Diary & Letters of Rutherford B. Hayes

Volume I [1834 – 1860]

[Page 74]

Kenyon College, November 28, 1841.--

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamed of in your philosophy."--Shakespeare.

Ever since the members of the Phi Zeta Club commenced
carrying their badges, they have been regarded with suspicion
and jealousy by those who were not its members. Some who
were remarkable for self-esteem, felt mortified at being left out
of a club which numbered among its members some of the first
scholars in the institution; others were glad of an opportunity
to vent their spleen upon those whom they felt to be above them
both in morals and intellect. Their feelings of envy and hatred
were at first smothered in their own bosoms, but the heat only
glowed with the more enduring intensity within. They brooded
over fancied insults till their judgments were so blinded by
jealousy that, "trifles light as air were confirmations strong as
proofs of Holy Writ."
Like a rolling snowball, the oftener the subject was revolved
the greater became its importance, till finally their imaginary
wrongs were too huge to be concealed. Some scheme must be de-
vised which would gratify their malice by injuring the innocent
cause of all their ill. About two weeks since we noticed an un-
usual commotion among those most conspicuous for their hatred
of us. There was a strange putting together of heads. Knowing
winks and sly glances passed back and forth. Members of the
church were observed in frequent and close communion with the
most reckless and profane; deadly enemies were often seen arm
in arm, joined "cheek by jowl" together. By signs like these and
other indications, well known to the skilful mariner, we were
warned of the approaching storm. We knew not where or how
it would strike us, but we were not dismayed. Confident in the
powers of our own good bark, we trimmed the sails, and manned
the helm with our bravest tars, and calmly awaited the tempest
which was to prove their veteran skill.
We were not long left in suspense as to the direction from
which we must look for danger. After a few fitful violent
gusts of wind which made us to clinch our teeth and tighten our
grip with earnestness, a pause ensued, ominous of nothing more
dangerous than a long drizzling rain. The firm, harsh tones of
the old salts subsided into a low chuckle, their features sternly
braced relaxed into a smile, while the young "middies" laughed
with scorn and twirled their silver-headed canes in a perfect
ecstasy of boyish glee.
This pause, this silence, this dreadful stillness, which our
enemies vainly imagine will end in our destruction, still con-
tinues. Their wonderful scheme is to be kept a profound secret
till all preparations are completed and then we are to die--die
like malefactors, without consolation, without repentance. Our
annihilation is to be sudden, terrible, and complete. No heart
will pity, no hand will aid; we shall be driven we know not
whither,--mayhap
"To dwell in regions of thick-ribbed ice,
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot";
Or, even worse,
"To pass the bitter waves of Acheron
And come to fiery flood [of Phlegeton],
Where[as the] damned ghostes in torment fry,
And with sharp [shrilling] shriekes doe bootlesse cry."
For come what will, we feel the dreadful certainty that we
shall soon depart to that "bourne whence no traveller returns,"--
"A schoolboy's dream the wonder of an hour." But I must leave
this sad and mournful strain and turn to themes of cold reality.
What a world is this in which we live!
"Bubble, bubble,
Toil and trouble."
"We know not what a day may bring forth." But, happily
for poor mortals,
"Coming events cast their shadows before."
Fate always gives to man some feeble foresight of the future;
and the miserable friends of friendship have not been left to
pine in total ignorance of what is coming. One solitary ray of
light has flitted across our minds and dispelled the gloom by
which we were surrounded. The enemies of our little band
could not keep their counsel. The secret was too great for
minds like theirs to hold. Our former friends were changed to
skulking enemies and our former enemies to fawning friends.
Hypocrites assumed a frankness which they did not feel, and
cowards a courage which they knew not of. They guarded their
secret with such studious care that we could not be ignorant
of its existence or unconscious of its presence. They betrayed
it both by word and deed; it beamed from every feature and
was whispered in every breath. It escaped by the hurried ques-
tion, the embarrassed answer, the anxious glance, and the search-
ing scrutiny. You could see it in their gait, hear it in their
stealthy tread, and know it in their devilish sneers. Their very
exertions to conceal it only published it the more. They've
found that--
"So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt."
By their "artless jealousy" they have already spilled their
secret, and when the drizzling rain begins to fall, they will spill
themselves with sore chagrin.
They have formed a club of friends composed of materials
without affinity, a heterogeneous mass bound together by no tie
but hatred of us. Enemies are joined in the closest alliance.
The timid and wavering, the passionate and morose, learned and
unlearned, Christian and infidel are all, all, mingled together with
but one feeling in common--hatred. Stranger than all this, they
intend that their association shall extend over all space and last
through all time. Oh, but what a scene we shall witness when
the links which now bind them together begin to melt with the
heat engendered by the jarring elements within!
When I had progressed thus far in my history of the opposi-
tion club, the bell for Thanksgiving sermon rang and called my
attention to other concerns. The topic is not of such a nature as
to be profitable to ponder on for any length of time; so I shall
change it for one more suitable to my taste and feelings, and
also more ennobling in its tendency on the mind.

