Showing posts with label 1853. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1853. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 1, 2017

Edward William Johnston: "Jefferson -- The Sage of Monticello" (1853). Conclusion

[Edward William Johnston under the nom de plume Il Segretario, “Great Conversationists, Number Four. Jefferson--The Sage of Monticello." New-York Daily Times. Volume II, number 409 (January 8, 1853), page 2.]

[The newspaper was started up with a Whig orientation in 1851. Here is the final part of Johnston's article. Extra paragraph breaks for easier reading.]

Meantime, his face. expressive as it was ugly, was not much less busy than his limbs, in bearing its part in the conversation, and kept up, all the while, the most speaking by-play, an eloquence of the countenance as great as ugly features could well have.

It stood to his conversation like the artful help of well-imagined illustrations, to the text of a book: a graphic commentary on every word, that was as convincing to the eyes as was his discourse to the ears. The impression which it conveyed was a strong auxiliary of all he uttered: for it begat in you an almost unavoidable persuasion of his sincerity -- a virtue of the appearance of which he made good use, and had vast need.

You may have seen his portraits, his busts, the bronze statue -- faithful enough except as to the limbs -- which the Israelite navy-captain bought in Paris at the price of old clothes, and offered to Congress, but which it put by with disdain, as a stroke of speculation, meant to procure professional advancement not earned in any other way.

From all these. one gets a just enough idea of the mere mold of his physiognomy, but none, of course, of that mobility which was its only fine quality, nor of the oddity of his complexion.  

There was much, in its general tint, of the color of cream; but as that substance is one of which you, good people of the great city of Gotham, conceive only as a modification of prepared chalk, let me explain by what they have oftener seen -- the fruity part of a pumpkin pie.

The face looked as if it were battered with such a paste; but in addition to this ghastliness of hue, it was besprinkled with pox-pits, all of which were a lively purple. Bad as was the uncontrasted complexion, you may imagine what its beauty became, when set off by such a foil. 

As to features, he had not one that was good, except the eyes; they were a greyish blue, clear and sparkling. His head was well set and well curried, but had the Jacobean shape and air; his hair was originally reddish, but turned to an ill-bleached foxiness; his forehead was large, but not well modelled in those main frontal regions which bespeak loftiness of thought and creativeness of imagination: it indicated clearness, not greatness.

His brows were neither strong not soft, but irregular and uncertain, as those of one who was wanting in will, and yet had not much feeling.

His nose was mean -- a small tube ending in a sudden bulb; it was much cocked up, and derived from that shape a character of pertness and vulgarity. 

His mouth was rather large, but the lips were thin and not well cut; the expression setting on them bland but not benevolent, conciliating rather than kindly; its meaning assigned his emotions to the manners, not the heart -- to policy, not the temper. The chin was, like the forehead, broader than it was strong. 

Such were his lineaments in detail: quite indifferent, separately; and yet, all together, very expressive and agreeable. As his motions, light and easy, were the contradiction of his ill-made limbs, so was his pleasing and animated countenance that of features, of themselves, ignoble apart.

Lastly, his conversation: he certainly was one of the best talkers I have ever listened to; copious in the extreme, without ever growing tedious; easy yet compact; flowing but never loose; very variously, and to all appearance soundly informed, and continually dealing out his information, but rather as if to gratify you, not himself; his mind seemed to me, then, a great repository of the wisdom that must come from one's self.

Trained in what was once its best school -- the Parisian saloons [salons] -- he understood conversation thoroughly as an art; and he made the most of it, as an engine of personal influence and for the propagation of his party opinions. Towards the inculcation of these, his conversation, whatever the subject, was usually bent; except when a scientific matter was in question; either he knew no literature, law, history, philosophy, morals nor theology, or he could not talk of them, unless as connected, in some direct or indirect way, with Democratic theories. 

His power, indeed, of winning and of controlling men, always lay chiefly in his skill of personal communication; for, even in public bodies, he rarely made speeches; nor have we any record of his having ever shone as an orator. In short, not feeling himself strong enough to attack men's convictions by the front gate of manful eloquence, he stole in by the back-door of address and of insinuation in private. 

At least, however, he got in; which is, no doubt, the great end; and when the end is great, few people are delicate about the means. His were, perhaps, a little burglarious; but then I must confess that the picklock of his talk was admirable. 

[Edward William Johnston (1799-1867)
Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826)]

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

Sunday, February 26, 2017

Edward William Johnston: "Jefferson -- The Sage of Monticello" (1853). Part I

Thomas Jefferson portrait by Thomas Sully (1821). Jefferson Foundation
[Edward William Johnston under the nom de plume Il Segretario, “Great Conversationists, Number Four. Jefferson--The Sage of Monticello." New-York Daily Times. Volume II, number 409 (January 8, 1853), page 2.]

[The newspaper was started up with a Whig orientation in 1851. Here Johnston's article gets into Nullification, the Kentucky and Virginia Resolutions of 1798, Patrick Henry, and various witticisms. He devotes a fair amount of print to descriptions of Monticello and the surrounding area. Here is a sampling of the first part, skipping over the introduction. Extra paragraph breaks for easier reading.]

