Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, Part 4

French Market Levee. Barracks Card, 1888. New Orleans (Wiki Commons)

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, part 4. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, 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 a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

A wealthy man, whom I had met at Alleghany Springs and who had bought several of my pictures, now sent me a photo of a favorite horse and wanted me to make a painting from it. I practically rode that horse to New Orleans.

I'd always wanted to see that city and thought I'd probably never be that near again. So I took the money for that picture and made a little trip down to the Crescent city. 

Aunt Sue knew a lady there, Mrs. Lemmon, of a distinguished family who kept a very exclusive boarding-house on St. Charles Street where I could stay. In those days a Southern gentlewoman who found it necessary to support herself could do but two things. She could teach, if she were competent. If not, there was but one alternative. Southern women were usually notable housewives, so she could keep a boarding-house.

When I got on the train for New Orleans, I had [taken] a lower berth and the Pullman conductor turned out to be a young man. He was very polite. He told me that if no one had taken the drawing room by dark, he was allowed to give it as usual rates and he'd then give me the drawing room.  

No one took it so he ushered me in, and I traveled in such state as I'd never known before. But his attentions were so profuse and he regaled me with the story of his life, and I became much bored. I finally got rid of him by saying I had to write a letter. I wrote one to Aunt Sue, and in it told about the absurd conductor and how ridiculous he'd made himself. He was hovering around and offered to mail the letter for me, assuring me that he'd be on hand next morning to help me off the train.

I woke about daylight next morning and looked out my window at the most enchanting scene. The train seemed to be running along the surface of Lake Ponchartrain [Pontchartrain]. There must have been a causeway under the water, but it didn't show at all. In the sky the silver sickle of a moon in its last quarter.  When we reached New Orleans a few hours later, the conductor, to my relief, did not appear. As I got off I caught a glimpse of him in the distance, but he promptly turned his back when he saw me. I [chuckled] to myself. He had evidently read my letter. 

I met some very nice young men at Mrs. Lemmon's and they took me around sightseeing. I had a wonderful time in that fascinating old city. 

There was a charming Englishman named Nicholls, and a picturesque young Mexican named Arturo Paz. I had never met a Mexican before, and was much intrigued by his gorgeous dark eyes -- like a deer's eyes. But his only idea for entertaining a girl was to make love to her in the most poetical and extravagant way -- not at all convincing. (Evidently not meant to be). 

Then there were several nice young Americans. And there was one American of a different type. A cousin of Mrs. Lemmon's came to call one evening and I met him. He was a very handsome man, dark, about forty, [with languid] manners and a superior air.  Considered very eligible, No doubt spoiled by feminine adulation. He was called Colonel, but I don't know that he was ever in the Army. When a gentleman in the Deep South gets along in his thirties, he automatically becomes a Colonel. I was accustomed to men making some effort to be agreeable. When he just sat there expecting to be entertained, I too just sat there expecting to be entertained. So nothing happened. Impasse. Mrs. Lemmon had gone out for a moment and looked surprised when she returned to find a dead silence.

I loved the French Quarter with its lacelike ironwork and its verandas on every story of the houses -- they call them galleries there. It looked so [incredible] to see bananas growing on trees and oranges growing on trees, too. And live orange blossoms! I never saw any but artificial ones before. 

One of the men took me out to Spanish Fort. He got me a brick of ice cream and one for himself. (This was before the day of cones.) I never saw one before, nor did he, being a Northern man. So we didn't know how to manage it. We should have opened the paper wrapper at one end. But we opened it half way down, with disastrous results. The grass got most of it.

I did not have time for the French Market, but saw it after all. As I started back to La Grange [LaGrange], our train got as far as the French Market and was held up by a train wreck farther up the road. We stood there for several hours till the tracks were cleared. Passengers got out and walked around in the market. And I think every one of us bought a whole bunch of bananas. Our car racks were choked with them. But they came in very handy to eat, our train being so late.

Banana Trees in bloom in New Orleans in 1880s. George Francois Mugnier

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the artist's full signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.

Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940).
Mrs. Lemmon = not sure who this is yet. Contemporary newspapers mention a Mrs. Lemmon "of California," and Mrs. Lemmon connected to cultural events in New Orleans. Remotely possible connection to: The John and Sara (Plummer) Lemmon papers, 1863-1911 | University and Jepson Herbaria Archives, University of California, Berkeley. Link here.]

