SMALL | MEDIUM
"Hear me profess sincerely -- had I a dozen sons, each in my
love alike, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country,
than one voluptuously surfeit out of action."
--Shakspeare.
The following extracts are from a letter fromBessie Lee to her friend Isabella Linwood.
"You must love me, or you could not endure my
stupid letters -- you that can write so delightfully
about nothing, and have so much to write about,
while I can tell nothing but what I see, and I see
so little! The outward world does not much in-
terest me. It is what I feel that I think of and
ponder over; but I know how you detest what you
call sentimental letters, so I try to avoid all such
subjects. Compared with you I am a child -- two
years at our age makes a great difference -- I am
really very childish for a girl almost fourteen, and
yet, and yet, Isabella, I sometimes seem to myself
to have gone so far beyond childhood, that I have
almost forgotten that careless, light-hearted feeling
I used to have. I do not think I ever was so light-
hearted as some children, and yet I was not
serious -- at least, not in the right way. Many a
"Jasper Meredith is here, passing the vacation
with Eliot. I was frightened to death when Eliot
wrote us he was coming -- we live in such a
homely way -- only one servant, and I remember
well how he used to laugh at every thing he called
à la bourgeoise. I felt this to be a foolish, vulgar
pride, and did my best to suppress it; and since I
have found there was no occasion for it, for Jasper
seemed (I do not mean seemed, I think he is much
more sincere than he used to be) to miss nothing,
and to be delighted with being here. I do not
think he realizes that I am now three years older
than I was in New-York, for he treats me with
that sort of partiality -- devotion you might almost
call it -- that he used to there, especially when you
"I had not time, while Jasper and Eliot stayed,
to finish my letter, and since they went away I
have been so dull! -- The house seems like a tomb.
I go from room to room, but the spirit is not here.
Master Hale, the schoolmaster, boards with us,
and gives me lessons in some branches that Eliot
thinks me deficient in; but ah me! where are the
talents for acquisition that Jasper commended?
Did you ever know, dear Isabella, what it was to
have every thing affected by the departure of
friends, as nature is by the absence of light -- all
"I am shocked to find how much I have written
about myself. My best respects to your father
and mother, and love to Herbert. Burn this worth-
less scrawl without fail, dear Isabella, and believe
me ever most affectionately
"I have been enjoying a very pretty little epi-
sode in my college life, passing the vacation at
Westbrook, with your old friends the Lees. A
month in a dull little country town would once
have seemed to me penance enough for my worst
sin, but now it is heaven to get anywhere beyond
the sound of college bells -- beyond the reach of
automaton tutors -- periodical recitations -- chapel
prayers, and college rules.
"I went to the Lees with the pious intention of
quizzing your rustics to the top o' my bent; but
Herbert, my dear fellow, I'll tell you a secret; when
people respect themselves, and value things accord-
ing to their real intrinsic worth, it gives a shock to
our artificial and worldly estimates, and makes us
feel as if we stood upon a wonderful uncertain
"I begin to think -- no, no, no, I do not -- but, if
there were many such families as these Lees in
the world, an equality, independent of all extrane-
ous circumstances (such as the politicians of this
country are now ranting about), might subsist on
the foundation of intellect and virtue.
"After all, I see it is a mere illusion. Mrs. Lee's
rank, though in Westbrook she appears equal to
any Roman matron, is purely local. Hallowed as
she is in your boyish memory, Herbert, you must
confess she would cut a sorry figure in a New-
York drawing-room.
"Eliot might pass current anywhere; but then
he has had the advantage of Boston society, and
an intimacy with -- pardon my coxcombry -- your
humble servant. Bessie -- sweet Bessie Lee, is a
gem fit to be set in a coronet. Don't be alarmed,
Herbert, you are welcome to have the setting of
her. There is metal, as you know, more attractive
to me. Bessie is not much grown since she was
in New-York -- she is still low in stature, and so
"It is an eternity since Isabella has written me
a postscript -- why is this? Farewell, Linwood.
We resume the extracts from Bessie's letters.
-- Never say another word to
me of what you hinted in your last letter: indeed,
I am too young; and besides, I never should feel
easy or happy again with Jasper, if I admitted
such a thought. I have had but one opinion since
our visit to Effie; not that I believed in her -- at
least, not much; but I have always known who
was first in his thoughts -- heart -- opinion; and be-
sides, it would be folly in me, knowing his opinions
about rank, &c. Mother thinks him very proud,
and somewhat vain; and she begins not to be
pleased with his frequent visits to Westbrook. She
thinks -- no, fears, or rather she imagines, that Jas-
per and I -- no, that Jasper or I -- no, that I --
it is quite too foolish to write, Isabella -- mother
does not realize what a wide world there is between
us. I might possibly, sometimes, think he loved
"How could Jasper tell you of Eliot's preju-
dice against you? Jasper himself infused it, un-
wittingly, I am sure, by telling him that when
with you, I lived but to do `your best pleasure, --
were it to fly, to swim, or dive into the fire.'
