LETTER FROM T. J. BOWIE, JR.

CANE COPSE, near Richmond, Virginia, Oct. 2d, 1855.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE UNITED STATES REVIEW: MY VERY DEAR SIR: I write to you at the request of my father, who, I regret to say, has been recently very ill. He attributes this illness to the excitement under which he labored in writing his precious long-winded letter to you. However, I regret to state that myself, with two or three of my particular friends, who know the old gent well, by no means agree with him. So you may make your mind easy on that score. You must understand, my good fellow, that my mother-or, as he would doubtless insist upon my calling her, my much-lamented female progenitor, for he is deplorably addicted to the high-faluting, cockalorum school of composition-has been deceased for very many years. Indeed, she has been dead and stowed away by the parson for more than twenty, in our family-vault. For my own part, I am totally unable to remember even her build, and know not whether she was put together on the old-fashioned, full-bottomed, broadly-shapen Dutch style of creation, or whether she partook of the slim and taut character that is so much the go with the female portion of our own world. Since her departure, I am truly sorry to say, between you and myself, that the old gent has taken much too freely to the bottle.

Not, hang it! that I should so much care about it, provided he was tolerably gentlemanly in his style of tipple. But only imagine his sitting down and going it, upon such a villainous compound as Peach Brandy, or a rascally flask of what he persists in calling "magnificent" Jamaica. I feel, my good fellow, that you are, like myself, a man of far better taste. You altogether repudiate such villainous compounds. As a morning drink, Holly (although I have never seen you, you must pardon me calling you by your name*) you would relish iced Champagne, or a delicate Sauterne,

* Most certainly we do.-EDITOR U. S. R.

or a bottle of Moselle, not frozen, but cooled with a wet cloth wound round it, and exposed to a current of fresh air. While in the evening, a good Burgundy, or a full-bodied Madeira, wound up by a glass of perfumed Lafitte, would make you feel social and agreeable.

Feeling, my dear fellow, then, that you are evidently a man of my own sort and after my own heart, I feel sure that you can not have passed thirty* years of age. I speak frankly to you. At any rate, I feel certain that no apology is needed for my style of writing, and consequently continue.

Only imagine then, that after the governor had posted his letter to you, he got so confoundedly jovial that he sat down with a deuce of a soaker, whom I positively believe he has known for a period of time dating at least some few hundred of years anterior to the period at which Dr. Forceps, now long since dead and buried, ushered him into thist world, for a regular drinkingbout. They seated themselves after coffee. It was about 6 P.M. They rose from, or rather rolled under, the table at about 3 A.M. The butler, in the morning, declared to me, that they-that is, the two of them-had finished out one bottle of old Cognac, four of Peach Brandy, (aged, by the bye, some thirty-four years; this may be an excuse for their drinking it) and three of the primest Jamaica. But, I may say to you, I do not entirely believe the lying rascal, long as he has been in our family. My father rarely drinks Cognac, while he does. Of his testimony with regard to the rest of the liquor, I have very little doubt, from the ultimate effect produced by it, my dear Holly, on my father's tough old corpus.

Next morning, or rather, later in the same morning, when I went to see whether he would rise for lunch, he was, of course, completely obfuscated; and on at last, about 4 o'clock, partially coming to himself, he had his tongue parched, his hands ferociously hot, pulse 143, (this is rather fast work, do you not think, for an old top of sixty-seven or thereabouts?) and was very decidedly ill. I was, in fact, obliged to call in the family-surgeon.

However, I had to ride some nine miles to fetch him, as he lived near Richmond.

Now, what on earth do you, or can you imagine that the old fool had taken it into his head to do, during my absence? He had risen from his bed, and turned into the bathing-room, which was next door to his chamber. There, he had let the cold water stream on his preciously thick skull, as he insisted upon it, for the purpose of settling all physical inconveniences and setting himself straight. This, of course, fixed his business for him. When I returned, I found him on the floor near the bath. Dr. Lancet and

*We beg to state that this is our age almost exactly. We shall be thirty upon our next birth-day.-EDITOR U. S. R.

We are unable precisely to understand our correspondent's meaning, but presume that he must be a believer in the doctrine of the metempsychosis.-EDITOR U. S. R.

myself picked him up, and carried him into his chamber. I rung for the butler, and abused him roundly. I assure you, I don't pause to select my expressions when I do so. Lancet bled him, and said he thought him a gone case. Those who knew him better, didn't though. However, he was booked for two weeks or more, head wandering, and undeniably fixed on a bad ticket.

In the evening, the butler came to me, and said: "Master Thomas! the old gentleman is in a bad way."

"So he is," I answered.

"If he was in his senses, I know what he would take, sir."

"What?"

"He'd take some Ginger, Ipecac, and Tartar emetic."

"Why, you scoundrel, that's the emetic we dose the horses with, when they want medicine !"

"It don't matter, Master Thomas Jefferson Bowie !" He always calls me by the whole of my name, when he is offended. "That's what he'd take." "Are you certain ?"

