Dear readers, rebels, & illiterate eavesdroppers,

I am Cousin Eugenie, the English know-it-all confidante whose wisdom is unmatched and whose advice is sought after by those who care enough to seek the very best. Many of you know me as Cousin Cora's marriage consultant but I am much more than that. I am an upper-class British patriot. A prim and proper, priggish pragmatist who, though residing in that bastion of rabble-rousing mongrels called Boston, remains a loyal subject of the crown. I have agreed to grace your pathetic little outhouse of a colony with words of advice and tips for problem solving those pesky little conundrums that often arise when one foolishly tries to hack their way through the wilderness.  Since I'm to be Mohicanland's trouble shooting coup de grace, we'd do well to have an understanding straight away.

I am refined and civilized beyond your grasp and am repulsed at the sight of your crude, dirty huts. My birth, social status, and intelligence are far superior to yours. The majority of you colonials should be locked away or shipped to the West Indies as you've all got a great deal to learn on knowing one's place. I am always right, you are always potential. These are basic facts that have not escaped my sensibilities nor shall they escape yours. Though I enjoy charity work and social experimentation, humility has its limits. Try not to push them and we'll get along famously.

Enough about us, let's talk about me! It was I who advised the girls to take a country holiday and visit the colonel. Boston had stifled them to dreadful boredom so I felt a change of scenery and nice adventure would do them well. Now, between us, it was no accident the major was assigned to the colonies at that very time. I know people. Of course, the major had hoped to persuade Cora to stop procrastinating and agree to the marriage proposal while on this outing. I told her before she left Boston to accept his gracious affections but she was still behaving like a spoiled brat when she departed. Whining and whining about love! I asked her, 'What's love got to do with it?' He has money, connections, manners, a bright future ... What more could she possibly want? Has she heeded my advice? Ooooh noooo! Cora thinks she has a right to more. She's a mulatto, for George's sake! She's damn lucky the major will escort her quietly through the wilderness let alone wed her in public. I do say, that brat has much to learn. The day they left Boston she was throwing a royal fit because the seamstress didn't add enough 'push up' to her push-up corset. As if this was the solution? Well, I told her. 'Cora,' I said, 'honey, you can't push what's not push-able any more than you can draw water from a stone. You need padding.' She seems to imagine living in Boston has stirred her blood but I think she's got an aneurysm.  

Alice is another story. She's always worried me with her excessive anxiety and insomnia. I can't tell you how many times I've had to listen to her squeaky complaining, "I shan't sleep tonight!" I've been tempted to smother her with a trade blanket on more occasions than you can imagine. At least they're both off on their silly little adventure. Time for a little peace and quiet for me.

I'll be checking in with you pitiful miscreants within the fortnight. Meanwhile, remember to drink your tea after seven minutes and change the bedding once in a while. That's the way of it!

A work in progress ... to be continued at our Cousin's discretion!