John Milton Binckley to "My Dearly Beloved Aunt," March 21, 1865

[John Milton Binckley at Washington, D.C., to "My Dearly Beloved Aunt," at [n.p.], March 21, 1865. Paragraph breaks added for easier reading.

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing scans of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Johnston Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

                                                                Washington DC
                                                                    21 March 1865
My Dearly Beloved Aunt,

How long it has been since I wrote to you I am afraid to recollect. I only know it has been too long, and though I confess that I do not think of you as often as I once did, for time brings such thousands of things & persons to drive older and better memories out of my head, yet when I do think of my dear old Aunty, it is with very warm love and with so much feeling that it always makes me long to go right to you. 

Believe me, I am still as fond of thinking of the days of my youth as if they had but yesterday passed away. Yet how long has been the time that now seems so short, since in 1844 and 1845 I used to be with you. It will, I think, be 21 years next harvest since that summer when I staid so long with you.

Oh what changes have been wrought in that time! The many places I have travelled, the people I have known, have hated, have forgiven, have loved, have forgotten! The many heartaches, the many dreams, the many disappointments, the many temptations -- alas, not always resisted!  

Yet you have changed but little. I know it. I could now go to you a man of thirty-four, with my wife and my two children, and with the sweet memory of the one that God took, and could forget it all and be, as I looked upon you, the same boy of fourteen that I was in the harvest of 1845.

I have seen much of the world, of fine cities, of rich & splendid folks, of bright and beautiful things, but ah! My dear mother's sister, I have seen nothing since my boyhood that I love so much as what I saw then. This world is all false, and the most of its splendor & finery is empty show that dries up the heart and starves the soul.

My family, including Mother, are down on the Eastern shores, where I have rented a plantation. I am here practicing law and have also been one of the Editors of the Daily Chronicle. I sent my family down there partly because my wife's health required her to be in the country & partly because [the cost of] living was so very high in the city and besides, I had a notion to take a trip to the Rocky Mountains, where brother George us -- that is, in the Pike's Peak country, now called Colorado. But I did not go.

In the fall, we will all be back in my own house in the city. I have a large garden with a right nice house in the midst, which, thanks be to God, is my own property. So with a comfortable home over my dear mother's head in her old age, I fear nothing. 

                                        God bless my dear Aunty
                                                          Milton  

[John Milton Binckley (circa 1831-1878).
Aunt = possibly Eva Catharina "Kitty" Stocker Croskey (1784-?).Mary Louisa Michel (1838-1930).  Children up to that time:  Ellen / Nellie / Nella (Fontaine) Binckley (1860-1951), Rosalie Binckley (1862-1864), Harvey Mitchell Binckley (1864-1928). 
Mother = Charlotte Stocker Binckley (1788-1877).
George Binckley (1828-1885)]

Mary Louisa Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899): Part VI

Bedford (Liberty), Virginia, by Edward Beyer, circa 1855

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899), Part VI. Additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.

 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing scans of the original documents, and in turn many thanks to Peter Johnston Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

Of that winter in the South I have few impressions. I believe we boarded with some distant relations, and father was ill, and some children (I don't know whose) tormented me.

But only two incidents stamped themselves clearly. I heard mother and her friends talking of a lovely lady they were all fond of and pitied and I for the first time took in the idea that a man could be cruel to his wife. 

Then in a store one day, mother's friend directed attention to a lady standing at a distant counter with her daughter an overgrown girl; and afterwards I heard them laughing -- "Sixteen, and her mother keeps her in pantalettes yet --" ["]Yes, the mother is a gay widow, and dresses that poor girl like a child for fear of being seen with a grown daughter." That also was a new revelation as to human possibilities. 

There are no pleasant ideas of the return trip to Abingdon. We must gave gone by stage as dear Blackie died in the South. Shortly afterwards we went to Bedford, and it must have been a sort of farewell occasion that mother took me with her to dine at cousin Preston's. My chin just did come over the edge of the table and the solemn silence children had to keep in their elders' presence gave me only more time for keen observation of guests and servants, while my first art criticism was aroused by the old blue willow-pattern plate so close to my nose. 

Mother had none of those plates, her set of China, as was often done then. Grandfather Johnston had sent for these in his early  married life. There is not one of them left, most being lost in the war. I had one or two of the desert [dessert] plates which were lost with nearly everything else I had stored in Chicago.

