Autobiography and Letters of Orville Dewey, D.D.: Edited by His DaughterDewey, Orville
Religion
Autobiography and Letters of Orville Dewey, D.D.: Edited by His Daughter
Dewey, Orville
Dewey, Orville, 1794-1882
My love and congratulations to your wife; my love and envy to you.
O. DEWEY.
[164] To the Same.
NEW YORK, May 13, 1838.
MY DEAR WARE,--Brother Pierpont has preached finely for me this
morning, and is to do so again this evening; and for this I find myself
indirectly indebted to you. But you are one of those to whom I can't
feel much obligation--for the love I bear you.
I wrote to you three weeks ago. I hope Mrs. Ware is patient and
sustained. Of you I expect it. But, O heaven! what a world of thought
does it take even to look on calamity!
Your name is abroad in the world as it should be. I rejoice. Pierpont
is now sitting by me, reading the London and Westminster article on
"Zenobia, or the Fall of Palmyra." I am glad you have altered the
title. We are looking for the sequel.
The next letter describes some of the difficulties of a journey
from Berkshire to New York forty years ago. The route by Hartford
was probably chosen instead of the ordinary one by Hudson, to take
advantage of the new railroad between that city and New Haven.
To his W.
NEW YORK, February 5, 1841.
I PRAY you to admire my style of writing February. Began to write
July, but the truth is, I nearly lost my wits on my journey. Twelve
or thirteen mortal hours in getting to Hartford.{18} After two or
three hours, called [165] up, just when the sleep had become so
profound that on being waked I could not, for some seconds, settle
it on what hemisphere, continent, country, or spot of the creation I
was, nor why I was there at all. Then whisked away in the dark to the
science-lighted domes of New Haven, but did n't see them--for why? I
was asleep as I went through to the wharf. From the wharf, pitched into
the steamboat, not having the points of compass, nor the time of day,
nor the zenith and nadir of my own person. After two previous months of
quiet, the whirl-about made me feel very "like an ocean weed uptorn And
loose along the world of waters borne." If not a foundered weed, a very
dumfoundered one at least.
{FN 18: Fifty miles}
To Rev. William Ware.
SHEFFIELD, Feb. 15, 1841.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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