Posted by Kaitlin Hooker, Bookmans Editorial Assistant Intern and UofA Student

When the Bookmans Flagstaff roof collapsed in 2010, we were left with only a small stock of salvageable items. To rebuild our inventory, we set up temporary tents for locals to sell us their used books, movies and music as they had done for over two decades. In this manner, we encountered the Follett letters. Although we don’t typically do business in historic letters, the Follett letters intrigued us. Bookmans founder, Bob Oldfather, realized that these are more than just old letters and brought them to our resource center in Tuscon for archiving. Our web editor, Rebecca Ballenger, cleaned and preserved this bit of history–a piece of one couple’s legacy. The letters from Oran Follet to his dearest Eliza span from March 10, 1832 to October 24, 1832. The transcription, by Nina Flannery and Kaitlin Hooker, follow.

Transcription: The Oran Follett Letters

{Word is indecipherable/guessed.}
[Page is ripped.]

Buffalo, Mar. 10 1832–transcribed by Kaitlin Hooker

Dearest Eliza,

I hereby avail myself you, preserver of the beautiful Midwest to the creation which pleased to allow me to ascend toward you, when in Rochester–that of writing long letters. As a correspondent and a friend I may speak plainly, the humdrum life I shall indulge, which grow from a belief that then existed between us a similarity of feeling and sentiment, I believe, emitting me to show a side that untrained which was [page ripped] and has garnered my affection with you said.

In one sense of the word, I am of feeling. It is my aim, however as far as to place my feelings with the guidance of those I seldom judge them poorly, but when I go it is with no misery strict. They grow broad and if they must with no impediment, they go on spreading and duplicating with they wear a channel from which it wants for harm to them.

This has been my course through life. I have suffered, deeply suffered from it, but then if brought its contracting, and I feel no deception about it. I remain isolated and above, cut off from the world, rather than cherish the phantasm of dwelling on the past, which induced to uncollecting of the [page ripped] can be deepened with a bright grow by new friends which, [page ripped] this on in a neutral form and confident and anticipatory for the future.

It is with this view that I approach a furthering on a first acquaintance. It was with such that I met you on my last visit, when I came so was judging you warm, aloof, by a cats and distant behavior, foreign from my time it is from young. But now that I have seen you as you are- have distinguished the manifestation of your sincerity and love for your friends- have weathered in some while the deepest of those principles which form the base of the worth I throw aside the mask, and can now approach you as a friend indeed, whose good opinion I would cherish lastingly to secure, that I might appropriate to myself more exclusively the rich bounty of your love and esteem.

You need feel no alarm at this language, fearing that the abolition of a momentary sentiment, for although [page ripped] with course has been slight, yet I vow even to you that your charity is seraphim to me. I even think when I should meet you that my expectations raised by the partiality of friends, recounts not to be realized. But even the partiality of friendship would not do you justice, or you are a great decider- and this I will not for a moment believe.

From what I have said, you can imagine what else I would say, was I permitted. I have been plain in my detachment from considering myself whom may by my Brother at of which he promises to inform you. If he has not fulfilled his promise you will overlook any seeming him for propriety and assume he is in the likeness of your nature, as I shall seem to behave.

I would say much now, but I saw not trust any effect at this time. You know me, who and what I am- You know something of my situation, and it will be my duty and pleasure to make it better known to you, should you answer to such as I hope and anticipate. Such as I am, all I offer to you, and in whatever I ask you friendship and love, I hope for them?

My expectations are few and easily answered, they grow within the scope of the moral duty, and I know your standard is equal to this. But now of this anon. In the meantime, believe me.

Truly yours,
O Follett

Buffalo, Mar. 10, 1832–transcribed by Kaitlin Hooker
My Dear Friend,

Your response of the 14th was received this morning, in answer to mine of the 10th, and you will please accept my thanks for you punctuality. The reading of your letter gave me immense pleasure inasmuch as it furnished new evidence of the conceptual of the opinion I had formed, of your heart and understanding. Still, I could not but accept that you should have shut so many records on the subject of our first interview. We evidently asked {under} different influencing, each misadventure meeting the conduct of the other; and yet I have cause to be thoughtful for that very difficulty which seems cause now to grow you so much. It ensconced me, by the necessity it imposed of an {expectation} about, to arrive at a better estimate of your character and disposition than I previously should have at [page ripped] worrying. It broke down that barrier which customarily imposed to a free with changes of previous on [page ripped] the heart and thought and to an understanding of each other, on learning of perfect equality, and at most, mutual satisfaction. You will thus far, oblige me, by never allowing it again in language of regret. You should not suffer if to trouble you for a moment, for with the explanation that facilitated the relocation to law is on of pleasure rather than reproach, and is neither which respectively of suspect overlooking away impractical influencing that might have been shed over our acquaintance.

The undisguised offer which I made you my previous note, I see no reason to withdraw after having privately and maturely verify its consequences both whom may own destiny and on young. It might offer the appearance of a precaution and hasty proposal to an indifferent passion, my acquaintance with the faith. Thus, as {betrayal} outstanding, all things conscience, I cause of persuade myself that there is connected with it any impropriety. It is then I should have shared you for a little period layer, the effort of overcoming those feelings of {records} believe which I ever know how to appreciate in frequency in your situation, had not my Brother {growing} as your friend, as were as mine overcome many {sampling} by explanations expecting your communication. He promised to communicate to you, in part as least, the subject of interaction at Batvia, that I might not entreat before you in too unfathomable a light. I shall {caution} him for his censorship, when I see him.

I have said enough about preliminary matters for now. In your kind letter, after a cautious to cough well what I had before said, you say in reference to yourself- should you then wish an interest in that deceit, which has him to grow decided amongst my friends, I shall be pleased to say to you, what I have never [page ripped]. Which I interpreted to mean, in plain language, that, if after a review of all the circumstances of our several situations in life, our acquaintance, and standing, I still with an interest in your affections, your shall be {pro forward} to yield it. Am I right? If so, I take you at your word, and pledge you the fidelity of an honest hear now surrendered to but one before. And that one, was she permitted to infatuation in the affairs of this life away move, I feel persuades could afford my determination.

In truth, Eliza, I made you the pledge I have with feelings of no ordinary solemnity. This day, two years ago, I withered the close of the earthly career of ours. I now can’t forget. Our last words, our last look, your parting advice and admonition, how actively for myself and how little else, from whom she was about to part forever in this world, and still pursue to my imagination in colony to strong ever to be allowed. But why, the unfeeling might ask, as you limp forward such a subject, or an occasion like this, when the healing supposed to be right with the anticipation of new joys? Because it is the influence of the feelings it suggests, that I have ached. How, I know, will sympathy this with me in the past–it is the office of love and friendship to do so. If the past has no void, whom of what all else to infect too the past and the future? You would not wish me to forget who is going–Was I capable of doing so, what aplomb would you have of an affection beyond a few brief mouths? No, no–I can trust in you for all I am seeking–a friend, a mother. It is seldom they who wanted in equal performance, but my heart and my judgment well was that my own expectations in you will not be disappointed. [Page ripped] not your won power in this nature- and but [page ripped] decide your own unbiased good sense, and I shall be satisfied with the result.

I feel amiable to add much more at this time. Now viewing our religion have my affections in this practical sense, but I cannot reply to them now- When I shall see you again, I will, if you desire it, submit my opinions on this subject to you in detail, for I would disguise nothing. You know already that [page ripped] knowing the philosophy of the schools- that my morality is practical, not theoretical, and that my need embracing all needs, holding fast that which is good, for its own sake, leaving some in the few examples of the same feeling which I claim for myself. There is no room for us to differ on this head, proud so your wishes and views are formed by values and common sense. To me they would to serve, though I should find then, in some nonessentials at {?} with my own. I should wish- because in the confidence that they were not lead to a conclusion of those obligations which I hold paramount to all preferences, and which I caution from the [page ripped] of our duty to ourselves, to society, and to our God.

Accept the cordial exception of my good wishing, and believe me truly and- (I may now add, without offending against propriety say) affectionately yours,
O Follett

My letter is too long to copy, in order to get it on a paper then- it must go double. I had a time from that yesterday- it was nearly to say, that in consequence of the indiscretion of his Uncle he had not yet finished his conference with him.

Buffalo, Mar. 24, 1832–transcribed by Nina Flannery
My Dear Eliza,

We now seem to have come to a full understanding of each other. Yours, of the 20th, apprising {?} me to this, and I shall henceforward treat you with that familiar confidence which the relation we share in permits and requires.

When I saw you in Rochester you spoke of the necessity you was under of going to New York about the 20th of this month. Have you relinquished the journey or when do you go? In your letter you say nothing about it, and I ask the question now, not for the purpose of advising in the matter, but to obtain information by which to regulate my own movements at home.

Allow me to ask farther, What are you wishing in regard to making known to mutual friends, the engagement between us? Will you take it upon yourself to breach the subject to your friends in Caucau or shall I do it? (You will command in these particulars as suits your own feelings. I will not, just at this time, insist on an answer to the question, when you will be prepared to write yourself Mrs.; but as we are both business men we must act on business maxims, to wit, that it is unsafe to allow large balances to stand on book unadjusted, for fear of bankruptcy and subsequent protests of draughts. I have no fear of your credit, as things now stand, and I should be sorry to be thought doubtful myself—but the “penalty, the penalty”, as Shylock would have it—the bond must be paid, and it is best to know early when it becomes due, that we may avail ourself of the days of grace to meet it. In all these things, however, you will consult your own convenience, so far at least as a due {?} arrangement of your affairs is concerned. I desire that you should make no material sacrifice of inclination or interest for my especial gratification. Your own good sense will be the best guide by which to regulate your conduct. A word on the score of interest—Do as you please, make what disposition you choose of your pecuniary matters. I claim no right to advise, nor have I a wish to express, in relation to them. Whatever may be the amount of your “worldly store” it forms but a small part of the estimate I made of your worth, and I have no enquirey {?} to make on the subject, or wish to express beyond this oe, that you will settle that item to suit yourself, now, whilst you habe the power of doing so. In regard to [Lo—carth?] I am not so badly off as was the Dutch farmer’s son, who was “so choked withsense that he could not speak”—my sum total would not incommode the movements, and hardly the speech, of any other man, whether he put it in his pocket or his throat; but where little is wanted, little will do. There is something in the good Book about a ‘stalled ox’ &c. I leave you to make the application.

I doubt not the sincerity of your misgivings in relation to the destiny you are about to take upon yourself, as a mother the the motherless. It is, to a {colulated} and benevolent mind, a dreaded responsibility.—I am aware of all your doubts and fears. You would not falter in your effort to do your duty, but you know that the world will watch you, and it might censure where it could not understand. This is too often the case, and knowing, I will appropriate a large [share?/show?] of my confidence for this very object, that you may have a capital sufficient not only to commence operations on, but to sustain you against any sudden p{uses}. I believe you will have no difficulty on this head. Joseph, the oldest, is past 10, and I think an excellent boy. Sarah, the oldest daughter is the one I have the most fears about–she is just passing eight, and knows too much for one so young, I mean about mischief; and she is affectionate; and although wild, I think her perfectly controllable with a steady and even hand. P{uela?Phobe?} is five, and is too good to give anyone any trouble–at least, so say her grandmother and aunt. Nancy, the youngest, who is past three, will not at present be relinquished by her grandmother, and I doubt whether she would be willing to part with Puela/Phoebe/Paula. But we will drop this subject for the present. I though I would give you an inventory before you took possession of my treasure, not knowing but that you might wish to negotiate your interest for a more profitable investment.

