solution; it bursts—the deeper blackness, the howling of the storm, the fragments borne in zigzag cones bespeak the power of the tempest; while deluges of rain bear down their floating treasures from the rich alluvion into the swelling streamlet which murmured once so quietly within its peaceful bosom.    Its borders swell, it overleaps its banks, surcharged with new and still increasing tides, it rushes madly on—till, strengthened by each new reces-sion, fiercer by each coming impulse, and borne on with more resistless might, it overwhelms this spot too much li\e paradise not to be visited by a deluge.    Thus the high and low in nature have each a like sufficient to elevate or depress them to the common standard, the vast prairie of the world, where all the eminences have been required to fill the chasms.

If this be true with nature, much rather so with men. The king, surrounded with all the pomp and cir-cumstance of state, reveling in luxury and wealth, and drinking in vanity from the thousand sycophants that in turn possess his ear—his lofty station makes him but the fitter mark for those shafts of calumny which envious men will hurl, while his increased sensibility makes the pain more poignant of the wounds they may inflict.   The poor man, though he wade in poverty and eat his bread with sorrowing of heart, has none of those pangs which avarice darts through the bosom of the rich, lest poverty should one day come, or frowning fate pervert his present sunshine into gloom.   It appears to be a principle of our nature that, with our increasing capacities and modes for happiness,  increases our moral sensibility to pain—the ignorant plowman who "whistles as he wends his way for want of thought," feels not the drudgery of his occupation, nor pants for treasures which a refined intellect can alone appreciate or possess.    The world may sneer and scoff, but what cares he for that?   From that source he is not susceptible of an impression—but who will pre-tend that this person's capacities for happiness equal that man's whose moral and intellectual endowments are de' veloped, and who would writhe in torture under those inflictions which upon the former fell powerless.    But you will say, whither tends all this?    From your letter, I judged that you had formed the envious idea that I was residing in Elysian bowers, sipping nectar from the thornless  flowers  that  luxuriate  around  me,   and  with nothing to do but fold my arms in sleepy indolence, and say within my pampered soul, "Tomorrow shall be as today.    Jog along, world."    If by letting you into the secret of my own true state I can make you more recon­ciled with your own, I shall have accomplished my pur-pose in returning this speedy answer to your acceptable letter.   You are aware (if not, I must acquaint you) that Mrs. D. is a haughty, proud, vindictive, mean and miserly woman; that her thoughts are centered on the trinkets and pelf of this world, to the exclusion of the other, to which by profession she makes some pretensions.    She is one of those miserly souls who would starve in the house for the sake of exhibiting herself abroad—the most con­temptible of all the race.   Well, some time before I was home (I did not see fit then to tell you) I and she had a skirmish.   The occasion this: one Sabbath evening after church (you must remember that she has been but twice to church at Easton since I have been here) she was sit' ting in our new kitchen, around the stove, with a small lamp in her hand, reading.    I took another one of the

11

 

it, for she had told me the same a hundred times. So to get out of the dust I saw rising I went out, and, while out, Mrs. D. made her appearance in the room. When Eliz. told her the mortal affront I had given her in her jaw , which so raised her that her anger about the poor lamp, which had run silent for so long, now burst forth into a babbling torrent when I returned. And as I con' ceived her a more fit game than Eliz., I dealt with her without gloves. Alex raved but rather took my part. Eliz. cried, and tried in her heart to throw up my living here, "on her bounty, in her house," as she said, but I tell you I soon showed her who she had to deal with on that score. I told the whole of them I considered it no favor that I lived here, that I asked no favors of them and had received none, so they were shut up. Then by degrees something passed over the face of the troubled waters and it became calm, but as they evaporated there was considerable putrid matter remaining, a species of marsh malaria, which now and then produces a fit of the ague. Thus I live very unhappily here now, and, were it not for my sincere desire to prosecute my studies, and at length be able to throw off the shackles of this partial dependence, I would leave instanter. It is no very pleasant thing, every time you come into the house, to be told to be very particular to scrape your feet, to be dogged as you go about the house and to be strictly scrutinized upon everything you approach. I treat them all with the coldest indifference, for of late Alex seems disposed to look sour. We eat but twice a day, and then it's only because I have learned enough of the world to help my self that my wants are satisfied. It is not very pleasant, even at a brother's table, to have it said by actions, "I