Uncle Tom Campbell lost his wife (my father's sister Martha) and wrote to urge Mother,) as we were intending to go to Bedford) to come to him for awhile and help him until he could get his houseful of children arranged for [parentheses as in original].

The baby, Fred, was very delicate, and poor uncle Tom was in such trouble that my parents consented to stay with them some months. The eldest, Mary (afterwards Mrs. Jones) was some years older than I but Charlotte (Mrs. Butts) was my age. Ann, younger. A little boy two years old, and the baby. Mother's devotion saved the sick baby's life, but that winter the country was scourged by a (then) new disease, diptheria, which raged for months. We were all ill, but recovered, except uncle Tom's splendid little boy, Willie.

That winter I saw sister Charlotte for the first time. She was living with her aunt, Mrs. Wingfield, and came out to visit us. Father's mother had died two several years before, and so had both his unmarried sisters, Mary, and Louise: his brother Stephen had died in the prime of life, just after writing a successful play -- a most brilliant youth.

The eldest brother Tom lived in Kentucky and married Miss Julian of Frankfort. The sailor brother, Fred, was captain of a merchant vessel when he died of yellow fever on the Gulf of Mexico.

Uncle Robert was the only one in Bedford, and lived in the old home place. He married the beautiful Lucy Phillipps and raised a family of twelve children to be grown and married. The handsomest set I ever saw.

Mother was the blessing of uncle Tom's house for more than a year when he married again. A most excellent match in every way, a she proved a devoted step-mother, and made herself beloved by all his kin. She was also named Martha, and during all her life was devoted to Mother. She lost one grown unmarried daughter, Martha, and had no son. Her daughter Fannie married a first cousin, Joe Wilson, Roberta married Hopkins, and Sallie is unmarried.

In case I cannot finish this, there is one thing I want remembered by my children. Although we were always struggling with poverty, the gay sweetness of my father, and the serenity of my mother, kept an atmosphere around us that made the poorest home enjoyable. Children should always be able to look around and find peace. 

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
Mother = Jane Mary Wood Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Father = Harvey Mitchell/Michel (1799-1866).
The trip to Alabama probably occurred between 1842 and 1844. The move to Bedford occurred by 1845.
Grandfather Johnston = Peter Johnston, Jr. (1763-1831).
Uncle Tom Campbell (1813-1890).
My father's sister Martha = Martha Mitchell Campbell (before 1820-circa 1844).
Mary Campbell (circa 1835-?).
Charlotte Campbell (1837-1906) married Junius H. Butts (1830-1878) in 1858.
Baby Fred Campbell (born circa 1844).
Ann = Ann Henry Campbell (1837-?) married Thomas Kelso (1834-1867) in 1865.
Sister Charlotte = Charlotte Elizabeth Griffin Mitchell (1829-1921).;
Her aunt Wingfield = Charlotte Griffin Wingfield (1810-circa 1855), married to Gustavus Adolphus Wingfield (1808-1888).
Father's mother = Sarah "Sally" B. Hawkins Mitchell (1777-1841). 
Mary and Louise = Mary Jane Mitchell (d. 1839) and Louise Mitchell.
Stephen = Stephen Mitchell (d. before 1845).
Tom = Thomas B. Mitchell (1796-1868).
Miss Julian = Mildred Abbott Julian married Tom in 1823.
The sailor brother, Fred = Frederick W. Mitchell (d. circa 1849).
Uncle Robert and Lucy Phillipps = Robert Crump Mitchell (1807-1872) and Ann Lucy Phillips (circa 1809-before 1880).
Martha = Martha Sarah Crenshaw (1825-1890) married Tom Campbell on June 6, 1844.
Martha Campbell (dates unknown).
Fannie Campbell (1847-1938) married Joseph Watkins "Joe" Wilson (1846-1877) in 1872. His mother was Mary Jane Campbell Wilson (1810-1851).
Roberta Campbell (1851-1928) married John H. Hopkins (1852-1892) in 1880.
Sallie Campbell (1855-1925).]

Mary Louisa Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899): Part V

Surrey*

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899), Part V. Additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.

