as when I paid the last visit two years ago. I
assure you this visit is most delightful to me ; feeling full of spirits
as I do, with a lighter heart than a lover's, I have it all, with its
entire contents and good feeling, to offer to my friends.
Many slight changes have taken place in the characters of the
raembers of the family, but particularly George and Robert The
former has undoubtedly iraproved in every respect in mind, man
ners, and estate ; and the latter is certainly following in his track,
but seems to want a few stout muscles about his joints to brace
up his unwieldy limbs. He has gone this evening to a dance in
Charlestown, which assuredly wdl have a great effect in knitting
his bones. Just as I had finished the preceding page, George
came in frora town in fine spirits, having received the gracious
srailes of his fair Dulcinea.
ifth. — You will, I suppose, wish to know a little of ray move
ments since my visit commenced. On the day after my arrival, I
went to call on Miss Perkins. She received rae in the most cor
dial and affectionate manner, and gave me a general invitation to

224 THE CARY LETTERS
call and see her often. This was Monday, and on Wednesday I
went with George and Robert to a tea party at Mr. Samuel Cabot's,
where I met her again, and heard her sing several songs, araong
which was " Blue-eyed Mary," the favorite that you mentioned to
me when in New York. I can't tell you how charmed I was with
her voice (which is really divine), with her conversation, with her
manners, — indeed, I thought her possessed of every quality which
man could possibly wish for in woraan. Then her little laugh is
killing, absolutely. On Thursday evening I went to the ball at
the Exchange, where I again raet her with her sister and father.
George here introduced rae to Mr, Perkins, who gave me his
hand in a handsorae and easy raanner, and at several times dur
ing the evening made occasional observations to rae, which entirely
eradicated from my mind the idea which I had always entertained
of his extreme coldness and reserve. In the course of the even
ing I' had some pleasant conversation with Miss Perkins, and
handed her to the carriage. Yesterday I called in Pearl Street
at twelve, and sat with the ladies until past one. I saw Mrs. Per
kins for the first time, and thought her an amiable and agreeable
matron. After this, as I was walking up Beacon Street, I raet the
colonel, who turned round after I had passed him and called to
me, and very cordially invited me to dine with him, which I ac
cepted, of course. It was a little formal at dinner, but the colonel
appeared in good spirits, and I had some conversation with him
after the ladies had retired, upon mercantile subjects, etc. After
this he left me to go to the legislature, requesting at the sarae
time that I would join the ladies. So you will perceive that he
has shown rae every possible attention I could wish, and infinitely
more than I had reason to expect Mary was animated in con
versation, sat opposite me, and did everything with a great deal of
loveliness, to make the entertainment as agreeable as possible to
me. I am going to a famous ball to be given at the colonel's to
morrow night, and the day after set off for New York.
Yours raost affectionately, William F. Gary.
New York, February 14, 1818.
My dear Tom, — I arrived here last Sunday morning, direct
from the Retreat, where I have been making a most agreeable

WILLIAM F. CARY 225
and happy visit of a fortnight I wrote on Wednesday evening, on
Thursday was Mary's ball, and on Friday I intended moving to
wards New York. Well, on Thursday, George, the doctor, and
myself set off from your office in State Street, at the fashionable
hour ; drove to Mrs. Ods's, where we took in Harriet and the Misses
Otis ; called upon Miss Abby Joy, and escorted them all to Pearl
Street (not, however, in one carriage). Here, after the ladies had
disposed of their paraphernalia, and taken a parting farewell at
the mirror, we met them in the entry and handed thera into the
drawing-room, where we were received raost cordially by M., the
colonel, and all the faraily. We found the whole party tripping it
in very fine style, — heart, soul, and foot. I, you may well sup
pose, was ready for the sport, and required no manager to set me
kicking. I danced with many pleasing young ladies, and amongst
thera with G.'s Dulcinea, Miss A., who is a sweet, interesting girl,
and will, I have no doubt, make hira (if he obtains her) very happy ;
but, to all appearances, I should not suppose her more than four
teen years of age, and her parents are pursuing the most proper
plan unquestionably in coining gradually to the engagement His
attachment is very strong, and there is not the least doubt in my
mind, judging from what I have seen and heard, that hers will be
equally so in time. But he must and will often sigh and think of
Troy before the day of victory. The truth is, my dear Tom, that
when I arrived at Boston and beheld G.'s pale face, which por
trayed so much suffering and anxiety, and heard so many dismal
stories of your now florid but former pickle visage, and of the
dreadful tornadoes and whirlwinds which both your minds had
encountered, I shuddered when I thought of my own unsheltered
heart, and trembled lest I should be forced into the same way of
taking leave, though for a short tirae, of my own " seventeen "
senses. I did not change my opinion until after I becarae ac
quainted with Mary, and could not help often saying to myself, a
raan never could have suffered too much pain and anxiety when
his reward was to possess the affections of so amiable and lovely
a woman. Miss Caroline is a lively, animated girl, and I admire her soft
blue eyes and long eyelashes, but she talks at too great .speed for
me. On Friday I set off in the mail coach with a whole neck and sane
15

226 THE CARY LETTERS
head. We called in Pearl Street for Colonel Perkins, who, being
in the legislature detained by some important business, we were
forced to leave ; but he soon overtook the stage in Brookline, and
came on to New York. He was in very pleasant humor and good
spirits, and spoke to rae in an easy and familiar manner. He paid
my stage fare at one tavern, and I his at another, so you see that
even yourself could not have been on more unconstrained terms
than I was. Most affectionately yours, William F. Gary.
New York, March 23, 1818.
Dear Tom, — This morning I had the gratification of receiving
your letter of the 9th, I recur to my visit at Boston very often.
It requires no effort of my thoughts to recall to ray mind what
passed there, and the very name of Mary is sufficient to place her
in the eye of my iraagination as distinctly as if I had seen her yes
terday, and replaces in my raind every circumstance which oc
curred. At my first call on Mary after ray arrival, I was received
with great ease and cordiality, no constraint whatever, but at once
a friend. I went with George about twelve o'clock, and, on enter
ing, found Miss S. Perkins alone. After being seated a few mo
ments upon the sofa, which you know is concealed from the door
by a screen, Miss G. P. came in, in great spirits, and George, who
by my particular desire sat in sight of the door, mentioned her
name, that I might not mistake. Presently Mary came in, dressed
in a red Canton crape, without any ornaments, and gave me her
hand with great kindness. I could see a sweet, graceful little
smile half concealed at the corner of her mouth, which seemed to
say, I 'ra glad to see you and give you a hearty welcorae. That
dress I thought became her more than any she wore while I was
there. We sat there an hour, during which there was no cessa
tion of conversation. Miss Caroline keeping us all merry with a
little deluge of words. I afterwards met Mary at Mrs. S. Cabot's,
where she sang several delightful songs, one of which was " Blue-
eyed Mary," which was most melodious, and touching to every
man who possesses in some degree that tender chord within him
which says, " What is life, wanting love ? " She was dressed in
white satin. This was the only opportunity I had of hearing her

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 227
sing. I met her at the Exchange Assembly, but had not the
pleasure of dancing with her. I enjoyed myself at the supper,
having a seat near her, and next Miss Elliot and Miss Caroline,
who were both very agreeable ; and I saw her safely into the car
riage. I last saw her at the ball given by herself, where she
walked araong her friends, imparting pleasure and gayety to all the
young, and cheerfulness to those of the '' matured." The next
raorning I called to say " Adieu, jusqu'au revoir ! " I had but a
few minutes to spare. She came down dressed in a red crape,
with a handkerchief round her neck ; looked all goodness and be
nignity as usual ; gave me her hand, and I took leave, saying to
myself. What a happy fellow is this brother of mine !
I received a letter frora George a few days since, and am sorry
to find that his " fates " are unpropitious, for he says that the
heart he so ardently loved is acquainted only with sisterly affec
tion. " All now is hush." I long to take you by the hand and
tell you many things which my paper and time wdl not now
admit Your ever affectionate William F. Gary.
from MRS. GARY TO HER SON HENRY.
Retreat, July 27, 1818.
My dearest Henry, — Sitting very near the door in the entry,
it being uncommonly warm, ready dressed for church, bonnet and
gloves on, quite alone, I saw a young person, dressed in white pan
taloons, riding a fine horse. Immediately it struck me it must be
you. I was disappointed when he disappeared. We are brought
strangely into view of one another soraetiraes when absent Is it
pleasure or pain ? It ought not to be the latter. I would not
indulge the thought, but rather that you were in the full enjoyment
of health and pleasure, and that little vision I shall consider a good
omen. I had thought of you before. Perhaps you talk of coraing ;
you promised, you know, that it should not be so long again.
The superstitious now would think it forebodes no good. I think
the contrary, and shall hope at least that our thoughts were in
unison that morning.
We have a long time thought of writing Miss Hannah Adams to
pass a week here. I knew it would gratify Margaret highly, and

228 THE CARY LETTERS
last Tuesday afternoon M, set off to bring her. She is really
original. Figure to yourself a little (very short) woman, rather
fleshy when in health, very plain, with bright, animated eyes when
conversing, but extremely abstracted in general ; sitting at knit
ting, and not affecting to notice anything that passes in conversa
tion unless particularly addressed ; every now and then rising up,
and, with a little, quick step, going upstairs for something she has
forgotten, or to take up a book to read, — and she reads with
surprising rapidity. She returns back with the same hasty move
ment, pursues her knitting, and, if any one takes any pains, she
converses extremely well, but with a little shrill voice, not perfectly
distinct, so that you would be obliged to say, " What did you say,
ma'am ? " This little modest person, with her hands placed before
her whenever she courtesies, like a little miss in a new frock, is the
correspondent of literary men, and said to understand languages.
How do you really do, my beloved Henry ? I have " hungered
and thirsted " after a letter, as in one of your letters you say you
do to travel through Europe. That sentence I laid up to dwell
on while I sit at the needle or walk towards the west gate. Your
reasons for not setting out at present I cannot but admire. Some
future tirae may be more eligible. Thank William for his letter,
which, I must say, I waited for. It will not do, I find, to answer
you gentlemen of business too hastily ; the obligation to reply is
too important, and you have not leisure. He writes rae in a sweet
state of mind, tranquil and happy. His letter contained much
just sentiment, and also a great deal of entertainment.
I have received letters as late as the 12th from our travelers.
My dear Anne is not one of those who travel from " Dan to Beer
sheba " and find no pleasure. She is delighted with everything
that deserves praise, and her remarks are very entertaining. I did
not know before that the Mr. T. who raet them at Albany is the
gentleman you described to us. She says of hira, " My first ira
pression is that he is a very neat little gentleraan ; looks animated
and intelligent" In her last she says : " You will wish to know
what this person is on a nearer acquaintance. He might be very
agreeable but for a national self-importance, and a minute atten
tion to his language and personal appearance, which carries an
affectation that is quite amusing sometiraes. We have some
pleasant conversations in the carriage, but there is no effort on my

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 229
part to keep it up. The army is his favorite topic ; so when he
becomes abstracted and I think he is deploying a right wing, and
when the smiles round Lucius's mouth show that he has a fund of
amusement within, I take out my little ' Minstrel.' "
Lucius has been most kind and attentive to her, and I suppose
is by this time on his return to New York. I felt happy at the
thought of his residing in that city, and when that was at an end,
could not help hoping he would reside in Boston. He thinks other
wise at present, and he is right to follow his inclinations. It is best
for every raan to mark out for hiraself that line of life and those
principles of action that, on mature deliberation, seem best on the
whole for him to adopt. He says I shall hear as often as ever
from him, and I persuade myself so excellent a son will never
desert rae. Adieu, my dear Henry.
Yours most affectionately, Sarah Gary.
The following letter from my grandmother to her son
Henry was written shortly after his marriage to Miss Mar
garet Pyne. Her parents were Irish, and at the time of her
marriage were living in Charleston, South Carolina, I can
recollect Mrs, Cary, whose charm of voice and manner im
pressed me even as a chOd. There was a pretty little pecu-
harity in her accent to which my aunt alludes in a later
letter. Retreat, March 9, 1819.
First, ray dear Henry, let me thank you for your letter 12th
ultimo, and the charraing description of your present situation,
furniture of the happy mansion in Chambers Street, and, to crown
all, your dear wife by your side, alternately amusing you with a
tune upon her harp or her sweet conversation, while William, whose
mind is possessed of sentiment and his heart of feeling, sits I dare
say an admiring and affectionate spectator. I admire the furni
ture, its taste, which I perceive is Margaret's, and the economy,
which is your own. Thus, my dear, my valued friends, may you
ever aid each other in the affairs of life !
I am much pleased with the thought of your sister Margaret's
visiting you, and willingly resign her for a short time, that she

230 THE CARY LETTERS
may gain so much pleasure and so much health, which I can
not doubt she is evidently recovering. Yet I cannot think she
will be able this month to quit home. The journey, though so
much shortened by the advantage and facility of the steamboat, is
still a journey for an invalid.
It gives me great pleasure to find you and your dear wife inclined
to bestow some of her time in practicing upon the harp, although
I dare say she played extremely well before. In music, you know,
even masters make proficiency by practice, and, fond of the art as
you are, she will have a double incitement I beHeve you have
heard me regret my want of opportunity after marriage to improve
in music. It was all in vain. A voyage to the West Indies in
winter, and sailing from Portsmouth — Boston harbor being blocked
with ice — obliged rae to leave my harpsichord behind ; when, the
following month, the revolution broke out, and then all intercourse
was stopped between us.
We have had a remarkable winter here ; the ground has never,
for a single day, been so covered with snow as to admit of runners.
Last Monday, the Sth (when we talked of Mrs. Brevoort's ball), it
snowed violently for some hours, and excepting in our own ave
nue there is not snow enough for a sleigh, I can say with you,
" The weather has been such as I never knew before, so raild, so
cheering and transparent."
Our friend Stewart has still his last touch to give to the picture,
notwithstanding the handsome and polite messages you have sent
him, which have not however been lost upon him. He has great
sensibility, and appreciates very highly the opinion of people of
discernment ; but, poor man, he has been afflicted with both asthma
and gout, and, what is even worse, procrastination, I have delayed
writing to you, in the hope that I could give you some information
frora T, Cary about his plate, but I am waiting for an answer to
my letter, I shall be very happy to succeed in this commission,
because I see you have an ardent wish to possess it, and I have
used all my address to persuade hira to let you become a purchaser
of his father's and also his grandfather's, — all, indeed, with the
swan on thera. For my part, I consider the faraily plate in my
possession a sacred deposit during my life. Afterwards, ray dear
fellow, a division must undoubtedly take place, although I am sure
no one would value it more highly than yourself.

MISS MARGARET G, CARY 23 1
So you have given your first dinner-party. I know your dear
Margaret presided charmingly, so as to charm her guests and de
light her husband. Tell us as much as you can about her and
about yourself. Everything is interesting that relates to you. I
have not had a line from Lucius since October iSth. Margaret
has had one short one dated November. His letters have a sombre
aspect, I think. How lonely and comfortless is the life of a bach
elor ! A single lady has far raore resources. Do not you think so ?
Thank my dear M. for her letter. Yours most affectionately, S. G.
These letters from aunt Margaret were written during a
visit of some months spent with her brother Henry in the
first year of his marriage. William Cary was at that time a
member of his brother's household, and the Henry sisters
were also staying there. Mr. Henry had gone to France,
where his daughters joined him later, but in the meanwhile
they divided their time between their own relations in Phila
delphia and the Cary households at Chelsea and New York,
My aunt's interest in Swedenborgianism had become a fixed
belief. No. 69 Chambers Street, April 24, 1819.
My dearest Ann, — I begin a letter to you in hopes I may
hear of an opportunity before long. I despatched a letter to my
dear mother yesterday giving an account of my journey, and will
keep on with my narrative. Yesterday afternoon I walked with
sister, Sophia and Elizabeth, to the Battery, which was really far
beyond my expectations, for I only saw it for a few minutes of a
dull day when I was here before. We then went to Mill Street,
where I had not expected an invitation, and it was truly pleasant
to see the young men in their business room. Henry then accom
panied us round by the Jewish synagogue, to see two stone stores
of his which he rents for a thousand dollars a year. The service
had just commenced at the synagogue. I heard the singing and
saw the lights burning at the altar, and could not say whether I
wished most to go into or from the building. There is soraething
attractive in every kind of devotion where the great Creator is

232 THE CARY LETTERS
addressed, but the associations with Jewish doctrines are too pain
ful for indulgence. We passed on.
My first visitor this raorning was Mrs. Russell. She is a very
pleasant, intelligent woman, and I hope to see her occasionally.
Her brother wrote her word that if she could collect a congrega
tion in her room he would preach to-morrow afternoon, and Mrs.
Hurd, who knew I was in the city, advised her to invite me. It
was a little awkward to decline. My natural timidity and ray ac
quired principles are continually brought into opposition. Heaven
help rae ! Then Mr. Brevoort came with Henry to pay his respects.
He appeared to me much altered in five years. Thin, older, interest
ing, his dark face has a very peculiar expression. After shaking
hands and making kind inquiries, he turned iramediately to the
portrait, and you would have thought it was his own mother that
he was talking of.
This dear sister of ours you want to know about She is very
prudent ; asks no questions ; never talks to Mr. Car-ry on any
subject that she thinks is painful to him. She is a dear soul.
God bless her and you, and all ot us, my dear Ann, and conduct
us speedily to that blessed world where I wish we all were ! How
strange to write this to you ! I think I shall not send it, but begin
on another sheet Monday. Adieu, The sun is declining and they
will all be at home presently.
Monday, — On the whole, I think I had better keep on writing,
and advise you to burn ray letters. It is much the best way, and
then I can write with freedom. I went to church all day yester
day, William showing me the way and leaving me at the hall door.
Upwards of one hundred persons were present. I was pleased
with the services. Nobody knew rae, but I had a book handed
to me both tiraes,
A good deal of regularity prevails in the faraily. At half past
six Henry rings a bell, and at that time I am always up and gen
erally reading. We breakfast at seven on tea, dry toast, butter,
eggs, or hominy made with corn from Carolina, all in very nice
style. Juba brings in the kettle boiling, with a pan of coals on
which it is set, and he remains in the room, very attentively hand
ing the cups, etc. We are a very pleasant party, all disposed to
talk ; Sophia and Elizabeth very agreeable and quite at their ease ;
William not saying much, but attentive and joining in occasionally.

MISS MARGARET G, CARY 233
Sister says he looks quite happy since I came, and that it certainly
makes him feel more at home. She seems very fond of him, and
Henry treats him with the greatest attention. Yesterday morning
Henry and Margaret ran downstairs together. She declared that
she was dressed first, but that seeing her going out of the charaber
he put his back against the door and kept her there till he was
ready. There is the best possible understanding between them.
He can't help fondling her a little, but to me that is quite excusa
ble. Then the gentlemen go off to the store, and we sit down to
work. This morning we began Schlegel's lectures on the dramatic
art, and read one with great pleasure. The music master comes
twice or three times a week. Margaret appears to me to play with
great execudon. She had a very difficult piece to play this morn
ing, but she told the master she had not been able to practice it
He was surprised at her playing it so well. She told him she had
thought of it a great deal and dreamt of it. " Ah, that is just like
me ! " exclaimed Mons. Ferrand. At two, Henry called to accom
pany Margaret to wait on Mrs. French, who brought letters of
introduction frora Charleston, and they will give her a dinner or
a tea. We dine at three o'clock ; always soup at the head, gener
ally fish at the bottora, and a hot dish of brants or roast meat
brought in when the soup is reraoved ; very fine potatoes from
Scodand, and mashed turnips. Every one takes a little wine after
the soup ; then Henry recommends some fine ale ; nuts and apples
after the cloth is brushed and removed ; everything very excellent
of its kind, served on China. Henry goes to market himself. They
have a good plain cook, but dear Margaret is a good deal troubled
with not knowing anything about cooking herself, and they are
obliged to hire when they have company. In the afternoon a walk
is generally proposed, and they are now all gone out At seven
we have tea made by Margaret, and handed round with a plate of
toast ; then we take our work, and Henry reads aloud. Last even
ing he finished the life of Bayard in French. At ten o'clock ex
actly Henry rings for the three flat candlesticks, and we all sepa
rate. Have I been particular enough, my beloved Ann ?
Margaret is to me all I ought to wish, but it takes tirae to form
intimacies, and perhaps I could much easier feel intimate with
her than she with rae. I read letters to her, and talk to her of ray
friends. It is not often that I have an opportunity of sitting alone

234 THE CARY LETTERS
with sister and having a little confidential communication, but we
had an hour before dinner, and she was very kind in telling rae
about her situation, plans, etc. She is exactly the wife for Henry,
and he is delightful in his faraily. He takes great pains with the
Henrys and expresses a father's solicitude ; and she has given
thera a most kind and cordial invitation to make this their horae.
Best love to my dear mother. Ever yours,
M. G. Gary.
No. 69 Chambers Street, May 10, 1819.
I feel quite culpable in not having written you a line since the
receipt of your long, kind letter, my dear Ann, which has been
read by me at least six tiraes. It is now nearly dark and I meant
to have devoted most of the afternoon to you, but just as we left
the dinner table, the wine and nuts still standing on it, William
gone, sister taking up a book, and I with my work (half a dozen
cambric cravats for Henry), Henry having gone into the drawing-
room with a young lad from Carolina, who is at school up the
North River, Sophia and Elizabeth both lolling on the sofa, and
thinking of going upstairs for work, the door -bell rang and a
young man came in. We four all looked towards him, and as
soon as he could get over his embarrassment enough to speak he
said, " General Clay's son." He was immediately received with
great cordiality. I told him my brother had mentioned him in his
letters. Henry soon returned to the parlor, took a glass of wine
with hira, and entertained hira with anecdotes. He stayed till half
past six, and is going to the theatre to hear Phillips in " The Devil's
Bridge." Quite dark. Adieu, beloved.
My meeting with Mrs. Stout was, as you may suppose, very
affectionate. She would have come in as soon as she heard of ray
arrival, but they had met with a sad disaster at Belleville, and it
was only frora her great desire to see me and her hope that I
would return with her, that she made an effort to come then. You
know the rain which we had on Saturday and Sunday previous to
ray departure ; it began here on Friday and rained very heavily.
Saturday morning Mrs. Stout was engaged at work, but could not
feel easy ; every now and then she went to the window to observe
how high the water was in the raceway. She feared that the dam
might be carried away. At twelve o'clock she went to Mr. Stout

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 235
and begged him to have all the flood-gates opened. He told her
there was not the least danger ; there had been a new dam raade
last summer ; however, he went round everywhere, ordering every
passage to be opened and every precaution to be taken that was
possible. In consequence of this they dined late, and at three
o'clock, while they sat at table, they heard a great outcry. The
dam had giveii way, owing to the weakness of one belonging to a
neighbor sorae way above theirs, and all the meadows and low
lands around them were afloat. Large blocks of mahogany and
great stones were brought down by the current, roads broken up
and spoilt, and an incalculable deal of mischief done. You may
judge a little of the depredation when I tell you that that evening
Matthew Stout, the eldest son, was returning from the city, and
could not have reached home except by getting into a boat and
rowing with another man over a road which a few days before was
as good as any country road near us.
Now I ara going to tell you a story : William H  has been
warmly attached to Miss G — — for some time past, though, from
all I can hear, he is much her superior. Her father would not
give his consent to the match. He is an old curmudgeon, they say,
and loves his money better than anything else. But the mother
gave hers, and the brother. Williara H  wrote a letter to the
father to say he intended to raarry his daughter at such a time.
He went to Mrs. Stout, who is at all times a warm friend, and told
her of his intended marriage, hoping, as he confessed afterwards,
that she would give him an invitation to bring his bride from the
church to her house. No one, I believe, was ever yet deceived in
her kindness. She immediately proposed it, though she had never
yet seen the lady, and engaged to keep the affair secret from all
but her husband.
Saturday, the stormy day, was the time appointed, but he sent
word to Mrs. Stout that on account of the weather the marriage
was put off. Well, Sunday afternoon they went to church. After
the service, in the afternoon, there were twenty-five children cate
chised, and then the cereraony was performed in presence of the
mother and brother, • — the latter of whom gave the bride away, —
bridesraaids, bridesmen, etc. All that way that Matthew passed
over in a boat they had to walk, clinging to the fence, fnr, though the
waters had very much assuaged, it was too soft to adrait of wheels.

236 THE CARY LETTERS
Mrs. Stout had no expectation of them, and was putting on her
night-cap when she heard voices downstairs, and soon learned
from Caroline (whom I wish you knew) that her guests were come.
The servants were called up, and supper got The bride was
dressed in a riding habit The next raorning Mrs. Stout proposed
to send for any of their friends they would like to have frora the
city; and their brides raen and maids went and passed two days
with them. Mr. H  the elder don't like the match ; his wife
does. Mrs. Stout says she had rather Williara H  , with one
shoe on his foot would marry a friend of hers than any young
man, ever so rich, she knows of.
Well, to this hospitable and kind and busy mansion I went, and,
as I wrote Harriet, found rayself walking in the garden early
Monday morning, where the air was perfumed with hyacinths,
narcissus, orancinas, and several others, — a fine gravel walk
through the centre of the garden, and beyond it through a field of
clover, luxuriantly green ; apple, cherry, and peach trees all in
blossom. There is much in this world, my dearest Ann, that par
takes of Paradise, and we, who have no claim whatever on the
goodness of God, must often be overwhelmed with a sense of his
mercy. Every day we walked to the dam that was making, to
watch its progress. Thirty men were at work ; the most indifferent
workmen had a dollar a day. The expense will be very great
A visit frora Mrs, Schuyler interrupted me. She is to write to
fix on the tirae for ray going to Rhinebeck. Adieu, dearest Ann.
Ever yours,
M. G. Gary.
Chambers Street, Jicne 10, 1819,
And so, dear Ann, " All for want of a horseshoe nad a man's
life was lost," which you know ancient records testify, and I
really believe for want of a point of a pen you lose raany choice
pages which you might otherwise have from me. I beg of you to
let all the young ladies you have a hand in educating be taught to
point a pen, and then, perhaps, in due time they may point an epi
gram. Another reason why I write to you so little is because I
have so much to say. Before I begin a subject I think. If I write
this to her I shall not have time to write that, and so this and that
are both lost. I ara deterrained that I will set out this time with

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 237
telling you what I have invariably forgotten every tirae I have sat
down to write : Your friend, Mr. Jennison, is very quietly living
in the city, without any idea of going to England. He is consid
ered here a dandy, but not of the comraon sort, from all I can learn,
and is attentive to trifles for want of something of importance to
occupy his mind. He dresses in the morning in an elegantly em
broidered frock coat, with nice soft slippers ; comes down to the
parlor with his porte-feuille in his hand, which, after having eaten
his breakfast, he opens to write a letter, or a conundrum, or a rid
dle, or sonnet, at all which he is very expert, or to draw from it
the last new publication (which, by the way, happens just now to
be Lord Byron's tale of " The Varapyre," a horrible thing) ; and at
eleven o'clock, when the world is well aired, he completes his
toilet, and walks to the reading-room, etc. I have seen him in the
street, and he has called here several times lately when we have
been out, and left a card. Henry wonders why that man leaves so
many cards here. I can't help fancying he has some wish to see
Miss Gary's sister, but I have not the vanity to say so to any one
but you.
On the nth, Mrs. Brevoort's carriage drove up to the door.
Mrs. Gary and I, being dressed, hastily descended, and got into it
We beguiled the way, six miles up the Bloomingdale Road, with
pleasant conversation, Mrs. G. relating anecdotes of last summer.
It was exactly one year since she went out to Mrs. Brevoort's for
the first time. Mr. G. went out too. He had seen her the day
before in the street. " There was one day when he gave me a great
alarm ; it was just six weeks after our first acquaintance. All the
party were going to Long Branch, and he went about to get books
for Miss Lightwood, and indeed all of us, to read in our absence ;
but he told me there was a manuscript which he should commit to
ray particular care, and requested raight not be opened till I got
to the beach. I was very ranch agitated. I went up to Mrs.
Hutchinson. She saw imraediately that something was the matter
with me, and desired to know what it was. This man, who they
all torment me about, — everybody perceives his attentions, — he is
going to send a manuscript, he says, to my particular care. If he
is going to pay his addresses to me at this early period of our
acquaintance he will sink very much in my estimation. He is
downstairs, and I know not how to behave to him." Mrs. FI. ad-

238 THE CARY LETTERS
vised her not to let hira see any change in her manners ; perhaps
he would not send it ; at any rate, it was time enough to decide
when he made proposals. "Well, the next raorning the books
came in a basket I opened it ; there was a large roll for me. I
slipped it carefully out and into my handkerchief. I went up to
Mary ; I threw it on the bed. I was very much agitated, and ex
clairaed, ' And I raust wait so many days till I see the contents ! '
'But I shall not,' said Mary. ' I raust know directly,' — and she
opened the package. ' Oh, don't, Mary ! ' 'I must ; I would
not be in this state of suspense, or let you be so, on any account'
And then we found that it was only sorae fine specimens of style
in Mr. Campbell's handwriting. Oh, it was a great relief to rae ;
I was in such glee, such spirits, all the rest of the day, I could
think of nothing but sport"
I cannot give you her manner and emphasis, my dear Ann, but
this lovely woman far exceeds any idea you could have formed of her
from merely seeing her last summer. I don't know how to attempt
to describe her to you as she appears to rae, the more I know her.
We got to Mr. Brevoort's between one and two, and were fol
lowed by the gentlemen in a gig. We soon went into the library,
which is truly delightful, full of valuable books, and looking on the
Hudson, between which and the house there are tall trees which
leave a sufficient opening to let you know where you are. We did
not dine till four, and in the meanwhile I looked over the books
and read an exquisite Httle poem, " Cupid and Psyche," translated
by Roscoe ; then we walked, seated ourselves on the bank, and con
versed at ease till half past six ; took coffee out of the raost ex
quisite china I ever saw (I know Tom thinks that 's what Mar
garet likes), heard sorae rausic on the harp and piano, then re
turned home in the carriage. Rhinebeck, June 16, 1819.
When I think you have received my last letter, my beloved Ann,
I generally begin to write to you again. I suppose by this time
my dear mother has received a proposal from sister that I should
stay with her till October. What does she think of it ? I long to
know, for I cannot feel satisfied with a simple assent.
Here I am, dearest, at Rhinebeck. We got to the boat just in
time Saturday afternoon, five o'clock. There we joined Mr, W.,
Miss Mary Kemble, two Miss Gouverneurs, and Miss Patterson.

