[Letter from Elizabeth Upshur Teackle to her husband, Littleton Dennis Teackle, July 16, 1811]

July 1811. P. Anne

My dear husband

Your two letters I receiv’d soon after I had dispatched my last to the office and be assured they were well receiv’d and acceptable. The enclosure of 5$ was at least the milk of the joke, if not the cream, and you know the grand talent I have of poverty. I paid the money away very seasonably for I had only received 9$ in payment of your orders, 9$ from Mrs. D___ and 6 from Israel all of which were appropriated to paying my chicken debts; and buying corn and oats for the horses and fowls—Nancy requested me to mention it to you concerning pork for the people: we are as clear of that article “as a dog is of a soul,” quoting our facetious friend Carroll.

I was induced by a kind and pressing invitation to dine with Major Carroll a few days since, and as Hetty had not paid her respects to Mrs. Jackson we went there the even’g before and by that means my ride was so short each day as to give me no fatigue. I think on the whole I feel much better for the visit, all your friends enquire frequently for you, and want to know when you will be at home.

Mr. W. Gilmor wrote me per

last mail in notice of my remarks on the Lady of the Lake. I assure you he has tickled my vanity not a little. And I am only angry with myself that a lady of my “excellent sense” shou’d be troubled at all with any malapropos quality of the kind, which seems to give the lie to my “excellent sense.” I cry you mercy for the uncouth expression: but for my soul I cannot, at all times, so varnish over my thoughts with smooth words as to soften their general exterior. The true and appropriate word will slip out of my mouth in spite of me, and shew the conceit in its pristine character, however you urge, that a lady shou’d never have conceptions that, coarse in their form, seem best adapted to rude vestments. I plead in excuse a radical defect of my mind, its ideas I believe are either innate, or were so early ingrafted that training, espaliering and even lopping off will not remedy the evil now; for were thoughts for a time denied their natural growth, after a while their bent wou’d violently protrude and acquire new strength from pruning. Now this is an ingenious conceit! Will you again cavil at me for the little etiquette language which shou’d be honest, and naturally speak the language of the imagination? You see how flippantly I can write to you what I shou’d not venture to assert in propria personae

to your face. For then you wou’d be on the spot ready armed for controversy; but as it is you will scarcely take the trouble to confute so flimsy a position; and of course, I come off with flying colours.

I have long wish’d for a sight of Marmontel’s Belisarius¹ which he speaks of in his memoirs in such a way as to induce one to believe it was his hobby. The hobbies of great men are always interesting spectacles, though very often they fade too shabby to be appendages of the men who bestride them. This is a little strange at first sight, but is to be speculatively accounted for thus, a fearing being is by chance thrown on our notice. We are seized with the desire of protecting and nurturing it into something of consequence; and the longer our minds are thus engaged, the stronger is the hold the object takes on our affections, or vanity. At last the rickety colt, grown to something like a horse, runs away with reason and reflection: we examine its powers at first from curious vanity, and the enthusiasm we sometimes feel of raising great things out of small means; finding ourselves a little disappointed in the result, we stick to the purpose because we are ashamed to abandon it, and at last are convinced of the utility