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December 3, 1841.--
"Choose your companions with most studious care,
The good or bad they have, you'll surely share,
And leave the one or other to your heir."

One of the first intimacies which I formed after entering col-
lege was with R. E. Trowbridge, of Michigan. The first time
I ever saw him was about three years ago. He was then a
prominent member of the sophomore class, possessed of good
abilities and remarkable for his open, frank demeanor. Never
shall I forget the time when first he gave me one of his cordial,
hearty greetings. At the time we were passing each other on
our way to our respective recitations. I had received so favor-
able an impression of his character from the few things I had
seen of him that I made bold to salute him: "Well, Trow, how
are you?" To which he at once replied, "Well, sonny, how are
you?" From that time till this I have really loved him like a
brother. I did not, however, become more intimate with him
than is usual between persons of the same disposition, till about
a year and [a] half after this time, when our former acquaintance
ripened into the warmest and most sincere attachment. I found
in him all those fine feelings and noble qualities by which warm
friendship is nourished. He was ardent in his desires for the
success of his friends and firm and constant in his adherence to
their true interests. His faults were few and such as time and
experience would easily remove. He was tinctured slightly with
infidelity, a thing, by the way, not unusual in persons of his
age and temperament. This skepticism, I labored with the little
ability I possessed, to eradicate from his mind, and was grati-
fied to see that it soon disappeared, rather from the dictates
of his own sound judgment than from any exertions of mine.
He was also somewhat under the influence of aristocratic senti-
ments, but these were rapidly dissipated by the experience of his
increasing years, so that by the time he graduated he possessed a
mind remarkably well balanced in all its faculties. Judging him
by the strength of his mind, his indomitable perseverance, and
well-regulated affections, I know not his equal; and if the eleva-
tion of his after years corresponds to the promise of his youth,
he will yet be a pride and ornament of his country, and one of
the brightest jewels in the coronal of his Alma Mater.

