REC O L L E O TIONS
OF A
N E W E N (; L A N D B R II) E
AND OF A
S() UTHERN MATR0 N.
BY CAROLINE GILMAN.
NEW EDITION, REVISED.
N E W Y O R K :
G. P. PUT N A M & C O. , 1 0 P A R K P L A C E.
1 8 5 2.
--~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by
G. P. PU T N A M & Co.,
In the Clerk's omice of the Southern District of New York.
*...* <^ avv^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^*Nº ºvv^^^^^^^^^^^^^^/~~~~~~~ *
R. E. O. O L L E O TI O N S
OF
A S () UT H E R N M A T R () N.
“Me thinketh it accordant to reson
To tellen you alle the condition
Of eche of hem, so as it seemed to me;
And whiche they weren; and of what degre;
And eke in what avail that they were inne :
And at a knight, then wol I firste beginne.”
CHAUCER.
NEW YORK:
G. P. PUTNAM & CO., 10 PA R K PLACE.
18 5 2.
PR E F A C E.
THE “SouTHERN MATRoN” was penned in the same
spirit, and with the same object, as the “New-England
Housekeeper"—to present as exact a picture as possible
of local habits and manners. Every part, except the
“love-passages,” is founded in events of actual occurrence.
Should it be thought that the views of human life in
the two works, as has been suggested in private, have too
much sunshine about them, I can only reply, that, to have
made different descriptions, I must have resorted to imagi-
nation instead of fact, as far as my personal observation
is concerned.
Perhaps, had I examined the details of the police-courts
for my Northern sketch, or the registry of the magistrate.
freeholders for my Southern, I might have found gloomier
scenes; but they would not have been such as Clarissa
Packard and Cornelia Wilton would recognize in their
daily experience.
Some apology may be necessary, as a matter of taste,
for the frequent introduction of the negro dialect; but the
iv PREFACE.
careful reader will perceive that it has only been done
when essential to the development of individual character.
I am indebted to one Northern and two Southern
friends for the original materials of the story of Betsey,
the servant-maid, the Deer Hunt, and My brother Ben's
education, all of which I have modified to my narrative.
C. G.
Charleston, S. C., 1837.
RE00LLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON,
~~~<>-º-º--—
CHAPTER I.
O L D J A C Q U E.
“Onward,
O'ershadowed more by the green underwood,
Some slight-raised mounds showed where the dead were laid.
Few gravestones told who slept beneath the turf. .
(Perchance the heart that deeply mourns needs not
Such poor remembrancer.) The forest flowers
Themselves had fondly clustered there—and white
Azalias with sweet breath stood round about,
Like fair young maidens mourning o'er their dead.
In some sweet solitude like this I would
That I might sleep my last long dreamless sleep.”
ANNA MARIA WELLs.
“He sought him through the bands of fight,
Mid many a pile of slaughtered dead,
Beneath the pale moon’s misty light,
With form that shuddered at each tread:
For every step in blood was taken.” -
. W. G. SIMMs.
I write in my paternal mansion. The Ashley, with a grace-
ful sweep, glitters like a lake before me, reflecting the sky and
the bending foliage. Occasionally a flat, with its sluggish mo-
tion, or a boat, with its urging sail, passes along, and the woods
echo to the song or the horn of the negro, waking up life in the
solitude. The avenue of noble oaks, under which I sported in
childhood, still spread their strong arms, and rustle in the pass-
ing breeze. My children are frolicking on the lawn where my
6 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
first footsteps were watched by tender parents, and one of those
parents rests beneath yonder circling cedars. Changel Same-
mess! What a perpetual chime those words ring on the ear of
memory ! My children love to lead me to the spot where they
may spell the inscription on one princely monument to my
grandfather, and hear the tale I have to tell of the fair, the
good, and the brave who sleep in that enclosure, sacred to the
domestic dead. There is but one inscription there, for we were
aS OEle.
I sometimes feel a joy that all are here—my grand-parents;
the mother who gave me being; the baby-sister, who looked
like a sunbeam on the world and passed away; my first-born,
he who was twined to my heart's pulses by ties as strong as
those which call up its natural vibration; my noble brothers,
and my poor cousin Anna, who planted herself the rose that
blossoms on her grave | The sun gilds the cedars with his
brightest morning hue ; they shelter the sleepers from his noon-
day beams; and when the moon rises over the cleared fields,
showing an amphitheatre of distant woods, the cedar-mound
stands out in full relief, and those dark sentinels seem to guard
the dead. I thank thee, Heaven, that all I love are here l—
that stranger-dust mingles not with mine ! The tumult of the
city rolls not across this sanctuary; careless curiosity treads
not on these secluded graves; nor does the idler cull the blos-
soms that affection has planted, or that time, with unsparing
hand, has hung in graceful wreaths or clustered beauty around.
No rude sound disturbs the silence. The whippoorwill softens,
by her melancholy lay, the mockbird's tale of love and joy.
The hare steals lightly over the hillocks, and the serpent twines
his silken folds among the herbage; yet do they not mar, like
man, the sacred relics of memory, nor with jest and profanity
disturb the gloom.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 7
My grandfather fell early in our national struggle for liberty,
and his bones might have whitened on the battle-field, had not
a locket, containing the fair hair of my grandmother, suspended
from his neck, revealed him to a faithful servant. Good old
Jacquel How often have I climbed his knees to hear his sto-
ries of the past ! I even love to recall the peculiar accent with
which he beguiled our evenings, when appointed by our parents
to Superintend the younger servants in their absence. I can
fancy I see him now, in winter, throwing the oak logs or light-
wood knots on the wide hearth, standing (for he never would
sit in the house, even in the presence of the children, unless
when holding us on his knees) with a perpetual habit of con-
scientious trust ; or, in summer, seeking some sunny spot, and,
with his blue handkerchief tied round his head, employing his
feeble hands in net or basket-making. Rarely could he resist
our Southern entreaty of Do, if you please, daddy Jacque, tell
us about grandpapa's locket, and how he died.
Jacque had been intrusted with the entire control of his
young master's household during the term of his education in
Europe; and while the confidence placed in him had somewhat
increased his self-conceit, it never induced him to take a liberty
beyond those which his peculiar situation authorized. Rose-
land, from the beauty of its location and its valuable paintings,
was frequently visited by strangers in the absence of its orphan
proprietor, and it is a singular fact that Jacque was never
known to ascend the hall stairs on such occasions. He pointed
out the way with a bow and flourish of profound respect, and
met the guests by a private stairway after they had ascended.
His master returned, married a lovely and highly-educated
Southern girl, and the following year Roseland was made doubly
beautiful by the birth of a noble boy, the pride of the house and
plantation. This happiness was not of long duration, for the
8 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
times approached which tried American souls, and the young
father was called from the peaceful sunshine of his home, from
the caresses of his wife and the prattle of his child, to the wild
and stormy hardships of war. The night before his departure
his wife led him to his likeness by Copley, which still hangs in
the hall, and perused his lineaments long and earnestly. She
gazed on the manly form beside her, then on the graceful but
inanimate representative, took in the loving glance of the living
eye, and compared it with its calmer image; then, with a bitter
sigh, sank into his arms. The young soldier comforted her
with a husband's love, and drew her to the bedside of their
sleeping boy. Little Henry started from his repose as they
bent over him with whispered words, clung to his father's neck
a moment, and then, closing his eyes like the bell of a twilight
flower, sank upon his pillow.
With his beautiful wife still resting on his arm, the father
took from his desk a locket containing her hair, threw the black
ribbon from which it was suspended-about his neck, and kissed
it fondly. The night passed heavily away, and darkness heav-
ier than night hung over Roseland, when, on the following morn-
ing, he departed, attended by Jacque. .
In an engagement with the British, Jacque lost sight of his
master; the enemy were victorious, and the Americans re.
treated, leaving their dead unprotected. When the pursuers
were exhausted, Jacque searched with anxiety among the living,
and, finding no trace of him, returned with sad, cautious, but
resolute steps to the field of death. Among the disfigured re-
mains he vainly endeavored for a long time to distinguish him;
he who had so lately reposed in the arms of happy love, had
found a cold and bloody bed with the promiscuous slain, among
whom not even faithful friendship could detect his semblance.
At length Jacque found on a mutilated form a locket, with its
SOUTHERN MATRON. 9
braid of auburn hair. He shook his head with an expression
of satisfied grief, and wiped the bloody jewel with his coat
sleeve. Then bearing the body to a stream, cleansed it rever-
ently, dug a grave, and laid it in its place of rest. Touched
and kindled by affectionate remembrance, he knelt on the pliant
mould, and offered up an untutored prayer. .
It was a dark and stormy evening when he returned, and my
grandmother had kept her young son awake, with gentle artifice,
for companionship. A footstep was heard in the piazza, and
Dash gave a growl between warning and recognition, while
Henry, clapping his hands, exclaimed, “Papal papa P His
mother started as Jacque entered, and exclaimed, “Where is
your master ?”
Jacque was silent, and stood wiping from his cheeks the
streaming tears. .
“Tell me, Jacque, for the love of God,” cried she, clasping
the negro's arm, “where is your master ?”
“Jacque got no maussa now,” said he, sobbing, “but little
Maus Henry.” . . . -
A long and piercing shriek broke forth from the widow's
stricken heart, and she fell senseless on the floor beside her
frightened son. . -
The intelligence spread rapidly through the plantation.
Shrieks and lamentations were heard from hut to hut—wild
gesticulations were seen by the kindled torchlights among the
young, as they cried, “My maussa dead, poor me !”—while the
old, rocking on their seats and lifting their hands, responded,
“The Lord's will be done. He knows.” -
The following day all was calm but the widow's heart; there
the bitter strife of a new sorrow raged like a tempest. Even
Henry's presence was intolerable. Poor boy his very step
was harsh to her, as, with a paper cap and wooden Sword, he
1%
10 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
marched about her apartment, threatening to revenge his father's
death.
Jacque was for several days revolving a measure of impor-
tance in his own mind; and at length, determining to give it
utterance, went to claim a few moments' attention from his
mistress. .
She could only shade her eyes, as if to shut out too painful
an object, and with one hand pressed closely on her heart, as
though to hush its tumult.
“Jacque don't mean no disrespec,” said the negro, bowing, as
if his errand had something in it of dignity; “my missis know
dat as my missis is poorly, and Maussa Henry an’t got of no
size, Jacque has to turn over what is best to be done for de
family; and one great trouble it is on my mind, dat my maussa,
what provide like one lord even for niggers, let alone white
folks, should lay out mong de wolf and varmin, when we could
gie ’em such good commodation here, and keep our eye on him,
to say nothing of Christian buryin.”
My grandmother was instantly roused ; and, starting up, with
an animated voice she said, “My dear, good Jacque, can he be
brought to me? God bless you for the thought !”
A motive for action was now given her, and her heart seemed
lightened of a part of its burden. It was a consolation to her
to take Henry by the hand, and go forth in search of an ap-
propriate spot for her husband's grave. It seemed to her ex-
cited imagination like preparing an apartment for an absent
friend. .
“Here, mamma,” said her prattling boy, “is a pretty place.
Papa used to stand under this tree and throw chips into the
pond for Dash to bring to me.”
“No, my son,” said his mother, musingly; “it is too far. I
must see the spot from my window. Look, Henry, at the clus-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 11
ter of cedars on that slightly-rising ground. See how the sun
shines on the tree-tops, while all beneath is gloom ! Like my
hopes,” she continued, mentally, “so lately seeming bright when
all was darkness. That shall be the spot, Henry,” she con-
tinued, “and you must see that I am laid there too.”
The boy looked wistfully at her, and said, “And where shall
I go, mamma 7”
He had unconsciously touched the right string; and, as she
stooped to kiss his forehead, she patiently resolved to wait God's
will, and live for him. .
While these scenes of tenderness were beguiling the feelings
of the widow, Jacque, with a band of fellow-servants, went on
his melancholy errand. Even to the imagination, which only
partially illuminated the uneducated mind of the negro, the con-
trast was strong between the aspect of that now silent field, and
the recent period when contending forces, with weapons flashing
in the sun, and faces tinged with expectation, and footsteps timed
to the march of war, had passed before him. It was a moon-
light might, one of those mights which seem to exaggerate bright-
ness and stillness, when Jacque led the way to his master's rude
grave.
“'Tis a pretty sight, my young maussas and missis,” he used
to say, when relating this story, while we stood with inward
tremor, almost expecting the pictures of our grandparents to
start from their frames; “’tis a pretty thing for see one corpse
lay out handsome on he natural bed, wid he head to de east,
and he limb straight, and he eye shut, and he white shroud, and
de' watchers sing psalm ; but 'twas altogedder onnatural to see
my poor maussa wid de ragiments on, and de varmin busy bout
him, and de moonlight shine down, and de Owl hoot. Dem mig-
gers (natural fools) get scare when we get to maussa self; den
says I, ‘My men, how you been let folks say dat we have Chris-
12 RECoLLECTIONS OF A
tian grave, while our maussa, what fed us and kivered us, was
laying mong wolf? It's an ugly job, but to it, my men; and
as it is a disrespec to sing “heave ho, one of you strike up a
hymn to help us on.’” *
There was no ear to listen to those sounds as they rose up
on the midnight air, no eye to appreciate that intrepidity which
could conquer the dread of superstitious ignorance. I am
wrong. He who formed hearts in one mould did not disregard
them.
They placed the remains of the soldier in the coffin brought
for them, and closed it reverently.
The widow, nerved for the obsequies of her husband, reclined
in silence, with Henry by her side. Friends from the city and
neighboring plantations sat or stood in whispering circles,
shrouded by scarfs, and hoods, and weepers, each holding a sprig
of rosemary twined with white paper; the glasses and pictures
were turned to the wall, and every article of taste covered with
a white cloth. Labor was suspended, the household servants
stood in the piazza clothed in mourning, and the field-slaves,
with such little testimonials of external respect as they could
beg or borrow, arranged themselves below. The coffin was
brought to the piazza, its costly ornaments riveted, and little
Henry held up to see the inscription. In the city, after a re-
cent decease, the widow would have remained secluded in the
formality of grief; but in this case there seemed to be a call
for a representative mourner; and, taking Henry's hand, she
followed the six megro female waiters dressed in white, with
napkins pinned over their shoulders, who were preceded by the
coffin, which was borne by his people, attended by the pall-bear-
ers, friends of the deceased. The procession passed on, followed
by the servants, to Cedar Mound. The coffin was lowered,
“dust to dust” was pronounced over it, and the earth fell upon
SOUTHERN MATRON. 13
its glittering decorations. Henry clung to his mother, crying,
“Papa, come back,” while the lamentations and shrieking howl
of the negroes filled the air. The widow looked on with zeal-
ous scrutiny until the last spadeful of earth was deposited on
the swelling mound; then taking her son home, retired to her
apartment, where her heart only knew its own bitterness.
The boy soon forgot, in childish blessedness, the funeral of
his father, and his notes of happiness rang through the man-
sion; but how achingly did his mother's thoughts for lingering
years dwell in sad revery on her husband's grave. And it is
on that spot that my eye now turns. She trained the various
vines over its white paling, and planned the monument sacred
to her first beloved. There little Henry loved to play with the
falling leaves, or gather spring flowers; there his mother laid
her head, crowned with reverend honors; there my mother lies;
and there may my limbs be borne when God shall call my spirit.
But no gloom rests upon it. It has always been a favorite
scene for the children of our household. It is not enough that
grief should go there and lay down its earthly treasure, or that
old age should moralize beneath its shades; happy voices, like
Henry's, may still be heard in its enclosure, and the crisp and
fresh winter rose that my own Lewis has thrown in my lap he
gathered from poor cousin Anna's grave.
(; H A P T E R II.
COLLEGE FRIENDSHIP AND COLLEGE I/OVE.
“Look, when I vow I weep; and vows so born,
In their nativity all truth appears.”
JMidsummer JWight’s Dream.
“Too Soon, oh all too soon—will come .
In later years the spell,
Touching with changing hues the path
Where once but sunlight fell.”
FRANCEs S. OsgooD.
FROM the day of his father's death, Henry was manarch of
all he surveyed; his mother gazed on him with eyes of untiring
love; the elder servants fostered him with protecting pity; and
a troop of young ones followed his steps, to serve and sport with
him.
The softness inspired by constant indulgence was counter-
acted by the scenes of danger to which this very indulgence
permitted him to resort. He managed a horse incredibly soon,
and, long before a city boy had poised a gun, was in the fields
winning his own dinner. Though startled by his daring, his
mother soon felt pride in the deer's horns and fox's skins that
he suspended from the hall, and the fish caught by him tasted
fresher than from any other hands. Henry was one of the
busiest beings on the wide earth. His horse, his hounds, his
rabbits, his terrapins, his birds, &c., gave him incessant occupa-
tion between his hours of study. He was a lad of wild and
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 15
warm affections, and no one knew whether he threw his arms
around his horse's or his mother's neck with the most ardor.
With great quickness of capacity he contrived to glean an edu-
cation from his private tutor, and was fitted for college. Long
were the discussions on his future destination; at length it was
decided that he should enter Harvard College, and his mother,
with a sweet magnanimity, consented to give up her boy for
those long, long four years. .
It was Henry's sixteenth birthday, on a spring morning, when
his travelling apparatus was deposited in the piazza, and he
stood with his mother to see Jacque turn the last key. The
field-hands who could form any excuse had gathered to bid him
farewell. They were all very sad, and one (his nurse) was weep-
ing bitterly. The negro children stood on the lawn with a
thoughtful air, watching the preparations for his departure.
Henry was determined to bear the separation like a man, but
Jacque was unusually irritable. He kicked the dogs, called the
little boy who held the travelling-bag a “black-faced nigger.”
and hit the leading horse such a blow on the side of the head,
that his mistress called him to order.
-“Eberyting go wrong to-day, missis,” said Jacque in an apol-
ogetic tone. .
Grandmamma and Henry dared not trust a long embrace.
Why should they, when her arms had encircled him sixteen
years, and when she had stolen to his room the night before
and slept on his very pillow, while his cheek unabashed nestled
close to hers? He shook hands with all the people, and “God
bless my young maussa P" was heard from one to the other as
they courtesied or bowed low at his farewell. “Don’t cry,
Nanny,” said he to his nurse, as her audible sobs struggled
through the apron she had thrown over her face.
“Old Nanny an’t gawing for see Maus Henry no more in dis
16 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
worl!” said she. “Nanny live long enough now, if Maus Henry
no stay wid dem dat raise him.”
Jacque had stood somewhat aloof, as if he did not consider
himself as belonging to the general group ; and it was not until
after Henry was seated in the carriage with his tutor, that, with
an evident struggle and a preparatory hem he said,
“Good-by, Maus Henry. Take care you no dishonor de fam-
ily. Keep straight, my young maussa, walk close.” Jacque
can manage missis bery well, and notting an’t gawing for trouble
she ; but who gawing for take care of Maus Henry but God
Almighty 7” .
Henry was admitted pretty fairly at Harvard, and his colle-
giate life flowed on happily. No one rode such spirited horses
as he ; his coat was cut with the latest touch of fashion; the
tie of his cravat was a study, his flute inimitable; the graceful
solemnity of his bow supplied the want of deeper knowledge;
and a happy facility of expression carried him over his recita-
tions; many a poor student blessed his liberality, and many a
dull one his quickness; the cheerfulness of his manners won
him golden opinions; and he who had been attended by slaves
from infancy was seen carrying his own bowl of milkt or choco-
late across the college-yard, with a bow and jest for all; his
classmates caressed him, the fair smiled upon him, and Henry
Wilton, the southerner, was pronounced a noble fellow.
He graduated with a secondary college honor, but it was suf.
ficient to hang a splendid dinner upon. Happy they to whom
his invitations came before any other sealed up the avenue of
acceptance .
The young graduate was the star of commencement-day.
* These expressions are very common among the negroes, and signify,
be correct : be pious. -
# A custom for which the meals in the commons hall is now a substi-
tute.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 17
His sparkling countenance, graceful manner, fine oratory, and a
few appropriate compliments to the ladies, bore off peals of ap-
plause, while more elaborate essays were unheeded by the au-
dience. He had secured for his entertainment the splendid line
of Boston belles, who, in floating veils and flower-wreathed curls,
with “lips apart,” leaned from the crowded galleries to listen to
—him 1
A richly-prepared table was laid under a decorated awning
on a green in an enclosure, about a quarter of a mile from the
colleges. Thither his guests resorted after the exercises were
concluded; and Henry, flushed with success, floating on the
very clouds of youthful excitement, led the way, with the mother
of Lucy Sullivan on his arm. And Lucy followed with his
friend Winthrop. Was it an August sun that kindled up her
cheek in such a glow of rosiness, or was it that Henry, as he
guided the mother, looked back on the beautiful girl, and catch-
ing a fold of her veil, retained it gently in his hand?
It required no little circumspection to thread the mazes of
the Cambridge common on commencement-day. At one mo:
ment they justled against a Square-capped professor; at another
came in contact with a crowd around a merry-andrew ; now a
gowned orator, with his colored ribbon or medal, the badge of
a society, swept by ; and now they were impeded by flocks of
children hurrying to the booths for confectionery; here was a
mob of rioters simply kept from violence by constables, and
there pressed a bevy of laughing girls in the airy dress of a ball-
room, escorted by young collegians. .
The excitement was increased by the ordinarily quiet habits
of the Cambridge residents. Over that wide, open common,
then diversified only by a few graceful elms, usually brooded
the deepest silence and monotony, scarcely interrupted by the
18 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
thoughtful student conning to the air his appointed task, or the
laggard hurrying to his recitation. And the airy-decorated
figures of the city ladies were equally opposed to the simple cos-
tume of the Cambridge girls. Indeed, until within a few years,
one might almost know a Cambridge lady by the plainness of
her attire and the absence of external accomplishments, con-
trasted with the cultivation of her mind.
Henry soon saw his guests seated at his rich banquet, and
attended them with cheerful grace, while the little pleasantries
of untasked intellect flew around. What was wanting to his
happiness? On one side was Lucy Sullivan, with a mingled
look of trust and bashfulness varying on her young cheek, and
on the other his classmate Winthrop, pledged a friend for weal
Or WOe.
But, as the festivity rose, Lucy's brow began to sadden.
“You are silent, Miss Sullivan,” whispered Henry. “I go the
day after to-morrow, and this day should be sacred to smiles.”
He stopped, for he saw a tremulous motion on her lips; and,
before she could control herself, a tear stole down her burning
cheek. He withdrew his eyes from hers; and, selecting a piece
of myrtle from a bouquet near him, carried it, unobserved but by
her, to his lips, and laid it on her ungloved hand.
A few honeyed words were spoken as at the close of the din-
ner he committed her to the care of a Cambridge friend, and
Winthrop and himself sallied to the college hall to join the
commencement dinner-party, to which they were entitled as
graduates. The company had dined, and were just rising to
unite in the hymn which, from an early period, has thrown a
sacred charm over this literary festival. The venerable presi-
dent, clergymen collected from every quarter, statesmen, lawyers,
graduates, and invited guests, all stood reverently, and respond.
SOUTHERN MATRON, 19
ed with the tune of St. Martin's, as two lines at a time were
read by one of the professors.” .
There was no coldness in the solemn strain that uprose from
that assembly, but busy associations were in every breast,
as they thus linked their alma mater with religious responsi-
bilities.
This feeling was a happy preparation to Henry and Winthrop
when, retiring from the hall linked arm in arm, they resolved,
to visit Sweet Auburn,t to view the glories of a dying sunset
together, and pledge again their vows of friendship. They were
* PSALM.
Sung statedly at the Commencement-dinner in Harvard College, to the
tune of St. Martin’s; the company standing.
“Give ear, ye children; to my law
Devout attention lend;
Let the instructions of my mouth
Deep in your hearts descend.
My tongue, by inspiration taught,
Shall parables unfold;
Dark oracles, but understood,
And own'd for truths of old:
Which we from sacred registers
Of ancient times have known;
And our forefathers’ pious care
To us has handed down.
Let children learn the mighty deeds
Which God perform'd of old;
Which, in our younger years, we saw,
And which our fathers told.
Our lips shall tell them to our sons,
And they again to theirs;
That generations yet unborn
May teach them to their heirs.”
+ Now Mount Auburn Cemetery.
20 - RECOLLECTIONS OF A
full of sweet communing, and poured out those feelings which
youth only knows. They carved their names in a circle on a
tree, and exchanged books, those precious ties for intellectual
friendship. Henry had traced on a Horace the trite but expres-
sive couplet–
“Where’er I go, whatever realms I see,
My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee”—
and Winthrop wrote on a rich edition of Gray's poems the fol-
lowing extract:— .
“Ah, te meat si partem animae rapit
Maturior vis, quid moror altera,
Nec carus aeque, nec superstes
Integer ?” HoRACE,
They lingered in this heart intercourse until the rising moon
lighted up the distant spires of the city, and tinged the Charles
with its quiet beauty. How often had they on that very spot
looked to this moment as a bright and verdant point in their
existence It had come; the ties of four years spent in grow-
ing manhood were to be severed. Were they happy? If they
were, happiness has sighs and tears. With hands clasped in
hand they looked far down in each other's hearts, more busy
with memory than hope. They could not tear themselves away.
Again they gazed on the Giant's Grave—they lingered on Moss
Hill; they plighted solemn vows in the Dell, and a tenderness,
shaded like the parting twilight, stole over their souls.
It was a sultry night; and the moon's rays, usually so clear
and cool, were like the noon sun to Lucy Sullivan, as they came
through her curtained window and shone on her restless slum-
“Alas, if thou untimely haste away,
Half of my soul! oh why should I delay ?
Why keep the other half, its value gone,
Bereft of thee to languish here alone !”
SOUTHERN MATRON. 21
ber. A sound awoke her, a single flute—the tune, a familiar
air of tender farewell. With a delicious tremor she started,
threw off the cap that bound her braided hair, and looked from
behind the folded curtain. The music ceased ; a well-known
figure stood leaning against a tree, gazing upward. Not a word
was spoken. Why speak when every pulsation of the heart
tells a tale of tenderness 2 Lucy held her very breath, and
not until the serenader moved, waved his hat, bowed with a low
obeisance towards the window, and disappeared, did she seem
to respire; then, with a sigh that appeared to bear away her
very being, she sank on her bed and burst into tears.
In a few days Henry Wilton departed for the south. A
vision of one with a depth of tenderness in her blue eyes, which
would have made them grave but for the buoyancy of her step,
often came across his memory as he stood on the deck of the
vessel, and gazed on the northern stars. .
Three years elapsed, and he married an Edisto belle, with
“whole acres of charms;” and when memory asked, “Where is
Lucy Sullivan 7" echo answered, “Where?”
At a still later period he visited New-England. Colonel
Wilton—for papa had acquired honors—was introduced to Mr.
Winthrop, senator from
county. They shook hands, spoke
of the politics of the day, and parted.
And Lucy Sullivan, where was she? For a brief space the
myrtle was cherished, partly in tenderness, partly in hope, and
laid within the leaves of a book near a sentimental rhyme.
Time passed away; and one day, when William Russell, after
urging his suit, had placed unchecked a golden circlet on her
forefinger, and was leaning over a book watching her eyes to
know when he should turn the leaves, a withered myrtle sprig
dropped from the page, which with her handkerchief Lucy
22 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON.
quietly brushed away. It fell at her feet, and was crushed by
an unconscious movement. The house-maid sweeping the next
morning wondered how Miss Lucy could drop so much litter on
the carpet. .
And thus ended college love and college friendship.
(; H A P T E R III.
THE COUNTRY FUNERAL.
“Why should old age escape unnoticed here,
That sacred era to reflection dear?
That peaceful shore where passion dies away,
Like the last wave that ripples o'er the bay ?
Oh, if old age were cancell’d from our lot,
Full soon would man deplore the unhallow'd blot!
Life's busy day would want its tranquil even,
And earth would lose her stepping-stone to heaven.”
S. GILMArt.
“Years have past—
Yet still,
When by-gone days do visit me,
- Some secret spell
Enchains me to that spot, and once again
I meet the soften’d and religious glance
Of that fair matron’s eye; and though my ear
Hath listen’d to rare music—
The full deep cadence of some queen-like one
Trying her harp's fine pulses, and been stirr'd,
E’en as an instrument with cunning Sounds
Of ravishing vibration, yet not one
Seems now so grateful to my thirsting ear
As that fond son’s “my mother!’” MARY E. LEE.
MAMMA possessed more than “whole acres of charms,” for
though not brilliant, she was good-tempered and sensible. A
demure look and reserved manner concealed a close habit of
observation. She would sit in company for hours, making
scarcely a remark, and recollect afterwards every fact that had
been stated, to the color of a riband or the stripe of a waist-
coat. Home was her true sphere; there everything was man-
aged with promptitude and decision, and papa, who was a poli-
24 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
tician, a candidate for military honors, a commissioner of roads,
a churchwarden, a “mighty hunter,” and withal an active planter,
was glad to find his domestic arrangements quiet and orderly.
No one ever managed an establishment better; but there was
no appeal from her opinions, and I have known her ever elo-
quent in defending a recipe. She was well entitled to her
opinions; for though papa often returned from the city or the
chase with unexpected strangers, I never saw her laboring un-
der embarrassment. Her sausages were pronounced to be the
best flavored in the neighborhood; her hog's cheese (the En-
glish brawn) was delicacy itself; her curds, made in a heart-
mould, covered with nutmeg and cream, won the hearts of many
a guest; her clabber was turned at that precise moment when
a slight acidity tempers the insipidity of milk; her wafers bore
the prettiest devices, or were rolled in the thinnest possible
consistency; her shrimps, pickled or fresh, were most carefully
prepared; her preserved water-melons were carved with the
taste of a sculptor; her hommony looked like plates of gathered
snow; corn and rice lent all their nice varieties to her break-
fast; and her boiled rice answered to Shakspeare's description,
for “each particular grain did stand on end,” or, to use a more
expressive term, crawled. And all these delicacies were laid
on your plate so silently, with a look that seemed to say, “No
one will observe you if you do eat this little bit more.” An orange
leaf, which when crushed in the hand sent out a pleasant odor,
was laid on every finger-bowl. A cheerful fire blazed on the
bedroom hearths in winter, and flowers ornamented them in
spring, while I was early taught to lay fresh roses on the pil-
lows of strangers. .
I recollect mamma most distinctly at the breakfast-table.
She entered the room almost invariably followed by her maid
Chloe, bearing her small basket of keys. She wore a neat
SOUTHERN MATRON. 25
morning-dress, with plaited frills, a tasteful cap, her hands dec-
orated with rings, holding a handkerchief of exquisite fineness,
and her gold watch suspended from her belt, with its face out-
ward. Chloe, with a turban of superior height (for there is
great ambition in the fold of a negro's turban), stood behind her
chair with the basket of keys. Her usual office was to dress
and undress her mistress every morning and evening, and per-
form all offices of personal attendance. To her taste mamma
often referred in the choice of a dress for the day, for Chloe's
taste was unquestionable.
We sat while papa asked a blessing in a low tone. This is a
patriarchal and beautiful custom, connecting, as it does, earthly
blessings with “the Giver of every good and perfect gift;” but
it should either be performed in the Quaker style, in silence, or
with distinct and earnest emphasis. My brother John was a
bright, observing boy, and yet, at the age of ten years, he said
to mamma in a whisper one day, as if fearing he was asking
something wrong, “What does papa mean by to/ /o/ at the end
of the blessing?”
“John,” exclaimed she, “is it possible that you do not know
that he says “our Lord?”
“I always thought it was tol lol,” said John, blushing to the
very eyes. . - .
I mention this fact, for it actually occurred, as a passing hint
to those whose duty it is to lead the religious thoughts of the
young. One clear idea is too precious a treasure to lose.
It was through similar carelessness that, while kneeling be-
side mamma at night, or standing to recite my catechism to her
every Sabbath, I learned the Lord's Prayer, that simple yet
sublime gift to man, as “Our Father chart in heaven;” nor was
I disabused of this impression until my own mind wrought it
out for me by after-reflection. -
2
26 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
My best religious impressions were derived from my grand-
mamma. Her suffering heart had felt their need, her strong
mind had tried their value, and she possessed the golden faculty
of turning earth's fleeting sands into the scale of heaven.
If ever the cradle of declining age was gently rocked, it was
by those who circled around the venerable form of my grand-
parent at Roseland. A certain tenderness gathered over papa's
manner whenever he addressed her ; there was even a softened
gallantry in his air, as he led her to the coolest seat in the
piazza, or the warmest by the hearth. A lofty beauty still sat
upon her brow, the same which dwells on the features of her
portrait, by Copley, in Roseland Hall. Her hair, bleached like
Snow, was as fine in its texture, and was singularly contrasted
by the sunny curls of her youth. The influence of her manners
was evident on the plantation, producing an air of courtesy even
among the slaves. It was beautiful to witness the profound I'ê-
spect with which they regarded her. Nanny, Jacque's sister,
was her waiting-maid, and herself a fine specimen of that quiet,
graceful respect often discerned among our elder servants.
Nanny still lives, and is my especial care. On Sunny days she
is brought up to the piazza in an arm-chair, where she revives
from a gentle stupor at the sight of familiar objects. Her chil-
dren's children play on the lawn, but I sometimes think my
Eleanor awakens stronger interest even than they, from her re-
semblance to her mistress. A few ideas only linger on the old
woman's mind; the strongest of which is breathed in the form
of a prayer that she may “walk in dis worl so to see missis in
heaven.” .
One autumn evening, in my childhood, when the sunset be-
gan to look cold, and the first whirling leaves were brought to
our feet, we arrived from our summer residence on our annual
visit to Roseland. Premonitions of hastening decay had been
SOUTHERN MATRON. 27
seen in grandmamma, and she had evinced a gentle impatience
to be once more an inmate of her favorite home. She could no
longer walk without assistance, and papa proposed that she
should pass on directly through the hall to her bed-room.
“I will rest here, if you please, my son,” said she, quietly ;
and as her still speaking eye dwelt on the likeness of her hus-
band, we understood her.
“If the people wish to see me, let them come now,” said she
to Nanny. Her will was a law to us, and the negroes were
summoned, while we arranged pillows for her to recline on the
sofa. She received them kindly; to one giving a word of ad-
vice, to another of comfort; she inquired into their wants, and
expressed her sympathy in their joys and sorrows.
“See that mammy Sue has extra blankets this winter, my
son. Daddy Charles tells me he is too feeble to mend his own
roof–set some hands to work upon it before the cold weather.”
Jacque had stood behind her chair with Nanny during this
interview.
“Jacque,” said his mistress.
“My missis,” said Jacque.
“You remember your master, Jacque?”
“My lor, missis me an’t got no membrance, if me an’t mem-
ber maussa, just like a yesterday.”
“You know where I am to be laid?” said grandmamma.
“Yes, missis, Jacque know berry well;” and he wiped away
an unaffected tear.
“I must tell you all how d'ye and good-bye together,” said
she, “for I am going very fast;” then extending her hand to
each in turn, she said a few more words of comfort and blessing.
“God bless my old missis P’ “Many tanks, my old missis,” was
heard amid stifled sobs, as, with their aprons or handkerchiefs
to their eyes, they withdrew.
28 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
Grandmamma rested a few moments, and we stood in silence
“Cornelia, dear,” said she to me, “you are the eldest, and
most resemble your grandfather, and I will give you the locket;”
and she suspended it with a beautiful chain from my neck. I
could not speak, and my brothers, with a sudden understanding
of the scene, stood with looks of sorrowful earnestness.
I glanced at the locket through my tears, and they flowed
faster as I traced a gray lock entwined with its bright ringlet.
“Henry, my son, I will go to my bedroom,” said she. On
reaching the door, she turned round deliberately and gazed on
the portrait of her early love. We saw her lips move, but her
voice was not heard. Then, recollecting herself, she said,
“Excuse me,” with that graceful and lofty air so peculiarly
hers. -
She never left her apartment again. A rapid but gentle de-
cay came on; so gentle, that when my brothers and myself were
told that she was dead, and saw first the bustle and them the
careful tread of mourners, we could scarcely comprehend it.
But we did realize something appalling when we were carried
by papa to take a last look of his beloved parent. I never saw
him so much moved. He kissed again and again her pale fore-
head; and then, with a long, long gaze, dwelt on her features,
so still and unanswering. I can comprehend now that gaze. I
know how the mind rushes back, in such moments, to infancy,
when those stiffened hands were wrapped around us in twining
love; when that bosom was the pillow of our first sorrows;
when those ears, now insensible and soundless, heard our whis.
pered confidence; when those eyes, now curtained by unlifted
lids, watched our every motion. I know the pang that runs
through the heart, and I can fancy the shrieking voice within
which says, “Thou mightst have done more for thy mother's
happiness, for her who loved thee so ſ”
SOUTHERN MATRON. 29
Then, however, I experienced not this. A fearful awe over.
powered me, the feeling of the supernatural. I fancied that the
eyes were opening—I saw the shroud heave on the cold breast
—the white sheet waved—I reeled, and should have fallen, but
for papa's arms. Oh, dark, dark moment, when the fear of
death is roused without its hopes, and we see the gloom of the
grave untinged by the dawn of salvation.
I was carried from the room, and aroused by the strange con-
trast without. True, every face was serious, but there was the
bustle of preparation—a cool criticism on propriety. Jacque
and Nanny were reverentially covering the portraits of their
beloved master and mistress with a white cloth, preparatory to
the funeral. I saw that though their eyes were full of tears,
yet not a fold was left on its smooth surface; and mamma, who
had been a most dutiful and affectionate child, warned the men
who were bringing the coffin not to graze the mahogany table.
I felt a shock upon my youthful mind when I perceived these
seeming incongruities; but I have since found that there are
two currents running through every heart, one rising from our
high immortal nature, and the other springing from sensations
immediately about us. All we can do with the latter is to bear
with them, and turn them, if possible, to good.
It was on that mournful occasion that I felt the first struggle
of conscience in the vanity of a new suit of mourning. I tried
to be, perhaps I was sorry in assuming it, but glanced at the
mirror to observe if it was becoming. I remember my broth-
ers' looks of importance as they dressed for the funeral, and my
correcting their pride in order to screen my own. John and I
walked together after our parents to Cedar Mound. He irre-
sistibly stepped into a march. I twitched his arm. Still he
stepped forward with great manliness. “John,” said I, in un-
affected indignation, “are you not ashamed to march at a funeral?”
30 RECoLLECTIONS OF A souTHERN MATRON.
Thus, even at that early age, we betrayed that love of observ-
ances which, though necessary to our earthly condition, may
check so fatally our spiritual growth.
Neither John nor I realized that our venerable friend was
gone until we reached Cedar Mound. Then the recollection of
her last resting-place burst on our young hearts. How often
had we strayed there with her, and heard her gentle voice in
love and tenderness! How sacredly had she tended those flow-
ers, and told us that we, like them, would die and bloom again
The coffin was lowered; we should see her no more on earth;
and, as the birds sent forth their songs, and her tame fawn came
forward and gave a wistful look on the grave, our youthful
voices rent the air, and we felt the mournful truth that we had
indeed lost a friend.
Venerable, even beautiful old age, beautiful when the glow
of kindness lingers on the wrinkled brow and animates the lips |
Let youth catch thy parting rays, which illuminate it as the
dying sunshine illuminates the sapling and flower.
Virtuous old age we will listen to the lengthened story of
thy large experience. Even Heaven scorns not to add up thy
gathered store of goodness, and thou shalt see it in glittering
numbers on the “book of life.”
Dying old age | Let us dwell on the link connecting thy
form with eternity, and then gaze on the soul's chariot, as, dis-
encumbered of clay, it rises heavenward among the parting
clouds !
Grave of the aged Let us all pause often at thy sanctuary,
where the waves of this world roll off, and leave us alone with
God |
C H A P T E R IV.
MR. JOSEPH BATES, THE YANKEE LAD.
“A shallow brain behind a serious mask,
An oracle within an empty cusk,
He says but little, and, that little said,
Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead.”
Cowper's Conversation.
My education, and that of my brothers had been generally
superintended, except when the boys were at city schools, by a
succession of governesses. I beg pardon; this honorable name
is not popular in America. I think we speak of them as young
ladies who stay with us to teach our children. Our winters
were passed at Roseland, with an occasional visit to Charles-
ton; our summers at a Pine-land settlement; and this arrange-
ment rendered it necessary that our teachers should reside
under our roof.
John, and Richard, and I had fairly grown beyond petticoat
government. When called upon to recite, we laughed behind
our books, and turned our lessons into fun. When reading in
history of the irruption of the Gauls, we spread several plas-
ters, and handed them to our teacher, with the direction, “To
Miss Susan Wheeler, to cure the disease of the Gauls.” One
day, when she entered our room, she observed our heads bent
over our books, when lo, on our raising them, she found that
we had covered them with colored wafers, which gave us a fear.
32 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
ful but grotesque expression. When we recited an account of
the origin of writing by hieroglyphics, we let a paper drop from
our book, describing Miss Susan in the Egyptian mode. This
primitive style was more than Miss Wheeler could bear, partic-
ularly as we unkindly adverted to some personal defects. Rid-
icule is the hardest draught in the world to swallow, and she
told papa she must decline teaching us in future. Mamma
never interfered with our education, and her passive virtues as
a mother remind me of a tribute of praise I once heard given
to a clergyman by one of his congregation. “We have an ex-
cellent minister; he never meddles with religion, nor politics,
nor none of these things.” She was scrupulously attentive,
however, to our dress and general manners, and her care put to
shame the mother who, on being asked by one of her children
to comb his hair, answered, that she was busy sewing for the
children in Burmah
In consequence of Miss Wheeler's resignation, papa sent the
following advertisement to the Charleston papers.
“A gentleman of cultivated mind and polished manners, with
proper credentials, will hear of an eligible situation as private
teacher for a family of children in the country. Inquire at this
office.”
“You rogue,” said papa, tapping me on the shoulder with
his riding-whip, “and you little rascals,” shaking it smilingly at
the boys, “don’t think to play any more of your pranks I
will put you under a man's care; so look out; you have made
Miss Wheeler as thin as a fishing-rod.”
We really loved our teacher for her amiable temper, and,
turning to her, half choked her with caresses, exclaiming,
“Do, if you please, don't give up teaching us ! We will be.
have. We will behave good.” .
SOUTHERN MATRON. 33
Her determination was not, however, to be shaken by our
entreaties, and she soon departed to another family to “incline”
more docile “ twigs.”
I remember the debút of our new tutor as if it were yester-
day, Having had no tasks for several weeks, we were revelling
in all the glory of country freedom. One day, when our parents
were out, we proposed an excursion in the woods. John rode
on his beautiful mare Jenny. He had amused himself the night
before by manufacturing what he called a Robinson Crusoe
dress, that is, trimming an old hunting cap and jacket with
racoon skins. Not satisfied with their regular position, he wore
them now with their back parts in front. Equally intoxicated
with fun, Richard and I mounted a mule together. He ex-
changed my bonnet for his hat, while I put his hat over my
tangled curls. Jim, our favorite attendant, a reckless black
boy of sixteen, rode a horse which we were not allowed to use,
and triumphed not a little in the caracole of his steed, while our
mule paced quietly along. We were attended by an immense
retinue of little negroes, some with infants on their backs, and
others pulling along those who could run alone, determined to
keep up with us as long as possible, and all making character-
istic remarks.
“Bro” Jim ride more better dan Maus John, for true,” said
Oſle. -
“Hal” said another, striding a gum-tree branch, “gie me one
horse, and I show you how for ride ſº
If I have described our appearance correctly, language is in
adequate to represent the clamor that was issuing from thq
group when, turning a point on entering the avenue, we came
* Brother. The terms daddy, maumer, uncle, aunty, broder and tit-
ter (brother and sister), are not confined to connections among the blacks,
they seem rather to spring from age.
2%
34 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
in immediate contact with a gentleman in a buggie. We thought
directly who it might be. I confess I felt prodigiously ashamed,
and quick as thought exchanged head-gear with Richard. The
stranger was evidently startled by this singular assemblage; but
collecting himself, said, . .
“I reckon you can tell me if this is Colonel Wilton's farm *
“Yes, sir,” said John, bowing politely, for he had a good deal
of his papa about him: “this is Colonel Wilton's plantation.
Boys, run ahead, and open the gate for the gentleman.”
A scampering commenced, and tumbling head over heels,
with an evident desire to display their agility, the most active
reached the gate leading to the lawn, where they stood respect-
fully, until the stranger, who sat particularly straight, passed
through.
We held a consultation, and at last concluded that our pa-
rents would be angry if we did not go and entertain the visitor.
After a necessary smoothing of hair and washing of faces, we
sallied down to the apartment where he sat, as erect as an arrow,
with the palms of his hand joined, and the fingers crossed, ex-
cept the two forefingers, which stood out straight.
We lingered outside the door before seeing him, to compose
ourselves properly; with now and then a suppressed giggle, and
now an urgent whisper to each other to go first, or an occasion-
al application of my brothers' heels to each other's backs. At
last, in a general scuffle, we were all precipitated forward to-
gether into the presence of the stranger.
We scrambled up, and, after a few stifled snorts (the only
word that can express the act), contrived to compose ourselves;
speaking was out of the question; a word would have upset our
gravity. Richard stole away, while John and I sat kicking our
heels against our chairs, until a note on papa's silver whistle
announced his welcome return. .
SOUTHERN MATRON. 35
The gentleman arose, and, after a preliminary remark, pre-
sented papa with a paper from his large flat pocket-book. I
peeped over papa's arm, and read with him—
“This is to certify, that Mr. Joseph Bates, the bearer, is in
good standing with the church and congregation at
2 Con-
mecticut. EZEKIEL DUNCAN, Pastor.”
I did not then interpret papa's smile; but I have thought
since how ludicrous it must have seemed to him to receive a
certificate of good standing in a church, when he had advertised
for testimonials to a teacher with cultivated mind and polished
Iſlannel’S.
While papa is receiving the solemn introduction of our new
candidate, let me recall his history.*
Mr. Joseph Bates was the son of a Connecticut farmer, that
race of men who, by their high moral qualities, contribute so
much to the stability and honor of our country. Joseph, when
a boy, was employed in tying fagots, driving the cows, husking
corn, hoeing potatoes, &c., &c. He attended the district school,
which is open in New-England the three winter months, when
work is slack. There he was taught reading, writing, spelling,
and Daboll's Arithmetic. It was observed that he was never
so happy as when he had washed his hands after work, and sit-
ten down by the kitchen fire with an almanac in his hand.
Perhaps sufficient praise has not been awarded to these little
vehicles of knowledge, these national annuals, which, gliding
noiselessly into the retreats of ignorance, throw abroad rays of
science, and warm up the germs of heart and mind.
* In illustration of this description, I beg leave to state, that a Con-
necticut gentleman at the South told me recently, that he asked a pedler
who had come from his neighborhood if the increased tax had not injur-
ed the members of his craft. “Oh, I don’t know,” said he, “I guess
not, as they have pretty much turned schoolmasters.”
36 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
Joseph sat for hours with his eyes fixed on the crabs and
scales in the zodiac, with a kind of mysterious delight. He
looked to the weather department with the faith of a child, read
the wise sayings with the voice of an oracle, and was even known,
as a shrill blast came whistling through the door, shaking the
very settle on which he sat, to exclaim,
“See, winter comes to rule the varied year.”
The only joke he was ever heard to utter was from the same
fruitful source.
Joseph availed himself of his privilege of a quarter every
year at the district school up to the lawful age of twenty-one.
He could cast up accounts, and wrote a tolerable hand, but was
no nearer to the mysteries of the zodiac. It is customary for
young men, in his quarter of the country, to associate themselves
in a class for the winter months, under the teaching of the par-
ish clergyman, who is willing to advance the cause of learning,
and aid his scanty resources, by a trifling pecuniary compensa-
tion from an evening school. At the age of twenty-one, Joseph
became a member of the Rev. Ezekiel Duncan's class, to which,
after a hard day's work, he resorted, with hair duly sleeked
over his forehead, and well-brushed Sunday suit. Access to
Mr. Duncan's instruction and library for three months made a
wonderful move in Joseph's mind. Familiar with many things,
which made his good old parents, aunt Patty, and sister Nancy
stare, he began to think himself competent to any intellectual
effort.
At this period the captain of a Charleston trading schooner
Came to
to visit his relations, and renewed a boyish inti-
macy with Joseph. This intercourse produced a restless desire
of change in our incipient tutor.
“I calculate, captain,” said he, after a long stroll through
SOUTHERN MATRON. 37
the town, where the sailor had gone to indulge those associa-
tions which come up like young verdure over the most hardened
souls, “I calculate it's pretty difficult to git edication down at
Charleston.”
“Dreadful difficult,” said the captain; “I reckon they an’t
much better than miggers.”
“An’t you agreeable, captain,” said his friend, “to my going
down to Charleston, and trying what I can do to help them a
trifle at schooling?”
The captain thought it would be a praiseworthy thing, and
matters were laid in train to effect the object as soon as possi-
ble. Mr. Duncan was the only person opposed to the project;
but his advice, though delivered almost in a tone of warning,
Sounded feebly on Mr. Bates's excited tympanum.
His sister Nancy laid out a pocket piece, which had been
kept for show, in buying him a third Sunday shirt; his mother
sat up day and night to knit him six pairs of worsted hose ;
two were of blue yarn, two of gray, and two mixed, for variety;
and his aunt Patty, whose pet he had been from childhood, bor-
rowed the suit of a New Haven apprentice, who had run up to
see his friends, to cut out Joseph's in the last fashion.
For some days he was seen in frequent conference with a ped-
ler—they approached, retreated, parleyed; once or twice there
were signs of actual warfare; but at length Joseph came off,
we know not at what Hoss, with a large silver watch, which he
boasted kept excellent time. Joseph humored it, as we ought
to humor our nervous friends or capricious servants; and when
he found that it actually lost one quarter of an hour in every
twenty-four, he said, philosophically, “he guessed that was bet-
ter than hurrying him to death by going too fast.”
How fortune favors enterprise ! The second day after his
bargain he called at one of his neighbors to bid them farewell.
38 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
There was a great commotion among the daughters, and a scram-
ble to get something from one of their parboiled hands.
I must stop a moment to say how sweet and healthy farmers'
families have appeared to me in my northern excursions, just
dressed from their Monday washtubs, sitting down to their after-
noon sewing, with smiling faces and sanded floors. The scram-
bling among the young ladies continued, until one said, “You
might as well let him see it as he's got to.”
“It's nothing to be ashamed of, Prudence,” said another.
“'Tan't no present to cut love.”
Prudence's cheeks grew a deeper crimson, until the sugges-
tion that “to-morrow was ironing day, and she wouldn't have
no time to finish it,” induced her to draw out a braided watch-
ribbon of various colors. It was observed that Prudence's
hand trembled with unaffected trepidation as she pursued her
work. Joseph rose to examine it, and by degrees the family
(as families will instinctively do) disappeared, and Mr. Bates
gained resolution to offer a faithful and affectionate heart to the
blushing girl.
True love | Whether thou broodest with white plumage
over the souls of the gentle and refined, or spreadest thy heav-
ier flight near coarser hearts, thou art sacred still I Go on thy
blessed errand, scatter thy gifts in palace and cottage, and let
the young listen in joy, as they hear the rustling of thy wings
Prudence's blushes were not diminished when her sisters ob-
served, on their return, that the watch-guard had advanced but
one knot, and that was done wrong, and their jests came full
and free on the embarrassed lover. Happy had it been for him
had he wedded his Prudence, and remained a “hewer of wood
and drawer of water P’ Appreciating affection would have
smoothed his path, and labor sweetened his repose.
Such was the man whom my papa was obliged to welcome as
SOUTHERN MATRON. 39
the teacher of his children, for he had not the heart to turn him
back after his long journey. I wish there was a register of
looks, that mamma's might have been entered when she first
saw him, and took in his whole figure, from his greased hair to
his worsted hose. He was all angles. You would have judged
him to be a mathematician by his elbows, sooner, perhaps, than
by his phrenology; for his hair, being cut in an exact line over
his brows, left but little display of his organical developments.
A perpetual embarrassment in the company of his superiors
made him stand like a drake, first on one foot, then on the
other ; and while with one hand he fiddled at Prudence's watch-
chain, he smoothed down the hair closer on his forehead with
the other.
I could divine, by Chloe's increased demureness at dinner,
what her notions were of our new inmate; but her expressed
opinion was reserved for her mistress's ear when she undressed
her at night. Jim's looks were less equivocal. As he wielded
the fly-brush, he peeped out of one corner of his eye at the
stranger's proceedings, scarcely controlled by papa's warning
expression ; and when Mr. Bates, picking out the orange-leaf,
took up a finger-bowl and drank down the water at a draught,
he was obliged to make a precipitate retreat to save his charac-
ter as a good servant, which is one who sees everything without
seeming to see.
Alas ! how many young men have plodded, and pushed, and
been coaxed and hustled through a kind of education in the
eastern states, and then presented themselves as teachers to the
children of southern gentlemen
CHAPTER W.
MR. JOSEPH BATES, THE TUTOR.
“Wandering through the southern countries,
Teaching the A B C from Webster's spelling-book.”
Halleck’s Commecticut.
‘Strepsiades. So, you like overlooking the gods from a basket?
Come, Socrates, dearest, get down from your rafter,
And tell a poor fellow the thing he's come after.”
Clouds of Aristophames.
FROM the unrestrained freedom described in the last chapter,
we were called on the following morning to take our first les-
sons. John was not forthcoming.
“Where may your brother be 7” said Mr. Bates to Richard,
“He has marsh'd his harnd on the dray,” answered little
Dick, feeling in his pocket for fish-hooks.
“Wha-r-t 7” said Mr. Bates, with a tremendous drawl.”
Richard repeated his first reply.
“I don't conceive,” said our teacher.
“Sir” said Richard and I.
“Write it down, if you are agreeable to it,” said Mr. Bates.
Little Richard was as backward in chirography and orthogra-
phy as he was in pronunciation, and Mr. Bates was more puz-
zled than ever. He turned to me for an explanation. It may
surprise some readers that I should be so much further ad-
* The common southern expression is eh? or what say ? pronounced
almost like one word. .
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON, 41
vanced in correct speaking than Richard ; but southern chil-
dren, who have good models in their parents, and who associate
with the intelligent, will almost involuntarily correct themselves
of inaccuracies.' I was much more with my parents than the
boys were. I have never felt any more apprehension at having
my children associate with negroes, lest their dialect should be
permanently injured, than I should have at their listening to the
broken English of a foreigner; and though, at the time of which
I speak, I preferred to talk to the negroes in their dialect, I
never used it to the whites.
“Be so obſeéging as to tell me what your brother says, miss,”
said Mr. Bates.
“He says,” answered I, “that John has mashed his hand on
the dray.” -
“Dray, miss? What is a dray ?” .
“That thing, sir, with wheels, out by the potato-field.’
“No, no, miss,” said Mr. Bates, “that is a truck.”
“We call it a dray, sir,” said I.
“You mustn't call it so no more then. The Borston folks
call that a truck,” insisted Mr. Bates.
“You should say, Master Richard, that John has jammed
his hand on the truck.” .
Richard and I stole a glance as each other, but of course we
could not dispute Boston phraseology.
“You must git red of these curious ways of talking,” contin-
ued Mr. Bates, “as rapid as possible.”
Thinks I, what does git red mean? I have since found that
many well-educated persons in a city, which is acknowledged to
be the most enlightened in the United States, use this expres-
sion; and ladies, very intellectual ones too, say, “I wish I could
git red of my Öwn/net.”
Let me at this point protest against the word get, as not only
42 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
of selfish origin, but a miserable expletive. There is no sen-
tence that is not better without it, and when it gets to git, it is
intolerable. . .
I was called up to read a part of “Collins's Ode on the Pas-
sions,” and commenced with,
“First fare his hand its skill to try—”
“Fareſ” said Mr. Bates, “how do you spell it?”
“F-e-a-rfare,” said I. .
“How do you pronounce these words?” said he, pointing to
appear, ear, tear, &c., in the spelling-book.
I answered, appare, are, tare, &c.
With equal impropriety I pronounced the words day, play,
&c. almost like dee, plee, and my southern brethren must excuse
me when I tell them, ay, very intellectual ones too, statesmen
and belles, that many of them pronounce in this style uncon-
sciously, and not only so, but often call fair fere, and hair here.
For instance,
“The tare down childhood's cheek that flows,
Is like the dewdrop on the rose.”
Or
2 “Wreath’d in its dark brown curls, her here
Half hid Matilda's forehead ſere.”
At the close of our lesson Mr. Bates told me that papa
wished me to take a ride (anglicé drive) with him. Jim, who
rarely left us, was standing with an inquisitive look at the door.
“Young man,” said the teacher to him, “you may go to the
barn and tackle the horse and Shay.”
“I no been hear wha' Maus Bate say,” said Jim.
Mr. Bates repeated his direction. Jim was confounded, and
we were all in the same predicament. At this moment, papa,
who felt some curiosity to know our progress, entered, and Mr.
Bates stated his difficulty.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 43
“Oh, I understand you,” said papa laughing. “Jim, go to
the stable and harness the horse and chair.”
I might proceed in this exposé of both parties, but if this lit-
tle sketch leads us to more attention to our own defects, and
more charity for sectional differences, it is enough.
It was difficult for papa to git red of our teacher, though we
felt hourly his deficiencies and faults. His own knowledge of
his unfitness for the task prevented his enforcing his requisitions
with any firmness; the only alternative was for him to descend
to be our playmate, to coax us, and even enlist Jim as a com-
panion. Several odd incidents occurred, but the two I am
about to record tended at last to sever the unnatural alliance
between a good-tempered but ignorant teacher, and gay but
intelligent children. .
If those who were engaged in the occurrence I am about to
relate ever glance at these pages in these their soberer days,
they may excite a smile.
Papa and mamma having gone on a visit to the city, we were
left entirely under Mr. Bates's control. Unfortunately, several
lads from the neighborhood came to stay a few days with us,
and John and Richard were resolved not to pursue their studies,
claiming the visit of the boys as a holyday. I confess that
they were exceedingly provoking; and Mr. Bates, finding them
incorrigible, locked them in their bedrooms, on bread and water,
for twenty-four hours. They had fairly roused the lion; he
was seriously angry. .
For the first part of the day we heard the boys drumming,
and marching, and whistling, and saw them at the windows
making odd gesticulations. As the dinner-hour advanced, they
became more silent. I felt pretty sure that Jim would stand
their friend; indeed, he said to me,
44 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
“Neber mind, Miss Neely, Jim can play cootah” to da buckrah.”
About ten o'clock in the evening, when we had retired for the
might, Mr. Bates fancied he heard unusual noises; and looking
out, he saw a large basket hoisted by a rope to my brothers'
window and descend again; he then observed one of the young
visitors enter the basket, which was raised as before. On its
descent, Jim alighted from it, saying in a whisper,
“So now, don't draw 'em up till I come back again,” and
then ran off to the servants' apartments.
Mr. Bates left his room silently, went through the piazza on
tiptoe, and tried the strength of the rope. It seemed made of
stout double line; and as the height was not very great, and the
piazza, pillars, shutters, &c., were at hand to steady himself by,
his passions, too, being excited, he determined to pay the boys
a visit. My brothers, feeling a weight in the basket as he en-
tered, called in a whisper, saying, “Ready, Jim'ſ" “Ready,” said
Mr. Bates, squeezing himself into the basket, and feeling for
the first time a little tremor.
“By George,” said John, “if this is not a cargo; help us,
Dick; all of you lend us a hand. Jim is heavier than I thought
for. Quick, Ingols, fasten the rope to the bedstead; so there,
now pull.”
“Softly,” said Richard, “ or the black crane will hear us,” a
cognomen with which they generally honored Mr. Bates.
By the time Mr. Bates had risen half-way on his aerial ex-
cursion, he repented his temerity; a sort of sea-sickness came
over him, and he was fain to cry out,
“John, I say, John, Richard, be easy now, I’m in't.”
The boys were for a moment ready to let the basket drop in
their amazement. It vibrated fearfully.
* Alluding to the deception of the turtle, which draws in its head pre-
viously to Snapping at anything.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 45
‘Haul me up, haul me up,” roared Mr. Bates, in an ecstasy
of terror.
John called to the boys to hold on, and fastening the rope
with another tie to the bedstead, went to the window. -
“Who are you?” said he, in an angry tone.
“My—dear—John,” said Mr. Bates, catching his breath,
“I’m in't, Mr. Bates; my dear John, for mercy's sake, hoist
me up.”
