University of Virginia Library

Letter from Joshua Downing, in Boston, to his nephew, Jack
Downing, in Portland.

Dear Nephew,—I left home just after your letter to your
cousin Ephraim got there, and I didn't get a sight of your
letter to me that you put into the Courier at Portland, until
I saw it in the Daily Advertiser in Boston, and I guess Mr.
Hale is the only person in Boston who takes that are little
Courier, so you was pretty safe about the letter not being
seen, as the printer promised you. How I happened to see
it here, you will find out before I have got through with this
letter. I guess you wont be a little struck up when you find
out that I'm in Boston—but I had best begin at the beginning
and then I shall get thro' quicker.

After seeing your letter to Ephraim as I said before, I concluded
it wouldn't be a bad scheme to tackle up and take a
load of turkies, some apple-sauce, and other notions that the
neighbors wanted to get to market, and as your uncle Nat
would be in Boston with the ax handles, we all thought best

to try our luck there. Nothing happened worth mentioning
on the road, nor till next morning after I got here and put up
in Elm street. I then got off my watch pretty curiously, as
you shall be informed. I was down in the bar room, and
tho't it well enough to look pretty considerable smart, and
now and then compared my watch with the clock in the bar,
and found it as near right as it ever was—when a feller stept
up to me and ask't how I'd trade? and says I, for what? and
says he, for your watch—and says I, any way that will be a
fair shake—upon that says he, I'll give you my watch and five
dollars.—Says I, its done! He gave me the five dollars, and
I gave him my watch. Now, says I, give me your watch—
and says he, with a loud laugh, I han't got none—and that
kind aturn'd the laugh on me. Thinks I, let them laugh that
lose. Soon as the laugh was well over, the feller thought
he'd try the watch to his ear—why, says he, it dont go—no,
says I, not without its carried—then I began to laugh—he
tried to open it and couldn't start it a hair, and broke his
thumb nail in the bargain. Won't she open, says he? Not's
I know on, says I—and then the laugh seemed to take another
turn.

Don't you think I got off the old Brittania pretty well, considrin?
And then I thought I'd go and see about my load of
turkies and other notions. I expected to have gone all over
town to sell my load, but Mr. Doolittle told me if I'd go down
to the new market, I should find folks enough to buy all I had
at once. So down I goes, and a likely kind of a feller, with
an eye like a hawk and quick as a steeltrap for a trade, (they
called him a 4th staller,) came up to the wagon, and before
you could say Jack Robinson, we struck a bargain for the
whole cargo—and come to weigh and reckon up, I found I
should get as much as 10s6d more than any of us calculated
before I left home, and had the apple-sauce left besides. So
I thought I'd jist see how this 4th staller worked his card to
be able to give us so good a price for the turkies, and I went
inside the market-house, and a grander sight I never expect
to see! But it was the 3d staller instead of the 4th, had my
turkies all sorted and hung up, and looking so much better
that I hardly should know 'em. Pretty soon, a gentleman
asked the 3d staller what he asked for turkies? Why, says
he, if you want something better than you ever saw before,
there's some 'twas killed last night purpose for you. You
may take 'em at 9d, being it's you. I'll give you 12 cents,
said the gentleman, as I've got some of the General Court to
dine with me, and must treat well. I shant stand for half a
cent with an old customer, says he. And so they traded;

and in about the space of half an hour or more, all my turkies
went into baskets at that rate. The 4th staller gave me 6d
a pound, and I began to think I'd been a little too much in a
hurry for trade—but's no use to cry for spilt milk. Then I
went up to the State House to see what was going on there;
but I thought I'd get off my apple-sauce on my way—and seeing
a sign of old clothes bartered, I stepped in and made a
trade, and got a whole suit of superfine black broadcloth from
top to toe, for a firkin of apple-sauce, (which didn't cost much
I guess, at home.)

Accordingly I rigged myself up in the new suit, and you'd
hardly known me. I didn't like the set of the shoulders, they
were so dreadful puckery; but the man said that was all
right. I guess he 'll find the apple-sauce full as puckery
when he gets down into it—but that's between ourselves.
Well, when I got up to the State House I found them at work
on the rail road—busy enough I can tell you—they got a part
of it made already. I found most all the folks kept their hats
on except the man who was talking out loud and the man he
was talking to—all the rest seemed to be busy about their
own consarns. As I didn't see any body to talk to I kept my
hat on and took a seat, and look'd round to see what was going
on. I hadn't been setting long before I saw a slick-headed,
sharp-eyed little man, who seemed to have the principal
management of the folks, looking at me pretty sharp, as much
as to say who are you? but I said nothing and looked tother
way—at last he touched me on the shoulder—I thought he
was feeling of the puckers. Are you a member? says he—
sartin says I—how long have you taken your seat? says he.
About ten minutes, says I. Are you qualified? says he. I
guess not, says I. And then he left me. I didn't know exactly
what this old gentleman was after—but soon he returned
and said it was proper for me to be qualified before I took
a seat, and I must go before the governor! By Jing! I never
felt so before in all my born days. As good luck would have
it, he was beckoned to come to a man at the desk, and as soon as
his back was turned I give him the slip. Jest as I was going
off, the gentleman who bought my turkies of the 4th staller
took hold of my arm, and I was afraid at first that he was going
to carry me to the Governor—but he began to talk as sociable
as if we had been old acquaintances. How long have
you been in the house, Mr. Smith, says he. My name is
Downing, said I. I beg your pardon, says he—I mean
Downing. It's no offence, says I. I haven't been here long.
Then says he in a very pleasant way, a few of your brother
members are to take pot-luck with me to-day, and I should be

happy to have you join them. What's pot-luck, said I. O, a
family dinner, says he—no ceremony. I thought by this time
I was well qualified for that without going to the Governor.
So says I, yes, and thank ye too. How long before you'll
want me, says I. At 3 o'clock, says he, and gave me a piece
of paste board with his name on it—and the name of the
street, and the number of his house, and said that would show
me the way. Well, says I, I dont know of nothing that will
keep me away. And then we parted. I took considerable
liking to him.