Frances "Fanny" Callaway Steptoe Langhorne to Sarah "Sally" Tate Steptoe Massie, June 13, 1823

[Frances "Fanny" Callaway Steptoe Langhorne at Oakly [at or near Lynchburg, Virginia] to Sarah "Sally" Tate Steptoe Massie at [Pharsalia,] Nelson County, Virginia, June 13, 1823. Massie Family Papers, Virginia Historical Society. This is my rough, annotated transcription from a copy graciously provided by William Myers. Extra paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.]

                                        Oakly June 13 1823
Dear Sally

I dined at Mr. Bradfute's yesterday and Miss Peggy told me Sarah was going home [M]onday and unless I have an opportunity of sending to Papa's tomorrow I shall not comply with your wishes respecting your books.

I was at the funeral of poor old Mrs. Hoyle yesterday, her death is exceedingly lamented by her acquaintances, poor Mrs. Brown is truly to be pitied she says she has not a single female relation in the world.

Mrs. Bradfute has been staying with me several days Robert is very low, I think every night he will not see the next morning we ride him out every day and the day before yesterday I proposed riding to Sandusky.

It [Sandusky] is going or has gone I may with truth say to ruin; there is not one pane of glass in the Kitchen windows the ice house fallen in the house going rapidly to decay, the yard quite grown up in weeds, scarcely any gravel to be seen and in fact the whole even the trees bear a gloomy aspect when we drove up to the front door it was some time before any one made their appearance at last Mrs. Randolph came out unlocked the front door and asked us in, the only piece on [of] furniture I saw until I arrived in the nursery where she stays; were two rakes in the dining room, you can scarcely tell my feelings after witnessing such a total change.

Mr. Nat Dick stayed with us last night  from New Orleans he told us James Penn is not dead but the report of his being dead originated from his having murdered his servant he treated him in the most inhuman manner tied his hands until they mortified. 

Mr. Dick says the cause of his cruelty is not known, James was certainly shot at in his own yard, he has been forced to make his escape from Orleans and is now in St. Louis, his character has many stains.

I have not heard from Mary since we went down. Ben did not come by and let me know how she got down.

I hope in a very few weeks to be with you, I cannot say exactly when as Mr. Langhorne has not finished planting his tobacco. 

[M]y raspberries are now in perfection ad I wish most sincerely you and Mr. Masie were here to enjoy some of them.

Give my love to Mrs. Massie when you see her, and for yourself and good man accept the same.

                                                     I am your affectionate
                                                         Sister
                                                      Frances Langhorne

[Frances "Fanny" Callaway Steptoe Langhorne (1798-1832) married Henry Scarsbrook Langhorne (1790-1854) on March 13, 1816. Their son John Scarsbrook Langhorne (1817-1896) was born on June 1, 1817 (in later years, sometimes changed to 1818 or 1819). Their son William Maurice “Wee” Langhorne (1818-1900) was born on June 30, 1818.

Sarah "Sally" Tate Steptoe Massie (1796-1828) was married to William Massie (1795-1862) and was the daughter of "Papa," James Steptoe (1750-1826). Their son Thomas James Massie (1817-1877) was born on March 23, 1817.There is a massive Massie collection at the University of Texas here

Miss Peggy = Margaret "Peggy" Bradfute (circa 1788-1833), daughter of Robert Bradfute (1749-1816), as was her sister Grace Bradfute (circa 1792-1855). Their brother Davidson Bradfute (1781-1831) married Maria Byrd (1786-1854) in 1809, and he served as Cashier for Farmer's Bank of Lynchburg. Alexander Tompkins (1784-1864) acquired Davidson Bradfute's house, in the vicinity of New London, Virginia, after the latter's death, and was Head Cashier at the same bank. Among these folks would have been possible candidates for portraits by Harvey Mitchell (1799-1866).

Mrs. Hoyle = Christian Hoyle (1758-June 12, 1823); spouse of Charles Hoyle (1753-1825), an innkeeper. Buried in Section 101 V, Lynchburg Old City Cemetery, 401 Taylor Street. 

Robert = probably Robert Callaway Steptoe (1791-1870), who had married Elizabeth "Betsy" Leftwich (1800-1840) in 1820. 

Sandusky = former estate of Charles Johnston (1769-1833) in Lynchburg.

