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Note: 1850 1860 1870; Census Place: Brooklyn Ward 7, Kings, New York; Roll M593_949; Page: 511; Image: 307. Frank Teall 48 printer Elisabeth Teall 50 Maria Teall 22 Horace Teall 20 printing Arthur Teall 17 printing Edward Teall 16 printing Wallace Teall 13 TERRIBLE Microfilm with something over image 1880; Census Place: Kings (Brooklyn), New York City-Greater, New York; Roll T9_852; Family History Film: 1254852; Page: 386.1000; Enumeration District: 0; . Francis A. Teall 58 Elisebeth Teall 60 M. Aggatha Teall 32 Horace Teall 30 Elisebeth Teall 22 Edward Teall 2M Arthur Teall 28 printer Carrie Teall 28 Arthur Teall 5 Edward Teall 25 proof reader Agness Featherstone 21 servant Francis Augustus Teall TEALL, Francis Augustus, editor, born in Fort Anne, Washington County, New York, 16 August, 1822. He entered a printing-office in 1886, afterward supplemented his common-school education by the study of languages, and in 1841 went to New York city. Here he worked at the case, with Walt Whitman as a fellow-compositor, and was soon advanced to the place of proof-reader. In this capacity he has rendered much critical service of an editorial character on a large variety of works. Among other interesting things that received his attention were the original proofs of Edgar A. Poe's "Raven" and "Bells." He assisted Ephraim G. Squier in preparing his "Ancient Monuments of the Mississippi Valley" (Washington, 1848), and John R. Bartlett in the first edition of his " Dictionary of Americanisms," and made the analytical index to the American edition of Napier's " Peninsular War." For some time he was on the editorial staff of the "American Whig Review," and in 1853 succeeded Mr. Whitman as editor of a newspaper at Huntington, L.I. He acted as proof-reader, contributor, and associate editor on the different editions of the "American Cyclopaedia," and noted the pronunciation of the titles in the volume of index to the second edition and in the text of the condensed edition. Since 1882 he has been employed in the compilation of the "Century Dictionary." The University of Rochester gave him the degree of A. M. in 1875. Edited Appletons Encyclopedia, Copyright � 2001 VirtualologyTM BIO:This is a letter written by Francis Augustus Teall to his father Horace Valentine Teall in 1846. This is copied from a typewritten copy made by Libby Silver Stager. Her note was that this was on one sheet of paper. Francis was almost 24 at the time of this letter. His brothers Lonzo and Horace Brinton Paine and sister Rachel were dead. His sister Eliza had been married for about nine years. His sister Mary was eighteen. William had not yet left for the gold rush in California where he would die in 1853. Haverhill, N. H. August 3, 1846 Dear Father, On the 22nd ult. I forwarded to you my valise, per Harnden's Express, with a letter inclosed giving my reasons therefor, and stating that I was about leaving Concord. I accordingly started, at about half-past eleven that day, in the stage, on the road to the White Mountains. On leaving, there were a few light clouds floating overhead, but no one appeared to anticipate much of a storm. However, long before we reached Meredith Bridge, my first stopping place, it came on to rain in torrents, which continued and detained me there for two days. On Friday it began to clear up, and I walked thirteen miles to Centre harbor, a small place on Winnipiscogee Lake, with only one hotel, and that one of the nest in New England, the charges, of course, being proportionate. Here I was obliged to stop again on account of the rain, which continued through the next day and the greater part of Sunday. At this place is a small mountain, called Red Hill, which commands a magnificent view of a large district of country and one of the most beautiful and picturesque lakes in the Union, besides two smaller ones. The former, Winnipiscogee, is some twenty five miles long, and from five to ten miles wide, and is by some considered superior to Lake George. However, this is only what I heard, as the rain and clouds debarred me from ascending the hill and seeing for myself. Of one of the other lakes, Great Squam, I had a fine view as I rode to Plymouth on Saturday thro' the rain, twelve miles father, off my original line of travel, amd towards Franconia Notch. But to return to the lake. It is some nine miles long, and of all sorts of widths- now choked up between two mountains, sloping down to its edge and almost meeting each other, now spreading out to several miles and filled with beautiful islands, some of several acres, fertile, and finely wooded, and others bare rocks rising almost perpendicularly out of the water to a considerable height. But I must not loiter, or I shall not have room to write all