The boys saw their power, and held a consultation. At
length John, returning to the window ready to burst with
laughter, said, “Who is this thief coming to rob us of our
bread and water?” -
“My dear young gentlemen,” said the terrified man, “I want
nothing but to get out of this tarnation basket. I calculate
that my heft will be too much for it. Every time it knocks
agin the house it jounces my life out. I shall be particularly
obligated to you either to let me up or down. I an’t particu-
lar which.”
The boys whispered.
“Up or down,” shrieked Mr. Bates. “You don't ought to
keep me here.”
“Mr. Bates,” said John solemnly, “if we will let you in, will
you let us out?”
“I wish I could reach you the key aforehand,” said the poor
man; “but it is in my pantaloons pocket, and Sartin as I go to
move for’ard, the basket will fall whop.”
“You are in a bad fix,” said Richard, gravely.
“Oh, I'm in an awful situation,” cried he: “I wish I was in
Connecticut ! I feel so squeamy-like at my stomach; I don't
know what to do | Pray be spry and take me in.”
The boys retreated to the bed, and stuffed their handker-
chiefs into their mouths to conceal their laughter. The shaking
46 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
of the bedstead moved the basket, and they heard another ejac-
ulation.
Richard was the first to pity him. “Come, boys, let him
out.” It was a prodigious tug to get him up. Jim, with his
eyes as big as Saucers, stood below, wondering to see “Maus
Bate” go up instead of himself and a plate of ham he had been
frying.
Few men ever felt less of the dignity of human nature than
Mr. Bates when he alighted from the basket. The boys had
partaken of an excellent supper, which John had procured, to-
gether with their hunting tinder-box and a candle. He walked
to the door with a very solemn step, unlocked it, and returned
to his own apartment.
This incident really seemed to sober us. It was an outlet
for cherished mischief, and we studied for some time with con-
siderable diligence. Mr. Bates never referred to it again. We
told our parents, but their just reproofs did but little good
when we saw that they laughed until the tears ran down their
cheeks, and papa, holding his sides, begged we would stop if
we had any pity on him.
Thus we worried along through the winter. Mr. Bates was
a thorough teacher as far as his knowledge went ; but our con-
tempt for him was so great as to prevent his having any moral
power over us. He was uncomfortable enough, and the thought
of his simple and warm-hearted Prudence, his affectionate fam-
ily and cheerful home, often stole over his mind and shaded
his brow with gloom.
We had been upon good behavior for some time, when the
first of April, that day of “quips and cranks,” and more than
“wreathed smiles,” drew near. Mr. Bates himself seemed ani
mated by the reminiscences of April-fool-day, and detailed to
Jim and us the exploits of his youth.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 47
The jokes passed round. Occasionally he was to be seen
unconsciously trailing a dirty rag at his back, or a ridiculous
motto; nor was he at all backward in retaliation.
He was very fond of bottled cider, but very nervous at draw-
ing a cork. John and I filled a bottle with weak molasses and
water, and placed it, with the corkscrew, in the accustomed
place. At the usual hour Mr. Bates approached the slab. He
held the bottle far off, and drew cautiously, while John stood
ready with a tumbler, Mr. Bates being in his usual tremor. The
cork came out with difficulty, and his countenance looked as
vapid as the diluted mixture. But he had his revenge. He
made in secret something to imitate a short remnant of candle
out of a raw sweet potato. In New-England, he told us after-
ward, they use the parsnip for this trick. The imitation was
perfect, particularly the wick, which was simply the potato cut
small at that point, slit in fine shreds, and touched with coal.
This secret he communicated only to me. About twilight, when
we were together, he rang the bell for Jim, and, giving the can-
dle to him, told him to light it quickly. Jim went to the ser-
wants' hall, where there was a fire, and Mr. Bates, pretending
to hurry him, followed, calling us after him. Jim took up a
coal with the tongs and began to blow, his great mouth enlarg-
ing and closing like a dying shark's. Mr. Bates's impatience
increased. “Blow harder, Jim.” Jim puffed like a porpoise,
but in vain.
“He obstinate like a nigger,” said Jim, in a passion.
John Snatched it from him, and went through the same pro-
cess, until our restrained laughter broke forth. Mr. Bates
rubbed his hands, and looked like an elephant in a frolic.
I have a very great objection to offer to this April trick, which
is this. I have heard two gentlemen, who never used an oath
on any other occasion, Swear at it
48 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON.
It was but too obvious that our connection with Mr. Bates
must be terminated.
Papa opened the matter to him, and gave him a generous re-
muneration. Mr. Bates received his dismissal quietly, and
papa's gift gratefully, saying, “He reckoned he should make a
better fist at farming than edicating.”
We parted in friendship ; and John, the last person in the
world I should have suspected of such sensibility, shed tears
CHAPTER WI.
PARENTAL TEACHING.
“JMrs. Page.—Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits nothing in the world at his
book; I pray you ask him. Some questions in his accidence.
“Evans.—Come hither, William ; hold up your head, come.”
AFTER the departure of our Connecticut teacher, Mr. Bates,
papa resolved to carry on our education himself. We were to
rise by daylight, that he might pursue his accustomed ride over
the fields after breakfast. New writing-books were taken out
and ruled, fresh quills laid by their side, our task carefully com-
mitted to memory, and we sat with a mixture of docility and
curiosity to know how he would manage as a teacher. The
first three days, our lessons being on trodden ground, and our-
selves under the impulse of novelty, we were very amiable, he
very paternal; on the fourth, John was turned out of the room,
Richard was pronounced a mule, and I went sobbing to mamma,
as if my heart would break, while papa said he might be com-
pelled to ditch rice-fields, but he never would undertake to teach
children again.
A slight constraint was thrown over the family for a day or
two, but it soon wore off, and he returned to his good-nature.
For three weeks we were as wild as fawns, until mamma's atten-
tion was attracted by my sunburnt complexion and my brother's
torn clothes,
50 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
“This will never answer,” said she to papa. “Look at Cor-
nelia's face It is as brown as a chinquapin. Richard has
ruined his new suit, and John has cut his leg with the car.
penter's tools. I have half a mind to keep school for them my-
self.”
Papa gave a slight whistle, which seemed rather to stimulate
than check her resolution. “Cornelia,” said she, “go directly
to your brothers, and prepare your books for to-morrow. I will
teach you.”
The picture about to be presented is not overwrought. I
am confident of the sympathy of many a mother, whose finger
has been kept on a word in the lesson, amid countless inter-
ruptions, so long, that her pupils, forgetting her vocation, have
lounged through the first interruptions, and finished with a
frolic.
One would suppose that the retirement of a plantation was
the most appropriate spot for a mother and her children to give
and receive instruction. Not so; for instead of a limited
household, her dependants are increased to a number which
would constitute a village. She is obliged to listen to cases of
grievance, is a nurse to the sick, and distributes the half-yearly
clothing; indeed, the mere giving out of thread and needles is
something of a charge on so large a scale. A planter's lady
may seem indolent, because there are so many under her who
perform trivial services; but the very circumstance of keeping
so many menials in order is an arduous one, and the keys of her
establishment are a care of which a Northern housekeeper knows
nothing, and include a very extensive class of duties. Many
fair, and even aristocratic girls, if we may use this phrase in
our republican country, who grace a ball-room, or loll in a liv-
eried carriage, may be seen with these steel talismans, presiding
over store-houses, and measuring, with the accuracy and consci.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 51
entiousness of a shopman, the daily allowance of the family, or
cutting homespun suits, for days together, for the young and
the old negroes under their charge; while matrons, who would
ring a bell for their pocket-handkerchief to be brought to them.
will act the part of a surgeon or physician with a promptitude
and skill which would excite astonishment in a stranger. Very
frequently, servants, like children, will only take medicine from
their superiors, and in this case the planter's wife or daughter
is admirably fitted to aid them.
There are few establishments where all care and responsibil-
ity devolves on the master, and even then the superintendence
of a large domestic circle, and the rites of hospitality, demand
so large a portion of the mistress's time, as leaves her but little
opportunity for systematic teaching in her family. In this case
she is wise to seek an efficient tutor, still appropriating those
opportunities which perpetually arise under the same roof to
improve their moral and religious culture, and cultivate those
sympathies which exalt these precious beings from children to
friends. .
The young, conscientious, ardent mother must be taught this
by experience. She has a jealousy at first of any instruction
that shall come between their dawning minds and her own; and
is only taught by the constantly thwarted recitation, that in this
country, at least, good housekeeping and good teaching cannot
be combined.
But to return to my narrative. The morning after mamma's
order, we assembled at ten o'clock. There was a little trepida-
tion in her manner, but we loved her too well to annoy her by
noticing it. Her education had been confined to mere rudi-
ments, and her good sense led her only to conduct our reading,
writing, and spelling.
We stood in a line.
52 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
“Spell irrigate,” said she. Just then the coachman entered,
and bowing, said,
“Maussa send me for de key for get four quart o' corn for
} m bay horse.”
The key was given.
“Spell ºmitate,” said mamma.
“We did not spell irrigate,” we all exclaimed.
“Oh, no,” said she, “irrigate.”
By the time the two words were well through, Chloe, the
most refined of our colored circle, appeared.
“Will mistress please to medjure out some calomel for Sy-
phax, who is feverish and onrestless?”
During mamma's visit to the doctor's shop, as the medicine-
closet was called, we turned the inkstand over on her mahogany
table, and wiped it up with our pocket-handkerchiefs. It re.
quired some time to cleanse and arrange ourselves; and just as
we were seated and had advanced a little way on our ortho-
graphical journey, Maum Phillis entered with her usual drawl,
“Little maussa want for nurse, marm.”
While this operation was going on, we gathered round mam-
ma to play bo-peep with the baby, until even she forgot our les-
sons. At length the little pet was dismissed with the white
drops still resting on his red lips, and our line was formed again.
Mamma's next interruption, after successfully issuing a few
words, was to settle a quarrel between Lafayette and Venus,
two little blackies, who were going through their daily drill, in
learning to rub the furniture, which, with brushing flies at
meals, constitutes the first instruction for house servants.
These important and classical personages rubbed about a stroke
to the minute on each side of the cellaret, rolling up their eyes
and making grimaces at each other. At this crisis they had laid
* Uneasy.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 53
claim to the same rubbing-cloth; mamma stopped the dispute
by ordering my seamstress Flora, who was sewing for me, to
apply the weight of her thimble, that long-known weapon of
offence, as well as implement of industry, to their organ of firm-
ness. -
“Spell accentuate,” said mamma, whose finger had slipped
from the column. - .
“No, no, that is not the place,” we exclaimed, rectifying the
mistake.
“Spell irritate,” said she, with admirable coolness, and John
fairly succeeded, just as the overseer's son, a sallow little boy,
with yellow hair, and blue homespun dress, came in with his
hat on, and kicking up one foot for manners, said,
“Fayther says as how he wants Master Richard's horse to
help tote some tetters” to tother field.”
This pretty piece of alliteration was complied with, after some
remonstrance from brother Dick, and we finished our column.
At this crisis, before we were fairly seated at writing, mamma
was summoned to the hall to one of the field hands, who had
received an injury in the ankle from a hoe. Papa and the over-
seer being at a distance, she was obliged to superintend the
wound. We all followed her, Lafayette and Venus bringing
up the rear. She inspected the sufferer's great foot, covered
with blood and perspiration, superintended a bath, prepared a
healing application, and bound it on with her own delicate
hands, first quietly tying a black apron over her white dress.
Here was no shrinking, no hiding of the eyes; and while ex-
tracting some extraneous substance from the wound, her man-
ner was as resolute as it was gentle and consoling. This epi-
sode gave Richard an opportunity to unload his pockets of
groundnuts, and treat us therewith. We were again seated at
* Potatoes.
54 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
our writing books, and were going on swimmingly with “Avoid
evil company,” when a little crow-minder, hoarse from his late
occupation, came in with a basket of eggs, and said,
“Mammy Phillis send missis some egg for buy, ma'am ; she
an’t so berry well, and ax for some 'baccer.”
It took a little time to pay for the eggs and send to the
store-room for the Virginia weed, of which opportunity we
availed ourselves to draw figures on our slates: mamma reproved
us, and we were resuming our duties, when the cook's son ap-
proached, and said,
“Missis, Daddy Ajax say he been proke de axe, and ax me
for ax you for len him de new axe.”
This made us shout out with laughter, and the business was
scarcely settled, when the dinner-horn sounded. That evening
a carriage full of friends arrived from the city to pass a week
with us, and thus ended mamma's experiment in teaching.
Our summers were usually passed at Springland, a pine Set-
tlement, where about twenty families resorted at that season of
the year. We were so fortunate as to find a French lady
already engaged in teaching, from whom I took lessons on the
pianoforte and guitar. The summer swiftly passed away.
Papa was delighted with my facility in French, in which my
brothers were also engaged, and we were happy to retain Ma-
dame d'Anville in our own family on our return to Roseland.
In the middle of November a stranger was announced to
papa, and a young man of very prepossessing appearance en-
tered with a letter. It proved to be from our teacher, Mr.
Bates. The contents were as follows:—
“Respected Sir-I now sit down to write to you, to inform
you that I am well, as also are, sir and mar’m, my sister Nancy,
and all the rest of our folks except aunt Patty, who is but
SOUTHERN MATHON. 55
poorly, having attacks of the rheumatiz, and shortness of breath.
I should add, that Mrs. Prudence Bates (who, after the regular
publishment on the church doors for three Sundays, was united
to me in the holy bands of wedlock, by our minister, Mr. Eze-
kiel Duncan) is in a good state of health at this present, though
her uncle, by her father's side, has been sick of jaundice, a com-
plaint that has been off and on with him for a considerable spell.
“The bearer of this epistle is Parson Duncan's son, by name
Mr. Charles Duncan, a very likely young man, but poorly in
health, and Dr. Hincks says going down to Charleston may set
him up. I have the candor to say that I think him, on some
accounts, a more proper teacher than your humble servant,
having served his time at a regular college edication.
“I have taken to farming, and lot upon seeing the Carolina
seeds come up that you gave me. Our folks say that I speak
quite outlandish since I come home; and when I told neighbor
Holt tother day about growing corn, and spoke about some-
body that was raised in a certain place, he as good as laughed
in my face, and said it sounded curious.
“I have tried a heap to make our folks bile the hommony
Miss Wilton give me as they do at Roseland; but it is the very
picture of swill, and I must say the hogs eat it a nation faster
than we do. When I told Aunt Patty that Southern folks ate
clabber, she rolled up her eyes, and wondered I could abide to
sit at table with such critters; and though I told her that it
was genteel, and that I stomached it very well, she can't no
how git over it, and makes me feel very curious by telling every-
body that happens in how they eat hogs' victuals down at
Charleston. .
“Sister Nancy was very much obligated by the fans and bas.
ket Miss Neely sent her, and was in a great maze at niggers
doing anything so tasty; and they were all astonished when I
56 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
told them how the white folks buy what the niggers make, and
what a laying up they can git if they have a mind to, jist from
knick-knacks, and eggs, and potatoes, and so on.
“Mrs. Prudence admires the Thomson's Seasons Mr. John
sent her. She has kivered it with a bit of blue homespun, and
put it up safe.
“I didn't say nothing to none on you about a keg of shrimps
that I brought on here from Charleston. When I got here, Mr.
Wilton, they were a sight for mortal eyes | Nobody could tell
which was head or which was tail. A perfect regiment of crit-
ters had took hold on 'em ; and when I told our folks how
much nicer and delicater they were than lobsters, they began to
twit me, and I an’t hearn the last of it yit. I only wish I
could have preserved the live-stock for a museum.
“I send by Mr. Duncan some long-necked squashes and rus-
set apples of my own raising. The folks here stare like mad
when I tell them you eat punkins biled like squash.
“I have writ a much longer letter than I thought on; but
somehow it makes me chirpy to think of Roseland, though the
young folks were obstreperous.
“Give my love nevertheless to them, and Miss Wilton, and
all the little ones, as also I would not forget Daddy Jacque,
whom I consider, notwithstanding his color, as a very respecta-
ble person. I cannot say as much for Jim, who was an eternal
thorn in my side, by reason of his quickness at mischief, and
his slowness of waiting upon me; and I take this opportunity
of testifying, that I believe, if he had been in New-England, he
would have had his deserts before this; but you Southern folks
do put up with an unaccountable sight from niggers, and I hope
Jim will not be allowed his full tether, if so be Mr. Charles
should take my situation in your family. I often tell our folks
how I used to catch up a thing and do it rather than wait for
SOUTHERN MATRON. 57
half a dozen on 'em to take their own time. If I lived to the
age of Methusalem, I never could git that composed, quiet kind
of way you Southern folks have of waiting on the niggers. I
only wish they could see aunt Patty move when the rheumatiz
is off—if she isn't spry, I don't know.
“Excuse all errors.
“Yours to serve,
“JosLPH BATES.”
I detected a gentle, half-comical smile on Mr. Duncan's
mouth as he raised his splendid eyes to papa while delivering
Mr. Bates's letter; but he soon walked to the window, and
asked me some questions about the Cherokee rose-hedge, and
other objects in view, which were novelties to him. I felt in-
stantly that he was a gentleman, by the atmosphere of refine-
ment which was thrown over him, and I saw that papa sympa-
thized with me, as with graceful courtesy he welcomed him to
Roseland.
3%
(; H A P T E R W II.
C H A R L E S D U N C A N.
“A spiriturging onward and still on
To some high, noble object to be won;
And pressing still, through danger and distress,
Regardless of them all,
Till that high object, whatsoe'er it be,
Friendship, or virtuous fame, our country's liberty,
The improvement of our race, the happiness
Of one poor individual,
Or of unnumber'd thousands be attained.”
S. G. BULLFINCH.
“And as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.”
GoLDSMITH.
THERE is no moral object so beautiful to me as a conscien.
tious young man I watch him as I do a star in the heavens:
clouds may be before him, but we know that his light is behind
them, and will beam again; the blaze of others' prosperity may
outshine him, but we know that, though unseen, he illumines his
true sphere. He resists temptation not without a struggle, for
that is not virtue, but he does resist and conquer; he hears the
sarcasm of the profligate, and it stings him, for that is the trial
of virtue, but he heals the wound with his own pure touch; he
heeds not the watchword of fashion if it leads to sin; the athe-
ist who says, not only in his heart but with his lips, “There is
no God,” controls him not, for he sees the hand of a creating
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 59
God, and reverences it; of a preserving God, and rejoices in it.
Woman is sheltered by fond arms and guided by loving coun-
sel; old age is protected by its experience, and manhood by its
strength; but the young man stands amid the temptations of
the world like a self-balanced tower. Happy he who seeks and
gains the prop and shelter of Christianity.
Onward, then, conscientious youth raise thy standard and
nerve thyself for goodness. If God has given thee intellectual
power, awaken it in that cause; never let it be said of thee, he
helped to swell the tide of sin, by pouring his influence into its
channels. If thou art feeble in mental strength, throw not that
poor drop into a polluted current Awake, arise, young man
Assume the beautiful garments of virtue! It is easy, fearfully
easy to sin; it is difficult to be pure and holy. Put on thy
strength, then ; let thy chivalry be aroused against error—let
truth be the lady of thy love—defend her.
A review of the character of Charles Duncan has led me to
this expression of feeling. I was thirteen years of age when he
arrived at Roseland, and became our teacher in conjunction
with Madame d'Anville. I ought to describe his appearance.
I wish I could. I can say that his form was the perfection of
manly symmetry; I can tell of his clear, dark, intellectual eyes,
where softness and vivacity seemed living in friendly rivalry;
I can paint the rich clustering hair thrown away from his noble
forehead, and that forehead rising in its white mass like a tower
of mind; I can give some conception of the rich glow that col-
ored up a complexion of such transparent hue, that it would
have seemed effeminate but for the strong character of his
frame and features, that glow, too fallacious, too burningly
bright, which spoke of a fire consuming the vase in which it was
kindled; but his voice it is impossible for me to describe. He
never spoke without silencing others, not by noise or vehe-
60 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
mence, but with a slow, musical emphasis, that went straight to
the heart; nor was the voice low or whispered; but, without a
tinge of vanity, it seemed to say, I must be heard.
Why are not such individuals on thrones wielding sceptres,
or pouring out their talents before senates, or, aided by wealth
and power, lifted up to the high temples of literature and sci-
ence? Why must sickness and penury be thrown over souls
which God has made of his purest essence? Thank Heaven,
we know that this question will be well answered when we see
them in their white robes hymning strains the first and richest
among the heavenly choir
It was well for me that Charles Duncan instructed us. Ma-
dame was a conscientious teacher, but her conscience only em-
braced externals. I practised two hours daily my musical
tasks, and delighted my papa by addressing the French consul,
on a visit to Charleston, with a mixture of pertness and bash-
fulness, in his native tongue. Papa was satisfied if he paid
round sums of money for my education, and mamma was easy
if my teachers seemed busy. Until Duncan came, my mind
was the only instrument exercised, and that was swayed by
earthly hands. True, my heart was open, and many a kind
breeze of nature swept over its chords; but he tuned them both
to harmony, and brought out those tones which liken us to an-
gels, and yet fit us for the world. His searching but frequent
question was, Are you acting from duty, from principle, as in
the sight of God?
Papa was at first opposed to the full cultivation of my mind
in the branches studied by my brothers. He laughed and said,
“The girl would consider herself more learned than her father.”
“Why should she not,” said Duncan, “if humility be so
wrought in her as to make her feel her own inferiority to the
true standard of mind? Fear not, Colonel Wilton I Intellec-
SOUTHER.N MATRON. 6]
tual women are the most modest inquirers after truth, and ac-
complished women often the most scrupulous observers of social
duty.”
“Well, well,” answered papa, “only do not spoil her eyes
and shoulders, and let her be ready for my morning ride on
horseback, and you may teach her the remainder of the day. By
the way, Cornelia, are you never going to hold your whip-hand
steady; you jerk it like a cracker” woman Your head should
be a little higher too, though it is pretty well. The Wiltons
are not often accused of that fault.” Then, whistling to his
dogs, he left me to my studies.
Whatever may be the difficulty of parental instruction on a
Southern plantation, none is experienced by the judicious private
teacher. Here is no copying of others, no meretricious ambition
from the struggle after pre-eminence. -
“The native heart bursts through, and scorns disguise.”
In these far woods, breathing space is given for the young
pulsation of the opening feelings. There may be the danger of
the aristocracy of solitude, but the little irritations, the paltry
rivalry of schools is unknown.
It was not merely in hours of recitation that we were taught;
and I can recollect now, though then perhaps I did not observe
it, that my teacher associated every object with some elevated
motive. I never saw a mind so inwrought with heaven, and
yet he was sportive, and no laugh rang more clearly than his,
awakening the very echo in its joy. He taught me to be a
happy early riser, and pointed out to me the glories of kindling
morning; I gathered and dissected wild flowers by his side; we
watched the stars in their silent courses together, until I could
* Appellation given to the back country people, who use long whips
with their wagons, which they crack to stimulate the team.
62 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
welcome each like familiar eyes. Once I shrank from a storm,
but he pointed out to me God's hand issuing in love, not anger,
from the tempest, and I was calmed. He sang with me, taught
me to distinguish what was false in sentiment in my songs, and
by some poetical change brought a pure spirit into this court
of folly; he read to me, and the breathings of the muse went
down into my heart, calling up from unknown depths new crea-
tions of sentiment; he selected tales of romance, until I could
discriminate between the fallacious and the imitable. Even
history in his hands was a medium of pleasure; he never read
to me the fatiguing details of war; connecting events by inter-
esting associations, and drawing characters in strong contrasts,
or singling them out like so many pictures, he brought before
me the warriors and statesmen in their respective eras, until
they stood as living things in my imagination.
Unable to follow my brothers in their rambling amusements,
we were thrown constantly together, and the whole aim of his
being seemed to be to train me like some tender plant, and not
only to shed sweet dews around me, and keep every weed from
my side, but to prop me with truth, and preserve my upward
tendencies unswerved. With him I breathed the very atmos-
phere of piety; the study of the character and words of the
Saviour seemed like sunshine to his soul—Cornelia, he said,
drink deep at this fountain, it is a well of life.
Two years passed away with the customary change between
Springland and the plantation; Duncan was still with us, and
an addition was formed to our circle by the daily visits of Lewis
Barnwell, a youth of eighteen, and the son of a neighbor. He
had returned from college, for private reasons, to pursue his
studies at home previous to graduating. He applied to Duncan
for instruction, and thus was an almost constant inmate of our
residence.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 63
A change was gradually wrought. If I entered a pleasure-
boat, it was Lewis, not Duncan, who sat at my side; if I rode
with Duncan, Lewis was soon seen galloping through the av.
enue, and, without any effort of mine, chatting of everything at
my elbow, while Duncan silently dropped behind; every ques-
tion apart from my studies, and every expression of my thoughts
which Duncan had been accustomed to answer, seemed wrested
away from him. At table, Lewis anticipated every wish and
motion as if it were his right to make me happy, and this was so
gradual that I scarcely marked the difference. Had I been
older I might have noticed an abstraction of manner steal over my
dear tutor, with sometimes a deeper flush and sometimes a sudden
paleness on his cheek; I should have observed him precipitately
retreating when Lewis and I jested over the playful topics of
youth, and as precipitately returning, to notice without mingling
in our mirth.
One morning, however, my attention was effectually drawn
to him. As we were standing in the piazza after breakfast, a
servant came from the Elms, Mr. Barnwell's residence, with a
bunch of flowers, with Master Lewis's compliments to Miss
Cornelia. Duncan took them, looked a moment at the collec-
tion; a contortion like one in deep suffering passed over his
face; he turned deadly pale, and sank on a seat, while the flow-
ers dropped from his hand. I hastened to him, and Richard
brought me some cologne water, with which I bathed his fore-
head. He bore it for a moment, the same expression of suf-
fering again passed across his countenance, and he said with
a stifled voice, “Take away your hand, for God's sake, Miss
Wilton ſ”
Miss Wilton | Richard and Ilooked at each other with surprise.
“He is very ill,” said I, innocently; “call mamma”—but,
with an effort, he recovered, saying he had been liable to Sud-
64 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
den faintness when at college, and he thought it was returning
upon him.
“I fear, in my absence of mind,” continued he, “that I spoke
harshly to you, my dear Cornelia—shake hands with me and
forgive me.”
I gave him my hand; and as it rested a moment in his, I
gazed on him with an affecting presentiment of evil totally un-
definable. Again a shade crossed his expressive countenance,
not so deep, but of the same character as before; and sighing as
if the very fount of feeling were loosened, he resigned my hand.
I took up the bouquet which had been neglected on the floor.
To a forget-me-not was attached my name in Lewis's handwrit-
ing. I glanced at Duncan, and blushed intensely, while he re-
garded me with a penetrating gaze, from which I gladly turned
away. I hurried to my own apartment, and sat and mused for
some time with the flowers in my hand; and, though without
any fixed impressions, I separated the forget-me-not from the
bouquet, and placed it in my hair.
How difficult is it for growing age to recall the emotions of
that period of life, when on a look, a word, a touch, may rest
the history of years! What a tale was told by that little
flower, how many feelings unfolded ! Dewis joined us in our
evening stroll, and a bright glow lighted up his features as he
recognized the flower in my hair.
The morning after this little development, which after all, I
scarcely understood or dwelt upon, Mr. Duncan was requested
by papa to accompany me in my ride.
“I have never showed you my magnolia,” said he ; “the
warm spring has developed its blossoms unusually early. If
you will bear a slow ride among the bushes, we will visit it.”
I assented; and, preceded by Toney, a little crow-minder who
was off duty, and who ran in front to part the bushes, we com-
SOUTHERN MATRON, 65
menced our excursion, scattering the dew-drops at every step.
I had entirely forgotten the excitement of yesterday; and, as
we walked our horses, I poured forth all the thoughts of a
happy confiding heart, while Toney, who was often my attend-
ant on such excursions, began his task of gallantry, and gath-
ered flowers for my herbarium.
After a ride of two miles we reached the magnolia. Mr.
Duncan had caused the brushwood to be cleared from beneath
it, and it stood alone, except that a vine had clung (as they
seem to do by magic in our woods) to one of the outer branches,
and, rising and descending again and again to an incredible dis-
tance, formed with its intertwining arms a giant trunk. The
magnolia, the queen of the Southern forest, stood with her large
white blossoms resting on her polished leaves, sending out afar
her delicious perfume.
“I must have a blossom, Mr. Duncan,” said I, as we alighted,
“to remember your tree by.”
With one of his bright smiles, he went to an opposite branch
where a flower seemed attainable, while I attempted to draw
down another which was above me with my whip. At this
moment I heard Lewis's voice in a gay “good-morning;” and
carelessly turning, at his salutation, while springing to gain the
blossom, I fell with violence to the ground.
My head had struck against a fallen tree, and I was insensible.
In my first consciousness, I uttered the name of Lewis. I per-
ceived myself lying in the arms of some one, who gave me a
momentary but shivering pressure. I then felt myself gently
placed in the arms of another. I opened my eyes, Lewis was
supporting me, and Mr. Duncan, pale as a marble statue, leaned
against the magnolia.
“Is Mr. Duncan ill?” I said, as a breeze sweeping across my
brow gave me sudden consciousness.
66 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON.
“He loves you,” said Lewis, in an agitated whisper. “He
would willingly die for you. Which of us shall live for you,
dearest?”—and, with a renewed recollection of my danger, he
pressed his hand on my forehead as if to assure himself that
life was there.
Duncan looked on. It was in vain that he struggled with
his excited spirit; without uttering a word, he stood until Lewis
lifted me to my saddle, and then, heart-struck, alas ! I saw it, I
Saw it, he turned towards home. .
(HAPTER WIII.
CHA R L E S D UN C.A.N.
“By solemn vision, and bright silver dream,
His infancy was nurtured. Every sight
And Sound from the vast earth and ambient air,
Sent to his heart its choicest impulses.
The fountains of divine philosophy
Fled not his thirsting lips, and all of great,
Or good, or lovely, which the sacred past
In truth or fable consecrates, he felt
And knew.—SHELLEY.
“He needs not glory's wreath
To keep his memory from the blight of years.”
MRs. HALE.
FROM the day of our visit to the magnolia, Mr. Duncan's
manners were marked by a series of respectful attentions, and a
nice deference to social forms. But while devoted to every
duty, he became a lonely rambler in the woods, or secluded
himself in his study, and a light was visible in his apartment
when the latest member of the family retired. The bright spot
on his cheek grew brighter, his hands became thin, and we could
see their blue veins as they lay in languor at his side. At
length a short restrained cough followed every exertion; he
clung to the balustrade in ascending the steps, and looked with
an eager eye to a resting-place after his walks, which were daily
more circumscribed. An enemy, which perhaps answered sym-
pathy would have longer lulled, was roused, and consumption
revelled through his frame. Sometimes it was exhibited in
68 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
deep and silent despondency; sometimes his eye was illuminated
with unnatural lustre; and occasionally his fine intellect jarred
with the breaking of his corporeal powers.
He began to speak of his childhood—of his home, of the old
elm that shaded the sloping hill at his father's door, and to long
for a draught of water from the well beneath its shade. Then
a deadly heaviness and debility came over his frame, and light
fancies floated on his mind. He talked of the vessel that was
tº bear him away, and I was to be his companion.
“Cornelia and he,” he said, “would gaze on the wide ocean
together; he would show her God's power on the deep—he
would carry her to his native home, where the wild flowers
sprang up, and the birds were bright as here; his father's
hand should rest on her sunny curls, and he would love the
tenderness in her bright eyes—they would listen to him in the
old meeting-house, where the prayers were purer and the hymns
sweeter than aught in the wide world. He was not rich, but
what were riches to true love 7 Cornelia and he could live to-
gether beneath his father's roof–the old man would be kind to
them, and his hearth was warm.”
Then a change came over him, and he talked of fame.
“They shall hear me,” he exclaimed (and his thrilling voice
rang upon my ear, while his arm was stretched forward with
graceful energy). “Think you that strong thought can be
chained 7 You may restrain a torrent in its course, but mind
will on, on with its master impulse. You think me weak, Cor-
nelia” (for I was gazing with deep commiseration at his pant-
ing chest); “but you know not what can be done by will. I
will advocate truth—I will crush error—I will lift up the fee-
ble, and bring down the haughty, and to God shall be the
praise.” .
It was now that mamma's quiet virtues shone beyond the
SOUTHERN MATRON. 69
glare of intellectual accomplishments. She attended him de-
votedly; prepared luxuries for his taste; watched his looks with
untiring but delicate assiduity; made every arrangement for his
contemplated voyage; and when I, melted by unaffected distress,
retreated to weep in silence, she nursed him like the son of her
bosom.
Nature was still beautiful to him, and he held his hand ea-
gerly for the garden bouquet which was my daily gift; while a
Smile (it lingers yet like a sunset glow on the mountain height
of memory), a grateful, gentle smile, lighted up his features,
as, with a few murmured words, unheard by me, he bent his lips
over the blossoms.
Lewis was full of kind attentions, and Duncan received him
with a look of welcome; but we observed that it increased the
nervous wandering of his thoughts to see him.
“Father knows the spot where I am to be buried,” he said
one day after an interview with him, “just beside my mother's
grave, where the barberry bushes rise over the stone wall. The
graveyard is large enough for us. Just beside my mother—my
mother—my mother,” he continued, in almost a whisper—“what
a small hand was this when she pressed it for the last time—
smaller than Cornelia's " Then he gazed on his thin hand, un-
til, wearied with thoughts, his head reclined on his arm-chair,
and he slept.
This excitement yielded to medical aid; and the contrast of
his clear and energetic mind, as his fever subsided, in the view
of his probable death, was singularly affecting.
We removed to the city with him in order to facilitate his
departure home. It was one of our bright May mornings the
day before he sailed, and mamma and I were sitting beside him.
He looked around at the various testimonials which were collect-
ed in his room from our kind acquaintances—those affecting,
70 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
spontaneous exhibitions of hospitality, which almost invariably
soothe the sick stranger in Southern cities, who feels, when far
from the domestic relations which once comforted his despond-
ing moments, that these slight attentions are the most exquisite
recompense he can receive.
A servant brought a choice collection of flowers from the
garden of a florist—on one of the blossoms was pinned a note,
written with a delicate hand—“A stranger's kind wishes for the
invalid.”
Duncan smiled. “This is the way you win our hearts,” said
he; and after gazing for some moments on the flowers, he con-
tinued mournfully, “These are the last southern flowers I shall
ever see, Mrs. Wilton.”
Mamma was silent; I laid my face on the arm of his chair,
and my tears trickled down on his wasted hand. “Be calm,
Cornelia,” he said. “I have done little, if I have only educated
you for life. My aim has been higher; but if some of my
teachings have been lost on one so young, I hope that my death
may be an impressive lesson. This composure of mine has not
been attained without a struggle, without prayer, without the
severance of ties that have bound me with a grasp of iron. But
I am calm. The sunshine which looks so brightly upon us is
faint compared with those views of heaven that break at times
on my imagination—these flowers, fresh and gorgeous, and cul-
tured though they be, are almost colorless to an eye that looks
forward to celestial bowers. Mrs. Wilton, may I tell Cornelia
a story to teach her not to place her affections too strongly on
earth, or, at least” (and he glanced upward), “to give her a re-
source if earth should fail?”
1Mamma gently smiled her acquiescence.
“I knew a youth,” he said, “whose temperament led him to
extremes; one who, though untiring in energy, sank under dis-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 71
appointment; if he lost a bird or a flower that he had trained
and loved he wept passionate tears; and if thwarted, his will
rose in angry defiance. He lost his mother just at the period
when her control was most valuable to him. He had never
been parted from her before ; she had awoke him every morn-
ing with her smile; and every evening, though half ashamed at
the indulgence, he stole to her side, laid his head on her knee,
and felt her gentle fingers twining his hair, or pressing his
sleepy eyelids. She died; it was his first sorrow, and it cut
his soul, as the strong axe of the woodman severs the sapling.
He threw himself on her cold stiffened form, and when that was
wrested from him he tore up the soil with his young hands, and
sought to bury himself with her. A mind like this required
gentle training, but it also required strong motives to virtue.
His father guarded him with tender yet vigorous care, and
watched him as we watch the pulse of fever, and administer
to its wants or check its excitement. He found that, for such
a temperament, a high and ennobling example must be held up,
and a fair and glorious hope. Earth, Cornelia, affords no spot
where such spirits can rest; it quenches not their thirst—they
must drink at an inexhaustible fountain, or they die.
“The father of the youth pointed out this fountain in the
gospel of Christ, and with dexterous art directed him how and
where to find it. Under these influences, which levelled his im-
petuous feelings to their true standard, he pursued his collegiate
studies. Can I call them studies? He played with the deep
things of science as a child wields its toys; mastered them while
others were conning their first lessons, and bore off honors as
easily as the wind carries clouds. But he was poor; and when
his ambitious hopes were winging their flight to future fame,
that cold conviction came and struck them to the earth. He
toiled night and day for a pittance which the rich man expends
72 RECoLLECTIONS OF A
on a bawble, but he toiled in vain; a feverish flame was con-
suming him ; it would have consumed him quite, had not re-
ligious patience whispered quietness to his excited spirit and
burning frame. Sickness came on, that cloud out of which
speaks a voice of mercy, and he was ordered to a Southern cli-
mate; the climate of generous and tender hearts, my friends
(and he clasped our hands in his). Under the soothing influ-
ences of this change he recovered; his nerves were new strung
—he trod on flowers—hope lighted up his way, and a thought
came over him again, that by high intellectual exertion he
might rise to a level with kindred minds.
“A young pupil was intrusted to him in the fresh morning
of intelligence; blessed with such a growth of mental luxury
that he scarcely knew where to stop in training her powers, and
making them worthy of the form which enshrined them. Nay,
start not, Cornelia; I speak as a dying man to dying men. I
have never before told you you were beautiful; had your mind
been less lovely, your person, perhaps, would have attracted me
more; but your intellect and your young affections were all
to me.
“I had a dream of hope, wild and unfixed I am aware, but it
beguiled me into happiness. I meant to have shut it up in my
own breast, gone abroad into the world, won a place among
men, brought back a name and laid it at your feet, and asked
you of your father; but another came. I saw your eye kindle
for him when it was only kind to me. I saw you blush at his
name when my voice was scarcely heard. I knew these indica-
tions too well; my heart echoed the truth they told at every
throb—for a while I knew them in bitterness of spirit.
“Think not that I am dying of love,” he continued, as my
sobs interrupted his narrative. “The dart of disease was long
since lodged in my system. Had I been in health, my vaulting
SOUTHERN MATRON. 73
ambition for earthly distinction, and those religious influences
which kept it in check, would have enabled my mind to recover
its tone even in witnessing your preference for another. Now,
in the prospect of the grave, I can give up this precious hand
almost without a sigh—my hopes rest elsewhere.”
Duncan sailed on the following day, and it seemed to me that
the world was a wilderness. I lingered on the spot where I
had heard his last words; I visited his apartment, touched his
books with reverent grief, and when I saw passages marked by
his hand, my gushing tears fell in renewed tenderness.
Many years afterward I visited the northern section of our
country. I saw its glowing orchards, its lofty hills, its culti-
wated vales; I enjoyed all that is high and intellectual in its
society; I admired its institutions, supported by combined gen-
erosity, rising in perfect harmony; I beheld commerce whiten-
ing its seas, and agriculture busy with its soil: T lingered
breathless and awe-struck before the great Niagara, and gazed
with calmer joy on the placid lakes that lie like quiet faces on
the cultured bosom of New-York; I stood in the clouds on the
summit of the White Mountains, and gathered flowers in the
meadows below ; but when was my heart most thrilled and
softened, when did I feel that all that is gorgeous and lovely on
earth is but a trumpet note that sounds for heaven' It was
when, leaning on the arm of a venerable man, whose gray hair
and trembling step was mocked by the living lustre of a smile.
that spoke of undying mind, I visited the burial-place of
j
and read the inscription,
“SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
CHARLES DUNCAN.
AGED 24.
Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.”
4
C H A P T E R IX.
THE BOAT-SONG.--TRIALS.
“I would not enter on my list of friends,
(Though graced with polish'd manners and fine Sense,
Yet wanting sensibility) the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.”—Task.
“Play the fool on Sundays—
If he the tinkling harpsichord regards
As inoffensive, what offence in cards?
Strike up the fiddles, let us all be gay !”
Progress of Error.
DUNGAN's departure was indeed an impressive lesson, for I
knew that he must die; and this event, more than any other,
served to create the vivid impression which I have always felt
of the close connection between mortality and immortality.
Perhaps, had I seem the pangs of dissolution, and witnessed his
form laid in its narrow house, and heard the winds rush over
his grave without chilling his repose, and seen the sun shed
down its light upon it without unclosing those eyes which had
so often sparkled in its rays, I might have dwelt on his materi-
ality; but from the moment that he pressed my hand in parting,
and gave a last melancholy Smile as the carriage drove from the
door, I connected him with heaven. Isaid, His mind cannot die.
Early in November we departed for the plantation. Lewis,
who with his family had been residing at Springland through
the summer, hastened from the Elms after our temporary sepa-
ration to welcome us. His feelings were touched by the loss
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 75
of our friend, and his sympathy made him doubly welcome. I
soon found, however, that the force of Duncan's example, which
had evidently been a check on his manners, wore away, and oc-
casionally he uttered an oath, or a sentiment forbidden in the
Christian school of love and purity. The elasticity of sixteen
did not conceal from me that this was wrong; for the princi-
ples implanted by Duncan forbade my contemplating the indul-
gence of trifling error with complacency, and his departure
made me revert to his lessons as a sacred gift committed to my
care. I observed with sorrow, that whoever did not reach a
certain standard of taste and fashion, were subjects of Lewis's
ridicule; goodness seemed to him nothing for its own sake; he
cared not for the warmth of the sun without its glare. Gen-
erous, and even lavish in his habits, he was penurious in that
best of all charity that studies the feelings of others. Yet he
was our guest, and commanded my courtesy; and there was, be-
sides, a fascination about him that won my favor. It is impos-
sible for a young girl to see a discriminating man assume the
most deferential deportment to her, while ridiculing others,
without some vanity; and as I trusted that his heart was right,
I enjoyed his humorous satire, hoping not to compromise my
sense of rectitude by it; and the bright intellect of Lewis, his
playful manners, his devotion to me, and the sympathy of youth,
would probably have taken my affections captive at once, had
not the character of Duncan, and the peculiar circumstances of
his departure, created for me an elevated standard of manly virtue,
and rather turned the romance of early feeling towards his memory,
My parents' sincere respect had been awakened by Duncan's
character. How delightful is it to think that goodness multi-
plies itself, and that, in the ocean of wrong, one little point of
truth may move circle on circle almost indefinitely Papa re-
joiced, as all men, even the profligate, will rejoice, to see his
76 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
daughter's mind trained to piety; and mamma, in her faithful
attendance on Duncan's wants, perceived a purer atmosphere
created around her earthly path. New ties were awakened be-
tween us, and I soon found an echo in her heart unknown to
me before.
The time was rapidly approaching for Lewis's return to col-
lege: those delicate and frequent attentions, which tell the tale
of the heart, were certainly not without their power in softening
mine, and I lost my sadness at the thought of Duncan.
One fine afternoon my brothers and myself visited the Elms
in a row-boat, and Lewis returned with us by the light of the
moon, which looked down on the silvery waves of the Ashley as
if refreshed with its own fair image. The foliage of the trees
was pictured like sunken forests of verdure in the pellucid
stream. The call of a night-bird to its mate, a boat-horn waking
the echoes, and the mysterious talk of solitary nature, were the
only sounds abroad, and these were drowned in the plash of
our oars, and the bursts of laughter from our merry group.
“Come, Juba,” said Lewis to the head oarsman, “sing us a
song; the boys” will help you.”
“How you been ax me for sing, Maus Lewis? Me an’t got
no voice for sing,” answered Juba, who, like many of his breth-
ren, required as much urging as a city belle.
After delaying until we had almost forgotten our request,
Juba commenced a tune, the oarsmen striking in with a full but
untaught counter at the last word of every line.
“Hi de good boat Neely 7+
She row bery fast, Miss Neely
An’t no boat like a' Miss Neely,
Hoyoi'l
* Boys, a term used to negroes even of a mature age. -
f Plantation boats are often named for members of a family. The cho-
rus of one of the prettiest boat-songs I ever heard, was Eliza.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 77
“Who gawing to row wid Miss Neely?
Can't catch a’ dis boat Neely—
Nobody show he face wid Neely,
Hoyoi 3"
As Juba concluded this verse he paused ; a sly expression
passed over his face; he put an additional quid of tobacco in
his mouth, and went on—
“Maybe Maus Lewis take de oar for Neely,
Bery handsome boat Miss Neely l
Maus Lewis mice captain for Neely,
Hoyoi'"
The verse was welcomed with shouts of laughter, and called
for again and again, until the echoes of the Ashley shouted
“encore " but all the solicitations of the young men were inef.
fectual with Juba, who looked the personification of composure.
It is not remarkable that my thoughts should have been oc-
cupied, in a lonely stroll on the following day, with the subject
of Juba's song, nor that I should turn my steps to a footpath
which had been trodden by the negroes from Mr. Barnwell's
residence to ours. Not, of course, to go there, for it was two
miles off, but it was a sweet romantic walk, and for half the
distance branching trees knit by clustering vines formed a se-
cluded and delicious arbor. I strayed on, animated by those
thoughts and reveries that lift the form along like a bird's. At
one point the scenery was so lovely that I stopped to gaze on
it, and my elastic feelings were about bursting out into song,
when I heard a groan. I started; it was repeated; I knew
from the accompanying ejaculation that it was from a negro,
and, as a planter's daughter fears none but white men, I has-
tened to discover the object. I was surprised, on turning from
the path, to find among the bushes a servant of Mr. Barnwell's
disabled.
78 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
“What is the matter, Bill?” said I to the boy, who was about
sixteen years of age. He looked sullenly, and gave no reply.
“Are you hurt?” said I. “Can I do anything for you? I
can go home, or even to Mr. Barnwell's, and get help. Master
Lewis will come to you in a moment.”
“Bill no want Maus Lewis,” said the boy, bitterly, shaking
his head. “If old maussa come, bery well, but Maus Lewis—”
I could not distinguish the remainder of the sentence.
I was perplexed to know what to do, and was turning home-
ward, when another groan arrested my attention, and I saw Bill
attempt to rise, in evident pain.
“You are foolish, boy,” said I, “not to tell me what troubles
you, and let me call Lewis.”
Bill's eyes glared fiercely for a moment, and, turning down
the collar of his jacket, I saw the blood streaming from his
neck, while he uttered through his shut teeth, “Maus Lewis P’
I started as if a voice of thunder had sounded on my ear.
Papa's and Mr. Barnwell's plantations, like most others at the
South, were regulated with almost military precision. No pun-
ishment was ever inflicted but by an authorized person, and if
he overstepped the boundaries of mercy in his justice, he was
expelled from his authority. From my infancy, I had never
seen a gentleman forget the deportment of a gentleman to our
slaves. Deliberation was the leading trait of papa's character
as a master, though his feelings were in other respects ardent;
and he was never wearied in ascertaining the circumstances of
any case which required it. Slaves on plantations are not shut
up in prisons, but a strict superintending hand is necessary to
maintain that discipline without which not even the social
hearth can be preserved free from strife.
I gazed on the boy with commiseration
he might have been
guilty of wrong, but Lewis's was not the hand to chastise him
SOUTHERN MATRON. 79
and I could not check the mental inquiry, if one who could
yield to his passions with an inferior, would not be an imperious
companion with an equal.
As I stood thus, I saw Lewis approach ; he did not perceive
Bill, and advanced gaily. I presume the expression of my face
was unusual. As I looked from him to the boy, his eyes turned
in the same direction, an angry flush kindled on his face, and
for a moment his ratan was lifted as in threat. Another glance
of my eye changed his expression, and he began the story of his
offence. -
No matter what it was—a charm was lost to me—one of the
golden threads that had linked my imagination to the beautiful
and good was snapped asunder, nor was it united when Lewis,
with a look of sorrow, threw from his purse a pecuniary com-
pensation to the boy.
But youth is full of hope and forgiveness; Lewis was sorry,
Bill as cheerful as before, and it was not many days ere the
former was replaced in my confidence; besides, he was about to
leave us; and though he had never said he loved me, and my
happy temperament cared not for the declaration, yet I felt that
his absence would leave a chasm in our little circle.
One Sabbath evening, just before his departure, as I was
playing some sacred melodies, he took up a song-book.
“Cornelia, this is a very sacred air,” said he, turning to a
popular song, “I am sure it has elevated my feelings more
than half the psalm-tunes that people sing through their noses.
Do sing it !”
I looked at him with surprise. “Cornelia,” continued he,
laughing, “don’t look so solemnly. I suppose you would stop
the mouth of the mocking-bird that is singing his every-day
song on the catalpa-tree, because he has not a Sunday tune; or
shut up the flower-cups for dressing too gaily "
80 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
“The birds and flowers have had no revelation, Lewis,” said
I, “to tell them to reverence the Sabbath.” .
A look that I scarcely understood, and yet could not but dis-
approve, and a short whistle were his answer.
“Just sing this song for me, Cornelia,” persisted he, “and I
will not ask for another. I am sure it is solemn enough ; and
what if it is a love-song, are we not commanded to love one an-
other?” and he looked at me so earnestly, that I blushed and
knew not what to say, but shook my head disapprovingly.
“Then play me this overture,” urged he, “and I will give up
the song. What can be more sublime than this opening 2*
pointing to the notes.
“I cannot play anything, Lewis,” said I, “but what is con-
secrated by the original intention of the composer, or by sacred
use. What can you wish for more exquisite than these pieces
of Handel and Haydn, which are not only perfect in themselves,
but have the charm of holy associations; and what melody is
finer than the old English psalmody? Here are the three
tunes mentioned in the “Cotter's Saturday Night, which Mr.
Duncan loved to hear on the Sabbath twilight. Shall I sing
them for you?” . -
“Duncan forever Duncan P' said Lewis, in a suppressed
voice. “I wish you had never known that Puritanical Yan-
kee;” but seeing me look offended, he continued, humbly, “You
will not play what I wish you to?”
“No, Lewis,” I answered, effectually brought to self-posses-
sion by his sarcasm on one so dear to me.
“But, Cornelia,” said he, “this is altogether a matter of
prejudice. One of the most sensible girls, and the most exqui-
site singer in , does not hesitate to sing and play popular
airs on Sunday evening.”
“Tell her, then, when you next meet her,” said I, rising and
SOUTHERN MATRON. 81
leaving the pianoforte, “that she does not deserve the gift
which God has given her; that the higher her voice rises in the
Scale of harmony, the lower sinks her sense of moral and re-
ligious duty. Ask her if it is indeed too much for one whom
God has endowed with such powers, to devote them one day in
seven to Him 7 And never dare, Mr. Barnwell, to use a name
So sacred as that of Charles Duncan disrespectfully in my pres-
ence—the name of one” (and my eyes filled with tears) “who is
perhaps now looking on me from his spiritual throne, anxious to
know if his pure example sustains me in temptation.”
It is rarely that a girl of sixteen reproves seriously. A
pretty sullenness, a pettish retort, or a gay badinage are her
weapons; but when the light of a just indignation does dart
from a youthful eye, when with an elevated form, a kindling
glance, a crimson cheek, and a voice half tremulous, half au-
thoritative, she denounces error, sages may bend before her.
Lewis felt it was no longer safe to trifle; he knew, as most
men do, when a woman is sincere, and, bidding me good-night,
he retired.
CHAPTER X.
THE DEPART UR E.
“Poetry and sorg,
Music and books led the glad hours along;
Worlds of the vision'd minstrel, fancy, wove
Tales of old time, of chivalry, and love;
Or converse calm, or wit-shafts sprinkled round,
Like beams from gems, too light and finé to wound;
With spirits sparkling as the morning's sun,
Light as the dancing wave he smiles upon,
Like his own course—alas ! too soon to know
Bright suns may set in storms, and gay hearts sink in woe.”
J. R. DRAKE,
“How happy is he born and taught,
Who serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill !
Whose passions not his masters are.”
SIR. H. Wotron.
“I HAVE come to bid you good-bye,” said Lewis, the second
morning after our stormy interview, as, pushing aside the clus-
tering vines at the window with his riding-whip, he lightly
tapped my shoulder. “Am I forgiven 7”
It is a happy part of my temperament to forget offences, and
the severest punishment ever inflicted on me for being angry at
all, is to feel, after the first irritability is over, the necessity of
studying the curve of a courtesy, or the precise point to which
a finger must be extended in shaking hands. I could never be
drilled into these calculations. I have had preferences, Warn?
ones too; but ice upon ice in the manners of others has been
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 83
necessary, before my innate love of human beings, as brethren,
could be chilled. Old as I am, I am a novice still in this.
Nor am I sorry; for by this token I feel that God has given
me a heart to love his creatures. .
Lewis was the last person in the world against whom I could
have harbored anger; and as he inserted his handsome face
among the leaves, glowing with exercise, and kindling with ex-
cited sensibility and doubt unusual to him, and which the little
bravado of his manner could not conceal, he saw at once, by my
Smile, that he was forgiven.
“I am afraid to come in till you bid me,” said he, putting his
hand before his face boyishly.
His eyes were not so much hidden as to conceal my extended
hand, which he seized, and, leaping through the window, in a
moment was surrounded by our little ones, who loaded with ca-
resses the absentee of two days.
No shade was left on any brow. Who has not felt the elec-
tric magic of a smile 4 Delicious good-humor Bright gift
from Him who giveth Sunshine and flowers—blessed fireside
partner—brightest soother of care—most delicate grace of youth
—fair lingerer by the side of Serene old age—I dedicate myself
to thee! What though the wrinkle gathers on my brow, and
the chestnut curls of youth are fading to the gray of gathered
years, give me but the reflected lustre of thy smile, and I shall
charm even yet the eyes that love me !
Lewis lingered; he had been successful in hunting, and he
must stay to taste Maum Nell's cookery of the venison he
brought us; Robert had some new fishing-tackle from town, and
Lewis must certainly wait to test it; papa was trimming fruit-
trees, and Lewis had lately seen his father's mode, and must
help him; John was to get his opinion of a new saddle for his
mare Jenny; and, lest all these things should be insufficient to
84 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
fill his time, Lewis drew from his pocket the newly-published
poem of “The Lady of the Lake,” and offered to read it to
mamma and me. He was a glorious reader, and his eyes helped
him on with their full expression. “The longest summer's day
would have seemed too much in haste,” while, with a perfect im-
bodying of the author's sentiments in his voice and looks, he
read to us this delicate inspiration ; how then must our winter
daylight have flown Yet, let the truth be confessed, neither
Malcolm Graeme nor Ellen Douglas prevented our discussing
the venison at dinner, nor our enjoying a dance after supper, for
we possessed the usual plantation luxury of a fiddler. I do not
feel bound to say how many tunes Diggory played, nor how
well a few visits to town had initiated his quick eye and ear
into the tunes and figures of some newly-introduced cotillions.
It is amusing to observe how soon a pretty air is appropriated,
in Charleston, by the negroes, by their quick musical organs.
You hear the mason's apprentice whistle it as he handles his
trowel, the chimney-sweep sings it between his technical cry,
the nurse warbles it forth to her charge, and, almost before you
know it yourself, you hear it trilling from the lips of your
dressing-maid.
Mamma was dragged from her seat like a martyr by one of
the boys, and I, as usual, was Lewis's partner. Diggory's air
of importance was exceedingly ludicrous; his whole identity
seemed changed by the stroke of his fiddle. Poor mamma had
never been much of a dancer; all her early associations were
connected with the minuet and contra-dance; and when Dig-
gory called out with the voice of a Stentor,
“Fore and back two, ole missis—ladies change—turn you
partiner at de corner—shasha all round,” she was nearly beside
herself; while Diggory, sometimes stopping short and rolling up
his white eyes, exclaimed, “Mylor my ole missis spileeberyting!”
SOUTHERN MATRON. 85
Diggory, alas ! in his musical science and dancing oratory
was but a specimen of our city ball-room performers. Unac-
quainted with the science of music, though gifted with decided
natural powers, they play antics with the “high heaven of
sound,” while sawing violins, harsh clarionets, jingling tambou-
rines, crashing triangles, with the occasional climax of a base
drum, make up in quantity what is deficient in quality; and
then, overtopping even that climax, comes the shout of a voice
with the negro dialect, calling out the figures, which, to a
stranger, makes “confusion worse confounded.” The South
is certainly far, far behind the civilized world in music of this
character, and there seems little hope of a remedy.”
But, fortunately, youth is not critical anywhere, and we were
not critical at Roseland. Diggory's fiddle, like the horn of
Oberon, was a potent spell to set us in motion; and as for his
harmony, we knew not the folly of being too wise, nor cared
for the luxurious adaptation to modulated sound, gliding
“Softly sweet in Lydian measure.”
Our dancing was all spring and impulse, like the step of child-
hood when it chases butterflies to the piping of fresh winds.
“I shall leave the Elms to-morrow,” said Lewis in a low tone
to me, when we had “tired each other down.” “Get your cloak
and walk with me in the piazza; do, Cornelia.”
I appealed to mamma, who consented, inserting another pin
in my cloak, and wondering that we could leave the bright light-
wood blaze on the hearth for the cold moonlight. She was sure
papa and herself would not be such fools.
The night was beautiful, and the waning moon revealed the
“lesser glories.” They brought Duncan to my thoughts, and
my lips spake from the fulness of my heart.
* In 1849, I am happy to say that this evil is thoroughly remedied.
86 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
“I am not surprised, Lewis,” I said, “that the ancients
should have imbodied the stars in forms of life. I could weave
an image of Charles Duncan with every constellation. The dia-
mond which helps to form Delphinus reminds me of his beauti-
fully-proportioned character; Sagitta of his thoughts, which flew
like bright arrows to every mind; the Crux of the elevated faith
which lay along and illuminated his path, like that on the Gal-
axy; and Corona of the glowing crown which ought in life and
in death to encircle his noble brow.” -
An impatient motion from Lewis checked me, and I looked
at him for his meaning.
“I did not come to prate about the stars, Miss Wilton,” said
he, bitterly. “I must soon leave you, and they will be all dark-
ness to me; but you,” continued he, sarcastically, “will be com-
forted in their beams, for Charles Duncan is their hero.”
“ Unkind Lewis,” said I; but, wishing to soothe him, I added,
“Suppose I make you the head of my system; ‘there is a glory
of the sun' as well as of the moon and stars.”
“I am not in the mood for trifling, Cornelia,” interrupted he,
impetuously. “I asked for a few moments' intercourse with
you, to lay before you the collected love of my early years. I
know we are young, but I am going from you. You will visit
Charleston, and a thousand fools will linger near you, and catch
your smile, and listen to your voice, while I am distant and un-
remembered. I wished to tell you, that from the first moment
of our childish frolics to the present time, you have been my
heart's choice; and to offer you that heart in its truest devo-
tion; but no; your form is near me, it is true; but, though you
know that this is your last interview with me for months, per-
haps forever, you gaze on the stars and sigh for Charles Dun.
can.”
I was puzzled for a reply; half frightened with the abrupt-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 87
ness of the declaration, and the unreasonableness of his views, I
knew not what to say, and fairly laughed outright. He became
furious; called me coquettish, heartless, and many names that
love should not even know how to spell.
“What do you require of me, Lewis?” said I, anxiously.
“Your whole soul,” was his answer. “My day-thought and
night-dream will be only of you, and I demand the same re-
turns. I will not accept a love doled out of the heart's treas-
ury like gold from the purse of the miser. True affection
knows no meum and tuum ; it is poured forth like a flood from
two souls, and those two become one. But I am a fool to
frighten you with my vehemence. I will be more gentle. I
will sue you as the south wind courts the flowers. I will be as
gentle as Charles Duncan, if you will only promise to keep your
heart until my return, if you do not give it to me.”
“You have done well for me, Lewis,” said I, “to repeat that
name; it is a talisman. Mr. Duncan, who studied my temper-
ament, often warned me never to connect myself either in friend-
ship or love with one who knew not self-control. Stormy pas-
sions terrify me. Besides, I do not deserve the language you
have used to me. I love Charles Duncan as I love my own
brothers—no farther.”
“But he has biassed you,” said Lewis, moodily; “you confess
it;” and he drew his arm away from mine rudely.
“He never breathed your name disrespectfully,” answered I,
warmly; “he was too high-souled for that.”
“If it is true, then, that you do not love Charles Duncan.”
said he, throwing himself on his knees before me, his eyes flash-
ing with emotion, his teeth shut, and his breast heaving, “swear
to me that you will enter into no engagement with him or oth-
ers until my return. You will never break a vow. Swear it
to me, in mercy, Cornelia.”