Mrs. Randolph = not sure which Randolph this is. 

Mr. Nat Dick - Nathaniel Dick (1781-1839), wealthy merchant with offices in New Orleans; with his brother James, ran the N. & J. Dick & Co., was a founding member of the area Hibernian Society, and had built the "No Mistake Plantation," still standing. 

James Penn = presumably connected by marriage to Lucinda “Lucy” Steptoe Penn (1795-1878), who had married Robert Cowan Penn (1789-1854) in 1814. In the William Cowan Penn family bible, these notes are included under "DEATHS:" 

"James Penn, Senior, died in New Orleans in the month of Feb. 1823, aged 58 years.

James Penn, Junior, killed on the Missouri river  by the Ricogee Indians in the spring of 1823, in the 25th year of his age.

William Penn died of yellow fever at St. Stevens in the State of Alabama in the month of [?] in 1822 in the 22nd year of his age."

Source: The Virginia Magazine of History and Biography (Volume 39, Number 1 (January 1931), under "NOTES AND QUERIES," page 60.  

Mary = not sure who this is.

Ben = not sure who this is. 

Mrs. Massie = Sarah Cocke Massie (1760-1838), Sally's mother-in-law. See also: Papers of the Dr. Thomas Massie family of "Three Springs," Nelson County, Virginia, Virginia Historical Society.]

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

Edward William Johnston, "Liberty and Literature," January 14, 1854

[Edward William Johnston (unsigned), “LIBERTY & LITERATURE,” New Orleans Daily Crescent, January 14, 1854, page 2, column 1. This is my rough transcription. Added paragraph breaks added for easier reading.]

Were an oyster, sunk deep in oozy water and mud and fastened to some rotten piece of timber by the thick shell which defends him from all access to external information, suddenly to set up for a speculative philosopher, he would make just such a hand of it as do the one-ideaed people who now abound upon all the shores of the intellect, the civilized deep over, and in this country, particularly, form great oyster-beds of shell-fish opinion.

He that adapts a system for his thought has to shut himself in a shell and live without his senses, lest these should bring him in something against the watery one-idea in which he lives. Not to be interrupted in its exclusive contemplation, he walls himself about with it, and as its more solid components harden and thicken about him, he lies and fattens upon the more thin and fluid, until lo! some political fishmonger comes, with along pair of tongs, tears him away from his beloved bottom, cracks, with oyster-knife, this crustacean defences, and swallows him down, with many another, easy victims of party voracity and just fit to be its nourishment.

So much for these political or social or even religious monomaniacs, as a class – people who will clap everything upon the Procrustean bed of their system: who see, hear, feel, smell, taste, think, know, fancy, only by it, and will believe nothing else: who, turning democrats, will have it that every body and every thing shall be radical and revolutionary; or taking to monarchy, want every kind to be a despot; or being Protestant or being Catholic, wish to break down all law, in order that they may be able to destroy their opponents; or, being State Rights men, are eager to pull down the Union; or, finally, being fond of Liberty, not only want to obtain for men that blessing at the sacrifice of every other, but are really so obfuscated by their one idea that they can and will have nothing else: to them, that which agrees with their kink, is; and all that will not, is not: there is nothing but their kink: no gospel, no government, no law, no literature.

So much for these worthies as a class. As an individual example of them, there can be nothing more speaking than the following ravings of that king of kinks, Horace Greeley, about the sable literature of Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

The literature of Liberty is one with wings. No Pegasus is it which flounders in the world without flipping a wing; but a volant thing, self-sustained and motived[.] We are particularly reminded of this fact by the success which has attended the dissemination of Mrs. Stowe’s work, Uncle Tom’s Cabin. We learn from the publishers, Messrs. Jewett & Co., of Boston, that they have presented and sold three hundred thousand copies of that work. Three hundred thousand books! Think of it! Books which lie on tables, which are put on shelves, which do not die with the day they are read; contain these Sermons of Liberty – sermons worked into the portraitures  of persons, places and thrilling events, and all that is most attractive to the great army of thirsters after knowledge, and above all to the young. Three hundred thousand books represent some two million of readers sooner or later, and these two million converse with, affect, influence, win over others the views they may have adopted from such reading.

“The literature of liberty,” quoth Greeley, “hath wings.” No doubt: it is quite flighty enough to have them.