14

don't care whether he gets anything or no."    The old xvoman hates father with a perfect hatred, and blazes out frequently to Alex because he does not give him a thousand or so.    She has an idea that he is wealthy, and thinks he ought to be liberal to Alex, who is the better off of the two.    The newspapers which you and Fred send, you address mostly to Alex.   Now the women have got the idea that I have no right to see them at all, and hence one of those you sent last the old woman, out of pure maliciousness, has hidden it somewhere that I can-not find it.   Now I want you to be particular in future to address all your newspapers to me, for Alex will get them just as soon as if addressed to him, and then I will have the additional pleasure of withholding them from them, for the Somerville news they have no business with. They all look at present as cold as possible, and it would look like mockery in me to smile upon a glacier.   When' ever they begin to show signs of a thaw, then I will begin to bud and blossom, but until then the "winter of our discontent" must continue.    Eliz. lately had another abortion, making four.    I doubt much whether she will ever be able to fulfil her time.   I never stay at the house now any more than I can help, hence in the morning formerly I used to lay abed till breakfast time to get clear of being in the house among them.    But now I have thought of another expedient, viz.: to get up early and go to the office, and there spend an hour or so which would otherwise be slumbered away.    The old woman hates me with the purest hatred, and I cannot say but that I love her quite as much.   So you will see from my detail that there is no station in life, which however in­viting its exterior may be, but has its attendant evils;

15

no cup, however sweet, but has its dregs; no rose, how­ever fragrant, but its thorn. Then, my dear brother, let us jog as quietly along as possible, making the most of those opportunities which a kind Providence may put in our way, and strive each to attain a thorough knowledge of our professions, that when the time shall come, when we can divest ourselves of the trappings of dependence, we may buckle on our own armour with the confidence of success. I hope to repay those who are so kind now as to consider us a burden. My ardent wish is, that I may speedily have it in my power to repay Alex for my board (although what I do for him is more than a com­pensation), that even to him I may boldly say, "I owe you nothing." And if I did not think that by following my profession I would be able more speedily to accom­plish this purpose, I would instantly renounce it and seek some other employment which might bring a more speedy return. Hugh, we must get our professions. The west­ern world lies before us, beckoning such as we to her bosom. There is yet room for industry and enterprise; there genius and talent will be cradled, which here would be exposed; there many a man will exhibit powers, which, if he had remained here, he might have continued the dumb possessor. That I have written above was not proper, perhaps, that you should know, but I have com­municated to you my situation, that you might become more content with your own; hoping and knowing that what I have written will go no further, and I therefore request that you will dispose of this letter speedily. You had a sorry time getting your lady off, but since the coast is clear, cheer up. Give my love to all. I am sorry it was not practicable for me to get the academy there this

16

winter. What think you of the prospect in the spring? I do not know anything about the Chester County busi­ness I have not conversed with Alex on the subject for some time. Adieu.

Jos. gaston. p. S.—Thursday:

I wrote this letter as soon as I received yours, but in consequence of the intolerably bad roads I have not been able to get to town to have it mailed. When you write, merely acknowledge the receipt of this, but make no comments (I hope by that time the sun of peace will have arisen, for the sky at present indicates a dawning), for then he might presume the contents of this. I do not write because I have a malicious pleasure in detailing family news, much less of his family, but merely to ac­quaint you that appearances often lie. Alex and Eliz. are devotedly attached to each other, and have within themselves the ingredients of matrimonial bliss, but Mrs. D., like Aeolus of old, often has occasion to let the winds out of the bag, upon much less grounds than the mandate of a Juno, to swell to mountain surges the peaceful waters. She is a strange amalgum—now a summer's morning, now a gale, and now a long, dreary storm; not violent, and often without rain, yet just sufficient to withhold the sun and spread a general gloom—and yet withal one whom they could scarce dispense with, and one whose bad qualities ought, perhaps, to be endured for the good ones she possesses. A faithful ear is rather to be trusted than a penny post, and therefore I will defer giving you the filling in of this framewor\ till I can address you viva voca.

Adieu. J. G.

17

 

P. S.—Write soon, for a running stream not only makes its bed the smoother for its future course, but bears away those filthy sediments which might sully its purity.

J. G.

The Congressional Globe, that I take, is merely the minutes of proceedings in the different Houses—not the Administration papers.

Blair and Rives are the printers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

frederick and joseph gaston

to hugh M. gaston

POMPTON June 9, 1839. dear hugh:

Drawing the natural conclusion from your silence, viz;., that my letter had unfortunately never reached its destination; and as much to relieve a suspense which may be disagreeable, or to check your invectives against seem' ing indifference in a correspondent, as to relieve myself of a burden, which a consciousness of your surprise has imposed upon me, I have again drawn a rusty pen from its more rusty scabbard, to battle with a host your irrita' bility may have summoned. It is just two weeks since I wrote to you, and as yet have not had the satisfaction to receive its acknowledgment. The fact may either be that you have not written, or, if you have, through the carelessness of the post, has miscarried. Of either, I am inclined to suspect the latter; the more so, that in one

18

instance, a letter due brother Jos. from a correspondent, bore evident marks of having been perhaps a month on the road, which at last was safely lodged in the postomce. Therefore the necessity of more particularly designating the place, to wit—Pompton, Passaic Co., New Jersey—is evident. As this letter is rather an inquiry into the cause of existing things, than a minute picture, or a transcript of the present appearance of our ideas, brevity would be more consistent on its character than . . .

fred.