I mean to be serious, but I have been idle for two or three days past, and my mind has run loose. What do you think I have been at? Don’t be alarmed, but I have been chasing the girls {?} It is true, and what is more I caught mine! No wonder then, you will say, that my mind should run wild. You hay have heard, or, if you have not, I will tell you, that Miss Mary Stroeng {?}, youngest daughter of Indigo Stroeng, of Batavia a girl between 17 & 18 years of age, took it into her head to run away with a maried man by the name of Davis, a brother of Col. Wm. Davis: of Bat,varia. They passed through this plan to Canada, and myself, with some others, went after them and persuaded her to turn back, in time to prevent her total ruin. The gentleman came back of his own choice, and is now in our jail, at the suit of the father for abdusting his child, who you will see was a minor and has not arrived to years of discretion. She will return to her parents and friends, an humbled and penitent offender, and I to my business and duty to you, promising not to stray again—I am afraid you’ll think me light-headed, but I believe it is only light headedness arising from the convection of having performed a duty by rendering a small service to frail humanity and broken-hearted parents.  You will write early, and before I answer, I may become sad again.  Adieu—and believe me, Your affectionate O

Buffalo, Apr. 4, 1832–transcribed by Kaitlin Hooker
My dear Eliza,

Yours of the 29th, was rec’d with much pleasure bringing, as it did, the information, that you were about to be released from the active cause of hardship. However, I will not at this time say much on this subject, for it is not impossible but that I may be a bit selfish in my joy–Yet I know that in part, all aside, it is for your sake. I only wonder how you have been able to content yourself so long in the tiring life you have led.

I rec’d a letter the other day from my sister. She gave me a petty dish of scandal that has been, and is, serving with as our joint escrow in Rochester. That we vow to be married, then was no doubt in the public’s mind- that seemed to be sated. And, furthermore, that I had applied, when last in Rochester, to Mr. Wisner, to marry us, and that he refused on the grounds that I was a new professor, and should anything be more ridiculous? To whom are you informed- to what kind friend- for all this attention to your affairs? I never have mentioned the subject to any person, except to my Brother, and you can interpret for me how careful I was when in Rochester, for your sake, that no charm should be grown for them to pick. But this is no trusting to approaching, and is as well to say and feel that can nothing for what is said by the word, provided we can escape from criminal accusations, as to lament the presumptions of humanity. For my own past, I set them at defiance. If you are as indifferent, why then let them speak on. I forgot to mention, that the part of your deceiving your determination to have your triumph in the Law, was quoted as evidence against you- and that the time when the awful affair was to be consummated was liked as the same period, or whereabouts. I will show you any fault equally.

You have left me now to {?} by letter dissention in afraid to curtail {?} I mentioned communicating with your friends. Know, however, the affair has become known through the kinships of some of your acquaintances in Rochester- at least seven of them to be pretty well understood that we have, or are, conspiring together to commit matrimony, to the disturbing of the peace of scrutiny, wise and charitable empathy, it may be well perhaps, should I have occasion to write Samuel, to mention the part to him. He will of course, let the family know it, and then, when the secret shall be in the keeping of the women, how are you going to withstand it any longer? This will do, {?} you have unburdened yourself–and if you have, it will do no hurt.

By the by, is puzzling me not a little to discern why it is I do not hear from Samuel more definitively. It matters not much what his determination may be, but let it be what it may. It is almost time that he came to some conclusion, or informed that when was a prospect of his doing so eventually. I have heard from him only once since I was in Rochester, and then only to say that he had not yet got through with his preliminary task with his estate.

I was warned from experience to sympathize with you in the gossiping and desecrating you anticipated from your journey to the city. But I trust you got along in safely, and nothing was impairing your health. As any time, such a journey offers but few interpretations–the {?} is the worst of all journeys for the undertaking; good company, however, alleviating many of the {?}, and the preference you had.

I had a letter from N. a few days since, in which kind inquiring was made of you. He added, “All well him, but can’t be long.” This means something, I suppose; you are welcome to the information is contains, if you can understand it. As for myself, I am full of apprehension.

We all visited last Sunday evening with all other kin. It took in the store of your old friend and traveling companion, Mr. Skarrow, which was burnt down, together with the wholesale grocery store of Mr. Sheldon Chapin. The whole lost about 7000- {?} no other building materially injured. My lodgings are directly opposite of the fire–for a little time, we felt some alarm, but it soon sufficed, the study being wide and no wind. My office is nearly opposite, on another {?} from the fire (the stove burnt standing on a comm(?)) and now for a second I feel a state of alarm. I seemed like this autumn of an old evening, hedging me in on all sides, but no injury was suffered.

I feel obliged to you for the [page ripped] opinion you {?} of my “treason” as described [page ripped] for {inventory?} No. 1–the balance of the lot shall [page ripped] forever, or you may take it how {sample?} [page ripped] will {?} it to hold out midding well, as fair as miscellaneous apartments. There will be, of course, some odd ends and necessity, but they are mostly cut from palpably good {?}. The fabric is sound in all cases, that I will warrant- no artificial finish to hide blemishing. The bargain is understood to be for pay in kind- a barter trade, after the fashion of the country Then for no advantages is escaped, now will be fashioned in my rambling style once now and believe me.

Your affectionate, Oran

Buffalo, Apr. 26, 1832–transcribed by Nina Flannery
My dear Eliza,

Yours from N.York was duly and thankfully rec’d. This will reach Rochester about the time of your return. Since I wrote you last, I rec’d a line from Samuel telling me that you had confessed your offense to them, and assuring me that they were very well satisfied with the arangement which we had made for a life partnership, &c. When I shall see my good friends in Rochester I do not doubt but that they will be equally well pleased with the matter–at least they will acquiesce, for they might as well do it as not, being in all such matters very much inclined to have my own way.

I rec’d a letter from my sister the other day, but she had wholly forgotten to mention the {sermon?memoir?} again. In my answer I congratulated myself, for your sake, on the extinction of the story, not doubting it had died away, inasmuch as they did not mention it. But it would seem that the story is too widely blown to be kept down; at all events, we shall be watched as though out suspicious friends, the publick, expected we were going to commit some terrible offense against good morals and common decency. Miss Wilcox, whom you saw at Batavia, has become alarmed, and has announced to my brother’s family, that, “as they are soon to have a sister Eliza, they had better call this daughter Mary, without adding Eliza”! (–En?{passant?}–I had almost forgot to say, that Clarissa has presented her husband a find daughter—her age will date from the 17th instant if I recollect right.) Miss W. must have got her information from that Miss Chaspin, whom we saw at Gen. Stroengs. By the bye, you might have understood from Clarissa that Miss W. calculated over “the Widower” with some hope. Poor girl, how sadly she misjudged me.

The story of our engagement has reached here, by the help of a friend of mine, a Mrs. Burrwell, who has just returned from Rochester. She says “it is (the marriage) to take place, for he writes to her” (i.e. to Miss Ward). Now how did she get hold of this pressing fact? But let a woman alone for running down a scent. I, of course, could not possibly understand the nicety [?] and innuendos, unless they applied to Miss Folet (my sister) to whom some wise ones had consigned me. At last, I got at the content of her knowledge through a young lady, who honestly confessed all that had been whispered. So we go. The world loves a mystery. A strange woman sets all eyes open. This Miss Burwell is a connection of a young Lady to whom I was transformed in this plan, and as I found the friends had not lost an hope of bringing about the affair. This rumour discovers all.

I had contemplated a visit to Rochester, about the first of next month, but I shall not now be down until the latter part of May or first of June, in consequence of the absence of my Sister on a visit to Troy. When I com I shall bring my two children from this place to allow them an opportunity of paying a visit to the  little sisters, and the grandma and aunt. It is very doubful whether I shall afford you an opportunity of seeing the whole lot, or not. I shall make you pay well, if I should. Only think of it for a moment—how unequal is the match between us—here I throw into common stock, four children, nearty and well grown, and you have not a single chick to add to the consensus!! When I shall come, however, these small matters can be arranged. But, when I do come, how shall I continue to see you? If I should go as usual, and as a gentleman should do, then it will be “all {sicky} withus both—the thing will be settled. Should you claim {choose} to ride with me, then certainly it will be allowed. And, if, perchance, you should go to visit my friends and to examine my valuables, who then could withstand the terrible shock? Certainly, no single woman. You would have to get married, or run away, immediately, to save your friends the trouble of making inquiries and giving advice. It is said that ‘woman is fruitful in expedients” I will not give an opinion or borrow further trouble on this momentous business, but wait patiently to hear what you shall have to suggest.

After all your fears and prognosticating, it would seem that you reached N.York in safety and in very tolerable weather. If you get back as well, I shall be thankful, from the situation in which your last letter left you. Now, whilst I think of it, I will tell you that I am apt to be “jealous”. You will, therefore, be careful how you entrust to me any of your stale scents–I shall find out enough of them without too liberal confessios Shakespeare has it, you know, and who can draw more vivid pictures? That ‘to the jealous mind, trifling light as air, are confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ” (This is very near the correct reading) So, beware, I warn you in season!

In my letter  congratulatory, to Nathan and Clarissa, I said that if they would call their daughter Eliza Oran, making her name in full Eliza Oran Follett, I would add another or a string of corals, &c &c &c. You see how I manage your interests?

I must close this rambling epistle. I have written it in great pain, from a slight hurt I gave my right shoulder yesterday. I can only hope that the reading of it will not inflict any pain on you. If it should, I shall plead in abatement the unwavering affection of, Your Oran

Buffalo, June 1, 1832–transcribed by Nina Flannery
My Dear E.

Your patience by this time is pretty well tried, but I hope it is not exhausted. I shall be in rochester Wednesday or Thursday morning next by Packet and shall go immediately out to my mother’s with my children. I did intent to call and see you, of course, before going out, if I had {the} permission to do so. But fearing it may incommode you, and knowing the town will be watching my movements, I shall not do it until I come up, with in the afternoon of the same day, or next morning. There is little ned of longer attempting to disguise our relations to each other, for the publick seem to be as well advised of all our affairs, as we are ourselves; and, as for myself, I care nothing about it. How, the thing is well understood, the last news having been brought to Harry Morris, on his return from Canaana the other day. Your sister Emily probably was afraid she would not be the first to tell the news, and so anticipated rumour a little. But, no matter, the world must have just so much to talk about. I am not advised when you will be at your sister’s—perhaps you intended I should learn on calling at your store, a very proper place, I admit, or, that I should hear it from your own lips. Either will do now, for I am not particular. I cannot write now—the humour is not upon me. I am dull, sad, melancholy. I have no words to spare, but my thoughts are heavy upon me notwithstanding. An effort at fine or gallant writing would bring up an interrogation, the words of Richard, “was ever woman” &c. Farewell. Yours, Oran

Buffalo, June 19, 1832–transcribed by Nina Flannery

I feel a real satisfaction in again finding myself sufficiently at leasure to devote a few minutes in communicating with you. My visit, taken all in all, has made me wiser and happier. Wiser, because I have seen new combinations of character; and happier, because my mind is more at rest than it was—because I feel better satisfied with myself and with others. And because it had found something congenial with itself on which it can rest in fullest confidence. And call it sister, friend, ______ (the word is familiar enough, but I cannot now speak it. You must supply the deficiency.)