I want to. As I said above, I rode on Saturday through the rain to Plymouth, in an open carriage, giving up my visit to the White Mountains, and contenting myself with visiting the "Old Man of the Mountain", which is some thirty five miles west of them, and more directly on the route to Montreal; for my funds were getting so low by my detention on the road for several days, at an unavoidable expense of over a dollar per day, that I was afraid they would not hold out to accomplish my original plan. Here again the rain prevented me from ascending another small mountain, which is said to command a still finer prospect than the one at Centre Harbor. On Sunday morning at five o'clock, the rain still pouring down, I took the stage for Franconia Notch, in order not to lose more time than necessary, and stopped at a farm house eight miles from the Notch, where I had been informed travellers were sometimes accomodated. Here I staid the rest of the day. On Monday morning the weather had cleared up beautifully- not a cloud as large as a man's hand to be seen in the whole sky, and a light breeze blowing from the west. So I started off on foot, baggage in hand, and stopped at a hotel in the woods three miles further on to visit some curiousities in that neighborhood. About a mile through the woods, over ascending and very rough ground, is what they call "the flume", being a small stream struggling over a rocky bed between two regular, smooth walls of granite, hewn out by nature, sixty feet high, ten feet wide, and some two or three hundred feet long. Near the upper end is a huge, irregular-shaped rock, wedged in between the walls near the top, which must have been lodged there by some convulsion of nature, and appearing as if ready to tumble to the bottom at the least shake. But there it has been from time immemorial, and there it will probably stay long after the present generation of men have passed away and their works crushed to dust, (that is, if the world don't come to an end in the mean time and may be it will, even in that case.) Jumping from rock to rock over the bed of the roaring stream, I nearly reached the point where this rock appears as if almost suspended in the air; but there my progress was arrested by a wide and deep pool of quiet water, and so, after looking awhile, I turned round and made my way back to the hotel. After visiting the other curiosities, (which I will not stop to describe, as they are of less consequence,) I again took up my line of march for the "Notch," over a fine road running through the woods, and following the course of the Pemigewasset river. After walking about five miles, with mountains looming over my head on every side, but without seeing anything of the "Old Man," I suddenly came upon a small board nailed up against the trunk of a tree on the right hand side of the road, pointing across the way, with "Profile" painted on it. Looking in that direction I almost jumped out of my shoes on seeing the perfect outline of a solemn -looking old phiz standing out in bold relief high up against the sky, and looking out straight ahead, with apparent indifference or contempt for the small things of this world. The distinctness of the outline and the marked character of the features are indeed startling; but he has given you such good description of himself in the Tribune that I will let him pass, only remarking that the "Profile" is composed of five large rocks of granite, overlapping each other so as to produce this semblance of human features, and that from the forehead to the chin it is a distance of some sixty feet, although from the ground it appears of the natural size. After resting awhile at the hotel, a short distance from this, I set off to go up onto the Old Man's back, whither a party of three had just preceded me. This I found no easy task. The recent rains had rendered the steep path muddy and slippery, and formed deep holes and gullies, making the ascent very laboorious. About half way I overtook the party who had gone before, and after resting awhile we went on again. "Hitchet-e-hatchet-e-up I go," thought I, as we stumbled along over roots and stones, scrambling up any way we could. Finally we reached the top, above the region of vegetation. Here a splendid panorama opened to our view; but as I did not stay long to enjoy it, and I saw a better one the next day, I will not now describe it. One of the party insisted upon going back to find a path he had heard of, leading to another peak still higher above our heads. But after looking about for some time in vain, and getting halfway down the mountain, we gave it up, scrambled down to the house agaiin, and rested from our labors. At sunset I went out with a party in a boat on a small, circular lake, inclosed on every side by high mountains, anmd