P. S.—I wish something were done about having my name entered in the office of some regular physician. One fact is certain . . . necessary . . . other, and why . , . be gained or important.

The Drs. here have no skull, and ideas I may get of its structure are limited and often incorrect. The short time I may be here, I hope will be attended, if with other good results, at least "the acquirement of" a taste for study. I have not said half I would like, neither have I paid sufficient attention to the "arrangement of" thought and expression. The mood I am in opposed looking around for ideas, or noting them if found, from

the millerary of Fancy.

Sincerely yours,

fredk. gaston.

P. S.—We clambered up a high mountain yesterday (Saturday) to view the "Plains," * two or three miles south, and though the sight rewarded us for our toil, I purchased it at the expense of a cold which has pestered me ever since. This, together with a headache, you must

* Pompton Plains.

19

 

receive as an apology for the shortness of this epistle. Have you had any communication from Brandywine Manor lately? Will they celebrate the Fourth in Sorrier-ville? Any news from Meadville? How about the 26th? Will you take the trouble to send us a paper now and then? And will you take the trouble to write a long letter, 6?c. to We. Jos. will write a postscript. My next shall be longer.

Adieu.

F. hugh:

It is now within ten minutes of school time, therefore excuse my brevity. The school remains at about 52 at present. There will be more, likely, soon. I am reading Scott's Novels—have made quite a hole in the first volume. Pascal is about half through—medicine is creep* ing along slowly. Painting is marching along with an accelerating pace. Landscapes now and then rear their beauteous heads "to ch-eer the lonely desert." I am tak' ing some views about here. I have lately received. . . . Sarah Cornell was here lately. Domine Desmond has left here rather unexpectedly and accepted a call from New York City. The girls come on here as usual; that is, so far as I know, for I have not been anywhere to visit. My whole time is constantly occupied, and, al" though my brain sometimes feels as if it were composed of lead, yet I enjoy in the general very good health. Fred is at present attending particularly to Latin. I think, inasmuch as he has no skull, it would be useless to attend much at present to anatomy. We manage to spend our time profitably as well as agreeably. Give the girls a good shake for me, and tell them they must take care

20

how they bring on the crisis without my knowing it. I °lculate to be down at commencement. Who is to de­liver the address before the students? How are you all? How do you feel, and what do you do and think? Time wanes, the bell soon tolls and I must needs depart for school.

Jos. gaston.

 

 

 

william B. gaston to

joseph and fred'k gaston

somerville June 26, 1839. my dear sons:

Many are the changes that take place in this world, and one more is just made in reference to myself. How many are still to take place, in the few fleeting days of my earthly pilgrimage, and what those changes are, and when they are to come, is only known to Him in whose hands are our breath and all our ways. Yes, my dear sons, this is a world of change; in the material world summer succeeds spring, autumn summer, and winter autumn. "Do the Prophets live forever; where are they?" Our friends often become our enemies, or they sicken and die out of our sight. Earthly treasure is constantly changing hands, the affluent often by some sudden move become reduced to poverty, and the poor by persevering industry we frequently see exalted. And we ourselves are changing, both in a moral and physical point of view, ^a will, ere long, change our situations in this sublunary

21

 

 

state for an unchanging abode in the world of spirits, Strive to have a great moral change take place in your hearts and lives, seek to be made new creatures in Christ Jesus, remember Him who hath said, "I am the resurrec­tion and the life, and whosoever believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." Make concession of daily prayer, for the renewing of the Holy Spirit, to change your hearts and fit you for heaven, where, if we all are permitted to meet at last, (and what if we do not?) there will be no more change, except it be from glory to glory throughout everlasting ages.

I have rented my storehouse to a Messrs. Woodman and Stebbins. Stebbins is the son of Mr. Stebbins, owner of the water'power and factory, now connected with your Uncle in his enterprise. They give me $150 rent and the further sum of $50 for giving immediate possession, They take my molasses, oil and some other articles amounting to about $100. I have had a vendue, and sold part of my small things. Many things I have run off at cost, and what remains I will sell when I open my shoe store, which I am going to have in the room next to Mr. Brown's office. From what I have done in the shoe business I am encouraged to believe it will do well.

