The Andrew Wylie Family Letters - Indiana University Bloomington
The Andrew Wylie Family Letters - Indiana University Bloomington
The Andrew Wylie Family Letters - Indiana University Bloomington
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1845<br />
<strong>Andrew</strong> <strong>Wylie</strong> Jr. to <strong>Andrew</strong> <strong>Wylie</strong>, <strong>Bloomington</strong>, <strong>Indiana</strong><br />
Pittsburg Feb.20, 1845<br />
Dear Father,<br />
This paper is already so crowded with inky traces that I fear you will find it difficult to<br />
make out what is on it. You are altogether under a misapprehension about my dealings in politics.<br />
During the whole of the exciting campaign of last summer and autumn, I was not out a single day,<br />
nor did I make a single speech. I am already quite sensible of the folly of such a course, and have<br />
not the slightest [?] to pursue it. Monday next I go to the District. I beg Dr Addisons pardon for<br />
the unjust suspicion. I knew that you had great faith in him, and knew also that he was the only<br />
person likely to speak with you on the subject. It is a matter of no consequence now, however.<br />
When I came home I felt that you had shewn no warmth of sympathy with my own feelings,<br />
and were disposed to bring forward the dark side of the future, and at this I was disappointed.<br />
For myself, I could not endure existence looking habitually at the unpromising signs of things<br />
to come, and fancying evils before their arrival. I am obliged to you, however, for the parental<br />
concern which dictated your cautions & your fears, and trust you will pardon my own petulance,<br />
that you were not as blindly in love with your “belle fille” as myself.<br />
My love to all the family.<br />
Your affectionate son,<br />
<strong>Andrew</strong><br />
John H. <strong>Wylie</strong> to Samuel T. <strong>Wylie</strong>, Cincinnati<br />
Richmond Sept 25 th 1845<br />
Dear brother.<br />
<strong>The</strong> “<strong>Bloomington</strong> Herald” just received, directed by your hand with the question “Why<br />
dont you write,” reminds me that I have of late been somewhat remiss in the matter of letter<br />
writing. And by way of apology I have only to say that I could write you nothing that would<br />
interest you & secondly I have not felt much like it -- Father says that my last was a “doleful<br />
one” and doleful things are not agreeable especially if they be re peated at short intervals. But<br />
in extenuation of this fault I plead that I have felt miserably doleful and must write just as I feel<br />
-- Although I halted a long time at home considering the matter of a location, I am now satisfied<br />
that I did not halt long enough, and that I suffered the opinions of my friends to have a greater<br />
influence over me than (perhaps) they should have had. In this, however I may be in the end<br />
mistaken -- I now see anoth er thing which escaped me i.e. When I visited this place the leading<br />
men of the city!! (who by the way, with one or two excep tions, are rather small men) advised<br />
me by all means to settle here, pointed out the many advantages of the place, the small number<br />
20<br />
of physicians, gave it as their opinion that I would go immediately into a practice. &c &c But<br />
the truth of the matter is about this -- That the town has been going down for the last few years<br />
and that these men are using every effort to bring it up again, & in order to [do] that hold out<br />
inducements plausible but false to every man of respectability who may be inclined to settle<br />
here. In my own case I know this to be so some of these men who appeared so very anxious that<br />
I should come here have used their influence to induce other physicians to do the same. And in<br />
the spring one certainly and perhaps two or three others are coming. Mr Fiske is a very good man<br />
and really believed what he said, and still believes that in a short time I will be <strong>The</strong> physician<br />
of the place--but he knows about as little of the world and of human nature as I -- Perkins the<br />
lawyer who was so positive about the matter I find to be a blustering swaggering dema gogue--<br />
pretty much such a man as Gorman of your place. <strong>The</strong> fact of the thing is about this that nature<br />
has done a great deal for this place--it is finely situated, has the command of most excel lent water<br />
power, is healthy &c but it is cursed by a kind of society which will shed its influence over every<br />
thing as long as it exists -- At all events it is a kind of society which will never suit me, and to<br />
which I dont think I can ever accommodate myself. I should have left it before this had I had the<br />
means of leaving & don’t think I would stay if I had the practice of all the physicians of the place<br />
put together. I had a letter from Ben Gwathmy a few days since, he was just ready to start for<br />
Cambrige where he intends remaining about eighteen months or two years, says that he ardently<br />
hopes that <strong>Andrew</strong> will not go East without Irene -- Speaks of Carry [Mary Caroline Bryan <strong>Wylie</strong>]<br />
in very high terms -- says she has become quite celebrated about Louisville. Judge Morrison was<br />
here a short time ago -- it was like meeting with an old friend & I suppose he is with you at this<br />
time, if so remember me to him.<br />
<strong>Andrew</strong> <strong>Wylie</strong> to John H. <strong>Wylie</strong>, Richmond, <strong>Indiana</strong><br />
Bloom n Dec r 3 d 1845<br />
Dear Son:<br />
Because you do not get frequent letters from home think not that you are “out of mind.”<br />
No; far otherwise. You are in our hearts and in our prayers daily. I am no less anxious for your<br />
well-being than for that of any other of my children and I am sure I feel far more concern for<br />
them than for myself. But I can do but little. If I had millions and the bestowing of it would<br />
avail I would give it freely. But it is not money that will answer--and if it would, I have it not. I<br />
am, and expect to be, poor. To make the end of the year meet is as much as I can do. <strong>The</strong> funds<br />
of the Institution are in a disordered an [sic] precarious state. My last quarter has been due more<br />
than a month and nothing can be got. It is very likely that there will be a curtailing perhaps entire<br />
suspension of payments for some time. I must therefore act with caution. Your books--which,<br />
though you have written me nothing to that effect--I suppose, have been received--and books<br />
ordered for Sam--amounting together to $150 I must pay for in the course of the year. An old<br />
debt with inter est incurred to Johnston, at first of $500 is yet to be paid to the Bank of Bedford to<br />
which he assigned it: 100 and upwards yet remaining to be paid. <strong>The</strong> expenses of the family are<br />
great. So that even if my salary should be paid it is doubtful whether I could set you on your feet<br />
again--unless indeed I should resort to a forced sale of property which in present circumstances<br />
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