said to be unfathomable in the centre. Here is the most perfect echo I ever heard. Words pronounced at the top of the voice in the middle of the lake are distinctly repeated two or three times from different sides in succession. The notes of a horn loudly blown are prolonged and reverberated on every side with an almost deafening clamor. This is the head of the Amonoosuck river, one of the principal tributaries of the Connecticut; and a quater of a mile below is another small lake out of which runs the Pemigewasset, which changes its name to the Merrimack some fifty miles below, and which, after setting in motion the manufacturing machinery at Manchester and Nashua in New Hampshire, Lowell in Massachussetts, and many other places, empties at Newburyport, Mass. The performances of the day were concluded by the firing of a cannon opposite the hotel at about nine o'clock, whose roar was caught up and prolonged from the mountains on every side in a thindering, deafening crash, and gradually dying away. This, however, they say is inferior to the similar echo the the White Mountains. The next morning the sky was again clear and beautiful. It had been arranged over night that a large party should this morning ascend Mount Lafayette, opposite the "Profile Mountian," and a thousand feet or more higher; but somehow they all backed out, leaving me to undertake it alone, all the rest in the house, seventeen or eighteen, starting off for the White Mountans. The mountain is something over five thousand feet high, and the distance to its summit, by the only practicable route, two and a half miles. I started at half past eight, with a small piece of gingerbread and cheese, and a leathern drinking cup to carry in my pocket, expecting to be back by two o'clock. Near the commencement of the ascent I can to a place where I had to pull myself up by roots and branches of trees over a very precipitous path, for about a quarter of a mile. Then came a more level space piled up with huge rocks over which I had to scramble; then an easier and more regular ascent; and so on alternately until I reached the first summit- a bald, mopey peak, with a picturesque little lake in the centre, its surface covered with pond lilies, but very few in bloom, being to late in the season. Here I rested, and ate a part of my gingerbread and cheese. ( I had rested frequently before, however, as I was determined to take my time for it, and not weary myself unnecessarily.) Then I had to descend the opposite side of this peak, for a short distnce, and soon again began to ascend. the trees here were stunted and gnarly, gradually diminishing till they were nothing but little crooked, withered sticks. At this point, looking up, I saw the bare summit of Mount Lafayette itself stretching away up above my head, and the path which I had to follow covered with huge piles of loose rocks and stones, appearing from where I stood as if only the foot of a mountain goat could surmount them. However, as others had done it, I knew I could, and up I went- not finding it nearly so difficult as it appeared from below. At last I stood on the highest rock of the highest mountain but one (Mount Washington, one of the White Mountain peaks) this side of the Mississippi, and looked about me. The view was imposingly magnificent and sublime. To the east nothing was visible but mountains stretching away behind mountains, as far as the eye could reach covered with one unbroken forest, with here and there a bare peak loomimg above its more humble neighbors. To the north and west, the view was made up of fine vallies, villages and streams, interspersed with forests and hills, and bounded by the far off Green Mountains of Vermont. And so on every side. But I will not attempt any further description, as I am not capable of doing justice to the scene. I will mention in passing, that from the time I arrived at the small lake memmtioned above til I got nearly to the foot of the mountain again, I was surrounded by myriads of small stinging flies, which tormented me so much as to spoil half my enjoyment. The sun was now getting considerably below the meridian, and after devouring the remainder of my gingerbread, I started on my return, arriving at the hotel a little before six o'clock- having been gone nine hours and tired enough at that. After paying my bill the next morning, I found myself left in possession of exactly $1.37 1/2 - a small sum to travel one hundred and sixty miles with, the distance form there to Montreal. So I gave up going there for the present, and took a foot passage for this place, a distance of twenty-seven miles, in hopes of finding something to do. I left the Notch at nine o'clock, made my dinner of the finest rapsberries I ever saw, which I picked by the road-side, and a drink of