Hugh is preparing to go West—Ohio—in three or four weeks, probably will not go before your return home. I don't know anything further of interest to communicate.

Affectionately,

W. B. gaston.

22

 

 

joseph and fred gaston

to hugh M. gaston

POMPTON

September 4, 1839. dear brother:

I received your letter this day, and hoping it may reach you before your departure I return this reply.    I can scarcely analyse my own  feelings,  at this strange juncture of affairs.    That you are to leave at all, has often been the subject of mournful reflections to me (for who can bring to mind the hours we have spent together from earliest childhood; the converse we have held since reason has, in some measure, substituted its sway, instead of the follies and frivolities of youth; how we have re' pined at the same losses, participated in the same enjoy' ments,   now  censured  the  stupidity  of  this  one,   now emulated the progress of that.    And in our progress up the hill of science thus far, how we have endeavored to lighten each other's burden, mutually to cheer and ani­mate, and urge to still greater speed our stars, sluggish and jaded, even at this our setting out).    That we are to separate after such intercourse  cannot but produce mournful emotions; but it would be as much childishness to be too much influenced by thoughts like these as it would betoken insensibility not to be affected by them. A little stoicism is a very happy ingredient in the con' stitution of moral character.   We are no more destined to e always together than the streamlets that gurgle from -te same fountain.    Of virtuous and enlightened men, ^we are equally destined to fructify and beautify the

23

 

sphere and current Providence may direct.    That affec­tion, which childhood has fostered and youth matured, will not decay, whatever distance may intervene between us; but, like the electric wire, both extremities will be alike affected, whether the emotion be joy or sorrow.    It will not die, though removed from the tropic clime of the paternal home.    For though it may  lose much  of its rankness   and   fecundity,   yet  it  will   acquire   more  in strength and stability; and though it may apparently lose much of its beauty in the palmy sunshine of prosperity, yet, like the mountain oak, the energy which it disdained to appropriate to external show will be found to have been   more  providently   expended   in   guarding  against the hour of darkness and storm of adversity.    Consider' ing yourself then as destined to become an active mem' ber of society, though you may feel the force of hidden feeling, you must not succumb to its influence.    Bear in mind that the first step from the paternal door may com­mence the career of eminence, and let that cheer you, for who does not feel the influence of honorable ambi­tion?   When the sand hill shall have intercepted the last look of home, and thrown a veil over a scene of a thou­sand endearments, then cast from your breast every feel­ing of dependence, and assume, in all its grandeur, the character of Man.    It will probably require an effort, but it was to that "depth and force and energy of char­acter that Wirt would have you to aspire."   Be not dis-heartened by reverses, and suffer not yourself to be tor­tured by some slight humiliations by the way, for as you will have no character but an honest mien to support you till you arrive, like Irving, in the Prairies of Mis­souri, let not the want of attentions and formalities affect

24

 

_ou     I think, on several accounts, your going out will be the better.    You will have persons near you with whom  you  will  be   acquainted,   and  may  claim  as   a right whatever assistance you may require.   You will go slowly, it is true, yet I do not know that in an expedi­tion like yours there would be much gained by speed, save probably bodily ease.   I hope your constitution will soon become inured to the toil of traveling.    If they are conversible people, you may wile many tedious hours in that way; if not, you have the community of self in the theatre of nature.    I would advise you to have some books of light reading at hand.    They greatly assist to alleviate the weight of hours.    Take the gun along; it may prove a source of amusement, and, when you arrive, you may probably sell it to advantage.

I am rejoiced that you have a prospect of a situation as soon as you arrive, that is the point to which my wishes have been tending. If you once get settled, and can live, "the future will ta\e care of itself." You can work the rule of proportion, then make your statement. As Antrim Campbell is to Hugh Gaston, so is his success

c     G     sue

to yours, or, by symbols, As o : O :: o : Success.

 

As to your boarding yourself, you cannot think less of it than I do.

