Wayne County, NC - Letters

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Dated on ‘envelope’ “July I” and addressed to “Miss A. I. 
Brinsmade/Washington/Conn”; upper right corner “Paid 25” & in upper 
left Goldsboro/NC July 1”

Large building letter head – Yale??

                                   Goldsboro, N. C. June 30th, 1843

	My dear friend,
			If, thus, you will permit me, at this great distance, 
to address you. Half scorched & quite melted, with a brain all on 
fire and almost swelled to bursting in this terrible atmosphere, 
miserably homesick, & nearly repining, I turn my thoughts to the 
green hills and cool bright streams of Old Judea and, (need I write 
it?) to the friends I have left there. I never before appreciated the 
peculiar virtue of the Swiss, and I may say of all mountaineers, 
their ardent attachment to their native hills; but I never before 
felt such an utter loathing for dead levels, such a longing, longing, 
longing for something in the shape of a mountain. I go to the east & 
the west in the hopes that I may find some little hillock, from which 
I may overlook the surrounding scene, but alas! for 4 days I have not 
been able to see a half mile in any direction, unless I stand on the 
track and look up and down the Rail Road [caps ?] – a most romantic 
sight indeed!!  [towards margin, two light dashes:  _    _]

Goldsboro is a new village built within the last four years, the 
great central attraction of which is a tavern, where passengers on 
the great line from Charleston & the South to New York & the North 
stop to [largely obscured by a hole on the paper] swallow their 
dinners. It is very literally a wilderness there being only some 
dozen houses scattered among the trees, and a small garden to each – 
no green fields, not an orchard, nothing but woods – woods – woods. 
[‘’-‘ = ‘,’? but they dont look like it!]  Diverging from the center 
of the village are 3 roads, one to Raleigh, one to Waynesboro, the 
other I believe to Nowhere [?]. These roads are narrow paths through 
the woods but sometimes plantations of corn lie on the sides, one or 
two hundred acres in a field with bare dead pine trees standing 
scattered her & there amid the corn. The streams are [‘,’?] dark [no 
comma] sluggish, muddy, [?] creeks, as unlike to [squeezed in perhaps 
later] the bright Shepaug as a coalpit is to a rainbow.   _    _

Then the hot, stifling air is stagnant, lifeless, or when it fans the 
brow, it seems to move on wings of flame, to parch & wither rather 
than refresh. Now I cant help thinking all the while of Judea with 
its hills & hollows, its beautiful green meadows, its orchards, its 
beautiful brooks & river, how bright & clear they are!  its [sic] 
cool breezes which seem like angel breathings[.?] O! till you have 
visited a land like this, Abby [sic – later, ‘Abbie’] you dont know 
what a beautiful home you have. When Jane came back from New York & 
Hoboken, she had seen no place finer than Washington. I admired the 
thought though I suspected there was not a little poetry in it. Now I 
feel it was literally true.  _   [to the margin?] Occasionally a 
longing comes over me to see [be?] abroad[,?] to look down upon a 
green & variegated landscape. Surely we can find a hill & cultivated 
plains beneath it, in this direction or in that, let us go here or 
there, “No, you will find it just like it is here,” is the reply. 
Then I dream, fr we have nothing else we can do but dream, I dream 
myself onto * [in pencil - below, “ * Prospect Hill” in pencil] Baker 
Hill, and look into Calhoun Street or onto Bell Hill & look down upon 
the Green, and whenever I look I see this or that house shining out 
from among the trees, and then think [added above the line] of the 
friends under each roof, my  sisters, my brothers, of you, of my 
girls, till my heart gets soft as the season, and I   my eyes 
moisten. I know not why & my bosom heaves, I [crossed out, I think] 
like an empty bellows, as the clown says, and then I call myself a 
fool, & say I dont care, and laugh it all off, singing heigho, 
heigho. I know it is all puerile, unmanly, silly, weak[,?] but I feel 
more like a child than a man – you will laugh at me for writing so, 
but I cant help it – laugh me out of it.
				[in pencil] * Prospect Hill  [page ends]