 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing scans of the original documents, and in turn many thanks to Peter Johnston Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

Bedroom candles were lighted, goodnights said, & all scattered to . . . rooms that had, to be sure, only rag carpet rugs on bare floors, but the beds were plump and piled high with blankets, and a glorious fire sparkled & roared up the chimney.

A darkey girl who had been curled up asleep in the chimney corner for hours, would wake with a yawn or grin to serve you. If the water in the ewer was nearly ice, she would produce from some nook the black kettle and trivet, shovel on to a corner of the hearth a glowing mass of coals, and soon a warm footbath would be ready, and she more than ready to give it.

Probably another peice [piece] of ebony would roll herself out from her pallet under the bed and beg "Law Miss Lou -- lem'me com yer har." If several girls were together in one room, they generally made a raid on the pantry on the way up stairs, and curled together on the hearth rug, would spin out the endless gossip of girlhood to the accompaniment of haircombing, pickles and poundcake.

No one ever troubled about hygiene or microbobes and the balls and parties to be talked over were few and far between, but as far as I can remember they had no ore indigestion than the microbe-haunted youth of this 20th century, and seemed to get as much pleasure out of their mild "milk and water" amusements as this same youth does from his mad rush after pleasure.

My first remembrances of Abingdon as I have said, but they are few, and not very clear. Behind the cottage was a large green yard divided fro the front by palings. past kitchen, smokehouse, and servant's houses a lane led back to a pasture where Blackie, the carriage horse, spent most of his time. 

Father's animals were always petted, and Blackie was the most responsive. To get into the yard was his treat, where a piece of bread and caresses were always on hand for him (sugar was much too dear for even Blackie) and it was while galloping down that lane one afternoon in high spirits that he saw baby Willie come toddling to meet him, & then stop still right in the narrow gate. There was no room to pass -- he could'nt [couldn't] stop himself, so the poor beast just gathered his feet up in one wild jump over the child's head, and as soon as he could stop turned to see if harm was done. Mother saw it, and said the horse trembled with the shock and fear.

He was a large, well bred animal, quite powerful enough to take us all down to Alabama one fall for father's health. The carriage was what we now call a surrey, only more heavily built, as all vehicles had to be in anti-railroad days when travelling was done by stage, horseback, or private carriage, and the roads were poor, to put it mildly. 

It was considered fortunate if your destination could be reached by public highway, as such roads were kept in some order, and on their windings were regular stopping places where man and beast could find shelter at night. I hardly think the road we travelled could have been a public one, for I dimly remember having to stay at night in rough cabins, and it must have been a long wearisome way, even to such good travellers as my parents were.

Willie was not old enough to  understand much, but as we rolled along, day after day through "forests primeval," many a story must have been told me of nature and her wondrous ways, her plants and small beasts, for the trip has always been a delicious, if hazy, memory. 

Especially I remember like a dream the passing through a broad belt of the long-leafed pine which then lay on the edge of northern Alabama. Even a child's mind can take in the wierd [weird] charm of a pine forest. A green twilight [as] far as the eye reaches -- crowded with tall tapering tree stems -- no undergrowth breaks the sender lines soaring up into a distant spread of plumy tops that shut out the blue sky. 

A faint breath of resinous perfume is in the still air. Sunlight filters through now and then in shining drops. A brown carpet of pine needles lies so thick and soft there is not sound of wheel or hoof as you dreamily roll along, no sound but that exquisite, strange musical sighing note that murmurs forever through the swaying, far up, branches. A land of dreams -- shut in -- no outer world -- utter solitude -- and no sound but that mysterious swaying hint of elusive music.

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
Mother = Jane Mary Wood Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Father = Harvey Mitchell/Michel (1799-1866).
Willie = William Manning Mitchell/Michel (October 1, 1839-1908).
The described trip to Alabama probably occurred between 1842 and 1844.
*Link here.]

Edward William Johnston to Dr. John Hook Griffin, February 14, 1844

[Edward William Johnston at Lauderdale, Botetourt County, Virginia, to Dr. John Hook Griffin at Salem, Virginia, February 14, 1844. A scan of this letter was graciously provided via email on April 28, 2017 by Beth S. Harris, Special Collections Librarian & Archivist, Wyndham Robertson Library, Hollins University. There are some additional scribblings on the front of the letter, apparently made at a later date by Henry Griffin, Charles Beale Griffin, and/or John William Griffin. Another small inscription reads: GIVEN TO ME BY BILLY BOWLES, G. SON of Dr. GRIFFEN - April 1935, JAT.] 