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 239
The clouds had dispersed, and all was pleasant for a time, though
not promising for the night There was to be no moon till late ;
a cloudy night prevented the stars from shining bright, and the
air grew damp and chilly. I remained on deck conversing with
William Kemble, a fine young man, while Wdliam talked with
Mary, close by, tdl ten o'clock, when I thought it most prudent to
retire and try to sleep. The gentlemen escorted us to the cabin
door, and proraised to call us betimes in the morning. Two of our
party had already gone to bed, and the third was devouring a
novel, the last new one, " A Year and a Day." My berth was
comfortable and I got some sleep, but two ladies sat up all night,
to be romantic. There was one child who cried out, as if in pain,
for some tirae, and, of the twenty females who were in the different
berths, I believe fifteen called out to propose remedies : " Give it
spirit" " A little gin is the best" " I dare say you can get
brandy.'' " Is n't there any pepperraint ? " " Paregoric 's better."
" Oh, laudanum 's the best of all." Bursts of laughter came occa
sionally from the cabin below, where the gentlemen slept, and the
noise at the different landing-places continually broke in upon our
quiet. Once I got up in the night, and gently slipped up on deck
in hopes of seeing the Highlands. It was dark and gloomy. I
could distinguish the outlines of the banks on each side the river,
but they were not at that time high enough to be very striking.
We were called at half past four, and landed at five. After debat
ing whether we should be set down at " Lewis Landing " or " the
landing at Lewis," we kept to the letter of Mrs. Schuyler's direc
tions, and stopped at the former place with our party. Mrs.
Schuyler's carriage had not arrived. As it sprinkled, and there
was only a shed to stand under, we accepted Mr. Kemble's invita
tion to go with them to Miss Seth's. We went, but declined Miss
Seth's invitation to breakfast, requesting her to let us have the
carriage to convey us to Mrs. Schuyler's, but on the way we met
Robert Schuyler, and got into the wagon with him. Arrived at
seven ; received a most kind reception from Mrs. Schuyler, and a
very hospitable one from her husband. Now, dearest, comes the
trouble. There must be occasional dark shades, you know. My
portmanteau, with all ray clothes, books, letters, work, were all
exchanged, by a sad mistake, for the portmanteau of sorae other
traveler, and here have I been Sunday, Monday, Tuesday,

240 THE CARY LETTERS
Wednesday, in the sarae dress. It happened fortunately that I put
on everything fresh Saturday noon, and fortunately, too, wore my
Canton crape, which is the best dress for such an occasion ; but
here have I been without a stitch of work, and little choice of
books besides novels. However, I ought not to complain. A per
sonal accident would have been worse, and if I can get my things
by evening I shall do well. Just going to walk with Mrs. Schuyler.
More pleased with her than I even expected to be.
June i?>th. — I come to you, my beloved Ann, refreshed by
reading a few chapters in my little Bible, and a few pages of ex
position by Swedenborg. Let none rest satisfied with only the re
sources of their own minds, however faithful memory may be, and
its use is of the utraost importance. We want fresh supplies to
carry us forward in the path we have chosen. It is the daily
bread which nourishes. You see I have recovered my portman
teau. The one we took belonged to an Englishman who was on
board. I dare say he was angry enough, if the face I noticed on
the steamboat belonged to him.
The country here is different frora what I had expected. I had
thought of a large, low house on a lawn, tall trees, a deep, flowing
river, and mountains. The house stands high, surrounded by
trees, a turnpike on one side, and a small river, or rather babbling
brook, on the other ; all is convenient and handsome. The coun
try about is very verdant, and a succession of hill and dale. The
fields of wheat and rye are beautiful ; the village, two miles off, not
in sight. Far off are the great Catskill Mountains, which strongly
mark the horizon, though they are twenty miles distant. My cham
ber is towards the river, and ray slurabers lulled by its fall over
a ledge of rocks. The stream is made useful to tum mills, and
very near the house is a sraall bathing-house, which receives the
water into a long tub from the race, which, being raised above the
ground, receives great heat from the sun, and by the time it reaches
the tub is quite tepid.
Mrs. Schuyler is just the woman I hoped to find her at horae.
In a dress of ginghara, with a nice white ruffled tippet, and her
hair corabed back frora her face, she looks fresh and blooming.
She is very domestic, always animated and cheerful, busy in her
family, and very capable in all her arrangements. I love to see
people move about with spirit, and take an interest in everything.

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 241
I sit in my chamber a good deal, which gives me the feeling of
home, and when Mrs. S. is at leisure she comes and sits with me,
and we have those long talks which only friends enjoy, and which
knit souls together. She has just been into the chamber, and,
finding me at ray pen, has gone again. " Writing to Ann ? Give
a great deal of love to them all for me. Tell them how happy I
am to have you here. I have been longing for it so many years,
I can hardly believe I have got you ; I really chuckle within. I
told Mr. Schuyler last night I had a great mind to get up and go
into your chamber to be sure that you were there." Excuse rae,
my dear Ann, for repeating all this, but I thought it would give you
an idea how pleasant my visit is. Love to all my dear friends,
and ray best love to my mother. Ever yours,
M. G. G.
Chambers Street, July 18, 1819.
How delightful, my dear Ann, are the interchanges of affection !
I received your letter this morning, and, when I have let you see
a Htde into the transactions of the last few days, you will be able
to judge how apropos it came.
Thursday night, when I came down from Williara a little after
ten, I found that Henry and Margaret had not come up. Going
in search of thera, I found them in deep consultation about a din
ner party for Saturday. He had invited the Marshes to eat salt
fish (he has lately got sorae very fine ling-fish, which is dressed
New England fashion, and he makes presents to his friends) ; but
not contented with treating them with one dish and a few et ceteras,
he had made out a large bill of fare. We have a very good little
plain cook, a good little woraan who does her best, but wants a
good deal of direction if she goes out of her usual course. Soup,
top and bottom, removed for fish and lamb ; chickens, ham, sweet
breads, wild fowl, stewed lobster, calf's head, and vegetables. Dear
Margaret had been poorly all day. She was trying to persuade
Henry to have less ; he was very desirous of the whole. Both ap
pealed to me when I carae in. There were to be fourteen per
sons, and it was concluded to have the whole, as you may sup
pose, and I was to be answerable for the last two named. I had
Httle sleep through the night How many times I said to myself :
16

242 THE CARY LETTERS
What would I give if I were a good cook ! and felt mortified at all
¦ray deficiencies. The hot weather, and all together, seeraed to
present insurmountable obstacles in my path. Friday raorning I
heard that dear Margaret was not able to leave her chamber. I
made breakfast, and went to sit with her. My old headache came
on. 1 was mending silk stockings, could not possibly see, and so
afraid of having Margaret find out I was unwell, for her depen
dence for the next day was on me, little knowing how ignorant I
considered myself. In the afternoon we sent for the doctor, and
by a day of fasting and his directions, towards evening the dear
soul began to revive. And my spirits too had risen, for to you I
may say I had raade it an exercise of devotion to pray that I
raight be enabled to perform my part, and that all things might
go well the next day. Those who are in the habit of relying on
Providence know — yes, they know of a certainty — that the most
minute events are directed by spiritual influence, and I felt that it
sustained me in that hour. I went to bed encouraged, had a good
night, and rose with a spirit determined to meet with vigor the
duties of the day. I am inclined to stop every moment lest this
particular account should be thought too trifling ; but if so you
must keep it to yourselt There are many little circumstances
which, if I were talking, would better show you why I felt so much.
Besides the dishes mentioned was a course of cherry pie, custard,
almond pies, Sunderland puddings. All these, my dear Ann, were
to be made by my own hands, and what was worse, I was ac
countable for all, and must be present let them be ever so bad ;
and, besides, I must not look fatigued, but show at least that I
tried to be agreeable. Most happily the day was cool, every ar
ticle succeeded well, and, as Henry observed to me in the even
ing, every dish was well cooked. And the best of it was he got
me — poor me — to give him a receipt, which he penned down
from ray mouth, of the stewed calf's head. I have thought, my
dear girl, all along, that I would hold myself up to you for a warn
ing, but perhaps it may even be an encouragement to you, on some
such occasion, to think that you will corae off as well. I was raost
fortunate in bringing on a Httle receipt-book, which I thought
might be useful ; and it has proved, in several instances, highly so.
The Sunderlands were much admired by a gentleman at table,
who asked for a receipt. Is all this worth telling you? Yet it

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 243
shows you how I am occasionally occupied, and how I get along.
Henry's kindness and Margaret's affection make rae solicitous to
do everything for thera, and this little transaction is really an era
in my life, for, for the future I shall be encouraged to ex.ert myself,
having realized how much that appears difficult may be gone
through. How little of what is in ray mind can I tell you ! This morning
was looked forward to with delight for my Sabbaths are exceed
ingly delightful to me, and I had but one care on my mind ; but
that one pursued me through the week, and still continued. No
letter frora home. My blessed mother is sick, but not enough so,
they think, to let me know. This uneasiness was also to be re
moved. Your letter came, and my heart overflowed with grati
tude to the dear Author of all our felicity. I went to church with
a happy heart Best love to my dear mother and all the family.
Ever, dearest, your faithful and affectionate
M. G. G.
Chambers Street, August 3, 1819.
How difficult it is, ray dear Ann, to do at the right moment what
is to be done ! When I rose this morning, refreshed by a good
night's rest, I said I will write to Ann to-day, and immediately my
thoughts arranged themselves in such a train as I thought would
be most pleasing to you. I hastened from my chamber, as usual of
late, to find a cool seat in the front parlor, with the folding-doors
thrown open to raake a draught through. There I sat and worked
on ray Htde frock, Sophia and Elizabeth reading the newspapers
of the day tih called to breakfast ; then I returned to my work, to
give Flora time to arrange my chamber. S. and E. went out shop
ping ; sister took a seat by me. The clock struck half past eight (an
elegant little one on the mantel-piece). I wdl sit till nine, thought
I. At nine, sister was narrating something to me, and I could not
draw myself away. A litde while after, Miss Pyne carae in to say
that Thomas had been brought home ill from school. Sister went
back with her. There will be no reading of Lorenzo dei Medici
this raorning. I shall take my own tirae to write, particularly as
my letter is already forraed in ray brain, and there will be nothing
to do but pen it.
The clock struck ten, and the girls returned. " Oh, do come up-

244 THE CARY LETTERS
stairs and see the purchases ! " Up I went, as it was just time for
me to move and engage in writing. " Very pretty, very neat, very
cheap, indeed ! What is this ? Rogers's ' Poera on Human Life.' "
S. " I bought it to send to Caroline Morris, but we can all read it
first E. " Do sit down here and read it, while I cut out my gown."
Well, I went through it, and just at the close sister returned.
"Thoraas behaves very well, takes all the medicines Dr. Hosack
gives him, the fever has lessened, and I hope he will soon be
better." Now it is one o'clock, and, though an hour and a half reraains
before I need dress for dinner, the spirit of the morning has fled ;
the raelody of sentiment has seduced my fancy, and its soft breath
ings taken captive my heart " Auld Lang Syne " rises in a thou
sand shapes before me, and though I am forcibly impelled to the
Retreat, and wander through its apartments, and passing through
the orchard mount on Powder-horn Hill, return by the Willows,
and seat rayself at the east window, yet I can only meditate. I
feel th^i-t I live, and forget that I am an intellectual creature. This
will not do. I will dress myself, and then sit down to write. The
wrinkles, dearest, the wrinkles are certainly coming upon me. Now
I '11 give you a touch of Mrs. Hamilton, still hoping you have not
got the book. She supposes herself presented with a mirror, in
which she is permitted to contemplate her friends as they should
appear when changed and modified by the lapse of thirty years ;
and then — " With expectation beating high,
Myself I now desire to spy,
And straight I in the glass survey'd
An antique maiden much decay'd,
Whose languid eye and pallid cheek
The conquering power ot time bespeak.
But though depriv'd of youthful bloom.
Free was my brow from peevish gloom.
A cap, though not of modern grace.
Hid my gray hair and deck'd my face.
No more I fashion's livery wear.
But cleanly neatness all my care.
Whoe'er had seen me must have said,
' There goes one cheerful, pleased old maid.' "
It is a long time since I wrote to you. I had determined to do
so before I went to Belleville, but at ten o'clock came home the

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 245
currants for jelly, and I did not leave the kitchen till three. Then
I dressed from head to foot as expeditiously as possible and ran
down to dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Stout dining with us ; left the table
when the dessert came on to pack up, and at flve we set off. Pleas
ant ride, kind welcome, good supper ; took possession of my cham
ber on the ground floor, and blessed the stars that showed the day
was done. Sunday morning went to church ; joined as much as I
could in the worship, but could not say I believed in the resurrec
tion of the body, or in a still grosser error. Saw a man and his
six children christened, — the father and the infant named alike.
Could not believe the assertion that these persons were ?iow regen
erated, but hoped they would be. The week passed pleasantly. I
carried out the " Life of Mrs. Hamilton " to read to Mrs. S. and Miss
Morris, with which they were much pleased. Worked on my frock
as much as the heat would permit Became acquainted with Mrs.
Courtlandt, of Newark, a very pleasant literary lady, who talks
very well, and liked me because I was a good listener. Resisted
all sorts of kind entreaties to pass another week, though not
frora want of love, and returned on Saturday. Seized with a vio
lent headache, supposed to be frora riding in the sun, Henry
prescribed, sister nursed, Williara went out to buy a bottle of
cologne water, Sophia fanned, and Elizabeth folded my clothes.
Had a good night, got up well in the morning, and went to church.
The thermometer is now ninety in the shade. I meant to have
given you a particular account of Mr. Brevoort's dining here, and
Miss Bronson taking sister and me to see the balloon, and my ex
treme anxiety at having our dear Margaret in such a crowd, etc.,
etc., but the pleasure and pain are fast fading from my remem
brance. I shall have letters ready to go by Mrs. March. Best love
to all. Ever yours,
M. G. Gary.
FROM MRS. CARY TO HER SON HENRY.
Retreat, August ii, 1819.
Your kind letter, ray dear Henry, of the 9th ultimo has given
me the greatest pleasure. What a picture do you and your dear
sister Margaret draw of the domestic felicity and orderly establish
ment of your home in Chambers Street ! I am charmed with it I

246 THE CARY LETTERS
want nothing but to increase my gratitude to Him frora whom all
our blessings flow. I know not if I shall ever be an eye-witness
of your happiness ; but whether I do or not, I shall derive more
satisfaction from the reflection than I can ever express to you or to
any one else, and in my solitary musings of pain and pleasure this
last event of your life shall be my sweet solace.
We are all well here, and yesterday afternoon Anne and Harriet
and Mr. and Mrs. Tuckerman, leaving me with aunt Sally Russell,
went to the inauguration of Mr. Ticknor and Mr. Norton, the for
mer professor of French and Spanish languages and belles-lettres,
a fund for which was provided by the late " Bill Smith," alias
" Cheap Smith ! "
I was going to tell you raore of yesterday, when an interruption
of visitors gave me another train of thought, — Colonel Perkins and
Mary, How well I remember his kind visit soon after you were
settled in New York, through snow I do not remeraber how many
feet deep, purposely to inform us of your health and agreeable
prospects ! It was on Sunday, and Anne and I were at horae.
Your dear father soon returned, and after laying down his hat,
whip, and gloves, as you know was his custom, with all that grace
and elegance belonging, in my eyes, only to his dear self, received
Colonel Perkins most graciously and hospitably, aided by the
grateful feelings he felt for the delightful inforraation of so dear a
son, and for whom he felt so much solicitude. Excuse me, my dear
H,, for all this, but this visit has brought these circumstances so
vividly to my recollection that my pen refused its office on any
other subject immediately.
I said to Colonel P., " You were at Cambridge yesterday, sir ? "
" Yes, madara. I was highly gratified, indeed ; there were a great
nuraber of young people there, and although Mr, Norton spoke an
hour and a quarter, no one was weary. I was charraed too with
Ticknor, his elocution, his action. The President first addressed
them in Latin frora the pulpit, to which they replied ; but my Latin
is gone by now, and I could not catch raore than one sentence out
of ten. It was all very fine, however."
Love to all of you, ray two Margarets, William, and the Henrys.
Ever yours,
S. Gary.

VII

MISS ANNE M, CARY'S CANADA JOURNAL,
MISS OTIS'S SARATOGA JOURNAL
1819
HIS journal of my aunt Anne's was written while
on a journey which, it seems to me, must have been
t/ie great pleasure of her life. She always enjoyed
talking about it, and there was as great happiness
in the way it came to pass as in the journey itself. The fa
vorite brother Lucius had come home for a visit, and after
his suggestion had been made of her going to Canada with
him doubts had arisen of the possibility of the plan ; and,
as she used to tell the story, there was an agitating interval
when all hope seemed over, till her brother George came for
ward, and the ways and means were all made clear for her to
go with one brother and return with the other.

FROM ANNE M. CARY TO HER MOTHER, MRS. SAMUEL GARY.
Albany, July 7, i8i8.
Just arrived at a commodious boarding-house, changed my
dress, and refreshed by a good cup of tea, which Lucius and my
self enjoyed highly. For the first time we have taken a meal
alone. I sit down to write in my chamber to my dear, dear
mother, while he goes out to see some acquaintance and the news
paper. How I have thought of you since we parted, sleeping and
waking ; and every friend I have has passed in succession through
my mind and associated with every pleasure I enjoyed ! My ride
to Northampton received a new zest when I remembered they were
the same woods and hills ray dear Sarah had so often described

248 THE CARY LETTERS
to me, and wished I could enjoy with her, I wanted to sketch
the beautiful scenery for Harriet, offer to Abby and Sarah the
fragrant lilies that were reposing on the surface of the still waters,
and catch for my darling Gary the little rabbit that ran through the
wood. Not one was forgotten. But it is tirae to tell you what I
have seen, not what I have felt.
First, because I know it is important to you, let me say I am
quite well, though exposed to raorning damps and noonday heat,
to* the winds of the mountain and the dust of the valley. My
cough is gone. Lucius, too, is perfectly well. Desires his love to
you and each of the family, and will write to-morrow to George.
Our ride from Boston to Framingham was a very sleepy one,
but I longed to let the friendly party in Beacon Street know how
strengthened we were by our breakfast ; how good it was ! The
approach to Worcester was very fine. There, while the horses
were watered, we stepped in to see Eliza Wyer, and had a pleasant
little visit with her. She was well. We dined at Brookfield, a
very pretty town. The scenery, for twenty miles beyond, presented
a greater variety : villages placed in valleys, churches prettily sit
uated, and beautiful streams and ponds rising unexpectedly to
view, and of a transparency worthy of paradise ; noble woods of
oak and ash, which changed, as the soil grew sandy, to every de
scription of pine. Sarah, do you remember the pretty little village
of Western ? The only thing to be regretted of yesterday is, that
we could not enter Northampton till nine at night ; but I strained
my eyes to see all that was visible, and have a general impression
of how beautiful it is. Then, too, I meant to have written to my
dear mother, but I thought she would say, " You have done enough
for to-day, my dear ; go to bed." And so I did ; and directly
after, as it seemed, sounded the alarum at my door at half past
two to get up. I did so ; soon fell asleep in the carriage, from
which a jerk awaked me just at daybreak to a glorious scene, the
top of the mountain presenting an extensive view. I thought for
a moraent I had returned to the Atlantic, and all the islands lay
before me. A thick fog covered all the valleys, and the hills rising
beyond produced this teraporary enchantment. We breakfasted
twenty miles farther, and how I do wish I could in any manner
give you an idea of the view we enjoyed after it ! Ascending
Chesterfield, the mountains were sublime, the rivers more deep

MISS ANNE M. CARY 249
and full ; the white fog rising gracefully over the tops of the moun
tains and silently vanishing away ; the thick woods which cov
ered the hills, and the ascent from one to the other ; till, having
reached a prodigious height, I looked down on the magnificent
scene, and felt nothing but adoration of the Creator. I cannot
describe it to you at all. I wish George would inquire for Mount
Holyoke and Mount Tora at Northampton. While the horses
are watering at the top of Penn, step into the church, as we did,
and go up to the steeple. Look at Mount Hopeck on the right,
just discernible like a noble cloud skirting the horizon. Ask for
Mount Catskill, if it is clear ; and when at the top of the Hancock
ridge, look back on part of the world below,
I have just received a summons for my letter. The stage starts
at three in the morning, but this is the first moment I could write.
Those who travel by the job, as we do, must not think of journals.
I have a great deal to say, but it would all be pleasant. I realize
all I expect Lucius and I have some pleasant litde times to
gether. I must mention that in the midst of a dusty road, when
we had been told we must ride seven miles farther to dinner (then
two o'clock), I opened my little box, and my blessed mother's hand
writing appeared like a breeze in spring. Not another word but
blessings on all that I love. The second knock that hurried me
to a conclusion proved to be Lucius, come to tell me the mail had
closed at six o'clock, and that my letter should go by the Hudson
at ten to-morrow. I hope it will reach Chelsea soon, but we did
not get here till eight, so I could not help the detention. I fear
you will think I ought to give a more particular account of the
towns, but traveling a hundred miles each day confuses the recol
lection not a little. The barracks at Greenbush make a very
handsome appearance as you approach this town. They were used
during the last war to receive the wounded and all the prisoners
taken on the lakes. The Hudson flows immediately before this
city, and I did not like very well to cross the ferry after seeing
Fisher's carriage scene, but I was agreeably surprised by a horse-
boat Now, ray dear raother, do you know what a horse-boat is?
If not, may I tell you? You ride iramediately off an alraost level
bank to what seems a large wooden platform, with a railing round
it On the platform before you is a large covered box, the size
of our parlor, in which are horses going round as in a mill, and

250 THE CARY LETTERS
moving a wheel which affects the water like oars, and this boat
is gently disengaged from one side of the river and carried to the
other without any motion, while all appears standing perfectly
still. I think Tora will laugh at this description ; if so, he must
give a clearer. For our fellow-travelers, I will just say they have
neither incomraoded nor interested us. From the female part I
got a good deal of information.
Wednesday mortiing. — There I laid aside my pen from very
weariness. Lucius occupied a charaber, by my request, as close to
mine as possible, and I was to lie till he called me. But I have
risen refreshed at sunrise, enjoying the fine prospect from my win
dow of the opposite shore, the barracks, the wooded hills, and the
peaceful river. The tinkling of the cowbells and here and there
a girl milking a cow in the street remind me of Portland : while
the handsome brick houses, the shops, and appearance of business,
carry rae back to Boston, The city is said not to flourish. It is
the principal city of the State, too, and here the legislature assera-
ble. Think how fortunate we are. It has rained through the night,
and now, the dust laid and clouds dispersing, the bright sun
is coming forth to cheer us on our way. I hope, my dear mother,
you will suffer no anxiety about us. You know how long I have
wished to see a little more of the grandeur and beauty of this noble
world. Now I am enjoying this happiness with one of the most
attentive and kindest friends I could have chosen. Everything
worth having requires some sacrifices and some exertion, which I
ara willing to bear for pleasures which are not merely temporary.
Gan we gaze at the magnificence of creation and not exclaim :
" These are thy glorious works, Parent of Good, Almighty ! Thine
this universal frame ! " And is not the heart made better by the
acknowledgment ?
I cannot reconcile myself to the velocity with which the stages
descend these prodigious hills, though the horses appear well-
trained, and it is said to be the safest mode of descent But hap
pily human weakness can trust in the guardian care of Him who
heedeth the sparrow in its fall. The horse and his rider raay fail,
but the eye of Omnipresence never.
To-day we ride out to Mrs. Hogan's, fifteen miles, and this after
noon to Schenectady, to prepare for to-morrow's stage to Utica ;
by that means we shall have more rest in the morning. At Worth-

MISS ANNE M. CARY 25 1
ington I recollected Mrs. Howe, Eliza Cabot's friend, and while
the horses watered, we stepped across the way to a very handsome
house ; were cordially received by Mr. and Mrs. Howe, and saw
one of the prettiest family groups you can imagine. She is a very
lovely woman, — lovely from the apparent union of delightful affec
tions and perfect simplicity of raanner. Lucius has just called me
to walk. If Harriet Otis is with you, will you let her see this let
ter? She has strewed too many roses in my path to refuse her any
thing that will give her a moment's pleasure, but I thought my
details would be too simple. Her lines were beautiful. Lucius
says, " Bring your letter with you." So once more farewell, dearest
mother. I hope sister M. got home well ; it was a great corafort
to me to have her with me. Excuse my letter ; I have not time
to read it over.
Just returned frora a charming walk. Been on board two steam
boats. How I wish, mamma, you could see how corafortably we
shall go over the lake ! Did a little shopping. Went to the Mu
seum. Mr. Schuyler is here ; going to breakfast with us. Mr,
Jennison arrived this morning. The first impression is, that he is
a very neat little gentleman ; looks animated and intelligent
Brought rae a letter from Henry, and Lucius one from William.
FROM ANNE M. GARY TO HER SISTER MARGARET.
Schenectady, July 8, 1818.
My DEAR Sister, — We breakfasted at Albany this morning, —
Mr. Schuyler, Mr. Jennison, a stranger, and ourselves. The topic
discussed was the removal of the remains of General Montgomery,
which passed the river to-day in a steamboat, while a dirge was
performed. It was the opinion of our party they had better have
been left undisturbed, particularly as there was no raeans of prov
ing they were his.
Imraediately after breakfast, Mr. J. (who proves an intelligent
and agreeable raan), Lucius, and myself took a carriage and rode
ten miles to Waterford. Mr. Hogan was at Utica.
Waterford, Saturday evening, wth. — I have enjoyed a chapter
in the litde Bible for the first tirae this evening. I have committed
all I love to the care of a merciful Father, and while I trust they
are reposing in peace, I sit down to continue my narrative, which
would have been done at noon had not the bed beguiled me of the