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KENYON COLLEGE, December 4, 1841.
MY DEAR SISTER:--Rather wintry today, I thank you; quite
a prospect of a long spell of weather. Strong symptoms of
rain, but it may clear off cold and I have some hopes of snow.
My household duties keep me employed nowadays most of the
time. My chief attention is directed to sewing buttons on vari-
ous articles of apparel and cleaning my boots and pants. I have
become quite expert in performing such jobs. Four years of
college life improve a person wonderfully in such literary occu-
pations. When I look around among my fellow students, I see a
large number who would succeed much better as the wife of
some rich old bachelor than, in any of the manly pursuits of a
business life. They think everything that is honorable and of
"good report" is crowded into the brief period of a college life:
there is nothing classical in being practically useful to the citizens
of a small village or county. No, no; they must employ their
transcendent talents in convincing mankind that the substances
which we see and feel and taste are really existences and not
ideal images as some would have them suppose; it is by the pro-
mulgation of doctrines like these that men are to be benefited
by our collegians. Don't think I disapprove of it; for in truth
it is the best employment they could have. Why, what can be
more philanthropic, more truly benevolent, than to convince men
that there is danger of [their] being dashed in pieces if they
recklessly rush over a precipice?
Besides these metaphysical abstractionists, there are hordes of
greedy lawyers and hungry politicians yearly graduated, whose
most useful employment will be to persuade their neighbors that
the surest road to wealth is to sue every man whose dog barks
at their pigs, or that the independence of our country and the
cause of liberty throughout the world depends on the election of
a certain fence-viewer in a certain little village in a certain sov-
ereign State.
Perhaps you begin to think I am in no very friendly humor to-
day, but indeed you are mistaken. I am in love with the whole
world, especially that part of it contained in my stove. There is
something very agreeable in a good fire in a cold day, it is 'most
as fine as a good dinner, and then the two together! What happy
creatures we are in this land of light and liberty; how much
better off we are than the Esquimau Indians! "Lo the poor
Indian!" There is no news of local interest stirring about here,
but some of our wiseacres turn up the whites of their eyes in
devout horror to hear that John Tyler actually went into a
county where it is believed there was formerly a race-track.
What will become of this people with such a reckless character
at the head of Government? Well, I don't know, indeed. If
you are curious about the matter, ask someone else. Tell Platt
& Co., that if they have any liquor on hand to sell it as soon as
possible, for it will fall in price as soon as the Legislature meets,
for McNulty has joined the temperance society. The temper-
ance men are doing wonders here. The excitement is so great
that I dare not drink in public oftener than once a day. This you
know is a great deprivation, but then it will be so consoling to
Mother and William that I do not complain,
Your description of charity goods answers very well to charity
students; they are of no earthly use, except to tell tales. But
then it is charitable in sewing societies to send them here, as it
keeps them from injuring industrious people as all their atten-
tion is given to lazy students.
I have been reading some of the old English poets lately, such
as Chaucer and Spenser. They write in the style of the ancient
Saxons, putting half a dozen harsh-sounding consonants to every
vowel which makes a metre about as harmonious as the filing of
a saw or the squealing of a pig. Their writings are remarkable
throughout for a vein [of] strong good sense, expressed in a
true English style; none of the studied ornaments of modern
times, but nature as she is exhibited in her mountains and rivers,
not as she [is] painted in the sickly imaginings of a schoolboy's
dream. These old writers are so little read that our modern
authors consider them as common plunder, and it is from this
source that many of their finest passages are drawn. They give
to the ideas a little of their own polish and tinsel, and then pub-
lish them as some rare gems just brought from the depths of
their own cultivated intellects. If some of our finest poems
were deprived of all stolen ideas, there would be little left ex-
cept the gaudy finery with which they have tricked out the off-
spring of other brains.
I have been a good deal puzzled how to fill out this sheet,
as you doubtless have discovered. We have plenty, perhaps too
plenty, of things to employ our own, minds upon, but then it does
not sound very well when told. A good deal like Mr. Vande-
man's sermons.--they would do better if he never preached
them. All of our friends are well and doing well except poor
Kilbourne. You have, I suppose, heard of the death of his father
before this. He is still at home. When he will return I do not
know.
Give my love to all. I should like to see Uncle very much, but
I suppose he has already left for the South.
Tell brother William that the stuff for those corns will be
furnished Christmas and all other matters attended to then.
Your affectionate brother,
R. B. HAYES.
MRS. W. A. PLATT.