             

Lauderdale Feb’y 14^th 1844

Dear Doctor

My wife has another ulcer extending down the pharynx or back part of the throat. I had hope for some time that the disease was disappearing. Its progress in the nose seemed to be checked tho’ still existing. This new appearance in the throat has given us great uneasiness & Doct’r Woodson has just touched it with Caustic, having a few days since applied two blisters on each side of the throat. He thinks the glands about the root of the tongue are affected from her complaining of some pain there tho’ they cannot be seen.

The Doc’t speaks of putting a graton[?] in the back of the neck. We would prefer a consultation with you before any thing further is done.

I if you can do so would like for you to come down tomorrow or as early as possible. Madam has been using nothing but Sand’s Sarsaparilla for some time. Her general health seemed to be improving – this new development therefore has been very unexpected. If you cannot come (which I hope will not be the case) please give your advice as to the best remedy, The Doct’t proposes the use[?] of Iodine.

                      My respects to Mrs. G. & believe me

                                                     Yrs Truly

                                                              Edw’d Johnston

Lauderdale = Estate near Buchanan, Virginia, of Judge Edward Johnston (January 10, 1807-May 1, 1853) who later died of pneumonia. He was married to Emeline Sophia Bowyer (1809-1893). Edward was the son of Andrew Johnston (1767-1811) and Anne Owen Nash Johnston (1775-1851).

Dr. John Hook Griffin (1803-1878) was the brother of Elizabeth Hook Griffin (circa 1801-1829), Harvey Mitchell/Michel's first wife and mother of Charlotte Elizabeth Griffin Mitchell (1829-1921). Dr. Griffin's wife was Sarah Jane McClanahan (1859-1926).  

Edward William Johnston (1799-1867)

My wife = Estelle, Marie Antoinette Estelle Costar (De Cressac Villagrand) Johnston (circa. 1802-1848)

JAT = Joseph Augustine Turner (1875-1937), grandson of Hollins Institute founder, Dr. Charles Lewis Cocke (1820-1878).                          

Henry (Bowyer) Griffin (1838-1940) 
Charles Beale Griffin (1834-1885)
John William Griffin (1835-1864). Enlisted in the 19th Virginia Infantry Regiment in 1861, became lieutenant and regimental chaplain, died August 1, 1864. 
Mrs. G and Dr. Griffin's daughter Emeline (1857-1926) married William Boardman Bowles (1859-1926) in 1885. 

Images: Wiki Commons (top), Peachridge Glass blog, link here (middle), and the Library of Congress, link here (bottom).

[Many thanks to Sue Davis, William Myers, Mary Davy and Sally Young for their ongoing research collaboration, and to Beth S. Harris as noted above.]  

      

Beverly Randolph Johnston to Lieutenant John Preston “Pres” Johnston, June 5, 1844

[Beverly Randolph Johnston at Abingdon, Virginia, to Lieutenant John Preston “Pres” Johnston at Carlisle Barracks (Carlisle), Pennsylvania, June 5, 1844. Box 26, Folder 12, Robert Morton Hughes Papers, Special Collections and University Archives, Patricia W. and J. Douglas Perry Library, Old Dominion University Libraries, Norfolk, VA 23529. This is my rough transcription. Additional paragraph breaks added for easier reading.]

My dear Pres

Your letter of the 27^th ult. Reached me two days since. It would have been answered more promptly, as it involved an annoyance to you, but that I have been sick for several days, and was particularly so on the evening of its arrival. A brief explanation will suffice.

You remember that I enjoined it on you to get your friends to send me their bills promptly, or I would be on the circuit before they reached this place. Just so it turned out none came before I left this for the Spring Circuit; which, moreover owing to some of my friends engaging in politics and devolving their business on me, lasted longer than usual.

On my return to this place I found letters from your three agreeable N. York friends. I wrote to them that as they had not instructed me to send money by mail at their risk, I was unwilling to send it at mine: that there was no bank through which I could obtain facilities for remittance by check, and that they must wait till my business led me to Wythe, whence I promised to send them checks on one of the Richmond Banks, as soon as I got there: stating at the same time that I should be in Wythe about this time.