“It is no Pegasus,” adds Horace. Decidedly not: ‘tis a donkey.

“It does not flounder,” continues he. Yet ‘tis as flat as ever was flounder.

“It is a voilant thing.” So is every black beetle that bobs against the wall.

“It is self-sustained and motived,” avers the classical herbivorist. So is a soap-bubble.

But he was “particularly reminded” of liberty’s literature. Ah, Greely, ‘twas but a small effort of memory for you to remember all the literature you ever knew.

“Three hundred thousand books.” Well, why not? ‘Twas written for fools, and ought to have plenty of readers.

“Books which lie on table.” What a marvelous literature, that can like on a table!

But that’s not all: it “can be put on the shelf.” Yes, and there is will soon be laid.

Mighty muncher of vegetables! Go to grass, with thy ebony litter of literature, thou modern Nebuchadnezzar!

[New Orleans Daily Crescent. ([New Orleans, La.]), 14 Jan. 1854. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Library of Congress. Link here.]

[Edward William Johnston (1799-1867).
Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811-1896).
Uncle Tom's Cabin; or, Life Among the Lowly (1851-1852).
Horace Greeley (1811-1872), who helped form the Republican Party and was a vegetarian (hence the food quips). Editor of the New-York Daily Tribune.]

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

Edward William Johnston to the New Orleans 'Daily Crescent,' July 24, 1854

[IL SEGRETARIO (Edward William Johnston) at New York City to the New Orleans Daily Crescent, June 24, 1854. New Orleans Daily Crescent, Monday morning, July 24, 1854, page 2. This is my transcription. Extra paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.]

NEW YORK CITY, 24^th June, 1854

You will have been wondering that I have written you so little. But the hand grows weary, as well as the head. Mine had been, for many months, unremittingly tasked. The machine of labor was severely worn, and needed a little the oil of ease, in order that it might once more run smoothly.

I have, therefore, been giving myself up to physical enjoyment, in a quiet country place, where the air was sweet with the breath of the green fields, where deep shades and cool streams freshened every thing around me, and where I had at will, the long-denied recreation of abundant books.

Trout-streams were at hand; and them, you may be sure, I did not leave unfrequented. For, whatever that contemner of the "gentle craft," my lord Byron, or other like bunglers, may imagine of what they do not understand, master Trout is a great composer of the mind as well as renovator of the body; not only a capital physician, but a poet and philosopher. Except his company, I have been, for some weeks, seeking none.

Meantime, having the happiness to be where mails come but seldom hebdomadally [weekly], I luxuriated in the delight of scarcely ever seeing the foul face of a newspaper – that most detestable of modern inventions. If every body else hated it as heartily as I do, or if they who make books were not become a still more odious crew than my own fellow-authors of newspapers, I might betake myself to some less wicked occupation, or even to some less vain one than that of trying to make men wise, in a democracy.

Sad, that labor, and ah! Usually but too futile that hope! Besides, however, that recruiting of the body and of the brain which I required, I had need, along my wide track through the Free States, to inform myself, as amply as possible, of the actual state of public feeling, in regard to the new contest between North and South, which that benignant measure, the Nebraska bill, has kindled up, so greatly to the advantage of both and so highly to the praise of their mutual wisdom.

I thought it more opportune to employ my time, for a while, in personally inquiring into the condition of this question, than in writing to you upon inferior matters, or upon this with a less carefully formed knowledge of the real state of things.

Of course, I was already in possession of quite as much as the Press at large and the politicians are wont to tell of subjects that are agitating the country: but what the Press and politicians report, in these cases, is often scarcely meant for the truth, or is at best but a guess of the general mind around them.

No, I want, in an instance like this, something more: I want to know whether or not their guesses are right; and, in order to ascertain this, I make it a point to see for myself how not the editors and the public men but the common people and the quiet retired folks really do think and feel. I have, therefore, been occupying, and shall continue to occupy myself much, in this way.

Wherever I pass, I converse on this topic, as much as I can, with high and low, the intelligent and the foolish, the sober and the mad. I extract their ideas, and I very freely give them my own.

Thus far, my inquiries present a very clear result: throughout the Free States which I have traversed, (Illinois, Michigan, New York, Connecticut and Western Massachusetts) the passage of the Nebraska bill has been attended by not only all those effects which I from the first foretold, but is, I fear, destined to produce still worse consequences than I originally apprehended.