252 THE CARY LETTERS
hour I intended for you. If you have a map before you, you will
be surprised to see where we are. But I must not anticipate. Mrs,
Hogan received us, I cannot say cordially, for that is not her man
ner, but she grew so, I expected to see something majestic about
her, so in that I was disappointed ; but I found she grew on my
regard the longer I was with her. We invited her and the young
ladies (Miss Fanny was in Philadelphia) to get into our carriage
and accompany us to Coos Falls, which they did. The beauty of
that scene, I doubt not, Mrs, Minot has described ; at any rate,
her sketch has done it ample justice, except that the river was prob
ably fuller when she saw it, for with us the fall was more broken
by a projection of the rock, which increased the variety and beauty
of the view by causing the water to flow in litde streams of white
foam over it. The spray and light foam which rose in mist was
exquisite ; the rainbow was complete. A party of Quakers sitting
under a tree eating their dinner made the scene more picturesque,
I was very glad Mrs. Hogan went with us, for she had never
been higher than the bridge before ; we went up to the falls, a
mile beyond, I was much pleased with the Misses Hogan. The
youngest said little, but there was an expression of raodesty about
her I thought quite beautiful. We were kindly urged to dinner,
but obliged to return to Albany. Mrs. Hogan invited me to pass
a few days with her on my return. George must see the Coos
Falls. After dinner we set off in a full stage for Schenectady, to be
ready for the stage next morning. The roads heavy ; a beautiful
sun-setting. A thunder shower that night raade the following day
as beautiful as possible. Indeed, we required all the clear and
cool air we could obtain to endure the jolting of the carriage.
The roads were just as they are with us early in the spring. We
rode by the Mohawk all day, a fast-flowing, fine river, but always
turbid from the rapidity of its motion. Oh that you could see the
Little Falls, and go up Tripes Hill, and stop, as we did, at Her
kimer at eight, — a pretty little village, — where our two stages
made preparation for the night with lamps, etc., as we had then
twenty-five miles to ride ! On account of the roads we did not
reach Utica till twelve, jolted, jaded, tired to death, — but all that
was nothing to me. We did not proceed the next day, but stayed
to recruit, and Lucius formed a new plan. He had proposed the

MISS ANNE M. CARY 253
day before that we should change our mode of traveling : — take
an open boat, proceed on the river, pass over the little lakes, and
let the steamboat take us in near the falls. It suited my taste
exacdy, and I advocated the plan, but, alas ! it was not practica
ble, and Lucius imraediately determined we should take a carriage
by ourselves and go to Sackett's Harbor. After breakfast we
walked out to see Mrs. Breeze, and what was intended only for
half an hour^s call proved a dinner. We were very kindly re
ceived, and they insisted on my remaining and the gentleraen re
turning to dinner.
Mrs. B. is a lovely woraan ; very much like Mrs. Apthorp, with
much raore sweetness and playfulness. She asked at once if I
was Mrs. Stout's friend, and spoke of the regard her sister had
for you. I have not tirae to detail this day, but it was one of the
pleasantest I have had. When I expressed my regret at not hav
ing seen Mr, Hogan, Mr, B. said he was in Utica, and I should
see him directly. He went out and soon brought him in. And
what a delightful countenance he has ! that chastened, enduring
expression, how beautiful ! He was very affectionate. I said,
"You have suffered much from the gout lately, sir?" "Ma'am, I
am always a sufferer," he replied.
Miss Van Rensselaer, the Utica belle, came in to see me, — a
beautiful girl, — and she, with the rest of the party, said how much
beauty we should lose by changing our route. " Miss Gary, I '11
be sorry if you go to Sackett's Harbor," says Mr. Hogan. Dear
old gentleraan ! and so was I ; but the plan was laid, and L. thought
not of altering it So farewell to the little lakes, the pretty vil
lages, the noble Mohawk, the Indian towns, and the Oneida chief.
I shall probably now never see thera, but have to retrace the sarae
dull road from Sackett's Harbor back again to Utica. I hope this
does not look like a complaint, for I would not make one ; I only
wish to state the case. Well, at two the carriage came for Mr.
J., L, and myself. We set off with kind wishes from the friends
we had that day raade, and congratulations to each other that we
were out of the stage. We rode twenty-five miles, met with noth
ing but one litde cascade to interest us, but the roads better, and
at eleven reached Boonville, where we found a quilting party fin
ishing the employments of the day with a dance. I assure you
it was a very pretty scene. Some of the lasses had their white

254 THE CARY LETTERS
gowns dressed with evergreens from the woods, and the beaux
danced with all their might We had a comfortable night's lodg
ing, set off the next day at five, and reached here at eight, through
a dreary country, without any view of water except fifty feet of the
Black River.
Sackett's Harbor, Sunday morning. — We set off very early,
and rode thirteen raUes to breakfast here, and here we are on the
borders of Lake Ontario. My breast is filled with gratitude to the
preserving Hand which has brought us so far on our perilous way,
free from every danger, and granted us a thousand blessings. We
have had rain in the night, clear and refreshing, winds in the day,
as Htde incomraoded by dust and heat as possible. Always good
accommodations, and at the close of the 330 miles in better health
than I began it. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within
me bless his holy name !
The steamboat sets off at three, and reaches the falls Tuesday
morning at ten. It is a fine day. We stay at Niagara two days,
and then off for Kingston.
My little treasure-book has, as Susan Cabot sweetly expresses
it, " proved like a fairy's tent to cover all the solitary ground." I
think I know our dear Mary's hand in a beautiful extract from
Alison, I believe. My best love to the dear girl, and to two friends I
am indebted to, whose writing I cannot recognize, but I admire their
taste. The little paper L. gave me at setting out, I opened with
the first gleam of daybreak. I thought it raore beautiful than I
ever did before, and if your affection, ray dear sister, induced an
application of it to my departure, I returned it amply. This will
be a different Sabbath from any I ever passed before, but I hope
it may be well employed even here. The gentlemen have walked
out with a letter for Mr. Sands, who married Mr. Breeze's daughter,
and I suppose I shall hear something from the lady.
My love to my dear mother and every one of the two families.
I do not particularize, because I suppose you will be best pleased
if I write about myself.
ANNE M. GARY TO HER SISTER MRS. TUCKERMAN.
Lake Ontario, July 13, 18 18.
You have read my forraer letters, ray dear Sarah, to marama and
sister Margaret, I suppose, so I will continue my narrative to you

MISS ANNE M. CARY 255
while we are fast gliding over the surface of this noble lake. A
thousand tender recollections press on my raind while addressing
you, but I try to remeraber I am writing for others and not for
myself when I take up my pen. I heard in Sackett's Harbor that
the death of old Mr. Tuckerman had been seen in the paper. In
that case I can imagine how you have been occupied since I left
you, and hope my brother will now recruit the strength he has de
voted to the service of his dying father. My letter to sister M.
mentioned the change of plan in our course which brought us to
Sackett's Harbor, and in consequence we have endured far less
fatigue than if we had continued in the stage. Just as I was fold
ing ray letter to her Lucius entered the roora to announce Com
modore Wolsey and Miss Breeze, and Mr. Sands her brother-in-law,
to wait on us to church. I descended. The commodore, a fine,
portly gentleman of about fifiy ; Miss B., a plump, fair little lady of
sixteen (with whom I was much pleased for her perfect open-heart-
edness on a nearer acquaintance, and I fancied she resembled your
favorite. Miss Francis) ; Mr. S. very polite. I had not time to
change ray habit, and went off with them immediately. Mr. S., to
whom we had a letter from Mr. Breeze, invited us to call upon his
wife as we passed, and very politely requested us to dine with
them. We found her a fat, pretty little woman, very amiable, with
a beautiful little girl of nine months. Were introduced to a sister
of Mr. Sands, a fashionable young lady frora New York, forraing a
striking contrast to the siraple, unadorned appearance of Miss
Breeze. We all set off together for church, while the commodore
gave us a very pleasant account of the state of society there, con
sisting entirely of officers and their wives, who were generally ele
gant women, and great cordiality subsisted between them. He
regretted that the indisposition of Mrs. W. would prevent her pay
ing us any attention, but seemed determined nothing should be
wanting on his part. It was a neat, pretty little vdlage, which he
said had only been settied ten years, but was growing very fast.
Miss Breeze told me I should find their church very different from
anything in Boston. It was smaller, to be sure, than anything I
had seen, but perfectly neat Some of the ladies were very pretty ;
many dressed very simply in ginghams, but all genteel, sitting on
benches on one side of the church, while the men were placed on the
other. As for the minister, would that I could do justice to hira ;

256 THE CARY LETTERS
but I fear it will be a very feeble portrait I can give of the original.
He was a stranger frora Canada. His narae was Cooke. His ap
pearance uncommonly handsorae, and the tones of his voice were
fine. I expected a great deal, but soon found that novelty was to
be the sole pleasure of the raorning. He began with a prayer
I thought a singular one, then a hyran which he intended to read
with great pathos, varying his tones according to the sentiment,
and stopping to express to his dear hearers his ardent wish that
they did indeed delight to spend their days in the -courts of the
Lord. But the chapter, the twelfth of the Acts of the Apostles,
was the climax of his powers of acting. It was truly a burlesque ;
aiding his voice with various gestures, such as rising with a gentle
motion several tiraes on his heel, winding his white handkerchief
round his forefinger and extending it to the audience, while a bril
liant ring ornamented the little finger. When he had finished read
ing he looked at the watch beside him and said he would briefly
illustrate that chapter. Keeping the Bible open, he began by in
forming us that the Acts of the Apostles meant their actions and
deeds ; gave a sketch of the different characters of the Apostles ;
and from the release of Peter presented the advantages of prayer.
" His friends did not sit down, crying, ' Oh dear, dear ! what shall
we do for Peter ! ' but prayed without ceasing. In consequence of
it, while Peter was in a deep sleep, not in a little nap frora which
any one might awaken hira, the Angel of the Lord descended, and,
pushing him by the side, cried out with a loud voice " (and here he
made the church ring with his own), " ' Gome, Peter, come ! get up,
put on your sandals (that is, your shoes), bind your scarf round your
waist, and come after rae.' " He then attempted to describe Peter's
astonishment, saying, "' Am I really awake or not? ' " his going to
a friend's house and knocking (here he rapped on the side of the
pulpit with his knuckles). " Then carae the little maid, putting her
ear close to the gate, and with joy runnitig back, crying out, ' Pe
ter 's come ! Peter 's come ! ' " (here he imitated a child's voice so
naturally that several of the children laughed) ; " but the people
would not believe her, saying, ' Oh no, my dear little girl, it is n't
so ; it can't be ; you 're mad.' "
The conduct and death of Herod led to some political remarks ;
and after taking a wide circuit he closed, and in the concluding
prayer hoped his hearers had been not raerely gratified for a short

MISS ANNE M. CARY 257
time, but would go home and be benefited by it. Now you will
think I have been indulging a love of ridicule in this account, but
I assure you I repeat his own words, and cannot give you a just
idea of the preacher either, because you have not heard his voice,
varying from grave to gay, frora serious to severe, but when express
ing tenderness as ludicrous as possible. After church, the commo
dore carried us over the immense ship which is building here, of
190 feet. It is inclosed in a house, and will probably not be com
pleted till war is declared again. We were rowed from it in a
litde boat, and at one returned to Mrs. Sands', where we were very
hospitably entertained. The young ladies would have accompanied
us to the falls could they have been insured a protector back again,
which Mr, Jennison and Lucius have been lamenting ever since
they could not do. At three the horn blew, and, escorted by the
young ladies and Mr, Sands, we came on board the steamboat
They gave us their good wishes, and with the usual bustling of
quitting port we launched forth on the mighty Ontario. You, my
dear Sarah, would indulge your imagination and produce sorae
thing worthy of the scene. I have none to sport with, but my feel
ings were new and not to be described. When I sat down with
Lucius alone at one end of the boat, and we retraced the last day
we had passed at our peaceful home, we could hardly realize but
one week had elapsed in carrying us so far from it. " It must be
a month," says L.
My attention was soon absorbed by a poor woman who was
drowned in tears at parting from two daughters, and going to live
at Detroit She did not know the course she was to take. Lucius
opened his map for her, and soon won her heart by his soothing
attentions and pointing out her course. She went with us to ex
amine the different parts of the boat, and told us she felt " some
better." It is now morning. We are still gliding by the American
shore ; the Canadian, sixty miles off, is not in sight. The length
of the lake is two hundred miles. We shall not reach the falls
till to-morrow, but to-day stop at Rochester, where are falls which
are said to equal those of Niagara in beauty. I know, my beloved
Sarah, you share in the happiness I am enjoying. It has equaled
all my expectations. It would be doubled if some of my friends
could partake it with me ; but this cannot be, and I determined
when I left home to wish for nothing more than I possessed, and,
17

258 THE CARY LETTERS
comraitting all the friends I left behind to our Father in Heaven,
not to let one anxious thought damp my pleasure. So far I have
succeeded. Whether I have power of mind to pursue it when this
constant excitement is over, and I sit quietly down at Kingston,
remains to be proved. I must reserve the rest of my sheet for
Rochester Falls, and go to my friend L. on deck. So adieu for
the present.
July ic^th. — Well, at one yesterday we entered the Genesee
River. Leaving the ample lake, we passed on, high and beautiful
banks inclosing us on each side and the water as smooth as possi
ble. At Hartford, four miles up the river, the boat stops for freight
for some hours. We landed, ascended a high circuitous path
through a thick wood. At the top of the hill, one quarter mile
frora the foot, is the inn. Dinner was ready, but as our time was
limited we preferred losing it to the falls, and set off (each with a
cracker and refreshed with some lemonade) in a carriage which is
kept for strangers. After riding four miles through a wood, pass
ing by the little village of Carthage, we entered Rochester, a very
thriving place, which five years since had but one house in it, but
being at the head of navigation has grown wonderfully. An acre
of land sold last week for $6,000 which was purchased for $30 in
1812. Exhilarated by a temporary release from the steamboat the
romance of the scenery, and the object we were going to contem
plate, we reached the falls in good spirits. The river flows tran
quilly through the wood till, the rock growing uneven, it becomes
agitated in its course, and reaching the declivity it dashes over a
perpendicular fall of ninety-two feet The river had fallen very
ranch, and much of the rock was bare. Viewed at a little distance
in front, the water fell in streams over it Hke columns of snow, and
the spray rose in the finest mist you can imagine, encircled as usual
with a complete rainbow. Standing at the top of the fall and
looking down, it assumes a different shape, the force with which it
rushes on appearing to separate the water into beautiful crystals.
Within twenty feet are two other streams, not so large but of equal
beauty. The sides of the river viewed sorae distance from the
falls are equally abrupt and lofty, covered with fine woods. After
passing half an hour where it would have been a luxury to
stand a week, we were compelled to quit the place and return
hastily without seeing the lower falls, which are said to be nearly

MISS ANNE M. CARY 259
as fine, and near which a bridge of one hundred and twenty feet in
height is building. We reached the inn at half past three, and after
taking a pleasant repast we descended the winding hill, gathering
flowers ; and finding at the foot that the little boat was not ready
for us, I joined a poor female English emigrant, who with a hus
band and two children had come out in hopes of finding the means
of living here. We waited here an hour. I lamented that we had
been so deceived in point of tirae. But when we set out in a row-
boat to overtake the steamboat, two miles off, I cannot give you
any idea of the scene, — the river as smooth and transparent as
glass, every object reflected as perfectly as possible, from the largest
tree to the smallest blade of grass ; the imraense height of the banks
of the river, excluding the declining sun, covered with beautiful
trees; and not a sound to interrupt the tranquillity except a little
gurgling rill falling down the banks, the dashing of the oars, or the
motion of a bird perched 011 a branch bending over the river,
Gould I help wishing for you and sorae others there ? I forgot to
mention the sound of the bugle-horn reverberating from bank to
bank. We reached the steamboat with regret ; waited two hours
to take in a quantity of wood. At last the wheels were set in mo
tion, the ropes untied, and we passed rapidly on by the light of the
moon till, reaching the entrance of the lake, I bade farewell to this
enchanting river and this happy day. My dear Sarah, if I have
given you a confused description, you raust ascribe it to a naughty
child, who is receiving a whipping frora her raother cloge beside
me, and which I should regret if I did not expect to share in the
benefit to be derived from it for the next two hours. I have been
fortunate in having but two cabin passengers, but the steerage is
covered with a wretched crew of Irish people. This second night
has passed more comfortably than the last, because I have become
accustomed to the scene, and do not start up, thinking we are in
danger, if I hear men spring across the cabin at midnight, calling
hastily to each other. Remember, my dear Sarah, I write so freely
ray letters should only meet the partial eyes of my own dear family
and Harriet Otis. I meant my handwriting should have been cop
perplate on this journey, but I believe you must all excuse it.
My best love to my dear mother and every one of our two fami
lies. Tell sister Margaret, tell Harriet, instead of a journal she
shall have a flower from every famous spot I visit; and though I

26o THE CARY LETTERS
could not see Rome, I have passed by Carthage. My love to Eliz
abeth. This is a glorious day; bright sunshine, still water. Going
at the rate of six miles an hour. The American shore close in
view covered with woods, the Canadian so distant that all we see
appears an ocean between us. Almost within sight of the town of
Niagara. With kindest love to my dear brother, ray own dear Sarah,
farewell. The whipping has done no good.
ANNE M. GARY TO HER SISTER HARRIET.
Steamboat Franconia, Lake Ontario, July r6, 1818,
Now, my dear Harriet, if I had you on board this boat with me,
what a delightful hour we would have ! But we are too far asun
der for even fancy to bring us together; therefore I will improve
this hour's leisure in recalling the last two days for those " that I
love dear," My letter to Sarah closed just as we came within sight
of Fort George on one side and Fort Niagara on the other. We
passed between 'the shores for a mile or two, with little to diversify
the constant scenery of woods, except a few houses together, or
here and there a solitary hamlet One pretty little cottage Lucius
called me hastily on deck to see, which was on the top of the
bank, very tastily built, and the trees so placed as to contrast their
light foliage with the thick shades of the wood around. We landed
at Lewiston at ten o'clock. It was very warm, but to know we
were within reach of the falls gave strength enough to climb a
high sandy hill to dinner. We carae to an inn ; rested and re
freshed ourselves for an hour, dined with a raan whose face for
irregularity I should Hke to sketch for you, and at three set off in
an open wagon for the falls. The road winds through a wood
to a very abrupt descent on the river side. We alight, are de
tained some time for a ferry-boat ; watch the rapid current of the
river, which obliges the boatmen to keep up a great way by the
shore, and then let the streara carry them to the opposite port.
We cross over to Queenstown. Lucius welcomes me to Canada,
and goes into town to procure a conveyance onward. He returns.
An open wagon lined with furs, and two horses, is our equipage.
As we ascend the hill two artillerymen leap down a bank, and in
form us we cannot proceed till we have obtained a permit. Mr.

MISS ANNE M. CARY 26 1
Jennison goes into an office, does what is necessary to convince
thera we are not sraugglers, and we proceed. Queenstown is itself
an inconsiderable place, but is famous for its heights, on which an
unfortunate attack was made by the Americans on General Brock
stationed there. He was killed, the Americans defeated ; and the
guide showed us the exact spot where the defeated soldiers pre
cipitated theraselves from the top of the high hill we were passing
over. They were destroyed in their fall, and remnants of their
clothes are still hanging on the trees. All the country in this
vicinity has been the seat of war. But we do not make any in
quiries. I am listening for the first sound of the falls. The road
passes through very pretty woods, a back road ; we see nothing
else. We ride five miles ; the wagon makes such a noise we beg
the driver to stop ; we hear the falls ; two miles more and we
reach the tavern, alight, leave our trunks, take direction of the
path, and set off on foot We walk half a mile through a field,
down a hill, pass a gate, climb a feilce, and reach the falls ! The
sun was setting ; no rainbow. It was less grand, but more beau-
dful, than I expected. The break which the Island of Trees raakes
in the raiddle dirainishes its grandeur. We stood at the same spot
without speaking or moving till Mr, J, proposed a search for Table
Rock. We found a path where boards were laid, followed it till
we came to the spot, — the bushes quite wet, the spray falling over
us. Here it was grand, — the water dashing down the rapids and
falling over the precipice immediately beside us. The paintings I
have seen present but one side, but the water falls down three.
We stayed till near nine. The mist appeared to have enveloped
the moon, and our feet being entirely wet, I proposed returning,
though I thought I should have passed half the night there, as our
time was shortened from two days to the middle of the next. The
next morning Lucius and I rose early and followed the rapids
above the falls. This scene was even more interesting than the
other, — the hurry, the tumult of the waters, the accounts we
received from two or three inhabitants of the sad fate of boat
men who had unwarily passed a certain point of land above, where
the rapids commence, and within which death was certain. Last
year three men were so drawn in by the current that resistance
was in vain. One sprang upon a cake of ice and was saved ; but
the others, driven along, were supposed to have died before reach-

262 THE CARY LETTERS
ing the falls, at the foot of which they were found the next day
with the canoe dashed to pieces. Another young man, the narrator
told us, he had seen set off in high spirits in a small canoe to
carry some rum to laborers at a distance. He was a fine swimmer
and relied upon his strength, but he was seen struggling with the
current shortly after trying to swim to shore, but never reached it,
nor had his body ever been found.
We returned reluctantly after strolling two hours. I could not
bear to quit it till we had reached the head of the rapids, but was
obliged to do so. We breakfasted, rested twenty minutes, and
prepared to sally forth again. With the addition of Mr. Jennison
we retraced our former walk to the falls. They presented a dif
ferent view, — there was a peculiar haziness in the air, the sound
was increased, the fall appeared raore rapid, and two thirds of it
entirely lost in the obscurity below. Frora Table Rock it now ap
peared exactly as I had heard it often described, — magnificent,
wild, sublime ! Mrs, Minot's "description, I doubt not, my dear
Harriet, has left nothing for me to say of the grandeur of this
scene. We left Table Rock ; walking on the banks, which are
covered with trees and many pretty flowers and shrubs (the air
very fragrant with something, but what we could not discover), and
gazing through every opening at the scene beyond, till we reached
the ladder. It is quite secure. We descended, and set out on a
pilgrimage to the rock. It is necessary to go down, I think, to have
an idea of the great height of the fall, to see the large rocks
which seem to be separating like slate and ready to fall on your
head. But certainly it is a vain waste of strength to attempt
reaching the cavern. I went, and truly sorry was I for having so
wasted the time that I longed to enjoy alone by myself on the
bank ; but I had an idea that the subliraity of that spot exceeded
any other, and this expectation kept rae up over the most fatiguing
passage of stones and rocks you can imagine.
I had prepared myself for a wetting by putting on my black
pelisse ; so, after stopping a few minutes to rest, I followed the
gentieraen. I proceeded a few paces, when such a torrent of rain
descended and gust of wind blew, that I lost my breath entirely,
and turned with all possible speed. Lucius encouraged me, and
twice more I made the attempt, but in vain. They who succeeded
say nothing could be seen, for Mr. Jennison declares the drops

MISS ANNE M. CARY 263
were as big as thumbs, and it was impossible to keep the eyes
open. This I mention for your benefit, dear Harriet, when you
visit the falls, that you may profit by my experience and tell my
friend George the sarae. We returned at one, tired enough, and to
meet the steamboat were obliged to quit the place iramediately
after dinner. But I ara grateful for this hasty view of the falls,
for the picture seems now so indehbly impressed on ray imagina
tion that I can recall the scene at any moment I tried to get a
view of the whirlpool two miles below, but the stage could not
stop for us. L. and I have the corafort of thinking we improved
every moraent of our tirae. The ride frora Niagara to Newark is
very pretty, with high banks on the side of the river. The country
too is more cultivated, — fine orchards of apple-trees and fields of
grain. Newark is a small village in the midst of a very large
plain. It was burnt you know by the Americans, for which the
English retaliated on Buffalo, but is growing fast again. I hear a
great deal of that iniquitous mode of warfare, and some sad tale is
connected with almost every spot you pass. The hotel being full
of strangers, we were very glad to take a pleasant walk on the
bank beside the river after tea. Mr. Jennison, always ready with
warlike anecdote and deeds of dreadful note, gave us all the par
ticulars of Sir John Moore's death. I retired early to bed, but not
to rest, — not for the heroine's reason, that my mind was too agi
tated for sleep, — but the house was too noisy to allow my heavy
eyelids to close. L. made an engagement to rise early and walk
round the town with me. I was true to mine, but he could ilot
rouse himselL We breakfasted at six and carae on board the
stearaboat with a very large party. I am surprised to find with
how little embarrassment I get along, surrounded almost constandy
by gentlemen. To-day at a very long table I was the only lady,
and at these times I find the advantage of an acquaintance with
Mr. Jennison. He is uniformly polite, and with him on one side
and L. on the other, we keep up a little conversation that makes
all easy. If Mr. J. could only drink enough of the waters of Lethe
to forget what " we in England feel and act and think," he would
be a very agreeable man. We reached York at two. It is a
fine bay, sorae distance from the lake, but the boat always stops
here for a couple of hours. As soon as she touched the wharf L.
invited me to go on shore, and you would have been amused to

264 THE CARY LETTERS
see with what ease we walked over this foreign land. We went a
mile by the banks to a new brick house which is building for Sir
Peregrine Maitland ; walked over it ; viewed his excellency's ac
commodations, and returned much pleased with our ramble. This
afternoon we have taken in Mrs. Philpot and two children and
friend, beside another person, who, if one may judge by the grief
her friends expressed at parting, ought to rank high.
\lth. — This day is drawing near a close, and we are ap
proaching Kingston. The boat is gliding through the lake, the
sun shines on the distant shore, and the moon will soon rise in all
her splendor. All is beautiful round me, and ray feelings would
be in unison with the scene if it were not for parting with ray dear
Lucius ; but he shall not know how hard it is, for I see he is full
of solicitude about me. He has been the tenderest, best of
friends. At the inn I would be told in the morning, " Ma'am,
your father has been inquiring about your cough ; " at the steam
boat, " Ma'am, your husband is knocking at the door." But I
trust .'\nn will give me a kind reception, and he will be prospered
on his way. It has been a most interesting journey ; and if my en
joyment was his object in bringing me here, he has succeeded
entirely. I shall always think of it with gratitude and delight. I
hasten to conclude my letter here, that I may pass the last hour
of sunset with him on deck ; having done a little needlework
for him has occupied me hitherto. He takes my letter. My dear
Harriet, my thoughts, I need not say, are often with you. Are you
going to the Springs, I wonder? My best love to my dear mother;
tell her we are quite well, and have been blessed every step of our
way. I shall not be quite plump enough to return to Chelsea till
I have rested a little while. My love to all my friends in and out
of Chelsea. ANNE M. cary to HER MOTHER, MRS. SAMUEL CARY.
Kingston, July 20, 1818.
I have been stationary two days, and did not write immediately
to my beloved mother on my arrival, that I might give some ac
count of the place and its inhabitants. I closed my letter to Har
riet the last afternoon we were on board the steamboat It had
been a pleasant voyage ; nothing could exceed the serenity of the