Well, when I could not bear it any longer, I commenced this letter to 
you. Thanks for your permission to write you, many thanks for your 
kind promise to answer. You gave me quite a lecture the night before 
I left home, wont you give me another now? You know my faults better 
than I know them myself, and you proved yourself my friend by 
exposing & reproving them & therefore I feel the more confident in 
writing you now. I wish for your sympathy and confidence though at 
the distance of so many hundred miles. Besides it will interest me to 
hear of a thousand little incidents of no importance in themselves, 
any thing in short that happens in Washington. There was a little  
matter threatened to be made public, of which I had a hint and a 
promise of more, [?] concerning Abner & Lydia.  Is it so & certain?  
I approve of the match and am ready to stand up. Even to much tattle. 

I should like to hear how many fish your father caught today, how 
many tunes Eleanor can play, what book Mary is reading, whether my 
girls have all forgotten me in a week, how the baby grows, whether 
??? is a good girl, how your flowers flourish, (wont you look at mine 
& see if they grow well?) &c &c. But more than all this trash, I want 
your advice, your reproof, & the sterner the letter the better for I 
shall then think it the most faithful. I would return the compliment 
& give you a real schooling, if I knew what to blame you for. I know 
you deserve reproof, but my sins are so open & palpable that I have 
not a very good face to find fault with you. But as I told you once, 
I believe you talk too much to Mary. It may all be in fun, & she may 
enjoy it as well as you, or if in earnest, she may deserve it all, 
but I cannot but believe that it makes her worse. It seems to me 
always that there is something not exactly right betwixt you, and 
that Mary respects your authority less for your talking so much to 
her. You always speak disparagingly of her, and I feel pretty sure 
that it grieves here, though she wont own it [?]. Now this may be all 
my suspicion again, but I am afarid it is not, and you will pardon me 
at all events, for alluding to it and you will think twice upon it 
before you say I am entirely wrong. I believe Mary has a large warm 
heart but too impulsive. I know she is too little inclined to perform 
anything in the shape of a task that she had rather [inserted above 
the line and in the let margin] her pleasure than do her duty, but 
which of us can cast the first stone for this offence.  Eleanor has a 
remarkable freedom from such faults. She is uniformly faithful and 
almost unexceptionally good, if any do not love her, it is their 
fault not hers. Yet I think Mary has brighter intellectual qualities 
to compensate for the defects in her character. I love them both, and 
I hope there is no occasion for th[ese?] remarks. I did not intend so 
long a lecture on the subject but my mind wandered to another subject 
while [guess – hole in the paper] I wrote, & I forgot myself. I meant 
to say a word about my ride & will do it here  _     _       _      _ 

I was in very high spirits when I left home. I laughed all the 
morning & bid every one “good bye” with a smile, I felt I was going 
to an unhealthy climate, at an unfortunate season, among a dangerous 
people, yet having determined on going, I resolved not to feel bad, & 
I wont own that I did. The morning was beautiful, the sun shone 
brightly, all nature was happy & I tried to be  _    _    _ [three to 
the margin]

My first ride in the cars gave me some new feelings. I was entirely 
alone, not a single acquaintance with me, a silent, uncommunicative 
set of passengers, but I did not wish to talk & as [‘,’ in ‘as’] we 
swept along at lightening speed, I felt glad to be alone. I did not 
wish ever to return, ever to see my friends, but always to sweep over 
the earth at that rate, to forget the past, to think not of the 
future, but ever to travel alone through the wide world, to care for 
nobody & have nobody care for me – this seemed to be my feeling. I 
will characterize it as a kind of reckless joyousness. I felt 
elevated, perhaps a little like those who have inhaled the 
exhilirating [sic] gas. This feeling lasted an hour & then I was 
sleepy, dull, indifferent.  We reached the steamboat, not stopping a 
minute in Bridgeport & then set off on the bosom of the Sound. I sat 
alone upon the upper deck & looked upon the waters & the shores, till 
different thoughts stole over me & I felt what, if it were not 
paradoxical, I should call a happy regret. After tea I went into the 
Ladies cabin and fell into conversation with one not very handsome, 
but very good natured. She took me for an invalid, so I went on deck 
with her & the gentleman who accompanied her & we had a very sociable 
time. How much happier we should be, if we confided in [an ‘l’ 
crossed out?] all human beings enough to make friends of them when we 
meet them in this manner; but false manners, false modesty & cold 
reserve, deprive us of much enjoyment. What a beautiful sail it is 
down the East River & round N.Y. to the West River where we landed. I 
would tire you almost to death were I to recount all the little 
sights and scenes that gave me pleasure. I will not do it. I 
proceeded to the American & met George in 5 minutes.  [page ends]