"Perfectly!"

I thought for a moment, and then decided upon trying it. The effect was marvellous. Holly, you have never seen such a speedy cure-at any rate, of all his worse symptoms. After an hour of agony, he came to himself, was quite sensible, and, I believe, but for the hole Lancet had made in his arm and the blood he had lost, would now have been quite well.

But the worst of it is, that this illness has been a matter of very serious annoyance to the whole of the family. Take myself as an example. As a dutiful son, I was bound to stay with him; and the fact is, that I have been kept at Cane Copse more than five weeks, when I specially wanted to run up to New-York after a sweet little bit of dimity I had just made acquaintance with. She lives in-but, hang me! if I don't see you sniggering, you rascal, and I'll be if I tell you where it is. You're a young man of that I'm certain. Moreover, she has a singular passion for the literary character, and actually venerates that blessed old fogy, my respected and venerated progenitor-let me give him his titles on the score of his having written some hundreds of poems neither you nor any body else ever heard of, before the month of August last. Of course, I except myself. Now, to tell you the truth, I have no fancy for any of the wretches, you and my paternal being, of course, excepted, as you are the only literary man,* excepting himself, I ever valued at one cent's worth of hickory-nuts. The fact is, I have taken rather a fancy to you, Holly, which I sincerely trust may be mutual. You do pepper the English in such splendid style,

* We can not but express our profound obligation at finding such a high value set upon our literary capacity.-EDITOR U. S. R.

and so frankly admire the Russians, and every other race (Mexicans excepted) that I find the U. S. REVIEW quite a refreshing work to spend half an hour over when I want to sleep soundly.

And then, my boy, did you think that I should not see how you were selling my respected piece of paternal flesh in the delicious notes which you stuck under his epistle? Now, don't attempt to humbug me about it, for you know that you were doing so. While he was cramming you about my blood and thunder propensities, for the purpose of frightening you into publishing his letter, you were showing* him up in glorious style, and with such an admirable tranquillity. It was capital.

However, let us to business, for you know it is under his direction that I am at present writing to you. Unfortunately, he managed (for he is not generally a very great reader) to get hold of a paper, while he was slowly recovering from Lancet's experiments in the bleeding line, and saw the accounts of the Yellow Fever at Norfolk. He then took it into his head that he was attacked with it. Since this, he will not be persuaded that he is well, but lies in bed, coddling himself up, and drinking whiskey-punch. Consequently, he thinks that he can not write, keeps me here waiting upon him-a pretty situation, isn't it, Holly, for a gay young fellow like me to be condemned to ?-and has now insisted upon my taking his place as your correspondent. This I don't so much object to, considering all things, as I've nothing better here to occupy myself with. So, here goes!

The first poem I am charged to put in your hands, is one of his, and Bayard Taylor's imitation of it. He has been charging me with a lot of balderdash and abuse about Bayard Taylor, which I have omitted to write, finding it much more agreeable to pen you the few notes of my own, which precede this. Of course, I do not expect you to blow on me for not complying with his wishes. Just put my father's last letter into the hands of some of your-you call them penny-a-liners, do you not?—and they will make just as good a three or four pages about himself and Bayard, as he did about Whittier. It was a pity you sliced that part of his letter so confoundedly. It was the only part in it worth a dime, at least in my opinion. However, you know more about these things than he or I do; so I trust to you to do my pen no discredit. Whatever they ask, I will pay. Send the bill, and within seven or eight days from the date of your letter, you shall have the amount. But don't abuse Bayard too much. I have met him, and, spite of his connection with that anti-slavery organ, the Tribune, I must say he is a thorough gentleman, every inch of him.

*This we most positively deny, as we are never in the habit of laughing in any manner at the contributions of a correspondent which we publish.-EDITOR U. S. R.

Thereof is Ali." Wherefore, some who heard, Thereof is Greeley." Wherefore, some who

With unbelieving jealousy were stirred;

heard,

With the serenest of contempts were

stirred;

And that they might on him confusion bring, And that they might on him confusion

Now, when the first his bold demand did Now, when the first this cool demand premake,

ferred,

These were the words which Ali straightway This answer was from Greeley straightway spake:

heard:

Unto the second, he said: "Thyself must be Unto the second, he said: "Thyself must

be

Guard to thy wealth; but Wisdom guardeth Guard to thy wealth; the TRIBUNE plunthee." ders thee."

Unto the third: "By Wisdom wealth is won; Unto the third: "By Wisdom wealth is

won;

But riches purchased wisdom yet for none." The TRIBUNE purchased riches yet for none."

Unto the fourth: "Thy goods the thief may Unto the fourth: "In thine house thieves take; may break; But into Wisdom's house he can not break." The TRIBUNE has nothing in't for them to

take."

Unto the fifth: "Thy goods decrease the Unto the fifth: "Give. Wealth goes like the wind;

more

Thou givest; but use enlarges Wisdom's The TRIBUNE talks: more talk is left bestore." hind."