[Letter from Elizabeth Upshur Teackle to her sister, Ann Upshur Eyre, November 30, 1813]

30^th Nov. 13.

My dear sister

I have suffer’d great uneasiness on account of Ann Upshur and Virginia since I was inform’d by Mr. George Wilson that Ann was extremely ill, and that the child’s life was despair’d of. He says that Arthur told him so. I shall endeavor, soon after Christmas, to go down, which I have lately pin’d upon, unless you propose coming up, in which case I shall go down with you when you return, but if you do come up before that time, which I sincerely wish you cou’d (that is before Christmas) it wou’d suit me better, as I cou’d make you stay with me until all my work was done and then go down at our leisure. This proposition is made in a hope that fears exaggerated Ann’s illness, and that she may be well enough for you to leave her and the little one. If I hear from you by today’s mail that their situations are really so dangerous, I shall get off as soon as I possibly can get my affairs arranged to leave home. I expect my pork is rather sooner this year than is usual, all of which I am under the necessity of seeing secured before I leave home, and at all events must stay to meet the payments for it. I hope that Mr. E and yourself have experienced no additional indisposition since I heard, moreover, and that you are both quite well

Speaking of Mr. Geo. Wilson reminds me of some trouble I have been in with him, much against my intention. He heard from Caleb Upshur that I had written to you; in the most severe manner had ridiculed him and his business about the duel, and placed the whole affair in so ridiculous a light that his friends Mr. B. Handy and Doctor Wilson took it up as a serious matter and inform’d him of it, and that Caleb told these gentlemen that you had said that you received a letter from a lady in Somerset (who was very competent to place the matter in the most stinkingly ridiculous point of view) and then that you repeated in a large company parts of this letter which I know must have been mine. I had no earthly intention of hurting this young gentleman’s feelings or that my sportive remarks shou’d have been made publick. Indeed from my other remarks, you may have seen that I felt a real concern and sympathy for him as I said that I thought he had been shamefully abused. Indeed, Mr. W. repeated great parts of my letter to Mr. Teackle, verbatim and declared it destroy’d all his happiness while he was down. I can’t account why cousin Caleb should be so thoughtless as to mention this trifling business to Mr. Handy and Doctor Wilson: he must have seen if he reflected, that what is written and divulged to a select few, shou’d not be told out of court As to you my

dear I can account for your speaking of it. You thought it was witty and did not reflect that whilst you were blazoning my wit, that the shaft might possibly be turned against myself. Wit is a dangerous thing and so is ridicule. It almost always recoils to the propeller, so that on the whole it is safer to have a character for good natured obtusity than for good natured acuteness—because, with the best intentions in the world, your sharp pointed wits may some times wound, accidentally, when you are only aiming to amuse your auditors by showing off their manual exercise in sport: and sometimes, when one is shooting at an insensible palpable mark, the shot may pass by it and hit where it is not intended, hurting some tenacious body most susceptible of feeling, and deserving its sting. In this case, those who deserve it most are always most indignant at the injury, and those persons being generally not possessed of the same weapon to defend themselves, are conscious of it, and have recourse to more mortal retaliation. Thus, for having inflicted a flesh wound with a needle, you lay yourself liable to a bludgeon in the dark when you are not prepared to meet the blow; we must, however, be more careful hereafter how we run our tilts. Or if we do sport to keep our armour bright, it must be under the rose, or, in other words, you and I must pass our little amusements to ourselves. When ever I write you a witty sportive letter you must laugh at it by yourself and doing violence to your affectionate