 

You had better yet lunch it with the Mifs in my opinion. As to the horror you justly feel, of starting with the caravan from the door, I think I can put you m a way that will lessen some of the unpleasantness. You will, of course, go to Doc^r to bid them farewell; you can then go through that formula at home first, and get rather to put in your effects; and, if you please, can

 

25

 

 

join the rest out of the village. It is a pill at best; the only question is, how it may be most easily administered. You would at least, by so doing, save the Vandeveers (perhaps Mrs. Hodges likewise) the luxury of one de­licious morsel. When you get started, do not despond. For heaven's sa\e, exhibit the man! You have every­thing to stimulate you—peace, happiness and fame. And, though difficulties may arise, like Alps on Alps, yet re­member for your encouragement that even St. Gothard itself has been surmounted. By traveling slowly, when you get in the West, you will have greater facilities of acquiring requisite information. It is quite a great thing to leave home for the first time. Yet it is not such an herculean undertaking to go West. It is a feat performed by thousands every month. I do not think I should mind it one mite more than going up the North River. The postoffice is ever ready to facilitate the intercourse of friends. Send us tidings at every convenient interval, if it only be of your health and peace of mind.

Fred and I lately sent a letter to Ida, and perhaps she may let you see it. I write her the news, current here, in rather a singular way. It just so happened. The machine, the infernal machine, I shall pass without re­mark. Lev and her man have returned. So wags the world, one goeth and another cometh. I am somewhat unsettled in my own mind here, from my being engaged in a pursuit so distant in its aim, from what I expect to be the business of my life. I am anxious to commence that career. Let the urn turn as it may. Yet I do not know but that I may be obliged to continue another year in my present employment. If I can, by a bare possi­bility, get to Philadelphia next winter, I shall come out

 

26

 

 

 

in   the spring, lank and lean, as if I had been hibernating. rv taking another school then, or getting some situation an usher, I can make some money to commence with, nd get my license at any time,  likewise, that I may choose.    I am anxious to get through, for then I am al­ways ready for any vacancy that may offer.    Alex is fond of scheming—he had probably only had a dream of going West.    There are so many ifs contingencies connected with his plans that they are seldom effected as they were conceived.    As to the ... I can most deeply re-echo  your  exclamation,   Oh!!     Pride,   where  is  thy boasting, and shame, where is thy blush?   By your present conveyance you will be enabled to take more than you contemplated before.   You must take Scott and my Brit­ish Poets  (now yours)   and whatever other books you can find storage for, and think will pay the carriage.    I am pleased that your destination is Illinois.    There are many more Jersey men there than in any other part of the West, and when completely severed from the pit' tances that Jersey offers, they begin to manifest something of a liberality corresponding to the bountiful munificence of nature, with which they are everywhere surrounded. You will find many young men there from the imme­diate vicinity of Somerville.    Bill Vanderveer is not far off.   You might meet him possibly.   They say that even rogues, thieves and cut throats, when cast by fate upon a desert island, feel the force of the social feeling and manifest relentings of disposition, to which, through a whole course of crime, they have been perfect strangers. You may, in your own experience, attest the truth of the observation.    I f_eel as though I had run out long ago what I had to say, yet somehow or other I cannot stop.

 

27

 

 

 

For the time I have been engaged in writing I have certainly got you no slow quantity. Farewell. As Byron, in his Don Juan, beautifully says (though after I had passed it I never could find it again), "A sound that makes us linger, yet farewell."

Your affectionate brother,

Jos. gaston.

 

 

 

 

 dear brother:

To learn that your destination was Illinois was un­expected, but a moment's thought proved its probable advantages. You will be there, at least, in the same re­gion with men whom you know, and that will be per­haps a slight satisfaction. How far is Petersburg from Fairview? You know Dominie Wilson lives there, Eoff. Pomyea, &c. There's something romantic as well as wounding in your mode of traveling. But, as it is so, you can only make the best of it. Take Joe's advice in reference to the gun; it may wile away many a tedious hour, disperse many a gloomy mist and give some idea of a Western life. You might sell it to Crop, when on the road, as payment for your fare. I'd keep a short­hand journal of your feelings while traveling, and the many little incidents and adventures that might mark the history of such a tour—they might be some source of consolation when you arrive, that you have surmounted difficulties thus far. Write now and then at intervals of traveling. Be assured they will be welcomed, and dearly cherished by one at least, doubtless by many more. Recol­lect we leave Pompton about the 6th of October, and you will not have an opportunity to write many letters in the intervening time. I will write you in the form of a journal when we get home. Such a mode of com-

 

28

 

 

 

icating would afford the more satisfaction to both  of us.   You had better join the "Caravan" out of town somewhere, as Brother Joe says. It might save honorable ride a deeper wound. I think you will understand the art of "going West" by the time you get there—never­theless, by diligence, you may extract amusement from many an uninviting source along the road. What more shall I say? As for myself, I hope to spend the winter as pleasantly as possible. If I can succeed in getting that stove and then in getting fuel, heavens, I would rejoice. Without it I might be tempted to ... I have commenced French. Think I can acquire it without much difficulty. Have nearly read the Fifth Book of Caesar. As to the old hat, the lamp of Life is nearly out. The other fea­tures of my wardrobe are not much furrowed with Time. I heartily detest teaching brats, most heartily! I may say more, but forebear. Let memory's flights to the scene of your boyhood sports be seldom, and let her not return with a sigh!