88 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON.
“I will not make such a vow,” said I, resolutely, withdraw.
ing the hands he was clasping in his; “my heart is not to be
taken by storm; and as for swearing, I have been taught by too
gentle a master.”
“Curse him curse him P' muttered Lewis, with the bitter
gush of overwrought passion. I started from his side with a
scream of terror, ran through the piazza as if pursued by a
fiend, burst open the door, and threw myself weeping into mam-
ma's arms. The next day I heard that Lewis was gone.
(; H A P T E R XI.
J A C Q U E'S FU N E R A L.
“The earliest summon'd, and the longest spared,
Are here deposited, with tribute paid
Various; but unto each some tribute paid.”
WoRDsworth’s Ea:cursion.
LET me pause to bestow a parting notice on one who is still
associated with the happiest and tenderest scenes of my youth.
Jacque's labors, as is customary with aged slaves, had been
gradually suspended. He still performed a few voluntary du-
ties, and might be seen on Sunshiny days propping a failing fence,
clearing an encumbered hedge, drying nets, making baskets of
rushes or oak, attending to his pigs or poultry, or, with a char-
acteristic eye to his master's interests, tottering to the field, and
shaking his head if he detected any symptom of waste. Still
retaining a feeling of authority, he was angered by idleness;
even the young negroes, whose greatest toil was to turn somer-
sets, and dance to their own whistling, tried to look busy or
grave when his eye was on them, long after his corporeal and
mental powers had ceased their activity. But the time drew
near when old Jacque must die. It was in vain that mamma
gave him her personal attendance, sent him daily luxuries, and
anticipated his wants with almost filial tenderness; the golden
chord of his life was loosened, and we were told one morning that
he had died, breathing a prayer for his master's family.
90 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
Mamma had asked him, many years before, if there was any-
thing she could do for his comfort.
“Tank you much, my missis,” he answered; “Jacque
hab everyting him want in dis world, 'cept he shroud, praise
God.” .
Mamma gave him money, and he expended it on grave-clothes.
He had taken them out and aired them from year to year; now
they were indeed to enfold his venerable remains; and we were
a mourning family; true, we were not clad in weeds, but a ten-
der tie had been riven, and it was riven with tears. None but
those who live under our peculiar institutions can imagine the
strong bond existing between faithful servants and the families
with whom they are connected.
I was informed by Maum Nanny, Jacque's sister, that he had
left something for me in the sill of his chest as his dying be-
quest. An old pocket-book was found there, which I opened,
and discovered several bills of continental money carefully
wrapped in paper.”
Plantation negroes prefer to bury their dead at night or be-
fore sunrise. Neighboring plantations are notified, and all who
can obtain tickets from overseers attend. A spot of ground is
allotted for their burial-place, and simple monuments of affec-
tion may usually be found in them. The ceremony of inter-
ment is commonly performed by a class leader, a pious colored
man, who is the spiritual teacher of the neighborhood, and pre-
pares his brethren by an examination into their belief, and a
watch over their conduct and feelings, for communion.
The “pomp and circumstance” of the burial, for it is not less
among slaves, in proportion, than in palaces, delayed the funeral
* It may scarcely be necessary to repeat that this incident and others
in the Southern Matron, like those in the Northern Housekeeper, are
founded in truth. .
SOUTHERN MATRON. 91
until midnight. As the visitors assembled, they crowded the
hut of the deceased, and when that was full, stood around the
entrance near the coffin. At short intervals some among the
group commenced a hymn, in which all joined; refreshments
were then decorously distributed.*
The death of Jacque was particularly affecting to me, for I
had been his especial favorite. I went with the boys to see him
after his decease; and though I did not feel the faintness which
came over me at witnessing the remains of grandmamma, yet I
had that dizzy sensation which youth often experiences at the
immense difference between a bright intellectual glance and the
glazed eye or moveless lid, between the warm touch of affection
and the stiff, cold hand that returns no pressure.
The night of his interment was mild, and I sat at my window
by the starlight, watching the approach of the negroes as they
crossed the fields or came through the avenue. Torches were
seen glowing in the range of whitewashed huts, and a bush-lightf
was flaming near Jacque's habitation, which was so brilliant that
I perceived the coffin and the groups gathering round it; while
occasionally strains of their hymn came floating with a softened
cadence on the breeze. The procession was formed ; six women
dressed in white, preceded the coffin, and the pall-bearers, bear-
ing torches, were on each side. Their path lay near the house,
and nothing was to be heard but an occasional ejaculation of
“Lord Jesus P’ “He knows P’ “God have mercy P. “His will
be done !”
* This solemnity is usually styled by the negroes “a setting up.”
When a funeral occurs at too great a distance from the city to procure
tea, coffee, &c., or the owners do not provide them, the body is in-
terred, and the friends afterward celebrate what is called a “false bury-
ing,” where religious ceremonies are performed, and refreshments pro-
vided. -
† A fire of light wood kindled on a small mound of earth.
92 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
The burial-place was near the river, and a huge oak threw its
arms over it as if protecting the dwelling of the dead. I could
see them as they wound down the slope and stood in a circle
round the grave, distance still softening their sacred song. It
was one which I had heard from infancy in their devotional ex-
ercises, but never had it touched my feelings as now, when it
rose over poor Jacque's last dwelling-place. The leader spoke;
at first his voice was low, then rising to that declamatory shout
which often carries the feelings captive, it reached me where I
sat. He described the tomb of Lazarus, and said that Jesus
wept, and that they might weep, for a good brother was gone,
and there was no Jesus by his grave to bring him back; he
dwelt on the character of Jacque, and on their duty in imitating
his example; told them to be grateful for their religious bless-
ings, for, while the heathen were in darkness, a great light had
shone upon them; dwelt long on their sinfulness and God's
anger, and taxed his imagination to paint the torments of hell
unless they repented and accepted the Gospel.
Familiarity with his dialect prevented with me all that might
have been ludicrous to a stranger. He prayed for his master
and mistress, that God might reward them for all their good-
mess to brother Jacque, “Oh Lord Jesus,” he cried, “bless
my young maussas. Gie 'em good counsel, and let 'em drink
of de water of life, and bless my young missis; may she know
de Lord dat bought her, and may she bring her alabaster box
of ointment and pour it out for the love of her maussa, Christ.”
As these words reached me, I could not restrain my tears;
I laid my head on the window-sill and sobbed aloud. Another
hymn was sung. The words of Watts, the sweet singer of the
Christian Israel, whose tender notes fall like gentle dew on the
heart of monarch and slave, rose in the quiet midnight under
that starry heaven.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 93
“Why do we mourn departing friends,
Or shake at death’s alarms 7
'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends
To call them to his arms.”
As they ceased, the waving lights passed away. I was again
alone with night in its silent beauty. I threw myself on my
bed, the sounds still vibrating on my memory; and, as my eyes
closed in sleep, a vision of the mansion whither the spirit of
Jacque had risen came before me, and I heard cherub voices
welcome him to his heavenly home.
A plain marble slab may be seen at Roseland, on which is
inscribed, .
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
JACQUE,
A FAITH FUL, SLAVE,
His master bears this testimony to his worth.*
* A similar monument is on a plantation a few miles from Charleston.
0 H A P T E R XII.
T H E G O U N T R Y C H U R C H .
“Encincture small,
But infinite in grasp of joy and woe
Hopes, fears, in never-ending ebb and flow—
The spousal trembling—and the ‘dust to dust'—
The prayers—the contrite struggle—and the trust
That to the Almighty Father looks through all !”
WoRD sworth.
ONE would have thought, by the lathering and scrubbing on
Sunday mornings at Roseland, that we were laborers through
the week, and had but this holiday. All the little ones came
forth from their ablutions with wry faces and blue noses, look-
ing like anything rather than tranquil young Christians; and
mamma had that stiff air which a determination to keep new
clothes for Sunday is apt to produce. She was frequently be-
lated, for the church was eight miles distant, and it really was
an effort to get children, servants, horses and carriages ready
for such a drive. We suffered a country inconvenience with
regard to clothes. Mamma's new bonnet, on its arrival from
the city, was liable to contract, and stand upon the top of her
head like a funnel; or little Ben, our hero of six years, was
squeezed into a new jacket, every button of which remonstrated;
or papa's boots would give an unaccountable pinch on his corns,
though the pattern sent to town was of ample dimensions. But
these incidents were not always occurring. Often did mamma's
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 95
bonnet fit, and Ben's little fat figure roll on in easy rotundity,
and papa's face beam out a cornless Smile, and the little race
of Wiltons, with their plump, mottled bare arms and necks, and
curling hair, and unfretted cleanliness, come tottling down from
their baths the very pictures of happy childhood; while the
babe, Patsey, looked redolent of smiles, spite of the pink satin
hat and the three rows of lace which lay with its checkered
shade on her soft brow, confining her one thin lock of silky
brown hair, and spite of her satin-lined cloak fettering her dim-
pled feet as they played a tattoo against her nurse's ribs.
Mamma, when she could find time, madame, when she could
find inclination, Mr. Duncan and I or the other children, usu-
ally occupied the carriage; my brothers rode their own horses,
while papa preferred a little buggy, in which he could cross and
reconnoitre two or three fields on his way.
Many of these drives Mr. Duncan and I had taken alone.
He told me that not on one mountain only is God worshipped
in spirit and in truth, but that the woods and skies are a tem-
ple, in which, as in earthly fames, we may commune with the
Deity, and I soon realized this truth. Nature seemed more
still on the Sabbath than at other times in our lone and lofty
forests; the birds checked their chattering joy, and poured out
hymns of praise; the woods waved in calmer reverence, and
there was a hush of solemnity in the floating clouds, as they
canopied the throne of the Invisible.
Nor were these emotions disturbed by the view of our coun-
try church. It rose in simple architecture, discovered by its
white walls amid the clustering green ; and though it was some-
times thought that a sufficient care was not taken to prune the
wild growth around it, particularly in the graveyard, where
affection could scarcely read the record of its love, yet the wild-
ness of the spot seemed to me to suit the mood of revery which
96 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
falls on the thoughtful rambler amid forest graves. The burial-
place was not large, for most plantations have their own ; but
it was capacious enough to tell the usual tale of infancy with-
ered in its early bud, of manhood cut down in its prime, and of
old age seeking its last repose., The birds, scarcely restrained
by winter, poured out their songs over the dead; the gray moss
hung floating from the falling walls; rose-bushes, unchecked
and untrained, waved in the winds; and a tame deer, which no
one claimed, resorted thither, loving the Sabbath communion
of human beings. It was a simple scene, and where was its
charm ſº I have heard that those who have crossed the ocean,
and seen the tombs of buried intellect in England's great me-
tropolis, and gazed on the ruins of fallen greatness in luxurious
Italy, and pondered on the Eastern Pyramids towering over a
handful of dust, in the midst of the lofty speculations incident
in such scenes, would revert to the place of their early wor-
ship, and the thought of it would come like the gushing of a
cool stream over the soul. What is this charm Answer,
simple, untaught Nature, for the voice can only rise from thee!
But, with all this sensibility to external objects, I had lis-
tened to the ritual and preaching of this church almost un-
touched; for our minister, and may God forgive him, was cold
himself, unkindled with that sense of his high vocation which
lends ardor to prayer and power to exhortation. How could
his audience feel zeal in services where they saw no heart 2 It
is praise to them that they performed their duty. How could
he expect the soul to hover on the lips of his hearers when
reading a prayer in a style which a school-boy would be corrected
for using 7
And can a clergyman, indeed, become cold under an office
of mediation between God and man 7 Can he enter the sacred
desk unprepared, stammering, and absent, who has to plead a
SOUTHERN MATRON. 97
cause high as heaven, wide as eternity? I know not but I
might, as a fallible being, become chilled by repetition; but I
feel that, were I a man placed under the wide responsibility of
guiding souls, and choosing that sacred position in society, I
would cultivate every power; even external attractions should
not be beyond my care; I would make pure eloquence my
study, that the voice God gave me might call his children to
know him ; I would cultivate personal purity and grace, that
men might be attracted by God's image; I would plead with
them as a hungry man pleads for nourishment, and pray with
them as myself expecting to share their doom. I would be in-
genious in plans to draw them to heaven.
Our pastor was one of whom it is said, Oh, he is not a fine
preacher, but he is a good man | Perverted term—when given
to one dragging a paralyzed mind. The atmosphere of religion
is materially affected by these sleepy heirs of ten talents, who
should be working up the whole to all possible perfection. Yet
when, on opening his sermon, our pastor would sometimes find a
leaf of his well-tumbled discourse missing; when he even mistook
the order of services; when an ill-written word was slurred over
with a cough, it was still said, “Our minister means well, he is
only careless.” Careless a minister of the gospel careless
Then may Gabriel be careless, as he stands with veiled face to
receive the orders of his king.
Alas for our poor little church. Prayer was offered up with
cold monotony. Our singing was reduced to the fine squeak
of an old lady, who would utterly have failed but for the aid of
a few ancient negroes, whose ear was more true than hers.
The number of gentlemen around the church till the commence.
ment of the sermon was greater than the occupants of the pews
within, and the subjects of conversation were of the most worldly
nature. It seemed to me that old Mr. Guildstreet always kept
5
98 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
his best joke for the last, and its effects were seen on the par-
tially-composed features of the gentlemen as they entered, just
before the giving out of the text. John once asked a searching
question—“Papa, are the church prayers only made for ladies
and children?”
“Oh, no, my son,” said papa, and I saw a reverential shade
of thought steal over his brow; “men feel the need of prayer.”
There was probably more excuse for these worldly discus-
sions at our country church than elsewhere. Good friends were
parted for a long summer, and amid winter business met but
seldom. Tying their horses under a sheltering tree, they began
with the compliments of the day; then followed an inevitable
comparison of the state of crops, then a discussion of public
news, and he was the most sought who had seen the last news-
paper; again the great agricultural interests of the country
were brought forward, until every man approached nearer his
neighbor's button, when the last strain of the hymn reminded
them that something else was going on, and they entered with
whispering answers or remarks almost on the floor of God's
temple. The deportment of the ladies was generally different.
They preserved a serious air on entering church and through-
out the service. After the blessing was pronounced began their
exchange. I do not speak of this in blame. It is a part of
the social intercourse of Southern life, necessarily arising from
our widely-separated estates; it preserves us from coldness, and
I am glad of an opportunity of stating this, as strangers have
frequently complained of our habit of conversing after church.
Ladies from the Northern States bow almost with solemnity to
a near neighbor, and retire, while Southern ones, with a cordial
shake of the hand, testify their pleasure at the interview. I
have sometimes said to myself in a New-England church, Can
these Christians love one another? So different are the im-
SOUTHERN MATRON, 99
pressions produced on the two parties, that we here think it
cold-hearted not to greet each other with expressions of cordial
interest. '.
I cannot well extend the same excuse to the gentlemen, who
encroached, at the period of which I am speaking, on the short
hour of religious service; they may meet often or earlier; and
even when the pressure of pecuniary or political interests calls
for communication on the Sabbath, let them pause when those
services commence, which, if worth anything at all, are worth
ten minutes of preparatory prayer.
Such was our country church; but a brighter chapter remains
to be unfolded; prayers soon arose, on which the young wing
of devotion poised itself for heaven; hymns where the music of
the heart and voice struggled in harmony; and exhortations,
which, while they warned us of the consequences of neglect,
taught us our glorious destination, and bade us faithfully pre-
pare for it.
C H A P T E R XIII.
T H E S T R A N G E H .
* Let not those
Whose homes are bright with sunshine and with love,
Put on the insolence of happiness,
Glorying in their proud lot; a lonely hour
Is on its way to each, to all.”
MRs. HEMANs’ Siege of Valencia.
IN January I was to leave my country home for the city; my
beautiful home, which rose in solitude like a white bird amid the
green forests. Papa was at infinite pains to justify the name
of Roseland. It was his delight to bring strangers from the
town to visit us; and, without describing the place, drive them
through the pine woods; then enter the avenue where the Cher-
okee hedge shut out the view; then, by a sudden turn, bring
Roseland before them; and here Thomson might have perceived,
at midwinter, perhaps with more truth than in an English
spring,
“A s.ower of roses on our plains descend.”
They formed a carpet beneath, bowers above; the most common
hedge and fence was enlivened by them; and in a sunny winter
morning there was a bright, airy freshness about their pink
leaves, for frost gives additional vigor to this lovely flower, and
deepens its hue. Mamma and I kept up the character of the
place within doors. Wases of roses were placed in the bed-
rooms, and a few strewn over the pillows of strangers.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 101
A little sentimentality lingered in my heart connected with
Lewis; but it will easily be discerned that my preference for
him had arisen rather from the sympathy of youthful tastes,
than that deep-rooted feeling which outlasts change and absence.
I learned by letters to our friends at the Elms that he too was
undergoing the same curative process, and regaining his heart's
freedom ; and let not my romantic readers be shocked, but think
whether the actual experience of life does not agree with these
fluctuating impressions of early youth.
My brothers had entered college, and papa was visiting his
planting interest on Edisto, when mamma and I were aroused
one evening, from a game of chess, by the cry of fire. This
sound, so dreadful in a populous place, is fearfully appalling in
the country, where the willing though inexperienced negroes are
our only assistants. We rushed to the piazza door, and strained
our eyes through the darkness. N othing was to be seen but
the graceful wave of the trees, and the stars looking down in
their nightly walks above; but soon the glossy branches of an
orange-tree shone with a sudden glare, and the flame burst from
the servants' hall, a room on the back piazza.
The people came running from their houses in every direc.
tion. Their first thought was of our children; mamma had
already darted to their rooms, and they came around us wring-
ing their hands in sudden fright and wonder at the scene.
With a kind of instinct, we rescued papa's papers and valuables,
aided by the servants, some of them showing a presence of mind
which seems to belong more to character than station; most of
them, however, being paralyzed by fright.
The back part of the building was now entirely in flames;
they rushed like devouring monsters, and mamma and I re-
treated from the increasing heat.
A sudden thought struck me. The portraits of my grandpa.
102 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
rents had not been preserved; and it seemed to me as if dear
friends were consuming. .
“Oh, Hector,” I cried to the driver, “you know where the
large pictures are in the hall; the beams have caught at the
piazza door, but you can force the windows—save them, my
good fellows, for your master's sake.”
“Ay, ay,” shouted the men, “we fetch ole maussa and ole
missis. Don't cry, Miss N eely,” and they hurried through the
piazza. .
How many reflections crowded through my mind as they dis-
appeared My youthful sports; the hours I had passed with
Charles Duncan; my parting with Lewis; my father's fond at-
tachment to this residence ; my brother's grief; all rose in rapid
succession.
At this moment a horseman rode up the avenue at full speed,
attended by a servant. He saw our group by the flames, and,
leaping on the ground, offered his assistance. Mamma was en-
gaged in soothing the children, and I, looking at the building,
shook my head in hopelessness, as the ruin spread far and wide.
A moving object arrested my attention, waving its arms at an
upper window illuminated by the flames; and, as a portion of
the roof fell with a crash, I fancied I heard a scream. Dark-
ness settled for a moment over the building; and then a fresh
light looming up revealed the figure again. It was old Nanny,
Jacque's sister. It seemed to me like a nightmare, as she stood
tossing her thin arms wildly in the flames, her dark form in
contrast with the lurid light. A momentary faintness came
over me at the thought of a fellow-creature perishing thus be-
fore my gaze. It passed away, and I felt a frantic desire for
her safety. “I can go,” I cried—“I know the passage; one
way yet remains. For Heaven's sake, let me go. I will perish
rather than see her die.”
SOUTHERN MATRON. 103
“I will save her,” said the stranger, in a voice whose low,
equal tones came with a singular power over my feelings. “Ex.
plain to me in a few words the situation of the apartment.” I
did so. .
“Ned, give me the hatchet and follow,” said he to his ser-
vant. .
As he departed, Hector and the men arrived with the por.
traits. They seemed a presage of good. I kissed the inani-
mate faces as if they could recognize my tenderness; and it
seemed to me that, with a pitying melancholy, their eyes were
turned to the ruin of their early love.
But for a moment, however, could I dwell on them. Life,
human life, is the fibre running through God's creation with su-
preme power; that poor, struggling being, tottering on the edge
of natural decay, without ties of consanguinity—my father's
slave—that helpless being was more to me at that moment than
worlds at my feet. She was human, and she lived. The
stranger had disappeared, but there she stood, her shrivelled
form expanded with terror, her dim eyes dilated, and her broken
voice uttering the piercing shriek of desperate agony. In my
dreams I sometimes see that figure still.
My brain whirled with intense expectation. I heard another
crash of falling timbers, and she was gone ! I hid my face in
horror, but a voice, the calm voice of the stranger, thrilling and
elevated with emotion, was heard, “Safe, safe, by Heaven
Forward, Ned P' and they appeared bearing the exhausted form
of the old woman, and laid her on the bank where we stood.
The eyes of the portraits seemed now turned on their rescued
old attendant, and opening her own, a wild expression crossed
them, as she encountered those familiar faces of manly and
feminine beauty. She rose slowly from the bank, then made a
low obeisance before them, and, turning to the burning building
104. RECQLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON.
from which she had been borne, fell on her knees in prayer
and wept.
And my beautiful home was a ruin The flames leaped from
point to point like fiery serpents; the wide amphitheatre of
woods was tinged with the glow; the Ashley mirrored the flam-
ing pile; and the stars seemed to shrink far back in their dark-
ened concave. All now was as a dream to me; true, I heard
the stranger's quiet tones giving directions suited to the emer.
gency, and I felt that a form of no common elegance, and a face
of Sweet and Serene expression was near. I heard mamma's
soothing voice addressing the servants and children, and my
baby-sister's joyful shout in her nurse's arms, at the brilliant
toy of her burning home; but my thoughts were all garnered
up in that one image, the Scene of my childhood. I was arous-
ed by the arrival of our friends from the Elms, with offers of
assistance. Amid their sympathy and congratulations at our
escape, the stranger rode unthanked away.
How often afterward did I gaze through crowds in the hope
of being recognized by him, offering those thanks that lay like
a hidden treasure, kept for him in the depths of my soul!
C HAP T E R XIV.
N E G R O S U P E R S T IT I O N S.
The New Preacher.
“Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone,
Wi’ the auld moone in hir arme;
And I feir, I feir, my dier master,
That you will com to harme.”
SIR PATRICK SPENCE.--Old Ballad.
“Oh, sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company
To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay !”
The Rime of the Ancient JMariner.
MISFORTUNE is not required to develop kind neighborhood at
the South. A system of attentions is going on in prosperity So
tranquilly, that, when adverse circumstances befall one, no sur-
prise is excited at a great benefit. Not a day had passed for
years without some friendly act between the Elms and Rose-
land. The question was not asked, Have they this preserve, or
that flower ? would they like to read this book, or copy that
pattern ? But the preserve or the flower, the book or the pat-
tern, were sent as testimonials of good-will. Remembrance was
our simple watchword.
The Elms was to us now as another home. Lewis's tempo-
6%
106 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
rary estrangement had caused no coldness, for we had so long
regarded each other in our sports and quarrels as children, that
we were still thought of in the same light by our respective
families.
On the evening after the burning of Roseland, brother Ben
and I visited the ruins. The sun had not set, and the laborers,
retiring from their tasks, stopped to speak to me. We soon
formed a group by the still smoking walls; while a shake of the
head, or an ejaculation with upraised eye, testified their sympa-
thy with me, and their acknowledgment of the Power who holds
the elements in his hand. .
I must ask-indulgence of general readers for mingling so
much of the peculiarities of negroes with my details. Sur-
rounded with them from infancy, they form a part of the land-
scape of a Southern woman's life; take them away, and the
picture would lose half its reality. They watch our cradles; they
are the companions of our sports; it is they who aid our bridal
decorations, and they wrap us in our shrouds.
“Miss Neely,” said the driver, approaching me with an air of
solemnity, “you been hear sister Nelly dream 7”
“No, Hector,” I answered; “what was it?”
“He berry awful for true,” said Hector, and his voice fell to
the key of mystery. “When sister Nelly put Maus Ben to bed
de night o' de fire, Maus Ben ax 'em for sing one hymn for 'em,
cause he eye clean;" den sister Nelly begin for sing till Maus
Ben and him fell asleep, all two.f. Den sister Nelly dream dat
de devil was stand on de edge o’ de big hominy-pot, and stir de
hominy wid he pitchfork; and while he stir de hominy, and sis-
ter Nelly right scare, he stare at she wid he red eye like fire,
and he wisk he tail, and fire run roun he tail like it run roun
one dry pine-tree.”
* Watchful. † Both.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 10%
Hector had scarcely concluded when an old woman claimed
my attention. She had been sitting on a charred log, her hoe
laid by her side, her elbows resting on her knees, and her body
rocking to and fro; but, when Hector paused she stood up, and,
courtesying with a very dismal tone and seesaw motion, said—
“He no for notting, my young missis, dat one screech-owl
been screech on de oak by Dinah house tree night last week.
When he didn't done screech, Plato took one lightwood torch,
and light 'em, and fling 'em into de tree, and den he gone. We
all say something gwine happen " -
“Miss Neely,” said a lad, bustling up with great importance,
“if dat dog Growler” (pointing to him) “an't got sense ! All
night before de fire he been creep roun and roun wid he tail be-
tween he leg, and look up to maussa house, and gie such a
howl, ki! how he howl! and I say to marmy, “Someting bad
gwine for happen, marmy, sure P’’
As the boy spoke, I observed the hair on the crown of his
head tied closely up to a piece of stick an inch long, so that his
mouth and eyes stood almost ajar.
“Why is your hair tied so tight, Bob?” said I; “it makes
your eyes stare.”
His mother, who was near, came up and answered for him.
“Him palate down, Miss Neely. He catch one cold at de
fire, and I been tie he hair up for fetch up he palate. Make
your manners to Miss Neely, Bobby, son.”
The communication of the negroes was interrupted, for papa
was discovered coming up the avenue. I hastened to meet him;
a look of apprehension wrought on his features, as, alighting,
and glancing at the ruins, he pressed forward with a struggling
whisper—“Your mother ?—the children?”
“Safe, papa, all safe lº
“God be thanked P’ he exclaimed; and, leaning against the
108 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
fence, he shaded his eyes with his hands. I did not interrupt
him. His strong and ardent mind was realizing its dependence.
God was receiving the tribute which, sooner or later, awaits his
power from every heart.
When he raised his head, tears were in his eyes. He took
me fondly in his arms, kissed me again and again, called me
his own, his blessed one, and then proceeded with me to the
ruin. The sun was throwing his last bright rays over the black-
ened walls; to some it might have seemed in mockery of the
desolation; but as they fell on papa's face, lighting up its look
of tenderness and gratitude, I felt as if Nature was welcoming
him still.
“Hector,” said papa, extending his hand to him, after I had
rapidly sketched the events of the conflagration, “Cornelia tells
me you were a brave fellow. I must reward you for saving the
portraits.” -
“Ay, ay, maussa,” said Hector respectfully touching his hat,
“bless God for all his mercy. Please de Lord, while nigger
have hand for work, ole maussa and ole missis an’t gwine for
burn up.”
The next morning was the Sabbath, and we prepared for
church. Accidental circumstances had prevented my attending
for several Sundays; and though I had heard of a change in
our preaching, I had not given much thought to the subject.
Service had commenced on our arrival, and I perceived no scat-
tered individuals, as usual, outside. Even Mr. Guildstreet had
retired. On entering the church, I heard some one reading the
liturgy in tones of singular sensibility. He seemed pleading
for some good which earth could not bestow. An attitude of
devotion prevailed throughout the congregation; and, for the
first time, excited by gratitude and kindled by sympathy, my
heart went up fully with public prayer. But my devotional
SOUTHERN MATRON. 109
thoughts were suddenly startled by a voice in the pew behind
me, repeating the responses; it was low, but I could not mis-
take it. I had heard it under circumstances too exciting to be
lost to my memory. It was the voice of the daring, generous
stranger. I should have recognized it amid a multitude
“Now !” thought I, with a glow all about my heart, “I shall
have an opportunity to thank him " but not for worlds could I
have turned towards him. -
A hymn was given out, and I was recalled to my higher du-
ties. There was a pause of a moment, until a sweet female
voice commenced the tune, trembling, but with true harmony.
Like a leading bird, it fluttered a while alone; then came gath-
ering voices, sustaining and surrounding its upward flight, until
the church was filled with melody.
The concert of our lips ceased, but we felt a sacred joy in
the depths of our souls. The speaker arose to read from Scrip-
ture. Was it really the same volume to which I had been so
often a weary listener? There was life in every word; and, as
I saw the speaker turn his eyes on me, on me, I felt a new and
living interest. Why is that expressive organ so often denied
its legitimate power in the pulpit? One glance which says,
“I am addressing you, you are the being to whom God sends
his message,” makes doubly touching an illustrated truth.
Again the congregation united in petition and praise, and the
preacher began his discourse with animated solemnity. His
voice would have been too powerful had it not been for the va-
riation of its cadence; and his manner might have been thought
overwrought, had not a native modesty, a face of most benig-
nant expression, and a simplicity of style fitted to the unlearned
by its clearness, softened their enthusiasm. It was not the
gathered inhabitants of a few plantations he seemed addressing;
one would have thought, from his earnestness, that the world
1 10 - RECOLLECTIONS OF A
was his audience. He stood soul to soul with his hearers, and
rested not until he felt his victory. .
I had forgotten the stranger while my heart was struggling
with this thought, “What shall I do to be saved?” Holy res-
olutions were bursting like unsealed fountains within me; and,
with a gush of joy, I raised in that sanctuary a new altar, and
wrote upon it, Holiness to the Lord!
But man was made for mingled sympathies; inspiring and
lovely as these were, they were soon interrupted. Who has
not felt the power of the ocean, leaping in its giant might, and
been touched by all that is beautiful and bright in the sunshine
on its waters, and fancied a living language in the clouds rising
and rolling like another sea above? Yet, in this princely dis.
play of N ature, when the mind seems not to belong to earth, let
a little skiff approach on that broad expanse, with one human
being, and a train of associations come rushing around him, con-
centrating themselves in him, and the vast and beautiful are for
a time forgotten. Thus were my thoughts won back to earth,
when the voice of the stranger in the closing hymn sounded on
my ear, and my grateful heart again began to frame words ex-
pressive of its feelings. The service was concluded, and I
turned, modestly struggling with enthusiasm. There he stood,
calm and graceful, the same ! I felt a glow rush over my face,
my eyes met his fully, and I was about to address him, when a
glance told me that I was not recognized 1 I shrank back with
a sense of mortification even painful, as, with a bow of graceful
acknowledgment to the occupants of the pew, he quietly retired.
“Who is that?” at length said I, in a whisper to Bell Wilson,
my neighbor, as he disappeared.
“I cannot say, Cornelia,” was her reply. “Papa saw a
stranger at the porch, and asked him to our pew. He is a
handsome fellow !”
SOUTHERN MATRON. 111
I did not join in her admiration. I was offended, I knew
not why; and went pouting into the chair with papa with an
air of uncommon dignity.
C H A P T E R X W.
THE STRANGER.—COUNTRY CHRISTMAS.—MORTIFICATIONS.
“The household stir.
Warned me to rise—
A stir unusual, and accompanied
With many a tuning of rude instruments.”
Rog ERs' Italy.
“”Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green wood
So blithe Lady Alice is singing,
On the beech’s pride and oak’s brown side
Lord Richard’s axe is ringing.”
SIR WALTER Scott.
My frowns were quite unnoticed by papa, who solaced him-
self for my silence by singing St. Martin's. This is one joy of
the woods; freedom to sing or shout in the overflow of feeling,
or even in the glory of vacuity. It was not for me at my age
to muse long; my head was too full of the young hero.
“Papa,” said I, “did you see that stranger at church 7”
“Yes, my love,” he answered, resuming an interrupted strain
of St. Martin’s. -
“Did you not think him handsome 7" said I, pulling an over-
hanging branch of bay-tree as we passed it.
“I can't say I did,” replied he.
“Oh papal But you will acknowledge that he has a very
refined and noble air,” said I, with earnestness.
“You must be in love with him, Cornelia,” said papa, “for
love is blind, they say; that is the only excuse I can make for
your thinking him noble-looking and all that.”
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 113
“In love, papa P" said I, blushing to the eyes, “with a per-
son I never saw but once 7" and I twisted one of the bay-leaves
into twenty pieces. After a pause, I rallied my forces for an-
other attack. .
“Did you observe how peculiarly glossy and clustering his
hair was 2" -
“I observed that he had a long queue,” said papa, laughing.
A girl of sixteen cannot bear a joke. I drew up in a very
dignified style for two minutes, and meant to be silent, but my
thoughts came to the end of my tongue again.
“I suppose, papa,” said I (rather tartly), “that you do not
even think his eyes good looking 7”
“My child,” answered he, peeping under my bonnet, “what
are you talking about ! His eyes are as rheumy as an old
woman’s.”
This was more than I could bear. I had intended to have
told papa who he was, after having heard, as I expected, some
volunteer admiration of his appearance ; I only said, pettishly,
“I wish, at least, I could learn his name.” .
“His name 7” said papa. “It is Gribb, Silas Gribb, of the
firm of Gribb and Kendall. I intend to negotiate with him
as my factor, and Mr. Barnwell has asked him to dine with us
to-day.”
My romance was cut up by the roots. As for falling in love
with Mr. Silas Gribb, it was out of the question; nevertheless,
my heart beat at the thought of an interview; and by the time
I reached the Elms I flew to my apartment, spouting with Ju-
liet, “what's in a name 7” adjusted “each particular hair.”
placed a japonica of priceless worth in my waving curls, delib-
erated which would suit best my excited complexion, peach-
bloom or celestial blue, gave a lingering look of satisfied vanity
at my glass, decided on pale yellow, and descended to the din.
114 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
ing-room, busying myself with rolling up the edge of my
pocket-handkerchief with my thumb and finger, and trotting
my feet after I was seated as if they were urging a spinning-
wheel.
I could not forgive papa immediately for his badinage, and
did not approach near enough to hear his conversation with
Mr. Barnwell, in which the name of Gribb seemed the key-
note, and harshly, I confess, with all its sweet associations, it
sounded.
At length a vehicle was seen rolling along the avenue, and
in a few minutes Mr. Gribb was announced. I gave an uncon.
trollable jump of astonishment as I saw in him a stout, square
man of forty, with rheumy eyes, as papa had said, and a queue
that, as he moved his head, stuck out every way like the spear
of Milton's angel guarding paradise. My first impulse was to
pull out the green-house japonica from my hair, and preserve it
in a glass of water. . .
As papa had evidently not seen my stranger, I forgave him
for his unintentional jests, while at the same time an awkward
consciousness prevented my returning to the subject again.
And now arrived Christmas eve. It would have stimulated
a manufacturer to see the rows of stockings, of all sizes and
hues, that were hung in the capacious corners at the Elms, to
receive the tribute of St. Nicholas, Long did the children de-
lay, speculating on their probable contents for the morrow ;
then bid us good-night, in order to awake early; then return to
adjust them more conveniently; and then, weary of speculating,
retire.
Who does not remember his youthful Christmas; the reiter-
ated charge to his maumer to awake him first ; the scramble
to dress in the dim morning twilight; the rush through the en.
tries to the respective sleeping-rooms, ending with the merry
SOUTHERN MATRON. 115
shout ! These movements are alike in all children, but the
mode of approaching the stocking varies according to the char-
acter of the individual ; some dart upon it with eagerness, give
a rapid survey of the contents, and swallow the bonbons selfishly;
others examine deliberately, and lay a plan of arrangement and
distribution, thus shadowing forth the principles and habits of
after-years. -
The family at the Elms were effectually roused even before
the shouts of the children had been heard. From time im-
memorial, a small field-piece had been kept solely for Christ-
mas; and it was the privilege of their negroes (for there is
some little peculiarity on every plantation) to place this can-
non in the piazza of the dwelling-house, and fire it at early
dawn. Mighty were the shoutings that followed this martial
detonation.
The people at Roseland had no cannon; but, as a substitute,
they commenced a salute with the combination of every noise
they could make by the agency of tin and brass, aiding their
rude music. One set of people would have been sufficient to
drive Morpheus in a panic from our pillows; but from both
plantations united, the clamor was prodigious.
Dancing commenced in the piazza and on the lawn soon after
the firing of the cannon, nor was it suspended a moment by the
presence of the whites.
Mamma and I and our friends had been busy the day pre-
vious in cutting the turban-handkerchiefs, and arranging the
woollen caps and other articles which were to be presented.
After breakfast the people withdrew from the piazza, and we
took possession while they came up in gangs to receive their
gifts. As we had each several hundred to supply, the Barn-
wells and ourselves stood on opposite sides. The women al-
most universally twined their handkerchiefs about their heads
116 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
as soon as they received them, with an air of grace that would
have surprised a stranger. The men flung up their new wool-
len caps, and stopped to make two or three flourishing bows,
while the women dropped a courtesy with a pleased look, turn-
ing up one eye, and showing their beautiful teeth.
A few seemed to realize the sacredness of the day even then ;
a feeling which has greatly increased with the religious observ-
ances and facilities of late years. This prevented any violent
outbreak of joy; but on the two succeeding days this restraint
was removed, and there were scarcely any bounds to the exu-
berance of their spirits.
Warm punch or egg-nogg circulated freely, and at least a
dozen large clothes-baskets of gingerbread were produced for
each plantation. A beef of their master's was killed, and the
stores of weeks or months from their own savings were pro-
duced for the occasion. .
The festival lasts three days, and as no tasks are imposed, it
is a favorite time to visit the neighboring plantations. The
New-Yorkers on the N ew-year are not more hospitable than
these light-hearted communities on this occasion.
But the glory of our country Christmas was Diggory as chief
fiddler. A chair from the drawing-room was handed out for
him on this occasion, where he sat like a lord in the midst of
his brethren, flourishing his bow, and issuing his dancing de-
crees. Behind him stood a tall stout fellow beating a triangle,
and another drumming with two long sticks upon a piece of
wood. All the musicians kept their own feet and bodies going
as fast as the dancers themselves. One movement was very
peculiar. A woman, standing in the centre of a circle, com-
menced with a kind of shuffle, in which her body moved round
and round, while her feet seemed scarcely to stir from their po-
sition. She held a handkerchief before her, which she occa-
SOUTHERN MATRON. I 17
sionally twisted round her waist, head, or arms, but mostly
stretched out in front as if to ward off assaults. After a few
minutes an old black man leaped into the circle, and knelt be-
fore her with gestures of entreaty; the lady turned her back
and danced off in an opposite direction. Hector started up and
began dancing after her, holding out his arms as if he would
embrace her, but still keeping at a respectful distance; again
he ventured to solicit her hand, but the coy damsel still re-
fused. At this crisis Jim sprang forward, and his petitions,
commenced in the same manner, were more kindly listened to.
Hector rushed from the scene, clinching his fist and striking
his forehead in the true Kemble style, and the damsel spread
her handkerchief before her face as if to hide the blushes. The
favored suitor gave her a salute, and a brisker measure succeeded,
in which, one by one, many others joined, until it ended in a
kind of contra-dance, and this lasted five hours.
Christmas departed; gifts of affection were exchanged, and
there was proffered
“Many a courtesy,
That sought no recompense, and met with none,
But in the swell of heart with which it came.”
The old year, gathering its flowing mantle, wrought in varied
forms by hands animated with joy or trembling with sorrow,
swept off to render its silent testimony to heaven of what had
been. As I write this, I recall the change of age upon my soul.
In their accounts with the Deity, days are now as years were
then ; and every sun as it rolls off in setting splendor, and every
morn that wakes on the path of duty, like a new year, tells of
my nearness to the mysterious future.
:}; * # $º :}; #: :};
The morning before we left the Elms, I rode on horseback,
accompanied by Jim, to bid farewell to my favorite haunts. Jim
118 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
liked nothing better than this service, for he could then talk to
me of the probable return of his young masters from college,
and indulge in speculations about them.
After riding several miles, I struck into a by-path of a re-
tired and romantic character, and a musing mood came over
me. It was a path which Duncan had loved. I felt that of late
I had forgotten his teaching; that I was becoming more a vic-
tim of feeling, more a being of impulse than formerly. Why,
thought I, this fluctuation between religious and worldly hopes?
I knew not then how necessary is trial to character, and how .
even gold is comparatively valueless until it is purified, and
weighed, and stamped. .
I began to ask myself if Duncan would not have been inter-
ested in the stranger. I have seen him but twice, thought I,
once as the preserver of a helpless negro, again in the solemnity
of prayer. Duncan would have liked these things, and a deli-
cious serenity stole over my thoughts, and the heavens looked
brighter, and my heart beat lightly, and my lips burst forth into
Song.
I was interrupted by perceiving that a fence which had
formerly enclosed the land of a neighboring planter was about
being removed, while laborers were working in a ditch adjoin-
ing,
“What is going on here, Jim 7” said I. .
“Ole Maus Osborne dead,” was his answer, “and one buck-
ra” been com for mak de bounds of de land.”
As Jim said this I myself perceived the buckra. He was
stooping to examine a landmark, his hat suspended on the stand-
ing fence, and his servant near bearing a case of tools. He was
habited in a round jacket of workman's shape, adapted to dis-
play a graceful figure, and of that cut and quality which betrays
* White man.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 119
to the most casual observer that a view has been kept to ap-
pearances even in this simple costume. He held an axe thrown
over one shoulder, in the other hand a rule. It did not take
many minutes to inform my heart who he was; with a sense of
agitation perfectly uncontrollable, I jerked the reins in a man-
ner to which Jenny, my brother's mare, was not accustomed. She
turned, and sprang, and, before I could recover myself, I was
thrown into the ditch face downward.
Hope not for romance, gentle reader, but imagine me scramb-
ling in the wet slippery clay, grasping handfuls of mud. I soon
felt a strong but gentle arm aiding Jim in my release, who
cried,
“Don’t be scare, young missis, tan't nottin hurtful. Help
hoist she up dis way, maussa.”
Chagrined beyond expression, I could only mumble through
a mouthful of mud, “Thank you, sir,” as I was placed on
Jenny by the stranger. Jenny, the brute, who had been
checked in her flight, looked the picture of unconcern at my
predicament. -
It seemed my duty to give one parting bow to the stranger.
Glowing with exercise, the winds waving his rich hair, he stood
erect, the image of manly, beauty; but, while he bowed, a smile,
which I fancied to be partly comical, played on his lips, awaken-
ing in my thoughts the apprehension of what might be my ap-
pearance. Stung again with renewed mortification, I lent Jem-
my the reins and cantered towards home. I could not resist
stopping, however, to ask Jim how my face looked.
“He berry dirty, for true, Miss Neely,” said he, with a sym-
pathizing tone. “He tak plenty of soap and water for clean
'em.”
Fortunately, I encountered no one; but, in passing the large
mirror in the parlor on my return, I saw myself at full length.
I 20 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON.
My best friends would scarcely have known me. My bonnet
was soiled and twisted awry, a mixture of red clay and black
mud from two combined strata caked my dress, and lay in patch-
es on my face.
I could not bear the spectacle, but ran up stairs, and girlish-
ly burst into tears, the channels of which rather added to my
ferocious aspect; and catching another glimpse of myself in the
glass, my appearance seemed so grotesque, that my mood chang-
ed, and I fell into long and uncontrolled laughter.
Composing myself at length, I commenced my ablutions.
At the dinner-table I discovered for the first time the loss
of a valuable ring from my finger; and an undefined sense
of mortification prevented my mentioning it, or referring to my
accident.
(; H A P T E R X W I.
ADIEU TO ROSELAND.—THE STRANGER.—THE RACES.
“How now, Master Brook? Master Brook, the matter will be known to-night or
never.” .
JMerry Wives of Windsor.
“If you had known the virtue of the ring,
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
Or your own honor to retain the ring,
You would not then have parted with the ring.”
JMerchant of Venice.
“Come, wilt thou see me ride 3
And when I am o' horseback, I will swear
I love thee infinitely.” Henry VIII.
I SALLIED to Roseland in the evening, to bid farewell to the
people, and visit once more my favorite arbor at the foot of the
garden, where it slopes to the river. The oaks shone green and
crisp in the winter sun, which was rolling down rapidly to the
western trees; the river glowed beneath the kindling clouds; a
few birds, animated by the softened temperature, cut the clear
atmosphere with happy wings, and careered and darted from
shore to shore. The echo of the hammer on the new-raised
walls of our dwelling-house was the only sound that broke on
the stillness, except the laugh or shout of my little brothers
and their attendants, who were fishing at the landing, and whose
figures were clearly defined as they bent over the almost wave-
less stream. As my heart, in the softness of approaching sep-
aration, opened keenly to sight and sound, a chorus of a hymn
6
122 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
was heard, and a flat, well-manned with negroes, turned the bend
of the river, gently moving on the flooding tide. They were
singing the beautiful words—
“When I can read my title clear
To mansions in the skies,
I’ll bid farewell to ev'ry fear,
And dry my weeping eyes.”
The crew joined with a full chorus; and, as they floated by,
their notes of Christian hope lingering on the air, I felt the
blessed adaptedness of that religion which thus bends down to
dwell with the lowly. I have since listened to the full burst of
orchestral harmony, seen the white arm of beauty lie like a
snow-wreath on the harp, calling up its strains of melody, and
heard the rich strife of rival voices from coral lips, now gushing
like a fountain of sound, and now dying off like a dream of
music, but I have never forgotten that hymn upon the Ashley.
As it slowly receded, I mused on heaven until the happy past
and the airy future stole in, and mingled with my thoughts like
the earth and sky before me. - .’
But the lengthening shadows reminded me that I was to visit
some infirm negroes: as I advanced towards their houses, a lit.
tle regiment of blackies, more willing and less ragged than Fal-
staff's, came marching towards me, with the pride of childhood,
to excite my attention; the drummers were substituting their
piggins for a more appropriate instrument; and a rag sur-
mounted a waving reed for a standard. On seeing me they
halted and turned, forming an escort to the huts.
What a blessed thing to childhood is the fresh air and light
of heaven! No manufactories, with their overtasked inmates,
to whom all but Sabbath sunshine is a stranger, arose on our
plantation. What a blessed thing to all is it to enjoy that
light, and bathe in that air, whatever may be their deprivations !
SOUTHERN MATRON. 123
Long before the manufacturer's task in other regions is closed,
our laborers were lolling on sunny banks, or trimming their gar-
dens, or fondling their little ones, or busy in their houses,
scarcely more liable to intrusion than the royal retirement of a
Guelph or a Capet.
The expectation of my departure increased my sympathy with
the children who were sporting about their houses; and I lin-
gered to observe their shouts, songs, antic tricks, and ingenious
devices for amusement.
The adieus of the negroes were mingled with salutary advice
for my future conduct, and various commissions for city pur.
chases; nor was the word fashion unknown in that humble
group. A wide or narrow check was all-important in a turban-
handkerchief or apron, and the hat of a man “must sure be ship-
shape.” An observer may easily detect here, too, the peculiari-
ties which distinguish higher society. The belle of a plantation
is, in some sort, the same airy creature who treads the boards
of a city ball-room; the respectable matron of the field has a
similar range of influence with her who presides and dictates in
polished circles; the sable beau has the dandy's air of conscious
exquisiteness; and the intelligent lead the mass, as elsewhere.
Leaving the huts and crossing towards the new building, I
perceived Chloe, mamma's waiting-maid, speaking with a gem-
tleman on horseback, who rode away before I reached the spot.
I inquired who he was.
“The gentleman, ma'am, what saved aunt Nanny, ma'am,”
said she. “He is very pretty spoken, ma'am ; quite a genteel
person, ma'am. He 'quired very particular after missis and
master; quite assidious like, ma'am.”
“T)id he say nothing about any one else, Chloe?” asked I.
“Yes, ma'am,” said Chloe; “he 'quired after the baby, Miss
Patsey, ma'am ; hoped she wan't no how worsted; and he made
124 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
me sensible that he was sorry to be so dilantory in asking,
ma'am.”
“Chloe,” said I, a sudden thought occurring to me, “how was
I dressed the night of the fire?”
“I can't particularize no how about the frock, ma'am,” said
she “but, just as you was racin’ out higglety-pigglety, ma'am,
missis bid me throw your old cloak and her wadded calash over
you, to s'cure you from the djews, ma'am.”
I saw through the matter. Mamma had been quite in the
background with the children, except little Patsey, who was
near me in her nurse's arms; while I, concealed by my cloak,
and that most frightful of all head-dresses, a calash, was mis-
taken by the stranger, in that agitated moment, for Mrs.
Wilton.
“Miss Co'neely,” said Chloe, “there's one thing I can't no
how 'count for, ma'am. I can take my Bible oath that I saw
your ring on the gentleman's little finger, ma'am. Old mistress
used to say there wan't such a waluable as that this side of
Ingland. How come so?”
“I must have dropped it in my ride,” answered I, “and one
of the daddies probably gave it to the stranger.”
And thereupon I fell into a pleasant dream; and a bright
castle rose in the air, and hope fluttered over it with a smile
that colored up its gems and flowers with hues from heaven;
and it was not the less fair that it floated in misty clouds be-
yond me.
Go, youthful visionary, enjoy thy flitting happiness | No
cold philosophy shall trammel the power, which a kind Provi-
dence has given thee, of happy creations. I see thine eyes spar-
kle, and thy cheeks glow in the sweet illusion Gaze on the
airy building while thou mayst; reality will come full soon, and
for light and hope thou wilt see darkness and sorrow, until that
SOUTHERN MATRON. 125
better light appears which comes by God's revelation, and
which shines out from eternity. .
When I returned to the Elms, extra lights were ordered in
the servants' hall for a wedding, which was about to take place
between two of the field-hands, who had requested the family to
be present. The ceremony was to be performed by Friday,
their religious leader. This man had been, many years before,
suddenly converted while ploughing, and the evidence seemed
satisfactory by the number of followers he obtained. He lived
up to his profession for a considerable period, but the hour of
temptation came; a theft in the smoke-house was traced to him,
and he was immediately deserted by the people, who chose a
leader of more consistent practice. Subsequently Friday re-
pented, reformed, and got religion again, as he said, at the
plough, at the same spot where the first call had been given.
Being reinstated in his office, he was invited to unite the happy
couple. .
The bride and her attendants appeared with the little finery
that we could gather from our country toilets.
Friday, nothing daunted by our presence, commenced a prayer,
which was followed by an exhortation to the pair before him on
their duties; then, turning to the groom, he said—
“Bacchus, you been guine marry dis woman for lub or for
money?”
“For lub, sir,” replied Bacchus, bowing, half to the pro-
pounder, and half to his bride. .
“Sheba,” said Friday to the lady, “you been guine for marry
dis man for lub or for money?”
“For lub, sir,” replied Sheba, courtesying modestly.
“Den,” said Friday, “I pernounce you man and wife, and
wish you many happy return Salute de bride " Upon which
the lips of Bacchus resounded on the lips of Sheba like the
126 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
Christmas cannon. Weall shook hands with her, and a dance
in the kitchen, under Diggory's direction, concluded their even-
ing's amusement.
It was a harsh, dark morning when we left the Elms, the be-
ginning of one of those periods peculiar to our climate, whether
of great heat or cold, which rarely lasts over three days. With
the sensitiveness of human nature, we are always alarmed at
the first day, in despair on the second, and, by the end of the
third, the medium temperature is restored. The negroes re.
ceived us, as we passed Roseland, with chattering teeth and long
faces, and none of them were “so bery well.”
And now came the realization of what is termed pleasure, in
that city whirl from January until March, which shatters the
constitution and confuses the brain. I was soon drawn into the
vortex; and, when once entered, nothing but the voice of con-
science or the sobering tie of matrimony brings us back. It is,
however, surprising to observe how soon Southern wives fall
into the habits of quiet domestic life, whatever may have been
their previous tastes. Long may this be the boast of America,
though foreign travellers ridicule and wonder; and while the
unmarried woman tastes the exhilarating cup of fashion, let the
young wife and mother seek her dearest charm at home, kindle
up into smiles for one, and tune her sweet voice, no longer lav-
ished on the crowd, to infant lullabies.
A new charm was added to my existence in the friendship
of my cousin, Anna Allston, who had just completed her educa-
tion at a Philadelphia seminary. I was struck at once by her
exquisite beauty, but I soon forgot it was beauty, in the sur-
passing loveliness of her character. It was not the finely-turned
head, and glossy hair, and melting eyes, and rosy lips, that
made her Anna Allston ; it was heart and mind shining through
them all. One would have said, in gazing on her thoughtful
SOUTHERN MATRON. 127
brow, that she was born for the aristocracy of life, until her hu-
mility, her patience under reproof, her cheerful attendance on the
wants of others, betrayed her as belonging to God's whole crea-
tion, not to a clan.
As two streams, that rise in different sources on a mountain,
roll on a while in their separate course, and meet and mingle at
the base, so we became one in taste, habits, and affection.
Anna was soon an inmate of our family, and was unto me as a
sister.
Papa's interest with regard to my appearance in society was
quite unexpected to me. When dressed for a party, I was
turned to the light this way and that ; the satin shoe and the
kid glove, and the pearl sprig in my hair were examined; and,
if all was comme iſ faut, he patted me on the cheek and said,
“That will do.” And let me pause and record gratefully his
judicious instructions on dress, on which subject he was uni-
formly serious.
“Do not imagine, my daughter,” he said, “ that you are agree-
able or attractive when your person is exposed, or when you
aid nature by artificial means. Two classes of persons may
gaze on you, to be sure; the immoral and licentious with fa-
miliarity, the reflecting and serious with sadness. Will you
consent to such scrutiny ? Follow fashion no further than fash-
ion follows propriety. Never let your mantuamaker dictate to
your morals.”
It is one of the quiet joys of memory, that I never disobeyed
his injunctions. .
Anna and I had attended no public assemblies, papa not be-
ing able to accompany us. We had his promise for the race-
ball. He was something of a jockey, and had a direct interest
in the races of the season. It was with no small care that he
fitted out his equipage for the races, mamma having no interest
128 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
in such things. It was in perfect taste; not so conspicuous as
to excite attention, but, when attention was called, fixing it by
an air of perfect fitness. Anna's dress and mine were his choice
too. Most of the ladies appeared in dress bonnets and gay
costume, scarcely appropriate to the season and the amusement.
We were habited in close, dark riding-dresses, with hat and
feathers. Nothing could look prettier than Anna's light figure.
The fresh breeze, too, tinged her delicate cheek and brightened
her placid eyes as we drove along.
Papa rode on horseback; and our only companion was a city
belle, an experienced one, who dared to laugh when she wished
to, and sometimes oftener and louder than was necessary. She
seemed to know everybody, and staked sugarplums and gloves
by the dozen with every challenger, without looking at the horses.
We were delayed on our arrival by papa, who could not im-
mediately wait on us to the stand. Anna and I shrank back
timidly, half envying Miss Lawton's nods, and smiles, and ready
words to her passing acquaintance. .
“Look, girls, at that splendid equipage of Captain Redding,
there on the right, with the outriders in yellow ! Heavens !
what a fright of a hat Bell Wilson has on How can her
mother let her make such an object of herself Ah, cousin
Edward, how are you? Miss Wilton—Miss Allston—Mr. Si-
mons. New housings for the occasion, I see. Who are you
for 2 don't ask me to bet; I have risked all my pocket-money
now on Colonel Wilton's Psyche. For mercy's sake, look at
the Farwells what has brought them but Heaven keep
Psyche from a look at those girls she will certainly sheer, and
I shall lose my gloves. Ah, Arthur Marion returned ? Move
away, Edward,” continued she, as a young man rode up and ex-
tended his hand to Miss Lawton. There was a glittering ring
on that hand. It was mine.
SOUTHERN MATRON. . 129
“Mr. Marion,” said Miss Lawton, “we are all for the Wilton
interest here. Let me introduce you to—” At this moment
the pressure of the crowd forced him on. He kissed his hand
and bowed, and a sunbeam fell on his jewelled finger as he dis-
appeared in the throng. -
Papa came and conducted Anna and myself to the stand ;
while Miss Lawton, laughing in pretended perplexity at whose
arm she should select among her many beaux, lightly followed.
It was droll enough to hear the changes that were rung on
Psyche's name as she was led forth; even the newspaper was
resorted to to spell it. One called her Pyke, another Syke, an-
other Switchey. A countryman who had bet upon her called
out, “Hurra for Pikery ſ” A gentleman, quite at fault, made
a practical pun by sneezing instead of pronouncing her name,
while another cried, “Physic Physic forever !”
Those who doubt the morality of a horse-race, or who have
never witnessed one, will scarcely be able to understand the
feelings of a young girl who has been brought up in a kind of
companionship with these noble creatures, under circumstances
like mine, as the bugle sounded the preparatory note; and it
may excite a smile in those who regard the sport as low and
vulgar; but, from the moment papa's beautiful Psyche started,
at the tap of the drum, my breath seemed suspended, and my
eyes followed her as if she were the only living thing in exist-
ence. Darting like a sunbeam, she pressed on ; as she ap-
proached in the first heat in advance of her rival, I unconscious-
ly stood up to urge her on her way; and when, unflagging and
triumphant, she bounded to the goal, I shouted aloud, though
unheard amid the cheers, and tears, I must confess it, started
to my eyes.
6%
C HAPTE R X W II.
AN AI.A.R.M.–RETURN FROM THE RACES.—JOCKEY CLUB
BALL.
“Grim-visaged vice with all her hydra race,
And antic folly with her rude grimace,
And all the arts that cunning gamesters know,
And all the practice of the fiends below,
Here yield a theme that other bards may try.”
CRAFT’s Raciad.
“A heav'nly image in the glass appears,
To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears,
The inferior priestess at her altar's side,
Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.”
POPE.
“Some with the ladies in the ball-room ply
Their bounding elasticity of heel,
Evolving, as they trip it whirlingly,
The merry mazes of th’ entangled reel.”
Anster Fair.
THE races were over; papa led us to our carriage; and Miss
Lawton was counting her triumphs, on her fingers, to the beaux
who, with prancing steeds, lingered by her; when, on looking
in idle curiosity at the throng, I perceived Jim, near where
our carriage was stationed, with my little brother Ben by his
side.
Negroes love the excitement of any public spectacle; and
they are indulged so much as to become almost a nuisance in
pressing around military and other displays. They often carry
a white child for more perfect security; and there is in a
Southern crowd a curious contrast between the fair, careless
TECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 131
faces of infants held high in their nurse's arms, and the bronzed,
eager countenances of those who attend them. Now and then
a guard appears; and they dodge, and scamper, and disperse,
for a few moments, like a flock of sheep, with shouts, and often
laughter; but only to return again with the same eagerness as
before. .
Jim, with a new cap set a little on one side, was, at that mo-
ment, one of the most glorified beings in existence. His eyes
seemed to drink in the scene; his wide mouth developing a set
of teeth as expressive as any features; and while he held Ben
in one hand, he was beating time with the other against his
thigh to the music of a distant fiddle. Ben was equally enrap-
tured; forgetting his fine new clothes, in which he had been
trammelled in the morning, he trotted along by Jim's side, ask-
ing and answering eager questions. They caught a glimpse of
us, and were hastening to the carriage, when the horses that
were attached to a vehicle behind started, plunged, reared, and
pressed on the alarmed crowd. Instead of retreating, Jim at-
tempted to cross to us. I saw the horses dash on—I saw Ben
fall, and my eyes closed in a kind of despair. I was roused in-
stantly by a shout of joy and approbation from the crowd; and
in a moment perceived Ben clasping, with a strong and almost
convulsive energy, the neck of Lewis—our dear Lewis Barm-
well.
Leaving his horse with his servant, he sprang into the car-
riage; and in a moment his joyous, careless spirits, free as if
nothing had occurred, were illuminating every object which they
glanced upon.
“Heart-whole, Cornelia,” said he, knocking on his breast
playfully. “Those red-cheeked Connecticut girls cured my
wounds in a month. I visited poor Duncan, too,” continued he
(while a tender sadness, that made him doubly handsome, shaded
T 32 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
his happy eyes), “and I learned lessons which only the grave
teaches. Do you know that I almost envied him that melting
away to death, and that quiet rest where the snow-flakes are
lying in coldness and in purity? I fear my spirit” (and he
spoke almost prophetically) “will wrestle fearfully with the de-
stroying angel. But how you have improved, Miss Wilton,”
he exclaimed, not minding a blush that rose and covered even
my forehead with the glow—“I suppose I must read—for a
fawn-like, romping country-lassie, a graceful, polished city belle !