I expected it to bring about an alienation of the great body of those who have heretofore stood the friends of Southern rights: but (not sufficiently considering how, in this business, fault begets fault and folly on one part engenders an answering folly on the other) I did not look for any thing beyond a great loss of friends, and had not gone on to calculate the passions likely to be stirred up by this question; which, indeed, unhappy and dangerous one as it is, is chiefly made so by the fact that it is one of little else but passion.

We call this a government of Opinion; and such it must be said to be. But Opinion is not necessarily Reason: on the contrary, it is often mere delusion. At times, in all countries ruled by opinion, false opinions arise and usurp the control which only true ones should hold. Now, Prince Opinion is, after all, but human, and therefore fallible.

How well he will decide will depend on the degree in which he is well informed. There are things of which he knows extremely little, merely because they lie mainly out of the reach of his observation. That, however, will by no means hinder him from undertaking to lay down the law in regard to them. For where he reigns unchecked, he is just as little modest as to the sufficiency of his wisdom and just as arbitrary as any other monarch.

In short, he will always decide by "the lights before him," though these be often little better than mists or sheer darkness. For Opinion, whether he see or not, always thinks he sees.

Now, whatever the advantages of this sort of Government, it has its inconveniences that cannot be escaped. The chief of these is its extreme instability. For winds or waves are hardly more capricious. To-day it blows this way; to-morrow it turns to the opposite point of the popular compass, and kicks you up a perfect hurricane. What are you to do? No sailor in his senses will attempt to stay on this course: for he knows he will be swamped, if he tries it.

Yet Master [John C.] Calhoun and his crew have been teaching you, in just such a case (this matter of slavery, where the whole sea of world-wide opinion was running high against you) not to hand a sail, but to press on, right in the teeth of the storm, and push for an extension of Slavery. Oh most discreet thought! Moment most auspicious for such an attempt! The weak to plan, not to defend what they have against the strong, but how openly to invade and conquer them! Did ever -- I will not say a wise man -- did ever a man in his senses devise such a scheme before?

Never, I aver, never! What! expect to extend Slavery, when not only the vehement prejudices of civilized mankind in general, but those of a large majority of our partners in this Government are in arms for its abolition? It is mere insanity to think of it. The only thing, the very utmost thing, to be rationally proposed by the Slave-interest, by those communities to whom Slavery is now and is destined long to be (whatever others may imagine) an integral and essential part of their own social being, is to contrive how, without coming to a direct contest (which, if it did not destroy them, would be certain to plunge them in terrible mischiefs) they may withstand, until it shall abate or change (as it will before long do) the present furious blast of opinion for this
purpose, there was and is but one course to be taken, that which the true statesmanship of that great citizen, Henry Clay, adopted: to disarm, by compacts and compromises, the most dangerous, the domestic portion, of the force that threatened us, and thus to interpose, between us and the rest of the world, the solid defence
of our whole Union.

Well, how was this to be brought about for us? Only in one way: by sacrificing to the North something of our adverse rights, and thus binding our else hostile confederates to uphold all the rest of those rights. This was accordingly done, by the Missouri Compromise; and done, unquestionably, at little real cost to the South: for the territorial restriction which we agreed to impose upon Slavery is, confessedly, one which it could not, except to a very slight degree, have overpassed, under any circumstances.

Our security was only to be purchased by a concession: we obtained it at a most moderate one: our great, our indispensable end was accomplished, almost without a sacrifice; and all this being entirely beyond denial, I must now ask what madness, what public lunacy ever exceeded that of the South, in suffering itself to be betrayed, by the shallow trick of two dirty little political hucksters, [Senator Stephen A. ] Douglas and Pearce [President Franklin Pierce], into the abandonment of all that had been achieved, for Southern safety and the peace of our confederacy, against the raging fanaticism of the day?

Where are we left by this repeal of the concession which we had rather obtained than made -- that of the Missouri restriction ? We are left utterly at sea again, to be buffeted worse than ever by the tempest of the world's opinion, swelled by a fresh disturbance, of our own conjuring up.

The great break-water to the North, behind which we rode in safety, is gone: instigated by those wretched lubbers, Middy Pearce [Pierce] and Boatswain Douglas, you have pulled it down, in order to get the benefit of the open sea and the full swing of every surge. You stand and justly stand attainted of ill faith, in breaking an old and solemn compact.