Yesterday morning was the day on which I had made my arrangements for going to Wythe. Indisposition as detained me till now, and will till Saturday (the 8^th). So soon as I get there, this troublesome matter shall be closed. I suppose Mr. Jno. Smith Frazier had not received my letter when he wrote to you. Indeed I do not remember the date of mine so accurately as to be able to say whether it was written long enough previous to his, to have had time to reach N.Y. by the 24^th, the date of his.

As to the other matter indicated in your letter: the choice, or rather change of your profession, it is one as to which I can say but little now. I am suffering some pain, and can not write a long letter. Much, almost all, depends on your personal feelings and predilections. They will assuredly control your decision: nor am I sufficiently informed as to the present, or probably future condition and prospects of the army to give counsel which can be of any value.

I must suppose that your preference for military life continues, and that your uncertainty whether you will retain your commission is not founded on any disgust for the service; but rather upon an apprehension, either of such a reduction of the force of the army as would render your condition precarious, or of its pay &c., as would make it suit only the very rich, or the very mean.  

I should say, that as it is the profession of your choice, and as your education adapts you for it, unless there be some reason of which I am unaware, it would be rash and inexpedient to desert it upon mere movement in Congress, probably an Electioneering one. Wait a while, and see and measure the evil before you fly from it.

The present administration can last but nine months longer. We then have a new order of things: New men & measures: perhaps a new organization or even an increase of the army. Or, it may be, that we shall find ourselves all at once engaged in a Mexican War. If we are not, it will not be for want of will on the part of Mr. Tyler.

Have a little patience, and do not act in haste, unless you have resolutely made up you mind to adopt a new plan of life. If you have done so, you cannot then be too prompt in dissolving your connexion [connection] with the army. In that event be assured that there is nothing in life that can give me more pleasure than to serve and aid you.

Should you choose your father’s profession, as I doubt not you would, it would afford me an opportunity of repaying in some sort to you, the countless debt of gratitude and affection which I contracted to him. [A]nd how happy too, such a change would make Lizzie. With you here I should then claim her, and we’d have an household and Establishment of our own: and, I doubt not, in no great while, you would have both law and clients quite sufficient.

But this is rather a day dream, a pleasant one certainly, to me & Liz: but for which neither of us would seek to induce you to leave a course more congenial to your feelings and views.

At last, it resolves itself in this. It is for you to determine. I ask not to influence your decision, and shall rejoice to aid you to the utmost of my power, in any path which you may pursue.

I shall write you again ere long in relation to the matter: tho’ I do not see that anything more can be said than is already written above. I cannot advise well unless I see the whole ground. This, you have not shewn me: nor, indeed, does it seem altogether visible to you. Write more fully & clearly.

Lizzie is well and shall write to you soon. Pardon this rambling confused scrawl: but I really am much out of sorts, and could not write, or think better, and am unwilling to read it over. Tis enough to have written such a thing.

                                           yours most affectionately,

                                                                       B.R. Johnston

[B. R. Johnston = Beverly Randolph Johnston (1803-1876)

Lizzie = Eliza Mary Johnston (1825-1909)

Pres = John Preston Johnston (1824-1847)

Mr. Tyler = John Tyler (1790-1862), US President from April 4, 1841 to March 4, 1845.]

[Many thanks to Sue Davis, William Myers, Mary Davy and Sally Young for their ongoing research collaboration.]

Beverly Randolph Johnston to John Preston Johnston, March 18, 1844

[Beverly Randolph Johnston at Wytheville, Virginia, to Lieutenant John Preston “Pres” Johnston at Carlisle, Pennsylvania, March 18, 1844. Box 26, Folder 12, Robert Morton Hughes Papers, Special Collections and University Archives, Patricia W. and J. Douglas Perry Library, Old Dominion University Libraries, Norfolk, VA 23529. This is my rough transcription. Additional paragraph breaks added for easier reading.]

My dear Pres

I received your Columbia letter last week in Abingdon. There is much in its tone and feeling for which I blame myself: for the fault is in me that my silence should have permitted the fervid and excitable feelings of youth to bring you into injustice towards me as I am, rather than as I seem. All this may be put right at another time.