rich milk which I got at a farm house in an extremely dirty mug, travelled nineteen miles, and put up at the house of a primitive yankee farmer- made my supper, at my own request, of bread and milk, had "pickled veal" and delicious peas for breakfast, paid a quater and went on,- arrived here at eleven o'clock, having loitered by the way- went into a printing office, (there are two in the place, Whig and Loco) and asked for work. Luckily, the foreman had just run away, and I took his place at once. The proprietor of the paper (Whig, abolishtionist, &c.) has been urging me ever since I came to make a permanent bragain with him, either to take the paper into my own hands, buy the office on credit and print the paper for a specified sum or work by the month or year, or almost any way or on any terms I choose. He will pay me $15 dollars a month and board, or pay me $800 a year, for printing the paper, at which I could clear about $250, or give me the office, (which is a good one) and $500 for printing it two years, at which rate I could pay for the office, and probably get the paper into my own hands in about three years. He has also made me several other offers, all of which now I do not recollect. He is a lawyer with considerable business, and is anxious to get the care of the mechanical part of the paper off his hands; and he is, from all I can learn of him, a responsible and honorable man. This is a very pleasant little place, situated in the valley of the Connecticut, one of the finest portions of the Union, and about 350, or 400 miles from New York. Now I harly know what to do. When I left Boston, I was offered a situation in the fall, if I would come, at Dickenson's, the best book office in the United States, where the work is permanent, and where I could average at least eight or nine dollars a week, and get board for $2.50. So at all events I shall not be likely to work in New York this winter, which is generally acknowledged to be about the poorest place for book printers in the United States, although I shall visit you if possible early in the fall. But whether to go to Boston or remain here, is the question. I should get more money in Boston, and it is my wish to pay Mary's expenses at school this winter, and next summer too, if she cannot go otherwise- for go she must, or else remain without any means of supporting herself. The settlement of this will decide me. But if I stay here, I shall have a prospect of settling in a short time in an independent and honorable business, and just such a one, besides, as I have been talking of for the last three or four years. The paper is a good one and well supported- with over eight hundred subscribers, which are daily increasing, and a good advertising patronage. It will be necessary for me to make up my mind soon, and I want you to write and let me know what you think of it. I am most inclined, after all, to give this up and go to Boston, but I don't really know what to do. If I had not had the offer in Boston, I should have jumped at this chance at once, as anything is better than "living from hand to mouth," as I have done in new York for the past five years. I have not heard from Calvin and Julia Ann since I left, and I am anxious to know how they are getting along- also Eliza and Guhrauer, and Billy, and all of you. Is mother's health any better or any worse than when I left, and how has she enjoyed herself this summer? I am afraid she will not be willing to have me stay away from home this winter, and I should not wish to do it if I did not think it for the best all round. Have you heard from William lately? Well, I have written an unconscionably long letter, and I am almost ashamed to send it, but you had better read the last part first, and leave the rest for leisure evenings between this and next Christmas. Yours obediently, F. A. Teall 1847 July 8, 1847. At Hudson, N.Y., July 5th, by the Rev. I.H.Tuttle, Mr. Francis A. Teall of New York to Miss E. Orcelia Shaw of the former place. University of Rochester granted him an honorary degree in 1875 TEALL, Francis Augustus Master of Arts From Who's Who Francis Augustus Teall (Deceased) Occupation: editor Born: Fort Ann, New York, Aug. 16, 1822 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Son of Horace Valentine and Sarah (Buyss) T.; A.M. (hon.), U. Rochester, 1875; married Orcelia Shaw, circa 1850, 4 children. Learned printer�s trade; went to N.Y.C., 1841; staff mem. Am. Review (a Whig jour.), 1844-53; editor Long Islander, Huntington, 1853-57; contracted to take charge of proofs for Am. Cyclopedia (published by D. Appelton & Co.), 1857; supervised proofs of Century Dictionary, 1882. Author: Errors in Use of English, 1852 Death Died Bloomfield, N.J., Nov. 16, 1894.
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