But, really, Eliza, without something on which to recline–without a center around which the affections can cluster, what is man? What is life? The mere animal existence with which we are endowed is nothing. Worse than nothing unless there is a mental development without we also change the business of life in all its objects, and make it our highest ambition to live longest instead of the worthiest. The faculty with which we are gifted, leading to the development of the find feelings, in a state of cultivation, would prove our heaviest curse could we not find some meaning for their enjoyment. I reason, you know, in all things from cause to effect. On this subject, however, I do not propose to {dilate}. Yet I have continued, as you will understand by the declaration with which I started, to draw new hopes, new pleasure from our acquaintance, and now feel that I have opened a new spring of joy from which I trust will long flow pure and uncorrupted pleasure. I do not mean to be promising myself too much from our mutual love and esteem–nor will I draw largely upon the language of the imagination to express what I do expect. But there is such a thing as contentment, satisfaction, enjoyment (call it what you will) in this world which we term arbitrarily pleasure. This, in some small {way/ days} is within our reac. This is all I promise myself, and if you are equally reasonable, why, all is perfectly easy.

I had I believe begun to grow sour with the world before I saw you. Not exactly misanthropic, but had begun to turn my affections inward, to curtail my discounts of charity, and was rather anxious to persuade myself that this world was hardly worth enjoying, or if it was, there was but little in it that was worth sharing with others. As for the world to come, that was well enough. And this latter proposition I still adhere to. But the former, I confess, has undergone some changes in my mind. You knew it had, you will say–I knew it also, but I was not sure I fully understood until my last visit to Rochester. You will say, however, that I had different language before I came down. True, I thought then, as I think now, my judgement was as throughly convinced as it is now—my mind was unwavering and unchangeable, for my conclusions were all sanctioned by my reason. Now, in addition to all this, something, my feelings, my affections, are to be added. Not that I had not surrendered them before, but now there is no reservation, no contingency. Pushing itself in to distrust the harmony of thought. I say, there is no reservation–that is for the future–the past it has gone, but it has left its traces behind. There remains the future, which is all that was ever offered to any son and daughter of Adam, out of which to carve {create?} this web of joy and sorrow. These we can appropriate to ourselves, and the fault will be ours if we do not make a good use of them.

I saw your leter to Clarissa—that is to say, I saw the outside of it; te inner she kept to herself, like a {true} knight, except that she told me so much of its contents as went to renew your promise to make them a visit at Batavia. I was glad to hear it, for I shall certainly embrace the opportunity of seeing you for a little while. I do not mean to threaten you with the infliction of my presence during the whole of your stay there, for then, you know, a difficulty would arise between Clarissa & myself, whether the visit was intended for the family or for me. I am not so very self as to wish to appropriate your presence wholly to myself. I will therefore so contriveit, as to be in Batavia on day before you leave for rochester. That will give me an afternoon and evening, and a forenoon, in ‘your sweet company’ as Shakespeare said it on a like occasion. This arrangement, you must see, will leave you at full liberty for all manner of parties, visits, calls, and even soires, should any offer, without my disconcerting attendance. And yet, you need not expect to escape being looked upon as Mrs. F. in prospect, for all had heard, many asked, and some were not denied. In short, I told my friends frankly, the truth, in answer to their guessing. I did it out of self respect, and out of respect for you. There should be nothing doubtful…?…abo…such affairs, after a certain period especially in cases when the publick take it upon themselves to manage the affair in their own kind way. Take away the mystery and the wonder ceases. Were elephants and lions as plenty as pigs and ponys, who would pay the money to see one? No wise person; and the fools would then have no excuse to {ryse} for their indulgence. One case is not analogous, but it is near enough to be overtaken by a smart gossiping Yankee. I have nothing to say about business in this letter. Nathan approves very much of my store project. By the by, he told me he should be in Rochester about the 1st of July, on his return from Canana and should offer you a seat in his little buggy waggon. He will write you, no doubt, about this. I commenced this letter with a patent Perryman pen and I end it with a worn out opague one. I hope the matter will be sufficiently clear to be seen through. At all events, believe it to be from your devoted Oran

Buffalo, June 22, 1832–This and all following transcribed by Kaitlin Hooker

My Dear Eliza,

You will pardon me for trusting you so soon, with another of my probing epistles, especially when I tell you that the controlling motive is a {?} to promote your wellbeing, or, at least to promote its diminution. I perceive by the public {?} of your plan, that is the people of Rochester are getting cholera mad–and knowing, from observation, how contagious diseases of the mind are, my object is to put you on your guard against the effects of the ridiculous mesmerizing, now being carried on amongst you. I could be amongst the last to treat rightly the opinions and speculations of my fellow men, in all cases, when the effect continued to {?} or when they only have reference to abstract healing. This rush, however, does not look good in meeting affecting the public opinion, the public’s health, and good order of a whole community or people. I often fail at the ability to condemn most pointedly the proceedings in your plan, calculated to alarm and distract the public mind, ruin friendship, impair the public health; in short, to produce the very slab of things which this ill-judged would guard against. You know, Eliza, that I have great confidence in your practical good sense. I address respect to you as I would to a person capable of understanding and appreciating my language and motives; and let me now urge you to exert yourself amongst your closest friends, to array the {?} which I feel is raging in your plea, which {strictly} is sown {?} with us, and which with if not checked, {?} most sinful effects whom family, friendship, men, and the whole country.

The cholera is a big bear. In its nature it is not contagious, and is no more to be feared than any other prevailing {?} arising from local causes. In the first place, you are sufficiently rational and philosophical to admit with me that all effects spring from a natural and legitimate cause–the converse of this is so ridiculous, that it seems a waste of words to state the preposition, yet so many, many thousands acting as though they had no idea that cause proceeded effect. Having laid down my premise, it should now follow, creating from them to find a sufficient cause to the cholera. What is the uniform testimony of physiological and scientific men, both in Asia and Europe? Is is, that the disease is not contagious (in the same way that the small pox is), and that it exists for the most part, and almost exclusively, in healthy, confused and filthy {?}, attaching the singular in habit, the {?} and finally in poison. It was never known to pervade a secluded and airy sport, or to rage in high situations, but then was a local exciting cause. A pestilence never raged all over a city, alike all plans, but is uniformly confined to particular areas. The cause may be spread- the atmosphere may become now widely contaminated, and those ho breathe it, with those who eat infected food, will be more or less affected, according to the state of the system and its predisposition to disease. If from ineffectually, in recent {?} a disorganization of the system has taken place, the breathing of a particular atmosphere will, of course, with the cause always escaping, and may pardon (as if most likely coerced) a malignant type of disease, which orchestrates {?} only few of an ordinary cast. So with the cholera, and all other malignant diseases. They are generated in filth, and live on air. The contagion, so much dreaded by the ignorant, is the breathing, and living in the imperial medium. Quarantine exceptions- stopping of boats, plays, and open sale is all nonsense. In Europe, all preventions failed, and saved in fact only to incense the crowd, insomuch as they indured a recitation of the legitimate means for arresting the disease, to wait, cleansing stress, admonishing against individual, personal claims, etc. etc. In Britain, 60,000 holding over employed to figure out the disease in its progress through {Proper city name?} and {Proper city name?}; but would not do it. {?} came from every low marshy plain, are persons who by this habit of disease, suffered as a matter of course. (Proper name) delusion treatment and we do not wonder at it. If the person that’s affected has made himself the constant companion of {?} or had been one of a community of drunkards, living in filth with rats, poisoning each other by the breath, living and breathing persons, a more major character would be shown to the disease. In my humble judgment, the fever and aches, with its periodical shake and {?} is now a legitimate subject of wonder, than the cholera. No one wonders at the aches, because we know it is produced by establishment of low, marshy situations. Forgive me to exception, if it should appear harsh, but who ever heard of praying and fasting away the aches? Set no by of you, my dear girl, to abstain from all exciting indulgences, either of mind or body, live in the atmosphere of your usual good sense, and by your example give the world, and especially your friends, reason to admire aflush the example of the quality of a mind and heart. For me, I may be sick- I may die and that to with cholera, but I feel appealed to it with calm and so without any supernatural announcement. By using preventing, all will be well, and I trust we shall live to see each other again, in spite of a disease. By the way- if your friends would stop gossip, you can come to {?} and I will be with you often.

Adieu my dear friend,

Buffalo, June 27, 1832
My Dear Eliza,

Yours of the 23rd and 24th was received last morning. I was much gratified at its contents, in more particular than our first–that I get proposed the power of confirming pleasure our union and secondly, that the object of my regard was so worthy of {?}. I did not expect it of you, in elation to the subject of my last letter; the gratification I experienced, therefore, was in the fact that I had not been mistaken in the estimate I had placed on the soundness of your judgment. In the offering of this world, plain common sense, aided by the lights of experience, is the safest guide. In short, experience is the only guide we have in any thing. All our knowledge- our estimate of value- or notion of propriety all are comparative. We misunderstand nothing in intuition. Our {?} of though are just in precisely the same way that our {?} of speech are- and who will dare say that the (tougher) that now escapes the conceptions of the mind in the English language, might not have some say, equally as well, in French? To our English mind, if I may use the exception, the thoughts of the French scholar are as blank; but a translation sounds away the difference; and in this, the excuse of the meanings of the mind, conniving to the careful observer, that experience and comparison is the basis of knowledge, and that mind if matter, operated on from without.

The {?} man speaks confidently of the knowledge, and so does the handy mechanist or agriculturalist, when on the subject of their respective occupations. Both divine this knowledge from experience, from experiments and careful tests- the knowledge of one thing leading to another, while, by combination a subject everyone is formed capable of moving the world.

Mankind are unaware, not infrequently, by what stray influences they are moved. We acquit a mean of coil, judging from imitation. As a general rule, perhaps, this is as safe a {?}as can do I devised but there are exceptions, you must know, to all general rules, and this in particular is liable to much abuse. If may do for the standard of review, but it will never do in the moral would, applied to abstract questions guessing on opinions of belief. The effect is what we must look to- and our notions here are mercifully confined to observation, for, beyond this, the theory of the man is as good as anything. We do reason things in most things, at least, our art as though are they reasoned. But, left the mind our cut loose from the things of sense- let her {?} into the clouds- let her imagination herself prepare in all the operations of nature, injuring to a blind necessity, or depending along an abstract belief wasting on forced construction, and all is gone. The descending of the rain, the coming of the mildew, the raging of pestilence, all is ours and the same thing- the exercise of a pursuant known joining from to all. Now, to the natural philosopher, all these things spring from the unmoving laws of Nature’s God, resting on a ball as lasting as eternity, beyond charge, beyond contrast, beyond the excuses of any pursuant known, for God and Nature are unchangeable. Why then do men make such fools of themselves? Our imagination is quite a different affair. Any violation of the simple laws of nature are felt by us, in the shape of panic, disease, and death. Set is presence the natural powers, or let us come as man a conformity to nature as we can, and we may just appease of as perfect exception from “the ills the flash is here to,” as is consistent with the economy of mortality.

I talk to you on these matters as though I wished to excuse form your mind a heresy; whereas, I believe, we think very much alike, judging from your last letter I will share you, therefore, any {?} punishment at this time. But, still, when I get talking of Nature and her Laws, I hardly know how to stop- I love Nature and with children- can add a foundation, you will say- because then is no deception in them.

