Among that bevy of fair daughters, Letitia, afterward Mrs. Tyler, born on the 12th of November, 1790, under the paternal roof at Cedar Grove, was, perhaps, the most attractive in her modest refinement and striking loveliness of person and character; and although always instinctively shrinking from public observation, she was regarded as one of the belles of Eastern Virginia. Her hand was sought in marriage by many suitors, but from the number who presented themselves—some of whom were the possessors of large estates—her heart and excellent judgment selected the then talented and rising young lawyer, who, inheriting the unrivalled popularity of his father, Governor John Tyler, with a mind still more brilliant and cultivated, was just entering upon that remarkable career which has so directly and powerfully impressed his genius, not only on the history of his noble old State, but on that of the United States of America.
The marriage of the youthful pair, on the 29th of March, 1813, she being in the twenty-second year of her age, and he having completed his twenty-third on that day, was particularly acceptable to both houses; and Letitia being the idol of her brothers and sisters, upon Mr. Tyler was at once concentrated the unfailing affection and support—an affection and support which attended him through life—of every member of the numerous and powerful Christian family, harmonizing to no inconsiderable extent in Lower Virginia, and uniting in his favor both of the great political parties of the day—his own father having been, privately and publicly, the constant friend of Henry and of Jefferson, a leader in the movement and war of Independence, and the special representative of the State Rights Republicans in his own right, and Mr. Robert Christian having been the constant friend of Washington, and a prominent leader and representative man among the Federalists.
The wedding festivities over, Mr. and Mrs. Tyler retired to their own home in Charles City county, a part of the “Greenway” estate of his father, which at once became an object of attraction and intense interest to the many admirers, friends, and relatives of its happy inmates. Dating from this period until Mrs. Tyler’s death in the Executive Mansion, at the city of Washington, nearly thirty years afterward, nothing, except the loss of two infant children and her subsequent ill-health, ever transpired to mar the felicity of this auspicious union.
In the unselfish, constant, and vigilant affection of his wife, in her personal charms, in her strong common sense and excellent judgment, in her unaffected religious sentiments, in the sweet purity of her gentle life, in her parental and filial devotion, in her watchful care and love for her children, Mr. Tyler found everything to satisfy his affections and to gratify his pride.
In his admitted integrity and worth as a man and citizen, in his great intellectual powers, in his constantly increasing prosperity and rising reputation, in the accounts she received of his eloquence both at the bar and in the legislature, and in the high official trusts which ultimately were literally showered upon him, one after the other, almost without intermission; and finally in his tender solicitude to restore her failing health and to minister to her slightest wish, she discovered all that her woman’s heart, or her feminine ambition required, to complete and secure her wedded happiness. The following letter, the first that Mr. Tyler ever ventured to address to her before marriage, and the original of which is still preserved in the family—apart from the natural simplicity of its style and the ordinary interest that would attach to it—not only presents the most unmistakable evidence of the sound and healthy sentiments, emotions, and principles of character associated with both and impelling to their union, but it is also a remarkable illustration, in view of a long engagement prior to marriage, of the delicate tone and exalted purity of the social structure and civilization that surrounded them and under whose happy influences they were born and reared.
“Richmond, December 5th, 1812.
“Although I could not entirely obtain your permission to write to you, yet I am well aware that you will not be displeased at my exercising a privilege, so valuable to one standing in the relation that I do to you. To think of you and to write to you, are the only sources from whence I can derive any real satisfaction during my residence in this place. The prerogative of thinking of those we love, and from whom we are separated, seems to be guaranteed to us by nature, as we cannot be deprived of it either by the bustle and confusion of a town, or by the important duties that attach to our existence. Believe me, my L., that this observation has been completely verified by me since I last saw you, for although deafened by noise, and attentive to the duties of my station, yet you are the subject of my serious meditations and the object of my fervent prayers to heaven. From the first moment of my acquaintance with you, I felt the influence of genuine affection; but now, when I reflect upon the sacrifice which you make to virtue and to feeling, by conferring your hand on me, who have nothing to boast of but an honest and upright soul, and a heart of purest love, I feel gratitude superadded to affection for you. Indeed, I do esteem myself most rich in possessing you. The mean and sordid wretch who yields the unspeakable bliss of possessing her whom he ardently loves, may boast of his ill-acquired wealth, and display his treasures in all the pride of ostentation to the world, but who shall administer to him comfort in the hour of affliction? Whose seraph smile shall chase away the fiends which torment him? The partner of his bosom he neither esteems nor regards, and he knows nothing of the balm which tender affection can bestow. Nature will be still true to herself, for as your favorite Thomson expresses it,
“‘Naught but love can answer love,
Or render bliss secure.’
“You express some degree of astonishment, my L., at an observation I once made to you, ‘that I would not have been willingly wealthy at the time that I addressed you.’ Suffer me to repeat it. If I had been wealthy, the idea of your being actuated by prudential considerations in accepting my suit, would have eternally tortured me. But I exposed to you frankly and unblushingly my situation in life—my hopes and my fears, my prospects and my dependencies—and you nobly responded. To ensure to you happiness is now my only object, and whether I float or sink in the stream of fortune, you may be assured of this, that I shall never cease to love you. Forgive me for these remarks, which I have been irresistibly led to make.