Volume I [1834 – 1860]

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Kenyon College, December 10, 1841.-- My reading heretofore
has consisted chiefly of history, modern poetry, and such mis-
cellaneous writings as chanced to fall in my way. I have, it is
true, for a long time been an ardent admirer of Shakespeare
and Milton, but till within a week I never tasted the sweet
waters which are to be found in the authors of "old English
literature." I have as yet but just sipped the pure streams which
flow from this source, but a single taste makes me love them.
I first read Spenser, the father of English poetry. He has not
the studied elegance of some modern writers, but his deficiency
in polish and grace is more than compensated [for] by the rich,
vigorous flow of thought which runs through all his poems. Na-
ture is painted as she is, not always beautiful or grand, but ever
charming from variety. Spenser has faults, but they are like
spots on the sun which do not mar the beauty of his light nor
prevent the vivifying influence of his warmth. The tales of
Spenser are of that romantic and marvellous kind which is
usually found in the writings of the chivalrous ages, when the
Evil One employed magic spells to overcome the virtue of the
good, and horrid monsters to subdue the bravery of the "trow
knightes." In the "Faerie Queene," the master passions of the
human bosom are drawn with a pencil of light. The meaner
passions, envy, hatred, and jealousy, are represented as a "right
jollie teem," drawing the "Queene Darknesse" in her two-
wheeled "carr" and driven by "Satanie" sitting on the beam,
lashing them into a foam with his scourge of scorpions' tails.
Ah, that some modern genius would show the deluded victims of
passions what a driver directs their course, and what a "jollie
teem" is hurrying them to destruction! How quick they would
lock the wheel and cut the tugs to escape from the "faire crew"
which madly rushes on. They would even risk life and limb in
leaping from the "carr" of the Damned One who drives. But
no, our modern gentry are too busied culling the choice flowers
of the "old poets" to think of benefiting their race. Instead of
resorting to the same source from which they drew immortality,
these are content to deck themselves with the cast-off drapery of
another's creation.

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Kenyon College, January 6, 1842.--I have just returned from
home where I spent the holidays frolicking with the girls and
laughing almost constantly either at my own folly or that of
others. Like most youngsters whose time has been spent at
school where we have little society of any kind, and none of the
ladies, I am quite bashful when in company, and of course very
awkward. This, instead of causing me mortification, affords me
an infinite deal of amusement. I know my deficiency and, in-
stead of lamenting over it, I make it a subject of sport both for
myself and others who observe it. In this way I avoid all of
those painful feelings which torture "the bashful man," and while
counterfeiting an indifference to the opinions of others which I
do not feel, I often find that I have overcome the embarrassment
which at first oppressed me.
But enough of this. Two weeks of pleasure will suffice for this
session, and I am determined to apply myself to my studies more
diligently than ever for the rest of the winter. Before another
year rolls round I must make great progress. Within the last
year my improvement has been rapid, yet I could have done much
more had the strenuous will not been wanting. I am satisfied
more and more by every day's experience, that if I would attain
the eminence in my profession to which I aspire, I must exert
myself with more constant zeal and hearty good will than I ever
have before. The life of a truly great lawyer must be one of
severe and intense application; he treads no "primrose path";
every step is one of toil and difficulty, it is not by sudden, vigor-
ous efforts that he is to succeed, but by patient, enduring energy,
which never hesitates, never falters, but pushes on to the last.
This is the life I have chosen. I believe it is a happy one. Now
is the time to acquire the habits which will enable me to endure
its hardships; and if I make a right use of my present opportuni-
ties, my after life will be as happy as it is laborious.
While at home, I attended the United States Circuit Court
and listened to the arguments of some of the first lawyers in the
State. They did not equal my expectations, but some were,
indeed, most excellent. Yet none were so superior as to dis-
courage one from striving to equal them. In fact, I never hear
a speaker but I am encouraged to renew my exertions. If I
listen to a poor one, I am flattered to think of the favorable
comparison which might be made between his efforts and my
own; and when I hear a good one, I always attribute his supe-
riority to his industry rather than to his natural talents.
While upon the subject of lawyers, I will copy a description
of a pettyfogger which I found in the Southern Literary Mes-
senger of January, 1837, and which would apply to several whom
I have in my "mind's eye." "This may tend to make what is
called a sharp practitioner, one who will undertake any case
however perilous, in hopes by tacking and manoeuvring and
running to windward to take advantage of his adversary,--one
of those thin, dried-up, vulture-looking attorneys whose little
eyes twinkle with the light of long kindled cunning, and who
amass wealth and bring disrepute on the law--men whose feel-
ings are divided between their pleadings and their cost books,
vibrating between their offices and the courts, erudite in special
demurrers and deeply learned in the fee-bill, or even beyond it,
but with no more correct idea of the true object and high aim
of the law, than the garbage-fed Hottentot possesses of the
perfectibility of human nature."