Miss Lawton, do not let her be spoiled, if you are her friend.
I hate a regular belle as I do a green persimmon. Calculating
all night, and dressing all day, their hearts get beaten up by the
world like grist in a mortar; and when a man marries a woman,
he gets a body without a soul, and sometimes a dress without a
body. Miss Lawton, I am sure you are not a professed belle,
or you would not blush so becomingly; and Miss Allston”—he
paused—there was something too spiritually soft in those full
eyes for trifling. Lewis gave her one long, earnest look, longer
than propriety warranted; as if to read through those beautiful
windows the volume of her soul. Her sweet tranquillity was
undisturbed ; no alarm or consciousness was on her brow; yet,
as she quietly withdrew her glance from his, her cheek faintly
glowed, like the surface of an unruffled lake when the twilight
sky looks down without a cloud.
And now rolled back that varied throng; and the waters of
Canonsborough reflected the gay housings of returning steeds,
the richly-panelled carriages, and the floating veils of beauty;
while the earnest voice of the gesticulating negro–the oath of
the sailor—the prattle of childhood—the ambitious crack of the
coachman's whip—and the shrill laugh of the fair, mingled and
floated on the wind.
I did not ask myself then, as I now do, if all this seemºng
SOUTHERN MATRON. 133
was true; I did not speculate on the pouting lip of disappointed
beauty, which had been, perchance, slighted and forgotten; I
did not perceive, in some dark and moody individual, the loser
of thousands, nor detect beneath a gayer tone a fiercer pang; I
did not return in imagination to the ground, and trace the vo-
taries of debauchery and drunkenness, in their unholy pleasures,
nor follow the revellers to homes where anxious wives and hun-
gry children awaited, but without hope, their return.
3& 3% 3% 3% $ 3% %
The dress for the first ball ! Who shall describe its infinite
importance? As Flora laid mine, article by article, on the bed
after dinner, and Cely, Anna's maid, with laudable rivalry, did
the same, how admiringly we gazed; how we folded every plait
in the silky gauze, smoothed every wrinkle in the glossy satin,
and measured the little slipper, until, wearied with the com-
pleteness of preparation, we sank into ennui until evening.
Perhaps there is nothing more ridiculous than the pains be-
stowed on the arrangement of an article of dress compared with
its effect. .
“Bring another light, Cely,” said Anna to her maid, as she
stood before her toilet, in an important tone.
It was placed beside the other, near the dressing-glass, but
my grave cousin was not satisfied.
“Another, Cely.”
It was brought, and arranged anew, before the focus of rays
was right for the true development.
“Now, Cely,” said she, with a business voice, “put this last
pin in my sash.” It was done—the last p?n 1 and Anna All-
ston stood before her mirror the image of youthful beauty; and
Cely looked at her mistress with a satisfied gaze, and folded her
arms, for her task was done.
We went down stairs, not, as usual, with springing steps and
134 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
interlacing arms, whispering sweet confidence, but stiff and con-
Scious, followed by Flora and Cely. As we passed two of the
negroes in the dining-room, one of them said,
‘Ki, Miss Neely look more prettier dan Miss Anna, for
true !”
And, for an instant, as I passed the mirror, and saw the
heightened glow on my cheek, contrasted with her paler hue, I
thought so too; but, as I looked at her again, the vanity passed
away; for how could any combination of flesh and blood com-
pete with the refined loveliness that floated about and around
her like a silver-edged cloud! - -
Mamma was dressed, for papa had insisted on her introdu-
cing us in public. I scarcely knew my dear, quiet, comfortable
mother in the plum-colored satin dress, exalted turban, and
waving feathers, with which she was arrayed. Chloe stood
looking more important than ever behind her chair. We were
dressed too early, and were beginning to feel the weariness con-
sequent on such a circumstance, when Lewis Barnwell was an-
nounced. Such a companion is a golden treasure—a half-hour
before a ball.
The carriages began to roll through Broad-street. Neither
Chloe, Flora, nor Cely would allow Lewis to wrap us in our
shawls, but laid them with peculiar caution on our shoulders.
He entered the carriage, and went with us to the hall, where,
with a tragic gesture of regret, for he was not a member of the
Jockey Club, he left us to the care of the managers.
Shy and fluttered, we followed mamma up the broad stairs,
and half shrank back as the light of the chandeliers burst upon
us; and the seats looked a mile off as we trod over the chalked
horses on the floor; and a thrilling joy woke up in us as the
band struck a full accompaniment. -
When seated in such a scene, one gradually finds one's own
SOUTHERN MATRON. 135
relative importance. Mamma's plum-colored satin and feather
no longer seemed to me the ne plus ultra of dress, when I ob-
served the row of brilliant-looking ladies who lined the room;
and Anna and I shrivelled up into almost nothingness, as peep-
ing, without partners, from behind a cotillion-set, we saw the
easy, graceful, practised forms of the city belles.
Papa brought up several oldish country gentlemen to speak
to us, who joked about their dancing days being over ! and the
managers, after a while, succeeded in obtaining two strangers
for our partners in a cotillion. Anna's nearly tore her gauze
frock in his ambitious leaps; and mine, not knowing the figures,
raced after me like another Theseus following his Ariadne, and
breathed a puff of self-congratulation when the order “partner
Tound” gave him an acknowledged right to seize me.
Anna and I glanced at each other with a smile as the gentle-
men retired; but we had danced, and that was something.
“Take your partners for another cotillion,” said the man-
agers; and partners were taken, but not Anna and T. Another
and another was called, and everybody seemed conversing ex-
cept us. Where were Anna's and my long, long talks, when
words came out quick and gay like the song of birds. Mamma
was half off in a dozy slumber, and the oldish gentlemen had
gone to the card-room. .
“Oh, dear,” said I to Anna, with a sigh, “if we were only at
Roseland with Diggory's fiddle Pº
“I never will come to another ball,” said Anna, with more
acrimony than she was wont to show. ,
At this crisis a set was forming directly in front of us; and
leading a graceful girl, who listened and smiled as he spoke,
came Arthur Marion. I saw him glance at our group like one
who did not feel quite assured of knowing the individuals there;
and then, as if decided in the negative, turn away to his partner.
136 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
A doubtful expression once crossed his face as he met my eyes
in dancing; but it passed off and did not return.
I had sat so long neglected that my nerves became excited.
I felt as if I was mocked; the sensation of anger which had
agitated me at church returned. The music sounded harsh
and grating—I would have closed my ears; I felt as if I should
Scream, or weep, or grasp at something violently, and yet I sat
like a statue. How often have such scenes of light and joy
shone on aching hearts? Mr. Marion's partner dropped her
handkerchief, and as he drew off his glove to present it to her,
the blaze of the chandelier fell on my ring. A reaction took
place; I became, I know not why, tranquil ; but the forms
in the dance were dreamy, and I seemed to be in another sphere.
The supper-hour arrived. No Adonis of my imagination, but
old Mr. Guildstreet, waited on me. Mamma revived from her
drowsiness as we seated ourselves beneath the evergreen arbors
at the table, which was spread with every luxury. The cotillion-
set of Arthur Marion had preceded us; his fair partner was by
my side. What a contrast was that brilliant, easy, talkative
coterie to ours I evaded Marion's eye irresistibly whenever
it sought mine.
“Marion,” said a youth on his right, “Miss Saunders has
challenged me to remember her gloves to-morrow; lend me your
ring as a talisman.”
I started as if a pistol had been fired off.
“No, no,” said Mr. Marion, laughing; “none but the owner
of this ring shall take it from my finger.”
“Miss Saunders,” said the first speaker, “do you know the
history of that ring”
“No,” said a sweet voice beyond; “pray tell it me.”
“I protest,” said Marion, “against Elliot's relating it; if it
must be known, I will tell it.”
SOUTHERN MATRON. 137
“No,” said the sweet voice, “Mr. Elliot shall tell the tale.
He looks ripe for it.” .
And Mr. Elliot began, with infinite humor, to describe the
adventure. .
In vain Marion again protested, and grew grave in his tone,
and once spoke almost in anger; Elliot went on in his irresis-
tible drollery; and when he imitated “Hoist she up dis way,
maussa,” and described my mud-caked face, as I turned to make
my parting bow, even Marion's gravity was conquered; and
such a peal of laughter rang out from the group, as made papa
and Mr. Guildstreet, who had heard none of the conversation,
push aside their plates of oysters for a moment ere they return-
ed to the onslaught.
I could have cried outright; my head throbbed; my heart
beat as if it would have flown from my bosom ; my ears tingled;
and that laugh seemed multiplied to an infinitude. I could
not divest myself of the idea that I was known and ridiculed;
and I entreated papa, with an earnestness that surprised him,
to hurry home. - .
I was obliged to climb over the seat, which was not remova-
ble; and Marion, in common courtesy, offered his hand. He
perceived my extreme agitation (for I trembled excessively, and
almost thought I should have fallen); regarded me with an ex-
pression of interest and sympathy; and when a servant brought
my shawl, respectfully placed it on my shoulders, while my thank
gyou, sir, was as indistinct as when my mouth was full of mud.
“Allow me to forestall the manager, and accompany you to
your carriage.” said he. .
But old Mr. Guildstreet bustled over the seat, and offered
his arm—Marion retired. -
# 3& 3& $ % # *
“Undress me, Flora,” said I, pressing my hand to my throb-
138 HECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON.
bing head as we reached our bedroom, where our maids were
waiting for us.
“Miss Neely,” exclaimed Flora, “how you been trow yourself
down on de chair so hasty You been marsh you frock all up
to mottin.”
“And jus look how Miss Anna flung down she bracelet, like
it an’t wort,” cried Cely, picking up the jewel and depositing
it in its case.
* Worth anything.
C H A P T E R XVIII.
MUSIC.—ESSAY AT HOUSEKEEPING...—FORTUNE-TELLER.
“Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken ? Young men's love then lies,
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.”
Romeo and Juliet.
“First loves are not necessarily more foolish than others, but the chances are cer-
tainly against them. Proximity of time or place, a variety of accidental circumstances,
more than the essential merits of the object, often produce what is called first love.”
MARIA EDGE WORTH.
And took my coffee with my º
Gołºth I.'s Hermann and Dorothea.
IT is pleasant to watch the opening of young and pure affec-
tions. Anna's heart was hanging like a bud on its stalk; petal
after petal expanded, till it lay with its rich developments be-
neath the eye of love; the sun warmed, the breeze fanned, the
dew nourished it, and Lewis was to her the sun, the breeze, the
dew.
Borne away by his intense admiration of female beauty, he
was irresistibly attracted; and, day after day, Anna's loveliness
and simplicity beguiled him almost unknowingly into stronger
sentiments. We were soon in each other's confidence, for the
habits of our childhood were renewed, and he often playfully
reverted to the past. He retained the same virtues and faults
as formerly. High-souled and generous, but thoughtless and
passionate, he was governed by the most sudden impulses to
140 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
right and wrong, yet ever repenting heartily of excesses. As
I perceived Anna's affections gradually, though unknown to
herself, leaning towards him, I trembled for her; but when I
saw her delicate will turning by a look the course of his pas-
sions, I was comforted, and I said to him—
“Oh, Lewis, thus may it ever be | Let that small fair hand
lay on the helm, and trust your bark to her.”
The eyes of Lewis never wandered from Anna as she stood
at her harp, or played the guitar, or gave to a few simple chords
on the pianoforte a charm and tenderness peculiar to her touch;
and well might he gaze, for she realized the dreams of poesy;
well might he listen as a mortal would listen to the tones of a
tuneful cherub. Besides the charm of grace and native har-
mony, Anna excelled in what may be termed intellectual music,
giving force and beauty to melody by distinct pronunciation.
When she closed her songs, no one had to ask, as is often the
case, What song is that? The words had gone down to the
hearts of her listeners, and told their own story. She seemed
determined to do justice to the poet as well as to the musician,
and every sentiment was brought out like a beautiful picture.
Persons who pronounce distinctly rarely sing ridiculous words,
and this just taste is rewarded by eager and delighted listeners.
Ballad-singing on this principle affords exquisite pleasure; if
poetry and music are each so charming in themselves, how deli-
cious the marriage of poetry and music
There is as much difference in hearing the following line
from the lips of two different singers, as there is in the printed
arrangement —
“To shield thee, to save thee, or perish there too.”
Toshieldtheetosavetheeorperishtheretoo.
Correct pronunciation is equally important with distinct em-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 141
phasis. When Moore's song, “I knew by the smoke,” was in
fashion, I was puzzled to know what a singer meant by
“An art that is umble, might ope for it ere.”
A lady, on one occasion, after Anna's bewitching perform-
ance, displayed the most singular perversity in her pronuncia-
tion of v and w; the song, unfortunately, was the very me plus
wltra of v and w-ºsm—the exquisite Vale of Avoca. She sang—
“There is not in the vide vorld a walley so sweet,
As the wale in whose bosom the bright vaters meet !
Sweet wale of Avoca, how calm could I rest
In thy walley of shade with the friend I love best,
Vere the cares vich ve meet in this cold vorld should cease,
And our hearts, like thy vaters, be mingled in peace.”
Music and romance were partially interrupted, for mamma
was obliged by pressing business to return to Roseland, and in-
habit the finished apartments of the new house. She was not
Sorry at heart; she longed to be once more gazing on the ducks
and turkeys, and superintending her dairy, with the range of
other country occupations, and thus I was left in the town
establishment. The division of servants caused some embar-
rassment. Mamma's fixed habits and liability to visitors ren-
dered it necessary that she should retain many of them. Papa
had always one or two employed; the consequence was, that,
though amply supplied with new recruits from the country,
there seemed to be great doubt about their quality.
That I might feel perfectly easy on one point, papa bought a
professed French cook, who was advertised in the papers, and
according to his frequent custom, brought home two gentlemen
to dine the very day mamma went away. There had been so
much regularity in our family heretofore, that I should as soon
have thought of interfering with the solar system as with the
142 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
routine of the kitchen, and I felt perfectly at ease when sum-
moned to the dining-room.
As I dipped the ladle into the tureen, and saw, instead of
the usual richly-concocted turtle-soup, a few pieces of meat in a
thin reddish fluid, sailing about like small craft in an open bay,
my mind misgave me; but, knowing little of such matters, I
helped round.
“What is this?” said papa, as he elevated a spoonful, and
let it drop back into his plate.
No one spoke.
“In the name of common sense, Mark,” said he, in a louder
tone to one of the servants, “what have we got here ?”
“Cuffee call 'em French bully, sir,” said Mark, bowing, and
trying to keep his countenance.
“French fire P’ shouted papa, dislodging a mouthful into the
grate; “my tongue is in a flame ! Gentlemen, for Heaven's
sake, put down your spoons, and don't be martyred through po-
liteness. Mark, tell Cuffee, with my compliments, to eat it all,
or he gets no Sunday money.”
The soup was taken away, and the covers removed, when, lo
there stood before papa a pig on his four feet, with a lemon be-
tween his teeth, and a string of sausages round his neck. His
grin was horrible.
Before me, though at the head of many delicacies provided
by papa, was an immense field of hopping John ;" a good dish,
to be sure, but no more presentable to strangers at the South
than baked beans and pork in New-England. I had not self-
possession to joke about the unsightly dish, nor courage to offer
it. I glanced at papa.
“What is that mountain before you, my daughter ?” said
papa, looking comically over his pig.
* Bacon and rice.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 143
“Ossa on Pelion,” said Lewis, laughing, and pointing at the
almost bare bones that surmounted the rice.
# * :k: >}: :k: :* :};
Have housekeepers never found that conversation has often
taken a turn which seemed doubly to aggravate after misfor:
tunes 7 - .
The subject of coffee was discussed at dinner in all its va-
rious bearings; our guests were Europeans, and evidently aw
fait in its mysteries. One contended for Mocha, the other for
Java; one was for infusion, another for decoction. The great-
est traveller had drank it in Turkey, and seen persons employed
in watching it while it was parching on tin plates, who took out
each separate bean as it became brown enough ; he argued that
it should be pounded, not ground. -
The other thought, and he thumped the table to add force to
his assertion, that the French must have arrived at greater per-
fection than the Asiatics in this delicious beverage; and his
eyes sparkled as if he were under its influence, as he described
its richness and flavor when taken from the hands of a pretty
Zimonadière at the Café des Mille Colonnes at Paris.
Papa threw down his gauntlet for home-made coffee, and
boasted (papa sometimes boasted a little) of his last purchase
of Mocha, and the superior skill with which it was made by
Kate, who usually superintended it.
The conversation was prolonged throughout the sitting; in-
deed, until the beverage appeared in the drawing-room to assert
its own claims, with its rich brown hue, its delightful perfume,
and the vapor curling in beautiful wreaths from the gilt cups,
As papa dipped his spoon in his cup, a glance told him that the
chemical affinities were all rightly adjusted to the palate. It
was tasted—augh There was a moment's silence; Lewis
looked ready for laughter; Anna and I were distressed; papa
144 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
was angry; and our guests, with their eyes fixed on the Carpet,
were doubtless ruminating on Turkey and France. The taste
was so utterly abominable, that papa was alarmed, and sum-
moned Kate. .
“Kate,” said papa, “what have you put in the coffee ?”
“Me an’t put nottin 'tall in 'em, sir. He mak like he always
been mak.” .
“Did you grind or pound it 7”
“He de poun', sir.”
“In What ?”
“In de mortar, sir.” .
“Go and ask the cook what was in the mortar.”
Little was said during Kate's absence; we sat as solemn as
members of the Inquisition. Kate entered.
“De cook say he spec’ he lef leettle bit pepper and salt in de
mortar.”
Our visitors soon departed, probably minuting on their jour-
nals that Americans season their coffee with pepper and salt.
The cook was then summoned to his trial. Papa eyed him
sternly, and said, .
“You call yourself a French cook, do you?”
“No, sir; maussa and de 'vertise call me French cook. I
follows de mason trade, but didn't want to disoblige nobody.”
In the sequel, Cuffee repaired our dilapidated chimneys, while
a less pretending cook performed her duties better.
The distance of the kitchen from the house at the South often
repulses housekeepers, both in cold and warm weather, from
visiting it frequently; indeed, a young woman often feels her-
self an intruder, and as if she had but half a right to pry into
the affairs of the negroes in the yard. In my rare visits, I was
struck by one mode of fattening poultry. Two fine-looking tur-
keys were always kept tied to a part of the dresser, and fed by
SOUTHIER.N MATRON. 145
the cook, who talked to them by name, partly as pets and partly
as victims, as they picked up the crumbs at her feet. On an-
other occasion I found her applying a live coal to the tail of a
turtle; I exclaimed against her cruelty.
“He too stubborn, Miss Neely.”
As she spoke he put out his head, which was her object, and
a sharp knife being near, terminated his troubles by decapitation.
Some of the mistakes that occurred in mamma's absence
were as ludicrous as mortifying.
One day, as a field-boy was scrubbing the entry leading to
the street door, I heard his voice in pretty strong remonstrance.
Supposing him to be talking with a fellow-servant, I took no
notice of it until I heard him roar out at the foot of the stairs
in a tremendous passion—
“Miss Neely, one buckra woman want for track up all de
clean floor.” -
I ran down as rapidly as I could, and found the elegant Miss
Lawton on the off side of his tub of water, held in abeyance by
Titus's scrubbing brush.
The social and agreeable habit of calling at tea-time is al-
most peculiar to Charleston. One evening, having several ex-
tra guests, Titus was summoned to carry the cake-tray. Long
acquaintance and Lewis's jocose manner made him feel on par-
ticularly easy terms with him ; and as Lewis was helping him,
self, Titus called to me— -
“Miss Neely, if Maus Lewis tak two piece of cake, he an’t
lef enough for sarve all.”
Passing from Lewis he came to a gentleman who was occu-
pied in looking at the paper to ascertain a point of intelligence;
and seeing him thus engaged, Titus took up a piece of toast
carefully with his thumb and finger, and laid it on a plate in
the gentleman's lap.
7
146 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
Having served us all, he deposited the tray on a table, and
stood still. .
After due time, I said, “Hand the cake round, Titus.”
Titus approached the table, took hold of the cake-basket with
an air of importance, and deliberately turned it round, almost
wrenching his arm in his attempt to do it thoroughly; and then
with a satisfied air, retreated.
3% 3% 3% 3& #: S$ *
Before Lewis left town, a discussion about some stolen arti-
cles, that had been restored to the servants through the influ-
ence of a fortune-teller, inspired him and me with a desire to
visit her; not with faith, for we were aware that when one as:
sertion of the witch was true, a hundred misled the negroes,
who spent their money on a shadow; ours was the true spirit
of fun and curiosity; and one evening, when we were going in
full dress to a party, unbonnetted as usual, Lewis, with his ac-
customed impetuosity and decision, ordered the coachman to
street. Gay and laughing, he speculated on our fate.
Anna became reluctant to go. “The very thought frightens
me,” said she. “We have no right—”
“Right ! Miss Allston,” said Lewis. “You speak as if we
expected to see a sibyl instead of an ignorant pretender. I am
simply curious to meet a woman who operates so powerfully on
so many minds.”
Our fortune-teller was surrounded by none of those associa-
tions that usually lend a fascination to the mysteries of the
craft. No cave with wild and repulsive entrance concealed her;
no lofty trees whispered and sighed as she delivered her ora.
cles; not a Wrinkle was stamped on her brow; there was even
something of beauty in her regular profile, and her large black
eyes threw forth a lustrous ray; still, as we entered her small
apartment, where one candle glanced with dim and yellow light
SOUTHERN MATRON, 14%
on the individual who pretended to the awful power of knowing
those secrets which belong only to the Eternal, our laugh was
checked, and Anna's fair cheek was paler than its usual delicate
hue. She trembled so much that I half regretted her presence.
I advanced first. The woman looked at me with her pene-
trating eyes; and pouring some tea into a cup, waved it gently
until the grounds were scattered and settled; then, pouring off
the liquid, she examined them with an air of deceptive earnest-
ness. I believe my whole heart was in my face as I bent ea-
gerly forward to this singular dispenser of destiny. What a
war of feeling and reason
“Here,” said she, peering at the cup, “is a young man on
horseback, and there—do you see something shining there?”
and she pointed with a bodkin to the centre of the cup, looking
full in my eyes—“see, there is a ring—and—”
I was silly enough to forget that a young man and a ring
would probably be the very first things that a fortune-teller
would speak of to a girl of my age: and putting my hands to
my ears I screamed out, “No, no; not another word I will
not hear another word " while Lewis clapped his hands and
shouted, “Excellent, go on, good woman, go on 1"
But I was resolute. I felt as if the walls had ears and eyes,
and that too much had already been told, and sheltered my
burning face behind Anna.
“Now, Miss Anna,” said Lewis, as with gentle force he drew
her towards the woman.
How beautiful she was at that moment in the struggle to
conquer her reluctancel Perhaps the contrast of the tall com-
monplace figure of the fortune-teller made her spiritual loveli-
ness more striking. She grasped her little fan almost convul-
sively; her eyes shunned the dark orbs that were fixed upon
her; and as the lips of the fortune-teller uttered a sound, she
148 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON.
caught Lewis's hand, and looked up to him beseechingly, while
tears started to her eyes. -
Lewis could trifle no longer—he retained her hand—throw-
ing at the same time a double douceur to the woman, and said
earnestly—
“God forbid that my boyish whims should give you a mo-
ment's pang !” And drawing her arm in his, he whispered, as
we descended the steps, . -
“Let me read your fortune, sweet trembler, and its first and
last oracle shall be love, love.”
It was the only time he had spoken thus.
Anna was silent through our drive; once she sighed so deeply
that we started, and I felt a warm tear drop on my arm |
We reached the hall, and were separated a while by the
dance.
The next time I saw her her cheek was glowing, her eye
sparkling, her step light as a fay's on a moonbeam, and her smile
all radiance and joy; while Lewis stood, not dancing with her
but gazing on her, and she knew that it was so.
CHAPTER XIX.
COUNTRY GUEST.S.—A MORNING WALK.—NEW TRIALS.
“Show not to the poor thy pride,
Let their home a cottage be;
Nor the country-dweller hide
In a palace fit for thee.
Better far his humble shed,
Humble sheds of neighbors by,
And the old and scanty bed,
Where he sleeps and hopes to die.”
CRABBE.
“I wish your likeness had been taken last night,” said I to
Anna, as, walking through King-street on the morning after the
ball, Iglanced at her placid face. “You will never look again as
you did then, with that Shakspeare expression between tragedy
's
and comedy. How could you fit those gloves at Madame
store so quietly, with Lewis at your side? If my heart's wishes
were in such a train as yours, I should have jumped over the
counter.”
Anna looked at me with an arch expression, which seemed to
say, “If you could see down far into my heart, you would not
find any trying on of gloves there.”
Gentle creature! Why was she not spared for a riper friend-
ship ! How rich, how golden would have been her maturity
But Heaven calls such spirits to minister at its eternal altar,
while we of coarser mould are left to struggle with the world.
When we returned from our walk, the servants told us that
150 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
a cracker* man and woman were in the drawing-room, waiting
for papa. On reaching the door, which was partly open, I per.
ceived a tall, Sallow-looking countryman, with a blue homespun
dress, which hung loosely about him, standing with his hat on,
his arms akimbo, speaking to a young girl almost equally sallow,
also dressed in homespun, with a cracker or cape bonnet of the
same material.
As he addressed her she rose, and they stood before one of
the Small convex mirrors at that time in fashion.
“Now, Susy,” said he, “just see what a smart chance smaller
it makes us.” .
So speaking, they walked backwards, gazing at their dimin-
ishing size; exclaiming, “If that an’t despert curous ! Well,
anyhow, that's droll!” until they nearly fell over Anna and me
as we entered. Recovering themselves, they nodded at us, the
man keeping his hat on still.
I should have been embarrassed had not papa entered, and,
instantly recognizing his visitor, cordially shook hands with
him.
“And who is this?” said he, turning to the girl.
“Well, that's Susy, my sister,” was the answer.
“Miss Susy is very welcome, as well as yourself.” said papa.
“Cornelia, I hope my friend Mr. Slute will stay with us, and
you must do all you can to make him and his sister comfort-
able.” -
I fear there was an inhospitable look of astonishment in my
face, for papa immediately addressed me, with a look to call
my attention.
“I do not know that I ever informed you,” said he, “of a
circumstance which occurred to me last spring, in my journey.
* Wagoners, so called from the snapping of their long whips, to stimu-
late their team.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 151
An accident happening to my horse, I was obliged to hire one
of the little animals called ‘marsh tackies' to carry me over a
creek. They are usually very strong and sure; but, as my
luck would have it, this little wretch began to plunge instead
of swimming. In this style I reached the opposite shore, where,
So far from stopping, he set off at full speed, knocked me against
the projecting limb of a tree, and deposited me among the cy-
press-trees in the swamp. This not being enough, he cut sundry
capers, and kicked off my saddle-bags: satisfied with that, he
allowed me to catch and tie him to a tree, while I waded down
the creek to recover my property. Mark, appearing with my
own horse, mounted the tackie, and we rode to the nearest hab-
itation, which, fortunately, was Mr. Slute's, who lent me a clean
suit of homespun, entertained me with every kindness, without
accepting any compensation, and has complied with my request,
to come to us when he should visit Charleston.”
While papa made this statement, which was evidently given
for me to recover my self-possession, Mr. Slute still stood be.
fore the mirror, with a mountain of tobacco in his cheek, now
and then retiring and advancing, and modding at Susy. No
other decorations of the room seemed to excite their interest,
though they had probably never seen any furniture but coarse
oak chairs, seated with hickory shavings, or deer, or alligator
skins, pine tables, serving various purposes, and perhaps a wooden
clock, a luxury to which most country people aspire.
It required a prodigious struggle for me to seem at ease with
our new guests; but I conquered, and felt that satisfaction
which results from the determination to make others happy.
The first moment we could gain together, Anna and I vented
our ohs and ahs, and gave keen feminine glances at awkward
possibilities. -
The Slutes were to pass but a few days with us, and Susy's
152 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
perfect innocence soon won on my regard. The third day after
their arrival, Lewis was to dine with us and bring a friend. He
fightened as much as he amused me by his manners to our
guests, catching at once their peculiar dialect, and addressing
them in their own style. I saw Mr. Slute look keenly at him
the first evening, but his flexibility and winning tones soon dis-
pelled all doubt. He was entirely devoted to Susy, rattling on
about country matters, while she sat staring and laughing at
him in a kind of surprise that was exceedingly amusing. I
trembled lest he should go too far, and trespass on the bounds
which some minds, the most open to the ludicrous, often pre-
serve so kindly. .
On the day the gentlemen were to dine with us, after con-
sulting Anna, I decided to give Susy a little advice, as she
seemed so gentle and amiable.
“You must not be offended,” said I, looking away from her,
“if I speak to you frankly about something. It is not consid-
ered perfectly polite to pick bones at the dinner-table, in the
city, particularly with both hands.” -
“Why, do tell P’ said she.
“I expect Mr. Barnwell and another young man to dine
here,” continued I, “and I wish, if it does not make any differ
ence to you, you would not pick your bones to-day at table.”
“Well, I don't know,” said Susy, “I an’t a grain set upon
pickin bones, no how, but I reckon I mout forget it.”
I mused a moment, and then said, “As you sit next to me,
..if I see you putting a bone to your mouth I will just touch you
with my foot, and that will make you remember.”
“Sartain,” said Susy, good-naturedly; “that's mighty reason-
able.”
The dinner-hour arrived, and, as ill luck would have it, Susy
preferred a rib of roast pork to anything else; however, I felt
SOUTHERN MATRON, 153
quite secure, as I perceived her assiduously cutting the meat
off. As the conversation became more animated, my attention
was withdrawn; at my next glance, I saw her with both hands
up, tugging at the bone in her mouth. I touched her foot—
with a wild kind of stare she let her hands drop, leaving the
long bone between her teeth !
Among the articles at the dessert were whips and jellies;
Susy eyed them keenly, and Lewis handed her a whip. As
the pure white bubbles stood high in the glass, she inserted her
spoon into the froth, and then introduced it heaping into her
mouth, expecting to taste a solid and tangible morsel. Susy
started, set down the glass, shook her pocket-handkerchief, look-
ed in her lap, pushed back her chair, felt of her frock, examined
the floor, and then said, in a low tone—
“Well, if that truck an’t gone mighty curious.”
I hope it will be understood that not a particle of contempt
is intended in this sketch ; for, while aiming to present a pic-
ture of manners, it is as unphilosophical as ill-natured to view
local relations with so narrow an eye. The class of persons
whom I describe are everything they should be in their own
sphere; they maintain in the duties of domestic life simplicity
and honesty, and, should danger threaten our country, none
would be more forward than they to protect and defend her.
No foolish ambition carries them voluntarily into society un-
suited to their unsophisticated habits; and, when circumstances
throw them into such circles, they preserve their own individ-
uality. Nor does this sketch touch that class of persons at the
South who, though removed from cities, possess the cultivation
of the metropolis without its cares and vanities. .
If it were not too obvious that Providence has balanced the
pleasures and evils of every grade of human beings, I might
say that this latter class are the happiest in the world. With
73%
154 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
wealth to procure means of education, and to enjoy it when
obtained, they live in a little region of their own ; nor are they
in solitude and ignorance; though secluded, their hospitable
doors are open to friends, and the frequent traveller brings to
their tranquil abodes the softened echo of the world.
The following morning Miss Slute requested me to accom-
pany her brother and herself to make some purchases in King-
street. I could give no excuse for declining, but consented
with as good a grace as possible; and beseeching Anna to ac-
company us, I ordered the carriage, though for so short a dis-
tance. What was our consternation to see Susy come down
stairs with a stiff new white lace veil, reaching nearly to her
feet, tied over her cracker bonnet. Anna and I entered the
carriage in silence, shrinking back as our friends, in their eager-
ness to see everything, leaned from the windows. In King-
street we alighted, Susy and her brother taking hold of hands
and walking in front of us. On entering a shop they perceived
that they had lost the memorandum for their purchases, and
disagreed about the articles and the quantity. Anna and I
gave ourselves up in despair for a while to their erratic move-
ments, and then proposed returning to the carriage; but alas !
in darting from shop to shop the coachman had lost us. Fash-
ion and business began, as usual, to throng King-street; and
many a glance was cast at our guests, as, hand in hand, they
preceded us, frequently speaking our names aloud. At length
Lewis discerned us; he smoothed down his face with a comical
look and joined us.
“Can you think of no way,” whispered I, “to get us out of
King street?" -
Lewis laughed at my perplexed look, and answering “Oh
yes,” turned to Mr. Slute, reminded him that he had promised
SOUTHERN MATRON. 155
to show them St. Michael's steeple, and asked him if he would
like to go now.
“Well, I don't know,” said Mr. Slute, “I don't care if I do.”
We left King-street, Susy and her brother taking hold of
hands, and Lewis following with Anna and me. Not far from
St. Michael's corner sat a black woman, with a stock of ginger-
cake, molasses candy, &c. to sell, over which she waved a fly-
brush of palmetto. In front of us was a group of young men,
among whom I started at distinguishing Arthur Marion. At
this moment we were hailed from behind by Mr. Slute and
Susy, who had bargained for a large square of the gingerbread,
and were asking us to partake of it. They had joined us, and
were pressing it on us, when Marion and another gentleman,
advancing from the group, passed us. It was in vain for me to
see as though I saw not ; I felt the blood rush to my face, and
saw a glow of recognition kindle up on his, although there was
no other movement of acquaintanceship.
Mr. Slute resumed his walk, munching his cake, and, as I
glanced back, I saw that Marion and Mr. Elliot had turned
and were following us. As we stopped under the portico of St.
Michael's, while Lewis went opposite to the guard-house to pro-
cure the key of the church door, they passed us slowly, and an-
other full glance told me that I was recognized, but whether as
the lady of the ditch or the lady of the ball I knew not. Marion
and Elliot suppressed a smile as they saw the gingerbread-eat-
ers, while Anna and I stood like two victims, blushing to the
eyes. They passed on ; but, as the guard-man opened the door
for us to enter the church, I ventured one more look. Marion
and his companion were turning towards the building, and, as
we commenced ascending the stairs, I heard his mellow voice
and Elliot's gay laugh below.
(; H A P T E R X. X.
A VISIT TO ST. MICHAEL's TOWER.
“St. Michael's spire St. Michael’s spire
How fair thou risest to the sight;
Now, glittering in the noon sun's fire,
Now, softened by the “pale moonlight.’”
LEWIs, accustomed to the way, with Anna under his protec-
tion, rapidly preceded us. We followed more slowly, and were
soon in utter darkness on the spiral stairway. I was not aware
that there was only room enough for one person to go at a
time, neither had I given a thought to the steepness of the as-
cent, nor to the excessive gloom and solitude, exciting, in almost
every inexperienced visitor, a peculiar sensation. My agitation
was not unmixed with terror, and yet I was disposed to laugh,
as a relief to the apprehension that lay like a weight upon my
senses, as we wound round and round, feeling our way at every
step.
Lewis and Anna were soon far beyond our hearing and ob-
servation, and the scene suited well his eccentric nature. He
heeded not the darkness, and Anna soon forgot it too. Love
held a torch brighter than sunbeams; and, as he supported her
slight figure, he almost fancied the blush that mantled on her
cheek, and he fancied not, but he felt, the trembling of her hand
as he urged his hopes.
“Speak to me, Anna,” whispered he ; “let me hear your voice
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 157
now, alone and solitary, before the world comes between to
break the spell Speak, dearest Let me hear you in this
darkness say, that in the darker walks of life I shall be your
companion. Say that I may aid you on your way, and that
you will soften mine with your tenderness. Speak but one
word, now, now ; that word will be a light to my soul.”
Anna did murmur a word, and the light broke from the bel.
fry windows, and revealed a look that spoke still more.
“Blessed augury P’ said Lewis; “so shall your love shine out
on my existence.”
No one can imagine, without actual experience, how long
appears the really brief period of darkness in ascending the
first flight of that tower. Mr. Slute and Susy were just in
advance of me, and my own expressions of excitement were
soon suspended by her more violent alarm. At length she
burst forth in hysterical shrieks, and came to a complete stand.
“I an’t a going a grain farther,” sobbed she ; “you mout as
well a’ put me in my coffin at once’t as to bring me to this
pisonous hole.”
“'Tan't no use to talk about it now, any how,” said Mr. Slute.
“It won't help you none to stay there squealing like a stuck
shote. If you don't choose to let me tote ye up, you must let
it alone.” So saying, he ascended the stairs, still calling on
Susy to follow.
But Susy, frightened beyond all control, spread out her hands
helplessly in the darkness to feel for me, crying out—
“Poor, poor Susy Slute's buried alive | Poor me ! What
shall I do?”
I spoke to her as soothingly as possible, but without effect ;
she would neither advance nor return, but seemed in an ecstacy
of terror.
At length I heard a voice close behind me. “Can I be of
158 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
any assistance here ?” it said. “If my name is any pledge of
my good-will, it is Arthur Marion.”
“Thank you, sir,” said I, exceedingly embarrassed at the pre-
posterous predicament in which I was again placed, and bewil-
dered with the darkness.
“What is the lady's name 2" asked Marion.
“Miss Susan Slute,” I replied. -
“Miss Susan,” said he, encouragingly, “you have only about
fifteen steps to go to reach the platform, where it will be light;
let me count them for you as you ascend. One—that is right,”
continued he, as he heard our dresses rustle; “two—three—
you are going on bravely now”—and he spoke as a tender pa-
rent would address a timid child, until the glimmering light
above stimulated her to more exertion, and we reached the bell-
room, where, throwing herself on a seat, she recovered from her
alarm. But nothing would induce her to proceed; and, stating
to the gentlemen that I preferred remaining with her until her
brother's return, they left us and ascended another flight.
The delicacy of Marion's manner was not lost on me. What
refinement, what goodness was in every look and tone Again
my heart whispered, “ Charles Duncan would have loved him "
It was not long before Mr. Slute returned. Susy's entrea-
ties to go home were too earnest to withstand; and, as he stated
that the next flight of stairs was lighted throughout, I parted
from them in pursuit of Lewis and Anna, whom he had left in
the second balcony.
Though no longer in darkness, the excitement was intense
from my loneliness, and it appeared to me that I should never
reach the first balcony. When I had attained the spot I re-
solved to wait for Lewis and Anna; and, as I turned to gaze
on my own fair city, a thrill of astonishment and delight ran
through me at its beautiful proportions.
SOUTHERN MATRON. . 159
On either side, the Ashley and Cooper, gently swelling to
the sea, or twining off in silvery streams to the woodlands,
shone in the sunbeams; the blue sea rocked the masts at the
wharves, or extended its broad surface for vessels that stood
with their spread sails, like eagles plumed for flight; the flag
of Fort Moultrie waved in the distance; and nearer, Castle
Pinckney sat like a swan upon the waters. I looked below ;
a map seemed spread before me. I felt like a being of an-
other sphere ; like something apart from the human machines
who were moving noiselessly and voicelessly to me, reduced by
distance to a speck amid their own creations. . -
I sat quietly expecting Lewis and Anna, until their delay
startled me; and then I smiled as I thought of the absorbing
character of their intercourse, and perhaps I smiled the more as
a glance at the Ashley reminded me of former scenes upon its
banks, when I was Lewis's heroine.
I now resolved to ascend another flight of stairs, and meet
them on the highest balcony. I had taken but a few steps be-
fore my heart began to beat violently. I could almost hear its
throbbing, the stillness was so profound. I was confident, how-
ever, that they awaited me there, and quickened my steps,
though dizzy with the increasing height, and agitated by unde-
finable alarms. I reached the second balcony, certain that
Lewis and Anna would spring to meet me. They were not
there. I called their names; I ran with the steps of a fright-
ened fawn around the pilasters, with a faint hope at my heart
that they might have hidden themselves in a frolicsome humor
They appeared not; again, in agony of spirit, I shouted, “Lewis
Anna for mercy's sake come to me!” My voice melted in that
vast height, a hundred and twenty feet from the earth, like a
snow-flake on a stream.
How the feelings color objects | There shone the heavens in
160 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
their broad sweep of majesty, calmly, beautifully blue, looking
down upon the earth; there lay the earth, with its green bosom
open to the sky; the rivers still wound to the sea, like loving
children to a mother's arms; the sea expanded its broad sur-
face, while near and remote sails stiffened in the breeze; the
city slept in quiet distance below, and man moved there still,
the lord of the creation. I heeded them not; they even seemed
to mock my growing terrors; while the winds, as they swept
round the tower, brought shrill and terrific voices to my ear,
and, as they died away fitfully, my pulses sank, and my limbs
trembled.
My last resource was to ascend the spire. There again was
deep darkness. I shrank back; and yet the hope that, ignorant
of my separation from my companions, Lewis and Anna were
secreted there, urged me on. I took a few upward steps, and
my brain reeled in the felt gloom. Again I cried, “Lewis
Anna " but not even echo returned a sound. At length the
thought flashed through my mind that they had gone down with-
out perceiving me in the first gallery, which, from its extent
and octagonal form, they could easily have done, and, presuming
that I had descended with Mr. Slute, had probably left the
tower. At this idea my brain snapped with the intensity of my
alarm ; strange lights seemed to dance in the obscurity. Once
more I screamed “Lewis Anna P" No sound replied to my
cries; my voice grew hoarse with my efforts; seconds seemed
like years. I attempted again to move forward; I groped about
with a wild impulse, beating the air in the horrible uncertainty,
and fell.
When Marion and Elliot descended the stairs from the pi-
geon-holes, they found me insensible at the entrance of the bal-
cony. On recovering I perceived Marion supporting me, while
Elliot stood fanning me with his hat. I must have been
SOUTHERN MATRON. 161
stunned with the fall, for I could not immediately comprehend
my situation, or feel power to move. I afterward recalled their
looks of terror and perplexity, but it was many minutes before
my consciousness was fully restored. When it was, I started
from my position—they had taken off my hat, while my hair
was loosed and fell around me. In a moment I perceived the
embarrassment of my situation, and the blood seemed to rush
in tingling torrents through my frame. From extreme faint-
ness I felt my cheeks suddenly flushed with a glow of shame,
and, in a reaction from the silence of insensibility, I began to
pour forth a torrent of excuses, and thanks, and explanations:
nor was this all; nature claimed the tribute she so often calls
from the young, and I burst into tears. .
Elliot was about to speak to me.
“Hush " whispered Marion; “tears will relieve her.”
I wiped my eyes and advanced to the stairs.
“Allow me,” said he, without offering his arm, “to precede
you one step, to guard against dizziness as you descend.”
I followed passively; he said little, but occasionally turned
his head towards me with a look of the most respectful inquiry,
while Elliot, his usual dégagée manner quite subdued, fol-
lowed us.
At the last flight, however, when we were in total darkness,
they both questioned me frequently, that they might know if
my strength failed me.
It was a singular circumstance, that in the previous descent,
as Marion kept his hand on the balustrades and pillars for sup-
port, my diamond ring, glittering on his finger, seemed to me a
guide and comfort. It was now no longer visible. I felt again
sudden oppression; my voice faltered, my limbs seemed to give
way beneath me, and I should have fallen, had not light and
air broke in from the portico and restored me.
162 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON,
Marion requested to see me home safely, and I went on, de-
bating with myself how to thank him. Nothing but monosyl-
lables could I muster, though my heart was so full. That night,
on my pillow, how many delightful things I thought of which I
might have said.
We reached the door, and I stammered out the very thing I
did not mean to say—“I must thank you for the past and the
present together, Mr. Marion. You seem to be destined for
my knight-errant.”
He looked surprised, but smiled.
“I am not aware,” said he, “of any past claim on my chiv-
alry; but, if you will allow me one for the future, I shall feel
honored.”
He bowed gracefully, and I saw by his manner that I was
still unknown except as the girl of the ball-room.
The door opened. Anna, with a look of surprise and joy,
flew to me and kissed my cheek, while Mr. Marion walked on.
C HAPTE R XXI.
THE WEDDING,
“Canst thou love me, Kate? A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black
beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye
wax hollow ; but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon, or rather the sun and
not the moon; for it shines bright, and never changes, but keeps its course truly. If
thou wouldst have such a one, have me.”—Henry V.
“I saw her from the altar led,
With silvery veil, but slightly swept aside,
The fresh, young rose-bud deepening on her cheek,
And on her brow the sweet and solemn thoughts
Of one who gives a priceless gift away.”
MRs. Sigourney.
A GAY group of bridesmaids were assembled in that sunny
month, the month of April, around the toilet of Anna Allston,
fitting the slipper's neat proportion, or twining orange-blossoms
in her soft hair, or adjusting the floating veil; and, as the jests
of their light hearts went round, a dimple would play in the
delicate fulness of her cheek, or a sigh, sweet and gentle as a
summer breath floating over roses, escape from her veiled breast,
or a glance of such mingled pleasure and reproach as rather ex-
cited than checked her merry attendants, stole from her deep
blue eyes.
Around her were kind manifestations of friendship—the pure
satin cushion, where pins, arranged in finished letters, told “ſoy
to the bride;” the beautiful vase, through whose transparency
light came like thoughts through an ingenuous countenance;
perfumes, not needed by her whose breath was fresh as infancy;
164 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
books, sweet mementoes of intellectual sympathy; jewels, glit-
tering on her small fingers, save that on which was to be placed
the golden circlet, touching emblem of the love which owns no
termination; and flowers, those fair and frail gifts which were
to tell to-morrow the moral of beauty and decay.
When all was dome that nature, whose dowry was so rich,
and art, which even dares to tint the bosom of a shell, could
do ; when no jealous eye might detect an imperfection in the
snowy robe, or floating veil, or braided hair, Lewis was sum-
moned. He cast one proud, triumphant glance upon Anna's
moonlight loveliness, but withdrew it, for the crimson flood
rushed to her cheek and brow, and thrilled her taper fingers,
and made the white rose which she held still paler.
Amid that brilliant group were two persons watching the
motions of the lovely girl with no common interest. Cely her
maid, and her old nurse Binah. A china toilette cup and sau-
cer, of classical proportions, with Anna's name in gilt letters on
the outside, were brought in as a gift from one of Lewis's con-
nections. As old Binah took the cup from the servant, she ap-
proached her young mistress with a solemn courtesy and an up-
ward look, and said,
“May God Almighty grant my young missis for drink out
such a cup like dis in heaven.”
Cely's thoughts were less spiritual. She evidently deprecated
the well-meant assistance rendered to the bride, and whenever
we interfered with any part of her dress, quietly but instantly
re-arranged it. .
The bridemaids presented the white favors to the grooms-
men, and we were summoned to the apartments below. They
were decorated with branches of magnolia, wild-orange, holly,
and other evergreens of our woods, while the graceful and
* This touching prayer was heard by the writer.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 165
odorous yellow jessamine was entwined with their firmer foliage,
and many a spring blossom peeped between the glossy green.
The atmosphere seemed to breathe of Anna's presence; the
bright-wreathed flowers kindled up anew, and the light softened
as she moved onward. There was no eye but for her.
The wide semicircle of groomsmen and bridemaids was
formed; there was a hush—the solemn words were uttered, and
soon the parents of Lewis embraced their daughter; and as she
felt their twining arms and loving kiss, she whispered, “I am no
longer an orphan.” -
As first bridemaid, I was called upon to cut the cake, which
contained a ring. Many an eye was turned towards me, for
she who finds the ring in her portion will, it is said, be the next
bride. The girls eagerly took their share, and shade after
shade came over their smiling faces. I broke my slice, and the
ring fell on the floor. There was a gallant scramble among the
beaux who threw themselves at my feet to find it. Did Ifancy
that he who was successful lingered a moment in his kneeling
attitude while presenting it to me? Was it in mere gallantry
that he bowed his lips to the ring 2 Was there not something
of reality in his gay address 2 Perhaps it was imagination, but
the youth was Arthur Marion, and two weeks' acquaintance
does wonders with young people.
“Will you exchange rings with me, Mr. Marion ?” said I, as
we were promenading the piazza, in the pauses of the dance, and
jesting of my success. “I have taken a great fancy to that
diamond ring on your little finger.”
He blushed like a girl.
“You will think me romantic, Miss Wilton,” said he, “but
I have made a resolution never to part with this ring, except
to the owner. I had not seen you, remember, when I made
this vow.” - -
166 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
“And who is the owner' asked I. “I have a right, in my
office to-night, to take some liberties.”
He paused a while, and then said gravely,
“I am afraid you will laugh at me as Elliot does, but your
authority is not to be resisted.” .
After a little hesitation, he related the adventures of the
ditch. It was amusing to see the difference between his and
Elliot's representations. Marion even threw a shade of romance
over his heroine, but I could not preserve my gravity. Marion
Jooked graver still. - . .
“You are amused, Miss Wilton,” said he, “at this detail, and
laugh almost as wickedly as Elliot; but, I assure you, his ridi-
cule has only stimulated me to shelter that lady from the shafts
of his wit.” --
“I know,” said I, “that it would be too romantic in these
days to expect our heroines to come out as pure and unsullied
from a ditch as Una and her milk-white lamb; but you must con-
fess that your heroine was not in a very interesting predicament.”
“Every woman is interesting to me who requires my protec-
tion,” rejoined Marion.
“Should you know your heroine again?” said I.
“I am confident that I should know her person anywhere.”
he replied. “Her face was concealed by her bent hat and
soiled veil; but her figure which I gazed on until she was out
of sight, I think I should recognize in a crowd; and on horse-
back I could not be mistaken in her. I have seldom seen so
symmetrical a form, at least not until very recently,” and he
bowed and smiled.
“How was it that the negroes did not know the lady or her
attendants 7" asked I.
“They were new hands,” he answered, “and could tell me
nothing of them.”
SOUTHERN MATRON, 167
“What was the height of your lady of the ditch 7" said I,
laughing,
“She was not as tall as you are,” replied he, “but rather
nearer Mrs. Barnwell's size.”
I started at the name. It sounded almost gratingly. I felt
half jealous that my friend should no longer be Anna Allston,
as she stood bowing to the various salutations, graceful as a
fringe-tree, whose white tassels wave in the clustering forests.
“You are determined, then, not to exchange rings with me?”
said I, twisting my gold one on my finger.
He looked embarrassed. .
“You cannot, I perceive,” said he, “enter into my feelings
on this subject. I confess that they are foolishly romantic ;
but my imagination has been so long enlisted, that it is impos-
sible for me immediately to divest myself of its influence. If
any one could wean me from the unknown lady of my vow—”
a few more words were said in a low tone, but they were words
of mere gallantry, and convinced me that his heart was with
his vow, and not with me.
I escaped to the drawing-room with some light jest, such as
often comes up, like the vapor of Niagara, from a woman's
heart, when a wild and struggling current is rushing below.
The ceremonious courtesy, the gay farewell, the presented cake,
soon occupied me, until each had received their proper gift, and
the last negro, with his written pass, was treading the quiet
streets of the guarded city. -
Dreams are odd things. I was dreaming that night that the
Cham of Tartary had ordered his kingdom to be searched for
a lady whose great toe should be small enough to fit a gold
thimble. His chief governor, with his staff of office, was super-
intending the thrusting of mine into its shining prison, when the
merciless city negroes, with their fiddles and tamborines, came
168 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
to salute the married pair with their customary daybreak music.
I roused Cely to throw them their fee, and they departed ; but
I had lost the Cham of Tartary's gold thimble.
I will make no lamentations over papa's old wine, nor re-
flections on the conduct of young men who, forgetting the sanc-
tity of private life, think that a wedding, instead of presenting
a scene of solemn, and tender, and elevated thought, must be a
signal for intemperate revel; nor hint at the frowning glances
of those who were overlooked in the invitations, nor at the petty
scandal of those who were there; it is sufficient that the morn-
ing Sun rose brightly on Anna, the heroine of the hour, and
that her heart folded its fluttering wing, and reposed in joy in
her husband's love. . . .
The bridal party left town that day for the Elms. Nature
was too in her bridal robe, and glittered in April smiles and
tears, like her who was welcomed in tender gaiety to her new
home. - .
At twilight music was heard approaching, and a large party
of negroes came with their instruments, singing a welcome.
They walked three times round the house, playing, “Joy to
the bride,” “Come, haste to the wedding,” and other tunes.
As they passed the door, some of them peeped at us, but they
were too bashful to enter; at length one old woman gained
courage to come in, and, dropping a courtesy, handed Anna a
calabash of eggs. Anna shook hands with her, and, at Lewis's
suggestion, who told her that the people would not retire until
they saw her, she went to the piazza.
They were delighted with her appearance; eggs were handed
her in all directions, and they renewed their songs and dances.
Among the number, though a little apart, stood a young wo.
man with an infant. She appeared not to notice the departure
of the others, but lingered by the steps, dancing her infant in
SOUTHERN MATRON. 169
her arms, uttering unintelligible sounds; while as she pointed
now to Anna, now to her infant, her face wore a pleasant smile,
“Poor Bella P" said Lewis, “she is deaf and dumb.”
As Bella turned to go, some wild boys among the people
who had been excited by the music and dancing, came to her
and threatened, half playfully, to take her child from her arms.
A howl, wild, long, and fearful, burst from the dumb crea-
ture as she clasped the baby more closely to her bosom.
It was not the last time that I was to hear that cry.
8
C H A P T E R XXII.
|MY PO O R C O U S IN A N N A.
“My flower, my blighted flower; thou that wert made
For the kind fostering of sweet summer airs,
How hath the storm been with thee! Lay thy head
On this true breast again, my gentle one !
And tell me all.” .
MRs. HEMANs’ English JMartyrs.
A week had flown as weeks will flee with the young and
happy, when Lewis was summoned away on business, to return,
however, the following day. I need not describe the parting
caress, the laughing delay, the half-bashful recall, hand lingering
in hand, the jest mocking the sigh, and the smile struggling
with the tear. Who has not loved ? Who has not parted?
At length, with spirits elastic as boyhood, he sprang over the
balustrade, gathered a sweet rose, and, shaking the dew from its
petals, passed it between the railings to Anna, and said,
“Put it in your hair, dearest; there is another on the stem
which will bloom to-morrow; come here in the morning, and
gather it for my return.”
Anna smiled as she placed the rose in her hair, and her blush
was as richly tinged as the flower; yet even for this short part-
ing her heart was full, and the smile of her lips was subdued by
the sudden sadness of her eyes.
Lewis mounted his horse, and his gaze said, as plainly as
words could do, that she was all the world to him—and this is
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 171
no faint test of a woman's power; for if there is a moment when
a youth forgets everything in creation but himself, it is when,
standing before an admiring group, he pats his noble steed,
'leaps to the saddle, sits erect as Olympian Jove, and then
springs away before the free air of heaven.
The sight of his parting glance lingered long upon my
thoughts; and often, in after-years, has it risen to me, its bright-
ness Sadly contrasted by his fate, like sunshine on a ruin. I
have since dwelt until thought became agony on the probable
circumstances of that day. I have fancied the full stream of
joy that gushed up in his heart, as he rode cheerfully along the
avenue of his paternal home, where the oaks, throwing their vast
arms from side to side, their mossy drapery waving in the air,
rustled a kind farewell; while the Ashley, with its clear waters,
looked from its wooded banks, and bade him God speed; and
the far sky that blesses all pierced the thick boughs above, and
smiled upon his way. I have fancied the older negroes (for he
was their pride) greeting him with respectful salutations, and
the younger ones (to whom he was both a terror and a play-
mate) turning up their white eyes with a smile of familiar rec-
ognition as they sought the Sunniest bank. I have fancied
him communing with his own heart (for his feelings were as
strong in good as in evil), pondering schemes of benevolence, in
which Anna was to be his dear assistant, and looking forward to
a sphere of usefulness and happiness.
I have since dwelt on the terrific change in this dream of
joy. I have imagined, until the figures stood before me with a
reality that made me shudder, his encounter with an enemy. I
knew too well the whirlwind of his passions. I had seen him,
when a boy, dash himself on the ground and clinch the grass,
when his will was thwarted—I had seen his hand raised in sud-
172 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
den impulse against an inferior—I had heard him in manhood
curse one of the purest and best beings that ever walked in the
likeness of God, and I felt that such passions, if not restrained
by the gentle teachings and strong inward power of Christianity,
might work his ruin. I have mused on these things painfully,
fearfully. I have fancied a death-struggle on that day in the
forest without an observer, save the lofty trees in their cold
grandeur; a cry unanswered but by the moaning winds.
Poor impetuous Lewis a moral rises from your nameless
grave—the Ashley murmurs it in its gliding current, once per-
chance tinged with your blood; and the forest-breeze whispers
in the thoughtful ear a warning to ungoverned passions.
On the morning after his departure, Anna gathered the fresh
rosebud, and twined it in her hair. As I saw her beaming eyes
turned to the avenue, I felt that her loveliness was not for the
crowd, but for retirement; that retirement where the student
should sometimes sojourn to pour out the breathings of unnamed
hopes; where the worldly should look a while at what God has
done; and where romantic youth should still its volatile pulses,
and feel in mature the nerving presence of Divinity.
The day passed—twilight approached, and Lewis came not.
Anna walked the piazza with a restless step. She touched her
guitar, its notes were sickly; her kitten rubbed its silken fur
against her ankle, Anna gave her no answering caress; she sang
a few notes of a song, they sank into a sigh.
“Let us go and meet him,” said she, impatiently.
Followed by our attendants, we strolled arm in arm through
the avenue. We reached its termination, and strained our eyes
through the increasing gloom. No moving object was visible
but the cattle gleaning the springing herbage. Darkness set-
tled quietly over the heavens, unconscious of the saddened
SOUTHERN MATRON. 173
hearts it shaded; star by star looked down from above; the
owl sounded from the distant thickets; and the nearer whip-
poorwill uttered her sad lament. Anna and I returned in si-
lence. Was there a presentiment of evil? She burst into
tears, and Anna rarely wept. I cheered her, and twined my
arms around her, and told her of the thousand causes that
might delay our Lewis, and kissed her precious forehead, and
wiped her tears, but still they flowed.
Days rolled on, and no tidings were gained of the wanderer.
The forest was searched while a ray of hope remained. Its
picturesque loneliness was broken by friends straining their
eager eyes for a relic of their lost favorite; by mercenaries, who
sometimes forgot the promised reward in interest for the noble
youth; by Indians, fleet of foot and keen of sight, who were em-
ployed in the pursuit; and not seldom were seen in those
gloomy woods two females, whom once the hare on its track
would have startled, but who boldly braved that solitude for
him.
Poor Anna she ceased to eat, to sleep; her only relief was
in exploring the untracked woods. A feverish restlessness
wrought on her soul and body. The voice, the footstep of a
messenger sent the blood with an electrical rush to her face,
which melted away again to paleness. Her eyes were wander-
ing, and her words few, as we rode on horseback through the
forests for hours, attended by Selim, a faithful family-servant.
Often, wearied out with penetrating the gloomiest spots in si-
lence, I besought her to return; but her cheek kindled and her
voice rose in anger, and I had not the heart to thwart her.
A few days passed thus, and I was terrified by the increasing
eccentricity of her movements; at length, one day, when a few
miles from home, she called me to her, with a mysterious but
fixed look, and I guided my horse close to hers. It was a
174 RECO LLECTIONS OF A.
bright, clear morning, the birds were singing among the trees;
our woods were glowing with flowers, and yet she said, whisper-
ing,
“I am weary of looking for him in this darkness. I see
chattering faces peeping from behind every tree, mocking me:
but I have a voice left; I can call him, cousin.” Then strain-
ing every nerve, she began to shout the name of Lewis in long,
piercing, unsuspended accents. The echoes took up the shrill
and fearful sound, and the woods were vocal with his name. I
entreated, commanded her to be silent; she heeded me no more
than the winds among the pine-tops; still went up the cry, and
echo still shouted back the name.
I dismounted, and called old Selim to assist me in taking her
from her horse; she was passive, but still her shrieks rent the
air, and curdled my inmost soul. I sat on the grass, and took
her in my arms; I reasoned with her; I called her by every
endearing name; I laid her head on my bosom; I pressed my
hand gently over her starting eyes, and smoothed the glossy
waves of her beautiful hair; it was useless; still rang the cry—
then my tears fell fast upon her face, and old Selim, kneeling
by her side, prayed aloud.
At length, a sudden instinct prompted me to bend my lips to
her ear and sing the name of Lewis. I chose a plaintive
Methodist air, in which he had often joined with us on Sabbath
evenings, uttering only his name. Gradually her voice lowered
—sank to a murmur—she was still—she slept.