And if this all? Do you love nothing else? Yes, I love myself, and what son or daughter of Adam does not? By loving myself, I love others, such only, however, as capable of adding to my comforts and happiness, think gratifying my self love, and strengthening my affection for them in just such proportion as they are endowed with quality to promote and increase the foundation of all true love. Now, is this a riddle to you, or do you understand it? I am sure you fully comprehend me, and this appearance is doubled by the tenor of your language and conduct. We therefore understand each other, as people should, seeing things as they are, and not as we may have imagined them. I feel great disturb of mind on this subject, not infrequently, arising from the distrust I have of myself, and of my own power. It is not a boyish whim, but arises from experience. I know I would not do anything deliberately calculated to make you unhappy. But, alas, for poor humanity! She is frail, almost beyond belief. You, I fear, calculate too much on her perfection. I see and feel that your affection for me is strong- I am happy and proud in it. I need hardly remind you of the state of my feelings again. But the ills and traits of life are magnified. Misfortunes come when least expected- they sometimes may, almost always, find their victims unprepared- disease wastes us, life looses its charms, and death closes the sieve. I do not fear death myself, but for others, how can I bear again and again to look to it? Be of good mind Eliza- it will not be so gloomy if I can keep it= my feelings run away with me. I have soon to lack of your visit to Rochester, I sall know when you come, I trust. Adieu, my love-

Side messages within the letter:

I have written, you will see, on the wrong page, for convenient reading.

Our plan is but healthy, our get accounts stale that the cholera is about in Canada. We are quite well prepared for its approach.

Buffalo, July 5, 1832
My Dear Eliza-

I am glad you have set yourself down in Batavia (NY) for a week or so The change of air, I doubt not, will be beneficial, both to your body and mind. My “saucy face”–alas! It has run me into many a sad {?}–that is–by following its incense, I have often been put to the blush–But now, it is in a sad condition indeed. I have been grateful that I should be obliged to deny myself the pleasure of seeing you at Batavia at all, for you must know that my eyes, those “windows of the soul” have been very troublesome for a while past. I undertook to devote myself to my {?} with more than my accustomed activity–I wrote more, and had more, than I had been in the habit of doing, and the suspect of a fortnight practice is a {mapity} of laying aside my {?} altogether, or depending {?}. I have worked to the latter, and get long pretty well, giving my personal alteration to the detail, etc. etc. But my letters, (some of them at least) it is helping for me to with myself. Yesterday and today, I feel much better. The watch is very oppressive and infavorable, but I am mending fasting. The exposure to dust, etc, on my way home from Rochester was too much for my comfort, and I feared to encounter again the dust and heat, in a pent up stage. I will get into the stage here at evening, and the most moving will find me at Batavia. This feat I will perform any day this or must work, should we be favored with a little rain to lay the dust–and should the rain not descend upon the earth sooner, I will make my descent when Batavia to shrivel and carry off–our kin, a kind cook and secondary of {?}, as early as Tuesday might make bringing along diving small matting pointed out in Nathaniel’s letter of 4th.

She’s much for my visit. Now for the answer to your very kind letter. Before I proud fault, I have a proposition to make: the weather is very warm and my sight is not very good, and if you will permit it, I will offer the special pleasure that I see you. I will {?} however, if you say so, and I wait for autumn accordingly.

1/4 to 12, a.m.–There are black clouds in the S.W.–looks like rain. If it should rain, what shall I do? My washer woman does not usually send home my clothes with Saturday and to let the trunk, my {?} and vests, (save ours) are either soiled or from home. Besides, I should have hourly {?} come out before Sunday, it would make you blush to go to Church with me–or–to have me go with you. I am writing with a vase of roses directly under my nose, furnshied me by my little daughter (so you need not be jealous) and this will amount for the triumph of my imagination, as manifested above.

1 o’clock, P.m.–It does rain–a very little. Good!
2 o’clock “”–Winds W.S.W. blows a fine topsoil breeze equally, with some rain, thunder and lightning–Delightful.
1/2 past 4–So rain for minutes past 2–just enough fell to convince us how well we should like more.

Have {?} two or three turning in the little back room of my office–thumb my head for an idea–“Not at home!” Played a melancholy air on my flute, something like “My Hearth with soon is beating” and am prepared to sign myself.

Yours, most truly–

Buffalo, July 10, 1832
My Dear Eliza,

Yours of the 13th and 14th was received this morning. It came last night but I did not receive it until after breakfast this day. If it had been mailed so as to come in the Sunday morning’s telegraph I should have been able to receive it by the evening mail.

Nathan probably shows you my line to him, written in just haste. It would serve, I thought, to appease you that I was weak. By your letter, I may also infer that you had not heard of poor Strong’s death. It is a sad matter. His poor wife! Those who have felt the desolation of such a passing, may be permitted in some small degree to speak in a equalizing sense of her bereavement.

You are in bad spirits, you say. I am sorry for it- I too, am sad- very sad- and have been ever since I left you. I begin to feel deeply the pains of separation. You seem somewhat malady to my happiness. We must not meet, to part so long. In plain words, my dear girl, we must be married! You, I have said it, and will you demur? No, not if you are the jovial being I take you to be. When, then, shall it take place? Will you find the time, or shall I say it ought to happen about the first of October, or latter part of September?

I have been thinking it over. It is true, I am in no active business and, married or not, I shall not attempt any thing by way of a new establishment this fall, or winter, if the proper continuing away thing as heavy as it is now. The expanse of living will not be increased by adding you to my family, and I shall certainly add something to my comforts, and, it may be, to the comforts of others. Then why defer the last step? Married or not- whether the established words are pronounced before us or not- yet, before Heaven we are already married. Nothing can separate us but death. We shall not, therefore, be waiting to make up our mind- it is fixed. We cannot be looking our for more favorable matching- we have made our selection, good or bad. Then let it be consummated, if you say so. Set us the question forever at last, stop the tongues of the curious, and quiet our own asking.

This, you will say, is doing business off hand. The truth is, Eliza, I was not so sensible as I am now this minute, ever since I left you, as to the matter of that–how much I had made you {?} to my quiet and peace of mind, and happiness and enjoyment. I used to fill a vacancy–but I could not tell whether it was in the mind of stomach. So I would eat (forgive me) to quiet, what I now find was, the heart ache! Pshaw! you will exclaim. But, look to yourself, before you pshaw at me Did you not acknowledge that you lost your breakfast the other morning? This will never answer for people who pay their board, for I think I heard the Squire deem you for young, and I expect every day to be doomed for mind. These short meals must be saved. I therefore propose that in about our stretch (for fear one would not go round) and take an old fashioned meal of–I like to have said look, but that would be too (baufaud?) for old people, I will say then–satisfaction! But, enough of this nonsense. You said you were in low spirits- that is short spirits–just like the squiring deep, as described by Mrs. Stopon. I forgot that you was charged to say that Mrs. S had grown quite sedate. As for her breakfast, I will either pay her for it, or will eat two for her, any day she will mention.

As to your going to Rochester, did you ask my advice? I forget, but if you did, I would advise you to go to (Cauaudaigua?) first, and there determine whether it was best to go to Rochester. I do not think you would miss any great wish in going to Rochester now, for I have great confidence in your triumph and discretion. But, still, there is no need of causelessly putting our courage to the test–besides by going you might give some cause to your friends to be asking for you, without being able to subserve any valuable purpose. The advice of your friends on which you will depend, are those at Cauaua. or Roch.? If at Roch. They will advise you to come, for it is quite plain that Mr. Strong is asking to get away to quiet the feelings of his family. Your health is as precarious as this. But still, if duty makes it necessary, go–if you are under obligations, go. If not, the first duty the strongest obligation is to yourself and your dearest friends. Take their advice–consent your own mind–have regard to your own peace and quiet, and you will do, as you generally do, (and as I believe you always mean to do) right.

I received a letter by the mail that brought your [page ripped] at Albany. Nathan, is seeing, had opened it. [Page ripped]. Please say to Nathan that I wrote Dostin las night without, of course, knowing anything about this letter, in which (I am now sorry for it) I gave him a pretty stern scolding for his membership in a business about of view, but still I cool down calmly and affectionately. I told him of what N. was going to do, and bade him trust easy to the affair in question, and go on and arrange hi other meeting as soon as possible. (N will understand this, if you don’t.) I also talked cholera a little to him, and gave him some comfortable doctrine in that way. I will, of course, with N. on the Sept. of the first never form Albany, but I think all will be well enough.

When you go- or before you go, will do better–write me as to your destination, etc., and other matters, about my stopping at Cauaua. And all that, as hinted in my note to Nathan. Still not heard from Sal since I wrote him. What is the matter with him? I tip my hand to you.
Adieu, Oran

Kiss little Eliza for me–tell Claudia–what you think I would say, if there.

Side not at bottom of left page:
*This was an error–I did not leave out the “not” purposefully–I protest, it was an error of the printer.

Aug. 14

I am the most unlucky dog in the world. I never yet attempted anything in the shape of rolling, but what I was taken to be more than half in earnest. You have shown alarm at my letter of date, and so, like a school girl, you put up your lip and wouldn’t write because–what?–I had attempted an awkward compliment for your punctuality! Now, my dear girl, that wasn’t right. You knew I didn’t mean to be severe for what I had so often applaud you gave so much pleasure. But, you will say, in explanation, I am mistaken–you did not feel as all vexed–no not you. It won’t do however–I know you better than that–you did feel just as though I meant something, what, you did not dare ask yourself. Am I not right? And won’t you forgive and refuse to write too and then- you will not be bothered to read my disjointed epistles.

You see I am determined to be forgiven, for I have began my story of grievances before acknowledging your letter of the 12th. Did you get my letter of same date, directed to you at Axon? I began to think you was seeking or sick, and so I wrote after church, Sunday, making due inquiries as you will understand when you get the aforesaid letter, if you did not receive it before leaving, Monday morning.

I feel auscious to hear from you at Cauauadaigua, that I may learn how your friends all are. I need not caution you to take good care of them–that I know you will do–but let me to caution you to take good care of yourself. Your mother will receive your first attention, and I trust under such attentions as you will bestow, she will soon recover. If it should at any time seem proper, you will show them all of my sympathy.

The scene you have sketched at the Springs is perfectly within my comprehension. I have witnessed the like, and overseen if making me to think of it. Bah! Why make proper men such fools of themselves? It is a sure evidence of a weak mind, this to indulge oneself in public, it takes the plan of something now rational and substantial. When there is deep and true affection, or a capacity to indulge the passion of love, founded on esteem and a just estimate of character, such experiences never take pause. It is the evidence of sensuality, and not of intellectual gratification, profound by an assumption with the one we esteem above others. True friendship warrants not itself before the world, it rather stems from the gaze of strangers, or when found in commission with the multitude, such to sustain itself with modest appearance, rather than by an attempt to excite wonder and admiration by a display of its hidden treasures. An habitual trifle in private, trifle and toys in public. His (or its) efforts to be grave and dignified, shred themselves in provisions, never saying anything of posit, or stretching our never or speaking idea. The well informed and sensible cannot always make themselves interesting in conversation, but they manifest the good sense by holding thin tongues. An ability to communicate fluently ongoing ideas, is a gift not to be lightly purged, but the proper should be careful to determine satisfactory, whether he really is listened to with pleasure or from complacency.