Almost from infancy I was accustomed to see MR. JEFFERSON. It was with reverence; for I was the son of one of those men of ninety-eight, who regarded him as the greatest of all civil geniuses, the very impersonation of philosophic statesmanship; but it was without affection.   

For, though possessed in an extraordinary degree of the exterior arts which conciliate the mature, he had none of that naturalness, those unstudied sympathies, which please children; to whose instinctive judgement wily people, because less on their guard, usually betray the most their lack of heart.

A child at the breast would have nestled to the arms of Judge MARSHALL; I have seen JOHN RANDOLPH, when at the height of his sarcastic fame in Congress, the favorite play-mate of my next elder brother, seating himself by him on the floor at his call, and entering with delight into all his childish sports; but nobody, I imagine, ever saw MR. JEFFERSON or MR. CALHOUN pay the slightest attention to a child. 

Their attentions were a matter of the head, not heart. They had brains, I think, but no soul. I doubt if they ever felt any strong emotion towards even their own offspring, save those of their idea -- the fantastic procreation of their wits, when in a vagary of political illumination. 

A little later, as the pupil of MR. JEFFERSON'S favorite nephew, PETER CARR, and, by and by, as a youthful visitor to Monticello, I had opportunity enough to admire and to study him.

Captivated at once by his boundless reputation among those from whom my early opinions were derived, and by the remarkable charm of his incessant conversation, I heard and I observed him with not less of reverence than of curiosity.

My last and best occasion for doing so occurred in 1823, during a stay of two days which I then, in company with but an elder friend, made at his mansion on the mountain top, from which he seemed (so wide was his prospect) to look down over his abdicated realm of Virginia, a philosophic monarch, who had, like CHARLES V. and Dioclesian, exchanged the crown for a cloister and cabbages.

In its size, its shades, its singularity of design, its seclusion, the character of its grounds, and everything but piety and fasts within its walls, Monticello looked no little the monastery; and as to the cabbages, in the culture of which the self-un-kinged Roman places his consolation, they were supplied to the Virginia sage by more modern fancies of husbandry, which amused not only him, but all his neighbors; at one while upon some new conception of profit, he laid down all his plantation in Irish potatoes; at another, he sowed it in black-eyed peas -- making always excellent but rather imaginary crops, which he could neither sell nor consume.

Meantime he was obliged to buy bread-corn for his negroes, while his oatless horses were, by the laughing farmers around, affirmed to be fed with philosophy . . .   

[Edward William Johnston (1799-1867)
Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826)
Peter Johnston, Jr. (1763-1831)
Marshall = Chief Justice John Marshall (1755-1835)
John Randolph (1773-1833)
Next eldest brother = Charles Clement Johnston (1795-1832)
Calhoun = John Caldwell Calhoun (1782-1850)
Peter Carr (1770-1815)
Elder friend = unidentified.
His negroes = several of Jefferson's enslaved workers were also his relatives. Sally Hemings (1773-1835) was mother to six of the household children.]

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

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Ann Dandridge Saunders Mitchell to Emiline Rosalie Mitchell, February 21, 1853

"Oakland," home of Dr. Thomas P. and Ann Dandridge Saunders Mitchell, Bedford County, VA*
[Ann Dandridge Saunders Mitchell at Liberty, Virginia, to Emiline Rosalie Mitchell at Lynchburg, Virginia, February 21, 1853, care of Dr. James Saunders].

Oakland
Tuesday morning
Feby 21st 1853

My dear Rose,

I have just one moment to write -- your Pa's now awaiting with hat & cloak on to be off -- have promised to be very short & sweet, I had a nice time up, well attended by the beaus, whom I presume must have been electioneering. Mr. Mosby must have been anxious to make favorable impressions as he was all attention. Mr. Emmerson too was very attentive & polite, told me he intended to visit Bedford, again at the same time looking quite rosy. I found him an agreeable companion. 

I was waited on from the Depot by Messrs. Reece & Goode & called on by messrs. Ben Roll [or Hall] & A. A. Clayton, all of whom made many anxious enquiries about you & Rose Dudley.

Be sure to write to-morrow -- don't disappoint me. I will have the carriage there in time. I met the carriage in Liberty found your Pa waiting for me, have had a dreadful rising[?] in my ear which confined me to bed two days -- a, quite well now. Charlie is well & perfectly happy, drinks the moderate quantity of 8 glasses beer pr. day -- dearest love to all -- tell Mr. Dudley, Bettie, Fannie & Mr. Chalmers to be sure to come -- bring Rose & Deb with you -- we have a rich old bachelor boarding with us -- came 8 hundred miles to get your Pa's medical attendance we are certainly rising notwithstanding the horror of our amiable kins-woman Mrs. Wm L. Loass[?] . . . 

love to all & every one. John has just left -- tell Bowker to send him the dye for his moustach [sic]. I want you to tell him to send me some lemons -- be sure to bring them -- bring my boxes, apron & jug -- if I had it I would send some beer -- it is very nice -- tell Bowker to send John a pair [of] common boots or a nice pair [of] shoes, he can't get any in Liberty is nearly barefooted - don't fail to attend to all these orders, particularly shoes or boots for John -- tell sister Ann please send the trunk on to Wilson & Roberta may get it this week she needs it badly -- I put in all her things as she might  dispose of those she did not want was sorry I could not send a better trunk.