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GAMBIER, January 10, 1842.
MY DEAR MOTHER:--I received your letter of the 6th yester-
day. I was surprised that you should so soon think of writing
to me, and before I had read the letter, I feared something serious
had happened to disturb the accustomed quiet of the family, but
I soon found that your anxiety about my health was the chief
reason of my being indebted to you for an epistle. On that sub-
ject, however, you need not be uneasy; instead of my ride in
the cold proving injurious, it has been highly beneficial in its
effect on my health, and I do not entertain the faintest shadow
of a suspicion of a doubt that if I was to return home tomorrow,
the grievous cold with which I have been so sorely afflicted would
be entirely removed by the journey. Notwithstanding I am so
well convinced of the salutary influence which a homeward
voyage would have, I shall not at present undertake it as I have
strong hopes of recovery without resorting to such a severe
remedy. My dry hacking cough has entirely left me, my lungs
act freely, and vast quantities of food are disposed of with my
usual "promptitude and dispatch," without injury to the patient,
though to the utter dismay of the physician and cook. And what
is even more flattering than all this, Dr. Case, A. B., T. D., in-
forms me professionally that I may possibly live along several
years yet, if I will only stop drinking, regulate my diet, keep
out of the cold, and entirely abstain from laughing. These are
hard, very hard conditions for one of my habits. You know the
influence of habit; it is a second nature. And how can I now
leave off eating after having been in the daily and hourly in-
dulgence of my appetite ever since I was a child? Oh Mother,
what an aching void there will be within when my jaws shall
be forever closed to the admission of sugar, sweet potatoes, and
gin! Ah! it makes me feel empty to think of it. And then to
stop laughing when the habit is so confirmed that I even laugh
in my sleep. Why, Mother, it is unpossible. But if I only had to
give up eating and laughing, I might think of it. It is drinking,
too, that must be quit, and that now, when the "Young Coffee
House" is in full operation in the same building with brother
William's shop, where I can stop and get a hot punch every time
I pass in the winter and a cool mint julep in the summer. It's
too much. As poor Tony said on a similar occasion, "Mother,
I tell you, it won't do." Do you recollect how soundly I slept in
the morning when I was at home? You didn't know it was hock,
good old hock, that made me sleep so late. Well, I didn't either
and, to stop this stuff, my cold does not trouble me near as
much as when I left home, and I intend to be careful and not in-
crease it again. I reached Berkshire about two o'clock and
found that Mr. Gregory was gone to Sunbury. I accordingly
rode Dolly over there and left her at Mr. Bennett's where Mr. G.
would get her. I was just in time for the stage: a few moments
later and I should have been left. Mr. G-'s family were all in
good health. I did not see the children as they were all at school.
Mr. Bennett has a brother very sick at his house which keeps
him quite close. The rest of his folks are well.
Never mind the shirts; you better keep them. They will be
worn out if you send them here and I can get on without them.
Besides, your keeping them may prevent a dispute about their
number. Only have them ready for me when I return again and
I will be satisfied.
Don't be afraid that I'll let any money spoil on my hands. You
know I don't believe in saving sweet things till they become sour.
Well, I act on the same principle with regard to money matters.
I take especial care not to lose anything by not spending.
Tell William, if he is in danger of losing much by the bank's
breaking, to send his bills to me and they shall not depreciate in
my hands. He may save considerable in that way. At the close
of your epistle you speak of my sending my money back. That
explains your anxiety about Illinois money. Ha! ha! ha! catch me
sending it back! If it ever comes back, as John Tyler says, "it
will be in the way of trade." If you are in earnest about my
money coming back you must expect me with it. Why, I'd as
soon think of leaving a tavern without my bitters as letting my
money go off alone in times like these.
All our affairs are moving on in the old train. John returned
the same day I did contrary to my expectation. The faculty ex-
pect from me a written excuse. I shall write one that will an-
swer my purpose, and if they do not like it, they may write one
themselves that they do like.
The girls, you say, went to the theatre one night. Don't be
alarmed. If all is true that I have heard about it, they will go
but once. You said something about Mr. Kilbourne's handker-
chief. I know nothing about it. I had Levi's; perhaps that is
the one you meant. I brought it back with me. Levi has not yet
returned. I do not know his intentions about it. All of your ac-
quaintances are about as ever.
I am enjoying no afflictions at present.
Your affectionate son,
R. B. HAYES.
P.S.--I have forgot all about Fanny and the girls. Stop. I'll
give some soap to them yet. F. is out of humor because I didn't
bid her good-bye. She needn't complain. She didn't bid me
good-bye either; so my grievance is as great as hers. Love to all.
Tell Jane to keep still. She disturbs me.
Hatty and Lizzy, I suppose, are not up yet; well don't wake
the children. R.B.H.
MRS. SOPHIA HAYES,
Columbus, Ohio.