Farewell!   Farewell!

Your affectionate brother, fred gaston.

 

 

 

 

 

william B. gaston

to joseph gaston

somerville April 4, 1840. dear joseph:

Yours of the 29th ult. is before me.    It gives me

 

29

 

 

pleasure to hear that your prospects are so good, and that you are so well pleased with your situation. I will take up your letter in its order and say a few things on each head, 5s?c.: First, you say Alex^r intends to pay up the interest to Mr. Hartwell on his obligation this spring, I suppose he intends to include the note I gave for in­terest in his name March 6, 1839, for $57.75 to Mr. H. The whole will amount to nearly $83. If Alex^r intends to pay it, could he not get it and send it along with you? Perhaps he will come along with you. Press him to do so. I should like to see Elizabeth and the babe very much. I have not, as yet, got the promise of any money for you, but I think that I shall succeed in get' ting you enough to start with; it is very hard to get hold of. If you could purchase a horse here, would you go back on horseback? Be very careful that you leave plenty of medicine for each of your patients when you come to Jersey, or they may possibly get well in your ab­sence. Treat your opponent with kindness and respect when you come in contact with him. It does not argue well for a young man when he selects a place of settle­ment, and that amongst strangers, to come in conflict with those of the same profession and indulge in unbecoming epithets. An open wrangle with him would injure you, not only with the wise and sensible part of the com­munity, but it would tend to create a counteraction against, even by those who are now your friends. We have not received a line from Hugh since the one bearing date December 24th. I heard from him. Squire Terril told me (in March) that a Mr. Randolph, formerly of Stony Hill, but now a resident of Illinois, wrote home a few days before, that a son of Judge Gaston was teaching

 

30

school in his neighborhood, and that his children were going to him. In this way I account for his continued silence, being compelled to resort to this business to get money to pay his passage home, he is unwilling to say anything about it, fearing it will transpire.

You have said nothing about church, given no par­ticulars in relation to your village, &c. I hope you will evince a high respect for all moral institutions. Show by your conduct and general deportment something of the training you have had in life while under the parental roof, and, as you are now boarding in a public-house, I want you to remember that you are in a peculiar manner liable to be led astray in various ways. Observe the strict teetotal temperance plan: taste not, touch not, handle not. Also remember that to be a friend of the world, or to go with men of the world for the sake of popularity, you thereby must be an opposer of God, compromise con­science and endanger your well-being for time and through eternity.

Woodman and Stebbins are having the store today. I have not received my pay from them. They have cut a great swell in Somerville, but I fear they will be some­what disgraced before they leave. I have got the naked promise of your Uncle John that my demand shall be paid—the company are indebted to Woodman and Steb­bins more than enough to pay me. Steel moves in on Monday next. Elizabeth V. Dusen is to-be married to Dr. Dayton this month, so says rumor. I am very de­sirous to get Frederick out of Somerville for the present. Bill Gaston has been home all winter. Henry Stebbins, young Beekman and one or two others are constantly in his room. I very much fear for him. He appears to be

 

31

 

 

 

impatient of restraint not only, but totally regardless of my advice. I say to you that I have spent the most un­comfortable winter, made so by his conduct, that I have ever experienced. He plays cards, smokes cigars and am afraid drinks with these fellows. They are frequently up till 2 o'clock at night, fefc. Can't you find a place in your country where he can get a school and be removed from these wretches? I expected to have got him at Liberty Corner in a school, and study with Dr. Ayres, but it has fallen through. He appeared willing to go there. To say the least of his conduct, he is most self' willed and obstinate. I consider the prospect most de-sirable, under all the circumstances of the case. If Hugh returns he will have to remain home, and see what can be done towards getting him in practice, as it will be impossible for me to raise him another sum of money to start out with.