You have taken on yourself the odium (surely quite needless when already so hated for merely owning slaves) of territorial rapacity. You have raised a new anti-slavery agitation, probably to be the direst ever seen. Your Northern friends have abandoned or will abandon you, to a man. And, to crown all this, you have revoked the Compromise of 1820, so that the Fugitive Slave law (your great boon in that of 1850) can probably be executed no more, or will be repealed. Into what a situation have the counsels of your new guides plunged you!

I believe you know me to be no flattering monitor. I could tell you of the faults of the North, in this matter: but it is at present of greater concern to show you your own. For I shall probably, before I end, prove to you that not the Abolitionists, but a large part of your home-politicians, have been and are your worst enemies. 

IL SEGRETARIO.

[Re: The Kansas-Nebraska Act of 1854, which accelerated the momentum for an American Civil War.

This letter indicates that Edward William Johnston (1799-1867) traveled far and wide in this period. His negative Whiggish take on the Kansas-Nebraska Act was in alignment with Senator Sam Houston (1793-1863) of Texas, who later refused to join the Confederacy and went into retirement instead. The letter also reiterates Johnston's love of freshwater fishing.]

[Many thanks to Sue Davis, William Myers, Mary Davy and Sally Young for their ongoing research collaboration; in this case, specifically to William for providing a scanned copy of the original document.] 

Lydia McLane Johnston to Robert Milligan McLane, April 28, 1850

New Orleans, late 1840s. Corcoran Gallery of Art, Washington.

[Lydia Milligan Sims McLane Johnston at New Orleans, Louisiana, to Robert Milligan McLane at [Washington City], April 28, 1850. Box 3, Louis McLane Correspondence (1795-1894), MSS 57083, Library of Congress. This is my rough transcription. Added paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.]

My dearest Robert,

I arrived here yesterday evening from Texas, with the intention of going on in the steamship to New York tomorrow, but now suffer so terribly from sea sickness that Dr. McCormick says I must not go that route, therefore we have concluded to leave here on the 1st of May in the Magnolia for Louisville, we are 3 ladies & 5 children without gentlemen. 

Mrs. Worth is anxious to go on at once . . . children in Philadelphia, & wants to find some one who will put her in the cars. She has no friends in Baltimore & asked me if I would write some of my brothers to meet her there & see her off.

I wrote to Tiffany knowing you were away & . . . that . . . would do all in his power for their comfort, they have seen some . . . . . friends . . .

I have seen that I am most anxious that some of my family should extend to them some civility, if you could only manage to meet us at the relay house, & see Mrs. Worth off it would be a great comfort. I will telegraph Tiffany from Cumberland. 

Heaven bless you my dear Brother. Kiss Georgina & the [children] . . .

I am going to find . . . This evening if I am, I am still in bed suffering from the sea sickness but shall certainly find Mr . . .

                                                               Ever your devoted sister
                                                                L M Johnston

[Lily = Lydia Milligan Sims McLane Johnston (1822-1887) 
Robert Milligan McLane (1815-1898)
Worth = William Jenkins Worth (1794-May 7, 1849), one of about five hundred fatalities from a cholera outbreak in San Antonio in the spring of 1849.
Mrs. Worth = Margaret Stafford Worth (1799-1869); her family included Mary Worth (1822-1876), who had married one of General Worth's officers, John Titcomb Sprague (1810-1878), the author of a book on the Seminole Wars; Margaret Worth (1828-1914); Josephine Worth (1830-?); and William Scott Worth (1840-1904).
Tiffany = Henry Tiffany (born circa 1820), husband of Sally Jones McLane Tiffany (1820-1887), Lily's sister.  

Georgine = Georgine Urquhart McLane (1813-1899)
Little ones = Mary Emma McLane (1843-1869) and Georgina Urquhart "Jennie" McLane (1846-1915). The latter lived in Paris from 1885 until her death in 1915.] 

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

Peter Carr Johnston to Louisa Bowen Johnston, March 5, 1827

Closeup of 1827 Finley map of Mississippi. Click for larger image

[Peter Carr Johnston at Natchez, Mississippi, to Louisa Smith Bowen Johnston at Abingdon, Virginia, March 5, 1827, Box 1, John Warfield Johnston Papers, 1778-1890, David M. Rubenstein Rare Book & Manuscript Library, Duke University. This is my rough transcription. Extra paragraph breaks added for easier reading.]