MISS ANNE M. CARY 265
lake and the clearness of the atmosphere. It was the last day
Lucius and I were to be together, and I prized every moment. I
wished by some raagic spell the vessel could have been conveyed
back to the shore of Newark, that we raight have lived over again
the last two days ; but it was gliding rapidly on, leaving to raera-
ory's eye the scenes of past enjoyment, as clear and almost as per
fect as the wake of the vessel which marked our course through
the waters. We left the tea-table very early to go on deck to
gether. The bright splendor of the setting sun reflecting its rays
through a long distance of the sea, and gradually, gradually sink
ing from our view ; the mild radiance of the moon rising from the
opposite horizon, and spreading her placid light over the watery
scene ; the near prospect of the small islands covered with woods
that we were passing ; and the clearness of the lake, reflecting no
object but what the sky presented, undisturbed by any sound but
the motion of the billows, which yielded to the pressure of the
boat, — all presented such a scene of perfect beauty as is some
times granted, perhaps to remind us of that better world where
dwells the source of " Light and Life and Joy."
We were then pronounced to be twenty-five miles from Kingston ;
and as we should probably anchor late, Lucius thought we had
better not think of going on shore that night. I stayed with him
till ten, watching the beautiful display of sparks from the chim
neys ; and, early informed the next morning by the commotion
on deck that we were in port, prepared for my entrance into the
town. With a guide from the vessel we set off for the Rev. Mr.
Stuart's; passed a street of ordinary buildings, and were shown to
a low but neat house, with a little inclosure of flowers and shrubs
before it. This was the end of my travels. My hostess soon de
scended, and gave me as affectionate a reception as I could desire.
Mr. S., too, cordially welcomed me to Kingston. Lucius break
fasted with us ; went out to engage a batteau to take him to Mon
treal, and returned in an hour, saying all was ready for his depar
ture, Lucius recommended rae to take ray course home through
Montreal, if possible; told rae he had written to George to desire
him not to come for a month, but if any opportunity offered I had
better embrace it without waiting for him. No such opportunity is
likely to occur, and I must still look to my dear George as my polar
star homewards; only rerainding him, when he once gets into this in-

266 THE CARY LETTERS
teresting country, he will find the want of time as great an evil as the
want of money elsewhere. Lucius bade rae farewell, and had he
invited me to go to Berrauda, I believe I should gladly have ac
companied him. I was sorry Mr. Jennison remained behind, but
I have not seen him since, and he is probably gone. They were
to meet at Montreal after L.'s return from Quebec. Ann and I
passed the rest of the day reviewing the past She had not re
ceived my letter, and said she had tried not to allow herself to
think I would come. She is quite well, and appears to be happily
situated. I thought she had become very serious, indeed quite
changed the first day, but she grows every day more lively. Mr.
Stuart, on a nearer acquaintance, discovers himself to be an arai-
able and sensible man, an affectionate father and attentive hus
band ; but at first I could not imagine where was the charm that
had brought Ann back again from her native land. At five o'clock
we walked out to buy a ribbon for my bonnet, which I could not pro
cure ; and there was something in the appearance of the town so
gloomy that it required nothing but to call at the post-office and
find no letter, as I did, to rain a mist over my spirits like the one
collecting over the lake. But I soon dispersed it
Yesterday morning at eleven we went to the small Episcopal
church, where Mr, S. read those delightful prayers with great solem
nity, and gave us a very good sermon on "The Rest that is to
Gome." There were prayers again at five ; the church being occu
pied meanwhile by the officers, who have a chaplain of their own.
I have seen or heard nothing which would interest me in the
society here, except indeed the chaplain of the navy, who took tea
here last evening, — a young man from the lakes of Cumberland,
whose enthusiasm of character and extreme plainness of appear
ance form a striking contrast to the nonchalance and elegance of
the polished Mr. Jennison. His mind seems remarkably divested
of national prejudice, and truly a lover of Nature wherever her
beauties are to be found. He has traveled through England on
foot, and as sOon as he has collected a sufficient sum intends pro
ceeding through the United States, of which he has formed a high
idea. Here I was called to take a pleasant ride with Ann in her
chaise round the borders of the lake. It is the prettiest view of
the town and surrounding scenery I have had, and we intend re
tracing it on foot this evening. Mr. Stuart's mother lives on the

MISS ANNE M. CARY 267
margin of the lake in a romantic spot, and to her Ann seems very
much attached. When any of the family see Mrs. Codman, will
they give my regards, and say I found all her friends well ?
And now, my mother " dearly beloved and longed for," when
shall I see your handwriting again ? Letters directed to Montreal
with postage paid to the lines will come safely. If this letter
reaches Chelsea in time, I wish George would bring some Boston
papers with him, — anything, Mr, S, says, would be acceptable ; and
however Harriet may laugh, I wish he would put a twig of my wil
low in his trunk; there is not one in this town. My best love to
every one of the family, and a kiss to each of the dear children, —
which I give myself to every child I find near their age, who reminds
me of thera. I shall write to my dear Harriet Otis tomorrow ; and
as you mentioned once a week, my dear mother, for correspondence
home after I was settled, I shall be punctual to the time. Lucius
lamented we had not pressed Tora and Mary into the service, and
made them join our party. I fancied I saw a resemblance between
the former and a gentleman coming down the street last evening,
just at the hour I suppose Tora entered the shrubbery. I have
written so rapidly on ray journey that I hardly know what ray
letters contain ; but, with all their faults, I hope they convey the
liveliest affection to the dearest of mothers from her child,
A. M. G.
I am sorry to find the post has gone without my letter, and an
other does not occur till Wednesday. Such delays often occur.
A very prepossessing lady of the name of Markland has just
called upon me. I hope the scenes will grow brighter than they
at first promised. ANNE M. GARY TO HER SISTER. Kingston, July 27, 18 18.
My DEAR Sister, — It is three weeks yesterday since I left
Chelsea. Gan it be no longer since I received my dear mother's
parting kiss, and every face beamed love and kindness on me ?
I hope the same impediraents do not retard my letters to ray
friends that detain theirs from me. I have written five home, but
think it probable Sarah's may not have reached her, as it was left

268 THE CARY LETTERS
at Lewiston in the hands of a stranger ; but I shall continue to
write punctually, though it would give a great zest to the employ
ment could I hear from my correspondents how time is passing at
the Retreat. Saturday evening, when I returned from old Mrs.
Stuart's, where we had taken tea and watched the waves break
against the shore, while the setting sun shed a softened radiance
on the opposite island, and its departing beams fell on some little
boats that were hastening home, I found a letter frora Lucius,
dated Montreal, saying as his objects of a commercial nature could
be as well confined to that place he had relinquished the plan of
visiting Quebec, and should return to New York direct. He adds :
" I feel, too, less interest in the natural scenery of the country since
I have you no longer with me to admire the beauties of it" Cor
dially can I reciprocate this feeling with this generous friend and
brother, whose absence I feel in every pleasure I enjoy. I wrote him
by Mr. Jennison on Tuesday, who called to take leave, complaining
of ray brother that he had gone off without letting him know where
I was ; but, finding a batteau at the wharf after breakfasting with
us, L. went immediately off without returning to the hotel, where
Mr, J. was expecting him. With Mr. Jennison came Mr. and Mrs.
Whitney, the former an acquaintance of ray brother's at New York,
and regretting Lucius's speedy departure. He is a middle-aged
gentleraan, married a few months since to a young lady of seven
teen. He has made a handsome fortune, and keeps his carriage,
but could you see the house he lives in you would hardly believe
him the occupier of both. Nothing surprised rae more than the
ordinary appearance of the houses when I first arrived. John
Mickelly's would be thought a very good residence for a general,
and Bassett's cot a little lengthened would be quite equal to Mr,
Whitney's. But such reraarks must not reach Boston, and perhaps
the pleasure of surprise on entering these mansions and finding a
handsome pianoforte with corresponding furniture, rather gives an
interest to the lowly roof. Mr, Stuart's is one of the best in town,
and the very neat appearance of the newly painted house and sta
ble gives it a decided superiority over all the neighborhood. Cer
tainly we have a great deal of pleasure within it, and my kind host
and hostess are always devising soraething for my gratification,
Ann and I ride together in the chaise or walk along the shore,
Sometiraes we go up in the raeadow with Mr. Stuart, when he

MISS ANNE M. CARY

269

superintends his haymakers, and I think the pleasantest day I have
passed was last Friday, .when directly after dinner we took our
work, Mr, S, some Portland newspapers, and Ann some nice work
she had been making, and set off for the raeadow. Taking the
shady side of the haystack, we found a rural seat ; and while Mr.
S. directed the workmen we worked and read and talked till near
sunset, when, taking a French leave of him, we strolled into a
neighboring wood and frora there to our favorite walk home by
the shore. Then comes Mr. Wilson, the navy chaplain, to tea and
pass the evening, and talk of Oxford and literature and botany.
He is just now interesting himself in procuring us a conveyance
across the river to a neighboring fort where the prospect is said to
be very fine.
I have received and returned a number of calls, and this week
will perhaps produce sorae tea-parties, which would not be desira
ble except for the gratification of seeing all that offers itself to a
traveler, for Ann's account of the society here is not very prepos
sessing. Mrs. Markland, a lady who lives near, I have been very
much pleased with. . . .
The intimacy of the Carys and Otises was so close in the
period during which all these letters were written, that among
the Chelsea papers were many belonging to Miss Harriet
Otis, This journal, kept for her mother and sister, was
among them, and by the kindness of her grand-niece, Mrs,
Samuel Eliot, I introduce it here.
JOURNAL WRITTEN BY MISS HARRIET OTIS DURING
A VISIT TO SARATOGA.
July 28, 1819.
I proraised to give you in an unbroken series, dearest mother
and sister, the narrative of each day during ray absence, and, Htde
worth as is the promise to you, I derive too much pleasure in thus
transmitting all the movements of ray important self to you to re
linquish it, so long as any novelty remains which is in the slightest
degree worthy of your attention. It is surely the least return I
can make to the kind friends who consented to what they believed
would give me pleasure, and lent me every facility in their power
for obtaining it, to relate to them every incident and describe every
scene which interests me.

270 THE CARY LETTERS
I brought you on journal-wise to the day week of my departure,
I think, but that letter was concluded in such haste, and in the
midst of bustle so overpowering to my unpracticed head, that I
know not what it contains. Did I describe Saratoga ?
After riding many miles through a country which deserves little
other appellation than that of a pine barren, you descend suddenly
upon the village, quite prettily built, consisting of about one hun
dred houses, chiefly white, in one street, the lodging-houses raaking
quite a showy appearance from their length and high piazzas. Ours
is two hundred feet in length, two stories, the pillars that support
the piazza the whole height of the house. Entering the principal
door, on the right hand is the dining-room ; on the left, the drawing-
room, forty feet in length at least, handsomely carpeted, the whole
furniture quite genteel. At the head of this room are two doors,
the left leading into what we call the music-roora, sraall but prettily
furnished, and containing a fine piano ; the right, into the dancing
and walking hall, — a noble room, ornamented with centre lights,
and lamps all round it. So much for the building. The inhabitants
are, as you may imagine, a motley group, in number varying from
thirty to fifty. At the head of our table sits Mr. Pierpont, whose mild
and dignified manners and pleasing conversation render him a gen
eral favorite. Mrs. Apthorp and son, Mr. and Mrs. J. Parker, G. F.
and E. Smith, Theoph. Parsons between them, and the Thorndike
party take their seats around the clerical centre as regularly as if
their seats were ordained by lot An innocent-looking Mrs. Hayes
and husband sit below rae, and as they are Bostonians of a most
respectable and unpretending class of character apparently, we
have adopted them into our clan. I assure you they contrast raost
favorably with sorae of the Southern pretenders to taste who flour
ish at the other end of the table.
The routine of the house is regular. At five o'clock the whole
household is in raotion ; raps at the charaber doors, with " Ma'ara,
your bottle ; " " Sir, your boots," resound from one end of our long
entry (which is a perfect whispering gallery) to the other. Then
everybody equips themselves, rather en deshabille, either for the
shower-bath, the warm bath, or the springs. It is a pretty sight
to see the multitude of pilgrims that resort at this early hour to
our spring, — the Congress, — which is so near us it seems to be
long peculiarly to us. After drinking what seems to me immod-

MISS HARRIET OTIS 27 1
erately, our inmates either walk the piazza if it is warm and fair,
as if for dear life ; or the hall if it is cold and foul, for an hour ;
then prepare for breakfast At half past seven the first bell rings ;
at eight we all assemble round a plentiful and well-spread table ;
talk and walk a littie ; separate to our chambers ; then act as
fancy or business directs until it is time to dress for dinner. At
half past one the company assemble in the drawing-room, form
littie parties round the different windows. The dinner-bell at two
sets the different groups in motion, each husband keeping close
to his wife, each daughter to her parent Table good and the
appetites yet better. I never saw so many people eat so much.
Afternoon: walk, ride, play billiards. At seven drink tea, then
walk the hall in parties; and, lastly, the Boston party get posses
sion of the music-room and hear very pretty songs from E. Sum
ner and Mrs. J. Parker. (By the bye, the latter asks many affec
tionate questions about you, Mary.) So ranch for generals, and thus
passed away the first two days, and often did S. and I exchange a
look which said. Can we bear this four weeks ?
Thursday. — The arrival of Mr. Henry Rutledge with his wife,
son, and daughter, promised to give some new interest to the
scene, — the seniors of the party and the daughter very polished
people and exceedingly accessible ; the latter so much so, that,
were she not a sweet innocent-looking girl of seventeen, one might
be terapted to suspect her of seeking universal popularity ; but I
believe it is only the openness of youth, so happy in itself that
everything looks couleur de rose, and willing to shed the beams of
its complacency without discrimination on all around. The son,
very young, the image of Horace Draper, only possessing a degree
of timidity which never I think could have fallen to Horace's
share, even in boyhood.
Our rausical party received a great addition in this Miss Mary
Rutledge, who sings and plays in style, and is the raost unaffectedly
obliging creature I ever saw. A few hours afterwards carae one
of the Mr. Wards, his wife, and two lovely little girls about eight
or ten years old, a very lovely faraily group, — the lady one of the
most prepossessing woraen in raanners and countenance, and so
attentive to her children, and they behaving so sweetly,
Friday morning. — Mrs. Thorndike proposed a reading party,
and Mr. Pierpont was selected for our reader. He obligingly

272 THE CARY LETTERS
consented, and at ten the Boston and Carolinian party met in the
music room, and he read two cantos of " The Corsair " very finely.
A ball was proposed for this evening, and many debates ensued
whether it should be held at our house or the Pavilion. It was
our turn, but they laid claim to it on account of General R.'s ill
ness ; but he had wonderfully revived, and by some secret ma
chinery, the springs of which are not visible at this moment, the
thing was arranged in our favor. On this the Pavilionites were
in high resentment, and refused to come at our bidding. You may
suppose we take no share in these jealousies, though the decision
affected our movements. As it was in the house we could not well
refuse to go ; had it been elsewhere, indisposition of mind as well
as body would have pleaded Mrs. T.'s excuses, and you know how Ht
tle inclination I have for such things. As it was, the ladies, dressed
in their best, took their tea, and then adjourned to the ball-room ;
fine music and brilliant lights for a company of forty persons.
There was not much dancing, the night was so warm, but much
parading the hall. Oh, I forgot to tell you, we had an arrival of
dandies this day, far surpassing anything I have ever seen, except
in print; and surely they had a right to astonish the natives, for
they were young Englishmen, bloods and of high blood, — one of
them son to the Earl of Dalhousie, and two others the sons of
nobleraen. The particulars of their name and rank eluded even my
aristocratic curiosity, for they figured in our hemisphere only this
night and then vanished, leaving us much in the dark. They took
no other designation than plain Mr,  ; they paraded about to
gether, making observations not very flattering to the vanity of
the company, to judge from the mirth they occasioned among
themselves. However, the company repaid thera with interest
Saturday. — -Another reading-party proposed, agreed to, hour
fixed, when Mr. Parsons steps to our chamber and begs Mrs.
Thorndike to agree to set off iramediately to Lake George, instead
of waiting till Monday, as had been decided at breakfast.
No objection arising we prepared imraediately, and set out in
high spirits on a tour to Lake George, the Thorndike party and
Mrs. J. Parker in one carriage, Mr. Pierpont and young Parsons,
with G. F. and E. S., in another. The road dull enough to Glen's
Falls. These we thought fine, glanced at for a moment, and
passed on, supposing the hotel was near enough to allow us to pass

MISS HARRIET OTIS 273
the whole period of culinary preparations in surveying thera. I
was grievously disappointed to find a long sandhill separated me
frora the object I so much wished to see. When the party in the
other carriage arrived, speechless with delight, an hour after, I
could endure it no longer, and, a delay occurring after dinner, I
beat up volunteers.
Mr. Pierpont offered to accompany me ; Sally, to ray surprise,
joined with great alacrity. When we reached the bridge, a wind
ing and safe path led us beneath it to the bed of the river, and
there, standing on the crags and cliffs, we surveyed a scene which
I would that I could paint or describe ; but, of all things, a water
fall is the raost difficult to describe. There is a collection of
cascades, jets d'eau, and water-spouts, raeeting frora every direc
tion, and turabling over each other with inconceivable grandeur
and wildness ; sometimes spouting up like fountains, sometimes
throwing out a torrent of foam from the midst of the most beau
tiful evergreens that fringed the banks and rocks. I trembled at
first for Sally among the rocks ; but they were uncommonly safe,
and she very prudent, and so full of delight that it made rae per
fectly happy, and I shall always reraember Glen's Falls with un
mixed pleasure.
We did not reach Lake George till after sunset ; but light enough
remained to show us a fairy scene frora the hill which commands
the lake. The lake is in reality thirty-six miles long, but the sheet
of water which presents itself frora this spot is an oval, perhaps
twelve miles long, and so closely surrounded by lofty mountains
overtopping each other, that the winding through them is not visi
ble. On this glassy surface repose numerous little green islands.
In a quiet corner on the left is the pretty village of Caldwell, a
white church and court-house ; on the right, commanding the lake,
is Fort George, a picturesque ruin. At the entrance of the village,
with piazzas overlooking the lake, is the hotel, on the very margin
of it One of the peculiar beauties of this lake is the margin, —
no sand, or sedge, or shore, but these beautifully transparent waters
come dancing up full and bold to the top of its woody banks.
When I receive a letter from home it gives me such a glow at
my heart tiiat I cannot help writing again. Thus, instead of going
to bed, I 'have taken up ray pen, although it is only to-day that I
put the fnishing stroke to an enormous episde which will be

274 THE CARY LETTERS
handed you by Mrs. Parker, I have been reading some lively
letters today, in one of which letter-writing is described as a con
versation carried on between two people, one of whom does not
answer until the other has forgotten her own observation ; the re
spondent all the time turning her back to the other. These let
ters form part of the raeraoirs of Mrs, Brunton, the author of
" Discipline,'' a title, I am sure, to your respect and attention. But
I must not sit up all night scribbling, and unfit myself for rising at
a very early hour to bid farewell to Mr. and Mrs. P.
Friday evening. — The hottest of dogdays, and a ball at night.
I have just escaped from the hall, where all the fashion and beauty
of Saratoga has been in imminent danger of melting away. I do
not think it displays either the good sense or good taste of the
people, but a ball is got up thrice a week, and the thermoraeter at
loo, if ray feelings are a test. A grave-looking gentleman with
very grizzled hair, accompanied by his wife and a tall son eight
years old, appeared at dinner to-day, who was called Charles G.
Pinckney. The name reminded S. and myself of one of the lads
who used to be at brother's perpetually a few years since, but we
both agreed in pronouncing on the impossibility of his having de
scended the vale of years quite so fast, even with the weight of
matriraonial cares to accelerate his downward progress. But a
sudden smile and turn of expression brought to my mind a face
of which I thought I had lost all trace ; and he presently after rec
ognized us, and affirmed hiraself as the identical G. G. P. It was
very mortifying to be obHged to acknowledge such an old contem
porary, and I think my gray hairs have been on the increase ever
since, Saturday. — More remarkable for the heat than anythijig else.
We contrived to languish through the day with the aid of " Wa-
verley " and spring water ; but the night exceeded anything I ever
knew. In our ten-foot-square apartments, with one window, through
which the beams of the sun poured intensely, and the thermome
ter at 93, you may conceive our sleep was not very sound or re
freshing. A concert this evening in the grand hall, attended by most of
the family, not by us ; and we were right glad of it when we learned
the next raorning that it was so bad that the audience orly laughed
when they ought to have cried.

MISS HARRIET OTIS 275
Sunday morning, — Heat on the increase, the family, one by
one, declaring against going to church. A Mrs, Jepson, who has
seeraed to take rather kindly to rae, invited me to ride in her ba
rouche ; an offer I gladly accepted, as I really wished to go to
church, and dreaded the deep sands and burning sun I must en
counter. This lady seems to be quite a character ; considerably
odd, but sensible and accomplished. As far as I can judge on a
short acquaintance, I should conjecture she had naturally a strong
raind and strong passions, had been educated in fashionable life,
and had since been converted, or in other words had embraced
Calvinism strongly. She seems to be sincere and open, though a
little ostentatious on every subject, temporal as well as spiritual,
and told rae, during one dinner, raore particulars about the hab
its, tastes, and acquirements of her family than I could tell a
stranger in forty dinners. She is a New Yorker, settled in Al
bany. The church is a neat little building. At the upper end are
two pews, fitted up like state pews for the accommodation of the
residents at the two houses. Mr. Sereno Dwight preached, but
in a manner that gave little satisfaction to either Galvinist or non-
Galvinist. He is not at all admired, and appears to me to be an
ordinary preacher. The clergyman of the village, Mr. Griswold, in
the afternoon performed the part of preacher and chorister with
great effect He set the tune in a fine and powerful voice ; read
every two lines, as is customary in Presbyterian churches ; and then
delivered quite an eloquent serraon on God's care of his church
in all ages. He performed all this duty in the midst of the most
intense heat and the raost violent thunder-shower I ever expe
rienced ; and in fact he did not look like one of our ethereal little
pastors, but like a stout laborer in fields metaphorical and natural,
and I dare say each claims his attention by turn ; but I was quite
pleased, and experienced the full value of the duties of public wor
ship in a place like this. At home, in the solitude of my chamber,
I could lift my heart to the Fountain of all good with raore ab
straction and devotion than in a church, perhaps ; but here, where
solitude was impossible, and a thousand distracting objects to
make one forget the day entirely, it was an inexpressible relief to-
escape to the sanctuary of a church, where the most indifferent
preaching would have possessed some power to awaken feelings
and reflections suited to the day and to a Christian.

276 THE CARY LETTERS
Monday. — A visit from Mrs. N. Appleton, who invited me to
go to Lake George with her ; an invitation I longed to accept, so
far was I from being satiated with the beauties of that enchanting
spot, but several proprieties concurred to induce me to decline it.
This day's tide carried off the Izards, Rutiedges, and J. P.,
and they are each in their way missed by us all. The Izards were a
group I never looked at without delight The Rutiedges possessed
accomplishments and an extreme affability which raade them just
the thing for such a place ; and J. P. was an unassuming, pleasant
beau, who has made himself agreeable, and might have been very
useful. One of our belles pronounced him " a sweet creature ; so
naif and unsophisticated." I: was amusing to see how shy the
B. party were of him, " a man not in our circle," and how he
edged along in a quiet, gentlemanly way. He was supposed to
have come with Welles, which was a disadvantage to hira at first,
but Alfred dashed up in his car, or curricle. " Alone, but not
alone returned ! " the end of his epic will say, I think. At least,
not if our surmises prove just concerning a fascinating little widow
of twenty, who buried her husband fifteen months since, and al
ready talks about her second. Saratoga, Friday, August 6th.
Tbe messenger who carried my letter to the office last night gave
me your letter, dearest Mary, at his return. Tediously minute ?
No, indeed, they are not even minute enough. I always wish them
four tiraes as long. I ara sorry to hear you have suffered the heat
as ranch as ourselves. I thought it might be the peculiar air and
soil of Saratoga, but never knew anything like it except in the
other comet time. Our house is overflowing at this raoment. I
discovered among the crowd last evening, parading the drawing-
room. Major Davenport, of Stamford. My heart warmed to his old
congressional face, and I made myself known to him. He received
me very kindly, but I think his mind is impaired, though his health
appears to be perfectly good. His daughter, Mrs. Bowman, of New
York, is a very genteel and sensible woman, and we have becorae
much acquainted. I have often wished for you on my account ; I
now begin to wish for you on your own, dearest Mary. The con
cert last night was attended by about one hundred and fifty per
sons, — all the beauty and fashion of Saratoga. Mrs. F. sang
"Bonny Doon," " Whither, my Love," " Roy's Wife," " Dulce Do-

MISS HARRIET OTIS 277
mum " (raost beautifully), and " Fragrant Ghaplets," a charming
song. She was not in such voice as usual, having a cold, and the
weather, as usual, unfavorable. I had a great deal of conversation
with her, and ara delighted with her openness and unaffected grace
of manner and expression. Mr. F. appears in a better light on
further acquaintance. They seera to be exceedingly attached to
each other.
Music was the order of this morning. We have a lady from New
York who sings and plays finely, and Mrs. F., though not profuse
in her songs, was yet obliging. A ball at the Pavilion closed the
day. Our belles attended, and I was much urged to do likewise,
but I felt no disposition to comply. B. Tilden, wife, and sister,
and Mrs. Morse (F. Torrey") and brother arrived this evening. One
of the most pleasing acquaintances I have raade is Mrs. B. Wins-
low, who is here for her health. She is an extremely genteel,
pleasing woman. She has been dreadfully sick, but is on the re
covery, and has been advised to try the springs to complete her
cure. We have a pleasant society just now, but I know not how
long it will last
Saturday. — Weather hotter than ever. Took quite a stylish
ride with a New York beau, a friend of Mr. Thorndike's. He is
a beau-general ; therefore, dear Mary, you need not have any of
those particular fears which troubled you before I left you. After
dinner the piano was rolled into the drawing-room. Mr. Derby,
Mrs. F., and the New York lady sang, and Mr. Tilden accompanied
them with the softest clarionet I ever heard. Was not that fine ?
The alloy to my share of the pleasure I will not tell you till we
talk over all these matters. We had a most sublime thunder-storm
about tea-time, one clap and flash exceeding anything I ever expe
rienced; but all subliraity was lost in the confusion of the drawing-
room, to which the whole household had repaired, driven by the
violence of the storm from the piazzas, and where the chatting of
beaux and belles, the chattering of children, the thrumming of the
piano, the ringing of the tea-bell, with the running to and fro of
the servants in an opposite room, rattling plates and knives, all
mixed in with the roar of the thunder-storm, composed a scene
which made one envy Babel for quietness. The day closed in a
way which I predetermined it should not with me. The famous
Indian juggler Rama Samee was to exhibit in our hall, and Mr. T.