 

Affectionately,

W. B. gaston.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

joseph gaston

to hugh M. gaston

waynesburg January 7, 1841. dear brother hugh:

I had thought that continuing a constant ripple through the medium of the papers would in the end be a source of more pleasure than a lengthened epistle, as the former would in its nature be hebdomadal, while the

 

32

 

 

latter would partake rather of the character of angels' visits, scarce and wide apart. But when the full tide of your full letter came upon me, like the sweeping flow of mighty waters, I yielded myself the conflicting currents of clashing conclusions, and became convinced that no species of communication could yield more pleasure than a large sheet, well-filled with such materials as one brother can collect for gratification of another. As you have abandoned the consideration of general truths, and con­fined yourself to an enumeration of particular parts, perhaps it may be well to notify you, that while the rain is pouring in torrents, and fast sweeping from the earth the remaining vestiges of the once-glorious sleighing, that while all animated nature (with the exception of those who possess the devil-me'care feeling of braving the spirit of the storm) are snugly ensconced from its rude and piti' less attacks, some in the mansions of ease and opulence, others in the hovels of poverty and want, that I, follow­ing the instinct of the general herd, have inured myself within my officinum escalapii, which, as the size is about 7 by 14; as to position, presenting to the southwest; as to contents, claiming a bed, with an unmentionable be­neath it, a trunk, a table with sundry books and papers in wild confusion upon it, a corner board supporting a similar collection of sundries in much the same graceful confusion, a large ten-plate stove of an agreeable tem­perature, and then shelves of medicines, containing about 100 varieties, including most of the modern inventions of Pharmacy.

No vain display of trophied urn or monumental bust, °o gaudy trappings nor fantastic show of drapery, no paintings snatched from the grave of ages, or sublime

 

33

 

conceptions of modern masters insult the walls of this apartment; no coat of mail that graced the limbs of the once-stalwart knight, the relic of ancestral pride; no sworcl of Toledo shape or Damascus temper to tell its tale of the gigantic power of him who wielded it; no trophies of this scene of victory, nor relic to chronicle that death of glory, here are hung—but, in their stead, a few old coats and breeches: could they speak a tale they might unfold, could they disclose the secrets of the past, what barren aspects would open to the sight; how threadbare would the trappings seem, with which we are accustomed to invest the seats of honor, and how vain the efforts, by any of the inventions of modern ingenuity, to escape this consideration of one latter end. No carpeting of costly manufacture and steeped in Persian dye is pro' digally spread upon the oaken boards of this apartment, but boxes, graceful heaps of wood, and a half a score of boots and slippers, venerable in their antiquity, obtrude upon the eye, causing the visitor as he takes these several points within his glance involuntarily to exclaim, what forlorn son of Aesculapius tarries here? In the midst of this very scene, drawn with unerring truth, sits your worthy correspondent, with one foot supported upon a chair, the other perched upon the stove, while from his person his camlet overcoat, endeared by four long winters' service, falls down in graceful folds that sweep the floor. So much, then, for the matters of fact that obviously attend me as I write. You ask me how I fare as regards my business? I answer, that I have seen a great deal of practice this summer; more, I am confident, and greater of variety, than falls to the. lot of most young practitioners. I have seen disease in its most aggravated

 

34

 

 

and dangerous form, as well as in some of its rarest freaks. The business I have done, if I should be at all compensated, would be sufficient to pay my way. I do not apprehend much difficulty. I am rejoiced to hear that you are making some progress in your profession. Plants of vigorous growth have that inherently within them, which forces them out of the shade. You have my most hearty wishes for your success. Alex is becom­ing a man of considerable consequence in his neighbor-hood. He has an extensive practice, and I think, the best practitioner in this section of the country. Fred, I sup­pose, has read anatomy thoroughly. He should then read Materia Medica. Eberle's Therapeutics is better, as it not only describes medicines, but also the diseases in which they are most suitable. Dunglison has a work on therapeutics of the greatest value, but it does not descend -enough into particulars for the young student. After that it would be well to read Practice. And I do not know a more valuable work, for a young student, than Mackintosh's Practice. It is a work based upon strictly pathological principles. (Eberle's Practice is also excel­lent, but I think it would be well to read Mackintosh first.) The American Edition of 1837 is probably the best on surgery. The best American author that I am acquainted with is Gibson. Pancoast's edition of Wistar is the best on anatomy of American authors.

There appears to be no end to the sources of amuse­ment held forth in Somerville. No person can be af­fected with ennui there this winter. There is nothing I lament more than the want of intelligent society in this place. The current of thought stagnates when there is no collision of minds or continued influx of knowledge

 

35

 

 

from the perusal of literary works. If my means would permit I would have a good library, both medical and literary, and then one of my greatest sources of regret would be removed. We have at present, however, a debating school on Saturday evenings, which affords me considerable amusement. It has this good effect, at least, that it familiarizes oneself to the sound of his voice. I find no difficulty in spinning a yarn of 15 minutes, the limit prescribed by law.