The first thing to be done is to put you rectus in curia by paying your tailors. Write them to send me their bills immediately to Abingdon, and they shall be paid. Tell them if they are not prompt about it I shall be on the circuit and they will incur a delay of three or four weeks.

During September to October I heard nothing of you. I was at court all the time. In November I went to Cabell to obtain money for you – was disappointed – spent the entire month in vain, and worse than in vain. For bad weather & exposure on the journey homeward brought me home sick. I found two letters from you. All the money which I had before I went to Cabell I had given to Eliza.

I had returned disappointed, and found myself unable to, from indisposition to raise money for you. The tenant in C. had promised to remit me a part of his rent at an early day. I was tantalized with the double hope of his remitting, & of my restoration to good health: either of which would have enabled me to meet your wishes. In both I was disappointed during the whole winter. In December, I was well but a few days.

In January, when my malady changed its character, or rather I had a new attack, I had but one day of health: and that was the first day of the year. In February and the early part of March I was sick all the time: not dangerously, nor suffering severely, but so much so as to be unfit for exertion or business, for any thing in short but swallowing drugs, and lying on a couch from one end of the week to the other.

But this annoying state of things is ended, I trust for many a day to come, and with it, the difficulty of providing the means of meeting your engagements as well as my own. For you may bear in mind, that all tis time I had other demands, and those of the most urgent sort, upon my purse. But I will not weary you with a detail of them, or for whom contracted.

Let it suffice that though not originally mine, I had become bound for others to a large amount, and while you, with the usual tendency to exaggeration of very young men, considered yourself wretched, neglected and maltreated because your tailor had to wait a while for his bill; I likewise had my creditors, larger in amount, & more urgent in demand: had to endure sickness, suffering, their importunities, and my own mortification at the state of things which h surrounded me.: and to pant for a recovery which should put it in my power to end it.

I have, during this time, received a good deal of money, tis true, but was under an insuperable necessity of expending it in such a manner as to relive me from the most urgent claims. If I had not done so, severe pecuniary loss must have ensured to me. All this, I would, under other circumstances, have explained to you. But the unconquerable laziness and languor of disease and the constant hope of receiving a remittance from Cabell, or recovery, served as excuses from day to day.

You may therefore see that I might have other causes operating with me than the cold-hearted indifference which you are pleased to ascribe to me. This is a species of imputation which is usually tried mostly justly by weighing the general scope of a man’s character, and the tendency of his actions, rather than by his professions of attachment, however ardent or often repeated.

For my own part, if I have fallen in your good opinion or regard, I shall not endeavor to regain lost ground by protestation that I possess all the virtues under heaven. I shall rather leave it to your own sense of right to ponder on the facts which surrounded me, and of which you were ignorant, and to determine whether I am what you were angry enough to suppose me.

As to my own feelings or my own character, I deny nothing, I boast of nothing. If they are to be known or appreciated or inferred only by my acting as my own eulogist or historian, I am content to remain under the ban of the misconstruction which I may encounter, but which will only be temporary.

Fail not to send me the tailors claims at once. I have provided the means of meeting them without inconvenience.

Lizzie is well, and, I suppose will be at home soon. She is so near concurring with you in ill report concerning me that I suppose you are both nearer right, than, in my self complacency I had been willing to admit. I must be a very savage.

But in spite of all that I will say I am

                                         Yours most affectionately

                                                                       B.R. Johnston

[B. R. Johnston = Beverly Randolph Johnston (1803-1876)

Lizzie = Eliza Mary Johnston (1825-1909)

Pres = John Preston Johnston (1824-1847).]

[Many thanks to Sue Davis, William Myers, Mary Davy and Sally Young for their ongoing research collaboration.]

Beverly Randolph Johnston to Eliza Mary Johnston, March 17, 1844

[Beverly Randolph Johnston at Wytheville, Virginia, to Eliza Mary Johnston care of Wade Hampton, Jr., Esq., Columbia, South Carolina, mail via Richmond, March 17, 1844. Box 25, Folder 1, Robert Morton Hughes Papers, Special Collections and University Archives, Patricia W. and J. Douglas Perry Library, Old Dominion University Libraries, Norfolk, VA 23529. This is my rough transcription. Additional paragraph breaks added for easier reading.]