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Kenyon College, January 14, 1842.--I have neglected writing
in my journal so long for want of a subject, that I intend to
make a beginning without one. If in blundering along I come
across anything like a straggling thought, I'll branch out, or as the
President would say, "dilate upon it at some length." Well then,
to begin at the beginning, this morning while I was resting very
quietly in the arms of my old friend, Morpheus, I was suddenly
aroused from my slumbers by the shade of Lord Byron flitting
before me. He appeared violently agitated, and when my senses
were more fully awakened, I found that he was uttering in a
low, but solemn and impressive tone, bitter imprecations against
those, who with sacrilegious hands had torn the veil of oblivion
from the infirmities of perished genius, and laid bare his minutest
faults to the scorching rays of this world's calumny. My nerves
were so shocked by the phantom's fearful threats, that my blood
almost ceased to flow, my limbs lost their accustomed warmth
and a chilling faintness crept over my frame.
From this faintness I was aroused by the rough, harsh tones
of martial music. I looked hastily up and, in place of the guar-
dian of the poet's fame, stood the shades of Caesar, Cromwell, and
a bloody host of military chieftains, their garments all dripping
with gore and their brows encircled with the chaplet of military
fame. They, too, seemed anxiously to urge the folly of human
ambition, and ceased not to proclaim, in a voice husky with the
chills of the grave: "The substance of the hero's renown is but
the 'shadow of a shade.'"
Again the scene shifted, and other characters appeared and
vanished with the rapidity of magic. I finally awoke to the
reality of what was going on before me, and then discovered
that in my dream I had seen the juniors step upon the stage,
"strut and puff awhile," then disappear.
From this the current of my thoughts naturally turned on the
folly of college exhibitions. The student knows that in obedience
to the requisitions of the faculty, he must prepare an address to
deliver before a mixed audience of friends and acquaintances,
come what may. Pride and emulation prompt him to make every
exertion, that his performance may be creditable to himself and
gratifying to his friends. If he is possessed of common modesty,
he feels that he cannot write upon any subject such a speech as
will, perhaps, be expected of him. The time approaches and his
piece must be written. Inability will not be received as an ex-
cuse. The terrors of college discipline are hanging over him; and
when he finds there is no escape from the odious duty, he puz-
zles his brain with the energy of despair for thoughts which he
knows are not in it.
After many fruitless endeavors to obtain a subject, as a last
resort he betakes himself to the advice of some elder friend who
has passed the terrors of a first appearance in public. He soon
receives the necessary information, which his friend had received
in the same manner, and which has doubtless been handed down
through many generations of collegians. The youthful orator
takes his way with a light step and joyous countenance to the
nearest library. Without a moment's hesitation he seizes the first
of a long row of reviews and rapidly glances over the table of
contents, the object of his search being a good article on some
subject which will "look well on the bill." He usually finds it
without trouble. He bears off in triumph the volume containing
his future eloquence, and, after carefully concealing it, hastens
to his professor and gives him the subject he has chosen. The
professor, anxious that his oration may speak well for his instruc-
tor, applauds his selection and tells him of an article in a certain
review in which he will find some good ideas on his subject. The
scholar feigns surprise that the subject has ever been written
upon before, but thinks he will get the review referred to. He
returns to his room, adopts the train of thought furnished him
by the reviewer, and not infrequently copies the language in
which those thoughts are dressed. His oration is thus written,
subject, sentiment, and language, all either borrowed or stolen.
The composition, after having gone through the farce of correc-
tion, is committed and finally delivered under circumstances any-
thing but favorable to the display of practical good sense.
If the evil ended with the exhibition it would be comparatively
slight; but after being praised and flattered for a performance of
this kind, the student is anxious to retain the reputation he has
acquired. Thus the folly must be repeated. Idleness, as well as
inclination, prompts him to adopt this method of obtaining ideas;
for he has now learned how easy it is to write without thought
and gain applause without exertion. The habit is thus formed of
seeking assistance from the productions of others, rather than
relying [on] one's own powers. Large numbers [of] our col-
lege-bred men form their habits precisely in this way. It is not
strange that they finally fall below those whose advantages being
[were] less [and who, therefore,] were compelled to think and
act for themselves from boyhood.
The temptation to avail ourselves of these cork jackets to buoy
us up in our first attempts is, indeed, great. But if we would ac-
quire the skill and strength necessary to stem the opposing tides
of life, these artificial aids must be rejected. By their use vigor-
ous, original thinkers are never made; but this, is what every one
must be who wishes to become eminent.