What a proser I am getting to be. Seek me on any subject, and you see I don’t know when to stop. But my last latter- or rather, my letter to which your last was an answer–let it go–consider it blotted out, if it contains any thing to give you painl at least, let it not prevent you from writing as usual, or I shall fear to write, lest I shall say something else which will have the effect of druing up your intellectual font.

Tell Samuel it would give me pleasure to hear from him. I have written this letter in some confusion, for I have such more to say, and I began with you first, feeling that you had the first claim. Yesterday, I was writing all afternoon, pathetically, and as yet I have made a more toward getting off to Westfield. I must run away or never go. Here or there, I shall remain.
Truly Yours, Oran

-Blueprint of a house drawn on back of letter-
The second story is much like the first, with a Bedroom on the stair in front, 7 by 8 feet, and over the bedroom in rear, there is one above 10 by 12, with a closer pump off from the chimney, instead of a cupboard, in the back room. There is also a small door opening from the hall above, into a gamet over the kitchen part, furnishing a place for spices, herbs, etc.

My plan above, is drawn without much mathematical accuracy, but it will serve to show the plan of the house provided you have a pretty powerful imagination. There is a good barn, and a second wood shed adjoining it, in the rear, standing on a back alley 30 feet wide, surveryed and worded as a public road.

I have taken Mr. Kerehing consulting on to exact dimensions of Rooms, etc.- they are very nearly correct, perhaps exact but I would not depend too much on them, especially if you have any design to out that immense note of carpeting you were said to have bought. If you want anything more definite than the plan attached, please let me know, and I am yours to serve, etc. etc.

Buffalo, August 18th, 1832
My Dear Eliza,

Yours of the 15th was gladly received last evening. By it, I am please to know, there is no misunderstanding between us–very well didn’t know but then was a right smart charm for a quarrel, in a small way–if there was, why, meant you should do the principal past of it–for I abominably have an active life, just about these things. You won’t confess that you are a little {?} at that exception of mine?–I don’t care about it–you needn’t without you’re a mind to that’s fair! So we will set that pop.

I am very much rejoiced to find your friends were more frightened than hurt. Hope this ill will contain of that kind–not frights, but {?} as you escape it. Your mother’s case, it seeing, was precisely of that kind when your person would afford instant relief. By the by, I have a great mind to get sick, or at least, to see if I could not persuade you to come out and meet me. You would like to see the country–especially, you want to see your new house, the beautiful plan of which I sent you–this is know, and if you deny this, why, I never will charge you again with a thing that I don’t fully believe to be true, etc. etc.–(These and-so-forths mean something very mysterious.)

Your man Kidd, describes himself in a very amiable light. Tender little lamb, to run from his kinship, his home, his duty- run from all, except his wife, and he would most likely run from her, if she could not follow. What has become of your man Strong? Believing, as he does in spherical Broadening, why should he fear? If he believes, a I do, in the natural operation of natural laws, there would be some sense in trying to avoid the pestilence, by running. But the process that enables a man to plan a right construction on the laws of nature, generally elevates him above the mean considerations of fear, when apposed to duty. Why is it–(You will allow me to ask the question, without suffering I mean to perseve a concentration of a debatable point)–Why is it, I say, that christening of the {?} order preach one thing, and practice another/They profess great confidence in the spherical influence and immediate protection of an almighty hand, and get they are, generally, the most arrant cowards that exist–apparently doubting all things, doubting their own existence, doubting the ability of {?} often, and trusting to an arm of (fash?):–using means for safety, that an Unitarian would be ashamed of:–Ignorant of the operation of the plainest principles in physics, having no regard to the subliminal and inseparable concussion behaved cause and effect:–Why, men about the world, as though they could heat nature of her right, and control the elements. Poor souls, I pity them!–I do, most simply. To the person (man or woman) of elevated comprising of the Great Head–who views nature stripped of the covering that Sophists have thrown over her–who sees her, the same today, yesterday, and tomorrow, and can hear the voice of God in the whispering of the evening breeze, of the reverberating of the awful thunder–to such, the restraints of {?} are nothing:–They break over them, duty leads them, and, whatever, may be the outward sea of recognition, they feel to the same duty, they worship the same Sphere, and their practice with, must, be in accordance with their catholic opinions. When I find such a person, do I care what he cares himself? I know what he is, and, to me, that is enough. O, how I wish men would excuse themselves to remove the sahking that bows down the human intellect! If they would do half to unleash the mind, that they have to enslave it, the work would be done! Mind would then be the standard of the man, and the whole human family would rush to our point, mind would run into mind, and an end would be put to the unprofitable end of controversy.

Just look–the idea happened to crop my mind, how business your old friends even to heave you come and devote yourself to their interest, and now, the chicken-hearth babies, the men from it themselves, as though they were trying to overtake their lives–I was thinking of this, I say, and, forthwith, off I start, and you see what a maw I have now. But, no matter–you needn’t have it–(I know you well, however- tempt a woman’s curiosity and see–it will lead her off precisely as a man’s would). Whilst speaking of your friends, I predict that you will never make any thing more by them, whether you lose or not. This prophecy is as safe as the Oracles of Old, which always assumed the event, let it be what it might.

You ask when the payment is to be made on your house purchase. The 20th September was the time mentioned before I believe. Do not embarrass yourself, however, for the amount. Do not get a non-discounted to meet it, relying on your strong kids. I don’t like their actions. 2000 for furniture, etc. Meanway from business etc.–may be very honest focus, but, hang me if I would so bail for this business salvation–beyond this I suppose they feel safe, etc. Bauhs do not wait for draping fear to subside on {?} subjects–they might hoping on some others–but, the Bond, the Bond!

Now, the thing happens to come up, why don’t you leave a with span (not too late, for that would be my life in a greater danger than I now suffer,) for our wafer, just about the middle of the last page? You might, to be very nice, leave one on each side of it, and then I should prose not a word–as it is, I do. Tell Samuel not to sell you any more of that water-lined paper–the shows are altogether too wide. I will send you some nice paper, if you say so, with a sheet of black lines to write by, that will bring your words and mind closer together. Your last letter reminded me an anecdote, which I have not been to tell–perhaps never shall think of it again–nothing lost. My bow tis all my aunts and housing; Mother, Brother, Sister, etc–remembering for yourself, that I am yours,

Note on side of page:
I wish you would not finish your letters to O.F. Esq. The good wife, you know, told the children when her husband ever appointed magistrate, that “now but their dad and herself were “Squires.” When I get to “Squire” I will open to show the dignity.

Buffalo Aug 23rd 1832
My Dear Eliza,

Your favor of 20th was received last evening, and, although it was long, I made every with its contents at a single meal. Yet, I dreamed it, and at one sitting, short and long words altogether. Now, remember, I do intend this for a compliment. It may be awkward, but, nonetheless, it is a compliment, or is meant, which, you know, should be i.e. viz. or the same, to write. (I presume I am understood–which, to say the least, I just presentation!)

For the rest of the time I will try to be serious. That is, to write after I get fairly settled. For a fair share is condensed me–{?}, I believe, is a perilous undertaking. I confer as much from the paints you took to make one.

But, my dear girl, you will permit me to say that you did very right in going to Rochester, as you did. You war in the way of your duty, and should therefore be content to enjoy the inward satisfaction which the performance of a proper art always brings along with it. In ordinary things, a person would think it very strange on being complimented for the fulfillment of ours of the common duties of life–but, nowadays, to do our duty is praise, and seeming to call for a proper acknowledgement.–Not that I think you are entitled to any special commendation for this our art of personal duty; but, as it seems to show that prompt and example are not two things in your domestic economy. I have thought it proper to let you understand that I observe and duly note it. I trust I shall never be found wanting in the common office of jovial wife, myself.

Your Uncle’s family must have been plunged into just disturb, at the melancholy event which called you to Rochester. To have contributed in the smallest degree to which the bruising heart of the Husband and Father–to have softened the distrust of the Daughters (for song, I think, they had now,)–to have afforded consolation and suffers to the friends generally, in such an instance, cannot fail of being a sum of consolation, melancholy, yet soothing. Had you done less than what you did, you would have done so much less than is required by the social ties and the ties of kindred.

I hate apologies. But, look at my case. I sat down at 4 o’clock in my little back affair, for the purpose of spending an hour in communion with you. (I am particular in naming the hour, for this is the day on which my note, requiring four figures after the $ much to lead it, became dim. If I had not been successful in so large an undertaking, I am sure I should be dreaming of protests, rather than friendly letters. Well- to return, as our fashioned clergymen used to say- I had scarcely taken in my surroundings before in came some friends from Sochport, to talk politics. What was to be done? I must be pleasant–I must answer their questions, and tell them of all our expectations, our plans, our local and general property. They have just left now. Will you be satisfied with this, or shall I hold on to it until tomorrow and fill up my sheet? If you did not get an answer in due time, you would think as I thought. “Perhaps he’s sick!” So I’ll send it is as, and if you do not think it a fair exchange for your excellent long letter, why dock my next, and I will affect to think you have done me justice.

I saw your Aunt’s death in the Rochester paper before I read your letter.- What a long apology or excuse I have written above. To say the least it is a poor excuse for a letter. You will be able to tell where my hurry commences. Good bye–my respects to all friends and believe me, truly yours,

Buffalo, August 29, 1832
My Dear E,

Many thanks for your long letter of the 20th–I think you are evidently improving. A few more efforts–one or two more {?}, and I make no doubt but that you will arrive at a high degree of excellence in epistorating, especially of the theological and disputatious kind. But I will not complain. You are trying to pay me off. I acknowledge the justice of the entry, and will consider the affect with intrust. I have the advantage yet, for you had not received mine of the 20th when you wrote yours, although it is postmarked 28th. With this stat, it will take some time for you to catch up.

I have a just mind to go at you, at once, and count you to Christianity. You speak of our creed, as though it was worth noting and “wonder that those who undertake to explain the unjust that is already worked, should think it necessary to use so much of their own consuming.” Now, from a Calvinist, this is rather odd faith, {?} you appear to the word unison a different meaning from what is generally grown. Explain that which is weakest? Why, my dear if you forget that the Faiths of your church spend their whole lives in explaining that which was considered strain before. Explain would he, only think of it; and you forbid us, too, from asking so much of our “unison.” Under heaven, this poor proven with which you would quarrel, is the only means by which we are enabled to understand the unison of Calvin and others, why we should not use our unison–a paradox I admit, but not the only one in the crude extant. You also condemn good works or appose them a low plan in the list of regulations for the Christian character. Now listen–the apostle said that “Faith without works was dead”–but he no where says that “Works without faith are dead”?–That will do for one–Like the Preacher in the pulpit, I decide the argument in my own forum. Haven’t I won it?

I mentioned in my “highly esteemed forum of the 20th” as you will say, on acknowledging its receipt, that we had lost one of our abbot lawyers, Mr. Whitch. The night after he was buried, at Mt. Chitenden, a young layer, our surrogate, was taken with the cholera- at about 9 in the morning, news was brought me that he was dead. This spurred not to be true. He was given up by the physicians, however, at that time, and has been preserved we see by the preserving expecations and attentions of his friends. Their cause was most auscious, constantly watching with him, 3 or 4, and sometimes more, at a time, night and day, rubbing his extremities and making use of the means provided. Today, he is quite comfortable. I was with him several hours on Monday. He is now clear of cholera, but we fear, from the severe conjestion of the superior organs, that when the smaller blood rebels against their action, inflammation will set in, and that we may yet lose him. I am their particular because the poor fellow was just on the eve of marriage, to a high Rocesteran, of New York, the sister of Mrs. Cars, whom you saw and admired at the Springs. She is in New York- he is sick at clay where there is a younger sister of his intended. Mrs. C. poor thing, was so nervous that she had to go to a {?} and there remained though the cholera, so found and upended this morning. O, how I should admire to have such a wife! If she should get sick, I should hope she might get well- and that would be all! The case of poor Chitenden excited a very general from all those causes. I wonder, if I should get sick, whether proper would be moved form a similarity of condition? I shan’t try it voluntarily, although if I should take it with my head to hope off, I verily believe I should be a granter looser than poor Chitenden, in the way of a wife! So much for you.