My dear Eliza

I received your truly welcome letter some days since, shortly before I left home for this place where I have been on business for a week past. Your censure of my silence might have been less severe than it was, for more reason than one.

In the first place a rebuke does not come with the best grace in the world from you; inasmuch as I have written just as often as yourself. Let it be remembered, also, that of a task so dull as writing to me was put out of your head by the excitements of travel, the gayeties of Columbia, or the copious conversations of Uncle Syd: that I too might be engrossed by cares, or pleasures, or cases interfering with the delightful occupation of letter writing.

I do trust, at least, that we both have learned not to estimate affection by the length or number of letters which we traditionally write or receive. In truth, I am inclined to suppose, that if you had known how my winter had been spent, till within the last ten days, even the mild, implied reproof which you gave me would have been spared.

I spent the entire month of November in a trip to Cabell. I was much exposed on the journey by reason of bad weather and high water, and contracted an indisposition in consequence, of which I am only free within a few days.

In December, I had only a few well days. In January none: in February none. So you may well imagine that a winter spent in the solitude of my office, just sick enough to be unfit for professional occupation, & just languid enough to abhor the idea of labor, must have been gloomy enough to expiate more offenses than my conscience accuses me of towards you.

You were already, as I learned from your letter, alarmed and distressed with the idea of your Aunt Sally’s ill health and I thought it would be unkind to write to tell you of a condition of my health which might unnecessarily disquiet you on my account.

So you see that altogether I can make out a very plausible case in excuse of my many sins as a correspondent. Above all, I hope that whatever be my demerits in the matter, you will not be what some one calls “wanting that sweet weakness, To forgive.”

I received a letter from your brother ‘tother day not written in exactly the most amiable temper towards me. The truth is, that he was greatly annoyed by my silence, and my failure to furnish him some certain monies which he required; and which I, being disappointed in getting them in Cabell, and disabled from obtaining elsewhere by my confinement at home as well as other causes which I will not weary you by reciting, could not send him.

I was hoping all the time for a speedy recovery which would remove all difficulty, and thus was unwilling to write till I could do more. All this was unexplained to Pres, and he was provoked and pained accordingly: and so expressed himself. I was grieved and pained in this matter, not so much on my account as his: not so much that he evinced less of kindness in his feelings towards me and less of confidence in mine towards him than I might have wished: as that he suffered pain and mortification.

As for myself, I have long since learned a lesson which teaches me to endure misconstruction of my actions or motives from those who are dear to me. If we wish a reward for what we do for others, we can only find an assured one in our own bosoms. And this, true as it is in general, is most true with a person unfortunately prone, like myself, to suppress all displays or expression of feeling, and desiring to be judged by acts, rather than professions of regard. This willingness to be and unwillingness to seem, while it does no harm to others, is apt to occasion many a wound to ourselves. But enough sundry stubborn and unenviable qualities, I have likewise this, and knowing and foreseeing the usual result, yet I shall not change. I am content to abide the penalty. But I have dwelt longer on matters rather concerning me than any one else, than is any good taste.

Such money as you may require tell Syd to furnish you on my account and I will replace it within 30 days after I am advised of the advance. This is more convenient than a remittance by mail of Virginia money not current in S. Carolina. There is likewise another reason. I am out of money now, and must buy my peace with Pres by sending him the first I can get. My poverty is only temporary, the result of sickness and confinement during the winter. I am now well & free and shall soon have what others want.

I hope your winter has been a pleasant one, more so than mine. I am, and whatever you or others may think, shall be ever, most affectionately yours

                                                                                  B.R. Johnston

P.S. I should have sent you money, but I told you when you went away, to tell your uncle Syd to give you whatever you required, and I would repay him. You are wrong in not truly appreciating him at his real worth: nor in confiding in a warmth and generosity of character merely veiled by coldness & reserve of manner. Correct this, and learn to do him justice in your opinion & more than that, your affections.    

[B.R. Johnston = Beverly Randolph Johnston (1803-1876)

Eliza = Eliza Mary Johnston (1825-1909)

Pres = John Preston Johnston (1824-1847)

Syd = Algernon Sidney Johnston (1801-1852)
Aunt Sally = Sarah "Sally" Buchanan Preston Floyd (1802-1879) or, possibly, Sarah Buchanan Campbell Preston (1778-1846), who wrote her last will and testament in 1844.  