From this day she sank, oh how rapidly It is fearful to
trace decay in one so young, and who had been so fair. No
bright hectic lighted up her cheek; no light brightened in her
eye ; the destroyer laid his hand cold, hard, and sudden upon
her frame: her form shrivelled; her feet shrank in her small
slippers; her lips were pale; her eye became glassy and dim;
SOUTHERN MATRON. 175
her fingers stood out lean and blue from her white robe; and
when her wedding-ring fell, she was too feeble to regain it; a
harsh contraction gathered on her polished brow; she spoke
but little, and then gasped forth hurried words, hoarse and
thick; oh how unlike the silver tones of her happier days
She daily tottered to the spot on the piazza where she parted
from her young husband, and broke buds and leaves from the
bush whence he gathered his last rose. It had risen in spring
luxuriance, and thrust its foliage through the paling. When
too feeble to visit the piazza, her easy-chair was drawn to the
window, where she could gaze on it; and there she sat, uncom-
plaining and unenjoying, except when a rose was brought to her,
and then her white lips would open with a piteous smile as she
placed it in her neglected hair. -
We talked to her of heaven, of her duty. Alas ! her mind
was a wreck; the golden bowl was broken Her look was
never upward; it was still, still on the summer rose-bush.
We removed her to Springland as the sickly season advanced,
It was heart-breaking to see her look back to the rose-bush as
she was lifted to the carriage.
One day a stranger came and presented me unexpectedly
with Lewis's pocket-book. He had found it when hunting by
the river's bank, at some distance from the main road. He
stated that the bushes were crushed near the spot, and deep in-
dentations, as of struggling footsteps, in the soil. -
I gave it to Anna; she uttered a thrilling scream of joy,
grasped it with her poor hands, and looked wistfully in my face.
“Open it, dearest,” said I; and the tears fell fast from my
eyes. “It is our own Lewis's.”
She unfastened the strap with her feeble fingers, and taking
out each paper, one by one, glanced at them as if they were fa-
miliar to her, until she saw one written in pencil. It bore the
176 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
date of his departure, and was evidently a romantic burst of his
thoughts in the solitude of the forests.
Anna began to read the following stanzas aloud; her voice,
broken and husky at first, gradually strengthened with the un-
usual effort, until it resumed something of its natural sweet-
ness; and had it not been for her ghastly paleness, there would
have been something too in her eyes of that expression, which
once melted every beholder.
THOUGHTS IN A SOUTHERN FOREST.
“Cheerless to me ye do not seem,
Tall pines, that hide the solar beam,
And stand in close array;
Nor when, like warriors stern and tall,
By the swart woodman's axe ye fall,
Still ponderous in decay.
How proudly soars each stately head,
With clouds for crowning plumage spread,
And helms of living green
I love to see the solemn bend
To which your lofty forms ye lend
When breezes wake unseen.
Fit music are the rushing sounds
With which the lonely wood abounds
For your majestic file,
When autumn winds, with rushing swell,
Urged on by ocean's mighty spell,
Tell you to stoop a while.
Fit death for you the fearful crash
Which, at the lightning's dazzling flash,
Lays your green honors low !
And fittest dirge the wood-bird's cry,
When to their frighted young they fly,
As the tall branches go.
Not here, I own, not here arise
Tall spires, that, pointing to the skies,
Uplift the thought sublime !
SOUTHERN MATRoN. 177
Not here the orchard bursting bright,
Gives flowers and fruitage to the sight,
As in some distant clime.
Yet, mistletoe, not sad to me,
Thy gathering clusters wander free,
Crowning the old oak's brow !
Not with the Druid's timid eye,
I see thee raise the banner high,
Which woke his mystic vow.
Nor mournful floats the mossy veil,
Waving when forest breezes wail,
Within the cypress grove;
It floated on my boyish sight,
And now its tendrils, swinging light,
Win my familiar love.
And see, from yonder wooded gloom,
The jasmine opes its yellow bloom,
By odors sweet betrayed;
Thus, Anna dear, thy loveliness
Will bloom, with gentle power to bless
Amid life's light and shade.”
“I did not know that my Lewis was a poet,” said Anna; and
one of the sad smiles she gave only to her roses passed over
her features as she laid the paper next her heart.
Slowly her reason began to gather; large tears rolled down
her cheeks, and sighs, so deep that her frame shook with the
effort, rose from her breast. .
She spoke little ; but her eyes were upraised, her hands
clasped as if in prayer; and from this moment a secret com-
munication seemed established between herself and Heaven.
She never smiled again. I am wrong—the night before her
death she beckoned me to her, and taking from her bosom
Lewis's stanzas, she showed me his withered rose in the paper's
folds, and smiled.
Death had little to do to crush her shattered frame; he
8%
178 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON
checked the last blue veins that lingered on her temple; he
severed the almost imperceptible clasp with which she retained
my hand; he cast a film more dense over her azure eye, which,
with its last look, sought mine; and the throbbings of one of
the softest hearts that ever ached under the burden of earth's
woes were still.
She only whispered—
“I wish I could have shared his lonesome grave.”
That midsummer's sun shone on hers.
(; H A P T E R XXIII.
T H E PIN E - L. A. N. D. W. I.L. L. A. G. E.
“Death is beautiful—not as the end of man, not as the extinction of a noble and
wonderful being, not as the final result and close of existence, but beautiful in its time,
as the momentary passage to a fairer land; the extrication of the soul from its tempo-
rary dwelling-place, the resting of the no longer needed body; the free ascent of the de-
livered spirit to its new abode.”—G. PUTNAM.
IT is a solemn thing when death passes over our homes. Let
who will depart, whether it be the infant, whose faint eye
scarcely opens on the creation which it is so soon to leave, or
the old man, whose orbs, weary and dim, are closed on familiar
objects, or the maiden, with the rose bursting on her cheek, and
her careless step treading lightly on the earth which is so soon
to receive her, or the young man, with vigorous frame and
active mind, looking thoughtfully into the mysterious and the
true; whether it be the father, towards whom his family turn
like flowers to the sunbeam, or a mother, whose smile, like day-
light, was scarcely felt in its constancy until it was withdrawn;
no matter which of life's varied relations is broken ; no matter
if it even be a stranger, who, without claim but that of hospi-
tality, comes to your threshold and gives up his lonely spirit to
God's higher household, away from his own hearth-stone, still it
is death—there is its stillness—its shroud—its fixed and pale
repose; the voice tells not its wants—the eye knows not. We
bend over the stiffened form, and turn away, and come not
180 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
again, for it is death; perchance we lift the bloodless hand, or
smooth the straying hair—but only once, for it is death, and we
are chilled. We tread lightly—yet the dead hear not. Why
does the boy stop his whistle as he passes that door Why
does the housemaid quicken her step and shade her eyes just
there as from a phantom 2
Is there no way to render death less dark and unlovely 7
Were it for me to draw its image, the fleshless bone and the
darkened skull should no longer image forth its horrors, nor the
hourglass and the scythe be its emblems. It should be sad, for
death is sad—not horrible. It should be dressed like night,
with dark and flowing robes, and solemn, perhaps uncertain
step; but, like night, with the new moon lighting up her sombre
mantle, and distant stars, images of far-off life, looking down on
her brow. Sin is unlovely—is monstrous; but death should
only be unlovely when allied with her.
And yet I felt its bitterness. Anna was gone. My heart
stretched forth its tendrils and they fell, unsupported by her
sweet sympathy. Her voice, so gentle in its youthful joy, was
hushed; her eye, so full of the deep revelations of love and
truth, was closed forever; her step, light as the motion of an
elastic flower, was arrested ; and thus it fares, one by one,
with all whom we love : but it is well for us; “the branches
are lopped from the tree, that the trunk may fall more easily.”
I was sitting, a few evenings after Anna's death, in the piazza,
musing on her fate. This had been a favorite spot and favorite
hour with Duncan. Throwing aside books, he taught me from
the great book of nature: he had anticipated such moments as
the present for me; he had told me of the probability of crushed
affections and blighted hopes. He drew morals from surround-
ing objects; for, even from the vacancy and barrenness of a
pine-land settlement, his mind extracted instruction—his rich
SOUTHERN MATRON. 181
mind, whose spiritual chemistry could convert earth's vapors
into heaven-tinged clouds; and now those clouds, hidden to my
eyes by the recent glare of worldly fashion, came rolling back in
their mellowed brightness. Beautiful force of virtue, which,
though sunk beneath life's horizon, throws up its rays long after
its orb has disappeared and let not the good spirits who labor
on the ground of the human heart be discouraged; the seed will
take root, some blessed words will shoot down into the soil of
the affections, and spring up in after-years.
There is something picturesque in the evening hour at a pine-
land village. A few trees are cleared away, affording just suffi-
cient room for a house, whose white-washed palings contrast
prettily with the dark hue of the pine; from ten to thirty of
these constitute a village, where planters reside during the sum-
mer months. A fire is kindled at twilight, of brush or light-
wood knots, near every house, which, while it drives away insects
gives a cheerful illumination to the scene.
These lights had just begun to blaze, one by one, in the grow-
ing shadows of night, while the paler hue of summer lightning
broke in fitful lustre between the trees. Here and there might
be seen a negro, his dusky form in full relief against the glare
of the blazing light; or young ones, dancing and singing around
the fire, presenting grotesque images of thoughtless happiness;
or a procession of neighbors, preceded by linkboys, passing for a
festival or a religious service; while their cheerful human
sounds broke pleasantly the song of the night-bird, or the un-
wearied talk of the winds in the pine-tops.
As I mused deeply, with my head resting on the window-sill, a
string of Anna's guitar broke within. How trifles sometimes
touch the soul! I lived an age in the little time until its awa-
kened vibrations died away in silence; but they did die, and
grief gathered up its unexhausted stores, and I wept.
I 82 RECoLLECTIONS OF A
An approaching step made me dry my tears, but they flowed
again, for it was Marion's—he who had seen our Anna en-
throned on love's temple, breathing the atmosphere of hope and
joy. .* -
And Marion, God be thanked, destroyed not the precious
lesson of affliction which the Father wisely sent for his untu-
tored child; no light or careless word from him won me back to
earth; the glow of religious thought was in his eye—a holy
consolation in his reasoning. He drew me away from Anna's
grave—from its loneliness and decay, but not to the world; not
to that broken cistern, but to the spiritual fountain of Christian
faith. -
Let young men be careful of woman's highest interests. In
those moments of prepossession when her heart and mind in-
stinctively turn to model themselves on his, whom God has made
of stronger fabric, let him not sap those foundations of religious
trust which may hereafter be dearer to him than her young love-
liness, and which, when that loveliness has faded in the dust,
will bloom and ripen in a better world.
Marion breathed not a word of love or preference, but I felt
elevated by his sympathy, by the thought that he considered me
worthy of it; and when he departed that evening there was a
rustling as of happy wings unfolding in my inmost heart, and I
was comforted.
But still my spirits and health failed under the immediate
influence of Anna's loss, and papa, believing that our retire-
ment rather increased than softened my regrets, proposed a
change to Sullivan's Island. Springland was but too obnoxious
to the common charge against pine-land settlements, extreme
dulness or extreme dissipation. There were there, as there are
everywhere else, well-tempered minds preserving the equilib.
rium of virtue, but it is almost impossible to secure a commu-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 183
mity from dangerous habits in a territory, realizing in its monot-
ony the satirical description of an American poet:-
“Where to the north—pine-trees in prospect rise,
Where to the south—pine-trees assail the skies,
Where to the east—pine-trees obstruct the view,
Where to the west—pine-trees forever grew.”
The planter misses the wide range of his fields, and his wife
and daughters the bustle of the city. Happy they, under these
circumstances, who shun, on one hand, the unhallowed amuse-
ments of associated pleasure-hunters, and the chilling influence
of seclusion on the other.
How often have I blessed my needle for rescuing me from
the temptations which assail the other sex.
Bright and innocent little implement, whether plied over
tasteful luxuries, or gaining the poor pittance of a day, thou art
equally the friend of her whose visions tend to wander amid the
regions of higher abstractions, and of her whose thoughts are
pinned down to the tread-mill of thy minute progress. Quiet
rescuer from clubs and midnight revels, amid the minor bles-
sings of woman's lot, thou shalt not be forgotten I Still come,
and let thy fairy wand shine on her; still lend an ambitious joy
to the playthings of the girl; still move unconsciously under
the glittering smile of the maiden planning thy triumphant re-
sults; still beguile the mother whose thought roves to her boy
on the distant ocean, or the daughter watching by the sick-bed
of one who has heretofore toiled for her; still soothe the long,
dreary moments of faithful love; and, though a tear sometimes
fall on thy shining point, it shall not gather the rust of despair,
since employment is thy dower.
CHA P T E R XXIV.
S U L L IV A N'S IS LAN D.
“Thus, thus the sunny day went by,
And night came brooding o'er the seas,
A thick cloud swarthed the distant sky,
And hollow murmurs fill?d the breeze.”
S. G. GooDRIGH.
“A whirling ocean now fills the wall
Of the crystal heaven, and buries all ;
And I, cut off from the world, remain
Alone with the terrible hurricane.”
BRYANT.
THERE are no two scenes more widely different than a pine-
land settlement and Sullivan's Island. The hum of business
or pleasure now sounds at the Cove, but the more remote part
of it is lonely in the extreme. A plantation is solitary; shut
out from the noise of the world, surrounded by a vast amphi-
theatre of trees, its occupants see little but the wide fields
around, the graduated foliage in the distance, and the over-arch-
ing sky; but then the large negro family is there, claiming and
giving, in a thousand ways, human recognition. A pineland
village is secluded; files of trees shut out there even the sky;
the world is heard not ; the resident rises to a monotonous
routine, and sleeps but to rise for the same quiet duties, or
thrice-told pleasures; but still the habitations cluster in com-
parative nearness: the night fire blazes cheerfully ; and oh,
how faithfully does kind neighborhood come forth in sickness,
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 185
and tell the sufferer he is not in solitude. But there is little
to soften the loneliness of the more remote residences on Moul-
trieville. Our dwelling stood alone, on a sandy eminence, with
the broad beach in the front distance, and wild myrtles scantily
rising as a dwarf shrubbery behind. Nothing was to be heard
but the dreamy dashing of the waves, or the curlew's cry;
nothing seen but what the ocean offered—the porpoise raising
its unwieldy form in the waters, the passing sail, whose distance
rather adds to the feeling of separation from human ties, and
the sea-bird winging its unwearied flight.
Yet in this solitude I breathed a free spiritual, as well as
physical atmosphere. I communed with the winds, and the
waves, and the stars, and they gave back answers to my heart,
thrilling, yet sobering. It was a joy to stand on the beach,
and see the setting sun with its glow of glory lighting up sky
and Sea; to note the stars, as day declined, marshalled in their
shining courses, at first singly, then in countless numbers; to
watch the light-house beacon, man's faint competitor with those
higher watches; to see the young moon rising with faint cres-
cent, beautiful as growing youth ; to note its progress night by
night, until it burst in silvery radiance, making the dark waves
glorious. And it was a joy to feel in my inmost soul a capacity
to appreciate what was great and fair, to rise in bright abstrac-
tions, and throw from me all that was earthly, and feel that my
higher powers would thus brilliantly light up, when the mortal
part should moulder in the grave; to clasp my hands in unut-
tered prayer, to weep tears of sacred happiness. This was the
privilege of my new solitude, and my soul grew in the process;
it was part of the heavenly training by which, I trust, God is
leading me to a more spiritual existence. This is not romance;
it is the feeling of youth, and will be understood by minds not
yet fettered by the world,
186 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
There were other pleasures at the island not so elevating, but
more social and almost defying solitude. I loved to see my
brothers and the young negroes revelling in the waves, as Rover,
intoxicated with delight, now dashing into the water, now shak-
ing his dripping sides, seemed to feel himself the monarch of the
scene, while little Patsey, carried by her maumer, dipped her dim-
pled feet into the shallow wave; then, clinging to her nurse's neck,
uttered a cry, half fear, half joy; then grew more bold, until,
with a shuddering delight, she permitted the coming waves to
dash her limbs, gleaming through the element like a rose-tinged
shell.
Then what joyous shouts went up from the beach from the
boys' games, the skipping rope, the bounding ball, the kite, while
I searched for shells, or wrote, in idle musings, names on the
level sands, or rode on horseback on the sea-washed plain,
where the fresh breeze in my face inspired health and spirits.
But life's pictures are not all sunny; clouds will gather,
storms must rise, and whirlwinds sweep over our path.
There came occasionally from town to visit us an old military
friend of my grandfather's. It was a great pleasure to us to
hear Captain Hyam's stories, to stroll about the island, as he
painted out scenes of historical interest; and it was a touching.
sight to see an old man, on that spot sacred to so many patriotic
associations, leading the boys' young minds from their sports to
their country's story.
One afternoon we strolled to the cove to observe the arrival
of the packet boats, bringing from the city their customary
motley group. There were reclining invalids, with their eyes
shooting a sudden brilliancy, as the sea-breeze swept over their
languid brows; sickly infants, seizing the first relished morsel;
the happy and healthy, who would fain add another tinge to a
blooming cheek. There was the mechanic, generously recreat-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 187
ing his industrious family, the professional man escaping from
the stifling court-room, the chamber of disease, or the secluded
study, to feel the Atlantic breeze, untainted by human breathing,
and gaze on the clear heavens and unfettered sea. I will not
enter on this innocent catalogue those whose motives are gross
and impure; the sensualist and the gambler, who dare to sojourn
where God's mercies rush by in purifying love, and whose stag.
nant souls are untouched with sensibility by the wave or the
breeze.
The younger passengers, scattered in various parties, shouted
in the fulness of excitement as they gained the front beach ;
shoes and stockings were doffed, pantaloons rolled up, and, fol-
lowed by their colored attendants, they sang and danced in the
coming and retreating waves.
How happy were they all; true, there were no hills rising in
magnificence to meet the sky; no sloping fields winding grace-
fully to the shore; no rocks stationed like guardians round the
coast; but there was enough that was beautiful and glorious for
the old, exciting and cheering to the young. Generous boys
and gentle girls in innocent joy resorted there, gathered rough
shells, and threw them in the dark waters; greeted their con-
scious dog as he came dripping, with Some prize, from the surge;
wrote sweet names on the beach; ran and shouted in careless
laughter against the breeze, or mused on those thoughts which
come even to childhood from the bounding sea.
Captain Hyam was one of the passengers, and our boys en-
gaged him for a shooting ramble to the curlew-ground, while I
wondered how they could have the heart to disturb the flight
of the birds in their aerial processions, now mingling as if for
consultation, now extending in a pencilled line, lengthening, until
lost in the viewless air. I remonstrated against destroying
them, and won my cause, by attaching to the captain's watch a
188 RECoLLECTIONs of A
riband, on which I had wrought, in gold letters, 28th June
1776.
Our good old friend consented to remain with us, and we
lingered on the beach, so delicious in its coolness after a sultry
day. Nature was as bright as our feelings. A few large, pil-
lowy clouds rested beneath the heavens, softening, but not ob-
scuring the declining autumnal sun; the city, with its spires,
rose in the distance; the light-house, beautiful emblem of hope
and safety, towered on one side; and on the other the main,
with its level verdure, seemed like a fringe of green on the azure
horizon. Pleasure-boats were darting from the cove, the rock-
ing skiff of the fisherman lay easily on the waves, and the ma-
jestic merchantman passed through the channel with its freighted
stores.
Some there were who, on that day, had looked with prescient
fear on the clouds and fancied evil, and the accustomed ear de-
tected the roar of a distant swell upon the ocean.
The clouds rapidly deepened at twilight, and the wind rose,
but we closed the shutters, and gathered round our evening
lamp without alarm. As we sat chatting at the table, a sudden
gust shook our dwelling, and a drizzling rain began to fall; it
increased; in an hour it poured in torrents, and the building
rocked like an infant's cradle. A sudden silence prevailed,
among our circle, and we spoke low, or uttered strong ejacula-
tions. I was fearfully alarmed; and as each gust came, with
its roaring accompaniment of angry waves, I could scarcely re-
strain my cry. I felt the blood rush to my heart; my eyes
seemed starting from their sockets, and I covered them with
my hands to shut out, if I could, the threat of nature.
Suddenly the recollection of Charles Duncan's teachings of
God in his providence came to my mind. I remembered how
he had once gently drawn my hands from my eyes, and told me
SOUTHERN MATRON. 189
that Heaven's best messages were sometimes heralded by storms.
I remembered this, and the spirit's prayer was awakened, and a
trust in God followed like a brooding wing, spreading itself
over my fluttering heart, and though I trembled, I was calm.
A knocking at the door was heard in a pause of the wind,
and two individuals hurried in drenched with rain.
“How fortunate,” exclaimed one, advancing, and panting with
his efforts, “to find you. My friend and I were seeking his
house in vain, and your piazza light guided us here.”
It was Marion, and for a while I forgot the storm. But it
approached, and rose and rose like some living monster pre-
paring itself for a death-struggle, until the waves lifted the
piazza. It was no longer safe, and we looked abroad in despera-
tion, while our voices could scarcely be heard amid the roar of
the elements. Moving masses of ruins were seen floating on
the white foam; beyond, all was intense darkness. Collecting
the servants, we resolved to leave the house by the back en-
trance, as yet not reached by the tide, and attempt to gain the
fort. Our dear little Patsey, still sleeping in the arms of her
nurse Binah, a strong and active woman, was in the centre of
the group. The darkness seemed supernatural, and we soon
approached a gully, where the tide was rushing on to intercept
our way. For a short time a shout, a word of encouragement,
a faint jest had been heard, but this was now hushed ; there was
an awful pause, too, in the elements; it seemed that nature was
preparing a nervous heave; and clinging to each other, we
thought to die together. It came—the gale rushed with ten
thousand voices, thundering on, roaring and raging over burst-
ing waves; we clung to each other still more firmly, but we
were parted as easily as gossamer tufts in the south winds of
summer. One arm I still felt grasping mine with a nervous
force, one voice was left to me, and it said, “We must think of
190 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
death—it is at hand; prayer is not new to us, my dear Miss
Wilton; God will hear us now.”
We groped in the darkness, but rather sought to return than
advance, for we could see by the moving foam that water was
before us. We reached a building and ascended the steps; it
was my own home, and no longer in danger, for the wind had
changed, and to the waves had been said, Thus far shall ye go
and no farther. But I felt bereaved and desolate; there stood
the remnant of our evening meal; and the candles, lighted in so
much mirth, glimmered dimly in the wind that still rushed
through the crevices. I wept, I prayed, and the night passed
by, oh, how slowly
The morning rose, and the sun shone down on that scene
of desolation. One servant never was found, but the other
members of the family had been variously preserved. Some
fishermen, at the early dawn, in ascertaining the fate of their
craft, perceived one of their boats high on the sand, capsized, and
resting on some timbers. They raised it, and there lay Patsey,
our little cherub, wrapped in her nurse's apron, and sleeping in
her arms.
But our venerable friend was gone. Amid the sad revela-
tions of that day, his form was recognized, but his sleep was the
sleep of death. Grasping his hickory cane, his gray hairs wet
with surf, lay the veteran on the beach. We looked at him.
with tearful eyes; and as the soldiers of the fort raised him in
their arms, the sun shone on his watch-chain, and the date of
1776 renewed our tears.
A mournful and respectful train wound its way, with military
honors, by the curlew-ground, to the myrtles; the muffled drum
mingling with air and sea, and the minute guns with sad pre-
cision told the tread of death.
Fit was the burial. Let the worldling be laid amid the city's
SOUTHERN MATRON. 191
hum, let the babe and the maiden rest beneath the green turf,
and flowers blossom over their grave, but the heroes of the
South—where can they find a better monument than those hal-
lowed sands, or a holier dirge than that which sweeps over the
spot sacred to our early fame?
(; H A P T E R X. X W.
T EH E P E D L E R.
“Servant.—Oh, master, if you did but hear the pedler at the door He hath ribands
of all colors of the rainbow; he has the prettiest love-songs for maids!
“.Autolicus.-And you shall pay well for 'em. [..Aside.
Will you buy any tape,
Or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my dear-a?
Any silk and thread,
And toys for your head
Of the new'st and fin’st wear—a 7
Come to the pedler;
Money’s a meddler,
That doth utter all men’s wear-a.
Winter’s Taſe.
RoSELAND Once more assumed an air of elegance and com-
fort; we resumed our old habits, brushed up and re-gilt like the
portraits of my grandparents, which were again suspended from
the walls; the friend was welcomed, the stranger sheltered. I
must confess there was a little less ease than formerly, for every-
thing was new. Who has not in his life been checked and
restrained by the constantly-recurring exclamations, uttered in
a tone of tartness,
“My dear, take care of that paint My love, don't touch
those clean things My Sweet child, pick up those groundnut-
shells My darling, why will you let Rover track the clean
floors 2"
This state of bondage to cleanliness lasted not long, how-
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 193
ever, at Roseland. Gradually the children were seen eating
their sweet-potatoes at all hours; the sight of Ben's powder-
horn and fishing-tackle excited no nervous alarm ; my music-
books were allowed to be in angular instead of parallel lines,
and I was permitted to romp out of the nursery with Patsey,
while the house assumed that delicious position, where an air
of general neatness prevails, without a slavish attention to mi-
nute wants, or a perpetual dread of doing or touching some-
thing wrong. -
I was amusing myself, one morning, by seeing Patsey's ef.
forts to get her big toe into her mouth, as she lay upon the
floor, for her figure was too rotund to admit of walking. Puck-
ering up her red lips with as intense an interest as if the world
depended on the effort, she at length succeeded, and smacked
them with a flavorous relish. As I began to frolic with her,
she showed her teeth, white as rice-grains, and her round, fresh
laugh rang out in musical peals; at length I jumped over her.
Binah, her nurse, caught me by the arm in anger, exclaiming,
“What for you ben walk over my child,” Miss Neely? Just
go back same fashion, or my child an’t gauin for grow no more
agen.” .
I was really obliged to skip back to pacify her, but I soon
offended anew by snatching her from her nurse's arms through
the open window, as I stood on the piazza. -
“My lor, Miss Neely,” cried her nurse, “how you ben do
sich a ting ! Put Miss Patsey straight back; if you carry
him trou one door fore you ben put 'em back, he just keep ſeetle
SO !”
It would be interesting to know the origin of these and other
superstitions. Perhaps they have some more rational begin.
* This appellation is constantly given by negro nurses to the white
children under their care.
9
194 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
ning than is dreamed of in our philosophy. No nurse at the
South will allow a child to be carried to a looking-glass before
it is a month old, and its infant Sneeze must never be unan-
swered by “God bless you.”
A little incident soon occurred to break the retirement of
Roseland.
Every man has some peculiar taste or preference, and, I
think, though papa dressed with great elegance, his was a deci-
ded love of his old clothes; his garments, like his friends, be-
came dearer to him from their wear and tear in his service, and
they were deposited successively in his dressing-room, though
mamma thought them quite unfit for him. He averred that he
required his old hunting-suits for accidents; his summer-jackets
and vests, though faded, were the coolest in the world; his
worm-eaten but warm roquelaure was admirable for riding about
the fields, &c. In vain mamma represented the economy of
cutting up some for the boys, and giving others to the servants;
he would not consent, nor part with articles in which he said
he felt at home. Often did mamma remonstrate against the
dressing-room's looking like a haberdasher's shop ; often did
she take down a coat, hold it up to the light, and show him per-
forations that would have honored New-Orleans or Waterloo;
often, while Chloe was flogging the pantaloons, which ungallantly
kicked in return, did she declare that it was a sin and a shame
for her master to have such things in the house ; still the anti-
cherubic shapes accumulated on the nails and hooks, and were
even considered as of sufficient importance to be preserved from
the fire at the burning of Roseland. .
Our little circle about this time was animated by a visit from
a pedler. As soon as he was perceived crossing the lawn with
a large basket on his arm, and a bundle slung across a stick on
his shoulder, a stir commenced in the house. Mamma assumed
SOUTHERN MATRON, 195
an air of importance and responsibility; I felt a pleasurable
excitement; Chloe's and Flora's eyes twinkled with expecta-
tion ; while, from different quarters, the house servants en-
tered, standing with eyes and mouth silently open, as the ped-
ler, after depositing his basket and deliberately untying his
bundle, offered his goods to our inspection. He was a stout
man, with a dark complexion, pitted with the small-pox, and
spoke in a foreign accent. I confess that I yielded myself to
the pleasure of purchasing some gewgaws, which I afterward
gave to Flora, while mamma looked at the glass and plated
Ware. -
“Ver sheap,” said the pedler, following her eye, and taking
up a pair of glass pitchers; “only two dollar—sheap as dirt.
If te lady hash any old closhes, it is petter as money.” -
Mamma took the pitchers in her hand with an inquisitorial
air, balanced them, knocked them with her small knuckles—
they rang as clear as a bell—examined the glass—there was
not a flaw in it. Chloe went through the same process; they
looked significantly at each other, nodded, set the pitchers on
the slab, and gave a little approbatory cough.
“They are certainly very cheap,” said mamma.
“They is, for true, my mistress,” said Chloe, with solemnity,
“and more handsomer than Mrs. Whitney's that she gin six
dollars for at Charleston.”
“Chloe,” said mamma, “were not those pantaloons you were
shaking to-day quite shrunk and worn out 7”
“Yes, ma'am,” said she ; “and they don’t fit no how. The
last time the Colonel wore them he seemed quite onrestless.”
“Just step up,” said her mistress, “and bring them down;
but stay—what did you say was the price of these candlesticks,
Sir 7” .
“Tish only von dollars; but tish more sheaper for te old
196 RECoLLECTIONS OF A
closhes. If te lady will get te old closhes, I will put in te pel-
lows and te prush, and it ish more sheaper, too.”
Chloe and mamma looked at each other, and raised their
eyebrows.
“I will just step up and see those pantaloons,” said mamma,
in a consulting tone. “It will be a mercy to the colonel to
clear out some of that rubbish. I am confident he can never
wear the pantaloons again ; they are rubbed in the knees, and
require seating, and he never will wear seated pantaloons.
These things are unusually cheap, and the colonel told me lately
we were in want of a few little matters of this sort.” Thus say-
ing, with a significant whisper to me to watch the pedler, she
disappeared with Chloe. .
They soon returned, Chloe bearing a variety of garments, for
mamma had taken the important premier pas. The pantaloons
were first produced. The pedler took them in his hand, which
flew up like an empty scale, to show how light they were; he
held them up to the sun, and a half contemptuous smile crossed
his lips; then shaking his head, he threw them down beside his
basket. A drab overcoat was next inspected, and was also
thrown aside with a doubtful expression.
“Mr. Pedler,” said mamma, in a very soft tone, “you must
allow me a fair price; these are excellent articles.”
“Oh, ver fair,” said he, “but te closhes ish not ver goot ; te
closhesman is not going to give me noting for dish,” and he laid
a waistcoat on the other two articles.
Mamma and Chloe had by this time reached the depths of
the basket, and, with sympathetic exclamations, arranged several
articles on the slab.
“You will let me have these pitchers,” said mamma, with a
look of concentrated resolution, “for that very nice pair of pan-
taloons.”
SOUTHERN MATRON. 197
The pedler gave a short whistle expressive of contempt, shook
his head, and said, “Tish not possibles. I will give two pisher
and von prush for te pantaloon and waistcoat.”
Mamma and Chloe glanced at each other and at me; I was
absorbed in my own bargains, and said, carelessly, that the
pitchers were perfect beauties. Chloe pushed one pitcher a
little forward, mamma pushed the other on a parallel line, then
poised a decanter, and again applied her delicate knuckles for
the test. That, too, rang out the musical, unbroken sound, so
dear to the housewife's ear, and, with a pair of plated candle-
sticks, was deposited on the table. The pedler took up the
drab overcoat.
“Te closhesman's give noting for dish.”
Mamma looked disconcerted. The expression of her face
implied the fear that the pedler would not even accept it as a
gift. Chloe and she held a whispering consultation. At this
moment Binah came in with little Patsey, who, seeing the arti-
cles on the slab, pointed with her dimpled fingers, and said her
only words, - -
“Pretty pretty ſº
At the same moment, Lafayette and Venus, the two little
novices in furniture-rubbing, exclaimed,
“Ki if dem ting an’t shine too much ſ”
These opinions made the turning point in mamma's mind,
though coming from such insignificant Sources. . .
“So they are pretty, my darling,” said mamma to Patsey;
and then, turning to the pedler, she asked him what he would
give in exchange for the pantaloons, the waistcoat, and the
COat. .
The pedler set aside two decanters, one pitcher, the plated
candlesticks, and a hearth-brush.
“Tish ver goot pargains for te lady,” said he.
198 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
Mamma gained courage.
“I cannot think of letting you have all these things without
something more. You must at least throw in that little tray.”
and she looked at a small scarlet one, worth perhaps a quarter
of a dollar. -
The pedler hesitated, and held it up so that the morning sun
shone on its bright hues.
“I shall not make a bargain without that,” said mamma,
resolutely. The pedler sighed, and laying it with the selected
articles, said, .
“Tish ver great pargains for te lady.”
Mamma smiled triumphantly, and the pedler, tying up his
bundle and slinging his stick; departed with an air of humility.
Papa's voice was soon heard, as usual, before he was seen.
“Rub down Beauty, Mark, and tell Diggory to call out the
hounds.” .
There was a slight embarrassment in mamma's manner when
he entered, mingled with the same quantity of bravado. He nod-
ded to her, tapped me on the head with his riding-whip, gave
Patsey a kiss as she stretched out her arms to him, tossed her
in the air, and, returning her to her nurse, was passing on.
“T)0 stop, colonel,” said mamma, “and admire my bargains.
See this cut glass and plate that we have been wishing for, to
save our best set.”
“What, this trash?” said he, pausing a moment at the table
—“blown glass and washed brass | Who has been fooling you?”
“Colonel,” said mamma, coloring highly, “how can you—"
“I cannot stop a minute, now, wife,” said he “Jones and
Ferguson are for a hunt to-day ! They are waiting at Drake's
corner. It looks like falling weather, and my old drab will
come in well to-day.”
Mamma looked frightened, and he passed on up stairs. He
SOUTHERN MATRON. 199
was one of those gentlemen who keep a house alive, as the
phrase is, whether in merriment or the contrary, and we were
always prepared to search for his hat, or whip, or slippers,
which he was confident he put in their places, but which, by
some miracle, were often in opposite directions. Our greatest
trial, however, was with mamma's and his spectacles, for they
had four pairs between them—far-sighted and near-sighted.
There were, indeed, optical delusions practised with them ;
for when papa wanted his, they were hidden behind some
pickle-jar; and when mamma had carefully placed hers in
her key-basket, they were generally found in one of papa's va-
rious pockets; when a distant object was to be seen, he was
sure to mount the near-sighted, and cry “Pshaw ſ” and if a
splinter was to be taken out, nothing could be found but the
far-sighted ones, and he said something worse: sometimes all
four pairs were missing, and such a scampering ensued
We now heard a great outcry up stairs. “Wife Chloe
Cornelia come and find my drab coat " We looked at each
other in dismay, but papa was not a man for delay, and we
obeyed his summons. .
“Wife,” said he, beating aside the externals of man that
hung about his dressing-room, “where is my old drab coat 7”
Mamma swallowed as if a dry artichoke was in her throat,
as she said, slowly, “Why, colonel, you know you had not worn
that coat for months, and as you have another one, and a rogue-
!aure, and the coat was full of moth-holes, I exchanged it with
the pedler for cut glass and plate.”
“Cut devils P’ said papa, who liked to soften an oath by com-
binations; “it was worth twenty dollars—yes, more, because I
felt at home in it. I hate new coats as I do—”
“But, colonel,” interrupted mamma, “you did not see the
scarlet tray, and the-"
200 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON.
“Scarlet nonsense " shouted papa; “I believe, if they
could, women would sell their husbands to those rascally ped-
lers P’
Beauty and the hounds were now pronounced ready. I fol.
lowed papa to the piazza, and heard his wrath rolling off as he
cantered away.
C H A P T E R XXVI.
T H E D U E L.
“Some fell for wrong and some for right,
But mony bade the world gude night.”
RoBERT BURNs.
“Such I hold to be the genuine use of gunpowder, that it makes all men alike
tall. * #: Sk
“With respect to duels, indeed, I have my own ideas. Few things in this so surpris-
ing world strike me with more surprise. Two little visual spectra of men, hovering
with insecure enough cohesion in the midst of the Unfathomable, and to dissolve there-
in, at any rate, very soon, make pause at the distance of twelve paces asunder, whirl
round, and simultaneously, by the cunningest mechanism, explode one another into
dissolution.”—Sartor Resartus.
It is a lovely tie that unites brothers and sisters, when the
little jealousies of childhood are past. My brothers were ex-
pected from college, and my heart beat with curiosity and love.
I practised the tunes they used to prefer, decorating their bed-
rooms with such trifling articles of taste as the country-house
afforded, ran again and again to the window to watch their ap-
proach through the avenue, and glanced at the mirror to see
what they would think of me. They came—John was unal-
tered, though of firmer fabric. His chestnut curls still lay
clustering on his head; he still idly thrust his hand through
them; they fluttered as they were wont in boyhood, when the
winds lifted their rich masses, and shook as mirth and laughter
stirred his frame. His saucy eyes still looked archly into
mine; his old jests were renewed, and his laugh went round
9%
202 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
like a spell, while his teeth, in their glittering whiteness, fairly
fixed our eyes. The hounds knew his whistle, the servants
gathered around him to receive the cordial shake of his hand,
and every uncle and aunty on the plantation was remembered.
There was a mixture of good-will and vanity in all that he did;
one could scarcely say which preponderated.
But Richard—one 3ould see the growth of soul in his whole
exterior. His forehead had enlarged, and seemed bleached by .
pure intellect; his light thin hair floated back as though nothing
should come between his mind-lit brow and heaven. He was
taller than John, and at the same time more graceful and yield-
ing. When his brother laughed he only smiled, and the smile
seemed in sympathy for John, and not the ruffling of his serious
spirit. There was a repose about him that called one away
from his external beauty, of which he seemed unconscious, to his
spiritual nature, the sense of which appeared ever present with
him; not that power which the world calls talent, and which
sometimes leads to vanity, but that sense of a connection with a
higher order of hidden creation, which leads to a holy confi-
dence in the Supreme Good. He said little ; but when he spoke
we paused, and our eyes lingered on him as his thoughts played
on his lips after the voice had passed away.
I could not be weary of looking at the manly growth of my
dear brothers, of twining John's rebel curls on my finger, or
parting the silken locks from Richard's thoughtful brow. As
evening approached we sat on the sofa, hand clasped in hand,
while mamma looked on us all in love; or I felt their arms en-
circle me as they gave me a renewed look of approving curios-
ity, or we listened to John's list of college troubles and college
exploits, and I glanced into Richard's eyes to know if they were
true. Papa too, his old reminiscences brightening up, gave
them his bygone experience, and they chatted together of batter-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 203
puddings, whose affinities could scarcely be conquered by a re-
bound from the floor to the ceiling; Indian puddings, faithful
as the sun in their daily return; rank butter, which disclosed, in
its almost interminable kegs, every evil of the palate, with
scarcely the benefit of hope at the bottom; milk, which, from
its color, seemed to be under “skyey influences” rather than
vegetable; coffee, whose geographical experience never reached
further than the beet-bed of a Yankee garden ; and tea, whose
solutions would not have agitated the sensitive nerves of “Fine-
ear, who could hear the grass grow.” Then came the stale
jokes of a jest-book substituted for the president's Bible; of the
diffusion of hellebore by some mischievous wight in the recita-
tion-room, which occasioned the whole class, tutor and all, to
burst into fits of inextinguishable sneezing; of the rolling of
hot iron balls down entry stairs, to be staken up by some poor
unsuspecting martyr proctor; of all sorts of fantastic excuses
offered by idle and ingenious scholars for their neglected les-
sons, disturbing even the gravity of the instructors; of strange
mistakes committed in recitation, Some intentional, and some
unintentional, but all equally adapted to provoke the shout of
irresistible laughter; of hairbreadth escapes and impudent sub-
terfuges on the visits of tutors to noisy rooms; of the summon-
ing of two or three frightened freshmen to a government meet-
ing of sophomores and juniors, dressed up in their gowns, and
the awful sentence of suspension or rustication passed upon the
trembling and believing culprits; of the two, three, four, or five
dollars, according to the merit of the composition, given to in-
digent but talented scholars, for writing themes, and forensics,
and commencement parts; of a thousand other exploits, more
adapted to a volume than a chapter; and “thrice they slew
the slain.”
John fell naturally into his old pursuits; club dinners, fish-
204 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
ing-parties, and the chase soon occupied his leisure moments,
while Richard devoted his time to books and to me. I soon
perceived that the name of Randolph, a classmate and neighbor
who had returned with them, was painful to Richard. Gradu-
ally, as we read together, or penetrated our old haunts on horse-
back, or strolled at sunset, kindling up our common sympathies
at the altar of nature, he opened his heart to me. Randolph
had insulted him on the voyage. John, in his ardent and care-
less way, had tried to effect a reconciliation, and thought he had
succeeded, but Richard could only be satisfied by an apology.
It had been demanded privately since his return and refused,
though with explanations, and thus the beautiful repose of his
spirit was broken. In John's case it would have been decided
by “a word and a blow;” but Richard's mental and physical
temperaments were both different from his; and while John
entered into his favorite pursuits, Richard gave himself up to
sensitive and jealous misery. .
The subject of duelling had been frequently discussed in
former years by papa and Duncan. Duncan thought it an out-
rage on the law of God, and an impatient interference with the
political code of our country, which aims to provide for the
rights of its citizens. He argued that the grievances between
two private individuals ought not to be placed in the scale
against the nuisance of throwing whole families and communi-
ties into terror, agitation, and unspeakable distress; that it is
full season for an enlightened age to put down one of the most
savage and foolish relics of barbarous times; that a spurious
and animal bravery is the very highest sentiment which the
practice promotes, while a lofty moral courage is exercised in
refusing not in accepting a challenge; that the most valuable
lives are now exposed to destruction whenever an unprincipled
bully sees fit to offer an insult; that, so far from the stain of
SOUTHERN MATRON. 205
dishonor being effaced by duelling, it is generally engrained
more deeply, as is evinced by the fact that nothing is considered
more uncivil than to allude to a particular duel in the presence
of the survivor, or of the friends of either party; that, accord-
ing to the present practice, virtue, vice, honor, infamy, truth,
falsehood, are all made to depend on the most factitious and
contingent principle in the world, viz., the event of a combat—
the lottery of the pistol; that the conduct and the passions
which are thus fostered seem natural to wolves, not to human
beings; that the most valiant men of antiquity, the Caesars, the
Catos, and the Pompeys, never dreamed of avenging their per-
sonal injuries by private combats; that, since the most brave,
enlightened, and virtuous nations on earth have been entirely
ignorant of duelling, it is not essentially an institution of honor,
but a frightful and barbarous custom, worthy of its ferocious
origin ; that, by a principle of false shame and the fear of re.
proach, it transforms the best of men into hypocrites and liars,
and drives them out to murder the friends of their youth and
their bosoms, for an indiscreet word which they ought to forget,
perhaps for a merited reproach which they ought to endure;
that the duellist, by a horrible refinement and reduplication of
crime, unites at once in his own person the character of a mur-
derer and suicide; that the practice is not necessary to vindi-
cate one's reputation from the charge of cowardice, since every
brave man has opportunities to expose his life for the sake of
his country and of humanity; that no man of true sensibility
can ever expect to be serene and happy after having killed
his antagonist; and, finally, that genuine honor lies in our-
selves, and not in the opinion of the world; that it is neither
defended by sword nor buckler, but by a life of integrity and
irreproachableness; and that this combat is more glorious than
any other.
206 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
Papa, on the contrary, advocated it as a check on the vio-
lence of human passion, as well as on the meanness of dis-
honor, and a salutary substitute for imperfect laws, particularly
in a thinly populated country, where arbitration is difficult,
and the laws slow in their operation. He maintained that the
agony of enduring an insult, and especially the scorn and con-
tempt of society, are more intolerable than all the evils arising
from the practice of duelling, and that the refusing to fight is
an ambiguous action, since cowards may pretend principle to
shelter themselves from a danger they dare not meet.
I had often listened with intense interest to these discussions,
and found myself leaning to what seemed to me the heroic side
of the question, when papa said one day to Duncan, after a long
argument—
“Could you, sir, condescend to bear an insult tamely 7”
I felt my cheek flush as Duncan replied, calmly, “I would
trust to the laws of my country for redress, and never violate
what I think to be the will of God.”
As papa gave the slightest possible whistle and turned on his
heel, I blushed deeper, but it was for Duncan ; nor could his
calm and dispassionate arguments with me ever separate the
thought of cowardice from his views. Alas! I knew not then
how my lofty feelings would be tested .
“What shall I do, Cornelia 7" said Richard, as we struck
into a retired footpath, after pouring out our souls to each
other as we were wont to do. “I feel the sting of this insult
rankhing like a serpent's fang within me through the day, and
at night I see it branded in burning characters, in waking dark-
ness, and yet more hideous dreams. I see it in every man's
face calling me coward, and women seem to me to shrink from
one who cannot defend them. I have tried to look all round
this subject calmly, but it comes to me like a nightmare.”
SOUTHERN MATH.O.N. 207
We were thrown together in the company of Randolph. I
glanced at Richard, and soon saw a deep red spot gather on his
cheek; his lips were compressed, and his manner stately. Ran-
dolph asked an introduction to me. I received him like ice,
for my heart was my poor Richard's, who sat silent and reserved.
Randolph became particularly gay; his wit flashed out, and
shone the brighter over Richard's clouds. In the playfulness
of his feelings he said things which a jealousy like ours was not
slow to misinterpret. We left the circle abruptly.
“I can bear this no longer,” said my brother, as he walked
on with rapid strides, and pressed his hand to his forehead.
“Randolph scoffs at me. I must have the satisfaction of a
gentleman. Even you despise me for my abject submission.”
I was silent for a while, and then said, “I can bear anything
better than your disgrace, brother.” .
How little did it occur to me that I might have been a
medium of reconciliation instead of a desperate adviser . If
the right string had been touched in my brother's mind, all
would have been tuned to harmony; but my preconceived views
of physical courage overbalanced the claim of high moral duty.
Poor Richard we went home; he threw himself moodily on
the sofa, buried his face in his hands, and, rising, poured out
his feelings anew in words of burning anger.
Oh, woman, beware how you aid in inflaming the passions of
man The courtesan of classic times won her judges by a dis-
play of her personal charms; let your manifestation be only of
the bright and tender virtues; let not your influence, either of
person or mind, swell the tempest of unlawful excitement. It
is not my object here to argue for or against duelling; that is
the province of abler minds; but I may venture to show how
female influence may “ride on the whirlwind and direct the
storm” of masculine feeling for good or for evil; how the genius
208 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
of Christianity, or even worldly philosophy, quietly exhibited in
woman's gentle tones, may come with their enlightening power,
not for the avoidance of mere physical pain, but with a serious
regard to man's true dignity and ultimate destiny. I warn my
sex against inflammatory expressions. Beautiful and graceful
to the eye, can they be hard and unforgiving? We wonder
not that the coarse nettle leaves its sting; but, when the flower
that we carry to our lips ejects its poison, grief and surprise are
added to the pain. Had I but given those “soft answers that
turn away wrath,” had I thought of how many good feelings in
man's nature may be operated upon—instead of stimulating the
evil, I might have been the blessed means of reconciling tWO
noble spirits. But I did not; my haughty soul would not stoop
to the thought that my brother should even inquire into the
motives of an aggressor. Stoop mistaken term ' The peace-
maker stoops not, but rather rises to a high moral elevation,
and looks calmly down upon the angry passions that are float-
ing beneath him. .
A challenge was sent, unknown to any of our domestic circle
but myself. The meeting was to be on the following morning,
in a field two miles distant, at early dawn. Papa and John
were in the city.
Richard and I sat late in the piazza on that evening. We
spoke but little; we did not, as we were often, in the fulness of
our confidence, accustomed to do, clasp each other's hands. The
voices of our family seemed to me like dreams and echoes
rather than realities; to-morrow was spoken of-it was as a
vague image for a moment—then the thought of its probable
results swept over me like a coming tempest. The family re-
tired to their quiet repose. Richard gave the little ones no
kiss, as usual, and answered not their childish prattle ; they all
went, and we were left alone. Then came the agony; I could
SOUTHERN MATRON. 209
not let him go ; I clung round his neck and petitioned him to
stay. I felt already like a murderer. I offered to mediate—
to do anything rather than expose a human life to risk the un-
tried possibilities of a future state of being. Richard was
affectionate, but firm.
“It is too late, my sister,” he said. “Had I been a little
more patient” (alas ! what duellist has not had a moment like
this?) “I might have prevented this result. Perhaps, after all,
I have exaggerated this affair; but it is too late—to stop now
would be infamy. And now, Cornelia, for my last charge. I
have endeavored to write to-day, but in vain. I leave the com-
mission to your tenderness.”
As he said this, he handed me an unframed miniature of a
full-length figure, on which was written “Eliza.” He had
showed it me before, but now it struck me with tenfold interest.
It was feminine almost to childishness, except the eyes; but
there beamed forth from those dark orbs a full-formed soul,
thirsting for intellectual food. The figure was slight, symmet-
rical, and waving—one of those that seem formed to lean on
man's stronger arm ; but the gazer on that portrait turned, as
by a spell, and rested on those large dark eyes, beaming in glit-
tering softness, until his heart said, “I love thee, gentle one !”
“Those beautiful eyes,” said Richard, mournfully, as he
leaned over my shoulder, while the moon shed its rays upon the
picture, “must they weep for me—for me, who vowed that the
tears of our parting were the last that they should shed? I
wiped them then, and Eliza stood like a trusting child as I did
so; and when I said I could not leave her till she smiled, she
did smile a radiant smile of hope and trustingness. Oh, God!
have I not deceived her young heart? And my poor mother,
she who has but just begun to reap the labor of maternal love,
should I not have borne more for her ? Randolph, too, do I
210 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
hate him do I wish his death Would I not heal him if he
were wounded, give him drink if he thirsted, and stand with him
hand to hand against a common enemy? Strengthen me, Cor.
nelia, I am bewildered; weep not thus, my sister, for God's sake;
strengthen me.”
I could not; and we yielded in each other's arms to one of
those long and passionate bursts of agony that sweep along
life's paths, and make the heart and body grow old. -
At twelve o'clock we parted. I listened for his tread in the
adjoining room; all was still. I would have given the world
to hear his footstep. I could not bear the silence, but went to
his door and whispered his name. He answered instantly, and
calmly—
“Go back, my sister. I cannot see you.”
“Only one word, Richard—one look more.”
“No ; go—go P’
I went to my bedroom. The moon was at full. Everything
looked gigantic ; the shadows lay in grotesque masses; the trees
waved their arms like living things; the whippoorwill's note
was like a shriek in my ear. Twice in that long night I went
to Richard's door, and sat there; once I heard the click of a
pistol. Still his only answer to my petition was,
“Go, go, Cornelia,” in his calm, sweet tone.
Ilaid myself down by the door, with my face upon the boards;
their coolness was fresh to my burning cheek. I saw figures
in the darkness—wounded forms—gashes—streaming blood—
and Eliza was there—unconscious, with her glittering, moon-
light eyes.
The door opened. I would have caught and held my brother,
but, seemingly aware of my design, he stooped, and, holding my
hands tightly in his, laid a long kiss upon my lips, and escaped
rapidly down the stairs. I would have screamed to him to re-
SOUTHERN MATRON, 211
turn, but my voice failed me. I was dizzy—faint; it was but
a moment, but he was gone ; then a ferocious horror came over
me like madness. I clinched my hands and teeth, and a shiv-
ering went through my frame. It was insupportable. I rushed
to mamma's apartment, and told her the horrid tale. Then
was all the mother roused : then a throe deeper than birth-
struggles tore her heart. It was fearful to see my calm parent
thus moved. “We must go to him,” were all the words she
uttered, but such looks, such piteous, piteous groans | Will
they ever leave my memory, or the reproaches of his nurse,
who, wringing her hands, shrieked out—
“Miss Neely, Miss Neely, how you been let my young maussa
do such a ting? God have mercy on he soul.”
We hurried on in silence, as if a word might delay us. The
moon had gone down, and that melancholy moment, melancholy
even to happy hearts, arrived—the breaking dawn. How is it
that awakening nature is thus sad? Does not the analogy of
all human feeling tell us to sympathize joyfully with such
scenes? How is it, then, that the moon and stars, which play
as in jubilee around the form of midnight, look, before the gray
dawn, like sad travellers journeying a lonely way?
We hastened on, nor thought of the stars as they sank, one
by one, to shine on other worlds, nor of the purple glow that
rose in rich coloring on the eastern sky. We were near the
place of meeting—human figures were seen. A flash—a sound
—we reached the spot—the cries of our attendants pierced the
air. Mamma received, her unconscious son in her arms, and I
clasped, with a breaking heart, his pulseless hand.
C H A P T E R XX W II.
MARIA. ALWYN AND HER MOTHER.
“And thou, sad sufferer under nameless ill,
That yields not to the touch of human skill,
Improve the kind occasion, understand
A father's frown, and kiss his chastening hand.
To thee the day-spring and the blaze of noon,
The purple evening and resplendent moon,
Shine not, or undesired and hated shine,
Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine.”—Cowper.
“Nous nous aimions tous-deux dés la plus tendre enfance,
Etj’avois sur son coeur ume entière puissanco;
Je trouvais a lui plaire une extrème douceur,
Et les chagrins du frère étoient ceux de la soeur.”—RACINE.
As I saw the face of my brother, on which death seemed to
have stamped an instantaneous seal, and heard his nurse's groans
and lamentations, and mamma's piercing words of love, and the
physician's inquiring voice, it seemed to me as if some wild and
fearful tragedy were enacting. Still I felt an awful testimony
within me, which declared, “You have made this ruin—your
words, which should have stilled the tempest, have given it
force; you, who call yourself the gentle and tender Christian,
have held the torch and spread this ruin.”
Randolph approached; pale as death, he gazed silently for a
moment on his fallen victim, and then, with a suppressed voice,
said— . • .
“Would to God that society required not this sacrifice It
RECOLLECTIONS OF A souTHERN MATRON. 2 13
is a fearful thing to go thus before one's Maker and Judge.”
With a half-unconscious shudder he was then led away.
Life was not extinct, but it fluttered almost to dissolution.
Richard was borne home, and we followed—a sorrow-struck
train. His nurse wrung her hands and wept audibly; Bella,
the dumb woman, met us with her wild howling; and Jim looked
anxious and subdued. .
Life struggled fearfully for a few days with the destroyer.
Mamma, by his bedside, and I, lying on his pillow, watched his
pallid face; it was indeed like death; his silky hair was parted
from his noble forehead, and his dark lashes lay on his marble
cheek; one could not see that he breathed; to my excited im-
agination, the fluttering pulse often seemed to stop, his hands
fell nerveless, and only now and then a quivering sigh stole from
his breast. .
Slowly, at length, his eyes unclosed, and a faint smile, as they
met our gaze, like the shadow of an infant's dream, parted his
lips. Oh, my heart 1 I was faint with joy. Again came the
blessed testimony of life and love; he whispered Mother / She
bent over to his pale lips, clasped his clasping hand, laid her
face on his pillow, and wept. It was a moment for the heart's
prayer. His old nurse, with upraised eyes and trembling hands,
stood by and uttered hers aloud. Jim looked on anxiously, for
he was frightened by mamma's tears.
“He will live ſº I whispered to Jim; “he has spoken and
smiled.” - -
A little sustenance was given him; he smiled again, and Jim
caught the beautiful glance of coming life as it beamed even on
him.
“Ki P’ said Jim, in a tone a little over a whisper, and Snap-
ping his fingers, “dead an’t gwying for catch Maus Dick yet!”
So saying, he opened the door softly, slid down the balusters,
214 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
cut a few somersets through the yard, and proclaimed the good
news to the people. Poor fellow it was the first time he had
voluntarily left his young master's room. Night and day he
and Richard's old nurse had taken their stations there unbid.
den; when asleep, a word aroused them; when waking, they
watched with active kindness. What Southern family has not
this testimony to give of some faithful dependant who thus cre-
ates a tie of gratitude 7
Richard's recovery was rapid, and the busy kindness devoted
to a Southern convalescent was soon discernible. Custards and
preserves, and the niceties of the season, decorated with bou-
quets of flowers, were sent by the neighbors; while the colored
people brought eggs in little baskets, with young poultry from
their own stores. One old woman came to the door and asked
“just to look in.”
His nurse brought her humble offering, and said, with a cour-
tesying apology— -
“I an’t raise but one chicken dis year, but I fetch 'em for
my child's soup.”
The first night that I retired to my own apartment, with a
heart weighed low by gratitude, I threw myself upon my knees
by the window where the moonlight scene had been so appall-
ing. The stars, from their abodes of darkness, threw down
their glimmering rays and lighted my weeping eyes. I felt like
one who had been rescued from a precipice, and looked back
with trembling on the chasm below. Did I feel that a great
duty had been performed, and that noble approval which gives
us strength to bear and wings to fly? No; escape was the only
cause of triumph; and however men may vindicate duelling on
grounds of expediency, will they not find this the predominant
feeling when they survive? Not the reward of bravery, not the
elevating testimony of high moral courage, but a simple relief
souTHERN MATRON. 215
from some dark and overhanging necessity, is the best result of
this horrid and unnatural violation of social peace.
John returned with papa, and, after the first strong emotions
were over, laughter and jest echoed through our mansion; but
Richard and I for a while dwelt on higher things. He had
been too near the unknown abyss of a future world not to feel
a cast of solemnity over his soul. We reasoned together of sa-
cred things—of death and a judgment to come. .
“It may be a vain speculation,” he said to me, “but I de-
light in anticipating the future state of disembodied spirits.
What are your thoughts on this subject, Cornelia 7”
“It is my favorite idea,” I answered, “that “we shall all be
changed, spiritually as well as physically. The world has been
II].OI’6 bright to me than to many, but I have no wish to carry
away any of its recollections. Young as I am, I am tired of
its struggles. I hope for a butterfly transition—a change from
this headaching and heartaching scene to a bright and God-
sunned atmosphere. I love to think that when I have done
weaving (faithfully) my earthly envelope, I shall spring from it,
gorgeous and beautiful, and flit away, forgetful of the coarse
chrysalis that falls, as I ascend in joy to my heavenly Father's
spiritual kingdom. But one thing I must require in my flight”
(and I pressed Richard's hand to my cheek), “that brother but-
terflies shall go with me.”
“I would prefer annihilation,” said Richard, “to a forgetting
of my individual self. The spirit must be able to look back,
and compare, and judge; it must feel its growth, to be happy.
Accession in knowledge is the only test of spirituality. I can-
not imagine even the Supreme Mind at rest; it must be experi-
menting, creating still.”
Thus we discoursed together, or I read to him; a soothing
quiet stole over us, and the spirit of prayer was around us.
216 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
This is the worth of sorrow. Before we suffer, words are
said, but the spirit prays not ; it is mere form ; but, when afflic.
tion has struck the rock of our hearts, and its religious waters
gush forth, we pray always ; that is, a conscious presence of
divinity is within us, and our thoughts are prayers.
But this holy influence is not felt by all, and wretched are
those who, having tasted these waters, feel not that the Lord is
gracious. While Richard was convalescent, a neighbor, a widow,
lost her only child, a daughter. We were not in the habit of
visiting her; but, hearing that she was in distress, and without
domestic friends, mamma commissioned me to go to her, with
such offers of serviee and sympathy as our own softened feel-
ings dictated. In my own equestrian excursions, I had seen
Mrs. Alwyn riding about her fields. Her appearance was re-
markable ; tall, masculine in her proportions, with full, flashing
black eyes, she gave directions to her people, not “with a low
voice, that excellent thing in woman,” but in coarse tones of
encouragement or vituperation. It was said that the love of
gain and fear of her neighbors were all that restrained her from
positive cruelty. She arose at the dawn of day, and even used
agricultural implements herself, to stimulate her negroes. She
denied herself rest and relaxation, and spent a life of unmiti.
gated toil, and for what? That she might educate and accom-
plish her daughter; and Maria “grew like a living flower be-
meath her eye.” With her mother's commanding height, she
possessed a wavy delicacy of figure; her mother's dark and
flashing eyes were, in her, softened by modest sensibility; she
touched with taste and skill the piano which her parent's hard
labor had earned, and around her apartments were hung, in ex-
pensive frames, trophy after trophy of her conquests with the
pencil. While Mrs. Alwyn reconnoitred the fields, a terror to
idlers, or attended to the drudgery of the house, Maria lived
SOUTHERN MATRON. 217
secluded, her soft hands embroidering tasteful attire, or her
dark eyes dropping tears of sympathy over fictitious sorrow.