But the finest sight I have yet seen is the fountain in the Park, 
directly in front of our Hotel, throwing its white water high up into 
the air, & dropping the sparkling spray gracefully into the basin. 
The [written over ?] grass margin is as green as an emerald; the 
rainbow wants only a witch beneath its arch to render it perfectly 
magical. I could be happy in a city if I had such a fountain in my 
eye. We left N. Y. on {written over ‘in’?] Sunday morning & passed 
through Philadelphia in the afternoon merely [?] stopping long enough 
to mount [?????!!] the cars, through Baltimore at midnight , 
Washington at sunrise & saw the Capitol from a distance. 
Fredericksburg at noon, Richmond Petersburg, &c  & arrived in 
Goldsboro at 6 o’clock A.M. of Tuesday. There, dont [sic] you call 
that speed. But it was not riding for pleasure. I slept two 
successive nights in the cars. Arrived here I found my all well. Let 
me describe them. Dr. A. a large corpulent man, with a free open 
countenance & a glittering eye, a hearty laugh, a social heart and a 
ready tongue. Louisa you have seen. She has not grown old & looks 
very healthy. Goodhue a young man of 23 or 4, 5 feet 1. [sic] in 
height, finely proportioned perfectly straight, with long black, 
glossy hair, very dark eyes, black brows & long black lashes, fine 
strong features, quite like a tall Italian. If he did not look a 
little unwell, & rather too old for his years, I should pronounce him 
the finest looking man I know. [looks like ‘=’ on the base line] He 
is very sedate & dignified for a young man, very kind hearted & very 
gentlemanly.  There I think I have praised him enough. His faults I 
shall not speak of here. George, equally tall, almost equally 
straight, but not naturally so, but I cant stop to describe him.  
John a stout boy, about the size of Ed. Gold. Francis a pale little 
fellow, aboutb 8 or 10 years old. Edward Dudley 5 or 6, Amelia about 
the age of Belle, a silent amiable, pretty girl [girls?]. Then the 
slaves. Essex a young man of my age. [edge of sheet missing here and 
for next few lines] ???? about as old [hole in sheet; could read ‘I 
don’t’] know her name, and Fanny about 12. These last three are not 
[edge of sheet missing] counted a [hole in sheet; could read ‘part’] 
of the family in Carolina, but are reckoned among the live stock 
[edge of sheet missing]. They are hired [hole in sheet; could read 
‘s..’] servants but the money goes not to them but to the master  _     
_     _ [three dashes to torn edge of sheet]

From what I have seen in a few days I should judge, Dr. A’s family 
[written above “they all”] stand near the head of good society in 
this region, & move in the highest circles. I am afraid they will 
lose caste by harboring me. My sister Sarah lives just across the 
road, with a little fellow for a husband. I will say nothing about 
him till I am better acquainted. We have company here all the while, 
but they are not all to my taste. Thursday afternoon we received a 
call from Miss Mary, Mr. Kinney & Miss. Julia Washington, of 
Waynesboro. Miss Washington is accounted one of the highest, her 
family is the most aristocratic and her brother an ex-member of 
Congress. I was not particularly smitten and would prefer to see any 
of our Judea girls. She received her education in New Haven [sic!?], 
perhaps you or William may be acquainted with her. She had a brother 
in College at the same time. There is much more of formality & 
ceremony in this society than among us & I need not say there is more 
exclusiveness, when I say that one half the people are excluded from 
all society & even from all recognition as brothermen [sic]. For my 
part I would rather give a kind look and word to the slave, than a 
low salam to his haughty lord. Yesterday morning, (it is now Saturday 
morning) we rode to Esquire Everitt’s – he is one of the best 
planters in this vicinity having between 2 & 3 thousand acres of 
land, about 50 slaves. The houses here are not quite as nice as ours, 
the furniture not so fine, but his all indicated wealth. He himself 
appeared very plain, unaffectedly courteous & kind. He invited me to 
call again and go round his plantation. I shall accept the invitation 
gladly, if Dr. A. will consent that I read him a lecture on slavery – 
if not, I dont know. Though I have been introduced to a great many, I 
have not become sufficiently acquainted with any but my friends to 
introduce the delicate subject, & they never allude to it and I know 
that the Dr/ conceals my abolitionism. But I shall let it out [above 
the line] at all hazards, & if they cant endure [page ends]

