| Title: | Elizabeth King, Goodwill, to Isabella Allen, Belfast. |
|---|---|
| ID | 3530 |
| Collection | Irish Emigration Database |
| File | king, elizabeth/38 |
| Year | 1849 |
| Sender | King, Elizabeth |
| Sender Gender | female |
| Sender Occupation | unknown |
| Sender Religion | unknown |
| Origin | Goodwill, Canada? |
| Destination | Belfast, N.Ireland |
| Recipient | Allen, Isabella |
| Recipient Gender | female |
| Relationship | friends |
| Source | D/1558/1/2/54: Presented by the late F.D. Campbell Allen, Esq., 15 London Road, Harrow-on-the-Hill, Middlesex, England. |
| Archive | The Public Record Office, Northern Ireland |
| Doc. No. | 9804176 |
| Date | 03/12/1849 |
| Partial Date | |
| Doc. Type | EMG |
| Log | Document added by LT, 08:04:98. |
| Word Count | 1132 |
| Genre | |
| Note | |
| Transcript | Goodwill Dec 3, 1849. My dear Isabella, I was very glad to receive by last packet your kind letter. People cannot know the true value of letters who have not been separated as I am from their nearest and dearest. You can scarcely imagine the almost overpowering interest with which we watch for the arrival of the post from home and the fear and trembling with which we open our letters. Once a fortnight we receive them and the interval seems very long. You ask about Jermaine. It would take a long time. I describe its glorious scenery and no words could convey any idea of the luxuriant magnificence of its vegetation, glowing with all the splendour of a tropical sun, or more softly becoming with a moonlight warmer and mellower than ever illumines own northern landscapes. We never feel the heat oppressive within doors, as it is always relieved with a most delicious breeze, blowing during the day from the sea, and at night gently breathing from the mountains. The ther.[thermometer?] at present commonly stands at 69ø at daybreak and at 80ø about two o'clock. I am keeping a register of its variations. Our mode of life is very different from what it is at home. We rise when the first streak of dawn appears in the sky while the stars are still shining, and quickly robe ourselves in dressing gowns for our morning airing. The carriage is at the door before sunrise, and we drive for an hour and a half along one or other of the wild and beautiful, though unfortunately very rough roads in our neighbourhood. The freshness at this early hour is quite enchanting. Every floweret and every blade of grass is glistening with dew and sparkling showers drop from the trees. Thousands of convolrouluses of every line decorate the hedges and the magnificient night blowing Lyrines rears his head among the rocks and stones. The forest trees seem as if decked with garlands for some festive occasion from the multitudes of flowering creepers that twine about their trunks and drop in festoons from their branches. At present we enjoy all the brilliant tints that at home we admire so much in autumn: but here they are not caused by decay and have no sad associations. The unbrageous mango trees are putting forth their young rose coloured leaves and the tender yellow of the buds on the cotton trees contrast beautifully with the deep green of the older foliage. Truly here it may be said that "universal Pan knit with the Graces and the Sours in dance Leads on the ternal Spring. Sometimes we drive to the seaside a distance of four miles. The beach is smooth white sand and the water ripples on it in tiny summer waves, the coral reef breaking the force of the great Atlantic swell. Eliza King and Maggie bathe and their dressingrooms are leafy bowers for the grape trees and mangroves grow quite to the edge of the sea. We return from our drive in time to rest a little and dress for breakfast. The forenoon is passed within doors with closed jalousies and in the evening we again venture abroad sometimes on horseback. Even Maggie takes a little ride a black servant leading her horse. We do not remain out after sunset as the dews are so heavy as to be dangerous. This is a privation for the moon and starlight are bewitching. About Kingston there is no dew and there we had many evening drives by the sea shore such as I can never forget. After tea Dr. Miller reads aloud while Eliza, Mrs Miller and I work. Last night he finished Wilde's Narrative of a voyage to Madeira and the Mediterranean. My forenoons are chiefly dedicated to Maggie. She now reads pretty well, even words of four syllables do not puzzel [puzzle?] her if they be simply spelt. She is getting on very well with Geography and picking up general knowledge very fast. Sewing is the greatest trial of her life. She wishes she had been born grown up for then she would not have needed to learn to sew. She is quite a little Creole. The other day she read of a rug at the fireside and she exclaimed rugs are laid before beds and not before fires. She asked me what does hearth mean Mamma and she has no idea what snow is like. She says ice is a clear thing for putting in water. I had been trying to get shells before you wrote, but the fishermen are so extremely indolent that I have small hopes of obtaining any. Though they find them often about the reefs they will not take the trouble of bringing them even for payment. I mean to drive to their houses however and perhaps by perserverence I may succeed in getting a few. Those that may be picked up on the beach are weather beaten and valueless. Indolence is the besetting sin of the people. Food is so easily obtained and other wants are so few that they have very little spur to exertion. Although slavery is abolished, its curse still hangs over the lands and I fear it will be long before a healthy and prosperous state of security can exist here. Gross immorality prevails. The missionaries have done great good but a vast uncultivated fields still call for labourers. How much we shall have I speak of when we meet. We have to compare notes about America and the stupendous Niagara. Anna tells me that your little Bella is a sweet and lovely child. What a treasure she is to you. I have often while here thought of you and her indeed of all your family circle. Very often I wish I know something of Rosa and her little ones. I was greatly grieved when I heard of the death of her eldest little girl. There are such trials for all who long are pilgrims here. I now dare to look forward with hope to the prospect of soon seeing all my dear friends you among the number. To feel myself as I am now in health and strength would at this time last year have filled my heart with bounding joy in thinking of coming home; but now this feeling is changed for sadness, and fear. I have written a much longer letter than I intended and I am afraid it is scarcely legible. Will you remember me to Bella's mother and tell her I hope both she and her little girl are well. Remember me most kindly to your father. I often think of him with great affection. Give my love to Margaret and Eliza, and to Rosa when you write, and kindest regards to Miss Knowles. I am ever My dear Isabella Your affectionate friend Elizabeth King. |