278 THE CARY LETTERS
was so desirous S. and I should go, that I suffered myself to
be prevailed upon, though I felt nothing but disgust at the idea ;
but I was astonished and even amused, and, as we had stipulated
with our gentleraen, made our escape before the sword scene, which
however he swallowed to the infinite satisfaction of those who re
mained. He is a most wonderful creature without doubt, and as
graceful and as agile as can be imagined.
Sunday has come round again at Saratoga, but little does it seem
Hke the Sabbath, It is no day of rest for anybody. I went to church
with a large party to hear a celebrated New York preacher named
Matthews. I did not like hira much, though he was a good speaker,
and said some good things on '" redeeming the time," — hints not
very likely to be taken at Saratoga. Our evening passed very pleas
antly, with music and company from the Pavilion. Mrs, French,
Mr. Derby, and Mr. Tilden forraed our choir, and I assure you, to
use Sam's expression, " I never heard ' Denmark ' before." It was
exquisitely sung. I was introduced to some very genteel and in
teresting people, the Misses Gouverneur and their brother, and a
Dr, More, of New York, with whom I had pleasant conversation in
the intervals of music. The public taste is rauch divided on the
subject of the Misses G, The elder is extremely pale, with large,
expressive blue eyes, and a most pensive cast of countenance ; the
other, who appears much younger, is a little, animated beauty, re
sembling E. Henry, only smaller and with more lively expression.
I am drawn irresistibly to the elder, she looks so like " pensive
nun, devout and pure;'' but they both have great affability and
sweetness of manner,
Monday morni?ig. — The belles of Congress Hall raised their
heads frora their pillows at five o'clock, and lo ! it was raining in
torrents, — no possibility of going to the woods to gather ever
greens for the ball to-night. After breakfast a cart is seen passing
the windows loaded with greens, raounted and driven by Mr. Ge
rard, the raost mercurial beau that ever enlivened a watering-place,
strongly resembling Cecilia's friend Morris, only possessing raore
intellect The cart was unloaded, and young and old, grave and
gay, flocked into the ballroom. Now imagine a scene which I can
not do justice to : • — the ladies with their aprons on, and scissors by
their sides, twining wreaths of pine, oak, and hemlock; the gentie
raen mounted on ladders, driving nails and hanging festoons ; at

MISS HARRIET OTIS 279
the head of the roora, Bryant Tilden with his clarionet, piping away
gloriously, assisted by the stentorian lungs of R. Derby and Major
Winslow on his right and left, in quality of aids ; and, to complete
the scene, Mr. Carabrelaing, a raan of sense, volunteering the part
of a giddy trifler, parading the room as overseer to the laborers,
with a sunflower as large as a pewter plate stuck in his button-hole,
and the whole tree on which it grew waving in his hand as a badge
of authority. It was a scene for the pencil of Hogarth or the pen
of Irving, and the raerriest morning I ever passed. The result of
our united efforts was so tasteful and pretty that I, who had deter
mined not to be present, could not resist the desire of witnessing
the effect by candlelight and the surprise of our neighbors and
rivals at the Pavilion. I had a pleasant evening, and danced more
than was beseeming such dreadful weather, — hot, I mean.
Tuesday. — A party projected for Ballston. It is a very pleas
ant road, winding through the woods, and Ballston itself quite an
Eden corapared with Saratoga. Our party was Mr, and Mrs. T,,
Mrs. Winslow and her husband, Mrs. Apthorp and son, E. Sum
ner, Mr. G, with the long name, v/hom you see above (who is de
nominated my beau because he sits by me at table), and myself.
From the other house, Mrs, Appleton and the lovely Misses Gou
verneur, with etceteras. We saw the company, — among others,
P. P.'s Miss Read, and two Misses de Pau, — the daughters, tell
mararaa, of Sylvie de Grasse, — two bright-eyed, blooraing dam
sels ; took our tea and returned, not in tirae for Mrs. F.'s concert
August loth.
I do not recollect on what day my journal stopped, but I think
I have not recorded a morning walk with the Gouverneurs to the
east, and an evening walk with the same party to the west, on
Thursday. You see of what important subjects my journal con
sists. The morning walk was remarkable only for being the hot
test walk, though the hour was sun-rising and the place the woods,
that I ever took ; the evening walk, for being the most agreeable.
Mrs. A. and Charlotte, Louisa Gouverneur and her brother, E. Sum
ner and Mr. Gerard, Maria G. and rayself with Mr. Carabrelaing,
and a dainty little Mr. Ash (who kept sdently and pertinaciously
by the side of the pretty Maria, whora he devours with his eyes),
were the respective groups. We finished the evening together.

28o THE CARY LETTERS
with the help of music and chat, and ray admiration of the young
ladies was increased. So was Mr. G.'s, for he seeras completely
touched, if indeed I may venture to pronounce anything decidedly
of so singular a character. Strong sense, iraproved by knowledge
of the world gained from books and traveling, embellished by elo
quence and taste, seems to be the characteristic of his mind at this
moment ; the next, exuberant spirits, with a vein of singularity,
transform him almost into a merry-andrew. His character stands
very high as a merchant and as an excellent brother, for he has
educated two young brothers at college and established them in
business. Friday passed without anything remarkable. The girls took leave
of me in bed after the ball, and next morning the Apthorp party
set off, to our great regret The house looked so solitary that I
thought we should not smile again while we stayed ; but a visit to
the Misses G., reading "The Corsair," and chatting with Mrs.
Boorraan, enabled us to get through the day.
Monday. — A violent rain, but we rejoiced at it, hoping it might
insure us fine riding on our journey. Took leave of Mrs. Boor-
man, who set off for the lake, — an amiable, judicious woman,
whom it would give me pleasure to meet again. On entering the
drawing-room at noon, where we had gasped for a breath of air
two days before, we were cheered by the sight of a fire, around
which we hovered with real pleasure. How was this evenina; to
be passed ? What amusement to be devised for so raany idlers
who were driven indoors like so raany flies by' the first autumnal
storm ? The ball at the P. was given up for some reason, and I,
even I, proposed a sociable hop.
It was generally agreed to, and it was agreed to invite the Misses
Gouverneur and their gentleraen to join us. This plan set every
thing again in raotion. We dressed, took our tea ; then I had a
sweet, affectionate letter from my precious Nancy. I felt more
at kissing, for the last time, sweet little Eliza Seabrook this even
ing than I shall at parting with anybody else. If I ever see her
again, it will probably be when her little innocent sraile has given
place to the lines of raature expression, and artless but intelligent
infancy is exchanged for a something else, but surely nothing
more engaging.
The ball was pleasant to me. I danced with sorae agreeable

MISS HARRIET OTIS 28 1
partners, and had some interesting chats with Louisa Gouverneur,
Mr. More, and Stephen Gambrelaing, — a gentle youth, the very
reverse of his elder brother ; mild and sentimental, a student of
books, while the other has been studying men.
Rose at four, and how it did rain ! We ate our breakfast, and
then wandered about longing to be gone, and hearing everybody's
wonder that we should think of going. At length the rain abated,
and we escaped. At noon the clouds broke slowly and beauti
fully away, leaving us to enjoy an enchanting ride to Albany,
which we reached at sunset
Tuesday. — Left Albany at an early hour ; dined at Lebanon ;
lodged at Pittsfield, a truly beautiful town, disgraced by most mis
erable inns.
Thursday. — The chaise horse very sick ; detained two hours.
Saw Mrs. McKay. She looked thin, but raild and friendly. We
proceeded slowly to Worthington. Arrived late ; had a perfecdy
neat and good dinner in the neatest of houses, and concluded that
it was prudent to remain where we were certain of nice beds rather
than try Chesterfield, six miles further.
Friday. — Arose at an early hour, and proceeded on through
Chesterfield raountains. I enjoyed a most delightful walk up the
principal hill, the road winding through woods of beautiful spruce
and hemlock, which sheltered me frora the heat of the sun, al
ready intense. The river, which I had admired so much before,
seeraed even more impetuous and beautiful, and the hour and my
solitariness threw a wild enchantment over every picturesque ob
ject, which delighted me beyond expression. From Chesterfield to
Northampton the road descended through a beautiful country.
Met Mrs. Dexter and Mary. Dined at Northampton, and reached
Belchertown to lodge, quite overpowered with heat.
Saturday. — Dined at Brookfield ; lodged at Worcester.
Sunday. — Arose very early, full of the delightful hope of reach
ing our homes at night. It was interesting, and to me a novelty,
to ride through the different villages on the Sabbath, and view the
groups who on foot or in various rustic vehicles were repairing to
church, all looking so neat and respectable. At seven o'clock raet,
with joy and gratitude, the dear friends, who had all been spared
frora sickness and sorrow.

VIII

VARIOUS LETTERS
1S19-1S27
henry GARY TO HIS MOTHER, ON RECEIVING HER PORTRAIT,
PAINTED BY STUART AT HER SON'S REQUEST.
New York, May 19, 1819.
Y dearest mother will no doubt have raore than once felt a
little surprised that I have not before this thanked her for
the favor of her portrait; and indeed I can myself in no
other way so satisfactorily account for this delay as by
assuring her that it has enabled me so fully to realize her presence,
and to exchange kind looks with her, as almost to raake words un
necessary to my heart. It is indeed certain that the overflowings
of pleasure which it produced, as soon as I could fully realize the
resemblance, seera to me in some sort already to have been com
municated to you. It is our chief pleasure, and it is like the com
pleting of the happiness of ray faraily circle, to have you looking
down upon us in this way, an almost living witness of it
And yet with all this, do you know, my dear mother, neither my
wife nor myself was at first satisfied with it ; even more, I was ac
tually disappointed at the first opening of the case. The painting
seemed to me to be a fine one, but it did not yield me the full
gratification that I had expected ; it did not present to my senses
the exact image upon which my memory has so often reposed in
happiness. The expression of countenance is different from that
in which you were accustomed to rise up before me, and I could
not help at first exclaiming to myself : " Why, this is not my
mother ! " But after it was hung up, I found your character and
attitude' so perfectly delineated that I felt the influence of your
presence, and that Stuart had done all that his art admits of ;

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 283
and I am now every day more and more convinced that you must
have exactly resembled the portrait while you were listening to
him, or refiecting upon some observation of his. Indeed, I re
member the look, and to have seen you wear it after reading. The
book is, therefore, very happily introduced. . . .
With best love to all at home, being with constant truth, my dear
est mother. Your most affectionate son,
H. Gary.
MARGARET GARY TO HER SISTER ANN.
Chambers Street, N. Y., October 30, 1820.
See how important it is, my dear Ann, to be correct in forming
our habits ! Because I wrote to you so often when I was here
before, I feel as if it were a part of my visit to write to you. My
reception from my friends was all that I could wish. Sophia says
my coming was providential for her ; and indeed she never more
wanted the counsel of a friend. I think I shall bring both the
dear girls horae with rae. They are very desirous of accompany
ing rae, and my mother's kind invitation prevents any difficulty.
I have little doubt they will go to their father in the spring, and a
little time passed at Chelsea will be beneficial, for, as Henry says,
my mother's example is like the dew of heaven, imperceptible and
influential. Thank the dear friend in Beacon Street who put a Katy-cake
in my bag. It was shared, in good time, with four others, two of
them sweet little girls of three and five, traveling with their
mother. A Miss Allen found me out in the steamboat as your
sister. She was rejoiced, she said, to meet me ; but I 'm sure I
did her very little good, only I promised to let Miss Betsy Fra-
sier know, when I returned, that she was so far on. her journey.
So, if you have an opportunity, pray report her. Mrs. E. and her
two daughters were with us all the way, though in different coaches.
A gentleraan once said of her, " She is a lady much governed by
expediency." She is a fine manager indeed. The coach in which
she rode to Providence was a large, rumbling vehicle, with many
openings to admit the wind and rain ; ours was very comfortable.
The next morning the carriages were changed. Mrs. E.'s narae
having been put at the head of the list of travelers, she had taken

284 THE CARY LETTERS
her choice. The landlord, a little conscious, I suppose, of the
trick, proposed that all the ladies should ride together ; but that
we would not consent to, and got on very well, congratulating our
selves (Mrs. Prescott, Mrs. Cleveland, and I, who all three sat
both days on the back seat, and had a great deal of pleasant
conversation) that we had a close carriage the day before, when it
rained. At all times I beHeve the disposition to be happy and
to make the best of circumstances outweighs the little advantages
which policy can secure for itself. Everywhere Mrs. E. reached
before us ; however, she was an entertaining companion, and I am
indfibted to her for a good deal of amusing conversation. There
were more ladies on board the steamboat from New Haven than
I have ever known, and I was likely to come off very shabbily
for a bed, when the black woman who officiates there suddenly
recollected me. " Why, Miss Cary, is it you ? " Her memory
awakened mine. When I went on with Mrs. Palfrey I had been
left alone for an hour, and rather than give way to some unpleas
ant reflectioiis, I had assisted Sarah in making her numerous beds
by putting on the pillow-cases. I fared all the better for this
recognition, but was obliged to be contented with a bed in the gen
tlemen's cabin, which they had partly given up to the ladies by
having a green curtain drawn across it You may imagine I laid
as still as a mouse when I was once in ray nest ; but in the morn
ing, tired of lying with little sleep, and wishing to be dressed be
fore broad daylight, I turned gently towards the floor ; but, instead
of my feet resting on the bench by which I had climbed up the
night before, and which I expected to meet, I suddenly descended
at least five feet, and so alarmed the next neighbor, the head of
whose bed was close to the foot of mine, that he called out, " Hol
lo ! " as if he had been attacked. I got over this very well by
keeping quite still for a minute, and had the pleasure of hearing
the sound mentioned without being accounted for to all the neigh
borhood. . . .
With best love all round. Believe me ever yours,
M. G. Gary.

WILLIAM H. GARDINER 285

WILLIAM H. GARDINER TO HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW, THOMAS G.
CARY, WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE SPEECHES OF WEBSTER AND
ADAMS AT THE CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION. Boston, December 21, 1820.
My dear Sir, — We have heard of your wife's safe arrival by
Artemas, who returned on Tuesday night I have no news for her.
Caroline is almost as well as ever, and Nancy much better. Much
of the fashionable and literary world is to be at Plymouth this
day, to-morrow being the two hundredth anniversary of the landing
of our forefathers. Unfortunate wights as they were, to land at
Plymouth, of all places on the face of the globe ! Had they landed
anywhere else, I don't know that I should not have helped cele
brate rayself. Colonel Perkins has gone down, and aunt Sam.
Webster delivers the address. How he has been able to prepare
one I cannot imagine, as he has been every day speaking or pre
siding in the convention. We had three days of very great de
bate. Better parliamentary speaking I never expect to hear. The
motion was for abolishing the old basis of the Senate, and appor
tioning it among the several counties according to population, in
stead of property. At first the raotion was not opposed, no one
supposing that there was Deraocracy enough in that assembly to
upset this fundaraental principle in our Constitution, especially
after the very flimsy speech in which it was brought before the
House by Dearborn. It passed without debate by a majority of
ninety. Upon the motion for a reconsideration the great debate
arose, in which the whole strength of the House was engaged.
Lincoln supported the Democratic side with great ability, but was
completely taken to pieces and turned into ridicule by Story and
Webster. Webster closed the debate on the third day with, I think,
the greatest speech I ever heard, and the result was a majority of
near ninety the other way. Besides these gentlemen, we had very
able speeches from Mr. Adams, Mr. Prescott, Mr. Saltonstall, Mr.
Lawrence, Mr. Dutton, etc. Mr. Adams, at the age of eighty-six,
spoke for half an hour, — better certainly than any man except
Webster. With affectionate remembrances to Mary and Sally, I remain
Very truly your friend,
W. H. Gardiner.

286 THE CARY LETTERS

GEORGE GARY TO HIS BROTHER THOMAS.
Chelsea, January 3, 1821.
Dear Tom, — We have been all shut up to-day by a driving
snowstorm which promises most glorious sleighing ; it has fallen
certainly a foot of twelve inches on a level, and cleared off a beau
tiful moonlight evening. Now, as I have been at home all day and
read a very long sermon, and thought about it and talked about it,
my mind begins to turn towards my friends about the country.
Now, after a page of preface, it is time to say something ; so
I will even begin with the ladies that I met at a very pleasant
party at Mrs. S. G. Perkins's last Friday evening, — a tea party.
Your sister Caroline was there. She had on a very becoraing high-
crowned mob-cap ; looked a little pale, but very interesting. The
Misses Gardner were there, the Misses Cabot, and the Misses
Pratt, etc. Miss Lyman was also there, and if I had a ready faculty
of describing such beautiful things I could say pages to you ; she
very much surpasses Miss Hart in my eye. Mrs. Franklin Dex
ter was there, and woman never looked raore lovely. She had on
a turban of white muslin, and her forehead looked as white as the
driven snow. We danced, while Miss  played on the piano,
and wound up, or as I should have said closed the evening, with
a country dance, which Mr. F. G. Gray contrived to be in motion
at both ends, the leaders to meet in the middle and then go back
again. Harriet's letter accompanying this, I believe, will give you Ann's
movements ; and if you could see the accounts and rascally calcu
lations and averages of interest that lie before rae, you would say,
" Sufficient unto this man are his employments."
We are not very well at Chelsea just now. However, Wdliam
will be with us before the week closes, and that will stimulate the
old folks into tune again.
Give my love to everybody. Yours truly,
G. B. Gary.

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 287

MARGARET GARY TO HER BROTHER T. G. GARY.
Retreat, July 2, 1821,
Though I did not intend it, my dear Tom, I cannot write this
date without commenting a little on the day. It is just thirty years
since our family landed in Boston on just such a looking day as
this. Pain and pleasure met our arrival, and the web of life has
been of a mingled texture ever since. But I must not mount my
hobby, lest it should interfere with the main object I have in
view. I thank you for the information of dear Mary's safe arrival with
her party ; it greeted me just after ray return from Newburyport.
Yes, my dear Tora, I have accomplished that grand undertaking.
Last Tuesday morning my mother and I set out with the good
wishes of all our friends, and some anxiety of theirs about the
manner in which we should cross the floating bridge, and a little
more uneasiness in my own mind on that subject than I chose to
express. Charles, with Eliza Cabot and Ann, had been to the
beach the day before by way cf preparation. They were clearly in
favor of the whipping system. Mr, Tuckerman and Sarah, who
with all their children met us at their gate, recommended great
mildness, carefully to avoid the whip, and give the horse time to
see the nature of the object before hira. I listened to all and
avaded myself of everybody's advice. As we approached the
bridge there was no mortal on the road. I talked about indifferent
subjects to my mother, and holding a steady rein was prepared for
whatever might happen, and, to shorten my story, went through
regular gradations of mild and violent methods to surmount this
obstacle ; but the worst of the story is that, at every bridge we came
to afterwards, our Rosinante felt his tremors renewed, and raisbe-
haved so much, not only on the journey, but during an expedition
I raade over the Merrimac to visit a friend, that we deterrained to
return by the Newburyport turnpike, which we did in spite of high
hills and steep descents, which appeared dreadful till we ap
proached very near them. Now the result of this, sorae people
would think, would be that my mother and I would remain quietly
at home the rest of our lives, congratulating ourselves on hair
breadth escapes ; tout au contraire, we intend to set out next Monday

288 THE CARY LETTERS
morning in the sarae chaise, with the said horse, and travel on to
you, that as your bridge is of so remarkably permanent a nature,
and your opinion of Rosinante so exalted, you may just give us the
meeting Wednesday evening, and convince us which is the only
way to get safely across your river, for to the bridge and no far
ther will our dear mother and I adventure ourselves alone.
My mother desires her love to you, and thanks you for your
letter, which she will answer in person. The expectation of see
ing you and your dear Mary, and the precious little Pearl, will
keep up her spirits, she says, during the journey, and that it is the
greatest proof of affection she can give you. Ann and Harriet
also desire a great deal of love, and with disinterested kindness do
everything they can to promote our journey. You know, my dear
Tom, that though to some people this undertaking might appear
trifling, to my mother, who has been accustomed to have a strong
arm to leafi upon, it appears formidable. The jaunt to Newbury
port is a preparatory step, and she seeras all the better for it.
We found aunt Gary very much altered of late, debilitated by
the heat, and suffering from a severe cold which has settled on her
lungs. She could not raise her spirits while we were there, or
converse with any of her usual pleasantry, but she was kind and
placid, anticipating death and apparently well prepared for it
She inquired very kindly after you, and wanted to know if you did
not intend to corae to Newburyport again soon. For my part I
had great difficulty not to yield to depression of spirits while I was
there ; all the furniture of the house so exactly in the same state it
was in when I first visited there twenty-six years ago ! It was a
body without a soul. It is sixteen years since I was there last,
and then uncle Gary, and Tom and Sam, and aunt Gary in her
energy, and Molly Nelson, as busy as a bee, with the frequent
guests, were all moving about. There was nothing in that house
that excited any desire in my heart but the picture of my father.
I was never tired of contemplating it ; I did not know how to tear
myself away. I know it is not a likeness of what we knew of him,
but as the green bud gives promise of the celestial rosy red within,
after seeking a likeness I caught a spirit in the eye which dis
coursed of after times ; I traced in it a resemblance to one of his
sons, and easily imagined it might be a faithful portrait of the
ardent, noble youth who carried into a strange and dangerous

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 289
country those firm principles of religion and integrity which no
hazard could appall and no temptation destroy.
I look forward with delight, my dear Tom, to seeing you under
your own roof. In the meantime be assured of the love of
Your affectionate sister,
M. G. Gary.
We have found your letter giving directions where to stop at
Bolton and Westminster, and intend, if possible, to pursue your
course and reach Brattleboro' in two days.
FROM MARGARET CARY, WHILE ON A VISIT TO HER BROTHER TOM
AT BRATTLEBORO', VERMONT. Brattleboro', July 9, 1821.
Well, dearest Harriet, supposing Ann has received Tom's letter
of Friday evening mentioning our safe arrival, I suppose that you
would Hke to hear some of the particulars. The first thing we
did Thursday raorning was to lose our way. Taking a wrong turn
for the Concord turnpike, we found ourselves in West Carabridge,
a very pleasant part of the country ; then at Lexington, through a
part of Concord and Sudbury woods, which latter was delightful ;
we reached Bolton at half past twelve. There we ordered dinner,
tea, etc., and laid down to take a nap, congratulating ourselves on
having got on so well. After we had duly refreshed ourselves, our
dear raother made acquaintance with the woman of the house, a
Mrs. Hildreth, and you would have been diverted to see us all
three descending the cellar stairs to examine an ice-house. You
see we are travelers who investigate the country. At Lancaster
we made an extensive circuit by mistake, the only pleasant part of
which was coming to a large brick building with a handsome fence
round it, gardens, trees, etc., all about it, giving the idea of a
nobleman's seat On inquiry, I found it was Mrs. Cleveland's, and
we rode round to the door to see Margaret Prescott, who I knew
was staying there.
Do tell George I often repeated his last words in the course of
the afternoon : " Now, Margaret, make him go through, for he is
able to do it." So at eight o'clock we arrived, all three very much
tired, at Westminster. The horse went to a good stable; my
mother and I examined a suite of apartments, and selected the
19

290 THE CARY LETTERS
inner one, which had a light closet connected with it ;" then seated
ourselves to a comfortable dish of tea, with all the etceteras. We
had not been long there when we were notified that a Mr. and
Mrs. Perkins and two young ladies had arrived in a coach-and-
four, and were to occupy the adjoining chambers to ours ; therefore
it was hoped we should retire soon. We took the hint very readily,
only expressing our concern about quitting our chamber early
enough in the morning, as we wished to ride eight miles to break
fast. We were informed that the party intended also to be stir
ring very soon. At four o'clock our dear mother, who is an ex
cellent traveler, arose, and long before five we were impatient to
be at liberty. At last I knocked at the door and found my hopes
confirmed : that the two young ladies were next to us. After some
difficulty we raade our way through a door that led into the apart
ment of one of the faraily, and thus got clear, as we thought, of
the Mr, and Mrs. P., who we supposed were Sam Perkins and
lady, but at the step of the door stood Mr. P. He reraained there
while I was trudging about paying the bill, ordering the chaise,
etc. ; and he handed us into the chaise, raaking sorae general re
raarks to ray mother. We breakfasted at seven o'clock at Temple
ton, and met there sorae interesting Quakers. In the course of
the forenoon the carriage passed us while I was driving and my
mother walking down a very steep hill. By some unknown cause
we quitted the highway and dined at Warwick at a Mr. Fay's, who
took excellent care of the horse. Between three and four we found
ourselves involuntarily drawing near to the carriage ; the horse was
in such spirits we could not keep at a distance. The coach stopped,
Mr. Perkins alighted, walked up to the chaise, and made many
apologies for not having discovered who we were before. Mrs.
Perkins had recognized us frora the coach window. Would we
allow him to take charge of the chaise, and take our seats with
Mrs. P. in the carriage ? With diflSculty we declined his polite
ness and Mrs. P.'s entreaties that my mother at least would ride
with her and let Elizabeth ride with me. But I am filling ray
paper and writing in haste too, which prevents me from selecting
ray observations. I raust tell you in general that we had raany
alarms at the hills, many of which my dear mother tripped down,
and many I walked up to spare the horse, and at eight o'clock
we arrived at Brattleboro'.

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 29 1
My dear mother has got over her fatigue entirely ; walked to
meeting yesterday, heard Dr. Wells preach, and received visits
frora Mrs. Chapin and Mrs. Boott ; has taken a fine ride with
Tom, and all things are going well. We shall return this week,
as first proposed, delighted with dear Mary and Tom and the dar
ling little one, and highly gratified with the journey in every re
spect The horse has behaved admirably, and not started once.
My mother's best love to all her dear children. Ever yours,
M. G. Gary.
MARGARET GARY TO HER SISTERS ANN AND HARRIET, WRITTEN
ON A JOURNEY WITH HER MOTHER TO NEW YORK, WHERE THEY
WERE TO STAY WITH MR. AND MRS. HENRY GARY.
Providence, September 19, 1821, 1-4 past 10 o'clock.
What would our dear girls give to know just how their beloved
mother was at this tirae, and can I have the heart to go to rest
without writing them a line ? Oh, no ; forbid it, Harriet Byron !
forbid it, ad the pattern women that ever existed ! for never did
one of them want pen and ink to express the joys and sorrows of
their hearts! But hold! I must not fid my paper with exclama
tions. Our dear raother looked so pale and sad while we were jolting
over the paveraents that I thought they were killing her, and
wished raore than once that we had not ventured from home ; but
I soon found out that the dear lady's heart was with her Nancy
and Harriet. She brightened again when she got over this tender
feeling, for you know it is not worth while, dears, to keep looking
back when we are going forward. Then we stopped at Dedham
to change horses. Immediately on alighting I proposed to my
raother to go and call on Mrs. Wainwright We set out, and
Avery with us, but before we got half way she was very much fa
tigued and discouraged. Finally we reached the house, and our
friend went back to bring the stage when it should be ready. As
it happened, for want of a horse it was delayed half an hour,
which time my mother passed with Mrs. W. and Eliza very pleas
antly : and, after taking some lavender and sitting a little while,
was quite rested. Before you get this you will have heard of the
circumstance, for Mrs. W. promised you should. Well, we rode

292 THE CARY LETTERS
and rode and rode, and a quarter before nine reached this place,
my mother dreadfully fatigued. We came up to the chamber, and
she seated herself in a chair and laid her head on the bedside,
and said she should not be able to stir downstairs again. So the
horrors came over me again. What cruel children, to drag their
mother from her quiet home ! But I mustered about and got the
baggage up, and we heard that supper was ready, and then the
dear lady thought she could try to go down ; and the savory steak
and the exhdarating tea and the excellent toast and a little bit of
chicken, ray dears, gave fresh vigor to the systera ; and then we
came upstairs, and had the bed warmed, and talked of the dear
girls and of being on the road to New York ; and the dear lady is
now sweetly sleeping, and I, wishing you a good-night, ara going
to do the sarae.
New London, 10 o'clock. — Rose this morning at six o'clock, after
a good night's rest, but the breakfast was not to be ready till eight
Began " Paradise Regained " to my mother, which beguiled the
time, though it was unfortunate to have to wait so long, for the
coldness of the morning and fatigue of yesterday made every com
fort doubly necessary. Our young men are very attentive and
kind, Avery wished us to be accommodated in the best manner,
and ordered that our party should have a room to ourselves ; so
we missed the public breakfast, and had to wait tdl that was over
before we got ours ; and it was after nine before we got into the
carriage. Everything is excellent on the road as to beds and provisions.
Our dear mother bears up finely. She is not at all afraid of steep
hills, or driving fast down them. It was a little exertion of her
courage this evening, just at dusk, to drive down a steep hill into
the team-boat to cross the ferry, but Mrs. Ferrard was so much
alarmed that we only thought of comforting her, and that you
know has a good effect on all the rest. Well, we were all day rid
ing, and got here at eight The house is full of company; two
stages full arrived after ours and one before. Our party has been
a very kindly disposed one. Our dear mother is in bed and asleep.
I dread the weather for to-morrow, for if we are confined to a
cabin full of ladies and children, some of the latter with whooping-
cough, there is great danger of her being sick ; but still I hope
for the best, and at any rate am glad the riding is over.