My dearest Sister,

On my return from an absence of six days from this place, I just now received your letter of the 16th Feb:  I am indeed grieved that you have all been so severely visited with affliction; and I cannot avoid feeling serious alarm at Charles's situation. My last intelligence from home had left me satisfied that his disease was quite vanished; and what you tell me is unexpected and distressing. I hope, however, that as the indications of the presence of gout are stronger than formerly, it will soon appear decidedly & in earnest, and make every thing safe.

I sympathise most warmly with you all in the visitations which have been heaped upon you, and lament that I can not yet be among you to do what I could in alleviating them and to see with m know myself how each one of those so dear to me is getting on.

Sister Lizzie has really had a severe illness -- but as the worst is over, I know that in your care she will soon be well. You and my sweet cousin have certainly borne the requisitions upon your arrival very well; and you must have sunk down under them if you had not been quite indefatigable in kindness. 

I cannot say yet with certainty when I shall take the road homeward -- I think not later than the 15th; and if I am fortunate, twenty days will find me among you. On my arrival here, I learnt that Mr. Davis, without whom I could do nothing, was gone into the interior; and I appropriated a week of vacant time to a trip to New Orleans, out of mere curiosity -- an idle one, perhaps you think it -- have it so if you please; but it afforded me much gratification. A letter does not afford room for me to detail to you all that amused & entertained me; and it will be much more agreeable to talk over such things then to spin out an arm's length letter about them, especially as it will certainly not be long after this reaches before I will present my phiz to you, and again make one of our dear family circle. 

Since my return to Natchez, I have been engaged principally in going thro' the country hunting up property to lay my hands on. In the meantime Mr. Davis is preparing to make an exhibit of the business here; and then, when I have made one or two more hunting excursions, I shall turn my face towards the spot to which my heart is so strongly attached.

I am sincerely sorry for the poor Doctor. You are mistaken in supposing him to be a man of 'cold nature.' He is quite the opposite -- his temper and feelings are quick and strong; and I can well believe that such a blow inflicts 'deep anguish' upon him.

I have not seen my father's friend, P. Randolph, nor do I expect to meet with him. He lives forty miles from Natchez. I was yesterday within three or four miles of his house, and would have gone to it if I could have done so at night -- but it was in the forenoon, & I could not spare the day.

I met with Bolling Robertson in N. Orleans -- he received me with much kindness & cordiality -- and desires to be remembered to my father in the warmest manner. Tell the General's family, that I saw Col: Isaac Preston frequently -- he is in fine health, & sends them the usual quantity of good wishes and kind remembrances.

I am pleased that Charles has consented to go into the country -- he's right; it is an arrangement that will conduce, I am sure, to his comfort, and to my father's gratification.

Give my most affectionate love to my brothers & sisters, and to your dear cousin of mine, not forgetting the little folks, whom I beg you to kiss for me -- And believe me, my dear sister, with the warmest affection

Yours

P. C. Johnston 

[Peter Carr Johnston (1793-1877)
Louisa Smith Bowen Johnston (1800-1873) 
Charles = Charles Clement Johnston (1795-1832)
Lizzie = Eliza Madison Preston Johnston (1803-1828), daughter of John Preston (1764-1827) and Mary Winston Radford Preston (1781-1810)
Mr. Davis = most probably Joseph Emory Davis (1784-1870), who had three "natural" daughters by that time and would marry 16-year old  Eliza Van Benthuysen (1811-1864) on October 4, 1827; he and Peter both had brothers attending the United States Military Academy at West Point at the time: Jefferson Davis (1808-1889) and Joseph Eggleston Johnston (1807-1891), Class of 1828 and Class of 1829, respectively. Joseph Emory Davis moved from Natchez to develop the "Hurricane" Plantation in Warren County, Mississippi, by the end of 1827. 
P. Randolph = Judge Peter Randolph (1779-1832), Woodville, Mississippi
Bolling Robertson = Judge Thomas Bolling Robertson (1779-1828), former Attorney General and Governor of Louisiana.
The General = Francis Smith Preston (1765-1836), married to Sally Buchanan Campbell (1778-1846)
Col: Isaac Preston = Isaac Trimble Preston (1793-1852), a "natural" son of Francis Preston. Lived in New Orleans and was Attorney General of Louisiana at the time of Peter's visit.
My father = Peter Johnston, Jr. (1763-1831)]

For their help and assistance, many thanks to the staff of the David M. Rubenstein Rare Book & Manuscript Library, Duke University, Durham, North Carolina. For more information about the John Warfield Johnston Papers, here's a link to the guide.     

