This letter was written by 22 year-old Nathaniel Bourne (1833-1889), the son of Israel and Elizabeth (Jenkins) Bourne of Barnstable, Massachusetts. He was reared and educate in New England and was married in Oswego county, New York, in 1858, when about twenty-five years of age, to his cousin, Huldah Worth (1827-1913), a daughter of Thomas R. and Mary (Bourne) Worth. Immediately after their marriage the young couple came to Iowa, settling in Dubuque county, where they lived for three years. They then removed to Linn county, taking up their abode in Cedar Rapids, where Mr. Bourne continued to make his home until his death, which occurred December 27, 1889. Throughout that period he carried on operations as a builder and contractor and in later years was active in real-estate interests.

T R A N S C R I P T I O N

Chicago [Illinois]
August 21, 1855

Dear Cousin,

I think you said that you would answer an effusion from the pen of mine illiterate self. At any rate, I guess I shall find out about it. Well, let me see. I left the fair town of Redfield on Tuesday, arrived at Rome the same day. Wednesday at about 11.30 I started en route for “Out West.” Arrived here Thursday evening. The people here talk about as much of going west as in New York. However, I think I can safely say that I have made a beginning in that direction.

Well, what next? What a minute and let me chew my pen holder. Let’s see—hmmmm—sus-a-day. Wish I knew what to write…Saw lots of houses and barns, some very fine looking farms and some not so fine. Have a confused idea of stumps and trees, highlands and swamps, towns and villages, dust, smoke, & cinders, &c. and after turning the world wrong and about so that North was South, they landed me in Chicago at about 9 in the evening and dark as pocket with a pouring rainstorm. Suppose I must bear in mind that I am writing to the fair sex. Therefore, I must not give my composition a too masculine turn. Well, I ain’t used to writing so [it’s a] tough job. Oh dear, most wish I hadn’t commenced (begun).

I don’t suppose that the detail of my journey will be very interesting. to you. Chicago is situated on a low, flat tract of land on the west side of Lake Michigan. It is a very thriving place at present. Work is very plenty. Almost anyone who has a mind to work can find employment. Professional gentlemen like myself are in good demand—wages from $1.70 to $2 per diem. Board 3.50 to $4 per week, washing about 50 cents besides. Costs about $5 a week to live. That is but a mere trifle for a rich man to pay but it makes a poor one with a family having rather hard times to make two ends meet. Fortunately I am neither one or the other.

The sidewalks are made of planks. They go jumping and tilting as you walk over them and in the dark if you are not careful, you may stub your — and fall headlong. ¹ The lake water is used almost exclusively for cooking, washing, and drinking, &c. It is raised a sufficient elevation by steam power and then conducted over the city by the means of pipes. I haven’t seen any ladies that would scarce fear a comparison with those at R[edfield]. One of these days when I get in more comfortable circumstances, I may — well, never mind. Time enough yet if it isn’t too late…I once heard of a man who said that if he had any clothes to repair that he would take them to Quaker meeting for the old adage went that “where the least is said soonest mended.”

I like the place very well. Think I shall make quite a pause in this vicinity. Well, in fact I don’t seem to know either how or what to write. Won’t you please to give me some advice on the subject. Of course you will be favorably impressed with my connected, smooth, elaborate style of composition.

I have made a dot with a lead pencil on the picture in front where I reside. I suppose that house stands in the same place under the hill as when I last saw it. Wish you would present my compliments to that cow that I undertook to milk and didn’t. Suppose she would appreciate a handful of grass more highly than forty such. Wish I had a handful of—well, cheese in embryo. Well now, I am going to stop. I believe I can’t write… My P.O. addresss is Chicago, Illinois. You will please put this in the fire as soon as you have perused it. You. will please answer this. I’ll try to do better next time. So goodbye, — From Cousin Nathaniel

To Miss H. Worth

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¹ Chicago’s sidewalks and many of its streets were planked in the 1840s and after years of exposure to the yearly cyclical nature of Chicago’s climate, began to rot and wear badly. “Before long, the planked streets became waiting booby-traps as the rotting boards would snap without warning with a resulting one-two punch: first, the broken plank would rise into the air, often slapping a horse in the face; then on the way down, the falling missile would crash into the muck below, splashing any innocent bystander with the ungodly [sewage] effluent [flowing beneath].”