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 293
September 21st. — Ah, where is that? A blank, my dears. It
was passed on board the stearaboat. A very great swell of the sea
produced the natural consequences. Our dear mother was very
sick ; indeed, it wdl take her some days to get quite over it, and
if there had been a back door I beHeve we should have made
our escape and run home. However, it is past ; and the night !
it, too, passed away, and at eight o'clock we landed. Henry had
been waiting an hour and a half, then went home to breakfast.
Wdliam was in attendance, and conveyed us with our baggage to
a coach. The kindest reception we have received from all the
dear faraily, and they are all perfectly well. Our mother soon after
breakfast put on a loose gown and laid down and had a fine sleep,
after receiving a visit from Mrs. March in her chamber. I have
unpacked, and my mother is at the raoment dressing herself, look
ing much refreshed.
Margaret is rather thin, but looks well. Sophia and Elizabeth
are both finely. Little Hal is as much improved as possible, and
is a fine chdd. Henry and Wdliam are in fine spirits, and look
admirably. Give my best love to all at both houses. Tell George
it would have done his heart good to see the pretty ladies on
board, particularly a lovely Jewess.
BeHeve me ever yours most affectionately,
M. G. Gary,
MRS. GARY TO HER DAUGHTER ANN.
New York, October 10, 1821.
We passed a very pleasant evening at Mrs. Hurd's, without any
party save ourselves, our kind entertainers, and one lady, a Miss
Djvenport, who was an agreeable auxdiary on the occasion ; and
we stayed untd half past nine. This raorning was fixed for our
dear M. to go on board the steamboat at six o'clock ; but, alas !
we all overslept ourselves, and when she got there the boat had
been gone twenty minutes. You may suppose the disappointment ;
but at eleven o'clock, another boat being in readiness, she and
Wdliam set off, expecting to reach Trenton by six in the evening,
and, by riding until nine or so to-night, reposing until two or three,
to reach Philadelphia at seven or eight to-morrow morning. The
night is fine, and I anticipate rauch gratification for her. Her

294 THE CARY LETTERS
church, you know, is all-important to her. She is to stay till Tues
day, when I shall expect her. I have passed the day very pleas
antly. In the morning Mrs. C, myself, littie Hal, the nurse, and
man Joseph, took a ride of a few railes about the suburbs in the
wagon. The horse is very gentle. We returned at two o'clock.
Little Hal had slept the whole way. To-day is the littie fellow's
birthday, and he is certainly a very promising child. We dine at
three every day, unless there is company. At twelve I take a
slice of dry toasted bread, with a glass of old wine, and I am very
well sustained until the dinner hour.
This afternoon we walked beyond Grace Church, and on our
return visited Park Place, where are the colleges and the profes
sors' houses, and came home. I am quite astonished to be able to
walk so much without fatigue, but it raust be allowed that Broad
way is a delightful place to walk in. The street is elegant, the
sidewalks so wide and easy to the feet, flagged with broad stones.
The variety you see, — young and old, fair and not fair, the gayety
of the scene, and altogether.
Sunday, after dinner. — I cannot go out this afternoon frora real
weariness ; and is it not then allowable to give you an hour at
my pen ? Mrs. March passed last evening here. Little Thomas,
who is a fine boy ten years old, had promised to be more indus
trious at school if he might be permitted to go to the theatre ;
Mr. M, took him accordingly. He seems a very fond, also a
very judicious, father. Retired at ten. Missed my dear Margaret
very much ; but Elizabeth Henry, supplying her place, read to me,
and the night passed off. The morning sun was always beautiful
to me. This morning it was unusually so, and I determined to
go to Grace Church, where I was most highly gratified. M. P.-'
and I partook of the communion together, a delightfully soleran
and not to be forgotten by me service, more impressive than ours,
as the bread and wine, as you know, are administered by the
priest at the altar, all kneeling in a peculiarly striking raanner.
It seeraed to me I never was in so holy a place ; the very air, said
I to myself, breathes sanctity, I believe you have never com-
rauned in an Episcopal church ; I never did in this country. Think
of the difference in Grenada, — the priest, the clerk, and myself,
1 Mrs. Henry Cary is spoken of as Margaret Pyne, in distinction from her
sister-in-law.

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 295
no one other being present; a temporary, ordinary building; no
music ! But I will not take up your time to draw a comparison.
I trust the devotion of the heart was not wanting, and He who
regardeth not externals was present to my mind. . .
The Kemble family are just returned from the country, and sent
me word they intend coraing to see us. Ah, how painful as well
as pleasurable associations will possess my mind at the sight 0
your dear father's friend ; they resided together, were merchants
together, visited the sarae circle during ten years at the island of
St Kitts, when they were between twenty-five and thirty years of
age ! Fifty years ago ! Adieu. Yours, S. Gary
MARGARET G. GARY TO HER SISTER HARRIET.
Chambers Street, September 29, 1821.
Our dear raother looks extremely well. Her muslins are very
nicely done up, and she has at last got a piece of delicately white
ribband. As I am writing to a painter, I may utter an expression
that came into my mind yesterday as I was looking at her : " Her
head is in chaste keeping." Everybody looks at her with love and
admiration. We had a delightful visit frora Mr. Brevoort the other evening.
He had been twice before, I never knew hira so agreeable. He
expressed his surprise, on coraing in, at seeing rae. So you see he
did not expect that marama would bring her daughter with her.
I am very well satisfied to be in the shade. . . . She walked to
Mrs. Brevoort's, which is certainly three quarters of a mile. They
were going to have a dinner party of gentlemen. Henry was to
have been one, but the arrival of Mr. Hopkinson the evening be
fore, who with two sons was to dine with us, obliged him to de
cline. Mrs. Brevoort was quite indisposed, lying down, and excused
herself frora seeing us. Mr. Brevoort received us, and, after we
had adraired the elegant parlor in which we were first received,
and the dining-room where the cloth was laying, and in which was
a fine picture of Mr. Irving and a painting of Washington taken
iramediately after the war, he took us into his library, an elegant
littie oval room upstairs, away from the street, and lighted from

296 THE CARY LETTERS
above. The table, a desk, was in the centre of the roora, irame
diately under the skylight, and the books all round. I could have
sat down there for a couple of hours very pleasantly. My mother
was shown a number of fine engravings and beautifully bound
books. Mr. B. did the honors of his house very handsomely, and
we left him to receive his dinner party. We went then to Mr.
Wainwright's, whose establishment is truly elegant His house, a
fine, large one, well furnished, is in a pleasant street at the back
of his church, the finest within of any in the city, and the most
fashionable congregation, A little garden connects the two build
ings, through which he goes into the vestry. The salary, no doubt,
is good, and there is probably not a faraily in the city who would
not be happy to entertain Mr, Wainwright. What a situation for
a young man plainly brought up, with little expectations, and de
voting hiraself to a religious life ! It would turn the heads of
many men, but he seeras truly amiable and good. His pretty little
wife received us very kindly ; showed her infant, which is a fine
child ; told us her little daughter was asleep, and Mr. W. in his
study very much engaged. My mother, however, intended to see
Mr. W,, regretted his being engaged, but must interrupt him for a
Httle while. He appeared, conversed with my raother, urged her
making a long visit while she was here, and expressed his hopes
that his mother would arrive before we went away. The sermon
was none the worse for the interruption, for my mother walked to
Grace Church yesterday, sat in Mr. Brevoort's pew with Henry
and Margaret, and was highly gratified with the services. . . .
ELIZABETH BLOIS HENRY TO HARRIET GARY.
New York, January 23, 1822.
My DEAR Harriet, — I gladly take advantage of the departure
of Colonel Perkins, and of a few leisure moraents, to answer your
most kind letter.
Mary and I often talk of you, and wish you could be with us.
We have some very pleasant Httle times up in her room, which I
know you would enjoy very much. Your paintings stand on her
mantel-piece, which constantly remind us of you, and inspire me
with a great desire to resume my drawing. Indeed, having a cora-
panion in the pursuit, I have made two or three attempts, and sue-

MISS ELIZABETH BLOIS HENRY 297
ceeded, to the astonishment of Mary and myself ; but, unfortu
nately, my works cannot descend with glory to posterity, as I in
variably ruin them by shading, I can only regret that such fine
sketches should be lost in a thunder cloud of crayon which my
awkward hand throws over them,
I mentioned in my letter to Miss Cary that we were all going to
a famous ball at Miss D,'s house. It is all over, and I suppose
you will wish to hear what kind of a party it was, as you have
sometiraes told rae that through the loopholes of Retreat you had
no objection to peep at the beau monde, which I assure you is
much pleasanter than being wedged in it as I was the other even
ing. There were three large rooms, and as full as possible, two
very handsorae parlors below, and one large dancing-room.
After raaking our bows to the Lady D., who might be a bur
lesque upon all the ladies of that name who were ever read of or
thought of, we marched upstairs, and just got inside the door.
There was now neither ingress nor egress to be thought of. There
we stood, trying to breathe, and lamenting our beautiful dresses,
which were not perceptible. It was the first party I had been to ;
therefore it afforded great diversion to see all these people crowded
together, looking at another crowd in the raiddle of the roora, who
were making an attempt to dance, at imminent risk of trimmings
of head-dresses, — I might say, of heads themselves. By degrees
the crowd dispersed, and, as we stayed till three o'clock, we had
several very pleasant dances. Miss D, had borrowed Mrs, Gary's
harp, and, to Mrs. G.'s great dismay, insisted on her playing. She
was very much frightened, but got through wonderfully well, and
was very much admired. Both Mrs. C's looked very well, Mary
was dressed very plain, but excited much admiration, and was
spoken of as the handsome Mrs, Cary. She has grown thinner,
and looks most sweetly. She is going this evening with us to a
small party at our friend Miss F.'s, but Mr. Gary, not being able
to go, must leave Mrs. Gary at home. I am really ashamed to
send so much of my paper covered with an account of a ball, but
as you are so much interested in your two sisters you will wish to
hear of the eclat attending their appearance even at a ball. Give
ray best love to Mrs. Cary, Miss Gary, and Ann.
Yours affectionately,
E. B. H.

298 THE CARY LETTERS
MRS. GARY TO HER SON THOMAS. August \, 1822.
My DEAR T,, — I was much gratified by your kind favor of 21st
ultimo. Last Wednesday, M. and G. passed a long afternoon at
Nahant, and in the evening of that day or the next raorning the
former wrote you circumstantially about your dear wife and litde
daughter. There they heard of Mr. Jaraes Perkins's illness, in
consequence, as I learned, of leaving off his flannels. The illness
was short, and yesterday afternoon he was buried. You, no doubt,
have had the particulars. I scarcely have known these many years
any one so sincerely lamented. A worthy and excellent raan and
great loss to the community, not to mention the affliction of all the
family, araong whom I understood, I think from you, subsisted the
most perfect harmony. His late munificence in giving the Athe
naeum has gained him lasting credit G. was at the funeral, and,
although a handsome one, not very long. Mrs. Otis and Sophia
passed an hour here yesterday ; had heard that Mr. and Mrs. H.
Cary were here to attend the funeral. Mr. O. was one of the pall-
holders. The ladies of the family rode, and prayers were read in
church ; but G, could not tell whether those from Nahant were
there. How truly descriptive of death are those words, " In an
hour when thpu thinkest not of it, the Son of Man cometh," ap
plicable to each one of us ! Mr. P. left his town-house in perfect
health, and was brought back in three or four days a corpse ! I
feel for the survivor, and thereby my own grief is renewed. Tirae
can never blot out the reraerabrance of forraer days, and ad my
consolation is that the .Almighty has sustained me and will permit
a reunion in another life, I have had a great deal of satisfaction
in perusing a manuscript lent me by Mary Ann, which she found
among my sister Cary's papers, written by your grandraother Gary ;
some composed by herself, a sort of diary, and others extracts from
different pious authors ; mentioning the birth of your father, her
eldest son, in the year 1742, and of her two other sons, I had for
merly seen sorae raanuscripts of hers in a different handwriting ; but
lately I have corae to the conclusion that this last manuscript raust
have been copied by your father when he was very young, the hand
is'so extremely like his, and particularly the figures. You know he
wrote a very handsome hand, and he always told rae that his mother

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 299
had wrote a great deal which was in his brother T.'s possession.
George observed yesterday that he thought I must be mistaken, for
the letter C invariably resembled the letter /. Have patience, my
dear T., whde I mention a circumstance that confirms my opinion.
My brother Ellis said laughingly to my dear departed one day,
" Your C's resemble /"s, which, in writing your narae, looks like lazy,
which I am sure makes no part of your composition." I have no
occasion to say how valuable this manuscript is, nor any longer at
a loss at the excellence and sublimity of his sentiments, his sincere
piety, and ardent love of poetry, particularly of sacred poetry, the
Psalms, and hymns of different authors, and his reverence for the
Scriptures. August e^th. — Mr. Tuckerman and Margaret rode into town this
afternoon, the former to call on Mrs. Schuyler, where she received
a letter for Mary from yourselt On their return, in going to the
parsonage, they mostfortunately overtook Mr, S, Cabot on his way
to Nahant We stopped to inquire how the dear little Mary and
her mother were. He replied, " They are quite well," and Mar
garet gave hira the letter, which, to Mary's great joy, I doubt not,
ere this she has received. He was dressed in a full suit of black,
and I should say looked very serious ; but 1 think he never looks
otherwise, although it is accorapanied by a very agreeable smile.
All well. Adieu, my dear T. Yours most affectionately, S. G.
MARGARET GARY TO HER SISTER HARRIET, WHO WAS STAYING IN
NEW YORK AT HER BROTHER HENRY's HOUSE.
Retreat, January 11, 1823.
My DEAREST Harriet, — I received your letter last evening,
and a most welcome one it was. We had been talking a great deal
of you, and longing to hear, when a charraing letter came from
Margaret to my mother, in which she spoke of you with her wonted
kindness and affection, but we wanted more particular information
from your own hand. Thank you for the peep into your mind
which this has given me. I thought you would keep Christmas at
BellevOle, and am rejoiced that you had so happy an opportunity
of taking the sacrament So many circumstances combine to pro
mote your happiness at New York that I think you will always

300 THE CARY LETTERS
refer to this winter among your pleasantest I often enumerate
your sources of enjoyment, as we did you know together, before
you went on, and that reconciles me to your absence for the pres
ent. But I must not fill up my paper with commonplace observa
tions while you are expecting to receive intelligence of our move
ments here.
In the first place, Tora is doing finely. He passed last Sunday
with us, and this week has been making calls on several of his
friends in Boston, Mary rides every fine day, and the sleighing is
excellent with us. The little girls are quite well. Nancy P. is
making preparations to go on with them, and within the next fort
night I suppose they will set out What a precious group they
will be ! and how raany hearts will hover round thera, vainly wish
ing to promote their comfort ! But I doubt not they will be con
ducted in safety. I must give you some details of this week, that
you may know what we are about, Monday morning, after Tora
had left us, I sat down diligently to my greatcoat, which had been
cut out and basted by Miss Loren, Yes, I have had innumerable
disappointments on that subject, and not till this very afternoon
completed the job. That day and the next were passed by us very
quietly in working and reading " The Court of James I." Wednes
day we dined at the parsonage. They are all quite well there at pres
ent, Edward returned to Norwich yesterday, having behaved very
well through the vacation, Abby has gone to her uncle Edward's
for the winter, to learn French, etc, and is likely to pass her time
more gayly than she had anticipated, for she has already been to
two balls, Thursday, which you know is an important day with
us, after discussing for some time the ways and raeans of going to
town and returning again, we borrowed Mr, Tuckerman's chaise-
sleigh, and Ann and I set off with Newman to drive. Ann went
to Pearl Street and shopping, while I passed part of the morning
at work in Pleasant Street She then called for me, and we left
our cards at Mrs. Quincy's ; called on the bride, Mrs. Sage, at her
mother's ; and made a very pleasant little visit at Mrs. Sawyer's,
who looked quite well, and had had a letter from Mrs. Lee the day
before, which seemed to please the dear old lady very much. There
Ann and I parted. She went to Mrs. Otis's to dine, Mrs. Dutton's
to tea and lecture. I hastened home, where I arrived at two o'clock.
Now, how had our dear mother passed the morning ? Not alone.

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 301
as I had supposed, but receiving visitors, who raade our Httle parlor
a more woridly scene than any Ann and I had been introduced to.
I wish I could give you her own words, for you know with what
spirit she describes these things: "The room was in complete
order, the hearth clean and a good fire ; Mary Ann, who has a
whitlow on her finger, seated with her books. I went upstairs to
dress rayself, when I thought I would just go down and iron the
strings of the flannels, and bring thera up to dry in my chamber.
I skipped downstairs, and had just got an iron in my hand when
Mrs. Quincy's sleigh appeared," Mrs, Q., Mrs, Morton, and Httle
Nancy were in it. My mother was soon downstairs, after having
given directions about cake, and they had a good deal of pleasant
conversation, when littie Nancy observed that Mrs. Sullivan was
coraing. " Not Mrs, Sullivan, I believe, my dear," for my mother
had seen one of the little Thorndykes through the window, and
judged that it was Mrs. Otis ; and so it proved, with Mrs. George
Lyman. Mrs. Quincy and Mrs. Otis would not have raet, I fancy,
if they could have avoided it However, all passed off well, Mrs.
Quincy getting away as soon as she could, and Mrs. Otis paying
her a thousand attentions. I found ray mother in fine spirits, satis
fied with her retirement from the world, and amusing herself with
this transient view of it, only regretting our absence, and I was
indeed sorry to miss my share of the visits ; but you know how
often it happens so. Friday passed as usual, with the additions of
Mr, and Mrs, H, Tuckerman to tea, and here is Saturday evening !
My mother and Ann just gone upstairs, George still with his book.
The weather very cold. Tom has sent word he shall not venture
to Chelsea again at present,
I am just going to cover the plants, and then good-night.
Your most affectionate sister,
M. G. Gary.
MARGARET G. GARY TO HER BROTHER THOMAS G. CARY.
Retreat, March 3, 1824.
My DEAR Tom, — I had a very pleasant day lately, and feel
desirous of enjoying it over again with you. Mr. and Mrs. Dewey
have corae to Boston to make preparations for going to housekeep
ing. They passed last week at Mrs. Godman's, who gave all her
Chelsea friends an invitation to fix on a day and pass it with them.

302 THE CARY LETTERS
The weather was damp and my mother could not go. Mr. and
Mrs. Tuckerman, Ann, Charles, and myself were there ; the rest
of the company were the Rev. Dr. Codman, Mrs. Lee, Miss C.
Farnhara, and last, not least. Dr. Ghanning. It was the first
time I had seen the latter since his return from Europe. Kind
inquiries passed between us, and then I was contented to sit
quietly among the circle of listeners, whde he entertained us with
accounts of individuals whora he had raet with in his tour. His
manner is more easy and pleasant than it was before his travels.
His health appears to be good, Mrs. Codman says he thinks it is
best now to exert himself to the utmost, and not, frora fear of
hurting himself, to avoid any opportunity of doing good, and that he
is now as superior to what he was before he went to Europe as he
then was to every other. He conversed for at least two hours
after dinner while we all sat round the table. He described him
self as being one Sunday afternoon at Grasmere, a retired and
beautiful place, not yet publicly resorted to, two and a half rades
from the residence of Wordsworth, which you know is on one of
the lakes of Curaberland. He tried in vain to get a chaise, or any
other corafortable mode of conveyance, but was at last accommo
dated with a litde open cart. He found Wordsworth — who, by
the bye, has always been a favorite poet of Mr. G.'s — in his garden,
surrounded by a party of friends, whora he iramediately left and
conducted his guest into his study. There they passed two hours
in close conversation, principally on national poetry ; and when
Mr, C. rose to take leave, Mr. W. declared his intention of accom
panying him, and, for the sake of continuing their intercourse,
seated themselves in the cart What a pleasant occurrence for a
journalist ! Southey, who lives in that neighborhood, was also
visited with great pleasure, and described as a raan of great raod
esty and piety. Wordsworth, it seems, has meddled with politics
lately, and obtained a sinecure under government, which has much
changed the tone of his feelings. In London was Coleridge, a
man full of abstract speculations, very talkative, and formed on
the model of the German mystics ; now engaged in writing a trea
tise on the Divine Logos.
Mrs. Fry had her share of attention and admiration. Mr. and
Mrs. Ghanning went to Newgate to see and converse with her.
She did not appear, as Mr, G. had expected, thin and emaciated.

MRS. HENRY CARY 303
as if the spirit had absorbed the body, like Saint Theresa and many
other saints which are described in painting, but a tall, large, fine
figure, great dignity and sweetness, extremely raild in her deport-
raent and manner of exhorting the prisoners. After reading a
chapter in making an application of the subject, she did not en
force those passages which might be supposed to be particularly
applicable to them as sinners, but addressed them in terms of
encouragement and consolation, which, she observed to her visitors
afterwards, she had always found to be the most effectual way.
Her voice is the most delightful imaginable. Her husband does
not sympathize with her conduct, but allows her the free use of his
purse for her benevolent purposes. He is a man of plain, unas
suming raanners, and is called a wet Quaker. . . .
My mother, Harriet, and Charles unite with me in best love to
you all. George and Helen* passed Sunday and Monday here.
G  gave up his post of town treasurer, and Charles was chosen
to fill his place. You have ray best wishes, my dear Tom, for
your success in business. I remain yours affectionately, M. G. Gary.
MRS. HENRY GARY TO HER SISTER-IN-LAW HARRIET CARY.
September 8, 1S24,
My dear Harriet, —
I am very sorry I should have missed the public rejoicings at
Chelsea, especially the early turn-out from the Retreat It would
have gratified me very much to have made one of the party, not so
much-for the sake of seeing La Fayette as of saying that I accom
panied ray dear mother on so memorable an occasion. I confess
I think it one of the highest compliments that has been paid to the
" friend of Washington."
10 o'clock. — I am but just returned frora the theatre, whither I
went to have a peep at this great man. I had not the least idea
of going when I left you last. The afternoon was wet and gloomy,
and as Mr. C. came horae earlier than usual, tea was proportion-
ably in advance. Just as we had seated ourselves, my mother and
Martha came in, expressing so strong a desire to see La Fayette's
reception at the theatre that we persuaded my husband to go,

304 THE CARY LETTERS
against his will. All was bustle immediately, for it was near seven,
and our only chance of seats depended on our being in season,
Hal, who had promised himself a pleasant evening with so many
friends, was very much disappointed at this sudden breaking up of
so agreeable a party ; but as he struggled well against his feelings,
and I, too, felt desirous that he should have some strong associa
tion with the general, we agreed to take him with us. This de
lighted him extremely ; he jumped and laughed and talked all
along the street of the friend of General Washington. We got
into the house without much difficulty, and were tolerably well
placed by the box-keeper. The theatre was brilliantly lighted, and
very handsomely decorated with flags and laurel wreaths, and,
scrolls containing compliraents to the nation's guest. One box
was more highly ornamented than the rest, and furnished with
chairs for the reception of the illustrious head ; the next box to his
was filled with those persons who are best acquainted with him, or
in whom he feels the strongest interest. The most distinguished
was Mrs. Lewis, granddaughter of Mrs. Washington, or, as the
marquis calls her, Nelly Gustis. Mrs. Colden was there also, and
her husband, who does much honor to the great man. Mrs. Pringle
had a seat in this box and looked very handsomely ; and there was
a Mrs. Featherstonhaugh, a very extraordinary woman, about whom
I should like to talk to you a little, if it were possible to turn from
this engrosser of all thoughts and words. I shall only say, then,
that she is a particular friend of his, and has left her retirement at
Duanesburgh for the first tirae in thirteen years, in accordance
with his desire to see her. The house was excessively crowded
and the heat intense, but all was borne in patience ; the per
formers were in good spirits. The play was " Laugh wherr You
Can,'' a full-dress comedy, so that our suspense was tolerably .well
beguiled. Towards the end of the first act there was a buzz heard in the
lobby, and, several officers appearing in the box next to the hon
ored one, a shout began to rise among the people, but soon died
away into faint murmurs when it was discovered that the officer
was only General Mapes (the tailor) with his aides. It was not
long, however, before a shout in the street announced the arri
val of the true hero. The box keeper threw open the door of his
box, and the great man appeared before the delighted eyes of

MRS. SAMUEL CARY 305
the audience. Every one rose at his entrance, the people cheered,
and the music struck up " Welcome, La Fayette.'' All was enthu
siasm and excitement for a few moments, during which tirae the
general bowed repeatedly in the front of his box ; after which he
took his chair very raodestly, and the audience reseating themselves,
the performance was permitted to go on. The general seemed to
enjoy the play, and the people enjoyed his pleasure, for it was no
joke unless he laughed. We sat out the play, but the heat was so
great and Hal became so restless that we were glad to find a friend
who would remain with my raother and Martha while we returned
horae with our charge. He is now in bed and his father also, for
they both appeared to think the night far advanced when we got
home, though it was not more than half past nine. As I have
been writing long enough for my eyes' good, I think I shall follow
their example, and, bidding my dear H. good-night, seek acquaint
ance with my nightcap and pillow. Ever most truly yours,
M. P. Gary.
MRS. GARY TO HER SON LUGIUS.
' November 22, 1824.
I received your kind letter of April 20th. You have a right
notion of our deceased friend Marryat His character was prom
inent, and his loss sensibly felt in public and in private life, and for
one who aimed at riches, and really loved thera sufficiently to take
any pains to acquire thera, he was very charitable. When he first
went out to the West Indies, which was eariy in life, his love of gain
and high price for his goods induced the ladies of our quarter to
call him a Jew ; however I, who knew him intimately, could not
join thera, and thought his desire of accumulation rather praise
worthy in a young person who had his fortune to make in a cli-
raate he wished soon to take leave of. He united with his love
of wealth great generosity and benevolence ; and when ray friend,
Mrs. Seyraour, lost her husband, and was a destitute, afflicted
widow with two sons, he was the first to propose to the gentleraen
of Grenvdle Bay to set afoot a subscription to enable her to corae
to Araerica, and headed it hiraself with the largest sum. I have
had an account of his death frora Mrs. Marryat, the suddenness of
which has appeared in the English newspapers, and you have

