George Chase



Download Full Text (8.9 MB)


George writes to his Aunt to ask why he has not received any letters back from her or his wife. He updates them on the situation in Worthington, Philander's work, and the progress of the institution, which he claims will be incorporated that winter.




Berkshire, Lord Kenyon, College, Mr. Hunter, Mr. Sparrow, Mr. More, Mrs. Reed, Rebecca Chase, Zanesville, Lord Gambier, Vermont, England, Catherine Hutton


Worthington, Ohio -- Dec. 23 -- 1824

My Dear and most excellent Aunt

It is now evening and I have completed my day’s work. Notwithstanding my hand is tired with holding the pen constantly for such a length of time I cannot refrain from writing to you in the fond expectation that you will remember me with affection. Still no letters--not a line from Vermont! Has my large journal miscarried or have you and my dear wife entirely forgotten me? I will not believe that either of you can imagine how poignant has been my disappointment at not receiving one word of answer to my voluminous correspondence. Then write write I beseech you immediately. Tell me everything whether good or ill. I wish you to write soon as it is possible I may not be here to receive your letter if delayed. But we have made no determination at present on this subject.

Since the date of the journal nothing material has occurred at Worthington to interrupt our domestic enjoyments. My Father preaches at 3 places. 2 of them [?] and [Berkshire] about 15 mi. each distant from us. His time at home is principally occupied with reading and answering the letters of his English friends. The correspondence is very voluminous I assure you. Lord Kenyon’s letters are generally scrawled over 3 or 4 sheets and as we are obliged to pay postage both ways the expense is by no means trifling especially in this country. Would you credit if we purchase corn here, delivered at your door at 10 cents per bushel, that too in our [disseminated] paper. From this you can form some judgment of the difficulties we have to encounter in a pecuniary point of view. Bye the Bye I have seen it stated in the newspapers that my Father came home with a great sum of money etc. etc. This is not true. All that was subscribed in England is still there and not to be drawn for until the Institution is incorporated (which will probably be this winter) and the Trustees appointed. Thus far my father has proceeded on his own account and has borrowed the money to defray his expenses for which our everything is put at stake and for the repayment of which he is greatly embarrassed. We have however plenty to eat and drink and wear—the neighbours draw & cut our wood—and we are beginning to receive students for the Institution. 8 or 9 young men will be here this winter free of expense. In June besides the Theological students we shall make preparations to receive the students for the preparatory classes. I say we, as being one of the family now I think of their interests as my own. The Institution will be no less than a College and we are confident that we could increase the number to 150 or 200 students if we had accommodations for them. With it is to be connected a printing press, but I fear according to late information it will not be sent over from England until another year shall have passed. This is a sad disappointment to me in particular. But patience is a Christian virtue. Mr. Hunter one of the teachers (the other, Mr. Sparrow, is not coming until Spring) is now here, I find him a very agreeable companion.

Our dear cousin [Mr. More] has met with a sad accident and I fear we shall lose his active exertions in the Diocese for some time. On his return from the Convention he found Rebecca (Philander’s widow) at Zanesville on a visit to Mrs. Reed. She concluded to return to Steubenville with [Mr. More], fearing that if she delayed, the rainy season would commence and the roads become almost impassable. When within a few miles of home the carriage overturned. [Mr. More’s] leg was broken just below the knee and Rebecca was injured in the head. I received however a letter a few days since from Rebecca in which she informs me that they are both convalescent. From Mr. [Durkee] we have learned the very alarming situation of Aunt [Durkee].

It seems that recovery cannot be expected. In a short postscript to my father’s letter to her I assured her of my affectionate remembrance. It is not probable I shall see her again in this world. If you do, pray mention me kindly to her and tell her that if it had been possible my father would have been to Vermont. He speaks of it frequently with great regret. Prayers have been offered up in our Church for her welfare. So many things [crowd] upon my mind, dear Aunt, that I wish to say to you that I am almost tempted to add another sheet to my letter. And since postage can be of no great consequence to you I believe I shall do so. You must not expect from this that I have anything very important to say. Our family proceed in the same round of duties day by day without the least variation. We have lately received a large collection of books from England, some of them very valuable, which affords us a great deal of amusement. My father’s English friends seem determined that he should not forget them, for on opening the boxes we find some kind memento, in every one, given in a delicate and affectionate manner. Lord Gambier has sent his [?] candlestick which he for many years used on his own table. The Huttons (one of them is Catherine Hutton the Authoress) contrived to make theirs in a splendid manner. But of them all the lines by Mary Catharine [] a girl of only 14 years of age pleases me the most and I beg leave to transcribe them here. I hope you will remember they are written by a little girl--as else they might not bear criticism.

On the little flower--“Forget me not.”

There is a voice that breathes upon the heart,

The voice of Nature, heard in every part.

How soft her accents, how sublime her speech!

How full of wisdom and how fit to teach!

The smallest flower that [?] the rising spring

Or rests upon the the flying Summers wing

Has some peculiar lesson to impart

Some [?] to engraft upon the heart.

How sweet the language of that speaking eye

Of blue more [?] than the finest dye

With voice impressive, accents how [?]

She says “Forget me not” and yet is mute.

Forget not what, my fair one, wouldst thou say?

Thy form more lovely than the [downing] day,

The voice to me more dear than mines of wealth

Forbids that I should ‘ere forget thyself.

But ‘tis not thus thou wouldst be understood

The voice is thine, the language is of God,

Whose mercy speaks in every tiny flower

And love [?], with each refreshing shower.

O words of boundless love! “Forget not me”!

My soul to [thine] eternal refuge [?];

In thy salvation O my soul rejoice

Tis he who speaks, it is the Saviour’s voice

Forget not me; remember then my Fold

My lambs more dear than life I hold,

Feed then my flock which I have died to save,

For which I laid me in the lonesome grave

Beam heavenly love, Descend compassion mild!

On wand‘ring flocks that [?] [?] wild.

Letter to Olivia Chase



Rights Statement

No Copyright - United States