It was sufficient happiness to her mother to glance at her white-
robed daughter, as she sat apart like an idol in its shrine.
Maria often expostulated with her, and wrought tasteful caps
and kerchiefs, and playfully arrayed her mother in them, but
with little effect. Mrs. Alwyn strode about in her soiled and
tattered dress, not hesitating, as occasion demanded, to test the
strength of her hand on the ears and shoulders of some unhappy
loiterer. I had met Maria at church, and occasionally in my
rambles, and had thought of knowing her further, as I heard
details of her situation and character, when I learned that she
was suddenly withdrawn from this living and moving scene. I
willingly hastened to her bereaved mother.
I was ushered in by her frightened-looking servant, with that
light and solemn tread which we see where death is. I was
shocked to observe the body of the deceased laid out on a table
in the parlor, in order to be near, as I learned afterward, to her
mother, that she might see her while she prepared the house
for the funeral. A white shroud and sheet inwrapped the
body, and there seemed to be a supernatural extent in the tall
figure, as the pointed toes stood up beneath the thin covering.
Over the beautiful eyes, now but partially closed, lay pieces of
metal. Was this indeed Maria, thus cold and pale as new-fallen
snow 7 .
Mrs. Alwyn sat where she could watch the corpse and gaze
upon its countenance. She held a plate in her hand, and a
towel, as if she had been wiping it. A stern coldness was min-
gled with her grief, and she rocked to and fro in her chair, with
the motion which sorrow loves.
I entered ; she regarded me with a slight motion of the
head. I took her hand—it was passive. I spoke, but there
10
218 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
was no answer, and I sat down in silence. At length, with a look
in which distress and anger were strangely blended, she said—
“There she is, Miss Wilton I see what it's come to a beau-
tiful corpse she is That girl an’t done a thing to trouble her
mother's heart since she came into the world, a stark baby, till
now. Do you see them pictures?” (and she pointed with her
soiled dark fingers from one to the other) “I have toiled night
and day, I’ve worked like a nigger, and more than any nigger,
I’ve been up early and abed late, to get that girl a genteel educa-
tion, and what has it all come to ? Look at that piano—T put the
hay into the loft with the pitchfork with my own hands, to let the
niggers have time to bring that here. Didn't she sing sweetly
I worked my fingers most to the bone for them pictures and
music, and what has it all come to Just look at her and see.
Where's her voice now 7 What has it all come to ? Wasn't
she a pretty-faced girl, with her white hands, that I wouldn't
let so much as wash a cup 2 Look at them now, stiff and still P
(I turned and shuddered as I looked at Maria's long, straight
arm as it lay in her shroud.)
“Miss Wilton, it don't seem to me as if I can bear it, or as
if I ought to.” -
I ventured to suggest a reliance on a higher Power, who
afflicts only in mercy.
“It tan't no mercy,” said she passionately. “I wouldn't
treat a dog so. If you had a garden full of seeds, and saw
them come up and blow out beautiful, and their stalks grow
greener and bigger every day, while you was watering them, do
you think it would be merciful if anybody was to come and
tramp them all down and pull up your pretty flowers by the
root ? There wasn't a prettier flower in all creation than that,”
continued she, pointing to the lifeless form, “and now see what
she is.”
SOUTHERN MATRON. 219
“She was a lovely girl,” said I, “and you had reason to be
proud of her. I have often observed her tall, graceful figure as
she came into church. I am glad to hear that she was kind
and dutiful; that, at least, must comfort you.”
“'Tan't no comfort,” said Mrs. Alwyn, bitterly. “If she had
been cross and ugly, she might have gone and welcome. What
is the use of having a person about you that an’t pleasant 7
But I'll tell you what is a mortal hard case; to have some-
thing taken away that was the delight of your eyes; one who
used to be the first object you loved to look at in the morning,
and the last at night. In the morning, when I came from the
field, I used to go to her bedroom and wake her. How pretty
she was on her pillow, with one cheek all red like a rose, where
she had laid on it, and the other like a lily and when I said
‘Maria P how she rubbed her eyes like a child, and half pouted
and half smiled as I waked her. Where is the rosy cheek
now 7"
My heart thrilled as I saw its paleness.
“And then,” continued her mother, “she sat so lady-like at
table, as if she had been born and bred genteel; her frocks like
snow, and her cambric handkerchiefs in her lap. At night I
used to go in and tuck up her bed; she was always at her books,
or her work, or reading her Bible, or on her knees at prayer, for
she was a pious child.”
“You must at least be grateful that her mind was so pure,
and pious, and prepared for death,” said I.
“Grateful P. replied she, angrily. “What good will it do
me? I shall be none the better for her hymns and her prayers.
If she had stayed, I could have heard her sweet voice. Now,
I’ve worked my fingers to the bone just for that dead body. I
can’t bear it, and that's an end of the matter. I don’t think
it's fair that she should die. Well, I must go to work and
220 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
bury her,” muttered she, in a lower tone, and retiring into the
next apartment, where she could still glance at her lifeless child.
I stood a while and meditated on the early dead. Her im-
age came before me as I had often seen her enter church, dressed
with exquisite care, and a reference to the changing shades of
fashion. Her head had a gentle bend or wave, from a conscious-
ness of her height, which, as she did not stoop, was rather grace-
ful, while her cheek, usually pale, was lighted up by the thought
of public observation. She often rested an ungloved hand on
the side of the pew, which, as it was delicately white, and glit-
tering with jewels, I sometimes thought was for display; but
her modest eyes seemed to deny it ; and her voice, rising in
rich and earnest tones in the hymns and chants, and her air of
devotion in prayer, showed an engagedness that comported not
with vanity.
Now I saw her stretched on her hard resting-place, death
giving that supernatural length to her tall form; those glazed
eyes, that were so lately lit up with intellectual glory, but par-
tially closed by the heavy metal on the starting lids; those feet,
which had trod the aisles with light and graceful movement,
stiff and prominent under the white death-clothing; that fair
hand, whose sparkling gems had glittered to the observer, daz.
zling in whiteness still, but with the unrosy paleness of the
grave.
Her wretched mother's unbelief saddened still more this
painful picture. Could she have looked on her with Christian
trust, and fancied that spirit translated to the garden of heaven,
where blight, and frost, and tear-dews fall not; could she have
fancied her upward-soaring, and retained but a fold of her gar-
ment to aid her own flight, how would her cold heart have felt
the change | But alas ! the grave was to her the end of all
this sweetness and truth; faith stood not by that grave, with
SOUTHERN MATRON. - 221
patient eye and folded wing, ready to spread, at God's com
mand, either over the path of earthly duty or spiritual joy.
But grief will be busy. The miserable mother decorated
the cold corpse with all that custom and fashion demand; the
finest cambric enshrouded it, the sheerest muslin lay on that
pale forehead; the coffin glittered with funeral-ornaments; cere-
mony lingered in the well-ordered procession; and in a few
months a pompous monument proclaimed to the world the death
and the virtues of Maria Alwyn.
This picture (literally true) is a startling representation of an
irreligious, uncultivated mind; but are there not many who se-
cretly carry out these sacrilegious feelings when God lays their
earthly blessings in the dust 7
CHAPTE R X. X W III.
MY B R O T H E R B E N'S E D U CATION.
“He saw whatever thou hast seen;
Encountered all that troubles thee:
He was—whatever thou hast been ;
He is—what thou shalt be.”
WE were at this period made unhappy by my brother Ben-
jamin's abrupt return from school; and it may not be unprofit-
able to relate his reverses before and after this time, independ-
ently of my narrative.
Why are there no more ripe and accomplished scholars
among us 2 The secret, I apprehend, will be partially under-
stood, if the progress of his education is examined. It will
probably awaken the sympathetic groans of many a young man,
who has to mourn over a similar experience. I fear we must
look forward to an indefinite repetition of similar consequences,
until Charleston shall provide one grand and uniform institu-
tion, or system of institutions, for the education of her youth,
that shall be unaffected by the death or change of teachers, or
the boundless variety of text-books; and until parents shall co-
operate cheerfully with the rules of such a system.
At the age of nine years, Ben was placed at one of the best
schools in Charleston, and boarded in a private family. He
was a lad of excellent abilities; rather more fond, indeed, of his
play and horses than of study, but never wilfully backward at
his lesson. His teacher, besides superintending the usual
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 223
branches of his English education, put him early into the Latin
grammar. Ben was punctual at school, and learned two or
three of his lessons every evening at home. When we were in
town, I gave him what assistance I could, though now and then
a hearty cry took place over the difficulties which neither he
nor I could comprehend. His troubles at school were of the
ordinary description—sometimes a detention till long after the
dinner-hour—sometimes a severe chastisement for noise or care-
lessness—and sometimes a station far below the middle of his
class. Yet he was evidently making an improvement in most
of his studies; and could his present opportunities have been
continued, Ben might have become, in time, a very respectable
'scholar. Unfortunately, however, his teacher, at the end of the
year, abandoned his occupation for a profession, and Ben was
thrown loose on the scholastic world.
After some time, another teacher was procured for him. On
entering his new place of instruction, he was examined in all
his studies, and pronounced to be miserably deficient in every
respect. The fact is, this gentleman made no allowance what-
ever for the perturbation of the poor boy's mind; when sud-
denly brought before a strange teacher, his attention being dis-
tracted by a new and noisy school, and that, too, after a month
or more of entire interruption in his studies. The learned
gentleman found particular fault with Ben's ignorance of the
multiplication table and Latin grammar, and took occasion to
express some doubts of the capacity of his former instructor
to teach in those departments. I need not say how very un-
just was such an inference. Be that as it may, my brother was
ordered to begin all his books again, and was stationed in a class
inferior to that which he had left at the other school. He came
home completely discouraged and mortified; disgusted alike
with learning and with his new instructor.
224 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
May I be permitted, with due modesty, to suggest, that
much mischief is occasionally inflicted in this way on ingenious
and well-intentioned youth, in consequence of an examination,
which can only be superficial and imperfect 7 Would it not be
more proper to take the word of the parents and of the former
teacher as to the progress already made by the pupil 2 It
would be found, in a short time, that he could easily revive his
former knowledge, without being necessitated to lose his stand-
ing for a whole year, or to suffer a mortifying degradation.
But the feelings of youth are elastic. It is one of the
blessings of that period of life, that its mortifications are not
attended with enduring bitterness. Ben accommodated him-
self to his new situation with tolerable grace; and by the close
of another year he had just about regained that point in his
progress at which he had been left by his former teacher. In
consequence, however, of falling into some untoward scrape, he
was chastised with undue severity by his tutor, who was a man
of violent passions. Papa's temper was equally violent, and
the affair terminated in an abrupt withdrawal of my brother Ben
from his present school, and his transference to another.
From the precipitancy with which this exchange was effected,
papa had no opportunity to institute any minute inquiry as to
the merits or studies of Ben's new school. The boy trotted off
with much cheerfulness on the first morning of his attendance,
and with his satchel full of his old school-books. But papa
was not a little surprised and mortified in seeing Ben return
home at about ten o'clock, with his heavy satchel on his arm,
and a note from his new teacher, requesting that the boy should
be furnished with an entirely new set of books, since those
which he had brought with him to school were now quite out
of date. Pike's arithmetic was to be exchanged for Daboll's;
Morse's Geography for Cumming's; Ruddiman's Latin Gram-
SOUTHERN MATH.O.N. 225
mar for Adam's; Webster's Spelling-book for Carpenter's;
Bingham's English Grammar for Murray's; the American Se-
lection for the English Reader; the New Testament for the
whole Bible; while one set of copy-slips was to be substituted
for another; a single-ruled writing-book for a double-ruled one,
which Ben had just begun ; and the gentleman had even the
thorough-goingness to request that my brother's large, stout,
new slate might be exchanged for a recently-invented tablet,
which would come in requisition at certain times when the
blackboard should not be used. . .
In general, papa was very liberally disposed as to pecuniary
matters, and was always particularly willing to encourage sug-
gested improvements in education. But it so happened, that
this year his crops had been lamentably cut short, and the
prices of rice and cotton were very much depressed. This,
added to the irritability under which he was still laboring
from his difficulty with the preceding teacher, excited him, in a
moment of self-forgetfulness, to exclaim that he would not pro-
cure a single one of these newfangled books, and that he did
not care whether Ben attended any of those vexatious schools
or not. I knew it was hopeless to attempt to change this un-
happy mood immediately, and the result was, that poor Ben
ran about the streets for a full week unoccupied, gathering
large stores of boyish experience no doubt, but sadly falling
behindhand in point of literary cultivation.
It was now time for me to interfere; indeed, I was conscious
that papa, having gotten the better of his temper, and opened
his mind to the influence of reason, was only waiting for a word
or two from me, in order to enter upon a more praiseworthy
course. One morning, therefore, at the breakfast-table, I ven-
tured to express my regret that Ben should continue in his
present unhappy state of idleness, and suggested that he might
10%
226 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
. possibly have been fortunate in making an exchange of teachers;
for it was to be supposed that improvements must be going on
in school-books as well as in everything else. It cost me but a
few words to obtain permission to go out that very morning in
pursuit of the whole appointed list.
I searched every book-store in the city, finding one book
here and another there, but was unable to procure more than
half the prescribed number. I was assured, that if I had called
but two or three days before, I might have obtained some of
the most important of those which were wanting. But it was
now too late, and we were obliged to await a new importation
from the North. Steamboats, in those days, arrived not with
weekly punctuality; and, therefore, Ben was compelled to run
wild nearly another month before he could enter the wished-for
school, equipped, externally at least, with all the educational
improvements of the age.
My brother, who had now arrived at an age of some reflec-
tion, found himself, somewhat to his astonishment, at the foot
of the hill of science. The preceding years appeared to his view
like a vacant dream. Young as he was, he could not help in-
quiring what had become of them; but supposing that Heaven
and parental guardianship had ordered all things aright in this
matter, he resolved to dismiss unavailing regrets, and begin
anew, with commendable diligence and ardor, the study of nu.
meration, and of the definite and indefinite articles, and of the
astronomical introduction to geography.
We could find no fault with Ben's present teacher. The lad
made a satisfactory progress in his studies, and all things flowed
along in peace until August of the next year, when his precep-
tor, who happened to be a native of New-England, was fatally
attacked by the yellow fever, and died, leaving his school in-
volved in sorrow and confusion. There was no more study for
SOUTHERN MATRON. 227
that season ; and we were obliged to wait until late in the au-
tumn before a gentleman could be procured to undertake the
school on his own account. My brother was, of course, injured
by this unfortunate intermission in his studies. He lost some-
what in his power of application, and gained as much in his in-
clination for all kinds of youthful amusements. His new pre-
ceptor, not only desirous of making up the recently lost time
of his school, but being one of those teachers who are over-stim-
ulated by the ambition of advancing his pupils with wonderful
rapidity, heaped lesson upon lesson, and even required several
new branches and books to be learned, in order that he might
surprise the parents and the committee, at the succeeding annual
examination, with the unequalled result of his labors. Ben hu-
morously requested his father to furnish him with a horse and
dray to transport his books between the school and the house.
It was indeed no small physical labor for him to carry his Hittle
library backward and forward. His satchel, though of large
dimensions, could not contain the whole, and he was obliged to
carry several books under his left arm. Groaning and perspir-
ing, grumbling and bantering together, he lugged to and fro his
heavy loads for a few days, until papa purchased for him a small,
strong white horse, with tail and mane closely cropped. I manu-
factured for him a new sack, resembling more a clothesbag than
a satchel. Putting into this the whole of his school furniture,
and placing it on the neck of his favorite pony, he mounted and
rode off with a lighter body at least, if not with a lighter heart,
than he had lately enjoyed.
He was now beginning to be ashamed of the backwardness
of his learning, compared with his age. He conceived a new
and passionate fondness for study. He arose every morning at
dawn, and retired not to rest until near midnight. He even re-
fused to devote any hours to recreation, so determined was ho
228 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
to realize the whole system of his present teacher, and to accom-
plish every one of his lessons in the most perfect manner. But
this was more than the powers of nature could bear. He pur.
sued the present course about three months, and found his
health and constitution rapidly giving way. The family phy-
sician being consulted, directed that he should quit school and
books altogether for some time, and reside with mamma in the
country. Thus, by making too much haste, poor Ben, as well
as his teacher, rather retarded than accelerated his progress.
He passed a few weeks in the country, entirely abandoned to
amusements, and returned to town in perfect health. On again
attending school, he experienced the immense disadvantage of
being far behind his class. The studies which he had missed
were indispensably necessary to a right understanding of his
present lessons. This circumstance, added to the sufferings he
had already endured from over-application, threw Ben into com-
plete despair. Finding it impossible to accomplish all his tasks
in a tolerable manner, he grew indifferent and inattentive. He
was contented to remain at the foot of his class, and was proof
against any species of degradation and punishment. He fre-
quently played the truant. He protracted his holydays in the
country till near the first of February and the middle of
May. His afternoons in town were devoted to riding on his
little horse, whose flesh rapidly disappeared by racings on the
battery and gallopings through Meeting-street, at the peril of
all the negro children in his way. . -
It was now full time to try a new experiment with my un-
lucky brother. A school happened to be opened near our resi-
dence; and as it was but too manifest that Ben was wasting
away his precious youth by his present career, we determined
on seizing this opportunity to make an exchange, and give him
another chance for improvement. Accordingly, he became a
SOUTHERN - MATRON. 229
pupil of our new neighbor, whom, if I were devising character-
istic names for the teachers enumerated in this chapter, I might
call by the appropriate title of Mr. Easy. If Ben was before
oppressed with the multitude of his tasks, he had now far too
little to accomplish. When a lesson was assigned him to be
learned at home, which was but seldom the case, he might at-
tend to it or not, as he chose, for it was never exacted from
him. His teacher was all indulgence; going nominally over
the common branches of learning with his pupils, but leaving it
to their own genius and good sense whether any of them should
become scholars or idlers. Now Ben had not quite sufficient
independent energy to make much progress under a system like
this. He was naturally docile, and would have lent himself
kindly to the influences of any good and effective method. But
being somewhat of a victim to circumstances, he could not re-
sist the thousand temptations of a city life, when opposed to
the feeble prescriptions of an indulgent preceptor. Accordingly,
he was in a fair way of being ruined. His talk was of horses.
His companions were idlers. He commenced playing on the
guitar. He was a precocious dandy. His thoughts were over-
much given to dancing, and gallantry, and all those other arts
by which the precious sands of time are irrevocably wasted.
Fortunately, the school which he now attended died a natural
death. It had not sufficient stamina to keep itself alive. One
after another of the pupils dropped away, and the incapable
teacher emigrated to Alabama, leaving my brother Ben, with
only two fellow-students, to seek for better places of education.
Just about this time, advertisements appeared in the daily
prints, announcing a new institution, to be conducted on a
highly improved and refined plan. The public were told that
appeals would be made entirely to the good feelings of the pu.
pils—that everything like corporeal chastisement would be
230 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
banished—that the memory and other inferior faculties of the
mind would be very little cultivated—while almost exclusive
attention would be paid to the development of the reason and
other higher powers. Dazzled by these brilliant promises, papa
and Ben conceived that all former disappointments were now to
be cancelled; and that nothing but the happiest career was
opened before the sanguine and ambitious young man. He was
one of the earliest candidates for the benefits of this improved
and refined system. For a time, everything flowed on smoothly
and sweetly in this paradise of academies. The millennium of
education seemed to have arrived. The teacher was a man of
polished and plausible deportment, and fascinated my brother's
imagination and good-will. But before long, Ben discovered
that he could make no progress in the classics without a consid-
erable tax on his memory—the declensions and the rules of his
Greek and Latin grammars were not always ready on his tongue
—and on such occasions his teacher was apt to fret, and assign
my brother pretty heavy tasks to commit to memory at home.
Those long conversations and processes of reasoning, too, which
were to develop the youthful mind, and which were so charming
to Ben in the outset, grew at length to be somewhat fatiguing
—his attention would too frequently lag, and thus incense his
preceptor—and he would sometimes doubt the cogency of his
arguments or statements, instead of assenting to them with that
beautiful docility which was at first equally agreeable to both
teacher and pupil. One day, especially, when all these various
grievances had swelled and festered to an outbreaking point,
Ben very rudely questioned some position or reasoning of his
preceptor. The latter replied indignantly. Ben followed up
his insubordination. The teacher, forgetting his own maxim
respecting personal chastisement, gave Ben a severe blow, which
was immediately retorted by the fiery lad, and a downright en-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 231
gagement between them ensued before the whole school. The
consequence was, that my brother appeared at dinner-table that
day with black and blue marks on his countenance, and was
soon after expelled from the institution.
He was now sent to an academy at the North, where he
passed another year. But the previous habits and fortunes of
his life had poorly fitted him to sustain the duties of this new
situation. With shame and regret, he found himself far behind
his companions and equals in age, and knew no other way to ob.
tain the motoriety of which youth in general are so fond, than
to launch out into a life of brilliant extravagance and dissipa-
tion. This course soon exhausted not only the very liberal al-
lowances transmitted by my father, but also the copious remit-
tances secretly forwarded by my mother; and at the end of a
year he was recalled home, with an unsettled character and dis-
position.
A succession of struggles enabled him to enter a Southern
college, and, after many suspensions and fines, 'bring us home a
diploma and a blue riband.
The question now again to be asked is, Where is the remedy
for this imperfect education—for evils which so many of both
sexes have felt, in common with poor Ben? The most obvious
mode that occurs to me is, to convert schools into places for
teaching instead of recitation. As the present plan operates,
every parent would willingly change offices with the teacher;
that is, if a master would superintend the committing a lesson
to memory, with the requisite explanations, the parent would
very gladly hear it recited. .
Would it not be practicable for masters to teach, and explain,
and see that a lesson is committed one day, and hear it recited
the next? A few parents might complain that the boys and
girls were idle at home, merely from habit; but they would soon
232 RECOLLECTIONS OF A souTHERN MATRON.
find their gain in being able to cultivate some favorite study, in
exercise, &c. I am confident that if Ben had been taught his
lessons at school, it would have changed the whole habit of his
mind.
How ill suited is a bustling parlor for the studies of children,
and how few parents know how to teach .
I do not mean, in these remarks, to say one disrespectful
word of teachers. A more conscientious, self-sacrificing, en-
lightened class of persons than they cannot be found, and they
but comply with the customs around them in their present sys-
tem; but, to justify my remarks, I have only to state, that the
evil referred to has reached such a height, that some parents
have been under the necessity of hiring instructors at night to
teach their children the school lessons for the following day.
If the system continue as it is, the name of teacher should be
changed to lesson-hearer.
CHAPTER XXIX.
MARION.—DUMB BELLA.—THE INDIAN.—A WEDDING.
“But who is she, retiring and alone,
That makes her thoughts by sign and gesture known 2
No voice escapes those lips in accents dear,
'Tis one dead silence all from year to year.
Yet let not pity too officious rise;
Nature compensates that which it denies.
The expressive look—the motion fraught with grace—
May rival language and supply its place:
And for that senseless ear perchance are given
Ethereal sounds, and intercourse with heaven.”
S. GILMAN.
Is Marion forgotten ? asks some young girl to whom love is
the Alpha and Omega of a story. No, not forgotten; but I
never proposed to write a love-story in these simple details,
whose object is to show the habits of Southern domestic life.
I must confess, however, that an expecting look was cast up
the avenue as strangers approached, and a tremor felt when he
actually came. There was a slight abstraction, too, in his man-
ners, which the students of love-thermometers might have sup-
posed a suspicious circumstance. Whenever he saw me on
horseback he looked wistfully, and his face reddened. My dress
was entirely different from that in which he had seen me at the
time of my bouleversement; my height and manner were altered,
and I always began to jest on trifling topics, for I was fright-
ened at the thought of a disclosure after what had passed. It
seemed to me as if feminine pride called on me to keep my se-
234 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
cret, since Anna and Lewis, who alone could have revealed it
gracefully, were gone. .
Marion was preparing himself for usefulness. Inheriting a
large estate, he did not feel authorized to enter on its duties
without some personal discipline. He attended medical and
surgical lectures, that he might supply with advice the acciden-
tal wants of his people ; and interested himself in mechanics as
a means of saving labor on his plantation. His fine person
never looked more noble to me than when in his workman's
jacket, with his tools in his hand, he superintended, and even
aided, the works of his people. He felt the responsibility of
his situation, and looked with a steady and inquiring eye on his
duties, removing evil where it was practicable, and ameliorating
what was inevitable. It was not gain only that he sought; he
was aware that he controlled the happiness of a large family of
his fellow-creatures. He neither permitted himself to exercise
oppression, nor tolerated it in others. Happy human faces were
his delight, and the blessings that followed his footsteps were
like angel voices crowning his cares. He felt how much a
planter has to answer to man and to God in the patriarchal re-
lation he holds, and he shrank not indolently from the arduous
demand. High responsibility, exalts the character of a good
man, and I could not but perceive the growth of principle in
Marion's words and actions, while I heard among some of the
young men who visited us a tone of frivolity that sadly con-
trasted with his earnest dignity of thought and expression. I
insensibly prized him for this difference, and felt how much
safer would be the happiness of a wife in his keeping than in
that of a mere idler. .
The moral education of Southern youth should be directed
to their peculiar duties; indeed, there are passages in the teach-
ings of the New Testament which apply peculiarly to our insti-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 235
tutions, and which, though almost negative elsewhere, are ex-
quisitely beautiful in the classification of relative duties here.
“Masters, give unto your servants that which is just and equal,
knowing that ye also have a master in heaven.” “Ye masters,
forbear threatening, knowing that your master is also in heaven,
neither is there respect of persons with him.” “Servants,
obey in all things your masters according to the flesh.” “Let
as many servants as are under the yoke count their own mas-
ters worthy of all honor.” The temptations of power should be
diligently pointed out, passion repressed, purity enforced, and
then the young Southerner will rise like the sun over the wide
sphere of his duty, diffusing light and warmth around him. As
Mentor dwelt with eloquence on the expected legislation of
Telemachus, so should every father prepare his son, at the
South, for the little kingdom over which he is to reign in wis-
dom and love.
It would seem, at the first glance, that one of the most diffi.
cult offices of the planter would be to restrain the tempers of
the uneducated beings under his care ; but daily occupation
and systematic routine are favorable to harmony, and God has
seemed wonderfully to have balanced human passions. There
are few Zelucos among fathers. The subject of surprise is, the
escape of so many from injury, under the hand of passion, in all
communities. Who has not seen a mother of the laboring
classes shake a child with her strong arm, until one would Sup-
pose dislocation would follow, and the child come out from the
operation rather strengthened, as from a Calisthenic exercise?
How many shoes, aimed at the head of a culprit, have missed
their destination It is curious to observe how seldom they
nit. As far as I have observed, the poorer classes in New-
England shake their children in a sudden impulse of anger;
while negroes throw something at theirs. There is that which
236 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
is tremendously exciting in a shake—the chatter of one's teeth,
the impotence of one's nerves and sinews, and the trill of the
voice as one begs pardon. I would rather, of the two, run my
chance of a missile, and take to dodging, if I were a child.
How difficult is it for us, who have time to reason with
children, to enter into the feelings of parents hurried by a thou-
sand cares. The poor mother standing at her wash-tub, burn-
ing over the fire, or delving at her needle, must be summary in
her punishments, and the little rebel takes advantage of her
limited minutes. Even the dark closet, the resort of leisurely
people, consumes too much time for her; and when she thinks
her urchin is well seated on a bench in the corner, to which he
has been banished, he has slipped off and gone to some new ex-
periment. The poor soul can neither stay to administer a dose
of castor-oil, as one of my friends does, for bad temper, nor ap-
ply a cold bath, nor bind a strip of paper on the forehead, with
the offence designated, nor condemn the child to the bed all
day—an admirable prescription, by-the-way, for those who sleep
too late in the morning. These are all punishments of leisure,
and the laborer cannot exercise them. Is it not wonderful,
then, that, as correction is necessarily so brief, it is not often
more calamitous? Scientific discipline has adopted the cat-o'-
nine-tails and the ferula, so that the operation can be carried on
without maiming; but the poor woman cannot deliberately ap-
ply even these. She must take the first tangible thing, and,
luckily, the natural implement is her own hand; luckily, too,
that very hand relishes not a too potent tingling, or too dislo-
cating a shake, and the child is safe. But while I have been
throwing off these rambling thoughts, my little Clarence has
been fishing my best cap from a bandbox; and, as he swings it
on his hook, his Lilliputian waiting man follows him, crying,
souTHERN MATRON. 237
“Buy fish, missis? buy any fish 7" Shall I use my natural
mplement on the rogue” - .
My personal experience supplies me with but one example of
passion leading to fatal consequences in our own neighborhood,
but it was a most aggravated case, and related to Bella, the
deaf and dumb girl, and to her mother, the Zeluco of my story.
I have never seen anything more affecting than Bella's attach.
ment to her infant. It was one of God's holy compensations
for infirm human nature; she felt no want with her babe in her
arms; and language—oh the language between these two
creatures—the twining of arms, the gaze of the eyes, the pres-
sure of the lips; and, when any attempt was made to take the
child from her, how that strange howl thrilled the soul! She
was faithful in the discharge of her duties; the family at the
Elms treated her with peculiar tenderness, and the child was
the pet of the household. But her passions, like those of most
mutes, were violent, and her mother, so far from pitying, treated
her with brutality. One day when I was visiting at the Elms,
we heard a cry wilder than I had ever known from poor Bella.
Her mother had attacked her in anger, and levelled a blow with
a stick of wood, which laid her and her infant on the ground.
In a week that smiling baby was a corpse by Bella's side, and
she was fast journeying to the same sad bourn. Even in death
she could not let her baby go, and her wild cry sounded fierce
and long when any one attempted to remove it. It was laid in
its shroud by her side; she felt its little forehead and cold
hands, and moaned over its unmoved lips. Poor Bella was
tenderly cared for by her mistress, and her pious colored friends
stood around her and pointed upward, as if to God. She shook
her head, and clung to her dead infant. It was forced from her,
and placed in its humble coffin and peaceful grave, and two days
after Bella was laid by its side. It is a sad, though humble
238 - RECOLLECTIONS OF A
story. I have long since laid it to my heart; and when passion
has threatened to shake me in my intercourse with those around
me, the image of that wrathful mother, though comparatively
irresponsible, has arisen to my view, darkly pointing at Bella's
grave. -
Little that was interesting occurred at this time at Roseland;
but one incident may show a feature of our life. We shall not
long have such to record, for the Indian race, like the noble
trees of our forests, are disappearing—the axe is laid at their
roots. As I was playing the piano one morning, I heard a light
footstep; and, turning round, saw an Indian in full costume,
standing, with folded arms, against the entrance of the door, his
eyes bent directly on me. I was so startled that I could not
proceed in singing. I made two or three ineffectual attempts,
and then preferred passing out of the room close to him rather
than remain. As I rose from the instrument his eyes followed
me, though his attitude was unchanged, and he made a gesture
for me to return and play. I went to mamma, who decided
that I must do so. She, like most Southern ladies, had no un-
necessary fears. She was in the habit of passing months with
her children on the plantation, without any other protection
than her servants. The Indian had remained in the same erect
attitude, as if he expected our return; and, as mamma bowed
in passing, he returned her salutation. I sat down and played
several tunes, glancing occasionally at him ; his eyes were still
fixed on me. At length, as I passed, he uttered a sound like
“ thank,” and retired as silently as he came. I have never
since seen so perfect and interesting a specimen of his race.
There was something inexpressibly lofty and graceful in his air.
On our next visit to the city, Flora asked me, with almost
apparent blushes, “if she could take a partner;” and I was made
SOUTHERN MATRON. 239
to understand that Kit, a stevedore, had solicited her hand.
Of course I could make no objection, though losing some valu-
able services by the plan ; and preparations were made for the
wedding, which she chose to have performed in the wash-kitchen
instead of our parlor. The floor was nicely scrubbed, seats
placed around, and the tin candlesticks on the wall ornamented
with sprigs of green. When all was ready we were invited out
with the clergyman, who, as usual, was chosen by the bride.
The room was lined with guests. As we entered the bride and
groom rose, attended by six groomsmen and six bridemaids, the
latter dressed in white, with flowers, riband, or tarnished silver
and gold sprigs in their hair. The minister proceeded in the
ceremony, and at length told them to join their right hands.
The handmaidens were pretty expert in drawing off Flora's
glove, as her hands were soft as mine ; but Kit was the very
image of helplessness. He looked as if he longed to give the
glove (it was clinging white cotton) a pull, but etiquette for-
bade. His arm was extended, and his palm open, in a kind of
spasmodic motion, as the head groomsman tugged at the fore-
finger. By degrees his aids came up, until there was one at
each digit, while a sixth directed ; but, the more they pulled,
the more the glove “would not stay pulled.” The bridemaids
began to titter, and Flora, losing her patience, said, “Pull it off
yourself, Kit;” but the superintendent of the ceremony waved
her off solemnly, and, after picking a while upon the thumb and
fingers, the tenacious glove yielded, and by “a long pull, a
strong pull, and a pull altogether,” Kit's brawny hand was laid
bare, and grasped that of the more delicate Flora. The cere-
mony proceeded without further impediment, and, shaking hands
with the bride, we returned to the house. As we left the thresh-
old of the wash-room, the whole party shouted forth a Methodist
hymn. It was a solemn and affecting sound, and I felt it to be
240 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON.
a rebuke to the vapid jests that so often circulate after more
imposing ceremonials. Wine and cake were sent us imme-
diately after, and a whole iced cake presented to the minister the
following day, according to the usual custom among the colored
people in the city. Mamma and I were introduced to the
bride's chamber, which was neatly set off with white curtains
and toilet cover. I have sometimes seen the apartments of
colored brides decorated with evergreens.
0 H A P T E R X X X.
T H E D E E R H U N T.
“Hark! from yon covert where those towering oaks
Above the humble copse aspiring rise,
What glorious triumphs burst in every gale
Upon our ravish'd ears The hunters shout, -
The clanging horns swell their sweet winding notes.
The pack wide opening load the trembling air
With various melody; from tree to tree
The propagated cry redoubling bounds,
And wing’d Zephyrs waft the floating joy
Through all the regions near !”
- The Chase.
WINTER in Carolina comes with no stern aspect; she loves
the merry dance by the lightwood knots thrown on the spa-
cious hearth, and sunny nature woos us from without, where
flowers scarcely blighted and the huntsman's horn are kindly
substitutes for glittering frostwork and noisy sleigh-bells. Often,
in childhood, when I had heard the stir and preparation for the
chase, I had longed to take a part; and when, on a bright win-
ter morning, I saw parties move off, I was almost tempted to
spring on my own good steed, and follow through the avenue.
As I advanced in years, and felt perfect confidence in my own
skill in horsemanship, I frequently urged papa to allow me to
accompany him ; but he objected on the score of the dangerous
character of our woods for one in female attire on horseback.
In the holydays of this season, Bell Wilson (who, by-the-way,
had attained the rare accomplishment of being able to discharge
11
242 EECOLLECTIONS OF A
a fowling-piece) and I rallied our forces for a last attack, and
one evening, seconded by my brothers and Marion, we suc-
ceeded in obtaining an unwilling consent from papa to accom-
pany his party the following day.
Jim, who was, in his way, the soul of the hunting enterprises
at Roseland, awoke us early, and we soon heard papa's horn on
the piazza, the notes of which were answered by the joyful
tongues of the beagles, and by the horns of the neighboring
sportsmen. .
We ran down to breakfast, scarcely able to eat from the ex-
citement of the scene, as my brothers and our friends came in
equipped for the hunt. The usual dress of a hunter is composed
of a cap, a frockcoat, reaching half-way between the hips and the
knees, with breast-pockets for carrying ammunition, &c., boots,
spurs, and blowing-horn. This last appendage is suspended from
the right shoulder, the horn itself hanging under the left arm.
But dress is altogether a matter of fancy, and comical indeed
are some of the figures which sally forth to enjoy the sport of
the woods.
The first person who entered was our neighbor, Mr. Plumer,
an eccentric but intelligent man, tall, excessively thin, and
sharp-visaged, his spare legs being inserted in military boots to
protect him from the mud of the swamps. He addressed us
with his usual joke of,
“Good morning, young ladies. You see I prefer hunting a
deer to hunting a dear. Ha—ha-ha I’’
Next came Mr. Prentiss, a real townsman, with spatterdashes,
his hat on one side of his head, a fresh cravat, and his white
shirt-cuffs in full sight over his Limerick gloves. Then fol-
lowed Dick Bradford, his broadcloth leggins fastened from the
ankle to the knee with gilt buttons, accompanied by Captain
Rogerson, with woollen ones tied above the knee and around the
SOUTHERN MATRON. 243
ankle with flannel list. Marion and my brothers wore their
usual plantation dress, with hunting-coat and cap. They threw
a horn round Bell's neck and mine, exacting the promise that
we should not use them.
Mr. Plumer, whistling to his dogs, and blowing his horn,
gallopped off to secure the best stand. Papa followed, at-
tended by Jim calling his hounds, and sounding his horn, to
announce to the sportsmen that he was under way. The gen-
tlemen followed, leaving Bell and me with Richard and Marion.
Collected at the ground the hunt was arranged. Mr. Plu-
mer, counting our forces, exclaimed, --
“Let me see, six of us without Marion and Richard, who are
ladies' men—very good—very good; more than that mars the
sport—mars the sport. They must mind the dears, while we
hunt the deers, ha-ha—ha!”
The boys" were directed how to drive. They were to com-
mence by driving the swamp, the gentlemen and ourselves tak-
ing up our stand at the head of the swamp, while they were to
put in below, and drive through to us. If the dogs started and
ran back, the boys were to stop them ; but if they ran to the
head of the swamp, they were to scream behind them, and force
the deer out to the standers. We accordingly proceeded to the
head of the swamp, and took our stands every one at his post.
The boys then commenced driving by whooping and riding
about in the swamp, every now and then speaking to and en-
couraging the dogs. It was wonderful to me to see the sympa-
thy of the hounds, their diligence and docility. After driving
about for some time, Bounce, a cold-nose dog, struck a trail,
while the boys encouraged him, rode to him, brushed through
the briers and bushes, occasionally shouting and clapping their
hands to stimulate the industrious animal. After working cold
* Common epithet for negro men.
244 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
scent awhile, Bounce was joined by Diamond, Ringwood, Music,
Dash, Killbuck, Rock, Luna, and Trimbush, who alternately
dropped in, working the trail of an old buck into the drive,
And now a chorus of music burst forth from the anxious pack,
which momentarily expected the jump of the deer, while the
boys continued encouraging and urging them on.
Presently up bounced the old buck, the dogs burst forth
into full cry, the boys shouting “Mind, mind ahead P' to ap-
prize the sportsmen that the deer was up and coming. The
hunters then, every man at his stand, drew themselves up to a
point behind some large tree or bush, waiting with breathless
anxiety the approach of the deer. The dogs came bearing
down to us, roaring it in the swamp, giving their tongues at
every jump. Presently the old buck broke cover, and came
dashing by John with the speed of lightning. My heart leaped
to my mouth. John sprang forward, raised his gun, took his
aim, and blazed away both barrels one after the other. The old
buck faltered a moment, but kept his course. My sympathies
were stirred for the noble animal, and, as I saw him bound On,
I uttered a shout of joy. The dogs came dashing after in full
cry, and were with difficulty stopped by John, who blew his
horn and collected the party; each man came galloping up to
the post with the eager questions,
“Is he shot ? What have you done?”
“I don't know,” said John ; “I think I hit him. I am sure
I saw him flounder at my last barrel; let us look for blood.
Give me time to reload, and if there is blood we will hustle
him.”
By this time Jim, who came first after the dogs, had dis-
mounted, and was walking on the track of the deer looking for
blood.
“Here blood, Maus John, for true,” said Jim, dashing away
SOUTHERN MATRON. 245
the brushwood, and grinning from ear to ear; “but he an’t too
much.”
John having reloaded, the boys were ordered to stick close
to the dogs, and if they jumped the buck, to catch him, know-
ing that, if badly wounded, he would not run far before lying
down. The hunters then screamed to the hounds, who broke
off in full cry, while we followed in the chase. I strained my
sight onward, and again my sympathetic joy was roused as the
deer once more, apparently unhurt, disappeared in the swamp.
Our broken forces were now rearranged. Marion, Richard,
Bell, and I were stationed in a cross-road leading from the
swamp, where the boys, having galloped round, had again com-
menced driving. Mr. Plumer was at the next stand higher up
the road, the others nearer the swamp, but all in sight of each
other. We had not waited long when we heard once more the
hounds bearing down in full cry directly towards our stand.
“What music what music ſ” cried Marion, in raptures, as
the pack set up a renewed yell.
I could not but smile as I remembered the remark of a city
gentleman, who once said, “Where is the music 2 I hear
nothing but the barking of dogs.” The deer continued to ap-
proach, and now we heard the crackling of the bushes, and now
the fine creature sprang in sight; but as he came within gun-
shot of John, he turned and took the direction of the stand at
which Mr. Prentiss was stationed, when lo, quick as thought,
we saw him on the other side of Mr. Plumer, having escaped
the shots, and come out considerably beyond the road.
“On,” shouted Marion to the hunters; “if the old buck gets
to the creek we lose him.”
Mr. Plumer had already dashed on, as if for life, and we fol-
lowed up the road. The hounds then came out in the distance,
* This in negro dialect means there is very little.
246 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
followed by the drivers in a complete Gilpin race, whooping and
screaming; two were on mules, the rest on horses. One had
dropped his red cap, another his venison-bag.
“There goes Jim's luncheon,” said Richard, as something
else was seen to fall; “that fellow never stirs without his hoe-
cake.” -
“Young ladies,” exclaimed Marion, whose whole soul yearned
for the chase, though comparatively restrained by our presence,
“you must canter briskly, or we shall lose the sport.” And as
he said this, Richard and Bell turned into a cross-road.
Unfortunately, as I loosed my rein, I touched the horse with
my whip. I had been warned that he was an old hunter, but
forgot it, until he sprang forward and left everything behind.
I had sufficient presence of mind to guide him aright, and,
obedient to the rein, he kept the road. The sound of approach-
ing hoofs made him quicken his speed; he appeared to fly, and I
became giddy with the wild dread of consequences; but Marion
was soon by my side, seizing the bridle, panting, and crying,
“Hold fast, Miss Wilton, hold fast ! We will stop gradually.
I knew my horse had the speed of yours. Be firm, be firm.”
We rode on at a furious rate some short distance before he
succeeded in stopping the excited animal. When this was ef.
fected, he assisted me to dismount, and exchanged his gentler
though spirited steed for mine. In the midst of this little
transaction I perceived that the sport was forgotten. His eye
was bent on me with such an air of perplexed attention that,
blushing and agitated, I shrank from his gaze. He glanced at
the ring on his finger, then again at me; some associations
seemed rushing through his mind, and lent a melting brightness
to the half smile that played upon his lips, while I, with the
most awkward consciousness, urged on my palfrey. He seized
the bridle.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 247
“Stop, Miss Wilton,” he exclaimed eagerly. “One word be-
fore you go. It must be so. I feel an intuition of the truth,
Withdraw not your hand until I try this precious ring on your
finger. Oh, stay, dearest Cornelia,” he continued, as, conscious
and embarrassed, I hesitated for a reply. My hand was in his,
the ring sparkled in the sun ; but before he could measure its
little circlet Richard and Bell rode up briskly, calling out,
“The deer has been turned, we hear the dogs coming this
way.” -
“Oh, let him go, pray, let him go,” I exclaimed ; “he has
won his life. I cannot bear to have him killed.”
“Perhaps he will turn to the river,” said Bell; “it is on our
way, and we will see him foil these mighty Nimrods.”
We cantered on, the dogs apparently not far distant. On
turning into the public road we beheld the deer coming directly
towards us. Marion and Richard reined up, and raised their
guns, but Bell and I screamed, “Don’t shoot, for mercy's sake,
don't shoot P and they reluctantly lowered them. The deer,
thus pressed by ourselves in front and by the hunters and dogs
in pursuit, stood still, looked about him, and seemed to hesitate
for an instant. How beautiful, how majestic his appearance in
that attitude of reflection Turning suddenly, he bounded
over the fence into papa's oakery, and, quick as thought, made
his way towards the river. Baffled in their aim, the hunters
swept round to endeavor to arrest him at the lower entrance,
while we quickly entered a private and shorter access. Cross-
ing a field to the yard and garden, we reached the river's edge,
which bordered it, just as the deer, swimming for life, was mak-
ing his way across the current. The dogs rushed on, the hun-
ters firing ineffectual shots in the distance, while Bell and I,
beneath a sycamore, waved our handkerchiefs in triumph, and
shouted our congratulations as the noble animal sprang, appa-
248 RECoLLECTIONS OF A souTHERN MATRON.
rently unhurt, from the water, and was lost in the thickets on
the opposite bank. - -
“Not scathed, by George,” said papa: “not grazed by a single
shot; he has won his life nobly P"
“Look at Diamond and Trimbush,” cried mamma, running
from the house down the garden-path, in an agony of trepida-
tion, as the dogs came back, wet and whimpering, from their
ineffectual chase; “they are trampling my carnations, and
Luna is making a bed of the wall-flowers.”
Our attention was drawn away by Jim, who advanced with
the boys, and whose appearance, now that the excitement was
over, made us shout with laughter. He was half as large again
as usual, with white cottom oozing out of divers apertures in his
dress, and the tail of his fox-skin cap flapping up and down as
he rehearsed with various gesticulations, to his companions, his
share of the adventures.
“Jim,” exclaimed Richard, “what a figure you cut.”
“No cut 'em, Maus Dick, only stuff 'em,” said Jim, looking
complacently on his strange attire, while, taking off his fox-skin
cap with the pendant-tail, he scraped his foot to the company.
“You see, maussa, you see, sir, de brier bery bad, and I jist
been put one mudder breeches on top o' tudder, tie him tight at
he foot, and stuff 'tween em wid cotton; den de brier just lick
de breeches, and an’t hut me none at all.” -
Our shouts were scarcely over at Jim's statement, before
Mr. Plumer came up, and, knocking his muddy military boots
against his gun, said to me, “Ha, my dear, we've paid dear for
the deer, ha-ha—ha!”
(; H A P T E R X X XI.
A N E R R O R IN J U D G M E N T.
“Sleep like a lover woo thee,
Isabel !
And golden dreams come to thee
Like a spell.”—N. P. WILLIs.
“If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not loved.”—Midsummer Night's Dream.
MARION had no opportunity for private conversation with
me on the evening of the hunt, but the excitement of his feel.
ings was obvious enough to the coolest eye. I saw his gaze
following me as I moved ; his very silence, too, was a language
until, on departing, he whispered the hope that I might permit
him to see me the morning following Shall I describe my
night of tumultuous waking thoughts and busy dreams? What
young heart has not thus throbbed as the life-decision hovered
near, when it could count the hours before the time which
must decide its future destiny? How hope colors up that des-
tiny until not a shade is left on its kindled horizon | Amid
the glow of feeling on that night, Duncan rose to my memory.
I fancied I could see the sweet approving smile which had
sometimes followed my girlish efforts in duty; again I lingered
in thought on his last looks and words, calling up his rich
monitions, his practical excellence, and realizing anew, in my
1.1%
250 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
love of virtue, the touching truth that good seeds are not
planted in vain in the young heart, but spring up vigorous
and beautiful in after years. Mingled with these thoughts
came the sad, pale form of my Anna and her lost Lewis;
and though my tears had long since ceased to flow for them,
they were still pictured to me as dim stars struggling with
tempestuous clouds. Amid these thoughts I laid my head on
my pillow, and soon a brighter image rose, and Marion's form,
the model of manly beauty, was before me, and his eyes, with
their soft sunshine, beamed on me, and his voice uttered its
words of “truth and soberness,” and my heart seemed like a
song in its lightness, and all pleasant things were before me;
I knew that I loved, I felt that I was beloved again, and so
I slept. -
How rich and bright was that following morning 1–there
was gladness in everything. The birds fancied that young
spring had come; and, as one of our native poets has beau-
tifully sung,
“In russet coat
Most homely, like true genius bursting forth
In spite of adverse fortune, a full choir
Within himself, the merry mock-bird sate,
Filling the air with melody—and, at times,
In the rapt fervor of his sweetest song,
His quivering form up-sprang into the sky
In spiral circles, as if he would catch
New powers from kindred warblers in the clouds.”
The sun lay in a yellow glow on the earth, where a few
blades still struggled with wintry frosts, while the roses, crisp
and mottled like a bright girl's winter-cheek, sparkled in the
dew. And the toilet of that morning, why was it so agitated
and yet so lingering 7 Why did my half-combed hair hang
in its waves, while I, forgetful of its braids, looked out on sky
and field, and knew not that I looked 7 Why did I clasp my
SOUTHERN MATRON. 251
hands upon my heart as if to soothe its tumult, and yet garner
up thoughts that set its full tide flowing 2 Why did the riband
that Marion had praised seem like a relic, while the sigh that
rose over a faded flower which he had given me was as warm as
the devotee's in her most rapt devotion ? Oh, gentle genius of
youthful love, floating in clouds of light and beauty around the
trusting heart, thou canst tell
Let me receive all praise that I committed none of the al-
leged crimes of lovers at the breakfast-table. No spilled coffee
can be laid to my charge. I did not put butter instead of
sugar into papa's tea, or say yes, madam, when I should have
said no, sir. Having a little of the pride of good sense, I did
not depart from social usefulness, but assisted mamma in wash-
ing the cups, brushed papa's hat, arranged the flowers, and went
through my little routine of household duty without a mistake.
At length, all was done. Papa and my brothers went out on
their various errands, mamma walked to the river-side to her
dairy, and I was left alone. Then I began to feel an unwonted
tremor. I could not read or sew ; I shrank from walking in
the piazza, because there I should first see Marion; I would
not go into the garden, because it would look like avoiding him.
A sudden thought struck me. With a mixed feeling of frolic
and agitation I ordered my horse to be saddled, and ran up
stairs to a remote closet, where my riding-dress and hat had
been banished after my fall in the ditch. There they were—
the same splashes of mud on the habit, the same dangling black
feathers, the same crushed wire and stiff veil. Drossing
quickly, I rang for Jim, whom I made partially my confidant.
All Jim's politeness could not prevent him from laughing out
at the appearance I exhibited.
“Ki Pº shouted he “Miss Neely look more worser dan she
did when she tumble head over heel. Te jacket too leetle, and
252 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
de sleeve an’t fetch to de wrist. Miss Neely been scare de
Crow !”
I asked Jim if he was certain that Mr. Marion always took
the private path across the fields from our avenue; and having
ascertained this fact, I threw a large shawl over my shoulders,
put a fresh veil above the soiled one, mounted my horse, and,
followed by Jim, with a beating heart cantered down the
a Wehlle.
Jim was very eloquent respecting the events of the day pre-
vious, but I scarcely heard his details; and when I had fairly
reached the cross-road my mind misgave me.
He will think me forward and bold, thought I, to come and
meet him thus; there is something too farcical in this attire,
ill-suited to maiden modesty. And thinking thus, my whole
heart began to sink within me at the bare idea of forfeiting his
esteem by indelicacy.
“I must turn back, Jim,” said I, hastily; “I feel faint, and
must go home.” .
“Wha fo you been go, Miss Neely?” said he, “See Maus
Marion be here. He’m jis been tak de short cut round de
corner. You no be want for shee um ?” And he showed all
his teeth in laughing as he surveyed my dress again.
“Not for the world, Jim,” cried I, “would I have him see
me. I shall die if he does,” I continued, in uncontrolled agita-
tion—and turning my horse, I urged him to a gallop.
If I can only get home one minute before him, thought I,
and change my dress. And I screamed, “Go on, J im, and
open both the gates. Quick quick I am frightened, I am
ill ! Oh, what a fool he will think me !” .
Jim, frightened himself at my violence, readily obeyed.
But the same good steed with which Marion once before
overtook me was speeding on. My head snapped, my face was
SOUTHERN MATRON. 253
in a blaze, and, as if to complete my trials, the shawl and veil
which I had put on loosely in order to remove them quickly,
caught in the bushes. I sprang from the horse and let him
pass on, hoping that Marion might pursue him while I hid in
the shrubbery near by ; alas, he had seen me; with the speed
of lightning he approached and dismounted, and I, foolish girl
that I was, hid my face upon a stump of a tree that was near,
and burst into tears. . •
“Good heavens !” exclaimed Marion; “what can this
mean 7” -
I could not answer, and I was ashamed to look up. He
scarcely knew what to do—at length he said, in a low voice,
“This is a singular vision I Can it be Miss Wilton 7"
“Yes,” said I, sobbing, “Oh, it is so silly I am so
ashamed !”
In a moment he was by my side, and kneeling there, he laid
aside my bonnet, and wiped away my tears, and I did not for-
bid him.
“Fear not to weep before me, dearest,” he said. “It is the
privilege of love to wipe tears—smiles are for the crowd; but
you have no need of tears, Cornelia; I would rather see this”
(and he took my soiled hat from the ground and kissed it rev-
erently) “than the tiara of a princess.”
My hand lay in his; he gently transferred the cherished ring
to my finger, and pressed his lips one moment on its glittering
surface. There was no need of explanation; heart whispered
to heart its own story, and so thought Jim ; for, galloping back
with my horse, he put his head among the bushes, and seeing
the posture of affairs, tied him to a tree, and rode quietly away.
(; H A P T E R X X X II.
A DEPARTURE AND AN INTRODUCTION.
“A mother's love —oh I thou knowest not how much of feeling lies
In those sweet words; the hopes, the fears, the daily strengthening .ies;
It lives ere yet the infant draws its earliest vital breath,
And dies but when the mother's heart chills in the grasp of death.”
- EMMA. C. EM BURY.
“Mother, whatever griefs may fret,
Cares entangle, sins beset
This thy daughter, and with tears
Stain her cheek in future years,
Heavenly succor, not denied
To the babe, whate'er betide,
Will to the woman be supplied.”
- WORDSWORTH.
MUCH has been said of the manoeuvring of mothers to obtain
settlements for their daughters; but the class is infinitely larger
of those parents who feel as if their girls were still in childhood,
and who wake up as if from a dream, on finding that the beings
who have lain in their bosoms, and walked the path of opening
life, and surrounded the household hearth, and been close as the
very air they breathed, are suddenly wrenched from them by a
stronger tie, the love of years torn up by the very roots, and
transplanted to a stranger's heart.
Such was the shock that mamma received in her tranquil
routine of duty. The possibility of my belonging to another
was like an earthquake to her. I had been cherished like a
tree of her own planting, beneath which she was to repose; it
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 255
was strange to her that other hands should gather its blossoms
and fruits. My dear mother she took me to her arms and
wept—she to whom tears were so rare All that day she
drooped in her duties; her brow was thoughtful; she sighed
often, and seemed like one struggling with a burden. But
Marion soon reconciled her to love's destiny by tender assidui-
ties, and she felt that she had gained a son in the partial loss
of a daughter.
Papa was equally astonished at a result which might have
been foreseen with much less acuteness than he possessed; but
the effect on him was to produce a volley of jokes, that sent the
blood rushing to my cheeks, and disconcerted Marion, upon
whose plate, at dinner, mamma, in compensatory kindness, piled
a mass of food like a Grecian hecatomb. Was it wonderful that
Marion should gain my consent to escape from this notoriety
to a secluded tâte-à-tête on the evening of that eventful day,
where, unobserved, the “course of our true love” might be
traced from its first slight fountain of preference 2
“My mother must see you, Cornelia,” said he, “I feel like
a miser until I have revealed my treasure to her, and Ellen too,
and my father. I thank Heaven, dearest, that you will be ap-
preciated in my home ſº
So an early day was appointed for a visit to Winnapee, Mr.
Marion's plantation, situated in one of the eastern parishes.
We left Roseland in a row-boat for the city, where a carriage
was to meet us on the following morning, to conduct us on our
remaining way. The followers of Columbus would have been
glad of the provisions with which mamma supplied us for this
half-day's excursion. I cannot say much for the animation of
our party, notwithstanding Richard and John were with us. A
first love, a new joy, are serious; and a tender and solemn moral
seems to spring from this peculiarity of the human tempera-
256 RECoLLECTIONS OF A
ment. What philosophy would ever portray happiness with
laughing eyes and dancing movements? Beautiful happiness
I own, a smile is on her lip, but it is like the lining of a sable
cloud; her eyes are bright, but they look forward to hope or
back on memory still; she shuts up her bosom's thoughts, with
a presentiment that they may fly if the door of their cage is
loosed; her foot treads carefully on the flowers at her feet, lest
she should crush them; over those very flowers a tear some-
times glances (for happiness has tears), and their petals heave
in the throbs of the heart, near which they are enshrined.
Alas for those who are condemned to a companionship with
lovers John and Richard talked over their hunting experi-
ences, discussed all the characters in the parish, predicted the
crops, sang snatches of tunes, partook of mamma's dainties, and
yawned. As for me, I saw a transparency in the waters that
pictured the wintry boughs along the shore, lending them a
charm unseen before; I saw a purer blue in the sunny sky, and
the white clouds that were reflected in the river were like rich
pillows for reposing angels; the couching birds, that sprang up
at the dash of the oars, seemed painted with new colors, and
their flight was airy as if they followed the bidding of a loved
one ; the oarsman's stroke dwelt on the silent air like music;
there was harmony in the crackling bushes, when, as we neared
the shore, some startled animal bounded away, and all nature
was to me like an infolding mantle of love and tenderness.
I had often before this day been sheltered from the winter
breeze by some kind hand; my cloak had been wrapped around
me with equal care, and others had sought my eyes to know
their faintest wishes. Why, then, was all thus bright and fresh
to my vision ? What made the circumstance still more unac-
countable was, that John and Richard wrapped themselves in
their boat-cloaks and fell asleep.
souTHERN MATRON. 257
A shower came on before we reached town, but even this was
not altogether to be deprecated. There were so many oppor-
tunities to show a kind, considerate attention, and to make one
feel as if one was all the world to a loving heart
On the following morning we proceeded in Mr. Marion's car-
riage. Vegetation on the Cooper river varies from that on the
Ashley. Instead of wooded banks, long tracts of land are de-
voted to rice-culture. In the winter these appear dreary
enough, except to the planter, who sees a promise hidden to
common eyes, and to the sportsman, who detects game in ditches
and on banks. At some seasons of the year, those immense
fields are very attractive. More extended than the domains of
many a feudal baron, arranged with almost military order and
neatness, in spring the rich green of the rice-blades lies, as far
as the eye can reach, in velvet softness, while in autumn its
golden grains wave to the winds beneath the untiring sunshine.
My brothers were on horseback. There is something very
animating in this style of companionship: the sudden gallop by
the side of the carriage, to tell a joke or make a remark on the
scenery; the picturesque air of the riders, as they recede from
sight or check their spirited steeds to be overtaken; the con-
scious air of a horseman, as he wields the bridle and makes a
graceful curvet—these things give life and spirit to a country
drive; and my brothers, glad to be relieved from the monotony
of the boat, added to the interest by the glee of unobserved re-
tirement. The inclemency of the previous day was followed by
a mild and balmy atmosphere, which, in some moods of physi-
cal temperament, sends a revery over the soul. Marion and I
glanced from subject to subject, testing our new sympathies;
mused upon unexpressed thoughts, gazed together upon the
woods, or traced the, Etiwan” through their openings. How
* Indian name for Cooper river.
258 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
happy is that intercourse where no obligation is felt to converse;
where the heart breaks forth from the lips in unfettered excla-
mations of joy and tenderness, then sinks back to realize its joy,
and fosters its tenderness in silence, and looks again to nature
for sympathyl
The buds of a mild February (which belongs to a Southern
spring) were struggling with the stiffened leaves of winter, which
the frost had tinged, but not severed from their branches; the
soft gray of the floating moss prevailed in its hue over the yet
sheathed foliage, and a misty atmosphere, shading down the
Sunbeams, suited well this sober livery of nature; the scanty
foliage revealed the squirrel and the red-bird, as they sprang
from branch to branch; the Etiwan, playing like a truant child,
wound brightly in eccentric turns, so abruptly, that the shores
often looked like clustering islands; the broad rice-fields lay
ready for the genial moment when the planter should sow his
grain, and their trimmed banks spoke of agricultural care; the
crows clustered in the old oaks with their social cawings; the
blackbird chattered near, and then, startled by our approach,
swept off like a light cloud on the heavens; now a solitary crane
on the marshes stretched up its long neck to listen, and then,
with flapping wings, soared away; while the small gray sparrow,
with tripping steps, and irregular flight, ascended and descended
on the plains.