New page [‘envelope’ side; this segment occupies the top quarter of 
the page; the next segment occupies the bottom quarter but is ‘upside 
down’ and the middle half is divide into thirds, the outer most being 
blank, the middle the face of the ‘envelope’ and the last taken up by 
an addition to the letter.]

quit at once. I will not be mistaken for a doughface. While upon this 
subject, let me give you an extract from a Baptist sermon which I 
heard the day of my arrival. Speaking of God’s long-suffering desire 
for our repentance, the preacher said, “take the case of the parent & 
child, or of the master & servant, and we believe that the authority 
of the master over the servant is more absolute than that of the 
parent over the child – disobedience on the part of the servant is 
more criminal & ought to be punished with greater severity. The 
master has reared him from infancy, has given him a plenty of good 
food, good clothing a comfortable house & all of this, yet the 
ungrateful servant disobeys. Think you the master would wait a week 
for the servant to submit. He would be thought an uncommon master if 
he should. Yet God waits for sinners all their lives & does not 
launch his thunderbolts.”  There were a few slaves in the assembly or 
at least negros [sic]. Do God’s ministers liken his government to the 
tyranny of the slaveholders? I wanted to reply. But I must come to a 
close – it is growing terribly warm & my hands are covered with 
perspiration in an open chamber at 8[?] o’clock A.M. If I am not sick 
I shall melt away to a skeleton. [to bottom quarter]

I cam here in opposition to the wishes of every one that loved me at 
home & some that did not. I cannot tell why, for I did not[added 
above the line] expect much comfort. I do not intend to stay here 
long, have about given up all thought of visiting the cities, it is 
so hot I cant endure it. Chapel Hill is about 80 miles distant by 
stage & I cant go it. I shall take my ease here 3 weeks longer, if I 
can endure it & then start for home, not waiting for George. I came 
here for pleasure & to visit my friends; when I have made my friends 
a good visit I shall quit pleasure or no pleasure. Dont you think 
this is the part of wisdom? Now, Abby, I ask your pardon for 
troubling you with this interminable and intolerable letter. In 
retribution you may write me one as long though not so silly, if you 
please. I wish I might receive your answer tomorrow – when shall I? 
Has Amaryllis become reconciled to my absence yet? I never knew how 
much I loved her, how much she loved me till now. I have written to 
her twice & expect her answer soon. I shall write to some of my girls 
in a day or two, for writing is the greatest pleasure I enjoy now. O! 
I am near forgetting to say I shall certainly halt in Philadelphia & 
make a short visit? [sic] Is Swift so situated as to furnish me board 
and lodging? I should enjoy myself better at his house than at a 
Hotel if he can entertain me, can you tell me? I shall expect a reply 
very soon to this scrawl [?], may I write you another as long, if I 
will not be so miserably dull?
		Farewell, believe me your unsuspecting friend
								F W. Gunn

Final bit:
I have just been fishing & bathing and I find the climate more 
intolerable than ever. I shall shorten my stay as much as possible. 
They say this is nothing compared to August [no punctuation] if so, 
August will never catch me here.
Look here, Abby, come out to Philadelphia with your father & mother 
in about a fortnight or 3 weeks. I will find you there & on the way 
back we will stop to see Cornelia Taylor and Mary Tracey. I am a 
little afraid to stop alone, but I suppose you will say nay. I would 
not write all this trash if I had anything bette [hole in paper; 
probably: “better to do/”]  F W. Gunn