Volume I [1834 – 1860]

[Page 89]

GAMBIER, January 24, 1842.
MY DEAR SISTER:--You see by the bill on the other side that
we have been having some speeches in Rosse Chapel--a thing,
by the way, not very unusual about these times. As for myself,
I spoke extempore, which, considering the size of the audience
and the youth of the speaker, was a pretty daring feat if not a
very successful one; but then I've a good share of impudence.
There is a report spread about here that you are in a fit of the
pouts because I did not bow and scrape to your ladyship with
sufficient grace when I was bundled up in my brindle overcoat
and "yaller gloves" on, preparatory to relieving William, who was
holding Dolly in waiting for me. Not to be misunderstood in
saying that the report is "spread about," I mean that Mother's
last epistle which contained the report is "spread about" before
me, which amounts to the same thing.
Well, now, if I did not bow very obsequiously to you when I
departed, it is a "grievous offense and grievously" hath [sic] I
suffered for it. You will not speak to me till I do bid you good-
bye. Well, now, really, are you in earnest? You will not speak
to me? What do you suppose I care? If you will write to me it's
all I expected.
I feel in good humor tonight but no more like writing than I
do like selling myself for the hind leg of a crawfish. If you
would only step up here I could talk your eyes out, but this writing
without any lines to keep the track by is like hunting codfish with
a shotgun by starlight in a mountainous country. We always
in such cases find more feathers than scales.
I'll try again to make a start. The third time is always the
charm. You have heard me speak of Arad Douglass as being a
very large man; and so he is good size; that is, about six feet
three and well proportioned; but then he is a pigmy to Ison, for
Ison is about seven and great on pork and hominy. More than
all that Ison sings well and is an Englishman, though he is not a
member of the Church; but is in the Grammar School and helps
the President set out trees. I do not mention this to prejudice
[you] against Mr. Ison for I assure you he seldom drinks. So
far from anything of this kind, he brought me a letter from Uncle
at Lower Sandusky where he spent the holidays. Uncle will be
at Columbus about the first of February and wishes to see me. I
do not know whether he intends that I shall come down there or
not. Please inquire of the authority about this. I am 'most
asleep, sleep, sleepy, sleep, sleep.
Levi Kilbourne has returned to college.
"My tale is told, my theme has died into an echo."
Your affectionate brother,
R. B. HAYES.
MRS. W. A. PLATT.