306 THE CARY LETTERS
doubtless seen them, and the high encomiums that have been be
stowed upon him, but she has related some particulars which
could have been only known to herself : " He had given a great
f^te a few weeks before his death, where were assembled four hun
dred people, and he never was better, and during the Christmas
holiday he was remarkably lively and well. The morning of his
death he carae upstairs to rae and said, 'I advise you not to break
fast below' [she had been rauch indisposed], 'and then you will be
able to raeet me this evening, and we will take all the children to
the play.' I consented, and after breakfast he came up to ray
chamber again and said, 'Well, Charlotte, God bless you! we
shall meet at five.' But oh, my dear Mrs. Cary, we were never to
meet again in this world ! " She is a sincere mourner, and has
written a very long letter, accompanied with an elegant mourning
ring containing his hair, which is silver-white. This I value highly,
although it is rather too small for me, and your sisters occasionally
wear it, Margaret particularly, who was wed acquainted with Mr.
M  .
I enjoy great health. Gan you tell me as much of yourself?
Heaven grant it to you 1 Yours ever, most affectionately, S. Gary.
MARGARET CARY TO HER SISTER ANN.
Chambers Street, May 24, 1825.
My dear Ann, ... I have seen Mrs. Perkins and Mrs. Cabot
every day, sometiraes twice, Friday there was a boat-race in the
morning. The two ladies and Tom called for me, and we rode
to Gastie Garden, where, including the Battery, several thousand
persons were assembled. The weather was fine and the scene
uncomraonly beautiful. Two elegant light-boats, with three men
in each, skiramed over the water, and one of thera obtained the
prize only by a few yards' distance. Then the multitude of vessels
of all descriptions that spread themselves abroad gave increased
animation to the scene. There was also a ship in full sail, which
went off immediately afterward to London. Altogether it was a
morning to be remerabered through life. They set me down at
Chambers Street, and at two Margaret and I went to make calls.
We met Eliza Cabot as we were on the way to see her. She was

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 307
going to Mary's to dine. Margaret invited her to dine on Monday
with Mrs. Perkins ; but she declined the invitation, as she was
going to Philadelphia. She seemed kindly to wish to tell me all
she could of my friends at home, and after describing her day at
Chelsea, walk to the grove, etc., finished with declaring ray mother
was ¦' as gay as a girl.'' I went after dinner to Hudson Square,
but they had all gone to Hoboken. Hal was with me, always de
lighted to be with his cousins, and they very fond of him. I took
my work and sat in the nursery tdl the children had corapletely
gratified their inclination for noise and play, and ate their supper on
a little deal-board table, just like the one you may remember in old
tiraes. The sweet Httle Tora, who in general is the loudest of all,
was a little reduced by indisposition and seemed to take comfort
in being a little aloof frora the rest, was raost affectionate. I got
horae just before dark, and, having taken my tea with H. and M.,
William made his appearance to invite me to join Tom's party at
Gastie Garden, which the ladies were curious to visit of an evening,
when it is lighted with gas. He sent for a carriage, and I was
soon in a delightful scene. The moon and the lights bore a good
accordance together, and were just light enough to make everything
visible without dazzling the sight. We were soon joined by Mr.
and Mrs. T. G. C, Mrs. P., and Mrs. C, and passed half an hour
walking with the peaceful multitude, who were not inclined to inter
rupt the harmony of the scene by any noise or tumult Every one
spoke in a low voice, and seemed satisfied with the indulgence of
tranquil feelings. The water was close round the wall of the gar
den on which we walked, and calm almost as a lake ; reflected the
multitude of stars which beamed in the firmaraent. On our way
to the garden I proposed to William to call on Miss Cabot and
invite her to accompany us. He iraraediately consented. We
found her dressed for a party ; but she was pleased with the at
tention, and would have accompanied us if she had been disen
gaged. Saturday the three ladies in Hudson Square were so much
fatigued that, excepting a little shopping, they did not go out. In
the evening accompanied H. and M. to Mr. G.'s introductory lec
ture. The good man kept us three hours ; but Henry and I think
of attending the course, for the subject is delightful and the ma
chinery very fine. Yesterday was the grand day of the dinner
party. Mr. and Mrs. Franks, English people whora you may have

308 THE CARY LETTERS
heard of from the Jackson and Lowell circle. Dr. Stevens and his
sweet wife, married within four weeks, Mr. Gambrelaing and Smyth,
dined with the four from the square, and a few additional visitors
came in the evening. The day went off extreraely well in all re
spects, but I was glad at twelve o'clock to find myself undressed
and alone in my charaber. I had the arauseraent to see Wdliam
waltz with Mrs. Franks, Mr. F. and Ann Morris, and Henry and
E. Hutchinson. I confess it was not so objectionable in reality as
it had been in my imagination ; but if it does not endanger the
hearts I think it raust the heads of those who attenTj)t it.
Good-by, dear Ann ! Give my love to each one of the dear cir
cle. Tell Mr. Tuckerman I think of hira sometimes when I am
reading Verplanck, with sorae of whose sentiments I think he would
be pleased, which I keep in my chamber with Swedenborg to recur
to when I would counteract the influence of the world ; and believe
me. Your affectionate sister,
M. G. Gary.
The three following letters were the last written by Lucius
Cary to his mother. He had been making her a visit, and
she died just as he had arrived at the West Indies in August :
Hunter, at Sea, July 13, 1825.
My dear Mother, — I send this by George, who, Hke a good
fellow, has come part of the way with me.
We have a fine day and shall do well, no doubt of it. My visit
has gratified me extremely, and I go away a new man. I saw
Nancy off this morning. About the loth September you may
expect to hear from me.
Good-by, my dear mother. I am.
Yours most affectionately and truly,
L. Gary.
LUCIUS CARY TO HIS MOTHER.
Kingston, August 5, 1825,
My DEAR Mother, — I have the pleasure to inform you of ray
arrival here on the first instant, the day I had planned for. Meeting
with head winds, I did not stop either at Turks Island or Cuba,
but came direct. I was miserably sick, and paid dearly for indulg-

LUCIUS CARY 309
ing in good things on shore. But occasional excess, they say, is
a benefit. So says Galen.
I left Boston with feelings to which I have been of late a stran
ger, and my visit was just long enough to allow me to extricate
myself. Now, having renewed my personal acquaintance with you
all, and added thereto one entire new sister besides Sarah's little
group, I can go on in a more connected intercourse with you than
heretofore. We shall now be divested of that unquiet feeling which
is so apt to be generated by the long separation of friends. I leave
you surrounded by so many sons and daughters, so encircled with
ties, that you really need the enjoyraent of a distant correspondent,
— a pleasure peculiar in itself, and therefore adding to your gen
eral happiness. You see I can find new arguments for ray absence
without adverting to those which already exist.
I can get through the books I brought, but found amusement
enough in conning over the scene I had just passed. Many items
I found I had omitted in our communications together; others
would have been better, perhaps, if differently executed ; but, on
the whole, I could congratulate myself upon having brightened the
tints of the picture, and above all upon having fulfilled a duty.
I found everything here much as I left it My own business had
gone on extremely well, and I returned at the proper moment
Our bishop had raade his report to the ministers, which, being pub
lished, was found to contain matter highly flattering to the good
feeling and opinions of the community. The only thing he com
plained of was the small nuraber of places of worship ; so irarae
diately we set to work to raise subscriptions of money to build
them, and a very large sum is already volunteered and is daily
added to. Our new Horticultural Society, too, having had their
first dinner, — which, you know, is a material step, — have begun
in earnest to do something, and improvements in agriculture are
the grand topic of the day.
My physician congratulated rae upon ray good looks, and I have
no doubt I shall soon derive all the benefit I expected from ray
voyage. In a day or two I shall expect the pleasure of a letter
frora you, and am pleased to think you will get this before the
time I promised it.
Give ray best love to your own tea-table, to Sarah's, and to
Helen's, and believe me always, my best mother.
Your most affectionate son, L. G.

3IO THE CARY LETTERS

LUCIUS GARY TO HIS MOTHER.

Kingston, August 29, 1825.
My DEAR Mother, — I have just received a letter from the
house in New York, about a month old, which says nothing against
your being all well. Since my return I have found my health
very materially better, and, what I did not count upon, I feel a
health of mind, an invigoration and elasticity of mental feeling,
which is delightful. When we enumerate the enjoyments we pos
sess and the deficits we complain of, how little stress is laid upon
health, that prime article which is sold every day but can be bought
nowhere !
I am anxiously expecting to hear from you of Nancy's trip to
the eastward. It appears to me that you have so many objects
of interest about you that you are never in want of what is called
news. . . .
I have been hard at work since my return, and am thinking of
a trip to the east and to Cuba, a short voyage which may take up
a fortnight. We are going on very well here. The bishop has
begun to go his rounds through the country. His first report
has been severely handled by our opponents in England, and we
hope the consequence will be that we shall have him on our
side. Adieu, my dear mother. I ara always your affectionate L. G.
LUCIUS GARY TO HIS BROTHER THOMAS.
Kingston, October 8, 1825.
My dear Tom, — I have received your letter of 3d ultimo, and
had, a few days before, got one from William.
The news they gave me of ray mother's death was most pain
ful ; but now that I can see with how many consoling circumstances
that event was attended, I can bear the loss, particularly when I
consider how supreme her happiness must now be.
I observe the contents of the will. You do not mention the
reasons which prevent yourself and me from acting, but I have no
doubt Charles will conduct everything in proper form. The ar-

MISS ANNE M. CARY 311
rangeraents you mention of leasing the farm, and of appropriating
sorae of our legacies and revenue from it to the improvements
which are necessary, I agree to most cordially ; and inclose a let
ter to Charles, with authority for that purpose, which please seal
and send him.
One thing I think should be immediately attended to, and that
is to inclose the family tomb with a handsome and durable iron
railing, as well as to have the aperture built up in the usual
mode. In building a new barn, also, and any buildings, fences, etc.,
sorae care should be taken as to the position and shape.
Reraeraber rae very kindly to WilHam, and thank him for the
kind and considerate letter he wrote me last
Yours sincerely, Lucius Gary.

ANNE M. GARY TO HER BROTHER LUGIUS, WITH AN ACCOUNT OF
HER mother's last ILLNESS.
Chelsea, September 28, 1825.
My dearest Lucius, — Before this you have heard of our irrep
arable loss ; but I hope a conviction of the goodness and mercy
of God, as displayed in the departure of our beloved raother, will
support you as it has us. Indeed, I feel as if it were only neces
sary to recall the remembrance of her entire submission, her grate
ful spirit in the midst of her sufferings, to bear with firmness now
every trial that remains. Never was a more beautiful termination
to a life devoted to duty and the constant exercise of the best
affections. " I am ready to go," she said to Mr. Tuckerman a
few days before her death ; " but if further trial is necessary for
me, I am willing to stay." In this state she continued, except
that her desire to depart grew raore ardent The wish to live for
her children, which she strongly expressed at first, seeraed to fade,
not that they became less dear, but the desire of being with God
in heaven took possession of her heart.
With what satisfaction, ray dear brother, raust you think of your
visit, and how plainly see the hand of Providence in guiding you
hither ! It was to her a source of unalloyed pleasure. Even your
saUing at the time you had appointed was to her a cause for grat-

3 1 2 THE CARY LE TTERS
itude, as it could leave you nothing to regret " Dear, dear Lu
cius," she would often say ; " that I should have seen him so lately !
And that littie note by the pilot, too ! " Indeed, your recollections
must be very sweet We trace the hand of Providence in every
circurastance connected with this great event, and look to you as
the medium through which we have received many of its bless
ings. I had long wished to purchase for my dear mother a Tes
tament of very large print, as that of her own was too small, and
she used a very ordinary one in consequence. This was the first
wish I was enabled to gratify from your very generous present
She was very much pleased with it, and read very little in any other
book the few remaining weeks of her precious life. During her
sickness Harriet recollected having heard of sorae convenience for
a patient in the form of a spout by which liquid could be taken
without raising the head from the pillow. Feeling rich, she sent
iramediately to Boston and obtained a beautiful little silver tube,
which was a great comfort to our sweet mother for several days ;
and she called it her "little jewel."
She had often said this summer she did not know how she should
meet any exigency which would demand raore money, — for in
stance, the expense of a funeral. You may believe, dear Lucius,
we thought with gratitude of you when we could each go to our
own purses and pay the necessary bills for our mourning dresses,
which were very expensive, as the time was short and we could
not attend to them ourselves. Dear Helen was everything to us
on that occasion, and Henry's wife was an excellent friend and
sister. How that beautiful miniature must console and gratify
you ! It resembled her more even in her sickness than in health,
for the disease had given an unusual clearness to her complexion
and youthfulness to her whole countenance, and the serenity of
her brow could not be surpassed by any painting. I believe she
was much gratified by the affection which prompted you to have
it taken, but never expressed a wish to see it I will not trust
myself to say how we feel her loss. We turn from that to the
contemplation of her eternal happiness, and see the goodness of
God in gratifying her ardent wish to be removed before the in
firmities of age came on.
We scarcely pass a day without seeing some friends who come
to express their love for the departed and their sympathy for us.

MISS- ANNE M. CARY 313
What the connection with departed friends may be must always
remain a mystery, but I feel as if she was nearer to each one of us.
The days pass on quietiy. We are blessed in being able to con
tinue the family together, and, by living economically, we shall
live independentiy. Sister M. and Charles take the direction of
affairs. We have made no alteration but to part with the chambermaid,
and put Mrs. Pratt's little daughter in her place.
We were truly grateful to hear of your safe arrival and short
passage, as the account of the hurricanes had made us very anx
ious. Adieu, my dear brother. Accept our united love, and believe
me. Your most affectionate sister,
A. M. C.
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LAST SCENES OF MY DEAR MOTHER'S LIFE,
BY ANNE M. GARY.
On Monday, the 6th of August, Harriet and Mary Otis walked
out and passed the day with us. In the afternoon, Mrs. Otis and
Mrs. Hall came for them. My dear mother was in charming spirits
and promised to go in town the next day and see Dr. Reynolds.
We all parted, affectionate, cheerful, and happy.
Tuesday, my mother and sister M. went to town. Sarah and
Mr. Tuckerman came to tea. A splendid sunsetting. Harriet and
I waited impatiently to see the chaise, as clouds were gathering
over the light sky. At last they came. George was driving. We
ran to welcome our blessed raother and know the result of Dr. R.'s
visit. "Not so loud, if you please," in her sweetest tone of voice,
were the first words that informed us her hearing was restored.
Seated on the sofa, looking uncommonly animated and lovely, she
gave us all the particulars of the day, which had passed to her
entire satisfaction. She dwelt with peculiar pleasure on the cor
dial reception her friends had given her, on all the agreeable con
versations that passed between sister Marget and Harriet Otis,
and with what sweetness the latter would often rise from her seat
to repeat to her the interesting occurrences of her journey. A
happy, happy evening !
Wednesday we rode to the parsonage together. All the family

314 THE CARY LETTERS
assembled round ray dear raother in the hall, while she gave an
account of Dr, R.'s operation on her ears. Dr, R. had said he
would insure her for twenty years, and how fondly did we dwell
on this prediction 1 When we returned home, she read to Harriet
and myself some passages in " Paradise Lost," then sat in a chair
in the entry conversing with us, while we were working in the west
chamber. After dinner she regretted having declined Sarah's in
vitation to dine with Mrs. Parkman, as by cultivating the social
affections we smoothed the path of life for ourselves and others.
ANNE M. GARY TO HER BROTHER THOMAS G. GARY.
Chelsea, September 13, 1825.
I remeraber, ray dear Tom, in former times thinking your letters
always arrived at the raost desirable moraent So it seemed to me
last evening, when, humbled and oppressed with a sense of my own
want of firmness, the soothing expression of affection conveyed by
your letter strengthened and in some degree reconciled me to my
self. Returning from the parsonage at a late hour, and unexpect
edly finding a circle of visitors in the parlor, my spirits entirely
sank, and I sat the only weak one, while ray dear sisters were per
fectly calra and self-possessed. Ah, my dear brother ! if the rap
ture of meeting again is to bear any proportion in degree to these
internal conflicts even 'when the will is resigned, well may we class
it among those joys which cannot be conceived. There are sorae
moments when we seem utterly left to our own strength ; no doubt
that we may more fondly cling to the Arm that never fails. But do
not think it is often thus with rae ; my heart is too deeply im
pressed with the mercies of God in our late separation, and the
idea of our precious mother's happiness is too tenderly cherished,
to allow of much vain sorrow. We often sit and talk of her, and
try to imagine what she is now, till every selfish regret is lost in
the conviction of her blessed exchange.
We were happy indeed to hear of Lucius's safe arrival, mingled
as the feeling was by receiving at the same time a letter addressed
to our dear mother, — just such an one as would have delighted
her, — so affectionate and so cheerful, expressing a«strong hope to
hear from her in a day or two, and that the wish would be gratified.
\ifth. — And I, too, must write at intervals, but frora occupations

MISS ANNE M. CARY 315
very different from yours, my dear brother. Witness yesterday
afternoon : I was interrupted to receive Mrs. Rouse and her daugh
ter, the foster-mother of brother Sam, who has been received here
with the utraost kindness, and every Thanksgiving received a barrel
of cider and other things. We gave the interesting details to the
tender-hearted woman, which confirmed the feeling of veneration
and love which seemed to have possessed her heart ever since that
precious child was placed under her care. She dwelt with a fond
minuteness on her earliest recollections of the departed saint, and
we did what little we could to supply the absence of that kindness
which had always been extended toward her. We had just sent
her to the bridge in the chaise, when Mr. and Mrs. Reed drove up.
A very kind visit from thera was succeeded by one frora Mrs. Lee
and E. Cabot. They left us soon after tea. and we three continued
on the sofa, as we often do when visitors have gone, dwelling for
hours on our dear subject and elevating and cheering each other.
Everything goes on well in our domestic concerns. Sister M.
is the faithful steward, always vigilant and pleased with her new
duties. Those anxieties for the future have all passed away, and
when we come from the garden laden with fine fruit we feel
in what a pleasant place our lot is cast . Dear little Mary and
Lizzie woiild like to help their aunts pick up peaches from those
trees their dear mother enjoyed so much three years ago. We
hear Mr. Greene is to make a payment, which will be very accept
able. Charles is much more cheerful since his mind has been
occupied with his new duties. He went to the judge on Monday,
and when he returned in the evening seemed to have been much
gratified with his day, particularly by the assistance he had re
ceived from Mr. Aylwin, who was here the day before and kindly
offered it, as he was acquainted with probate business. Harriet
occupies herself all the tirae, and is again interested in the care of
her flowers, — that sweet and innocent employment which ap
proaches in some degree to the endearments of children in beguihng
the thoughts. The only domestic care for which I ara responsible,
teaching Mary Warren, is a very agreeable one, and any little plan
of economy thus far has only served to amuse and occupy us.
Charles reads to us in the evening. Our friends seera pleased and
interested in our all continuing together, and above all, the pleas
ure with which the dear absent merabers of the faraily seem stdl to

3l6 THE CARY LETTERS
think of Chelsea is gratifying to us in the highest degree. Thus
you see, my dear brother, " we too are kindly dealt by," and your
soothing and delightful anticipations of the future for us are likely
to be fulfilled.
Harriet desires her love to Mary and yourself, and intends writ
ing the former very soon. Give ray love to that dear sister. I
know full well how tender is her syrapathy and long to erabrace
her. I am very glad to hear little M. is advancing so fast in
her education, and hope it will not be many years before she is
one of the correspondents to Chelsea. Kiss each of the dear
children for me. Sister M. wrote you by the gay and happy
party from Chestnut Street I wish the letter may not be for
gotten. She has just set off to walk to the parsonage, as it is a
beautiful morning, and the dust laid by a shower last evening. I
hope you are not weary of my long letter.
Your most affectionate sister,
A. M. G.
ANNE M. GARY TO MISS HARRIET OTIS.
November 28, 29, 1825.
I thank you, my dearest Harriet, for your kind note of last even
ing, which came in while I was thinking the beauty of this day
would certainly tempt you to Chelsea. But I ara willing to wait
another week if it is best for you it should be so.
Your Thanksgiving Day seems to have been a tranquil and
a happy one, dear H., and so, I may say, in a degree was ours,
though I had a childish dread of it before it arrived, as if every
day was not now to us an anniversary of fond recollection, of de
parted tenderness and love. Yet Thursday came with such a con
viction to each one of our little circle of the goodness of God, and
the thought that my precious mother had now no further call on
her sympathy and could only see "light arise out of darkness"
brought such peace to my heart that I would not exchange it for
the gayest I had ever known. But what recent cause for deep and
heartfelt thanksgiving we had, we knew not till the next day.
As you do not appear to have heard it, listen to the following
tale : —
On Friday raorning of the 19th, at five o'clock, William was

MISS ANNE M. CARY 317
roused from sleep by the cry of fire. He sprang from his bed and
found the staircase in flames. His first thought was to call his
friend Mr. Williams in the adjoining chamber; the second, to
waken the females in the upper story. He then stepped from his
window on to a sign of the elegant perfumery store below. It
was a large rose with an iron stem ; the rose-leaf gave way, and
only served to break his fall into the street. He called to a watch
man for a ladder; learned it was two streets off ; they ran together,
bareheaded and barefooted, the coldest night of this season. He
took it on his back, placed it at his window. The females were
assembled in blankets, Mr. W. preparing a bedcord for their
descent In five minutes frora the first alarm, every one was in the
street unhurt. The flames worked after them, and in half an hour
not a post was left standing. Mr. N. saved his watch and
sorae clothes. William, of all the comforts and elegances he had
collected in his bachelor establishment, and they were not a few,
has nothing but the ample night-shirt with which he sprang from
his bed. A wardrobe newly stocked, some valuable books, his
papers, and, what he most laraents, all his raother's letters. I
wish you had seen his account of it, — it was so characteristic, so
resolute, so cheerful, and so regardless of himself. Most of the
particulars I have given of him are from a letter of Tom's. I
need not tell you, my dear H., with what mingled feelings we
received his letters. I can hardly now compose myself when I
think of it. To have been so near losing him, and so providentially
preserved !
Tuesday. — What beautiful weather, and how glad I should be
of your visit now if it were not for a heavy cold, which makes me
a very good-for-nothing companion ! I wdl be brighter to receive
you next week. I have some beautiful poetry of E. Cabot's ; I
have kept it two or three weeks to show you, but I fear I cannot
keep it longer. Sisters M. and H. are well, and riding this fine
afternoon, or I would add love. Your affectionate
A. M. C.

3l8 THE CARY LETTERS
HENRY CARY TO T. G. CARY.
New York, September 28, 1826,
Dear Tom, — The inclosed has just reached me. I send it
forward immediately, in order that you may prepare the family for
its melancholy contents. Yours raost affectionately,
Henry Gary.
joseph beete to messrs. j. marryat and son.
Clifton, England, August 27, 1826.
14 Mall Building,
Gentlemen, — It has become my painful duty to inforra you
of the death of our rautual friend Mr. Lucius Gary, which event
took place last evening soon after nine o'clock. Mr. Gary arrived
here on Friday, the 19th inst, frora Cheltenham, and on the Sun
day following I saw hira for the first time since he left Demerara,
which was, I beHeve, in November, 1814. He spent the Sunday
with rae, and the next morning we went to Bristol together, where
he delivered your letter of introduction to Messrs. Ariel. As I
had some business to attend to we separated, and agreed to raeet
at the reading-room of the Bristol Institution, at the bottom of
Park Street, and return to Clifton together, where he was to dine
with me again.
On calling at the institution, however, I found he had gone on
without rae ; and, on reaching home, I found the inclosed note from
him, saying that he was taken very ill in Bristol, and had gone
horae and got medical advice. The medical man, whora I saw the
same day, thought him in a very bad way. Our poor friend him
self, however, was of a different opinion, and calculated on being
able to return to Cheltenham, where he said he had derived great
benefit. He cpntinued rauch in the sarae state during Tuesday,
Wednesday, and Thursday ; on which latter day, however, he
agreed to defer his departure till Saturday, instead of going on
Friday as he intended. I wished hira very rauch to call in a
physician, but could not persuade hira to do so, as he seemed con
fident of being able to proceed to Cheltenham on the Saturday,
and that when there his health would improve. I was with him
from eleven to twelve o'clock on Friday raorning, when he cora-

JOSEPH BEETE 319
plained of having had a bad night, and was suffering from head
ache ; and I, in consequence, again urged him to call in a physi
cian, but to no effect ; and he persisted in sending to take his
place in the Cheltenham coach for the next morning. While at
dinner, I received a message from the mistress of the boarding-
house he was staying at that he was much worse, and requesting
my immediate attendance.
When I went I found him speechless and insensible, and in this
state he remained till his death. As soon as I saw him, after get
ting the message just raentioned, I sent for the raedical man who
had been in attendance upon him, and for Dr. Carrick ; and they
saw hira again twice on Saturday, doing everything in their power,
but without entertaining, at any tirae, much hope of saving him.
A Dr. Beattie, who happened to be boarding in the house, was also
very attentive to him.
I have taken temporary possession of his effects. The cash
about him amounts to ;^i4 15s. The other things I have not
yet looked over, but was rather surprised at not finding a watch,
and suppose he must have had one, and have left it in London.
I took his money from his pocket, and locked his portmanteau,
etc., on Friday afternoon, at the request of the lady of the house.
An undertaker is to be here this morning, to whom I shall give
directions to make the necessary preparations, and I imagine one
of your gentlemen, or some one on your behalf, will attend, and
give such further directions as raay be necessary ; or, if this should
be inconvenient, I shall readily attend to your instructions.
From a conversation I had with my late friend, I understood
he had a moderate competence, and I rather understood he had
funds in your hands. Since writing the above, I have seen the
undertaker and have ordered him to prepare a lead coffin, in
which the body will be placed this evening. The boarding-house
being full, and the bedroom he had a very small one, the landlady
had a bed put up for hira in her own sitting-room, and, as this
is attended with inconvenience, they are desirous that the funeral
should take place on Wednesday. If, however, one of your firm
should be coming down, and it should be inconvenient for you to
come here on Tuesday, the funeral may be deferred till the follow
ing day. I shall be obliged to you, at any rate, to let rae have an
answer by Monday's post, mentioning if you are coining, and, if

320 THE CARY LETTERS
you are not, whether I am authorized to draw on you for the ex
pense, and what you wish to have done with his clothes, etc.
I am, gentlemen, your most obedient servant, Jos. Beete.

