[Letter from Elizabeth Upshur Teackle to her sister, Ann Upshur Eyre, April 5, 1813]

5^th Ap^l 1813 P.A.

Your only letter from Phila, my dear sister, for which you make so many apologies, has been more interesting to me, I dare say, than if you had studied, with time and labour sufficient to write one of the most elaborate essays that ever fell from the pens of Addison, Steele, Goldsmith and every other miscellaneous author of celebrity. The very confusion, and hurry you were in, served to give me, as you described it, a more adequate idea of your exact situation, and occupations; and be assured, I was not a little gratified to observe that this very bustle, and hurry, of which you complain so loudly, was a source of pleasure to you, and had given your spirits no small fillup. Indeed, “I am so constantly interested for you in all the different stages of your feelings, pleasures, and pains, that you have been, for a long time, eternally in my thoughts; but those particularly now that you are travelling over the ground of our former passage into life together, when youth gave an electrical impulse to ever feeling; and hope, untarnished by disappointment and painful reflection; pointed the way to a future life of prosperity, and happiness. Whether or not my gilded visions have continued to warm my heart, and brighten my days I will leave you to judge

God help me! Few indeed are entitled I believe (justly) to look for Elysian sunshine and smiling hours to brighten their lengthen’d days, and lead their steps through a journey of perfect bliss in this life. Then if I have had my clouds and storms, if Hope has veil’d her lovely face in my sight, I have no right to accuse or complain. I am only afraid that I have been but too ungrateful for those gleams of happiness, those cheering impulses of Hope that, most certainly, have made me happy at some periods of my life. And I do sincerely believe that every pain I have endured, I have deserved; and that, generally, my misery has accrued from the bad regulation of my own mind, to correct which is in our power, in some degree, at least.

I have followed you through every scene and enjoy’d with you every pleasure you have tasted in this journey. The pains of it, perhaps, I have not been so complaisant to: for some of your travelling miseries, you know, never have affected me, as my nerves, though bad enough, are not bad in the exact way that yours are, at all times, for instance when you were wandering like a princess of Romance, in search of an asylum, instead of feeling for you, I envied you

for everyone feels a degree of importance in such situations, and thinks that the whole world observes and subscribes to it. Any my little misfortune (which is likely to be remedied) we can bear, not only with patience, but pleasure, when we are sure of being, thereby, made the objects of observation and sympathy. In having had a tooth drawn, and in having had blood let, I have felt the same self consequence and complacency. Sometimes matters as trivial will administer to our vanity in a different way. Sir Isaac Bickerstaff dictates, with much humour, on his Sister Jenny’s self importance on muttering on a new pair of garters, for which she gave herself great airs, and seemed peculiarly complacent, although no soul breathing cou’d possibly know she had a new pair of garters. Therefore, to be objects of public notice, even in the most unimportant affairs, or to be conscious of possessing any advantage, however insignificant, and unobserved, over other people, all has a tendency to make us pleased with ourselves, and, of course, happy.

I can scarcely tell how I have swell’d this letter to the present size, wholly destitute, as I am, of local matter, which is always so convenient, and indeed more