The course of our journey brought us to a ferry. There is
something infinitely more romantic in crossing a ferry than in
rumbling over a bridge at full speed; and, whatever utilitarians
may say, I cannot but enjoy the loitering half-hour when the
negroes, with lazy movement, ply the oar, while the lumbering
boat, yielding to the current, like a good manoeuvrer, but to
obtain the mastery, nears the shore. Yes; let us lovers of
leisure gaze up and down our placid streams, in thoughts per-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 259
chance listless, perchance wise, soothed by the plash of the oar
or the ripple of the wave—and who knows but we shall gain as
much in the end as they who glide over space like lightning,
and before whom objects appear as the shadow of a flying bird
in the sunshine. -
Feeling the necessity of refreshment, we alighted for a while
beneath a tree by the roadside, for a maroon. While the men-
servants spread a table-cloth on the ground, Flora withdrew
from their concealment mamma's cold fowl and ham, and the
gentlemen laid their cloaks for seats. We were soon, despite
of sentiment, reclining on them, with good appetites and merry
faces; the dogs wheeled round us in antic gambols, or looked,
with eager eyes, at the morsels we threw them ; the birds
hopped almost to where we sat ; the stealthy squirrel peeped as
he climbed the neighboring tree, and the changing lizard ran on
the old Virginia fence unscared.
The merry meal was over, and we resumed our drive. There
are few girls, however self-possessed they may be, who are not
somewhat abashed, under circumstances like mine, with the ex-
pected introduction to strangers; but I had prepared myself
for the occasion. As we approached the residence of Arthur's
parents, a glance told me that there was a study of elegance
and form in its proprietors. I sat unconsciously more erect
when the gray-headed, liveried porter, with a subdued welcome,
and a bow which would not have dishonored Sir Charles Gran-
dison, held the gate for us to pass through to the court. I
thought, for the first time, how often I had seen Jim, in an old
jacket, displace the regular servant, and saunter or rush to the
gate to admit visitors, perhaps attended by three or four dirty
little urchins, while the harangue which he gave them on man-
ners drew but the more attention to their dishabille. I remem-
bered how his unceremonious box on their ears had sent them
260 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
off roaring with a noise quite disproportioned to their pain, and
I resolved, on my return, to reform abuses, and to restore the
régime of my grandmamma, who had been a great lover of form,
and who used to say that the affections were never crushed by
being clothed in good manners, and that respect for others pro-
duced self-respect.
I was soon folded in the arms of Arthur's family. If any-
thing, the embrace was too soft and measured; too much like
the porter's bow, the gravelled walk, the trimmed shrubbery;
but I afterward found, as grandmamma had said, that this pol-
ish crushed no actual warmth of the heart.
I retired quickly to dress for dinner, and found that Flora
had unfolded a new frock which I had taken from the mantua-
maker in the city. I perceived that it was too showy for the
occasion; but it was too late to look for another, and, to add
to my troubles, it did not fit; Flora's strength and skill were
called in requisition to make it meet, and she at length suc-
ceeded. Fluttered and vexed, I heard the summons to dinner,
and, pulling on a pair of new gloves, descended to the drawing-
room, where Ellen Marion was seated in the most simple and
elegant repose. I am sure of the sympathy of my female read-
ers, who, whatever may be their station in society, have, I doubt
not, been over-dressed at least once in their lives. Who can
forget the first pang at the suspicion of the fact ; the furtive
glance around the company, to ascertain some companionship
in finery; the earnest gaze at every new-comer, in hope that
some extra ribbon or lace may be displayed; and then the set-
tling down into the conviction that one is altogether out of
taste, while the blush that began on the cheek spreads and deep-
eñs, till the forehead glows and the fingers tingle 7
Arthur's father waited on me to the dining-room (I used to
hate these handings-in when I was a girl), and seated me with
SOUTHERN MATRON. 261
my back to a blazing fire. My gloves were not yet fairly on,
but looked like extra joints at every finger, and my silk rustled
like a patch of corn-broom in a breeze ; I felt as if I were all
gloves and silk; and longed for our home voices to break in on
the soft and measured cadence of the Marioms. I allowed my-
self to be helped to everything I did not like, and, to complete
my despair, tipped my well-filled plate into my lap, where I
had neglected to lay a napkin, and was obliged to have it
spooned up from my new silk. So much for first impressions
on my lover's relations, and so much for my late boast of self-
possession
C H A P T E R XXXIII.
T H E R E TU R. N.
“He raised his veil—the maid turned slowly round—
Looked at him—-shriek’d—and sunk upon the ground.”
MooRE's Veiled Prophet of Khorassam,
A CHANGE of dress, and the delicate attentions of the Mari.
ons, soon restored my self-possession; and the reaction pro-
duced in me a degree of vivacity that awoke to unaccustomed
tones the Chesterfieldian echoes of Winnapee. A few delicious
days with Ellen supplied to me again poor Anna's loss. How
quickly young thoughts leap to each other | We talked the
long nights almost through topics growing as we lifted the
veils of our hearts, and revealed their fresh hopes and memo-
ries. We had marked the same passages in books; we pre-
ferred the same songs; we walked the piazza with interlacing
arms, loving the same glow and the same shade. It was sweet
to lavish on Ellen the treasures of tenderness I dared not be-
stow on Arthur; to look on her as his softened image, while I
turned my eyes from him, and to hear her unwearied praises of
his goodness and beauty, each imparting a glory to the other.
“I shall call you my own sister, soon,” said Ellen, with a
whisper that sent a blush of joy to my cheeks, as with embraces,
such as dear friends give, we parted.
On reaching the close of our journey, we observed a field ad-
RECoLLECTIONS OF A souTHERN MATRON. 263
joining our avenue on fire ; this common and necessary occur-
rence in agriculture at the South did not surprise us; but, on
entering the avenue, we were startled and terrified at finding
the Cherokee rose-hedge, which in winter is very combustible,
in flames. I have mentioned this hedge, I think, before.
Nothing in nature could exceed its beauty when in bloom in
the month of April. For three miles the long feelers of the
vine lifted themselves up or athwart, from five to six feet in
height and breadth; and the eye knew not whether most to ad-
mire the glossy green of the leaves, or the white blossoms
which reposed on them like wreaths of smow. Here and there
its long arms reached to a neighboring tree, and seemed to revel
while enfolding it. Everywhere they stretched themselves out
like living things, waving to catch support in their luxuriance.
Amid this sheet of white, the accustomed sight could detect
the lingering blossoms of the yellow jasmine, the opening scar-
let woodbine, struggling with its fair but overpowering rival,
while the shrub honeysuckle threw out its perfume beneath,
amid the lower foliage.
. The piercing thorn of the Cherokee rose renders it impene-
trable by cattle; but it harbors reptiles; and being somewhat
unmanageable in its growth, is not a favorite with the planter.
No mere feeling of utility, however, would induce papa to dis-
place his, while it extorted a burst of admiration from every be-
holder. Through an unpardonable carelessness in the negroes,
they had not guarded it from the flames at the two extremities,
where it had caught, and was raging furiously; thus shutting
them out from all hope of escape, except through the hedge,
which, in many parts, was totally inaccessible. We heard their
cries for help without the power to aid them. Fortunately for
us, our plantation adjoined another, the avenue of which ran
parallel with our own; the hedge on the left had not yet thor-
264 RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
oughly caught ; a slight embankment separated the two, with
ditches between, and the wind blew onward, not across the road,
thus giving us comparative security in proceeding. Arthur
himself, taking the reins, struck at once into this avenue and
drove at full speed. The wind increased, while the crackling
and roaring Sound, the flying cinders, and the growing heat,
gave us a new motive for flight. The hope of escaping the
flames was soon more faint, for Frank, the coachman, cried out,
“Fire ahead, maussa P. Marion checked the horses; it was
true, the flames were about to meet on the right-hand hedge of
papa's avenue; still the left was but partially ignited, and the
current of air continued to blow from the path we had taken. In
the momentary pause of deliberation, we heard a shriek from
the enclosure on the right. Merciful Heaven it was Binah's
voice, raised to a yell of horror, crying—
“Help, help, God Almighty help Binah, for Christ's sake
Help little Miss Patsey ! We guine for burn up; help, help "
Arthur hesitated not a moment, but I saw that he turned
deadly pale.
“You can remain here a few minutes in safety,” said he
“the wind still favors us. I will soon return.” And scarcely
allowing himself a look at me, he threw Frank's cloak over his
head as a protection against the briers, leaped the ditch, ascended
the bank, with his strong arm forced a passage through the hedge,
and disappeared.
I scarcely remember what next occurred ; but a frantic vio-
lence took possession of me, and I would have followed but for
Frank's restraining arm. I watched the flakes that rose and
sailed off in the distance, or caught some neighboring tree. I
saw the young trees fall, and the flames curl round the old; the
sound seemed like the hissing of serpents' tongues in mockery,
and I chattered and mocked at them in return. Those mo-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 265
ments seemed to concentrate ages of feeling. At length I heard
a voice, Arthur's voice, calling for aid, but so strange and un-
natural | Frank had been industrious in making a clearance
through the hedge, whose top began to burn in various direc-
tions. We climbed the bank, sprang through and found him.
He had rescued Patsey, and protécted her with Frank's cloak;
Binah had clung to him as long as life lasted; but there she
lay, a withered corpse, while he staggered forward and fell. I
took Patsey in my arms; the frightened child clung sobbing to
my neck, while Frank bore Arthur to the carriage. The flames
were now around us, but love and fear gave us power. Frank
drove furiously. Poor Arthur spoke not ; blackened by the
smoke, and torn with briers, he lay helpless across the seats.
We were near home, but the seconds seemed hours. I could
not caress my poor little Patsey, who pressed her cheek to my
bosom in silence, and trembled like an aspen leaf. The rushing
smoke stifled, the heated air oppressed me; and the silence was
only interrupted by Arthur's groans. On entering the court I
made one more effort to arouse the sufferer.
“Speak to me, Arthur,” I said; “one word, only one,” but
his parched lips attempted utterance in vain.
On our arrival he was carried to bed, and medical aid
called; mamma, in the meantime, prescribing for him, and al-
lowing me to sit by his side with her. He could not bear a ray
of light, and I attended him in darkness. Alas, I could not
press his dear hand, nor cool his brain, nor touch his parched
lips; all was agony, burning, restless agony. -
Who has not at some moments of their lives felt willing to lie
down and die for a beloved one? At such periods the grave
has seemed a sweet bed of repose, and death a precious minister
of love. .
For many days I saw not the face of my dear Arthur. I
12
266 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
retired with mamma while the physicians dressed his wounds,
and returned again to sit by his side. Gradually he began to
utter words, and called my name. I wept with joy at the
blessed sound; then one poor hand could press mine faintly,
and bear the soft language I reciprocated. Slowly the light
was admitted, and I saw him ; but—oh, my heart—how
changed The beauty of which I was so proud was gone !
The rich hair no longer lay on his noble brow; and that brow,
once so serene, was furrowed by deeper lines than age or sor-
row can engrave. I should not have known him I God for-
give me, but I thought him hideous. I felt my blood curdle,
and my head swim with an indefinite terror. The poor sufferer
did not heed me, for his eyes were closed to the light. I
thought my heart would have burst, and rushed to my own apart-
ment. I traversed it with rapid steps; I crushed my hands
upon my bosom to stop its beatings, and pressed my forehead
to the wainscot to cool its burnings. I stamped in a kind of
vindictive wrath, and uttered words of impious fury. I think I
was going mad, but I grew faint; slow tears came to me; I was
not left to blaspheme; I was softened; they fell like rain, and
my spiritual triumph prevailed.
What, I thought, is this perishing clay to an immortal? His
frail beauty would at best have lasted but a few years. Who
knows but I should have loved too fondly those dark eyes,
whose intellectual brightness struggled with their mellow ten-
derness; that mouth chiselled to the most perfect turn of manly
symmetry 2 My poor Arthur ! I have sometimes feared that
your grasping intellect and exquisite person united placed you
too much above me, that I must worship you like a bright, dis-
tant star; it is not so now. I shall not fear to lay your aching
head against my heart, to smooth the lingering curl on your
fevered brow, and call you mine only. .
SOUTHERN MATRON. 267
With these thoughts I kneeled in prayer. Earth seemed a
vain thing to me; duty and Christian hope my birthright.
“Arthur,” said I, cheerfully, as I sat by his bedside a week
after, with his hand in mine, parting the scanty hair on his scar-
red forehead, “you are not aware how much you are altered by
this sad accident. You asked yesterday for a glass, you must
be prepared for a change.” - -
He started, hesitated a moment, and said, in a low tone, “I
feared this. Can you endure me?”
“If I had loved your beauty only,” I replied, “I might
not have borne its loss so well as I do ; but while God spares
your intellect and heart, I have still enough to be proud of.”
He looked thoughtful, and said, “Is it really come to this?
I have had fearful suspicions of it.” His hand shook in mine
with sudden tremor. “I have frequently desired to introduce
the subject,” he continued, mournfully, “but had not courage.
You are not aware that vanity has been my besetting sin. I
can recollect the earliest praise of my beauty. I remember
ladies taking me in their arms when I was a child, and bestow-
ing on me extravagant expressions of endearment and praise; I
remember my power over young girls, who flattered me with
their eyes, when their lips were too modest to speak; my quick
ear has caught voices in public, even of rude boys in the street,
pronouncing me beautiful; and, yes, I will confess all, I have
lingered over my own miniature with a kind of idol-worship. I
struggled with this weakness, and thought it mastered; God's
will be done if this dispensation is sent to punish me.”
“Not to punish you, Arthur,” said I, fondly, as I perceived
the nervous irritability of his feelings, “but it may be to try
you, to perfect you, and to reveal to you my true love, which
asks for nothing in return but yours. Oh, if you knew the
warm and brooding tenderness that has settled on my heart
268 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
since your misfortune, you too would say, it is enough for me
it is worth more than external charms can buy.”
Arthur improved in his appearance and health. I kept the
mirror from him, telling him that every day diminished his dis-
figurement; and he cheerfully assented to my wishes, while his
mind appeared to be regaining its tone.
“You will be almost what you were, dear Arthur,” I said to
him one day when he began to despond; “indeed, I forget that
you are not the same. Judge me by yourself: would you look
at me with less of true love's preference, if I were to be altered
by misfortune?”
He shuddered, and exclaimed, “Do not mention it; I can-
not bear to think of it.” (I repeat his language, not with van-
ity, but to show his intense love of what he thought beautiful.)
“Let me gaze on you;” and he fixed his melancholy eyes full
on mine, “lest some awful power should change you. So long
as those fringed orbs beam in their speaking sweetness; so long
as I can trace the rose-tints on your cheeks, and the deep bril-
liancy of your lips; while your braided hair lies thus in its
glossy folds; while these soft hands are white as sun-tinged
ivory; while your step glides around me, and I can catch the fine
proportions of your modest form ; while your voice falls in sweet
modulations on my ears, stirring up love's echoes, I will bear
God's dispensations on myself ; but pray, pray that they may
stop before they reach you.”
Arthur was at length able to walk a few steps, though in
great weakness, about his apartment. In my earnestness to as-
sist him one day, I forgot that he might approach the looking-
glass; he did so inadvertently, glanced at himself, exclaimed,
“My God P’ and fell senseless.
He was removed to his bed, requested his room to be dark-
ened, and the curtains drawn around it, while, without repulsing
SOUTHERN MATRON. 269
my attentions, he seemed to prefer communing with himself in
silence. I saw that a violent struggle was going on, rendered
more overwhelming by his physical weakness. This lasted
some days.
“Cornelia,” said he to me at length, in a tone of bitterness,
“I intended to have surprised you with a gift from my poor
Ellen—a likeness of Arthur Marion; do you remember him 2
Look in my writing-desk and bring it to me.”
I went and presented it with a trembling hand, not daring to
glance at it. He told me to open a shutter; I did, and the
bright light burst in on the miniature and on him. -
“Come here,” said he, sternly; “come and look.” I obeyed;
the likeness was perfect. The girl who dreams of Endymion
never pictured anything more beautiful. I glanced at Arthur's
face, it was disfigured with conflicting passions. I perceived
that this was his last great trial, and braced myself for the re-
sult. He sat up in the bed, to which he had been confined
since his fall, gazed long and earnestly on the picture, then,
clinching it with upraised arm, dashed it against the ceiling.
He watched it as it was shivered to atoms; then, drawing the
bed-clothes over his face, wept and sobbed aloud.
I kneeled beside him, clasped his hands in mine, laid my head
on his pillow, and moaned as a mother with her suffering child.
I prayed to God to comfort him, and the prayer was accepted.
It was his last great struggle, and he rose from it like a man
and a Christian.
C H A P T E R X X XI W.
C H A N G E S.—W H IT E S E R W A N T S.
“If obliged to attend to some household affair,
I have scarco so much time as to say the Lord’s prayer;
This gives me no trouble; my dutiful part
Is obedience to him, whom I have at my heart
As well at my work as retiring to pray;
And his love does not suffer in mine a decay.
He has taught me himself, that a work which I do
For his sake is a prayer very real and true.”
- Poems of John By Romſ. 1691.
I KNow of no purer or more sacred pleasure than to watch
the recovery of a beloved valetudinarian, to see the eye light
up from day to day, and the grateful smile play round the lip;
to note the growing relish of the delicate appetite; to support
the footsteps of the feeble one a little farther, from effort to
effort; to see the glance rest soothingly on a fresh flower; to
hear the exclamation of joy at the first view of nature, as leaning
on our arm, the invalid looks abroad; to note the strengthen-
ing mind yield itself up while words of sacred truth or lighter
amusement are read; to take the first drive, and mark how the
breeze and sunshine come to the languid spirit as to a drooping
plant, lifting up its leaves of hope and joy.
It was delightful to me to be the minister of comfort to
Arthur, and to see the shadows pass off from his clear thoughts.
He was a religious being, and it was his comfort to throw his
cares on Him “who cared for him.” The sight of Patsey was
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 27
at first painful to him, but the dear child soon won her way to
his confidence; she laid her little head on his knees, climbed to
his arms, and told him, in childhood's winning tones, her pleas.
ures and troubles. Her grief for Binah's loss was exceedingly
affecting. She went about the house and grounds calling for
her mawma, or sang in low tones the hymns she had taught
her; and when the hour arrived when she had been accustomed
to lay her flaxen locks against Bimah's Sable cheek, while she
soothed her to sleep, for several nights a restless and plaintive
sound murmured on her lips, and an eager watching, as for
something lost, dwelt in her troubled eye.
Marion regained with health much of his original symmetry.
The radiance and softness of his dark eyes were unquenched,
and the long lashes gathered lovingly below them ; the curled
lip regained its fulness and richness, and even the deep scar on
his brow was hidden by the lock of hair whose pliant curl I
loved to adjust, when he, forgetful of the defect, carelessly
brushed it aside. - .
There was no obstacle to our marriage. The whole clan of
Wiltons and Marions met at Roseland, where mamma, revelling
in housewifery cheer, moved as in a native element. Strange
to say, there were but two offences given—one to a maiden
cousin of Arthur's, who had commenced making a nightcap for
me the day our engagement was announced to her. It was cut
in mathematical forms of every shape and size, embellished with
inserting trimming, and finished with two frills ; yet, notwith-
standing this token, she was omitted in the invitations. I sent
her an extra slice of cake to conciliate her, but it was returned
unopened, and she has never spoken to me to this day. The
other individual was a colored confectioner in the city, who ex-
pected to make my cake. The first time I met her after my
marriage she cut me, tossed up her head, and passed on; but
272 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
we were reconciled on my bespeaking my entertainment at my
first city party from her. .
Our summer was passed in journeying, and we realized the
rich experience of happiness shared by individuals who sympa-
thize in taste and feeling. We felt a thrill in common while
traversing the wild passes of Trenton Falls; the mutual prayer
burst from our lips beneath and above Niagara's torrent; we
clasped each other's hands on the brow of the Green Hills, and
gazed upward together in awe-struck homage at the White
Mountains; and it was with my own Arthur that I wept, his
old father standing by, over Duncan's grave. Unwedded love
has its jealousies, and wills not that even a flower should be
prized too highly; but wedded confidence is pure; knowing that
all is possessed of the heart's deep treasures, it gives and shares
with sober joy. Arthur stood silently by my side while memory
lent its tribute to true and tender friendship; and afterward,
folding me in sympathy to his heart, prayed that he might be
worthy of such tears.
The strong local attachment of negroes was developed in a
most interesting and amusing manner on our journey. Four
years previous to my marriage, a patroon, by the name of .
Ormsby, belonging to one of papa's schooners, was carried away
under mysterious circumstances, with another negro, a simple,
half-idiot fellow, belonging also to papa. When their loss was
announced and finally confirmed on the plantation, it was re-
ceived by Ormsby's wife with an apparent calmness singularly
contrasted with the usual obstreperous grief of her class. It
was observed, however, that as day passed away after day, she
never smiled ; and, though still attentive to her duty, wasted
away without any symptom of disease. Love had been the
sun of her existence as it had been to poor Anna’s more re-
fined affection. The vase, though colored differently, glowed
SOUTHERN MATRON. 273
by the same light from within ; when that light was ex-
tinguished, creation seemed dark to both. She went to her
daily tasks heedless of the jests of her lighter-hearted com-
panions; the cloud still hung around her face and over her
Soul, and in a year and a half she died, broken-hearted.
Arthur and I were attended in our journey from the South
by papa's coachman, and in a Northern city he unexpectedly
encountered Ormsby. The poor patroon sprang towards his
fellow-servant, wrung his hand, and burst into tears. He was
conducted to me, and no sooner recognized me than he fell on
his knees at my feet, clung to my garments, burst into tears
anew, and thanked God that he lived to see one of our family
again. He had been carried to Calcutta, had worked his way
back to America, and was endeavoring to return to Carolina.
I told him that he was at liberty to remain where he was, but
he said his only wish on earth was to live and die in his master's
service. The idiot fellow, who was with him, manifested his
feelings in an uncouth style, and all his affections were riveted
on the schooner from which he had been forced away. On our
return, papa told them that they were at liberty to dispose of
their own time as they pleased. The idiot rushed to his
schooner, hugged the mast, kissed the rigging, tossed up his hat
in the air, hurrahed; then lying down complacently with his
face to the sun, swore he would live and die there; and he kept
his word. Through the winter he served as a sailor, and in
summer, when the schooner was lying by, made her his home.
Ormsby continued an exemplary servant, devoted to papa's in-
terests. Less romantic than his faithful wife, he married again,
as he said, to be comfortable, but not until he had raised a sim-
ple slab, in the negro burial-place at Roseland, to the memory
of the broken-hearted one. -
This local feeling was also manifested in our coachman while
12*
274 RECoLLECTIONS OF A
we were at Niagara. After the silent and overwhelming joy
which ravished his spirit had passed away, Arthur said to
Mark— .
“Did you ever see anything so fine as this, boy?”
“Eh eh massa,” said the indignant fellow, snapping his
fingers, “dis here can't show he face to Couter Bridge P.
Couter Bridge consists of a few planks thrown over a muddy
spot in the suburbs of Charleston, a spot sacred to the truant
frolics of many an errand-boy. .
Amid our plans for the future we resolved to engage a white
female housekeeper. A young woman was recommended to us,
and her unfortunate circumstances decided us to take her to the
South. Her parents were both intemperate, and appropriated
to their sensual wants her daily earnings. Saddened and dis-
heartened, unable to support, and without the hope of reclaim-
ing them, she resolved to accompany us. Accidental engage-
ments prevented our meeting until we were on board the vessel,
and I was somewhat startled to find my housekeeper Miss Lu-
cilla Hall, in a cloth riding-habit, and straw bonnet fresher and
better than my own. There was a flash of self-respect in her
large dark eyes, and her dress was fitted to her person with a
precision that showed a determination to compete in appearance
with those above her. She was not actually graceful or ele-
gant, but how could I think of ordering such a person 7 I was
really embarrassed, said ma'am to her in my incertitude, and
used as much form, and perhaps more, than I should to a dis-
tinguished stranger. Southerners must necessarily experience
this awkwardness from the different mode in which servitude
exists in other portions of the country. Lucilla's discretion
and good sense soon, however, determined her level. She be.
gan superintending my baggage, and sat at that unobtrusive
distance where she could be summoned without seeming to be
SOUTHERN MATRON. 275
a companion. The only attempt at refinement on board the
vessel which did not sit gracefully on her, was a conversation
with a passenger, which I accidentally heard, on Walter Scott's
(ast novel ! How can I ask her to bring me a glass of water 2
thought I; and my difficulty in placing her in the right position
at home again occurred to me. .
On the evening of our arrival I showed her her apartment,
and paid her every attention in my power, which was rewarded
by her air of happiness and content. I bade her good-night
cheerfully, and left the dependant stranger to her busy dreams.
The next morning, as I opened the parlor door, I found her
standing with a newspaper in her hand. A deep red spot shone
on her cheek; her eye flashed a moment; then, dropping the
paper and covering her face with her hands, she burst into
tears, and left the room.
I took up the paper, and saw the secret of her wounded feel.
ings in the announcement of the arrival of Arthur Marion,
Esq., lady, and servant J Poor Lucilla, a dark cloud rested
for several days on her countenance; nor were her social rela-
tions, though I studied her feelings in every mode in my power,
calculated to make her happy. She seemed to hang in an un-
balanced sphere between me and the servants of the household.
By-and-by, however, a love-passage came in to throw a little
light over her heart. .
A young carpenter in the neighborhood, whom she had never
seen, sent her a brace of birds and a water-melon, upon which
she came, blushing with surprise, and asked my advice. I told
her it was probably a piece of neighborly attention, and she
had best accept them. The following day another watermelon
came, with the initials of both parties carved on the rind; and
on the third, as Lucilla stood in the piazza, two hands pushed a
huge one through the partially-opened street-door; it rolled
276 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
towards the excited girl, and she saw in large letters on the
green rind — -
“J. M.
to
L. H.
“‘If you love me as I love yon,
No knife shall cut our love in two.’”
Lucilla had not a spark of coquetry, and was evidently af.
fected by this novel courtship; my advice ceased to be asked,
and I lost my pretty housekeeper, who soon headed an estab-
lishment of her own.
It was about this time that the first great impulse was given
to the temperance cause in Massachusetts. An individual, who
may perhaps read these pages, made the parents of Lucilla his
especial care; they signed the pledge, reformed, and have since
gone down to peaceful graves, leaving their blessing and God's
smile on their benefactor.
The history of Lucilla's successor, which I will give in her
own language, illustrates some of the difficulties of servitude,
and is a beautiful picture of the every-day struggles of the con-
scientious poor. It will be seen by these two cases how difficult
it is to study the wishes of white dependants among us who
Jhave any refinement; the vulgar we cannot tolerate. Though
strictly attentive to her duties, I perceived that her feelings
were laboring under some excitement; and while seeking my
presence under various pretences, her manner was never serene
and composed.
One evening when I was alone in the country, waiting Ar-
thur's return from a club, I sent for Betsey from her own room
to sit with me. A cheerful fire blazed on the hearth; and as
we sat sewing together, I asked her some questions about her
early life, expressed my surprise at her correct language and
manners, and by degrees drew from her her simple story.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 277
“I do not recollect my father or mother,” said my humble
companion; “but at seven I was bound by the overseers of the
poor to a lady in Hoston, who promised to keep me until I was
eighteen, and provide for me, at the end of my service, a situa.
tion where I might learn a trade. A child of seven years is
very young to be cast out on the world, and many were the suf.
ferings I endured. Mrs. Granby was very kind to me; but she
had several young children who were badly managed, and I was
made the sport of their ill-humors. If they broke a plate, it
was immediately said, Betsey has done it; if the sugar was eaten
out of the sugar-bowl, the theft was laid to me; if one of the
children cried, it was Betsey who teased her. Sometimes when
I was sent into the nursery to watch them, we all played hap-
pily together, and then I forgot my troubles. Mrs. Granby
was opposed to punishment, and therefore the children were
allowed to do as they pleased. I have often gone to bed and
wept myself to sleep at the injustice that was done me. One
little girl, about four years of age, was afraid to go to bed alone;
and it was my task to lie down by her until she was fast asleep.
Many a cold evening I have laid shivering on the outside of the
bed, hoping every moment she would drop asleep; and just as I
imagined I could get away, she would bounce up, and cry, ‘Bet-
sey, Betsey, you shan’t go away P Sometimes I would drop to
sleep myself, and then, when it was time to lay the table for
supper, I was obliged to rouse myself, and go down half awake.
I did not have any very hard work to do, but I was called on
for every purpose; if anything was lost, Betsey must find it—
if wood was wanted, I must bring it. The grown-up servants
in the kitchen, as well as the children in the parlor, laid every.
blame on me, so that I hardly knew what was right or wrong.
If I told the truth, I was an impudent hussy; and if I tried to
conceal anything, I was a deceitful child. I was willing to
278 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
work, but was liable to so many interruptions that I accom-
plished nothing.
“I lived in this family until I was ten years old, when Mrs.
Granby died, and I was released from that service. I had
been very much neglected, and scarcely knew right from wrong;
but God watched over me, and I was kept from sin. I had a
little Bible, which had been my mother's ; and although I could
not read in it, I always kept it under my pillow, and I thought
it would help to make me good.
“After the funeral, I seemed to be left alone; for although
Mrs. Granby had done little for me, still she was kind, and fed
and clothed me; I had, besides, become attached to the little
girl by whose side I had lain so many mights; and when I saw
the carriage drive up to the door which was to take them all to
their grandmother's in the country, I thought I should die with
grief.
“It was soon spoken of in the neighborhood that little Bet-
sey wanted a place, and a lady came for me. In this new situ-
ation there were no children. The lady was very sickly, and
wished me to wait on her, and to be constantly in the room with
her. The change was very great, from one of noise, and disor-
der, and merriment, to a regular, quiet home, where neatness
and regularity were enjoyed and scrupulously practised. I was
scrubbed from head to feet, and new and decent garments were
made for me. Here I was taught to sew and read, and at
length could understand my own dear little Bible. Here I
learned the duty of submitting to the will of Providence; and
if severity of discipline sometimes made my tears flow, the word
of God taught me to bear my lot with patience. Mrs. Leitch
was fretful, and often unreasonable; she thought it no harm to
keep me confined in her apartment day after day, sewing and
knitting without intermission. She could not spare me to go
SOUTHERN MATRON, 279
to school; and as she felt it a duty that I should be instructed
in reading, as well as in moral and religious duties, she taught
me herself in those hours of ease which she sometimes enjoyed.
But you can hardly imagine how I longed to run out and play
in the sun and air, and to expand my limbs. But I could never
go; and it was wearisome to me to sit upright on a cricket.* at
work, or getting my lessons, the whole day. Sometimes my
labor was varied by the necessity of rubbing Mrs. Leitch when
she was in pain. I took pleasure in doing anything to procure
her ease. .
“Such confinement and seclusion from persons of my own
age wore upon my spirits, and I began to droop. One day she
asked me if I was unhappy, and if I wanted anything. She
seemed sorry for me, and I ventured to tell her I wished some-
times to go out as other children did. She was very angry, and
called me ungrateful, when she had done so much for me.
“In one year,’ said she, “you have been transformed from a
dirty, ignorant, ragged child, to a meat, well-clothed, and in-
structed waiting-maid. You have no hard work or drudgery to
perform, and have only to sit here with me like a lady P
“I told her she had been very kind and bountiful to me, and
that I would try and be contented. But she became from that
time very much dissatisfied with me. I was not allowed to read
or write, and was obliged to sew all day. If I rubbed her, she
said I took pains to hurt her; if I made the least noise, it was
done on purpose to make her head ache; if I looked out of the
window, it was because I wanted to be a vagabond about the
streets. I had no friends to whom I could apply, and I knew
not what to do. I was now twelve years old, and I one day
took courage to ask her to let me find another place.
“‘No,' said she after I have had so much trouble in teach-
* Term used in New-England for a low bench or stool.
280 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
ing you my ways, I shall not let you go.” Finding no hope of
getting away, I looked into my Bible for comfort, and saw,
‘The Lord preserveth the simple; I was brought low, and He
helped me.' I prayed for patience, and it was given to me; I
was gentle and docile, and Mrs. Leitch again became kind. At
length the physicians ordered her to try a change of climate,
and she released me from my service, and found me a place
with a friend of her own. She provided me with clothes, and
gave me some books and ten dollars. I shed tears at parting
with her; for although she was often unreasonable, still I per-
ceived that I had been much improved in her service. I ac-
companied her friend, Mrs. Grant, to a country residence, and
found myself, for the first time, among fields and flowers.
There my spirit bounded, and I was happy in those innocent
pleasures which spring from the bounties of nature. It was my
business here to attend on a sweet little girl of three years old,
an only child. I used to drag her in a carriage through the
walks in the garden, and pick fruit and flowers and throw in her
lap. I arose with the sun, and it was delightful to go out and
hear the birds sing, and take my little girl by the hand and
walk down to the side of the river, and see the waters glide
along I was not required to perform any other labor than to
attend this darling child, and I was allowed to read and employ
myself in any way, so that I still kept my attention fixed on
her. We were always in the room with her mother, except
when little Mary was required to take exercise, which was sev-
eral hours every day. The mildness of my temper gave Mrs.
Grant a confidence in my care, and I was allowed to carry her
about without restraint. I now found the value of the disci-
pline to which I had been accustomed; my habits of order and
industry made my services quite valuable; and it was a pleasure
to me, after my walk in the morning with the little child, to sit
SOUTHERN MATRON. 28]
down in the room with her, and teach her little lessons and
hymns. Never was any young creature so gay and happy as
myself. Mrs. Grant gave me leave to attend the Sunday-school,
and there I was instructed in those moral and religious truths
which teach us our obligation to God and our duty to our fel-
low-mortals.
“Autumn came and winter, and still found me happy, and
thankful to God for this asylum. When I awoke in the morn-
ing and looked forth on the fields and distant hills covered with
snow, I was overwhelmed with the magnificence of nature. I
almost forgot that I was poor and dependant, and that I might
at any moment be cast out to seek my bread among strangers.
At length the birds began to sing; the flowers sprang up; and
the trees put forth their blossoms. I held our dear little Mary
by the hand, and had just fixed a nosegay to carry in to her
mother, when, as we reached the door, two men came up and
asked for Mrs. Grant. I introduced them into the parlor, and
one of them handed her a letter; she read it, uttered not a
word, but would have fallen to the floor, if I had not sprung to
her and supported her. The men looked at her with great
compassion. At length she recovered; and when she could
speak, said, ‘We are ruined, Betsey. Mr. Grant is in jail! I
must give up all and go to him P
“It was even so. He had been unfortunate in some specu-
lations, and all his property was attached. At that moment I
did not think of a separation from this dear lady and her sweet
child, and thought I should go with her to prison; but she soon
convinced me that it would be impossible. She said she must
give up all her indulgences, wait on herself, and try to assist
her husband. After exhausting myself in unavailing sympathy
for her, the forlornness of my situation rushed on my mind, and
I felt that I must lose the home where I had been so happy for
282 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
one whole year; and to part with my dear little Mary was the
hardest fate of all.
“After a short struggle, Mrs. Grant summoned up her reso-
lution, delivered the house and furniture into the hands of the
officer, and began to make arrangements for her own departure.
She collected her domestics, and gave them all she could—good
advice, and a good character, with a promise, if it should ever
be in her power, to pay them the wages that remained due.
They were much attached to her, and begged her not to think
of them, but hoped for her sake that her husband would get out
of his difficulties. They took a respectful leave, and with many
tears departed from a house where they had been treated more
like friends than servants. They had friends and acquaintances,
knew how to make themselves useful, and could soon get into a
new service; but for me, where, alas ! could I go? I went to
my little chamber, where I had so often kissed Mary to sleep,
and there wept bitterly. Presently I heard that sweet voice
calling, “Betsey, Betsey, come to my mother l’ I wiped away
my tears and tried to compose myself.
“My good friend held out her hand to me and said, ‘Betsey,
this is the hardest task of all; you have been so affectionate
and so faithful to my child that I can hardly give you up. Oh,
my poor girl, I cannot pay you your year's earnings, or the ten
dollars you gave me to keep for you!”
“She had often advised me to take up my wages, and put the
money in the savings-bank; but it was some trouble, and it was
ut off. I begged her not to think of me, but to allow me to
assist her in packing up. This was a heart-rending business;
and as I folded little Mary's clothes, and laid them one after
another in the travelling trunk, my tears flowed afresh. The
little child came and put her arms around my neck, and Said.
SOUTHERN MATRON. 283
‘Don’t cry, Betsey; Mary will soon come back and bring you
Sugar-plums and cake P , ** -
“At length all was ready. Mrs. Grant had selected such
articles from her own clothes as she thought would be useful to
me, and insisted on my taking them. She also gave me a writ-
ten certificate of good character and conduct, and recommended
me to the care of a poor but respectable woman, who was under
obligations to her, and with whom I was to remain until I found
a place. The carriage drove off, and I was left the last in the
house, to lament alone.
“Those who have the comfort and protection of a father's
house, and whose wants are all supplied by parental affection,
can little imagine the desolate feeling I endured when I saw the
door close which shut me out from a happy home. But it was
necessary I should exert myself, and I took up my bundle and
wälked on.
“I was kindly received by the good woman to whom I had
been recommended. After some days, I heard of a lady who
wanted a chambermaid. I was now about fourteen, and large
of my age. The lady took my certificate and read it, then
handed it to her daughters, three young ladies, who sat in the
I’OOIſl.
“‘Honest, good-tempered, faithful, were pronounced aloud.
“A very good character, young woman,’ said the lady; “but
what kind of work can you do?'
“I can sew, and knit, and read,” said I; ‘and I have been
accustomed to attend on a sick lady and little child.’
“At this reply they all burst out a laughing; I thought I
must have said something very ridiculous. At length the lady
asked me ‘if I could wash and iron.” “No, ma'am.’ “Do up
nice muslims and laces?’ ‘No, ma'am.’ “Clean a room ?’ ‘I
have never tried, but could easily learn.” “Well, young Woman,
284 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
you will not do for me, as we do our own sewing and reading,
and we want a chambermaid who knows how to work.”
“I went away with a heavy heart | On my next application
for a place I was careful not to say anything of my qualifica-
tion for reading and sewing, and merely answered to the in-
quiries that were made, that I was willing to do any kind of
work, and had no doubt that I should give satisfaction. I was
so unwilling to be a tax on the poor woman who sheltered me,
that I engaged to do more than I honestly thought I could ac-
complish; and if I was wrong I hope God will forgive me.
“On Sunday evening I entered on my new service. Here
was a large family of grown-up people. Mrs. Holt, the mis-
tress of the house, an active, stirring body, kept every one in
her employment at work. My companions in the kitchen were
a large red-faced woman who cooked, a man who took care of
the horses and worked in the garden, and a boy to wait on table
and make the fires. They were all vulgar, coarse-looking
people. They soon found out that I had been delicately brought
up, and conceived a great dislike for me. I was soon known
by the nickname of ‘Miss Mince.” On Monday morning the
clothes were brought forth to be washed, and for the first time
I took my place at the washtub. It was not long before I
rubbed the skin from my hands, and the pain and smart of the
soap was intolerable; still I did not dare to complain. It was
fortunate that I was called from the washtub frequently to do
other work about the house, or I could not have gotten through
the day. At last we got through the long day; the kitchen
floor was washed, and the tea things put away, and I took a
book of devotion from my pocket and began to read. All my
companions laughed at me, and said I should soon be taught
better than that. I asked them very mildly if they wished me
to do anything for them; they said no, but still kept on laugh-
SOUTHERN MATRON. 285
ing. In a few minutes in came the mistress. She lifted up
both hands, and exclaimed, ‘Heyday, Betsey, can't you find
nothing to do but to set down and read ' I shut up my book
in some confusion, and said I hoped she would excuse me, as I
did not know that she had anything for me to do that evening.
Her anger was appeased by my gentleness, and she said, ‘Well,
child, you should come and ask for work when you do not know.
what to do, as I cannot afford to pay help unless all their time
is spent in my service.” She then produced a large basketful
of stockings, and told me to employ my leisure on them, and
not sit idling away time with books .
“I had little sympathy from my companions. Still I never
retorted when they said harsh or satirical things to me. By
this method I gained their forbearance, and I have always found
that a kind and gentle temper will conciliate the most unfeeling
and ferocious. Thus, although I was not happy, they restrained
their taunts; and sometimes, when we were all seated in the
kitchen, after our labor was accomplished, they would ask me
to read to them. This indulgence almost cost me my place, as
Mrs. Holt declared she would have no such doings, and if I
continued such a practice I should quit the house. Sometimes
I took a little bit of candle to enable me to read a chapter in
my little Bible before I went to sleep; but when she found that
out, she obliged me to go to bed in the dark.
“By diligence and attention I soon became expert in per-
forming all the work that was required of me, and I should
have been contented with my lot if I could have had a little
leisure for my own use. When it was found that I performed
my work with so much despatch, other labor was added. The
young ladies of the family gave me their sewing and mending,
and so encroached on my good-nature that they frequently kept
me at work until near midnight, .
286 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
“I continued in this family a year; but their demands on
my services increased, and they were so unreasonable, that I
resolved to quit them. I told them my intention ; they were
astonished. I had been so docile and submissive, that it never
occurred to them that I should have resolution enough to leave
them. .
“At this period I accidentally broke a valuable glass dish.
I never could tell how it fell from my hand, but it seemed to
be without my will and almost without my knowledge. Mrs.
Holt was standing by when the accident occurred. I saw her
eye kindle with passion, and, before I could apologize, her hand
came with a powerful blow on my ear, and the expression,
‘Careless huzzy, and trollop P burst from her angry lips. I
felt faint and frightened, and cried as if my heart would break;
I wished that the earth would open and take me in. I offered
to pay for the loss; the money was declined, but most ungra-
ciously, and the few days I remained I was hourly twitted
about the broken dish. And yet it required a great effort for
me to get away. I had been in the habit of submitting to cir-
cumstances, and it seemed to be my fate to encounter hard-
ships. But I had saved my wages for one year, and felt some
degree of independence. I determined to stay a few days with
the aged friend with whom I once found shelter; and as I had
now the means of paying my board, I felt the less reluctance at
claiming the shelter of her hospitable roof. Accordingly, after
I had taken a respectful leave of Mrs. Holt and her daughters,
and had given a cordial adieu to my companions in the kitchen,
I retired to the repose of humble life. I was truly refreshed
by the sympathy of my old friend, and the quiet and rest which
even poverty can offer to the weary heart. I had time to think
of my Creator and my Redeemer; and I shall never forget the
feeling of happiness I enjoyed the first Sabbath I found my-
souTHERN MATRON. 287
self at liberty to attend the services of God's holy temple dur-
ing the whole day. How ardently did I wish to devote myself
wholly to Him; and if I ever felt inclined to repine at my lot,
it was when I looked round on the well-filled church, and con-
sidered what Christian privileges most of the congregation en-
joyed, and how little I had hitherto been enabled to mingle my
prayers and supplications at the throne of grace, and how igno-
rant I had remained of my Christian duties.
“This day was an anniversary of the Sabbath-school, and I
soon discovered that the privilege of attending it extended to
all, and that I had only to make known my spiritual wants to
be received as a pupil. From this time my views of life were
entirely changed. I felt myself one of God's creatures, and no
longer suffered from the humiliation of being an outcast, with-
out relatives or friends. I now realized that I was equally the
subject of his providence, and that, by a faithful discharge of
the duties of my humble station, I should render a homage
equally acceptable to him as if my opportunities were more ex-
tensive. ‘An humble and a contrite heart, oh God I thou wilt
not despise; and as I breathed in silence a prayer for the influ-
ence of his Holy Spirit on my heart, I felt that mine was al-
ready accepted
“It was at this period that I heard of a Southern lady who
wished a white servant, and I applied for the situation. She
had already a negro attendant of her own travelling with her.
For the first few days that we travelled together I was very
much struck with the formality of her manner to me, and the
intimacy she seemed to feel for Dinah. I had never seen but
one negro before, and always had a dread, of them ; from early
prejudice, I could hardly believe my own eyes when I saw the
confidence that was placed in Dinah.
“When we arrived in Charleston, I found that I was to go
288 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
into the country and keep the keys for a Mrs. Randolph, who
was an invalid. I cannot describe my home-sickness. A
strange fear made me avoid the blacks. When I went to bed
it seemed to me as though I should see their faces peering
through the doors and windows. Mrs. Randolph's politeness
to me was painful in the extreme. I felt as if I was in an ice
palace. I had everything I wanted; indeed, I never saw so
much elegance in my life, and never had such attendance, but
it seemed all above and below me. Mrs. Randolph changing
her residence, you were kind enough, ma'am, to take an interest
in me, and I will make bold to tell you my feelings. My own
voice sometimes frightens me; my dreams are dreadful; and
when you and Mr. Marion go to the city, I feel as if I wanted
to close my ears, and shut my eyes, and stop the beating of my
heart until you come back. Oh, if I could only return,” she
concluded, timidly, the large tears dropping on her busy mee-
dle, “I think I would be willing to work my fingers to the
bone.”
It will be easily conjectured that, in a solitude like Bellevue,
the companionship, even of so humble an individual as Betsey,
would be desirable; but, though her heart was in some measure
relieved by unfolding its feelings, and by my consequent sym-
pathy, yet I perceived her spirits droop, and determined, on
our February visit to the city, to restore her to her native cli-
mate. Since that period I have not renewed the experiment
of white American servants at the South. Foreigners, from
their habit of looking up to fixed classes in society, enter read-
ily into the peculiarities of our institutions, and therefore are
better suited to this office; but experience seems to have deci-
ded that an attached, faithful negro, is a more suitable servant
in our portion of the country, under existing institutions, than
any other. It would weary me were I to relate the instances
SOUTHERN MATRON. 289
which have fallen under my observation, of devoted kindness
from this class of persons to those by whom they have been
reared; their jealousy of the rights and reputation of their mas-
ters; their kindness in sickness, and the affectionate demonstra-
tions of grief with which they follow them to the grave.
13
C H A P T E R X X X W.
T H E PLA N T E R 's B R T D E.
“She sitteth by his chair,
And holds his feeble hand;
She watcheth ever there,
His wants to understand.
His yet unspoken will
She hasteneth to fulfil.”
MIss BRowNE’s “Woman’s Love.”
“He goes from her chamber straight
Into life's justle ;
He meets at the very gate
Business and bustle.”
MISS BROWNE’s “JMan’s Love.”
THE planter's bride, who leaves a numerous and cheerful
family in her paternal home, little imagines the change which
awaits her in her own retired residence. She dreams of an in-
dependent sway over her household, devoted love and unbroken
intercourse with her husband, and indeed longs to be released
from the eyes of others, that she may dwell only beneath the
sunbeam of his. And so it was with me. After our bustling
wedding and protracted journey, I looked forward to the retire-
ment at Bellevue as a quiet port in which I should rest with
Arthur, after drifting so long on general society. The romance
of our love was still in its glow, as might be inferred by the in-
fallible sign of his springing to pick up my pocket-handkerchief
whenever it fell.
On arriving at Bellevue, which Arthur had recently pur-
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON. 29 |
chased, with its standing furniture, I perceived the most gro-
tesque arrangement. Whatever was too old or dilapidated for
the city, the former proprietor had despatched into the country.
The furniture seemed like the fag-end of all housekeeping wares.
If a table had lost a leg, it was banished to Bellevue, where the
disabled part was supported by a bit of hickory or pine; the
mirrors, which comprised all varieties, from heavy carved mahog-
any frames to gilt ones, with amiable shepherds and shepherd-
esses pictured at the top, seemed as if the queen of the earth-
quakes had been angered by her own reflection, and rent them
in fissures. In one I had the pleasure of seeing myself multi-
plied almost indefinitely; in another, an eye or a nose, a fore-
head or a waist, was severed in two ; and in another, unless I
stood on tiptoe, a grinning, unnatural thing looked at me above
and below the cracks. In one room was an old-fashioned sec-
retary, towering to the ceiling, where a few worm-eaten books
leaned against each other, as if for companionship in their soli-
tude; while near it was a finical table, with its defaced gilding
hidden by a piece of faded green baize. The sideboard, which
was covered with rich silver, was also set off with tumblers and
wine-glasses for all sizes and fancies; the andirons, things with
long slender stands, and Lilliputian brass heads surmounting
their slight bodies, looked as if they were invoking something
up the large chimneys; the bellows wheezed as if far gone in
the asthma; the tongs lapped over with a sudden spasm, clutch-
ing tenaciously the unoffending brands; if I attempted to sweep
the hearth, I was left with the handle only in my grasp ; the
large glass shades, intended to protect the candles from the air,
admitted, like treacherous allies, the enemy in at various
breaches; small bits of carpet were laid here and there in the
apartments, as a kind of hint at warmth; the bed-curtains and
spreads were mostly patterns of gorgeous birds and trees, but
292 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
being imperfectly matched in the sewing, a peacock's plumage
was settled on the neck of a humming-bird, a parrot seemed in
the act of eating his own tail, and a fine oak came sprouting out
of a bird's nest. Arthur was infinitely amused when I called
his attention to the china, which varied from the finest Dres,
den to the common crockery of the dram-shops. The medley,
in variety, would have done credit to a modern drawing-room.
The harmonious and joyous frame of our minds rendered
these things a source of amusement. For several weeks all kinds
of droll associations were conjured up, and we laughed at any-
thing and nothing. What cared we for fashion and pretension?
There we were together, asking for nothing but each other's
presence and love. At length it was necessary for him to tear
himself away to superintend his interests. I remember when
his horse was brought to the door for his first absence of two
hours; an observer would have thought that he was going a far
- journey, had he witnessed that parting ; and so it continued for
some days, and his return at each time was like the sun shoot-
ing through a three days' cloud.
But the period of absence was gradually protracted; then a
friend sometimes came home with him, and their talk was of
crops and politics, draining the fields and draining the revenue,
until I (country ladies will believe me) fell off into a state as
nearly approaching sleep as a straight-backed chair would allow.
Arthur, however, rarely forgot me in conversation with others;
he had the art, in which most men are so entirely deficient, of
directing a glance to a lady, while conversing with gentlemen
on themes apparently uninteresting to her—a glance which
seemed not only to acknowledge her presence, but to pay defer-
ence to her thoughts. He did not, as is too often the case, for-
get that a sentient being was without companionship but in
him ; but seemed to feel what is probably true, that if women
SOUTHERN MATRON. 293
are occasionally asked for their opinions, they may be induced
to look into the depths of their minds to see if an opinion is
there. But Arthur had few aids in this delicate mode of com-
plimenting; after the ordinary questions were answered, I was
usually left to ponder on the strip of carpet before the hearth,
and wonder why it did not come up to the chairs, while my neigh-
bor gradually hitched himself round with one shoulder towards
me and his forefinger on Arthur's thigh.
Arthur was a member of a social club—but he had allowed
several citations to pass unnoticed, until it occurred to him
that he was slighting his friends; I thought so too, and said
so, without permitting the sigh to escape that lay at the bot-
tom of my heart, at the idea of his passing an evening away
from me.
4% They shall not keep me long from you, my love,” he said, as
we parted; “I have little joy without you.”
But it was very long to me. I could bear to be alone in the
morning, when I pursued various occupations, and was even
happy. When weary with sewing and reading, I strolled to the
poultry-yard, and heard Maum Nelly's stories of how twenty
fine young turkeys had just tottled backward and died so; or
how the minks and chicken-snakes had sucked half the fowl-
eggs; or see her stuff pepper-corns down the young turkeys'
throats, and pick the pip from the old fowls. Luckily for me, I
as yet cared little for the pecuniary loss, while I really enjoyed
the sight of the healthy flocks, as she exhibited them with a
kind of maternal pride, calling the seniors by name. I loved to
hear the delicate peeping of the little things, and see how un-
selfishly the parent bird sacrificed the choicest morsels for
them; I loved, too, to stand by the duck-pond, and listen to
the plash as the old ones descended to the water, and watch
their proud and happy look as their offspring followed with in-
294 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
stinctive power. I noted the chaste-robed pea-fowl, with its
metallic-sounding cry, and smiled as the strutting and vaporing
turkey paraded in “brief authority.”
Then I visited the dairy, which was charmingly situated just
where a small creek entered among the trees. A clear spring
ran directly across the stone floor, and a fine spreading live-oak
shaded it above. I enjoyed those days in the week when the
little negroes came trooping along with their piggins for milk,
the largest bearing the babies on their backs, and obtaining a
double portion for them. .
There is unquestionably as much a school of old manners
among the negroes as with the whites, and Dinah, my dairy.
woman, belonged to this class, specimens of which are rapidly
declining. Her reception of me at the dairy was more that of a
dignified hostess than a servile dependant, as, with a low court-
esy and wave of the hand, she pointed to a bench for me to be
seated. She belonged to the class, also waning, who blend re-
ligious expressions and benedictions with their common phrase-
ology. Dinah, too, possessed a native humor and keenness
that sometimes amused me. Being short in stature, she asked
me to reach a calabash, which was set aside on a high shelf for
my especial use when I wished a draught of milk.
“'Scuse me, missis,” said she, “when tall was give, I no
dere.” .
Observing that she replied in the affirmative to questions of
opposite bearing, I asked her meaning.
“'Scuse me, missis,” she answered; “I is gitting hard o' hear-
ing, and yes is more politer dan no.”
Sometimes I even strayed, for companionship, to the potato-
fire, which, though in the open air, was rarely extinguished, and
usually found some one roasting or eating. As I lingered there
one day, I inquired of an old man, who was hoeing his own
SOUTHERN MATRON. . 295
ground, about some work neglected by the gardener. He rested
on his hoe and shook his head.
“My missis,” said he, “you no been hear 'bout Dick?”
“No,” I answered; “what of him 7”
“He disgrace we all,” said the old man, resuming his work.
“He tief one sheep—he run away las week, cause de overseer
gwine for flog him. He an’t desarve a good maussa, like Maussa
Arthur !” .
My next walk was to the sick-house. Arthur had as yet
superintended the duty here, but it gradually became my pleas-
ure to assist him ; and, though with some timidity remem-
bering mamma's example, I prescribed and weighed the sim-
plest medicines, and soon became interested in the individuals.
I have said that the morning passed slowly, though happily,
even without Arthur; but that club afternoon seemed inter-
minable. The weather was mild, and, tired of the house and of
sitting down to one plate, that loneliest of all positions, I again
walked out to enjoy the declining day and beguile the long
hours. I involuntarily paused at the frog-pond, for there
seemed a kind of sociality in their voices. Everything de-
pends on the mood of mind. It was but the evening before
that Arthur and I had astonished the frogs by our excellent
imitation of their melodies. Standing at opposite sides of the
little pond, he took the bass and I the treble, until we were
hoarse with shouting and laughter; now they had a melancholy
sound, and I turned homeward. At this moment a man slowly
rose from the bushes near, and looked about carefully. I dis-
cerned in him Dick, the runaway. He looked haggard, and, ap-
proaching with an humble air, confessed his fault, and begged
my intercession with his master to allow him to return once
more to his duties. I undertook the office, and the next day he
was permitted to go into the field.
296 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
The house seemed so deserted, that, though half ashamed of
my own want of energy and mental control, I walked to the
piazza. I was glad of the salute of the last lingering laborers
on their way from the fields; I listened to the swineherd's
horn, and saw his uncouth group at a distance, turning towards
their pen; the shepherd came next, with his more romantic
charge, and I enticed them, by throwing corn from the piazza,
to bear me company a little while; but they soon followed the
shepherd as he called, individually, their well-known names.
Then came the ducks, whose wings were uncut, flying from a
neighboring field to seek their night's shelter, sweeping below
the deep-tinged sky with flapping wings and happy screams.
The sun shot up his last rays on the twilight clouds; the crows
wheeled from the field to the forest; the whippoorwill's cry,
which the hum of day had stifled, came clearly and solemnly on
the air; the young moon rose with her slight crescent, and
rapid darkness followed. I returned to the parlor, pushed to-
gether the brands on the hearth, threw on lightwood myself,
though two servants stood waiting by, and at length heard a
footstep. It was Arthur's; I sprang towards him, and we had
as much to say as if he had been to India.
This club-engagement, however, brought on others. I was
not selfish, and even urged Arthur to go to hunt and to dinner-
parties, although hoping that he would resist my urging. He
went frequently, and a growing discomfort began to work upon
my mind. I had undefined forebodings; I mused about past
days; my views of life became slowly disorganized; my physical
powers enfeebled; a nervous excitement followed; I nursed a
moody discontent, and ceased a while to reason clearly. Woe
to me had I yielded to this irritable temperament I began
immediately, on principle, to busy myself about my household.
The location of Bellevue was picturesque—the dwelling airy
SOUTHERN MATRON. 297
and commodious; I had, therefore, only to exercise taste in ex-
ternal and internal arrangement to make it beautiful through-
out. I was careful to consult my husband in those points
which interested him, without annoying him with mere trifles.
If the reign of romance was really waning, I resolved not to
chill his noble confidence, but to make a steadier light rise on
his affections. If he was absorbed in reading, I sat quietly
waiting the pause when I should be rewarded by the communi-
cation of ripe ideas; if I saw that he prized a tree which in-
terfered with my flowers, I sacrificed my preference to a more
Sacred feeling; if any habit of his annoying me, I spoke of it
once or twice calmly, and then bore it quietly if unreformed;
Iwelcomed his friends with cordiality, entered into their family
interests, and stopped my yawns, which, to say the truth, was
Sometimes an almost desperate effort, before they reached eye
or ear. .
This task of self-government was not easy. To repress a
harsh answer, to confess a fault, and to stop (right or wrong) in
the midst of self-defence, in gentle submission, sometimes re-
quires a struggle like life and death; but these three efforts are
the golden threads with which domestic happiness is woven;
once begin the fabric with this woof, and trials shall not break
or sorrow tarnish it. -
Men are not often unreasonable; their difficulties lie in not
understanding the moral and physical structure of our sex.
They often wound through ignorance, and are surprised at hav-
ing offended. How clear is it, then, that woman loses by petu-
lance and recrimination! Her first study must be self control,
almost to hypocrisy. A good wife must smile amid a thousand
perplexities, and clear her voice to tones of cheerfulness when
her frame is drooping with disease, or else languish alone.
Man, on the contrary, when trials beset him, expects to find her
13%
298 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON.
ear and heart a ready receptacle; and, when sickness assails
him, her soft hand must nurse and sustain him. .
I have not meant to suggest that, in ceasing to be a mere
lover, Arthur was not a tender and devoted husband. I have
only described the natural progress of a sensible, independent
married man, desirous of fulfilling all the relations of society.
Nor in these remarks would I chill the romance of some young
dreamer, who is reposing her heart on another. Let her dream
on. God has given this youthful, luxurious gift of trusting
love, as he has given hues to the flower, and Sunbeams to the
sky. It is a superadded charm to his lavish blessings; but let
her be careful that when her husband
“Wakes from love's romantic dream,
His eyes may open on a sweet esteem.”
Let him know nothing of the struggle which follows the first
chill of the affections; let no scenes of tears and apologies be
acted to agitate him, until he becomes accustomed to agitation;
thus shall the star of domestic peace arise in fixedness and
beauty above them, and shine down in gentle light on their
lives, as it has on ours.
(; H A P T E R XXX W I.
TRIAL OF MY PRINCIPLE. — MY IN E W C.A. R. R.I.A. G. E.
— M. Y. G. A. R. D. E.N.
“If we read nature's book with a serious eye,
Not a leaf but some precious thought on it doth lie:
And 'tis good to go forth among scenes like these,
Amid music and sunshine, and flowers and trees,
If 'twere only to waken the deep love that springs
At the sight of all lovely and innocent things.”
. ANNA MARIA WELLs.
ARTHUR and I, as the period drew near for our town-visit,
began to discuss the subject of a new carriage. Long and fre-
quent were the debates with regard to the color, shape, and or-
naments; and this, perhaps, is one evil of country life, that it
makes us attach a disproportionate interest to trifles. I in-
clined to a fawn-color, Arthur to deep green. He preferred a
coachman's box; I desired an open front, that he might some-
times take the reins. The contest once or twice rose pretty
high. I came down to breakfast one morning with a frown, and
a determined, if not sullen, taciturnity, and Arthur rode away
half an hour earlier than usual. This brought me to a recol-
lection of my principle of self-sacrifice in trifles, and I was en-
abled to meet my husband with a smile, and say, on his re-
turn—
“On the whole, Arthur, I think your deep green will be the
best color for the carriage. It will wear well.” .