After strolling round and seeing a great many things about
the State House and the marble immage of Gin. Washington,
standing on a stump in the Porch, I went out into the street
they call Bacon street, and my stars! what swarms of women
folks I saw all drest up as if they were going to meeting.
You can tell cousin Polly Sandburn, who you know is no
slimster, that she needn't take on so about being genteel in
her shapes—for the genteelest ladies here beat her as to size
all hollow. I dont believe one of 'em could get into our fore
dore—and as for their arms—I shouldn't want better measure
for a bushel of meal than one of their sleeves could hold. I
shant shell out the bushel of corn you say I've lost on Speaker
Ruggles at that rate. But this puts me in mind of the dinner
which Mr. — wants I should help the Gineral Court
eat. So I took out the piece of paste board, and began to inquire
my way and got along completely, and found the number
the first time—but the door was locked, and there was no
knocker, and I thumpt with my whip handle, but nobody come.
And says I to a man going by, dont nobody live here? and
says he yes. Well, how do you get in? Why, says he ring;
and says I, ring what? And says he, the bell. And says I,
where's the rope? And says he, pull that little brass nub;
and so I gave it a twitch, and I'm sure a bell did ring; and
who do you think opened the door with a white apron afore
him? You couldn't guess jor a week a Sundays—so I'll tell
you. It was Stephen Furlong, who kept our district school last
winter, for 5 dollars a month, and kept bachelor's hall, and
helped tend for Gineral Coombs a training day, and make out
muster rolls. We was considerably struck up at first, both of
us; and when he found I was going to eat dinner with Mr.
— and Gineral Court, he thought it queer kind of doings
—but says he, I guess it will be as well for both of us not to
know each other a bit more than we can help. And says I,
with a wink, you're half right, and in I went. There was
nobody in the room but Mr. — and his wife, and not a
sign of any dinner to be seen any where—though I thought

now and then when a side door opened, I could smell cupboard,
as they say.

I thought I should be puzzled enough to know what to say,
but I hadn't my thoughts long to myself. Mr. — has
about as nimble a tongue as you ever heard, and could say
ten words to my one, and I had nothing to do in the way of
making talk. Just then I heard a ringing, and Stephen was
busy opening the door and letting in the Gineral Court, who
all had their hats off, and looking pretty scrumptious, you
may depend. I didn't see but I could stand along side of 'em
without disparagement, except to my boots, which had just
got a lick of beeswax and tallow—not a mite of dinner yet,
and I began to feel as if 'twas nearer supper-time than dinner-time—when
all at once two doors flew away from each other
right into the wall, and what did I see but one of the grandest
thanksgiving dinners you ever laid your eyes on—and
lights on the table, and silver candlesticks and gold lamps
over head—the window shutters closed—I guess more than
one of us stared at first, but we soon found the way to our
mouths—I made Stephen tend out for me pretty sharp, and he
got my plate filled three or four times with soup, which beat
all I ever tasted. I shan't go through the whole dinner again
to you—but I am mistaken if it cost me much for victuals
this week, if I pay by the meal at Mr. Doolittle's, who comes
pretty near up to a thanksgiving every day. There was considerable
talk about stock and manufactories, and lier bilities,
and rimidies, and a great loss on stock. I thought this a good
chance for me to put in a word—for I calculated I knew as
much about raising stock and keeping over as any of 'em.
Says I to Mr. —, there's one thing I've always observed
in my experience in stock—just as sure as you try to keep
over more stock than you have fodder to carry them well into
April, one half will die on your hands, to a sartinty—and
there's no remedy for it—I've tried it out and out, and there's
no law that can make a ton of hay keep over ten cows, unless
you have more carrots and potatoes than you can throw a
stick at. This made some of the folks stare who didn't know
much about stock—and Steve give me a jog, as much as to
say, keep quiet. He thought I was gitting into a quog-mire,
and soon after, giving me a wink, opened the door and got me
out of the room into the entry.

After we had got out of hearing, says I to Steve, how are
you getting on in the world—should you like to come back to
keep our school if I could get a vote for you?—not by two
chalks, says Steve—I know which side my bread is buttered
better than all that—I get 12 dollars a month and found, and

now and then some old clothes, which is better than keeping
school at 5 dollars and find myself, and work out my highway
tax besides—then turning up the cape of my new coat, says
he, I guess I've dusted that before now—most likely, says I,
but not in our district school. And this brings to mind to tell
you how I got a sight of your letter. They tell me here that
every body reads the Boston Daily Advertiser, because there
is no knowing but what they may find out something to their
advantage, so I thought I would be as wise as the rest of
them, and before I got half through with it, what should I find
mixed up among the news but your letter that you put into
that little paper down in Portland, and I knew it was your
writing before I had read ten lines of it.