I have a great mind to stop here and not finish my sheet. You scolded me for my misfortune in being interrupted before, so severely, that I am half inclined to tear off the excess paper and say that it was the fault of the paper maker, not of this writer. Would you believe me? I not, it would show that show that you had no love for me. People in love believe all. Since my last, (I must mend my pen here) I received a long and very {?} letter from my dear sister. She is all sorrow at the delay which has befell our correspondence. As an excuse, she assumed me that my letters were all, that day or so, received together, although she had said and imagined repeatedly for letting and was on the point of writing for a time, to try to know what had become of me. How much of this do you suppose I believed? In reply, amongst other things I suggested the possibility of her forgetting her own name and asking in the name of Arthur. Poor girl, I forgive her half, even is she is trying to hoodwink me, for when she wrote she said she was writing under the smart of a severe burn from the explosion of some sulphurous acid (oil of vitriol) in her face, which came from putting her eyes out, and, in fact, killing her. My with Nancy standing by, and got three drops on her skin. Both their clothes were much burnt by the powerful spirit. A physician was in the house, and help was soon afforded. I scolded her, in my letter, for her ignorance of the plainest principle of chemistry, to wait that gas would escape upwards if not amply confined!! She had put with the broth containing the acid, some indigo, for the purpose of preparing a dye for a carpet I believe. The action of the acid being immediate on the regrettable substance submitted a large quantity of gas was disengaged. She went to shake the broth and, very naturally the cork flew out-pop!- and threw the liquid in her face, and all over her. But she says she is getting fast over it. She wrote the letter day after the accident.

I have not yet been to Westfield. I rather think I will go {?} work. It is so hard for me to start when, in truth, I don’t want to go. But, I will go, if you really insist on it–that is if you say so. I have written too much lately, not to you, about other matters. I feel it sensible. Otherwise, I am in very good health- my friends are well. I am glad to find you are are so and “hope these feelings will find you enjoying the same helping” etc. Like to have forgot that you was at Fairport; would have sent more love to share with other, mother, brother, Hastings, and the little Hastings and all. But, they are welcome to what is here afforded, and you may add to it on your own decoration, in heart for the love of you,

Buffalo, August 3rd, 1832
My Dear Eliza,

I received yours of yesterday with much pleasure–I should have said yours of 1st, postmarked yesterday. But, no matter about a few hours, I have received it.

I watched how Monday evening, after leaving you, about 10 o’clock, in pretty good condition. Saw Claudia and Nathan, and Mr. and Mrs. Chatfield, little Eliza, etc. etc. for a few moments, just long enough to say “how do you do?” and “good bye.” When I got home, I found that my good friends who succeeded me in the telegraph had been busy–they, t seems did not expect I would follow them so soon–they had told the school story, and most likely a little more, and my coming home seemed to surprise some of my acquaintances. Mrs. Day, you may recall, said she had left one of her little daughters at Mrs. Grossmen’s when my daughter Sarah is straying. On getting home, Mrs. G’s being one of the nearest neighbors, the family went there to tea, and there she whole affair was talked over. I of course know nothing about it, but Sarah was allowed to hear all. She came to me laughing, as though she had found out a secret of some value, and told me of it, wising to know, at the same time, if it was true. This was a poser–what should I do? I would not tell her a falsehood, and so I had to turn her question aside by asking others, such as, who told her–how she would like it–whether she should not like to live with her brother and sister again? And such like indifferent and foreign matters. I do not tell you all this by way or stating my grievances, for it gives me no trouble now, but merely to show you how busy the world is yet, and how kind our friends are.

I found a letter from my sister, waiting my return. I was glad to hear from home–all quite well. She has been down again, and had another slight touch of the {?}, but she says she is now as fleshy and hearty as ever. My friends at Rochester are a little afraid that I write to a certain Lady oftener than I do to them. On this subject, I have told them the truth. My sister wished to know, in complaining of my long silence (although they were inducted to me two letters) if they should go to you when they feel suspicious to her from me. This was mere talk, I believe, but I have placed the affair that they will not expect the just, I am sure. I am sorry I could not well return by Rochester, although I have so explained the matter as to satisfy all, I think.

If you saw ventures so far, you may say to Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Scidale, that I should have been extremely happy to have met them, and that it would have afforded me much satisfaction to have contributed my best expectations to have made their stay at the Springs pleasant, etc. etc. They are excellent friends of mine, and I value them highly.

What do you think I have done since I returned? I will tell you. Yesterday, and the day before, having a few hour of business, I sat down in my sanctorum (where I am now writing), and began writing my wife. Only think of that? I have not put it in any very perfect form, nor have I called attentions. I have set down my requests, for the guidance of my Executors and friends, in case I should die suddenly. As you should have a right to expect, your name occurs quite often in the work, which has now arrived to the length of eleven pages- I may add more. I have made my beautiful picture yours, without doubt, if you should ever have occasion to claim it. What else I have done, remaining to be seen, in case I should give my friends the dogs. I have spoken truly on several subjects, and many would think, perhaps, foolishly. To such I would say, should I be absent when the rematch is made- go, learn wisdom, study yourself, examine the things around you, pry into the simple operations and scents of nature, learn charity, be humble, and pronounce not judgments that you do not understand. How self sufficient and wise are our oracles!

I am putting a great deal of nonsense into this letter. I talk at random when writing to you; that is, I write without method, knowing that you will understand it all, forgive all, and keep all to yourself. I had almost forgot to say, that your arrangement as to the manner of spending your time, fully accords with my sense of prudence. You know what I think of the prevailing disease, but still, it is best not to make our friends uneasy, but unnecessary exposure. I am almost half inclined to return to the Springs, and stay a week or two. I so begin to think I should receive benefit from the waiting. The mischief is, I have got a note at Rochester that requires 4 figures to write out, and I must watch it. I think I shall master it, and then, I will begin again to think of the springs.

Tell Emily, I am sorry for her- that is, if she is much sick. At all events, I am just as sorry as she is curable. How long do you intend prolonging your story? (Now, I don’t like the form of the last question–I would say–) How long do you intend to stay at the Springs? If I should venture out this fall, I do not know how I should stand it, but patience, I suppose, is your motto.

When I write again, I will try to put into my letter doing straight making, signifying wooden walls, as complained with trying, stating their length and breadth, and general boundaries. Give me all the news, when you write, especially all that consumes yourself or young. The cholera remains about so so, with us- much distrust has been produced in families, and their is a general stagnation of business–and yet, our place looks quite busy, comparatively speaking–It is a terrible scourge, and what is vexing, the common people who suffer most, show no disposition to guard against it by, abstaining from procreating. I was just going to theorize on the disease–But good by–

Your devoted and affectionate friend,

Buffalo, September 17th, 1832
My Dear E,

By the date of your letter received this morning, as well as by the counting, I perceive that you had not received my answer to yours of the 9th. No doubt, before you left for Rochester, it had duly come to hand. You will find in it (if I might remember its true character,) answers to some of the points of inquiry constrained in your last. But, lest there may be some doubly hanging on your mind–lest you should find a difficulty in interpreting my language, I repeat- that I think we ought to join our fortunes this fall, for two reasons, 1st because the people (for whose vow I have great respect as a politician) have made up their minds to that effect, and 2nd, because I think we both desire it. You, however, can put me right as to the latter assumption. As to the propriety of such a course, so far as business and expenditure is concerned, I think they are altogether in favor of the measure. Business of some kind, if it should be Bookshelving, Writing, Tapeselling, or Shoe-making, I shall engage in some time this fall or write, or so arrange it as to be in the spring. Getting married will not deepen my means for such an event (and they are small enough) but, on the contrary rather immense there. It might intimidate me to more immediate action. Besides, I am not the most {?} man now that {?} was, that is. I am quite busy doing nothing, or nearly nothing. So you see I have a faculty of employing myself.

As to the House–I am almost sorry that we had come to the conclusion of buying. I still adhere most firmly to the project of securing your means to yourself by an investment in your own name previous to marriage. But, I have all along preferred, as you will recollect, the purchase. Day and myself have not come to any understanding yet; but I am inclined to believe that about time will force him to mess of parting with his interest in the property in question. Now, in such a case, your means being absorbed in the purchase of a dwelling, I could not well control the sale, for my means would not allow me to own so valuable a pin of property, and still have an active business capital. I hold Day’s note on demand, without endorsement, for $1330. And should e not be compelled by other necessities pending, I could reach ours, by demanding security for my debt. But, this time has not yet arrived, and will not until after the Election. I must not push him before that event, and afterwards, if we triumph, if may be into the opening of the spring, before I can with safety do it- You understand, in part, I trust, what I mean; you should be political enough for that. My project is, to convey to you, by Quiet Claim, (which as the title is about, would be sufficient) my interest in the store property, which, unimcumbered, is worth $3,250–that is, half of $5,000. The whole is under mortgage of $3000–half of which is $1700–leaving $1300 as the clear value, as if now stands, of my half. The conveyance will be subject, of course, to the {incumbent?} and your future available means can be applied to their extinguishment. If I succeed in securing the other half, we should then own it together, and I should consider it one of the most desirable pieces of property, under any circumstances, that we could hold, having the appearance of always being productive, and increasing in value. Your $1500, then, would fall into my honest hands, as the purchase money.

But, the House?- What is to become of the House?–I have it all arranged. I will still purchase, conditionally, in my own name, and occupy the business as we contemplate. I will lend to Mr. Shelhern a $1000 or $1300, on a mortgage on the business, conditioned for a future purchase. By this arrangement, as the purchase will be optional, we can at any time avail ourselves of the amount loaned (should it be needed) to purchase in the store property, or to be used in any other way that business or circumstances may dictate. What do you think of the financing? Give me your opinion and truly (as you always should) pursue your sentencing in relation to the arrangement I have detailed.

I am much your debtor for the many kind and affection expectations your letter has conveyed to me. Be informed, my dear girl, they are valued as highly as you could wish. I have too much business in my manner for hypocrisy; you therefore, will not fail of taking all my letters contain; as the honest affections of my heart. Need I add more? My last two contain purity- fully my business, my wishes, my expectations- you will question them all as they may seem to deserve, judging solely of my respects and intentions by an appeal to your own bosom. Its response should be your guide, and I promise to be satisfied with it.

Should my suggestions to business marry your apportion, really, and not because I wish it so, you can specify if you must. If not, serve me one a sheet of paper the certificate of deposit to the care of Mr. Ketchum, of $1354, leaving the mortgaged amount of $1500 still on the property. This is almost wholly a business letter- no room for compliments at much length. If my project suits you, keep your money in your own hands, till I see you. I can manage the cash till that time. My love to friends, at home and abroad.