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

"Death of a Veteran Editor," December 25, 1867

["Death of a Veteran Editor," December 25, 1867, The Louisiana Democrat. (Alexandria, La.), 25 Dec. 1867, page 2. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Library of Congress. Link here. The author of this article clearly knew Johnston well -- there are only a few minor inaccuracies which are (mostly) corrected with bracketed corrections. I've added some paragraph breaks for easier reading. Rapides Parish is the parish referred to in the text. Eugene Rene Biossat (1819-1880) was editor of the paper at the time.]  

We are pained to learn of the death of Edward William Johnston, Esq., at St. Louis, Mo., on the 9th Inst.  Mr. Johnston was born in Cumberland [adjacent to Prince Edward] county, Virginia, in the year 1799, and was the son of Judge Peter Johnston, a distinguished jurist and member of the celebrated Legislature of 1798 which passed the famous Resolutions. Judge Johnston raised quite a large family of children, of whom the subject of the sketch was the oldest [he was fourth oldest]. Charles C. Johnston, while a promising member of Congress, was drowned in the Potamac in 1831 [1832]. Beverly Johnston is a leading lawyer in South-Western Virginia, and Peter Johnston represented Lee County in the Convention which passed the ordinance of secession Joseph E. Johnston is still more widely know[n] than either of his brothers, as the late commander of the Confederate forces in the South-West. Through his mother Mr. Johnston was a grand nephew of Patrick Henry.

At an early age Mr. Johnston became associated with the public press, a profession in which he was destined to achieve an enviable distinction. He was assistant editor of the New York Courier and Enquirer under James Watson Webb, before the rising of the Whig party. During Nullification times he edited a nullification paper [The Telescope] at Columbia, South Carolina, was a Calhoun man during his war with Jackson, but quitted him, as he said, "when he surrendered to Van Buren" and became an orthodox member of the Democratic party.  

Subsequently to his residence in South Carolina Mr. Johnston settled at Washington as a newspaper correspondent and acquired a wide reputation by his able and interesting letters on current political questions over the signiture [sic] of Il Segretario. For fifteen years he was the literary editor of the National Intelligencer, and wrote those able literary criticisms which added so much to the interest of that venerable paper. 

In 1850 he became editor of the Richmond Whig, but having become involved in a political quarrel and a duel with John M. Daniel, he left the paper in a short time and returned to Washington. 

Soon after the establishment of the New York Times he wrote for it a series of sketches on "Great Talkers;" which were very generally read and universally admired. We remember his giving the palm to his friend, the gifted Warren R. Davis, of South Carolina, as being the best talker he had ever met. 

In 1854, during the Know Nothing excitement, he was editor of the New Orleans Crescent, then published by Joseph H. Maddox, Esq., of this parish. In 1857 he removed to St. Louis, Mo., and was for a short time the literary editor of the St. Louis Leader, the organ of the Democracy in Missouri, then under the editorial management of Wm. A. Seay, now of this parish. He remained in St. Louis during the war, and we understand suffered no little oppression on account of his known Southern sentiments.

Mr. Johnston, when in the prime of his life, had few superiors in those attainments which are the most useful to a politician, and few excelled him as a ready paragraphist and political conversationalist. He wielded a forcible and vigorous pen. 

A few years since, when the Whig Review was at its Zenith, Mr. Bernard requested Mr. Webster to write an article on "Progress" which shoulld take a Conservative view and have interwoven with it some of the fundamental principles of the Whig party. Mr. Webster declined and recommended Mr. Johnston, who placed the article in the printer's hands within twenty four hours.

When he joined the staff of the St. Louis Leader, Prentice (of whose paper he was for many years a correspondent) said: "though a little too fond of archaisms for our modern style, he is a writer of extra ordinary vigor, point and elegance, and possesses a fund of information surpassed by no man with whom we have ever been acquainted." Of late years however, Mr. Johnston, under the accumulated ills of age, has lost much of his intellectual vigor and energy.