Eliot fancies that you are proud and overbearing
-- I insist, dear Isabella, that such as you are born
to rule such weak spirits as mine; but Eliot says
he does not like absolutism in any form, and es-
pecially in woman's. Ah, how differently he would
feel if he were to see you -- I am sure you would
like him -- I am not sure, even, that you would not
have preferred him to Jasper, had he been born
and bred in Jasper's circumstances. He has more
of some qualities that you particularly like, frank-
ness and independence -- and mother says (but
then mother is not at all partial to Jasper) he has
a thousand times more real sensibility -- he does,
perhaps, feel more for others. I should like to
know which you would think the handsomest.
Eliot is at least three inches the tallest; and, as
Jasper once said, `cast in the heroic mould, with
just enough, and not an ounce too much of mor-
tality' -- but then Jasper has such grace and sym-
metry -- just what I fancy to be the beau-ideal of
the arts. Jasper's eyes are almost too black -- too
piercing; and yet they are softened by his long
lashes, and his olive complexion, so expressive --
We continue the extracts from Bessie's letters.
They were strictly feminine, even to their being
dateless -- we cannot, therefore, ascertain the precise
period at which they were written, except by their
occasional allusions to contemporaneous events.
"Thanks, dear Isabella, for your delightful letter
by Jasper -- no longer Jasper, I assure you to his
face, but Mr. Meredith -- oh, I often wish the time
back when I was a child, and might call him Jas-
per, and feel the freedom of a child. I wonder if
I should dare to call you Belle now, or even Isa-
bella? Jasper, since his last visit at home, tells me
so much of your being `the mirror of fashion --
the observed of all observers' (these are his own
"Ah, there is a terrible storm gathering! Those
who have grown up together, lovingly interlacing
their tender branches, must be torn asunder -- some
swept away by the current, others dispersed by the
winds."
-- The world seems turned
upside down since I began this letter -- war (war,
what an appalling sound) has begun -- blood has
been spilt, and our dear, dear Eliot -- but I must
tell you first how it all was. Eliot and Jasper were
out shooting some miles from Cambridge, when, on
coming to the road, they perceived an unusual com-
motion -- old men and young, and even boys, all
armed, in wagons, on horseback, and on foot, were
coming from all points, and all hurrying onward in
one direction. On inquiring into the hurly-burly,
they were told that Colonel Smith had marched to
Concord to destroy the military stores there; and
that our people were gathering from all quarters to
oppose his return. Eliot immediately joined them,
Jasper did not; but, dear Isabella, I that know
you so well, know, whatever others may think, that
tories may be true and noble. There was a fight
at Lexington. Our brave men had the best of it.
Eliot was the first to bring us the news. With
a severe wound in his arm, he came ten miles that
we need not be alarmed by any reports, knowing,
as he told mother, that she was no Spartan mother,
to be indifferent whether her son came home with
his shield or on his shield.
"Jasper has not been to Westbrook since the
battle. My mind has been in such a state of alarm
since, I cannot return to my ordinary pursuits. I
was reading history with the children, and the Eng-
lish poets with mother, but I am quite broken up.
"I do not think this horrid war should separ-
ate those who have been friends; thank God, my
dear Isabella, we of womankind are exempts -- not
called upon to take sides -- our mission is to heal
wounds, not to make them; to keep alive and tend
with vestal fidelity the fires of charity and love.
My kindest remembrance to Herbert. I hope he
has renounced his whiggism; for if it must come
to that, he had better fight on the wrong side ( ig-
norantly) than break the third commandment.
Write soon, dear Isabella, and let me know if this
hurly-burly extends to New-York -- dear, quiet
New-York! In war and in peace, in all the
chances and changes of this mortal life, your own
Miss Linwood to Bessie Lee.
"Exempts! my little spirit of peace -- your vo-
cation it may be, my pretty dove, to sit on your
perch with an olive-branch in your bill, but not
mine. Oh for the glorious days of the Clorindas,
when a woman might put down her womanish
thoughts, and with helmet and lance in rest do
battle with the bravest! Why was the loyal spirit
of my race my exclusive patrimony? Can his
blood, who at his own cost raised a troop of horse
for our martyr king, flow in Herbert's veins? or
his who followed the fortunes of the unhappy
James? Is my father's son a renegado -- a rebel?
Yes, Bessie -- my blood burns in my cheeks while
"But to come down from my heroics; we are
in a desperate condition -- such a scene as I have
just passed through! Judge Ellis was dining with
us, Jasper Meredith was spoken of. `In the
name of Heaven, Ellis,' said my father, `why do
you suffer your nephew to remain among the rebel
crew in that infected region?'
"`I do not find,' replied the judge, glancing at
Herbert, `that any region is free from infection.'
"`True, true,' said my father; `but the air of
the Yankee states is saturated with it. I would
not let an infant breathe it, lest rebellion should
break out when he came to man's estate.' I am
sorry to say it, dear Bessie; but my father traces
Herbert's delinquency to his sojourn at Westbrook.