In the greatest haste
yours devotedly
A D. Mitchell 

[Dr. James Turner Saunders (1791-1864), married to Ann Marie Rives (1805-1887)
Your pa = Thomas P. Mitchell (1787-1861)
Ann Dandridge Saunders Mitchell (1800-1862)
John Saunders Mitchell (1827-1915) 
Emiline Rosalie Mitchell (1832-1859)]

*Photo from Kipp Teague, Abandoned in Virginia. Link here.

Original manuscript in the Mitchell Family Papers, 1818-1853, Virginia Historical Society. This is my rough transcription. 

Many thanks to William Myers for sending copies of letters from the Mitchell papers, and also to Mary Davy and Sally Young for their assistance.
  

Monday, March 7, 2016

Julius T. Orton to John Milton Binckley, April 13,1853

[Julius T. Orton at Monticello, Indiana, to John Milton Binckley, April 13,1853].

Monticello April 13th 1853

Dear Milton,

Last week I returned from Wabash College which I have attended for the last three months. I found a western Virginian in the post office enclosed with your name.

I was going to write sooner but I cannot find leisure, or felt like writing a sheet of interest, and even now I don't feel much like it.

Well now my old chum I feel very much like upbraiding you for your neglect of me. I went to Ohio about two years ago almost Solely to see you. And behold instead, I hear of you in "old Virginny." I proposed writing to you on my return, but forgot the post office. Since then I have written to Philander H.C. Filler [Fuller?], and diverse others to ascertain your whereabouts, but in vain. Now Sir, I hope on the receipt of this you'll make no delay in Scribbling for an hour or two most beautifully, for my benefit.

Maybe you'd like to know what has engaged my attention for the last five years. Well, I have farmed, drove team went to school, and learned a trade (carpenter and joiner). I served an apprenticeship of three years. My Boss was of "old Virginny." I can make a dollar per day, and Board working at my trade.

I suppose you are painting as in days of yore. [H]ave you approximated a Reubens yet? I remember you used to talk of him.

I often think of the times when we used to fight minnie Battles "aboard ship" and wander along Hoods run or eat our fill of walnuts under the tree Seated on the grass, or a rock. And countless other kindred scenes, and associations rush along my memory. Casting a shade of thoughtfulness upon my brow, if not Sadness.

I have Striven in vain to Supply your place. I can find many that I might call friend but none to whom the Sacred name can apply as it did to you. There is that feeling of the romantic mixed with common sense which is necessary to Congeniality wanting in all I meet with. 

I became twenty one about the first of March and my future Course is hardly decided yet it is possible though that I will study architecture. Maybe engineering. My weight about one hundred and sixty. Height five feet nine inches. There are few boys of my age or size that can outrun, or throw, or outfight me.

I have two Uncles living in this town, and four more within a few miles, and any number of cousins.

I have had but little Correspondence with old Berry[?], and of late now I corresponded a little with Phil Sheridan at West Point, to which place I would have went last Summer if our Cadet had not been set back a year. I reckon Phil has graduated.

I write at the residence of my mother on the outskirts of town on the bank (west) of Tippecanoe. An altogether a most delightful place. There is an orchard on the premises just coming into bloom.

Alf is engineering. Will commence College next fall. Will be at home this week. A first rate fellow.

Now Milt I don't know whether this will find you or not. If it does, write to me at Crawfordsville Montgomery Co. Ia. [Indiana] where I'll be next week. I direct the paper it publishes. '[T]is nine o'clock. [G]ood night.

Ever your friend, Jul

[PS] I have not forgotten our dreams of the ocean. "A life on the Ocean Wave, a home on the rolling deep." See envelope.

[PPS] My early beloved, departed.
Julius Orton

[John Milton Binckley (1821-1878).
Julius T. Orton (1830-1858/1860), died in a riding accident.
Alf = Alfred Reynolds Orton (1832/1833-1921).
Mother = Matilda Reynolds Orton (1809-1879).
John B. Orton (1790-1843) had been a lawyer in Somerset, Perry County, Ohio; after his death, the remaining family moved to Monticello, Indiana.
Phil Sheridan (1831-1888) graduated from West Point in 1853. He had grown up in Somerset, Ohio, and was, incidentally, 5' 5" tall. "Little Phil" eventually became Commanding General of the US Army.
"A Life on the Ocean Wave" was an 1839 poem by Epes Sargent put to music by Henry Russell.] 

Original manuscript in the John Milton Binckley Papers, 1816-1943. Library of Congress Manuscript Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA. This is my rough transcription. Paragraph breaks made for easier reading. 

Many thanks to William Myers for sending scanned copies of the documents from the Binckley papers, and also to Mary Davy and Sally Young for their assistance.