Wade Hampton, Jr. = Wade Hampton II (1791-1858); or Wade Hampton III (1818-1902), who had married Margaret Buchanan Frances Preston (1818-1852), in Washington County, Virginia, on October 10, 1838.]

[Many thanks to Sue Davis, William Myers, Mary Davy and Sally Young for their ongoing research collaboration.]

"Harvey Mitchell, Portrait Painter." Advertisement, February 13, 1844

[Richmond Whig, Volume XX, Issue 13 (February 13, 1844), page 3. Advertisement.]

HARVEY MITCHELL,

PORTRAIT PAINTER.

Rooms opposite the Banks, and next Door above Mr. Duquane's Wig Store.

ja 1-tf

[Harvey Mitchell (1799-1866)

Wig Store = French-born Robert Duquesne (born circa 1818); his wife Onezime (circa 1821-February 12, 1859) is buried in Shockoe Hill Cemetery, Richmond. They had at least two children: Gustavus (born 1844) and Leonen. Robert was a member of the Masonic Lodge Francaise in Richmond. Location of his Wig Store in 1844 was probably at or near Market Place.

This advertisement establishes Harvey Mitchell's continued work as a traveling portrait painter in 1844.]

[Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration.]

Sarah Buchanan Campbell Preston: Last Will and Testament, 30th January 1844

Sarah B. Preston: Last Will and Testament, 30th January 1844, page 1. I had a copy of this in my files and do not know its exact publication details. Probably printed in Abingdon, Virginia, before or near the date listed. 

"It is my clear and express will and intention, that the fund devised by this clause for the benefit of my daughters, shall belong to them, individually, for their personal use and benefit, untrammeled by the obligations and uncontrolled by the authority of their husbands: forming thus a separate, distinct, and independent property."

$1 in 1844 = about $31 in 2016
$80,000 in 1844 = about $2.5 million in 2016
Saltworks = Saltville, Smyth and Washington counties convergence
Sarah B. Preston = Sarah Buchanan Campbell Preston (1778-1846), widow of General John Smith Preston (1765-1836)
William C. Preston = William Campbell Preston (1794-1860)
John S. Preston = John Smith Preston (1809-1881)
Thomas L. Preston = Thomas Lewis Preston (1812-1903)
Susan = Susanna Smith Preston (1800-1847)
Sophonisba = Ann Sophonisba Preston (1803-1844)
Margaret = Margaret Buchanan Frances Preston (1818-1852)
Eliza = Eliza Henry Preston (1796-1877)
Sally = Sarah Preston (1802-1879)
Sally Campbell Preston = (circa 1820-1845)
Sally Campbell Thomas = Sally Campbell Preston McDowell (circa 1822-1895)
Sally Campbell Breckenridge (1832-1865)

Sarah Buchanan Campbell Preston: Last Will and Testament, 30th January 1844, page 2.
"My daughter Sally B. Floyd" = Sarah Buchanan Preston Floyd (1802-1879), married to John Buchanan Floyd (1806-1863).
"To my daughter Margaret B. F. Hampton" = Margaret Buchanan Frances Preston (1818-1852), married to Wade Hampton III (1818-1902): bequeathed lots in and near Louisville, Kentucky, and enslaved people Patience, John and Tom.
"To my son John S. Preston" = John S. Preston = John Smith Preston (1809-1881): bequeathed enslaved people "and the increase of the female," Henry, Spot, Polly and William.
"To my son William C. Preston" = William Campbell Preston (1794-1860): bequeathed enslaved people Cook Lewis, Isaac, Alfred and Jim Reagan.
"To my grand daughter, Sally Campbell Preston" (circa 1820-1845): bequeathed enslaved people "with the increase of the females," Barney, Old Phebe, Mahala, and Little Phebe.

Sarah Buchanan Campbell Preston: Last Will and Testament, 30th January 1844, page 3.

Attested by:
B. R. Johnston = Beverly Randolph Johnston (1803-1876)
John C. Greenway = John Campbell Greenway (1795-1860)
David C. Cummings = David Campbell Cummings (Sr., 1812-1900)