MARGARET G. GARY TO HER SISTER HARRIET CARY.
Retreat, January 9, 1827.
Thank you, dear Harriet, for your two letters. You said our
" correspondence was entangled," so I stopped, that we might
come to rights. The set of paints was a very kind gift to you,
and I am pleased to think I can imagine your occupation for so
large a part of the day. I should like to drop in upon you sorae
tiraes frora the ceiling, with my thimble and needle, to perform
some little office about your wardrobe or toilette ; but all goes on
well, I dare say. I am glad you find your cloak comfortable. Helen
hopes it has a gray fur lining ; you know she is always at the top
notch, I passed last Sunday night and most of Monday with her
and George. They were both well, G. having just got over some
very bad headaches. The babe grows finely, and I think looks
more like his father than Httle G. The latter has got over his
jealousy, and is a fine prattling child, and is the darling of his
aunt Aylwin, who is looking finely this winter. Monday afternoon
Ann went in, in the little sleigh, to pass the week with Sarah and
meet a mantua-raaker, and I carae out.
Sarah showed me your beautiful little book, with which she was
so much pleased that I did not venture to ask her to let me bring
it home that I might try to copy it, which I was terapted to do.
I wish I could hand you a beautiful rose which is just not quite
expanded, and has this raoment met my eye as I looked at the
rain on the window, which is likely to carry off our fine sleighing,
— a very iraportant object just now, as the ice-house is to be filled.
I hope you will return before the roads break up. I think one
can be very comfortable in a sleigh, and it is on the whole less
dangerous than any other mode of traveling. I should have
called on Sally Perkins Monday morning, but had made great
exertions Sunday, and did not like to expose rayself again so soon,
but she would only have confirmed what all your friends say of
you : that you are looking well and happy. I think, dear Harriet,

MISS MARGARET G. CARY 321
this winter is likely to be a period that you wdl look back upon
with great pleasure, which is certainly a test of present enjoyraent.
Your pictures will be invaluable to us from a double motive ; for
the partiality of affection will raake up any deficiencies of the art
ist, and we shall be lenient critics, you know. So don't despond
if you cannot equal the touches of the old artists. I believe I
know the picture you are now painting. Henry says it is his
Guido. Is not that the beautiful Magdalene with her eyes and
hands upraised ? How delightful to conteraplate such expression !
It enables one to believe that such devotion is not only accepted
but acceptable. Is this a distinction without a difference ? Per
haps so.' The beginning and end raust be in the only Source of
all perfection. Whatever bears His iraage is genuine ; all besides
is false. Do not talk of changing the outward forms of religion,
dear Harriet. All are good, if they contain the living principle.
It is the nature that must be renewed, the heart changed, the man
gradually regenerated. You say to me, " Is your corner-stone laid
yet ? " My chief corner-stone is, you know, the Lord Jesus Christ,
the same yesterday, to-day, and forever ; and though you have been
through a fiery ordeal lately, I am not inclined to nuraber you
among those who " build with hay and stubble," and to whom Peter
addressed himself in Acts, chap, iv., verses 11, 12. Am I wrong ?
Have you seen a bird rise into the air and poise itself for a moment
or two on its wing, as if deliberating which way to go ? There are
some days in one's life when we would willingly stop the flight of
time and meditate on the present It has been so with me to-day.
I rather take shame to myself, for it is nearly allied to indolence ;
but, though it is afternoon, I have done little besides speculate
and stitch a pair of wristbands. Society, I believe, like the atraos-
phere, should press all round and urge on our good resolves.
There are so many things, I say repeatedly to myself, that I raay
do to-day if I will, and either may be deferred till to-morrow, that
even this letter had almost failed to make its appearance. " This
frora you, sister M. ? " Yes, dear Harriet ; but take it as a confes
sion, and let me hurry on. Have you heard of the sudden death of
Harry Otis ? Last Wednesday Mr. Dwight met hira in the street,
and said, "You raust go with rae to Springfield." He refused
at first, but said he would go home and talk with his wife and put
up his clothes. Mrs. O. wished to go too, but on the whole they
21
5—

322 THE CARY LETTERS
concluded that she had better not Friday evening their business
was done at eight Mr. O. had been a good deal in the cold. He
took some hot coffee, and then Mr. D. left hira for a few rainutes
smoking a cigar. When Mr. D. returned he was lifeless. Every one
speaks of him with regard. It is said that in the settiement of
Mr. Boardman's concerns he showed great liberality, and gave up
several little suras and balances that might have occasioned diffi
culty. He has always been a most affectionate son. His poor
mother, who has been truly heart-stricken in the death, of her chil
dren, not having been near the deathbed of either, says she shall
miss him dreadfully, for he took tea with her five or six times a
week, and was always as attentive as possible. Yet she is resigned,
and perfectly sensible that Providence directs everything. Ann
was going to see old Mrs. Otis Monday, when I left her. Such
an event must awaken her syrapathy most painfully. The poor
wife, I heard, was almost distracted. She expects soon to be con
fined. Adieu, dear Harriet Remeraber me most affectionately to ad
our dear brothers and sisters. Your affectionate sister,
M. G. Gary.

FROM ANNE M. GARY TO HER SISTER HARRIET GARY.
Beacon Street, December 9, 1826.
What high gratification you must all be enjoying just now in
the preaching of Dr. Ghanning ; the weather, too, so beautiful and
the occasion so interesting! A great many thoughts have been
with your circle, I assure you, by the well-wishers to the cause this
way, and a thousand fears are expressed about the good doctor ;
but I dare say he has the best of care.
I have had a very pleasant visit frora E. Cabot, and I believe it
has been equally so to her, though I feared the solitude raight be
a little irksorae, particularly as sister M. was absent four days
(called away suddenly to attend the funeral of another Miss Dunn),
and you, ray able coadjutor, were not at hand to enliven or impress
any subject ; but our friends seemed moved by one spirit to raake
up for past omissions and improve the fine weather, and what with

MISS ANNE M. CARY 323
Mrs. Sullivan and Eliza to pass one day, Mrs. Dutton to walk out
and dine another, Mrs. Quincy and daughter to drink tea and pass
one evening, and good little Mr. L. to speculate upon the proceed
ing, we did not want variety, and walked in together the morning
of your Thanksgiving Day. It was so pleasant that E. would try her
strength, which has proved equal to the occasion. I have made a
very gratifying little visit here (the scene of so many past pleas
ures), and am going out this morning with the promise of dear
Sarah for my companion, but the skies threaten a little and I shall
not urge her. These little visits to Boston do me a great deal of
good, and whde the weather continues pleasant I mean to repeat
them weekly, and not stay longer, though I am most kindly urged
to do it, until the weather is more unpleasant for frequent walking.
Sarah and her family are all well and doing well. Helen's little
George has been quite indisposed this week with cold and a good
deal of fever, but is now much better. The little poppet grows fast.
A great many messages of love and kind remembrances are sent
to you, dear Harriet, from all your friends here. Mrs. Otis and
Mary particularly offer theirs, and Eliza Cabot. Helen has, or is
going to write to you. Sarah thinks you might write to her, but
begs her best love to you. Mrs. Dutton proves one of the most
agreeable narrators that have ever returned frora Europe, and is
very much improved by her travels, both in appearance and style
of conversation, and has enjoyed a great deal.
Breakfast is just ready, so adieu, my dear, dear Harriet. One
observation is the result of my little wandering frora the Retreat :
that is, how much there is to enjoy everywhere if the heart is only in
a right state to meet the blessings that offer. You make the same
original remark, I dare say. I passed a very pleasant half hour
with Mrs. Perkins last week, who seemed very well, as were all her
family, except Nancy's occasional headaches.
Give my true love to all the dear faraily you are with.
Yours most affectionately,
A. M. C.
ANNE M. CARY TO HER SISTER HARRIET CARY.
Chelsea, January 20, 1827.
How have I let a whole week slip by without writing to my
dearest Harriet, when I intended it should be my first act on my

324 THE CARY LETTERS
return home from Boston ? but the languor of a heavy cold must
plead for me, and now, with the comfort of a nice little fire in my
solitary charaber, I wdl make amends for the past and give her
the last hour of Sunday evening.
Sarah had Mrs. Salisbury to pass the last week with her, which
seemed to give her rauch pleasure. Mr. Tuckerraan is fully engaged
in a variety of benevolent projects, and seeras to meet with ad the
cordial and affectionate cooperation with his zealous efforts that
he has always wished, but never found in this lukewarm town. He
has been deeply interested in the pirates, and brought one of them
from a state of wonderful apathy to deep remorse. There is a
great excitement for improvement of every kind in Boston, and the
clergy have introduced Sunday evening lectures. Mr. T. was pre
vailed on to preach at Mr. Ware's, and I was glad of the opportu
nity to enter that church, but almost wished myself away again
when such a crowd of tender recollections pressed upon my mind
of all our precious mother's early friends, and the scenes of her
early life ; and just before us sat a sweet young creature, full of
grace and animation, looking as if she too was the cherished object
of some fond circle, and might bear some resemblance to the be
loved subject of my thoughts. The soft tones of an uncommonly
sweet organ did not diminish the effects of the scene. The church
was crowded to the pulpit stairs, and Mr. T. delivered a very good
serraon. I was really glad to hear him again, though his fatigue
after it proved his weakness. . . .
I called on Mrs. H. G. Otis the other morning, and passed Satur
day evening with her. Certainly in her days of greatest prosperity
she never possessed half the charm she does at present. There
is something so touching and subdued in her whole manner, so
unrepining, that she is one of the most interesting examples of
resignation I ever saw. Mrs. Ritchie is a very tender and de
voted daughter. Mr. Otis was proposed as member of the church
yesterday. So does affliction unlink the chains which prosperity
and the world twine round the heart What happiness this would
have given to dear Harriet in her lifetime ! Mrs. O. inquired with
her usual interest after you. Her son AUyne is in the store of Mr.
Howe in New York. Sarah desires me to give her best love to
you, dear H. ; so does Mary and Mrs. Otis. And now let me turn
to the subject which has been most in ray thoughts, though for the

MISS ANNE M, CARY 325
last : I hope the depression in which your last letter was written
has passed away before this. Would I had the power to remove
every feeling of the kind from your mind, for surely you have often
raised mine when it was sunk very low ! Heaven, dear H., has
given you the power of exciting the tenderest interest in the heart
of your friend ; therefore do not magnify to yourself the evil which
separates you from the world only, and that only by the keen sus
ceptibility of your feelings. You say how much you will miss our
dear mother's welcorae on your return, and even to shrink frora it.
I can say nothing to diminish this, for too, too deeply have I felt
the loss of that ardent welcome which made the return to home
once so joyous ; but you will corae to a home which is a meet re
treat from every mortification and little trial which are thickly scat
tered in the world, and to three friends who, you must allow, have
made some sacrifice in parting from you the whole winter, and to
whom you will bring such a stock of happy excitement At any
rate, dear H., let us bear all the lesser trials of feeling, as well as
the real calamities of life, with a firm, enduring spirit, and show
ourselves true and loyal followers of our dear Saviour by the cheer
fulness with which we follow in his path. Recall, too, those beau
tiful expressions of gratitude in our sweet mother's letters for the
blessings which were left her ; and as she resolved to live for her
children, so let us try to live for each other. But all this and many
other arguraents for contentment have suggested theraselves to
your mind, I doubt not. I will just reply to one question and have
done : You ask if I am happy. I believe I may safely say I ara.
Not exactly from the same sources I once was, for I am willing to
relinquish all the excitement from the world I then thought neces
sary, but I have more within. I was sorry for the letter I wrote to
M. the moment after it was sent, but must do myself the justice to
say, if it betrayed a restlessness or discontent of feeling, I did not
convey what I intended or what I felt. I look forward to a happy
spring, my dear Harriet, and to you as one of its greatest pleasures.
Give ray love to all your dear circle. Your raost affectionate
A. M. C.

APPENDIX
PAPERS CONCERNING THE COAT OF ARMS AND
PEDIGREE OF JAMES CARY, OF CHARLESTOWN
BELLINGHAM NOTE. NOTE i.
SALE OF WINNISIMMET. NOTE 2.

COPY FROM GRANTS IN THE COLLEGE OF ARMS, PAGE 32 1.'

O his Grace Henry, Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marshal of
England, the humble petition of John Gary, of the city
of Bristol, Richard his brother, and their kinsman John
Cary, of the city of London, merchants, —
Sheweth that the Carys of Bristol, having tirae out of mind
borne the armes and crest of the Carys of Devonshire (viz., argent
on a bend sable, three roses of the first, with a swan argent for
their crest), from whom by the constant tradition in their family
they are lineally descended, and having the honour to be known
unto the present noble lord, Robert Gary, Lord Hunsdon, and to
be owned and acknowledged by his lordship as his kinsman, they
humbly pray that your Grace will please to issue your warrant to
the King of Armes of the province for assigning such distinctions
to the said armes as may be proper for your petitioners and their
descendants to bear and use according to the law and practise
of armes, and they shall ever pray, etc.
(Signed,) John Gary,
Richard Gary,
John Gary.
Upon request made to me by Mr. John Gary, of the city of
Bristol, and his kinsman of the city of London, merchants, that I
1 Copied for Edward M, Cary, Boston, Mass.

328 APPENDIX
would certify what relation they have to my family, these are to
certify to all whom it may concern that I, Edward Gary, of Torr
Abbey, in the county of Devon, Esq. (heir male and principal
branch of the family of Carys of Devonshire), do hereby declare
that I have heard and do believe that the Carys of Bristol sprung,
some generations past, from a younger branch of the Carys of
Devonshire. And I do hereby acknowledge them to be my kinsmen, and con
sent and desire that they may be permitted to use and bear the
paternal coat of armour of my family, with such due and proper
differences and distinctions as his Grace the Earl Marshal and
the Kings of Armes concerned shall think fit. In witness whereof I
have hereunto put my hand and seal of armes this eighteenth day
of June, 1699. (Signed,) Edward Gary.
John Hesket, of the city of Exon, gent., maketh oath that the
certificate hereunto annexed was by this deponent (the 19th day
of August instant) produced unto Edward Gary, of Torr Abbey, in
the county of Devon, Esq., who then acknowledged the said cer
tificate (and the name Edward Gary thereunto subscribed) to be
his proper handwriting, and that the said Edward Gary did in this
deponent's presence affix his seal of arraes thereunto.
(Signed,) John Hesket.
Whereas John Gary, of the city of Bristol, in the county of
Somerset, Richard, his brother, and John Gary, of London, mer
chants, have by petition represented unto me that that branch of
the Carys seated at Bristol aforesaid, having time out of mind
borne and used the armes of the ancient family of the Carys of
Devonshire, — scilt-argent on a bend sable, three roses of ye first,
with a silver swan for the crest, — as descended frora a collateral
branch of the said family, they therefore humbly pray that they
may be permitted stiff to continue to bear the sarae, with such
due and proper differences as are usual in Hke cases, and forasrauch
as the Right Honorable Robert Gary, Lord Hunsdon, has per
sonally owned that he does beHeve the petitioners are descended
of a collateral branch of the said faraily, and has requested rae to
allow and confirm the sarae ; and that the petitioners have pro-

APPENDIX 329
duced unto me an attested certificate, under the hand and seal of
armes of Edward Cary, of Torr Abbey, in the county of Devon,
Esquire, the principal male branch of the Carys, setting forth that
he does believe the Carys of Bristol to be a collateral branch of his
family sprung forth sorae generations past, and does therefore con
sent and desire they may be permitted to bear and use the paternal
arraes of the Carys with due and proper differences, —
I, Henry, Duke of Norfolk, hereditary Earl Marshal of England,
having duly considered the premises, do hereby order and appoint
Garter and Clarenceux, Kings of Arras, to exemplify and confirm
the aforesaid armes and crest, with such fitting differences and dis
tinctions as are proper for collateral branches, unto the petitioners
and their descendants, according to the law and practice of armes ;
requiring that the said allowance and their petition, together with
these presents, and also the certificate of the said Edward Gary, of
Torr Abbey, be entered by the register in the College of Arraes ;
and for so doing this shall be sufficient warrant. Given under my
hand and seal of my office of Earl Marshal this 30th day of Au
gust, 1699, in the eleventh year of the reign of our sovereign
lord William the Third, by the grace of God King of England,
Scotland, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, etc.
(Signed,) .Norfolk, E. M.
To Sir Thomas St. George, Knight Garter,
Principal King of Armes, and Sir Henry St.
George, Knight Clarenceux, King of Armes.
(The arraes therefor granted were, to John Gary, of Bristol, and
Richard, his brother, argent on a bend sable, three roses silver, in
a canton or an anchor of the second ; and for their crest, on a
wreath argent and sable, a swan proper charged on the breast
with an anchor sable ;
And to John Gary, of London, their kinsraan, the said armes,
with the variation of the bend to engrailed and the anchor in the
sinister chief, and the swan charged on the breast with a red rose.)

330 APPENDIX

ANCESTRY OF JAMES CARY, OF CHARLESTOWN, MASS., AND MILES
CARY, OF VIRGINIA.
1509-1547. — During the reign of Henry VIIL, King of Eng
land. ¦
Hon. William Gary was Sheriff of Bristol, England, 1532, and
Mayor of Bristol, 1546.
Descended from the ancient faraily of Carys, of Devonshire
and Adara de Gary, "Lord of Castle Gary," Soraerset County,
living in 1198.
Acknowledged by his kinsraan to be lineally descended from the
Carys of Devonshire, and having the right to bear the family coat
of armor, a petition to that effect being on record in the College
at Arras, signed by Edward Cary, of Torr Abbey, County Devon,
heir male, and principal branch of Carys of Devonshire ; also by
Right Honorable Robert Cary, Lord Hunsdon. Signed 1699, in
the eleventh year of the reign of Williara III., King of England.
Petition granted by Henry, Duke of Norfolk, Marshal of Eng
land. First generation. — William Gary made his will April 2, 1571,
and was buried in St Nicholas Parish, of Bristol, March 28,
1572- Second generation. — Richard Gary, merchant, made his will
June II, 1570, and was buried at St. Nicholas Parish, in Bristol,
England, June 17, 1570; will was proved in London, Noveraber 3,
1570, He had three sons, only one of whom left male descend
ants, namely: —
Third generation, — WilHam Gary, baptized in Parish St Nich
olas, Bristol, October 3, 1550. He was sheriff of city of Bristol,
1599. He was mayor of city of Bristol, 161 1. Buried at St
Nicholas, March i, 1632. He married twice. By first wife,
Alice Goodale, married January 14, iS^|; they had seven sons
and three daughters. By second wife, Mary Lewellen, i6|| ;
they had one son, and one daughter.
In year 1700, a pedigree was entered in College of Arms,
England, by Richard Gary, and again in 17 15 by the sarae Rich
ard Gary (great-grandson of above Williara Gary), a director in the

APPENDIX 331
Bank of England. In both of these pedigrees appears the name of
"Jaraes Cary," seventh son of WdHam and Alice Goodale, "of
New England."
NOTE I. EXTRACT FROM NOTE TO SEWALL'S LETTER-BOOK.
Dr. Samuel Bellingham, a widower with one daughter, named
Elizabeth, in April, 1695, married in London a widow named
Elizabeth Savage, whose maiden name may have been Watts, as
she was related to that family. They entered into an antenuptial
agreement, by which the New England estates were conveyed to
trustees in trust for the use of Samuel Bellingham and his wife for
their natural lives, and after his death to the use and trust of his
wife, and to such uses as she, in writing, might appoint ; and in
case of no such writing, then the estates might go to her heirs.
Her husband, so far as is known, never returned to New England,
but died abroad not far from the year 1700. But his wife came
over in 1696 or 1697 to look after the property. Sewall, in Diary,
ii. 479, under date of May 11, 1698, records: "Updike arrived
... at Marblehead, and brings news of the Joseph Gaily being
cast away on the coast of Ireland, and all the persons on her lost.
Madam Bellingham one ; sailed from hence the Sth of November."
Before sailing for England on her fatal voyage. Madam Bel-
linghara raade her will, dated November, 1697, by which she gave
the New England estates to her husband for life, with specific
bequests to other persons. Her husband was living in 1700, but
probably died not long after. Upon the decease of these two
persons, a question arose as to the validity of her will. If good,
her bequests took effect ; otherwise the Bellingham estates went
to her heirs, to the exclusion of Elizabeth Bellingham, the only
child of the doctor. The case was heard before Sir Nathan
Wright, Lord Keeper, at Trinity Terra, 1701. He held that.
Madam Bellingham being a married woman, her will was invalid ;
and so, having died without appointment in writing of her estates,
they passed to her heirs-at-law ; and secondly, that though the
property was settled to her use, yet by Stat 27 Hen. VIII. the
use drew to it the tide, so that she held in fee, which descended
to the Watts family, or her heirs-at-law.

332 APPENDIX

NOTE 2.
" Sam Maverick and Amias his wife, and John Blackleach and
his wife, granted and sold to Richard Bellingham and his heirs
a messuage called Winnisimmet, with appurtenances. Also his
interest in the ferry.
" This was by deed of sale dated February 27, 1634."
Suffolk Deeds, vol. i, page 15.

INDEX

Adams, Hannah, 227,
Adams, John Quincy, 285,
Athenaeum, the, 298,
Atkinson, Miss, married Mr, Cary, of
Newburyport, 207,
Avery, Sybil, viii., 2.
Barry, Mr. and Mrs., 31, 32.
Beacon Hill in 1791, 43.
Belleville, visits to, 235, 244.
Bellingham, Governor, viii.
Bellingham, Richard, 332,
Bellingham, Dr. Samuel, 331,
Bellingham, Mrs. Samuel, shipwreck,
33'-
Blankern, Mr,, 32,
Bosanquet, Mr,, 32.
Bourryan, Mr., 15.
Brattleboro', Vt., visit to, 289.
Brevoort, Mr., 232, 238, 295.
Gambrelaing, Mr., 279.
Carwardine, Mrs., governess, 20.
Cary Arms, 327, 328.
Cary family, came from England, 1.
Cary, Anne M., death of, 58.
Cary, Edward, death of, 52.
Cary, Harriet, death of, 57.
Cary, Henry, death of, 205.
Cary, Mrs. Henry, death of, 56.
Cary, Lucius, death of, 318.
Cary, Margaret G., death of, 57.
Cary, Dr. Robert, death of, 57.
Cary, Samuel, death of, 52, 190.
Cary, Samuel, Jr., death of, 52, 180.
Cary, Mrs. Samuel, death of, 55, 310,
313-
Carys of Bristol, Devon, Charlestown,
and Virginia, 330.
Castle Garden, description of, 307.
Chanal, General de, in America, 183.
Chanal, Madame de, 53, 183,

Channing, Dr., preaching of, 322 ; talks
of England, 302,
Charlestown, vii,, viii., ix,, 3, 6; inva
sion of, 198.
Chelsea, life at, 44, 49, 53 ; Miss Otis's
recollections of, 191-193,
Cheltenham, Lucius Cary's visit to,
185.
Concert music at Saratoga in 1819, 276.
Constitutional Convention, 285.
Coitmore, widow, vii.
Death of infant child, 39.
Diary, mention of Mrs. Cary's, 298.
Diary of Mrs, Margaret Graves Cary,
59-
Dowse, Nathaniel, 2,
Duel in Grenada, 32.
Duke of Kent in America, 54,
Dutton, Mrs,, 3, 323.
Eclipse, description of, June 16, 1806,
174,
Engagement of Mr, and Mrs, S. Cary, 9,
Family names, list of, 48,
Fanny Fairweather, story of, 47,
Fifth November, 1772, custom of, 15.
Foster, Mary, viii.
Fry, Mrs., at Newgate, 302.
Goodale, Alice, 330.
Gouverneur, Misses, 278.
Gouverneur, Mr., 128.
Graves, Dr., 3.
Graves Arms, 38.
Graves, genealogy of, vii., viii,, ix.
Gray Arms, 38,
Gray, Ellis, ix., 7, 65.
Gray, Rev. Ellis, death of, 10.
Gray, Madam, death of, 43.
Gray, Thomas and William, 11.

334

INDEX

Grenada, insurrection in, 49, 132 ; life
in, 7, 16, 25, 28, 37, 204,
Hamilton, Alexander, duel of, 220.
Hamilton, Miss, of Philadelphia, 218,
Hanover St., 12.
Hawkins, Eleanor, vii,
Henry, Mr, and Mrs., 182,
Henry, S. and E,, daughters of Mr, and
Mrs,, 182, 243, 245,
Hill, Mrs., friend of Miss Cary, 182, 218,
Hogan, Mr., 216, 253,
Horsfords of Grenada, 25, 74, 89, 205.
Hurricane in Grenada, description of, 30.
Izards, the, 276.
Inoculation of children, 67.
Insurrection in Grenada, 49, iii.
Kemble, Miss, 215.
Kemble, Mr., 123, 222, 239.
Kemble family, the, 295,
Kettell, Mrs., 2,
King's Chapel, 4.
La Fayette, General, at theatre, 304,
Lake George, 272,
Letters : Anne M. Cary to her mother,
247, 264 ; to her sister Margaret, 251 ;
to her sister, Mrs. Tuckerman, 254 ;
to her sister Harriet, 260, 322, 323 ;
to her sister, 267 ; to Lucius Cary,
311 ; to T, G, Cary, 314; to Harriet
Otis, 316,
E. B. Henry to Harriet Cary, 296.
Henry Cary to Anne Cary, 181 ; to
his mother, 2S2.
Lucius Cary to Mrs. Cary, 137-143,
150-156, 184, 190, 204; to Anne
Cary, 176-179, 185-187.
Margaret Cary to her nephew, George
B. Cary, 1-14, 25-34 ; to her nephew,
Edward M. Cary, 38 ; to Ann Cary,
207-220, 231-243, 306; to Harriet
Cary, 2S9, 295, 299, 320 ; to her sis
ters Ann and Harriet, 291 j to T. G.
Cary, 287, 301,
Samuel Cary to his wife, 123-135 ; to
his .son, 91, 145, 166, 173.
Samuel Cary, Jr., to Madam Gray,
72 ; to his mother, 158, 162,
Mrs. Cary to Mrs. Ellis Gray, 64, 65 ;
to Mrs. Otis, 66-71 ; to S. Cary, Jr,,
76-89, 92-122, 144, 146-148, 159-161,
163-165, 166-170; to Anne Cary,
293 ; to T. G. Cary, 298 ; to Lucius
Cary, 175, 180, 305; to Henry Cary,
194-202, 227-229,

Harriet Otis to Harriet Cary, 188 ;
her recollections, 191 ; to her sister,
269-281,
Mrs. Henry Cary to Harriet Cary,
203. W. F. Cary to Ann M. Cary, 220 ; to
his mother, 221 ; to his brother, 223-
226.
Lewellen, Mary, 330.
Lisle, Mr., 218,
Loss of property, 51, 148.
Lowell, James Russell, ix.
Lucius Cary, 40, 55, 247.
Manning, Mr., 5, 7.
Marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Cary, 15.
Marryat, Mr. and Mrs., 23, 184,-305,
Maverick, Sam, and wife, 332,
Mt. Pleasant, lijEe at, 28, 154.
Newburyport, visit to, 287.
New York, visits to, 208-220, 231-245,
291-295.
Niagara, Falls of, 261.
Norton, Professor, 246.
Otis, H. G., 43.
Otis, H. G., j'r., sudden death of, 321,
324-
Otis, Mr. and Mrs. S., 8, 13.
Perkins, Mr, James, death of, 298,
Perkins, T. H., 27, 224, 246.
Pierpont, Mr., 270, 273.
Plan of Grenada house, 16.
Plymouth, visit to, 200.
Privateer, Mr, Cary taken by, 126, 128.
Return of children from England, 34.
Return of family to America, 43.
Rhinebeck, visit to, 238.
Rose, Mr., 50, 89,
Russell, James, ix.
Russell, Judge, 3.
Rutiedges, the, 271, 276.
Sandbach, Mr., 29, 133.
Saratoga, visit to, 269-281.
Savage, Elizabeth, viii., 331.
School life, a boy's idea of, 72.
Schools, English, 20, 22.
Schuyler, Mr. and Mrs , 240.
Silver, family, 21, 230.
Soley, Mr,, 2,
Spooner, Mr, Charles, 21, 79,
Steamboat, first experience in, 210,
Stout, Mr. and Mrs., 234.
Swedenborg, works of, 1S2, 217, 240, 308.

INDEX

335

Theatre in Boston, allusion to, 104,
Ticknor, Mr,. 39.
Tildens, the, 277.
Tuckerman, Dr., becomes Minister at
Large, 55 ; description of, 166; preach
ing of, 324; settlement al Chelsea of,
52-
Tyler, Madam, 1, 13.

Wainwright, Mrs., 291, 296.
Warren, Madam, of Plymouth, 200.
Washington, General, Lucius Cary sees,
141.
Watts, Mrs., viii., ix.
Watts family, ,331.
Winnisimmet, sale of, 332.
Witchcraft, Salem, 2.

YALE UNIVERSITY

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