I saw a tempest was brewing, and thinking to make
for a quiet harbour, I put in my oar, and repeated
the story you told me in your last letter of our non-
combatant, Mr. Jasper. The judge was charmed.
`Ah, he's a prudent fellow!' he said; `he'll not
commit himself!'
"`Not commit himself!' exclaimed my father;
`by Jupiter, if he belonged to me, he should com-
mit himself. I would rather he should jump the
wrong way than sit squat like a toad under a hedge,
"The judge's pride was touched -- he is a mean
wretch. `Ah, my dear sir,' he said, `it is very
well for you, who can do it with impunity, to disre-
gard prudential considerations; for instance, you
remain true to the king, the royal power is main-
tained, and your property is protected. Your son
-- I suppose a case -- your son joins the rebels,
the country is revolutionized, and your property is
secured as the reward of Mr. Herbert's patriotism.'
"My father hardly heard him out. `Now, by
the Lord that made me!' he exclaimed, setting
down the decanter with a force that broke it in a
thousand pieces, `I would die of starvation before
I would taste a crumb of bread that was the reward
of rebellion.'
"It was a frightful moment; but my father's
passion, you know, is like a whirlwind; one gust,
and it is over; and mamma is like those short-stem-
med flowers that lie on the earth; no wind moves
her. So, though the judge was almost as much
disconcerted as the decanter, it seemed all to have
blown over, while mamma, as in case of any ordi-
"Now you must know, though he would not
confess he made any sacrifice to prudence, he has
for some weeks omitted to drink wine at all,
on some pretext or other, such as he had a head-
ache, or he had dined out the day before, or ex-
pected to the day after; and thus Herbert has
escaped the test. But now the toast was given,
and Herbert's glass remained untouched, while
he sat, not biting, but literally devouring his
nails. I saw the judge cast a sinister look at him,
and then a glance at my father. The storm was
gathering on my father's brow. `Herbert, my
son,' said mamma, `you will be too late for you
appointment.' Herbert moved his chair to rise,
when my father called out, `Stop, sir -- no slink-
ing away under your mother's shield -- hear me --
no man who refuses to drink that toast at my table
shall eat of my bread or drink of my wine.'
"`Then God forgive me -- for I never will drink
it -- so help me Heaven!'
"Herbert left the room by one door -- my father
by another -- mamma stayed calmly talking to
"But, my dear little gentle Bessie, I never think of
you as having any thing to do with these turbulent
matters; you are in the midst of fiery rebel spirits,
but you are too pure, too good to enter into their
counsels, and far too just for any self-originating
prejudices, such as this horrible one that pervades
the country, and fires New-England against the
legitimate rights of the mother country over her
wayward, ungrateful child. Don't trouble your
head about these squabbles, but cling to Master
Hale, your poetry, and history: by-the-way, I
laughed heartily that you, who have done duty --
reading so virtuously all your life, should now
come to the conclusion `that history is dry.' I
met with a note in Herodotus, the most picturesque
of historians, the other day that charmed me. The
writer of the note says there is no mention what-
ever of Cyrus in the Persian history. If history
then is mere fiction, why may we not read romances
of our own choosing? My instincts have not mis-
guided me, after all.
"So, Miss Bessie, Jasper Meredith is in high
favour with you, and the friend of your nonpareil
brother. Jasper could always be irresistible when
he chose, and he seems to have been `i' the vein'
"I love your sisterly enthusiasm. As to my
estimation of your brother being affected by the
accidents of birth and fortune, indeed, you were
not true to your friend when you intimated that.
Certainly, the views you tell me he takes of my
character are not particularly flattering, or even
conciliating. However, I have my revenge -- you
paint him en beau -- the portrait is too beautiful
to be very like any man born and reared within
the disenchanted limits of New-England. I am
writing boldly, but no offence, dear Bessie; I do
not know your brother, and I have -- yes, out with
it, with the exception of your precious little self
-- I have an antipathy to the New-Englanders -- a
disloyal race, and conceited, fancying themselves
more knowing in all matters, high and low, espe-
cially government and religion, than the rest of the
world -- `all-sufficient, self-sufficient, and insuffi-
cient.'
"Pardon me, gentle Bessie -- I am just now at
fever heat, and I could not like Gabriel if he were
-- A week -- a stormy, miserable
week has passed since I wrote the above, and it
has ended in Herbert's leaving us, and dishonouring
his father's name by taking a commission in the
rebel service. Papa has of course had a horrible
fit of the gout. He says he has for ever cast
Herbert out of his affections. Ah! I am not skilled
in metaphysics, but I know that we have no power
whatever over our affections. Mamma takes it all
patiently, and chiefly sorroweth for that Herbert
has lost caste by joining the insurgents, whom she
thinks little better than so many Jack Cades.
"For myself, I would have poured out my blood
-- every drop of it, to have kept him true to his
king and country; but in my secret heart I glory
in him that he has honestly and boldly clung to his
opinions, to his own certain and infinite loss. I
have no heart to write more.