Yours Truly,

Buffalo, September 29th, 1832
My Dear E,

I sit down, past 4 minutes past 8 in the morning, to answer yours of the 25th, which came from the P.O. 15 minutes ago. You will say, I am very punctual and particular. That’s what I think, and it becomes me to be so, that I may own more esteem then cheerful and gladsome loathe to that countenance of young–or else I fear that the acidity of your stomach will so operate upon it, as to give it a sore look for a week to come, perhaps forever. Think of that–forever! Help us, how should we live? Here, such some faces as we could make up, would be too much for our small family. You see them, Ducky, what makes me so auscious.

You did wrong in waiting for me to write- that is, you lost time. I thought of doing so, but saw not for fear you had left Rochester, or you desired me rightly a certain day in your last, indicating a change. The whole matter was arranged on Monday last–I ad written on Saturday the 22nd, in answer to yours of the 20th,–I should have written on Sunday, but I was afraid of trying your patience. On Monday, Mr. Ketchum accorded to my proposition, and nothing preserved the immediate close of the matter but a desire to hear from you before I took the last step. Our agreement stands thus–I pay (or loan) him a thousand dollars, and take a Bond and mortgage on the house and lot in question- I am to have property of the business on the 1st of November next if I elicit to occupy there, for one year, at a cost of 200 dollars, which is the simple interest on the price of the property to court–$285 dollars. The loan is for one year, during which period I have the privilege of purchasing the house at the price above mentioned, and the said privilege to continue as long as Mr. Ketchum the 1000 dollars for his use and benefit. My right of occupancy is to determine on the expiration of 3 months written within, after the first year or summer if by mutual consent, Ketchum informing the 1000 dollars. I am their participation for your late faction. This is another House for which I am in investigation, now occupied by a Mr. Hedge, who married a cousin of mine; he has factual security, and will probably have to abandon his homestead. The House is new, and very neat and convenient, but has a clean kitchen and, besides, it stands on leased ground, to new for 18 or 19 ears. Still, if I can get it at a bargain, I think it last, and in that case shall but Mr. Ketchum stay in his house, holding on to the bargain, (except occupancy) and the bond and mortage. There, you see, all is as we could wish it, or would wish it.

I must still talk on business. I am determined that the public shall be deprived of the pain of saying that I married you from more selfish considerations. They would think, as I do, that you make a sufficient sacrifice of your time and ease, by spurning the change of my little family, with out devising yourself of the means of independence, or, without bestowing before them your substance, as would be the case should you be left alone. In such an event, the rights of the widow would be all that would be left. These might be sufficient, and they might be noting. You understand me. To obviate this difficulty, I have suggested several expedients, such as the store purchase, etc. etc. But some of them scarcely reach the case, for if it should become necessary to sell the real estate, there would be no way of revisiting the funds, without the intervention of Trustees. To meet this abjection, I have come to this conclusion–that it would be best to make a marriage settlement (before marriage of course), putting the disposition of your friends in the hands of Trustees, to be controlled by them under your general jurisdiction and direction. In that case, you could do as you liked with your means. I you chose to lend me your funds, you could do so, and you could even after the marriage, by the aid thus afforded, take security in your own name for such loan. For instance- I take of your means 1000 dollars as the advance made to Ketchum; you can write as the security for such loan an adjustment of the bond of mortgage when the property, from me. In the doubt of a purchase of the premise in question, the dud courts be made directly to you by the aid of the Trustees and this you would be secure in the enjoyment of your own under any circumstances. I propose, therefore, that such Trustees be appointed; and, if you concede, I will get the necessary papers prepared here, by a particular friend, who is in the Law and would suggest at such Trustees the said friend and one of your brothers. The name of the individual is Geo. R. Barborch, an intelligent and serious man, a cousin of mine, and you will be good enough to say which of your brothers you would prefer, in case you fall in with the suggestion. If Henry, has he a middle name?

Now, one word on more particular business. We will, God willing, (and I speak it reverently) be married some time in the month of October coming. If you have any choice of time or day, name it, and it will be my duty and pleasure to confirm. I say, we will be married, because I think you have already consented- I do not dream of confusion. If in November would suit you better, you will say so, and I submit cheerfully. It is not inappropriate that that I may see you next week; if I come, it will be a flying visit, one day at most. We then can talk over these things but do not fail, on this account, of writing immediately, a particular answer to this. I have no room for compliments for friends, or for condolence. I only can wish I had, as ample means as my heart desires, I could find use for it in such cases as that of Mrs. Stroup’s. God help her–I cannot. Be full in your answer, and particular–and do shorten your countenance.

Your devoted and affectionate,

25th, pm, 4 o’clock

This is a sad world. An hour ago, I was all joy at the prospect before me–now (will you believe it) I am shedding tears. Mr. Ketchum has just left me. The subject of our interview has quite {?} me–not that I feel a lot in dear beauty, but I am disappointed, and I cannot help but grieve at it. I had supposed, since Monday, that there was a perfect understanding between us–the papers were drawn ready for execution, waiting only a letter from you to enable me to say what I would do, and when I would do it. Your letter came, and at noon I called on him to go and {?} the business–it rained, and we delayed till after dinner. He was then engaged and must put if off until Monday. In the mean time, as you will see, I had written you a letter. But, about an hour since, he came to my offer to borrow money to pay a British note, and, very accidentally, the letters of our agreement became the subject of conversation. When, to my astonishment, I learnt that I had misunderstood him. Instead of a lease for a year, he constrained it to mean that I was obliged to have at any time, even after occupancy of one week, on the determination of the 3 months written notice, about which I have said something I believe in the accompanying letter. (I broke open the letter, intending to see it, but I thought I could not stake the whole affair in a sheet’s {?}–I had not time to write, or heart, so I said all, that you may see all, and then judge of the falling off in my feelings. Further, he understood my right to purchase, to cease whenever he should pay me the 1000 dollars, if it was in one day, which would be but small compensation for the accommodation, one could be asked to think. In short, I was all wrong, although I had procured the bond and mortgage and the agreement to be drawn from a memorandum in his own hand writing. But, I was too muddy in the brain to comprehend small affairs even–all was uncertainty on my part, all was certainty on his. I was at his mercy, money, house and all, with nothing to show but a mortgage on a piece of property already encumbered $1500! A firm security for a 1000–To secure such a debt would be like paying your neighbors {?} to A. B. C. to the amount of a hundred dollars, that you might secure yours of it without interest. Enough, enough. I will not trouble you more on the subject. I hope my other anchor will hold- if so, all will be well yet. I would not have said so much, but I did not know how to explain it without stating the facts as they occurred. I do not blame Ketchum, he is an honest man; still, he acts strangely, or I must have been very dull when we had our last previous talk. After all, I shall lend him the 1000 dollars, till the 1st of November, of he will justly suffer. I am no Shylock- I will not appease any man, much lest my friend. He has made calculations on the money, and he shall have it until he can make some sure arrangement. In the mean time, I am all in doubt- a house, a house! But, in getting a house, I would avoid a passion! Write me- you may feel now, if you will- school me as much as you will, but do not doubt my still being yours affectionate,

I can’t fill the sheet–my love to all your friends–you may still disclose the enclosed, leaving the house out for the present. The other points bad better be answered now–Goodbye my love

Buffalo, October 4th, 1832
My Dear E,

Yours of the 2nd was just received and read. Accept my sincere acknowledgements for it, and for the philosophical forbearance that you have received. When I wrote you on Saturday last, I am included to think I was considerably excited. Both my letters were written on the 29th–you refer to them having been written on the 28th and 29th. Think then of the change that must have been wrought in my feelings in the course of 8 hours; the thermometer fell from about 85 degrees to 10 below zero. I blame myself for writing when under the influence of the chill, but I was so anxious that you should receive your parcel (for their course more than ours) on Monday morning, that I sent the two letters, one to explain the other. I cannot account for our not receiving them on Monday.

I will, as for as I can, act upon your advice, and try to forget the small propensities of this life. In the recent transaction, I probably did wrong rom the beginning to the end. There was no necessity for my troubling you with the affair, but how could I help it? I tell you all, or I will do so, and it is a relief for a gentleman of my temperament to let off the gas occasionally, or I should burst! After having once opened the subject, I must carry you along through the different strains. Before you got through, I feel appeased that you had quite enough to make you satisfied when it closed. Yet, I could not say less, if I said anything, and not to speak out would have produced some terrible accident, such as the one above alluded to. You have forgiven all, however, and why should I trouble myself any more about it? Still, I fear you have suffered inconvenience from what has happened. If you have, blame me- not in your heart, but in your letters.

I do not wonder at your not wishing to be present at R’s wedding–I can fully understand your mode of reasoning it down with yourself. But, why should you absent yourself? True, the Ladies would look suspiciously upon you, doubting when to dress you, and the judgment, as a matter of course, it must follow in any judge, would be made and received, I mean they would just whom that which least commend them, regardless of your feelings., and the indelicacy of the behavior. This would not form a full and satisfactory excuse to your friends at Cauaua, although it might to yourself. In short, you seem to be pleased in just one of those situations when to do might you must do wrong. There are many reasons prosecuting though life when the reasons for and against a thing are so many believed–, and are to congest in themselves especially conditioned, that it is hard to map out a course of action. On such things, it is our duty to sacrifice feeling, in obedience to those conventional rules which govern and regulate society. In this way we act in subservience to a general law that governs bureaucratic actions–doing that which will do the most good, or, which will pardon the greatest amount of happiness. Apply the rules by going, you inflict a slight grievance on yourself, one that excellence always suffers when brought in contact with the fashionable world, and you confer an objection, or gratification, on a large matter. At this is nothing amiable in the indulgence, I think you ought to go, and I preserve I shall find that you have so decided. If not, only, the worst is, by way of excuse on my part for preserving to explain an opinion, that to condemn was nearly balanced the judge could not agree.

My short visit, like many other things, is very {?}. It was my intention to leave here on Tuesday morning last, for a journey through the intense and southern part of our country, Geuesa and Singston, pushing through Warsaw, Moscow, Geueseco, Avon, to Seatisvile and Rochester, and perhaps to Fiarport, where I would wish to stay a month or two, but when I could stay only a day or so. When to my notions to see less children (not any body else), on this Brashfort and Claudine, to Sochport, Lewiston, the Faly, and Home. There fore, the wreath has right me, we are in the midst of one of real Buffalo storms, with rain and wind to spare, and I feel almost rejoiced that is is so, for I do not like my route exactly, although it was suggested by myself. Business would take me round, and when I got to my journey’s end, I should feel that I was amply compensated- but the getting there is the mischief. If I conclude not to go by the way mentioned, I shall there try a new direct route before long. I have been laying out business all trips the fall and sumer, and have performed none of any magnitude. During the business, I did not like leaving home, and since it subsided, the unraveling has been rather uncomfortable, owing to frequent little rests. But, I have business that must be attended to soon.

My letters, I fear, are not answers to yours. I get writing and I forget what has been said to me, in my engaged wife to say, what I feel to others. The paper of writing shall be prepared in elation to the subject mentioned in my last. It strikes me you misunderstood that Emily was wick- is it so? I could tell by restoring your letters, but they are filed away and so stay untouched, that I hate to disturb them. If I am not mistaken, some business suggestions of young remain undisposed of- we room now. If, and if, I should succeed in purchasing the house now in questions, should like to trouble you for the amount- will let you know.