I should like very much to visit Jersey this winter, if I could make it convenient.   By the way, tell Coz. Ida that I am very much obliged to her for her postscript and the bit of information it contained enveloped in a pro-found secret.   It is decreed then that "love's labours shall not be lost."    For my part, so far as the girls are con­cerned in this section of country, I can find none to please my fancy.    I have attended two weddings, and "stood up," as the saying is, and have passed through all the fire and smoke of the conflict, and yet escaped with my heart untouched.    Oh! the horrid forebodings of a life of celibacy!    Have you got your horse yet?    I like mine more and more every day—he drives very finely in the sleigh.    I think in the spring he will be a beauty.   I have got a sleigh made by persons that were indebted to me.   It is very neat.   It cost me $21, paid in "Pills."

What has become of Bill Brown? Is Bill Gaston still about Somerville? Fred asks me why I do not take the New World quarto? I answer, because I depend upon it for the current as well as literary news of the day, the former of which do not gain admittance into the quarto. It comes very irregularly at this office now. They are at present two numbers back. It is very per-

 

36

 

plexing to write so often and reiterate the same complaint Tell Fred that the advice I have sent above, in regard to the books, would have been sent long ago had I re­ceived any intimation that he wanted information. This is the first letter of any length I have written, to the best of my knowledge, in six months!!! In fact, I compose little or none at all. There appears to be no inducement in this part of the world for much mental effort. I am studying German, when I can reconcile myself to study at all. I think I could learn to read it in a short time I have acquired sufficient knowledge of the grammar to solve difficulties of that nature. Medical French I can read tolerably well. I will continue the papers as I receive them. I should like to see you dearly in this country. Write soon again.

 

Your brother, J. G.

 

 

 

 

joseph gaston

to william B. gaston

waynesburgh

:September 26, 1843.

 

father:

 

I received your letters, which were sent by brother Fred.  I was very much pleased to see him and hear intelligence from home.  I have no doubt that he will pass the winter here pleasantly and profitably.  He will be enabled to see some cases of practice, and learn something of the pharmaceutical part of the profession.   I am

 

37

 

glad to learn Hugh is getting along in his profession. His advances may be slow, at first, but I am certain that they will accelerate. Tell Will I am not unmindful of his letters and the favor of the papers he has sent me. I will answer his letter personally in a short time. In the meantime, he must progress with his studies as well as his circumstances will admit. Fred tells me you are doing a pretty fine business in the store. I am glad to hear it. My business jogs along much at the same gait it has done for some time past. This year of 1843, I take to have been somewhat peculiar in many respects, especially in this latitude. For one thing, it has been very wet and warm—yet at the same time very healthy.

We have had no summer complaints scarcely; not, in fact, much sickness of any character. Yet at the same time I do enough to make a decent living and have pros­pects of doing more. The greatest difficulty with me is to collect money when made. This, I find, almost an impossible thing, without resorting to coersive measures, which I do not like. In fact, I have the utmost re-pugnance to collect money. If I could settle up my busi­ness here, in such a way as that I should not be greatly the loser, I would then rejoice at the prospect of settling in Jersey. I should love dearly to practice there. Yet I do not see how it is possible at present to leave my present location. If I undertook to enforce payment of money, who owe me here, and who are abundantly able to pay me, they would no doubt avail themselves of the extreme laxity of the laws to cheat me of my dues. There is scarcely a possibility of collecting money of a man here, unless he has landed property or personal property to the amount of $300. And they are so cautious that they

38

always are careful to have their possessions protected by the strong fence which the law has lain around them. Yet, at the same time, these men are mostly able to pay, and will do so, no doubt, if their own time is allowed

them.

This year seems worse, to collect money, than any since I have been here, but I do not know that it is peculiar to this region of the country. Possibly things may alter by next spring, and if they do I will entertain the idea seriously of removing to Jersey. In fact, I must be guided somewhat by circumstances. I have about $600 on my books now, and to go off without getting the greater part of this would be making me too much the loser. Fred tells me that John is studying with Mr. Miflan. I am glad to hear of it. Alex seemed very much pleased with his trip to Jersey. Is not his little daughter a lovely little thing? Give my respects to my good cousins in Somerville. Alex tells me that you in-tend coming over this fall. Come by all means, and you will doubtless have a very pleasant trip, and shall be entertained as well as we are able. I expect the political parties will have a pretty severe struggle this fall in Jersey. In Pennsylvania the Loco foco party will, no doubt, carry the day. I have nothing more at present to say, and remain,

Your affectionate son,

 

 joseph gaston.

 

You must excuse the scrawl. I have a most execrable pen, and no knife sharp enough to mend it.

 

39

 

NOTE:  Pages 40, 41, 42 & 43 are one poem written by Joseph.  It will not be posted here,  If you wish to have this please contact me and I will scan/email it to you……   jgreece@earthlink.net