My love to friends, I remain yours affectionate,

Buffalo, Oct. 13th 1832
Yours of the 9th was received this morning, with the same pleasure that we meet an old friend, a very dear friend. I wish you would come often. This is a selfish wish, and you may give me credit for it accordingly. I cannot account for you not receiving my last in better season. I tis a rule with me (will circumstances permit) to answer all letters of friendship the day they are received. Business may overlay some time in responding, but my love and friendship is now so long overloaded as to make great delay replay. I will obey your injunction in the subscription of my future communications.

The new married couple were here, on Wednesday. They left, and I understand, on Thursday morning for the Falls. I did not se them. They seem too much engaged in themselves to look abroad. On Wednesday afternoon, I accidentally heard of them being in town from Mr. Morris. I immediately repaired to the Eagle and sent my hand, in due form, to the room–they were not in. I called times more–the last time, about 8 in the evening, I sent them a hasty belief, persecuting them my good wishes, etc. etc. and bidding them good bye. I have not imagined after them since, and it is not impossible but they are in town yet, although I believe not, as Mr. Morris told me they would leave in the morning at the same time he mentioned their arrival. Chad is old enough to act like a man, but what more could you have of a cat then his skin?

I like your promptness in regard to certain matters–you demand an answer? Very well. But how I am to give you one, that would be even satisfactory to myself, is more than I can well determine. The time has arrived when I would have been married, if I could have had any say in all things. But, the course of things in this world is not very certain. The truth is, I am almost persuaded that damn fortune has let herself to mock to see how many times she can play me. I have been waiting here to determine the success of my second negotiation for the purchase of a house, when you thought I should be on my way to Fairport. The individual on whom the affair rested, living in New York is now here, and he is so cold with his bets noting about the value of property that I cannot talk him into 500,000 dollars. He must go his way, therefore, and I mine. The fact is now notorious, (although I had thought differently) that there is not a good tenement in a good part of the town to be seen, for love or money–that is, in a part when I should wish to live for any length of time. I must now look out for ours, to occupy until I can arrange my matters (about which I have said quite enough to you heretofore) so as to build or purchase to my mind. To day at noon, the business about my second purchase was brought to a close. On Monday, or Tuesday, I wish to start for Rochester and Fairport. Of course, I can make no arrangement about a house before that time. It would be best then, most likely, to postpone the ceremony aforesaid until in November–of, if you will, why let the thing take place when I come down, as a matter of course. My feelings toward you would render no change by the event. I have only one objection–I can’t get me a black coat in season- my tailor as been absent or I should have been provided!

I do not feel like jesting, I can {?} you, although it may appear so by what I have said alone. I am rather low and discouraged in spirits. Day has just left my office. The old business was brought up–He is at my money, in some degree but I cannot oppose him. He came to ask a favor, which I did not grant in full. But he has promised to give me an answer about the store in 10 days. Was this affair arranged, I should feel somewhat easier.

Do you want I should tell you the truth? The cause of all this difficulty on my part, is owing to my pride. I confess it. I do not like to go to house keeping in a temporary manner. I want to feel settled, on my own account, and more particularly on yours. I have no right to ask you to put yourself to the inconvenience, and to encounter the {?} which would be attendant when an unsettled home, and I will not, if I can well avoid it. Another season is, the stake of my hearth, so far as my eyes are concerned. Weak eyes having a look in formation are not the greatest adornments of one’s person that can be imagined; and here, you see pride has something to do. Yet, I know, your love does not depend on either of these particulars; it rests on some other base, or it could never have had existed. I sometimes fear that you will think me unstable and feeble minded, and be led to doubt my declarations of fervent love. This cannot be- you know me too well–I am ready, at any moment, to put any thing of the kind beyond a doubt. Still, so many {?} have stacked up, that apparently might have been avoided, that I should not blame you much if you did chide me a little. But, Eliza, you will still believe me yours, and yours only- no circumstances, dependent on myself can change the finest sentiments of my heart; and here we will let this drop. I should not have mentioned it, but for a word or two in yours, which I doubt not were accidental.

Have I been sufficiently particular? I don’t know that I have. My head is not the clearest, but my heart is sound yet. You will present my love and duty to your family, and receive the appearances of abiding affection.
From your–Oran

On side of page:
Business and politics may prevent my starting before the end of the week- Don’t, therefore, so dwell on it, as to feel any disappointment, should you not see me within the first of next week. Your cousin Henry is here, staying with me for a few days. I don’t think I will succeed in helping him here.

Buffalo, Oct. 29th, 1832
My Dear Eliza,

Believe me I would not have delayed writing, even to this day, if time and business had permitted. On my letter, Friday morning, I found things somewhat out of joint, and it required my immediate attention to bring them back again. Every man has his troubles, mine do not appease me very deeply, but still they are troubles, some of the heart, others of the head, others of a more general character, opening a political or public aspect. The latter, however, are not so bad as I had fraud, but still had enough. The former I explained fully, when I was with you. By the by, Eliza, I have to tank your friends at Fairport, for their kindness to me, after all, it was to you that I was most indebted when there. I dream of our pleasant talks, even this day, and am inclined to think sometimes that I am slightly in love. I don’t know how else to account for all my strange feelings. But then you know, this can hardly be!

I saw your brother Hastings at Rochester. I gave him a time for you. It was but a moment that I could span with him- I had hardly time to make him an apology for my necessary answer. The trick was, the boy who brought me up to Rochester was charged with taking home with him in his wagon, my servant girl Eliza–it was near night fall and he had no time to spare. But, on my going to get the Lads, I was met with the declaration that she would not go! Nothing ominous I hope! Her father declined the courts message. He is serving, if chief cook in an oyster establishment in the village, and, under pretext of taking the girl to visit her Grandfather, had taken her from my mother, to court her into an apprentice in the oyster shop! This was promotion! I left the whole affair with Justice Bishop and Fred. Whilst they esquire to be managed as they should deem best, under the direction and openly to the costing of my Mother. I should have stayed myself, had them persecuted, but I had stayed so long with you that I could not. The serving of the lads are not worth counting on. I should consider myself well out of a difficulty, to let her go, if I could reconcile it to my notions of duty. Should she be left, I fear she would fall into the lowest aspects of wifany. I should blame myself in suffering her to fear things, even though it was by her own will.

Well, what about the house? Nothing, as yet. Ketchum appears determined to pay the $1000 and this one reason will be cut off. Last evening, I took occasion to visit several of my old friends–Mrs. Shemeray, (she that was Miss Hayewood, with whom I came to near falling in love and should, had she been 20 years younger) and one or two others, seemed to feel a deep interest in my affairs and promised to interest themselves in looking up a house. They think it is wrong to put it off (that is, the marriage) any longer. If I can’t get a house, then I must board out until I can build for they are anxious to have you come amongst them. I have an idea, that is me that they want, after all–if I was married, why then, you know, they could come and see me, but now they have to wait for me to come and see them. I barely mention it, to put you on your guard, for whatever the widower might do, I am sure Mr. Follett will deal fairly by you in all things. Mrs. Williams, I have been told, has escaped a willingness to take us into her family. But, more of this by and by- I can’t be kept in suspense always, time will bring the house matter to a close. Whilst you are in Cauaua, I wish you would sound Henry as to his business calculations. It strikes me that this plan offers excellent facilities for the establishment of an additional brokering offer, to comprehend the exchange and lottery business, etc., as a means of drawing other business. The thing has been proposed to me, which gave me the first hint, and set me to thinking about it. With Henry’s knowledge and tact at business, I should think he could make an excellent manager of such an establishment. Let what capitol he can command it the proposition should strike him favorably, and how much he thinks it would take to start the business. Let him see what arrangement could be made with the Utica Branch, by way of and for exchanges, etc. etc. My name need not be mentioned, unless he is inclined to the project. I have no doubt, with careful and prudent management, a preferable business might be done. Successful operation for a year or two, would bring credit to any reasonable amount, and then look out for few savings, after the most appealing method of my brothers.

Don’t you think I commend this letter yesterday, but was not allowed to finish it. The politicians will not let me alone. Sunday as it was, they dragged me from my office to the board room and there made me write letters, not to you, but to bearded men, scurvy politicians. I have before me, now, six long letters, that I have just been writing. It is getting to be almost dark, and I can’t write by candle light. I hope you will be able to read what I have written, but I doubt it, and shall wait an answer to appease of the heart. But, which you can read it not, be appeased it is from your own,

Side of page:
Law to Em. and Law and Henry, and all the causing, not forgetting Chad this hope

Buffalo Mistake I am in Greece–near Rochester
Wednesday, Oct. 24
My Dear E,

It occurred to me, that before leaving for home I would drop you a line of comfort. I shall leave my mother’s where I now am in an hour or two, for the Village–tomorrow morning shall take papage in the basket for the fair lily of the West.

Since I have been here, the subject of our marriage has, as a matter of course, been the frequent theme of conversation. It gives me great satisfaction to appease you that my choice (as we Yanks defrain the ultimate end) meets the decided and unequivocal approbation of my mother. You may know that she is a member of Mr. Remy’s congregation, and in her estimation Mr. R is the most perfect man that ever lived: He speaks in flattering tones of you, and of the whole arrangement, which is conclusive with the good lady. My sister concurs, in just such terms as I should suffer she would. In answer to my query, why she had not called on you, she protests that business was the sole cause of her not doing it–when I was here in the spring, she was quite unwell, afterwards when she has been well, you have been absent or the business of mother prevents her going to the village. I give her credit for security and truth. She says she will accompany me to Fairport when love and duty shall run that way, although she feels that she has not an opportunity of knowing you before.

Oh little ones–how they are at my elbow asking to whom I am writing. They are pretty, Eliza, and good, even though a father says it. I have been talking much to them about going to Buffalo. But the best appearance I can get is (from the oldest) that when Aunt Peg goes to Michigan, she will stop and make me a visit. They think much of father, but how natural for their little hearts to claim to those who have had so much care for them? I have staked the whole case to my mother and sister, and defend my determination which is, that the oldest, Bella, must live with us, as soon at fastest as next spring., and little Nancy must follow as soon as she is old enough to need a school. Dear mother- she says she shall give up, if both are taken from her. AT first, she could not bear to hear me say that Bella must live with us. The truth is, her heart is wrapped up in the little ones, and in her old age she cannot bear to have her affections unfulfilled. The family all think much of the children–they are sweet and good, but not beautiful, yet they are pretty, in the proper sense of the word. I must means of her objections satisfactorily. Why, said she, your friends would know why I could not part with them, and besides, she added, two would be as many as any young woman would wish at first to take charge of. True, said I, if two was all that then come. But, the [page ripped] would expect her to take charge of all, now or later- it would not stop to inquire whether an affectionate grandmother obtained them, their answer from the patience roof would be changed to an indifference on her part, a desire to get responsibility, etc. This would be doing you an injustice. I wanted that you would not desire, and one that I could not permit. As a friend, a mother, a Christian, she should do nothing herself which should perform her {?}–she would, in such case become participants evening as laying say, or, a part of the crime.

I am afraid this will not reach you at Fairport, and it is hardly with a postage to Cauaua. I will write you (about something) when I get home. Wherever this letter may find you, you will of course be amongst your friends. Give them my best wishes- I would say love, but I have sworn just now to strain for a forgive or doubtful market. God by to you. I hope those naughty tears are all dried up. B appeased, if I was with you, I would kiss them all away.