300 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
“Ah, well, dearest,” said he, tenderly smoothing down a curl
on my forehead, “I am glad to hear it, and I begin to incline
to the open front. I shall often wish to be independent and
drive you myself.”
Everything now seemed to be going on smoothly, when, in
looking over Arthur's letters one day in an old chest, I found
the Marion coat of arms. It seemed to me a perfect piece of
good fortune. Under what class our arms came, whether of
pretension, of concession, of succession, of assumption, or of
family, I could not tell. I only thought that the dots and di-
agonal lines, and something that looked like two swords crossed
would have a very pretty effect on the carriage, and, as soon as
Arthur came in, ran and told him. I know not exactly why,
but the subject struck him in a most ludicrous light; so far
from entering into my views, he took the paper in his hand and
proposed comical substitutes that would be in better keeping—
cotton-bags coupé, Sweet potatoes vert, alligators dormant,
shrimps gulés, and terrapins couchant ; and, running every
change which his vivid fancy could furnish, he ended with a
long, loud laugh, that went tingling through my ears and irri-
tating my system to the very soles of my feet.
Every observer of human nature must have perceived, that
lovers not only do not exercise the power of ridicule over each
other, but they cannot conceive that the idol of their imagina-
tions should be the subject of it. As intercourse in marriage
becomes familiar, and the little graces of etiquette are laid aside,
the idol, though not less worshipped, becomes less sacred. She
is not the deity of the temple, but of the household; she is no
longer the great Diana of Ephesus, approached at a distance
with mysterious rites, but one of the Lares, meeting the familiar
glance at every turn. This difference is never felt so keenly by
a woman, as when she first discovers that it is possible for her
SOUTHERN MATRON. 301
to appear ridiculous to her husband. A man who differs from
his wife and reasons with her, rather elevates her self-love; but,
the moment he laughs at her, she feels that the golden bowl of
married sympathy is broken. . .
How many kinds of laughter there are The first clear,
sweet notes of the infant, like the soft tinkling of a silver bell;
the child's laugh, with voice and mind gushing out like a foun-
tain; the maiden's laugh, when sensibility touches her tones
like music ; the rich, manly laugh, when wit goes to the recesses
of intellect, and brings out its echoes; the girl's giggle behind
her fan; the old man's laugh of habit, that sounds like the wind
through an empty house; the maniac's laugh, sad and dreary as
the last leaf on a withered tree; the parrot's laugh, calling out
and yet repelling sympathy with its natural unnaturalness.
Arthur's was like none of these at the moment of which I speak;
it was one brought out by a sense of the ridiculous; and if a
sister, or wife, or child can stand quietly by and hear such a
one, she ought to be immortalized. I did not. I sat down de-
liberately and had a hearty cry, notwithstanding my principle.
Poor Arthur, who had never thought about all this, and fancied
I was enjoying his jests, was dismayed. He clasped me in his
arms, apologized with all the tenderness and sincerity of his na-
ture, and I never heard that laugh again. ... -
I was, in the sequel, perfectly satisfied with my airy and ele-
gant carriage, entered into the city amusements with animation,
went through a February campaign with eclat, and had no wishes
ungratified that wealth could procure. Letters of introduction
were poured in upon us from all quarters, and we were glad and
proud to be hospitable.
I was prepared one morning to call on a stranger, when vis-
itors were announced; and, glancing round the drawing-room, I
perceived on the sofa a ratan, which had been brought in by
302 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
one of my young brothers. I caught it up, and twisting it
into a coil, thrust it into my velvet reticule, and received my
guests. As soon as they departed I sprang into the carriage,
which was in waiting, and drove away. The ladies were at
home. In the course of conversation I unthinkingly drew my
scented pocket-handkerchief from my bag, when out flew the
ratan with a bound, and rolled to the feet of the stranger. My
deep and inextinguishable blush probably helped on any un-
charitable surmises that she might have made, and who can
blame her, after such evidence, for reporting that Charleston
ladies carried cowskins in their pockets!
I was the personation of benevolence in my new carriage, and
unaffectedly enjoyed the pleasure I conferred, yet every happi-
ness has its alloy. If an acquaintance expected a friend at the
wharves, Mrs. Marion's carriage was sent for and detained half
the day; I was kept the very latest of the company at parties
and balls, because my carriage had so many turns to make;
when invalids arrived in the city my carriage was borrowed, and
the credit went to the borrower, not to me. A child of one
lady was allowed to rub its sugar candy over the fine cloth
linings, and another preferred standing on the cushions to sit-
ting down. Some fair rioters broke a glass returning crowded
from a ball; one of my horses took cold by being overheated in
a long drive out of town; another was injured by being delayed
until twelve at a party, which the borrower said would break up
at nine; my best coachman became chilled, irritable, and at
length intemperate; and what capped the climax was a remark
from my most frequent borrower, that she was surprised that
Mrs. Marion could sport such a shabby carriage with a drunken
coachman
* $: $ # * % *
I found a small but favorable gardening-spot attached to our
SOUTHERN MATRON, 303
city residence, and a taste for the beautiful, which can always
touch the humblest spot with grace, did not allow me to let it
go to waste. The mere aspect of a bud or flower, without a
higher association, is so pure and soothing to the lover of na-
ture, that it repays the glance which bends over its daily
growth; and I envy not him who can look coldly on a blade
shooting from its unsightly seed into verdure, the sacred and
startling emblem of that mortal which is to put on immortality.
And how much of the poetry of life springs from flowers
How delicate a pleasure is it to twine the orange-blossom or
japonica for the bride—to arrange a bouquet for the invalid—
to throw simple flowers into the lap of childhood—and to pull
rosebuds for the girl of whom they are the emblem
But gardens are not all poetry: witness the long-drawn coun-
tenance of the lady whose delicious geraniums are crumbled to
yellow weeds by the frost; witness the housewife, whose imagi-
nation has sprung forward to the moment when her savory cab-
bages shall enter on her dinner-table, as fit companions to boiled
pork or beef, when she visits her garden, and finds that a hard-
hearted fowl has deliberately picked the plants up by the roots,
rifled their green leaves, and left only withered relics; witness
the gentleman who has watched his figs and grapes with such
interest that even the daily paper has been laid aside to note
their development, when he finds that the insects, with keener
instinct than himself, have seized upon the ripe subjects and
rifled their very cores!
There are other mortifications, that seem petty in detail, but
which inflict a real pang on the florist. How often have I spent
hours of culture on a rare blossom, and presented it as a valua-
ble gift, seen it received with smiles and thanks, and then ob-
served the thoughtless recipient crumble up the leaves in her
304 RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOUTHERN MATRON,
fingers, or pull and throw them on the floor, or deliberately chew
them
Sometimes individuals have visited my garden and gathered
flowers which have cost me not only time and labor, but heavy
pecuniary sums, as unconcernedly as they would a blade of
grass; sometimes, when I have cherished a little slip until it
has shown signs of independent existence, a considerate lady
has begged me for a cutting ! -
Other vexations, too, occur, on which the florist does not cal- .
culate when she yields up her heart to flowers. An English-
man presented me with four seeds, on the envelope of which
was written an almost unpronounceable name, long and imposing.
I was never selfish, and, in the warmth of my heart, gave two to
botanists. I planted mine, and watched them day by day. At
last they came up, and, with the pride of a florist, I carried my
friends to see the first leaves. At length they grew, they bud-
ded, they blossomed—and behold, they were common four-
o'clocks .
A botanist from Georgia favored me with two fine bulbs of
the delicate Iris Persica. I valued them highly for their giver's
sake as well as their own, and planted them with care and hope.
A few mornings after, a little negro waiting-boy ran into the
house exclaiming—
“Oh, missis, de cat pull you inion out of de jar !”
A friend of mine, however, was still more unfortunate in
having a dish of Prince's best bulbs boiled for dinner |
Yet all these things will not rebuff the true lover of nature.
She will enjoy the sparkling bud in the morning's ray, and love
the perfume as daylight dies; and a moral freshness will settle
over her thoughts like heaven's dew, as she traces the hand of
Providence in her flowers.
CHAP T E R X X X W II.
A. M. O'T H E R.—T H E C O N C L U S I O N.
“To teach rooted Sorrow the lesson Of submiſſion; to succor virtue amid mighty
emptations; to dispel the awful sadness of the inevitable hour ; these are the victories
3f the Christian faith ; the grand, and peculiar, and imperishable evidences of its
power.”—ProFEssor GoDDARD.
OUR country solitude was made glad by the birth of a son,
and my parents were with me to heighten my joy and gratitude.
On no other occasion does a woman's heart open so sweetly to
sympathy as when, clasping her first infant to her breast, she
feels that she has added, with tremor and suffering, another link
to that human chain which, descending from heaven, will reach
to heaven again. There is something still inexpressibly affect-
ing to me in infancy, in its earliest stage, before will has put
forth its impertinent little feelers. I love to take the tiny
hand, which almost melts in its fragility, in mine, and press the
unconscious cheek, and see the pulses of the protecting lid that
covers the still unopened eyes. Papa was in raptures. His
natural hilarity burst forth into almost boyish frolic. He thrust
a ramrod between the fingers of the frail little thing, threw a
powder-horn round his neck, and Sang hunting choruses until I
was obliged to stop my ears. -
No other state of society can show a scene like that which
was presented at Bellevue on the third Sabbath after the birth
of our son. All the negroes, dressed in their best, came to
welcome their young maussa, bringing offerings of eggs and
306 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
chickens, and pronouncing prayers and blessings as the uncon-
scious sleeper, decorated, too, in his little finery, lay in his
nurse's arms. -
The child grew, and called up in Arthur and myself a new
fount of affection for him and for each other. Why should I
detail what millions have felt and described ? and yet I may,
for infancy, like flowers, is always fresh. I may tell how, as
he rested in my arms, before expression began to mould his
features, imagination traced the mind that would come and light
it as a torch the vase, which owes its chief beauty to the flame
within. I may tell how Arthur left me late and returned early,
while the romance of first love seemed renewed; how we hung
together over the boy's little crib, and laid our ears near the
sleeper's mouth, fearing in his soft stillness that he breathed
not ; I may tell, at least to mothers, how I gazed at his first
smile, listened to his first laugh, supported his first footstep,
and made him repeat again and again his first word, and how
his being shone like a new planet on Arthur's life and mine.
Our little Arthur was a miniature likeness of his father; on
that full brow, in those dark eyes, I loved to trace my hus-
band's image. For the first two years of his life, until the birth
of a little girl, I thought, as is the case with most American
mothers, of little else but him; and even after that event, the
child's companionship was everything to me. He was preco-
ciously musical, and I taught him many nursery songs. At the
age of three years, secluded as we were in the country in winter,
I felt it a privilege to let him fall asleep in my arms. When
he became drowsy, he ran instinctively towards me, sprang into
my lap, and began to sing. The notes gradually grew fainter,
like the voices of birds in a twilight forest—then, starting up
afresh, he smiled and sang until his lids closed over his dark
eyes like a moon-tinged cloud on the night sky; and thus it
SOUTHERN MATRON. . 307
was, with song and smile, that sometimes, in the midst of a
word, consciousness forsook him, and the mantle of sleep folded
his little spirit. One night he was reposing thus in my arms
when Arthur came home. He knelt down before us, clasped
his arms around us, laid his lips against the rosy cheek of the
boy, and sighed in the very full.ess of his love. -
That night we were awoke with the struggling sound of the
croup, which has so often sent a death-chill to a mother's heart.
That night passed in wild and fearful struggles on his part, and
desperate yet unceasing efforts on ours; medical aid arrived
early the following day, but the boy was dying. He knew me
not ; his glazed eye was upward and away from mine; his hand,
now tossing and restless, and them, as life quivered, feeble and
helpless, returned not my pressure, that sought for life and feel-
ing with maddened eagerness.
He died; I caught the last flutter of his breath, felt the cold-
ness of death gather on his hand, still full and beautiful as the
artist's dream of a cherub. -
I was borne to my room, and Arthur followed to comfort
me, himself despairing Night drew on rapidly. Oh, that first
night of bereavement how coldly and darkly settle its shades
over breaking hearts
Arthur slept, and at midnight I arose to visit my boy.
He was laid on his little couch, and the negro watchers were
singing hymns over him. - -
I tried to touch his deathly brow and hand; I could not; he
seemed no longer mine. - -
The moon shone with strange brightness into the window,
almost obscuring the single lamp that flickered in the aired and
chill apartment; and lighting up with supernatural vividness
the face of the dead, brought out in wild relief the dark forms
around him.
308 RECoLLECTIONs of A
How differently that soft planet rises on different eyes | The
child looks on its beauty like a plaything, and clasps his hands
in joy; the young girl cherishes its sweet, mysterious rays, and
images, dearer and more tender, pour their light on her ro-
mantic spirit; the traveller blesses it on his way, and thinks
of eyes softer and brighter than its beams at home; the hus-
bandman prophesies in its silver radiance sunshine for the mor-
row; the lover, like the Pythagorean, fixes his earnest eye on
the glittering orb, longing to trace there the thought of a dear
one and inscribe his own ; and the astronomer gazes on the
beautiful glory in scientific pride; but alas, for me, on that
night it rose like a separate ball of fire, without blending or
harmony. There was no light on earth ; nature was chaotic.
I saw but one object, the dead form of my boy, stiff and cold,
unsmiling, unanswering.
My kind women looked at me pityingly, and were eloquent
with their simple religious consolation. They were idle words
to me. God had struck the rock of my soul, but the blow had
hardened it. The waters gushed not forth. Arthur still slept;
men can sleep. I went hurriedly and sought the materials for
a shroud, and sat down by my boy, and some wild association
made me bind the white ribands from my bridal dress on his
last garment. . .
I could not look at him, and yet his image was indefinitely
multiplied; wherever I turned then, and for weeks after, amid
sunshine or darkness, by the social hearth or in the solitude of
my chamber, all was darkness, except where luminous points
shone on a dead child.
We carried our boy to Roseland, and deposited his precious
remains at Cedar Mound. It stormed that night after he was
laid in his cold bed. I shuddered; the change was too hor-
rible between my loving arms and that pelting rain. I asked
SOUTHERN MATRON. 309
why God could not have translated his cherub form to heaven?
I could have borne his happy, upward flight, and waved my
hand to him as in an earthly parting, when the white clouds
opened to take him in ; and I would have fancied that young
mellifluous voice chanting its new-born tones, and the sweet
surprise of his unclosing gaze; but to leave him there ! Father
in Heaven; thou hast pardoned the rebellion of a heart in its
first gush of grief
The sympathy of my parents was consoling; but I missed
my boy on his grandfather's knee, and his prattle by his grand-
father's side. In the restlessness of my soul I returned to
Bellevue. Everything had been removed that could remind me
of him. His little hat and cloak hung no more in the passage;
his barrow and whip were gone from the garden-path; his
carved alphabet no longer strewed the floor, nor did his dis-
figured toy-books meet my eye; all was dreary order and de-
corum; but, with all their care, could they prevent his graceful
image from haunting those familiar scenes? How often did I
hear his footsteps on the stairs, his shºut in the court-yard |
How often fancy his arms about my neck, and feel his eager
kisses on my cheek How often did I press my struggling
heart and cry, “My son I my son I would to God that I had
died for thee Pº .
Arthur watched my feelings tenderly. He sat by me hour
by hour, silently, but with looks that said, “My poor stricken
one The storm has dealt hardly with thee, but flowers will
not grow unless water and winds descend as well as sunshine.
I will be very patient, and hold my heart all ready for thee,
when thy love and hope shall ask for their accustomed nest.”
What an education poor humanity requires to train it for
Heaven I I had thought myself religious, and yet, when God
took back the gift he had bestowed, a gift that had brightened
310 RECOLLECTIONS OF A
my being for three happy years, I could not bless him for the
past joy. My rebellious spirit charged even Heaven with in-
justice.
Arthur's unwearied love, my little Anna's caresses, and the
softening hand of time, slowly wrought their sweet and natural
influence. I began not to look exclusively on the grave; I lis-
tened as the buds of spring told their beautiful story of a new-
clothed soul; I loved to think that the chill feel of earth was
giving place to the flowers that began to gem my darling's dis-
tant bed; and, as time passed on, I forgot the flowers of earth,
and thought only of heaven's garden, where my boy was wait-
ing for me to come. Death, since my first bereavement, has
never borne the same aspect. I have lost a gentle girl, and let
her pass quietly, with scarce a tear on her grave; my thoughts
went upward to my growing family above. I could bear to
look on the soft curl that had lain on her brow, and fold the
garments that had clothed her living form.
My mother followed; I fancied the meeting between her and
my cherub children, ahd did not ask her back to a world where
she could die again. I closed Richard's eyes of love, and my
heart said, “God’s will be done.” -
Long and refreshing, when my mind became calm, were my
conversations with Arthur on the death of our boy. .
“We had commenced a bright career, dearest,” he said;
“who knows but the world might have engrossed us, and made
us sell our heavenly birthright ! Our social pleasures will
hereafter be modified by higher hopes. We have never given
our public testimony to Christianity; let us go, beloved; let
us plant this seed of immortality. Our precious boy rushed
like a fresh fountain, and emptied himself in his first purity
into the ocean of eternity; but we are checked and clogged by
earthly obstacles, and must ask for aid to clear the onward
SOUTHERN MATRON. 311
stream, that it may reflect heaven from its bosom. Christian
ordinances are noble aids; they degrade no lofty association,
they wither no social affections, but, like the supports to the
failing arms of the prophets of old, they lift up our souls until
our earthly fight is won.”
We went together to fulfil the command of Jesus. I do not
say that any mysterious power was communicated to elevate us
above human nature; but still I feel that, from time to time,
after the self-examination of those holy hours, a truer zest is
given to social happiness, a juster feeling of duty, and a clearer
sense of our relations as immortals.
R. E. O. O I, L E O TI O N S
OF
A N E W E N G L A N D B R II) E
AND
H 0 U S E K E E P E R
Quickly. Look you, I keep his house, and wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress
meat and drink, make the beds, and do all myself.
Simple. 'Tis a great charge to come under one body's hand.
N E W Y O R K :
G. P. PTITN AM & CO., 1 O PA R K P L A C E.
1 85 2.
T 0 M R. S. F. A. Y.,
OF CAMBRIDGE, MASS.,
THE FOLLOWING AUTHENTIC SKETCHES,
THE MINGLED RESULT
OF O BS E R W ATION AND EXPERIENCE,
ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY
THE AUTHOR,
CHARLESTON, S. C., 1834.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER,
CHAPTER I.
Ici tout est vivant, tout parle à ma memoire.
TRENEUIL.
Far up the tide of time I turn my sail.
Rogers. .
My maiden name was Clarissa Gray. I was born in the
neighborhood of Boston (Mass.), in 17—, and educated with the
few facilities at that time afforded for the young; that is, I
read “No man may” in Webster's spelling-book, then advanced
to the more elaborate “Art of Speaking,” and committed to
memory, page by page, Morse's Geography, without maps, of
course in glorious uncertainty with regard to the position even
of my own country. My ciphering-book, however, was my
pride, and my mother's too. With what delight did she display
those sums, that rose like Banquo's ghosts,
“And drew at each remove a lengthening chain.”
At the age of eight years I recollect seeing my mother read-
ing a thin black book, which attracted my attention. It was
“Blair's Grave,” and she read me the passage,
—“But see, the well-plumed hearse comes modding on.”
How distinctly my imagination pictured that hearse and those
3.18 RECOLLECTIONS OF
nodding plumes | I recollect no other books, until I saw and
devoured Shakspeare, at the age of nine, except an odd volume
of Pope, containing “The Messiah,” and “The Rape of the
Lock.” I sometimes look around on the mass of books col-
lected by my children, and am half skeptical with regard to the
value of juvenile literature, when I remember how my mind
opened under the mysteries of those writings.
In justice, however, to the good tendency of engravings, I
must mention, that the effect produced on me by the only two
picture-books I possessed was an important one. One of them
was “Watts's Hymns for Infant Minds,” where fighting ani-
mals are portrayed. When friends have wounded or foes op-
pressed me, the strong but simple lines which elucidate the pic-
ture, .
“Let dogs delight to bark and bite,”
have arisen to my memory, and calmed my chafed spirit, when
mere flimsy sentiment would have afforded me no shelter
against wrong. -
The other book, and it is as distinct to my imagination now
as the rich landscape by Fisher which hangs before me, con-
tained a representation of Miss Kitty Greedy leaning both el-
bows on a table, with her mouth crammed to repletion, trying
in vain to address her mamma. The morale has clung to me
to this day, and I never see a young or old gourmand, or de-
tect myself in a superfluous mouthful, without thinking of Kitty
Greedy.
The utmost term of my solid education was one year of at-
tendance at the town school—a square building, with one room
for both sexes, near an open common, without a shrub or tree
to grace or shade it. Thither, bearing my own satchel, I
walked a mile, being a journey of four miles daily, to make my
“young idea shoot.” I will not say much for my ideas, but
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 3.19
my limbs were not backward in the process. I shot up into a
tall girl, and was allowed to go occasionally with my mother to
take tea sociably with her friends at four o'clock, carrying my
knitting-work for occupation. -
My accomplishments are soon told. I opened an exhibition
ball with one of the slow minuets of the last century, and I can-
not but stop to render a tribute of admiration to that charming
movement, in spite of the admirers of the lazy quadrille, or the
seductive waltz.
A single courtesy or bow, when well ordered, is graceful;
think then how delightful must be the spectacle of a series of
these beautiful curves, performed to slow and appropriate mu-
sic, by so attractive a couple as I certainly believed Clarissa
Gray and my partner Benjamin Homes to be. He was a red-
cheeked boy of thirteen, and had a pair of new white gloves for
the occasion, unharmed by contact with mine, for the minuet
allows but the meeting of the extremities of the fingers, and
that lightly. I know not thy destiny, Benjamin, but I have
sometimes wished thou mightst tread through life on such
polished footing, with sweet music to lead thee, and a partner
as kind.
My teacher honored, or rewarded me with a choice of fancy
dances, and I decided on the slow minuet. How brilliant was
the scene ! Our old clergyman and his lady were stationed in
conspicuous seats, and looked on with benevolent smiles. We
scarcely felt the floor while moving with a step closely resem-
bling the waltz, our hands raised the top of each forefinger mak-
ing a circle with the thumb, then slowly descending, while with
sidelong glances, and sidelong steps, with measured obeisances,
we evolved the “poetry of motion.”
I commenced learning music upon an old spinet of my moth-
er's; but her indulgence soon imported me for a harpsichord of
320 RECOLLECTIONS OF
the latest fashion, and though my more fastidious ear may be
critically pleased with the improvements in the modern piano-
forte, I have never felt so rapt and raised as when I sang to a
silent circle, “Henry's Cottage Maid,” or “Her mouth which a
smile,” to my own harpsichord.
My sampler was one of unrivalled beauty. It possessed
every shade and glory of tent-stitch. At the upper corners
were cherubs' heads and wings. Under the alphabets stood
Adam and Eve, draperied with fig-leaves, and between them
these appropriate lines— .
“Clarissa Gray is my name,
My age is ten.
This work in hand my friends may have,
When I am dead and laid in grave.”
This sampler was a matter of curiosity, and sometimes of ridi-
cule, to my children; but now that they perceive my gray hairs
and increasing infirmities, I find the sampler neatly folded and
laid aside, and sometimes a conscious look reveals to me that
they think I may soon be folded to rest in the grave.
Our pecuniary circumstances enabled us to indulge in the
luxuries of life; but none of these interfered with my education
for usefulness. My mother was proud to say that I could
manufacture a frilled shirt in two days, with stitches that re-
quired a microscope to detect them. I made my own bed,
swept and dusted the apartments, mended my own clothes, and
when pudding or cake was to be made, rolled up my sleeves,
and went to beating eggs, with strokes that I should half like to
See given to lazy modern girls, lolling over new-fangled cookery-
books. But this was not all. . .
“Clarissa,” said my judicious mother, “by not knowing how
to make puddings and pies, you may be occasionally mortified;
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 321
but if you are ignorant of roasting and boiling, you may be an-
noyed every day.” .
On washing and ironing days, therefore, I spent a large por-
tion of my time in the kitchen ; well known, on such occasions,
as the New-England Pandemonium. Quite contented did I
feel, if able to retire to my bed-room, “my loop-hole of retreat,”
by four o'clock in the afternoon. The only domestic I distinctly
remember in my mother's establishment was a washerwoman,
called Ma'am Bridge, whose mouth and chin resembled the
modern pictures of old Mother Hubbard, and who was an extra
assistant on washing days. She wore a mob cap, with a broad
unstarched frill, which, in hanging out clothes against the wind,
fell back, displaying her sharp physiognomy. One day I was
laying some ham on the gridiron, my mother preferring it
broiled to fried, while Ma'am Bridge was sudsing the clothes
in a tub before her, and dexterously throwing them into a rins-
ing tub behind. A sudden thunder-gust had arisen, and a bril-
liant flash of lightning blazed through the kitchen. I heard a
great splash, and turning round saw Ma'am Bridge seated in the
wash-tub, with the water gushing out on all sides; her head was
thrown back, and her broad frill with it, developing a mingled
expression of consternation at the danger, and joy at her
escape. It was one of those odd combinations in which the
ludicrous triumphs over the fearful. As she rose from the
tub, like Venus from her shell, or Cowper's Rose, “all dripping
and drown'd,” I laughed until I brought upon myself her just
indignation.
I do not feel myself called upon to say how many loaves of
bread, under my apprenticeship, came out of the oven as heavy
as a bad joke, or as sour as an unkind one ; how my pickles
turned soft and yellow; how I filled a bed without curing the
feathers; how I put pepper instead of alspice into a batch of
14*
322 RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE.
mince-pies; how many chemical separations instead of affinities
took place in my baked beans and Indian puddings; and how
my pan-dowdy disconcerted all the family, except my cousin
Sam, a black-eyed boy, with a raging appetite, who dined with
us every Sunday, and who affirmed that the paste was not tough,
and that he did not mind if the apple cores did choke him a
little. These mischances will happen in every department, and
I may claim the sympathy of the lawyer who blunders in his
maiden speech, of the doctor who kills his first patient, and of
the preacher who soothes his first hearers to sleep. This ac-
knowledgment, however, I will make en passant, that my
mother's persevering tuition in cookery has saved me a thou-
sand mortifications, to which I have seen ignorant housewives
exposed.
CHAPTER II.
T H E F I R S T T. R. I.A. L.
PARs on Evans.—It were a good motion if we give over pribbles and prabbles, and
desire a marriage between Master Abraham and Mistress Page.
IT was beginning to be a subject of deep calculation with me,
whether a brunette should wear pink or yellow riband on her
bonnet; and I had decided on the former, when one Sabbath,
on entering the meeting-house, I observed a stranger outside
the porch, and on glancing at the gallery after I was seated, I
again perceived him there. I thought he looked at our pew
more than was correct, but, somehow or other, I kept looking
at him to see whether he would become more attentive to the
exercises, and thus our eyes repeatedly met.
After service he came to the porch, for in New England peo-
ple retire from their pews with a silent bow to their acquain-
tance, and introduced himself to my mother as Mr. Packard
from Boston, the son of a friend. He remained a few days at
the village on law business, for he was an attorney, and though
my mother was one of the most unostentatious women in the
world, yet before he left us she made him understand that I
could skewer a goose, roll puff paste, complete a shirt, and
make a list carpet, as well as I played on the spinet and worked
tent-stitch. She was on the point of telling him that I could
spin a little, but I protested against anything so old-fashioned.
324 RECOLLECTIONS OF
According to my motto, I* gave over pribbles and prabbles,”
and married, at the age of seventeen, Edward Packard. I re-
member the moment, when, after a short drive, I first entered
my adopted home in the North Square, one of the most genteel
quarters in the then town of Boston. The new carpet, new
chairs, and new mahogany, with its virgin hue, undarkened by
wax or turpentine, are all before me. My mother was with
me, and though she held one of my hands, and my husband the
other, I could not restrain my tears from falling, happy though
they were. . .
I felt half ashamed to praise the parlor-furniture, though I
secretly said, “It is mine.” On recovering from my shyness,
I visited the various apartments, and I think I was most at-
tracted by the micely sanded kitchen, not even excepting a closet,
which I might now call a boudoir, fitted up expressly for me by
my husband. . .
How bright were those new tins and brasses, arranged with
ostentatious glitter on the walls and dresser How comfort-
able that suspended warming-pan How red and clean those
bricks, extending to the right and left, leaving space for a
family in the corners. A settle, too, that glory of New-Eng.
land kitchens, was there, now banished for the inhospitable chair,
which accommodates one instead of three I had often pre-
sided in a parlor, but rever before was mistress of a kitchen
A council had been called previous to my marriage of the
number of “help” which we should require, and it was decided
that a female cook, and a little girl to “wait and tend,” would
answer our purpose, and be sufficiently genteel.
I was introduced, on that memorable evening, to Nancy, the
cook. She was the picture of cleanliness. She had on, what is
called in New England, a “calico short loose gown,” and at the
south “a chintz wrapper,” with a check apron, a little starched,
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 325
tied round her waist. Both cook and kitchen were in perfect
keeping.
“Well, Nancy,” said I, with a half modest, half patronizing
tone, “I am a young housekeeper, but I dare say we shall get
along very well.”
“Oh, ma'am,” replied Nancy, “I am not at all petikelar. I
never has no differences with nobody.”
How amiable ! thought I; and I gave her a calico bag, con-
taining iron-holders, kettle-holders, wipers, and dishcloths, pre-
sented me by an old aunt, who had quilted them for the occa-
sion, and who said, with a commiserating voice, as she presented
them, “Young housekeepers have no rags, poor things "
The same kind friend gave me a rag-bag, and repeated to me
an anecdote she was fond of relating, of a lady in Cambridge,
who sold rags enough at four cents a pound to buy herself a
silver porringer. “And mind, Clarissa,” continued she, “that
you do not throw away the ends of your thread—they all help
to fill up.” I heeded her directions; and who knows but
some act of diplomacy, or some effusion of genius, may have
been perpetuated on the paper made from my “shreds and
patches?” -
My husband was at home nearly all the first week, and my
mother, nominally my guest, relieved me from every care; but
on the Monday following, she returned to her own residence,
Edward went to his office, and I was left alone. I soon felt
weary of idleness. How willingly would I have darned a
stocking, or clear-starched a muslin; but, alas, everything was
whole, and in order. I tried to find a withered leaf on my
geraniums, but they all looked as fresh as if they too were just
married. Centre-tables were not then in fashion, or I could
have beguiled a little time in disarranging them for effect; but
no l every article of furniture was in its proper parallel, and
326 RECOLLECTION'S OF
every chair at right angles with its neighbor, while books and
knick-knacks, as drawing-room luxuries, were unknown.
To amuse the tedious hours of my husband's absence, I went
into the kitchen, and offered to assist Nancy in making a pud-
ding. My overtures were coldly received, but I thought that
that might be “her way,” and I proceeded to break the eggs,
and measure the milk, giving little Polly the raisins to pick.
“We don't put so much milk as that ere in puddins,” said
Nancy, eying me keenly.
My mother had taught me culinary arts with great care, and
I felt on strong ground while I defended my quantity of milk.
Nancy answered me again with some heat, and when she found
me following my own recipe in silence, dashed the sieve full of
flour on the table, and putting her arms akimbo, said,
“Well, Miss Packard, if you will spile the puddin, you must
bake it yourself.”
I was thunderstruck | A bride, to whom for a week all had
submitted as to a queen; from whom commands were favors,
and requests privileges I felt the blood rush to my face, my
hands trembled, and fearing to expose my agitation, I quietly
laid down the materials I was preparing, and said, with a great
effort at calmness,
“Finish this pudding, and bake it for dinner.”
I just made out to reach the parlor, when I burst into tears,
and sobbed like a child, comforting myself, however, with the
idea that I should compose myself and bathe my eyes before
Edward came home. But that was not to be. With a young
husband's impatience, he had hurried through his business, and
thinking to give me a pleasant surprise, stood by my side. -
I cannot describe his concern at my situation, while I, mor-
tified to the heart at having exposed myself in tears for such a
trifle, could scarcely explain the cause of my distress. When I
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 327
did make him understand the nature of the provocation I had
received, he grew angry (I had never seen him angry before),
and walking with long strides into the kitchen, he dismissed
Nancy on the spot.
With a woman's glance, I saw the consequences. Nancy laid
aside a raw steak, that she was making tender by her passionate
treatment, and walked up stairs in high dudgeon, not forgetting
to take up the wages which Edward had thrown on the table.
Five minutes after, we heard her departing tramp on the stairs.
It was no time for crying now. Little Polly and I had to go
to cooking in good earnest. My husband turned off the affair,
when his temper was cooled, with a very pleasant grace, and as
I placed the before-mentioned steak on the gridiron, exclaimed,
“Haste hither, Eve, with speed;
And what thy stores contain bring forth, and pour abundance.”
When our dinner was cooked, we formed a procession from
the kitchen to the parlor. Edward bore the steak, whistling a
march; I followed, laughing, with the pudding, for we had to
economize time, and little Polly, enjoying the joke, trudged
after with the potatoes. - -
Still we felt that there was an effort in all this, and when my
husband looked at me for the first time alone, at his table, he
perceived that the kitchen fire, added to the effects of weeping,
had deepened the hue of my complexion beyond the delicacy
of beauty, and as I was assisting him to a potato, detected a
spot of “smut” (pot-black) on the finger on which he had placed
a pearl ring. I blushed deeper crimson; and tears, those trials
to young wives, started to my eyes. Edward seemed not to
notice it, and I transferred the sable stain to one of my bridal
handkerchiefs.
C H A P T E R III.
S A. L L Y C U R. R. Y.
She is not the fairest, although she is fair,
O’ nice education but sma' is her share,
Her parentage humble as humble can be.—BURNs.
NoTHING could be more calm than our evening meal after the
excitement of our cook's departure. We felt the happiness of
that intercourse where “love is.” It was autumn. The beauty
and freshness of summer were in the heavens, and the warmth
of winter on our hearth. -
I felt no embarrassment in carrying my shining brass tea-
kettle into the parlor, and making tea there, which, with blush-
ing importance, I poured out for my husband. He was full of
the gentle pleasantry of satisfied affection. .
Little Polly superintended the toasting iron, that luxury so
little known in some places, where forks are destroyed daily in
burning one piece of bread, while the iron toasts three in less time.
My mother was soon apprized of the loss of my cook, and the
very next evening “ help" came in the form of a gentle, but ig-
norant-looking girl of eighteen. She was one to whom I would
willingly have extended my hand, and given my heart. I
dreaded to think that so soft a creature should be visited by
the elements “too roughly.” She was however active, and her
duties were soon well performed. Sally had been an inmate of
my family but six weeks, when one day she came into the par.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGIAND BRIDE. 329
lor, and, coloring very deeply, handed me a letter, which was
written as follows.
“SALEM,
“Dear Sally,–I’ve got home safe from Calcutta, and reckon
that you will be glad to see me, tho’ sometimes I aint so sure.
I calculate to be in Boston by to-morrow, and shall find you
out. If you haven't got another sweetheart I shall want to
marry you Sunday night; if you have, I shall take ship Mon.
day morning and be off again. .
“Yours till death,
. “SAM'L CURRY.
“P.S.—I have had two lucky 'ventures, and we shan't want
for nothing. I hope you aint lost the ring.”
“Well, Sally,” said I, smiling, “am I to lose you on Sunday
night?” . .
“I am afeard so, ma'am,” replied she, sliding behind the door.
“Don’t be ashamed, Sally,” said I. “I have shown you such
an example of marrying one whom I preferred, that I am sure
I cannot blame you.”
Upon this Sally looked up, and I asked her how long she
had known Mr. Curry. . .
Sally began twisting a gold ring that was on the fore-finger
of her left hand, and said,
“My mother, ma'am, was a poor woman in Salem, the widow
of a sea-captain. He was lost on a voyage, and she fell sick,
declining, like. I was her only child. It was a very stormy
night, a year ago, and my mother was very ill. I sent to a
neighbor to say that I was afeard she wouldn't stand it, Our
neighbor sent back she daresn't leave her baby, who was sick,
but a young man what was boarding there, a sailor named
Curry, a very decent person, would come and watch with me.
330 RECOLLECTIONS OF
I was thankful to see a living countenance, and said he might
come and welcome.
“That was a forlorn night; but Mr. Curry helped me a sight.
My mother was in a kind of faint like all night, and he was as
tender as a child to her. Once he began to tell a sea-story, to
try and cheer me up, but he found he made me cry more, be-
cause it didn't seem somehow respectful to talk of the things
of life by a death-bed, and he stopped talking, and only now
and then, when he found he couldn't comfort me, nor raise her
neither, he would fetch up such a pitying look, as if he wished
he could.
“The day was just dawning when my mother seemed to come
to a little, and spoke right out, ‘Sally, dear.” i
“‘What, mother ?’ says I, and my heart beat as if it would
come through.
“‘Is there anybody with you?' says she.
“‘Yes, dear mother, a friend,' says I, whispering.
“‘Will he take care of you?' says she, and she looked with
her sunk eye full on Curry.
“Curry got right up, and came by the bedside, and knelt
down, and took her thin hand, and said, in a voice quite loud
and solemn, ‘I will take care of her, so help me God.”
“She didn't say another word, but just gave a kind of sigh,
as it were not sorrowful, but as if she was satisfied, and squeezed
his hand, and so she died.
“The sun rose then quite glorious. The light didn't look
right to me; it shot to my heart like ice, and I would rather
have had it dark again.
“Curry was very kind and serviceable to me, but just as he
was going to call in the neighbors, one of the crew came, and
said, the vessel was gettin under way, and he must go.
“There wasn't much to be said, because he had to go so
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 331
quick, but he kissed me once (you know I was in trouble, and
that somehow brings us all equal), and took a gold ring out of
his waistcoat pocket, and putting it on my finger, said, ‘I bought
that ring for my sister; but, Miss Sally, I love you more than
I do her now, and if I live to come back, you shall see that I
do, that you shall.' - .
“I felt as if my mother had died over again when he went
out, but the neighbors soon came in, and she was decently laid
out. Curry left twenty dollars to pay expenses. I was the
only mourner at her funeral, and I cried enough for a hundred;
and it seemed to me, the might after the funeral, that I should
like to go and throw myself into the ocean that poor Curry
sailed on.
“Time passed on, and the ring was a kind of comfort to me.
Sometimes I was so foolish as to talk to it, as if it could un-
derstand, and I would ask it questions I wouldn't like to ask
anybody else. .
“The folks told me I should get higher wages in Boston than
in Salem, and I have made out tolerable. I don't know how
it was, it seemed to me that I would give myself a year to hear
good news in, and I thought I might as well be laying up things
with my earnings when they turned up cheap, so that I have
got pretty considerable beforehand. .
“I hope, ma'am,” said Sally after a pause, for I was silent
from the emotion her simple story caused me—“I hope you
don't think I’ve been over-quick in my liking. I heard a very
good character of Curry from the folks he lodged with, and the
image of him that night seemed to take the place of my moth-
er's, and filled up a very heavy want in my heart.”
“Oh no, Sally,” said I, quite charmed with her simplicity,
“I do not blame you, but I hear the sound of a chaise on the
pavement at the side door.”
332 RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENG LAND BRIDE.
Sally's color went and came, but she answered a sailor-like
knock from the outside, and I believe Curry was very well sat-
isfied with his reception.
This was Friday. On the following day the kitchen had an
extra cleaning. I beat up a wedding cake, and we made busy
preparations for Sunday evening.
The bride looked very sweetly in a plain white cambric frock,
and as she stood beside Curry, reminded me of those figures we
Sometimes see delicately chiselled on the sterns of vessels;
while he appeared like the good stout ship, which, though des-
tined to bear her through winds and waves, was powerful enough
to do it safely. When our good pastor, the Rev. Mr. Lathrop,
asked him the customary question, “Will you love, protect, and
cherish this woman º' &c., Curry was not content with the
simple bowing affirmative. Something seemed struggling in
his mind. He grasped Sally's hand, and with such an utter-
ance as she told me he had used on the night her mother died,
said, “I will, so help me God.”
On Monday morning my husband presented Sally with a
large brass kettle, a common New-England present on such
occasions, and the happy couple bade us farewell. As they
rode away, Curry waved his red handkerchief, and Sally put her
new cambric one to her eyes, between tears and smiles. I never
saw my pretty cook again.
CHA PT E R IV.
C IN ID A TY L. E. R.
How now, my headstrong?
Where have you been gadding 4
Romeo and Juliet.
I HAD become so much attached to my gentle Sally, that I
was really quite dispirited at her departure; but, not being
provided with immediate assistance, was soon engrossed with
household cares. And let no one underrate the value of those
cares to an unoccupied or even a harassed mind, whose mental
resources are limited. Who has not seen the tear of sorrow
dry away amid their gentle but imperious demands? Who has
not seen oppressed and tender women forget, in the routine
which constitutes the comfort of a husband, that husband's un-
kindness? And then, what an admirable outlet are household
cares for a scold ! View that face screwed up to moderation
and even courtesy at the breakfast table. How gracefully is
that cup forwarded ! What gentle accents accompany it !
But the lord and master of the household departs 1, Hear his
last footstep, and then notice how the clouds gather round that
delicate creature, until the brow is contracted, the voice is
sharpened, the eye darts withering beams, and those lips open
(shall I say it?) for the unequivocal terms slut and hussy /
While sometimes, rarely I hope, the tender palm comes vibrat-
ing in unthoughtof vigor on some uncovered ear, or (alas for
334 RECOLLECTIONS OF
delicacy () that little implement which once won the heart of an
Eastern Prince,” is flourished over an extended and trembling
hand. .
My mother, with a mother's care, supplied me with new
“help.” She was from Vermont, and as green as her native
hills. Cinda Tyler was her name, though she took some pains
to tell me she was christened Lucinda.
What a contrast to my Sally No one could look at her
without thinking of strapper, bouncer, or some such inelegant
association. She had carrot-colored hair of unmanageable
thickness, even when the experiment of a comb was tried, which
was rarely done except on the Sabbath, when even the poorest
in New-England feel as if the purity of the body should honor
the day, whatever may be the undress of the soul.
Cinda's arms were bare and red, large and short. She had a
perpetual look of eager curiosity. There were a few things I
never could break her of She invariably nodded her head to
my visitors, even if she had a dish full of meat in her hand, and
said, “How fares ye?” And say it she would, until an answer
was extorted, whatever might be the repulsive dignity of the
person addressed. I endeavored, at first by nods and signs, to
make her understand that this ceremony could be dispensed
with, but all in vain; with her eyes wide open, she stood at my
parlor door, “making her manners” (little bobbing courtesies),
until she obtained the sought-for notice. Finding her incor-
rigible to hints, I told her, as she was using one evening the
whole artillery of her politeness on Judge — a friend of my
husband's, that she might go out. She opened her great gray
eyes wider than ever, and said, somewhat gruffly, “I ain't a goin
to let his honor spose I was brought up mungst wild criters.”
His honor, who had been stating a case of great interest, roused
* See Cinderella, or the Little Glass slipper.
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 335
by her voice, perceived her for the first time, and said, with
perfect good-nature, “Ah, how d'ye do?” and Cinda set him
down from that moment as a gentleman ; and so he was. It is
that immediate conformity to the feelings of individuals that
marks a gentleman or lady, whether they address their equals
or inferiors.
One morning, in my absence from home, a lady called to see
me, and Cinda, from sheer curiosity, anticipated little Polly in
going to the door. . .
“Is Mrs. Packard within 7” said the lady.
“No ma'am,” said Cinda, with great promptness, “but you'd
better come in and set with me a spell.”
I met my intended guest at the gate, and could not account
for her look of ill-suppressed mirth, until Cinda gave me a hint
of what she called manners in her reception.
Another peculiarity of Cinda's was to examine every new
purchase of mine, and ask the price, and sometimes the orna-
ments of my visitors did not escape this ordeal. I was getting
somewhat wearied with these oddities, notwithstanding her skill
in Washing, hanging on pots and kettles, and all the drudgery
of her calling, when one evening a few ladies visited me, and
Cinda, after sufficient drilling, undertook to hand tea, solemnly
promising me not to address them. As she passed from one to
another, I felt a little anxiety at the look of scrutiny she cast,
from the head downward, on every individual. Her appear-
ance began to attract the attention of my friends, but she pre-
served silence, until, at the close of the service, a very sweet-
looking girl bent her blue eye upon Cinda with a smile. The
temptation was irresistible. She had an empty tray in her
hand, and lowering it suddenly, said, “I guess, miss, them 'ere
beads of your'n cost considerable.” The younger ladies thrust
their pocket-handkerchiefs into their mouths, and the elder ones
336 $º
RECOLLECTIONS OF
stared, while Cinda, catching my eye, and perceiving a frown,
cried out, “Lud, Miss Packard, if I ain't spoke in the party;”
and then, with a look of greater horror, “Lud, lud, I've spoke
agin l’” then catching up the tray, she retreated in confusion.
It was impossible for the most rigid muscles to refrain from
laughter. The shouts reached poor Cinda's ears in her culinary
domain, and it required all the inducements I could urge to pre-
vail on her to carry the tray again.
Curiosity, which seemed to be her master-passion, prompted
her to try on the garments of others. A French lady from St.
T}omingo, for whom Edward was employed in a law-suit, came
to pass a few days with me. Her dress was fashionable in the
extreme. It was Cinda's province to arrange the bed-rooms
while we breakfasted. Mam'selle Ligne had occasion to leave
the table one morning in quest of her handkerchief, and her
light step was unperceived by Cinda, who stood before the
glass. She had placed on her carroty locks Mam'selle Ligne's
beautiful evening cap, and thrown a slight scarf over her shoul-
ders; and there she stood with an air of the most complacent
satisfaction, gazing at her own charms. The joke was too good
to be lost. Mam'selle tripped down, and asking Edward and
myself to follow, we all went up softly, ignorant of what we
were to behold.
Human gravity could not hold out at such a spectacle. Ed-
ward gave one of those laughs through his nose that always
sound louder than, a natural one, and poor Cinda started in dis-
may at beholding us. She took off the scarf in her hurry, but
forgot the cap, which was of very light material, and began
making up the bed with great zeal.
Just at this crisis the butcher knocked at the outer door, and
Cinda, glad to escape, raced down, cap and all, to receive him,
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 337
“Holla, Cinda,” said he, “are you setting that 'ere cap at me?”
This was too much for Cinda's nerves. She caught up the leg
of lamb he had extended to her, and running into the kitchen,
hid her blushes in her check apron.
15
O HAPTE R. W.
L U C Y CO O L E D G E.
Servitude is honor, not
T)isgrace, when falling fortunes make it needful.
GOETH E. Herman and Dorothea.
CINDA blundered through ten months in my service, some-
times fretting and sometimes amusing me with her oddities, be.
fore her curiosity and love of change induced her to leave me.
At length, with some little emotion, she announced her inten-
tion of removing.
“I know, Miss Packard,” said she, “that you'll miss me more
than enough; such a bird is not to be caught on every bough.
'Tisn't everybody that has my knack at thrashing about among
the pots and kettles. I’m not the person that holds a frying:
pan with white gloves on. But I’ve a notion to see a little
more of the world. Miss Bachelor is going out to Roxbury to
live, and I’m to try how she suits me a spell. Howsomever, as
I don’t want to leave you without nobody, Mr. Tucker, the
butcher, says one Lucy Cooledge is in petikelar want of a siti.
vation, being as how old Miss Amory died two weeks ago, and
ain't left her no provision.”
On the following morning I had a conversation with Mr.
Tucker about Lucy Cooledge. The narration interested me,
though I drew the inference that she would not be as dexterous
RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE. 339
in “thrashing about among the pots and kettles” as her prede-
cessor. She had been adopted in orphan-infancy by Mrs.
Amory, and educated as well as her slender means would per-
mit. The tendency of her teaching, it appeared, was to form a
religious character, and cultivate great original sensibility in her
young charge. For two years, Mrs. Amory had been lingering
with a chronic affection, and left Lucy, at the age of seventeen,
without a shelter, except from the charity of neighbors.
“It was a crying sight,” said Mr. Tucker, “to see the poor
thing the day Mrs. Amory died, looking around so piteous, as
much as to say, ‘I have nothing left now P She sat as still as
could be, for you know there are folks enough always busy at
layings-out, and just watched what they did in a wistful kind
of a way. I made a shift to get a meighbor to ride around with
the meats for me, first picking out a real tender bit of mutton
for some broth for Miss Lucy; and made as good a bargain as I
could about the coffin. I happened in again on the afternoon
of the burying, and I was scared to see her so quiet. When
her name was called out to walk with Deacon Hodges as chief
mourner, she just went straight forward, without putting hel
handkerchief to her eyes, and didn't seem to care to lean on his
arm, even. She walked right on to the grave, and gave a look
as if she could not look far enough, nor long enough, and then
came back—but no crying, not a drop. She went into the sit-
ting-room, where the chairs still stood thick and close, and sat
down, and there wasn't one of us that know’d what to say.
You know, ma'am, if she had only took on, we could have com-
forted her. At last Deacon Hodges' wife went to take off her
bonnet, seeing she didn't move, and took hold of her hand.
“My gracious, Lucy, says she, ‘your hand is like ice;’ and so
it was, though it was a warm day, and her cheeks were like ice
too; and says she, with a kind of shiver, ‘My heart is ice.”
340 - RECoLLECTIONS OF
They fell to rubbing her hands, and gave her some wine to
drink, and in a half an hour or thereabouts, she fetched a sigh,
and large tears rolled down her cheeks; and them as stood by
wiped them off, for she seemed not to know that she was a cry-
ing. She has come to now pretty much, but has an ugly cough,
and I don't like the look of her eyes. Mrs. Amory taught her
all kinds of housework, and I've a notion, if she was in a reglar
family, she would be quite pert again. A man, you see, Miss
Packard,” continued Mr. Tucker, clearing his throat, “can
worry through these things, and make a shift for a living; but
it's hard for young women to push on through thick and thin.”
I should have been glad to assist Lucy in a pecuniary way,
but to a character like hers independence was the better charity;
and as Cinda had fixed on the day for quitting me, Mr. Tucker
promised to engage a seat in the Newton stage for her to Bos-
ton. .
The stage arrived about ten o'clock on the day appointed,
and Lucy was the only passenger. It was a great unwieldy
vehicle, without glasses, the leathern curtains flapping all around,
the worn cushions as slippery as glass, and so little spring in its
construction, that Lucy's slight figure was thrown from side to
side as the horses, for city display, whisked up to the door.
She was dressed in simple mourning. There was no affecta-
tion of better days about her; she entered the kitchen as the
scene of her duties with quiet gravity, and went through her
work with precision and fidelity, and only on Sunday evenings
allowed herself the luxury of reading.
Servants' apartments, in New-England are always in the
house with the family; Lucy's bed-room was near mine, and
every night before she retired, for three months, we heard her
sweet voice in an evening hymn. Gradually, however, from
five or six verses she diminished to one, until at last no music
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 341
was heard; but a hoarse, deep cough broke in even on my
midnight slumbers. - -
Still she moved on in her daily duties, though I could not
but regard with anxiety the color that lit her cheek at evening,
and made her intellectual face even beautiful. I gradually
lightened her heavier employments, and gave her sewing in the
parlor, for Polly had by this time become familiar with my ar-
rangements, and with occasional assistance was strong enough to
engage in carrying them out. -
But Lucy drooped daily, struggling on; I was often obliged
to take her work from her forcibly, so conscientious was she. I
sent for a physician. She met him with a gentle smile. After
parting with her, he said to me, “There has been some heart-
sickness in this case, I suspect.—There is a fine organization in
some systems, tending to early decay, and yielding alike to
mental and bodily pressure; and hers is of that stamp. The
case is a call on your charity, and I will cheerfully co-operate
with you.”
When I returned to the parlor Lucy had laid her sewing on
her lap, and sat with her hands folded, as in reverie.
“I see, by your countenance, Mrs. Packard,” said she, “what
Dr. Webster thinks of my case, and I am not very sorry. I
am only sorry because I shall be a source of care and anxiety,
in such a scene of quiet happiness as your house always presents.
“To me, dear madam,” continued she, after a pause, turning
her large dark eyes upwards, “to me, to die is gain.”
I had been educated religiously, attended church regularly,
learned appropriate catechisms and hymns, and found in the ex-
ample of my dear mother the best of all instruction; but I had
never suffered, never seen death in any form, and my religion
was the overflowing of gratitude, not the want of poor humanity.
I could not realize the force of Lucy's expression. To be wil-
342 . RECOLLECTIONS OF
ling to leave this bright world, so full of the blossoms of hope
and love, to quit the pure air, and the bright skies, and be the
mouldering tenant of the solitary tomb—how could it be gain Ż
I looked at her thin pale cheek inquiringly, and could not re-
strain my tears.
Lucy Smiled sadly—“Life appears,” said she, “ very differ-
ently to one who, like you, enjoys the sympathy of friends, of
such friends too ! I am now only a weed on the stream of time.
When I pass into the ocean of eternity, who knows but that I
may be attached to something bright and beautiful too !”
From that moment, that little moment of heart and sensi-
bility, my relations with Lucy assumed a different aspect. I
drew a chair near her—“ Lucy,” I said, cheerfully, “I will be
the beautiful thing to which you shall be attached in this world;
so do not talk of another, dear.” I was checked by the pressure
of her thin hand, where even labor had not been able to shade
the blue veins, so light was their covering.
From the moment that this delicate chain of sympathy was
thrown over our minds, there was a quiet but distinct course
of action between us. My part was to strengthen and animate
her sinking frame. I brought her fresh flowers, new books,
kind friends, and little luxuries that cool the feverish lip; but
Lucy had a higher task to perform. It was, to direct my
thoughts to a feeling of the value and necessity of Christianity;
to teach me to subdue the idolatry of my affections, and give
them a spiritual bias. -
She spoke of Edward as a “being of Soul, a candidate for
immortality.”—“He is too beautiful for the grave, Lucy,” said
I; “I can never, never let him die.—I can go myself, if God
calls me, but I cannot spare him ; that manly form, those high
and generous feelings, that warm, warm heart-oh, they are my
life. Talk to me of anything but the death of Edwardſ"
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 343
Still she gently recurred to high and spiritual topics, and led
my thoughts at times beyond earthly affections. She marked
passages in the Bible of the most attractive character for me
to read to her, and, when her cough would allow, breathed out
a hymn in Sweet and happy strains, in which I soon loved to
join. Time wore away, and she revived a little with reviving
spring. She still had strength to carry her plants from win-
dow to window to catch the sunbeams, and could sit to watch
the twilight in its dying glory.
But soon she failed again, and one night Edward and I were
awaked to go to her. She could but whisper to us as we bent
over her, “Do not love each other too well. Pray with and
for each other. Forget not that Christ lived and died for you.
I shall expect you both, both—in Heaven.” And thus she died.
One favor only had she asked of us. It was that she might
be buried in the country church-yard of her native town.
“I would have overcome that little preference,” she once
said, “did Inot know there is something soothing in complying
with the wishes of the dying. Howidle a fancy,” she continued,
smiling, “to wish that trees should wave and birds sing over
this wasted form ; but nature has been so lovely to me that I
have a kind of gratitude to her, and it is sweet to think that I
shall repose among those objects which God has given me sensi-
bility to enjoy.”
She was carried to her favorite resting-place. From that
period a religious repose chastened the intense tenderness of
our hearts, as we remembered Lucy's character and death; and
when we occasionally left the city to breathe the country air,
our souls were refreshed by a visit to her grave.
CHAPTER WI.
J E A Lousy.
Ever at early dawn, and close of day,
Oh! be Amanda’s toil to thine allied—
Labor shall lead me smiling by thy side,
So but a smile of thine my toil repay.—WIELAND.
My next domestic trial was unconnected with household
cares. My “help” was “the perfectest pattern of excelling”
housekeepers, and my affairs went on like clockwork. Our
meals “came like spirits.” No half-cooked potatoes betrayed
a cold and hard heart beneath a soft surface—no half-picked
poultry came to the table as if reluctant to resign the feathery
insignia. The amalgamation of sauces and gravies was like the
intercourse of society, where the piquant is softened by the
modest, and the feeble animated by the strong. My windows
were clear as a good conscience, my brasses bright as ready
wit, and like Narcissus in the stream, I half fell in love with
myself in the polished mahogany.
From whence then came the cloud to shade this happy pic-
ture? I was jealous. Not of women, for my husband not
only professed to love me, but treated me with marked atten-
tion in the society of others; and often when I saw married
men display their gallantry to any but their wives, I felt proud
of those preferring attentions, which Edward directly, but with-
out display, tendered me. My jealousy, and I write it with
half a blush, was of books.
RECoLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE. 345
Edward was becoming an ambitious lawyer. His singleness
of character and clearness of intellect gained him unexpected
friends, and the strongest efforts of his mind were directed to
eminence in his profession. Gradually, book by book was
brought from the office. Blackstone was on one window-seat,
Coke upon Littleton on another, and Chitty's Pleadings lum-
bered the well-dusted mantelpiece. An instinctive regard and
respect for my feelings prevented his passing his evenings
abroad; but he read and read, while I silently pursued my
Sewing, until at last the heavy whitish looking volumes were
laid on the breakfast or tea-table, beside the cup of coffee,
which was often allowed to cool before it was tasted. He no
longer asked me for a song at evening; and when I found my
voice unheard by him, I shut the harpsichord in disgust. Our
sunset walk was often forgotten ; and when I sometimes said,
“Come, Edward, I am ready;” he answered, “Yes, dear, di-
rectly—just let me finish this paragraph.” The paragraph
might be finished, but I, sitting in silence, felt a languor steal
over me; and when in a half-hour he closed his book, and said
briefly, “What—are you waiting 7 Let us go." the walk
seemed heavy, and the twilight sad. Perhaps, had I rallied
him, he might have perceived that he was trying a dangerous,
though unintentional experiment with a devoted heart; or had
I seriously opened my feelings, he would probably have under-
stood them; but I was ashamed, and tried to think that I was
unreasonable, and he in the performance of his duty. I re-
membered that it was for my subsistence he toiled, and lingered
through even the midnight hour.
But with a feeling of unconquerable diffidence in the expres-
sion of my thoughts, I grew reserved. My step was slow and
careful, or quick and agitated, and I sometimes said cutting
15%
346 . RECO LLECTIONS OF
things in the impatience of my spirit. He was all truth and
openness, and occasionally looked perplexed at my manner.
“I should think you were unhappy,” said he one day to me,
after he had been studying a horrid-looking, parchment-covered
book, at the breakfast-table, “if I did not see everything around
you appearing so cheerful and comfortable. There never was
such a sweet home as ours.” -
My eyes filled with tears, but I hid them, and was silent.
“Clarissa,” said he, “you look thin, and now I think of it I
am afraid your appetite is not good. Those nice cakes, did you
eat some this morning?” - - - -
“We had toast for breakfast,” I replied; before I could say
more, he was absorbed in his book.
I took my sewing, that I might be with him the half-hour be-
fore he went out. Just at this period a little boy who lived op-
posite, and who was in the habit of visiting us frequently, came
in, and began his customary prattle.
“Oh, Mr. Packard,” said little John, running to him, “let
me see that book.” -
“What for 7" said my husband, keeping his finger on a para-
graph. .
“Why, because,” said the rogue, “aunt Clara (the name he
always gave me), aunt Clara got angry with it yesterday.”
“Angry, my boy; how so?” said he.
“Why, sir, after you had done sipping your coffee, with the
big book by your plate, and took your hat and walked out like
a judge, she went to gather the cups to wash, and when she
came to the big white book by your cup she dashed it down
on a chair, and said, ‘I hate you !’ and looked as if she was go-
ing to cry.” - - .
Edward leaned his head a moment over the chair on which
he sat, and mused. I sewed as if life hung on my needle.
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEEKEEPER, 347
“Clarissa,” he said, at length, with a sweet, earnest voice and
look, taking my hands in his, “I know now what is the matter
with you. I have been to blame, dearest, in not consulting
more affectionately the feelings of my own wife. It was not
enough, it ought not to be enough for me, to have given you
comforts and luxuries; you require sympathy. You have been
struggling with the wants of your heart. I wish I had under-
stood them before. As for this book,” said he, playfully, “I
cannot “hate it,' since it has given me such a revelation of my
duty.”
From that period his deportment at home had a perpetual
view to my happiness and improvement. He brought books to
read to me, calculated to interest while they elevated my lit-
erary taste. He referred to me for opinions, and by sounding
the depth and power of my intellect, found, that under his
guidance there were occasions when even my advice might avail
him. When a case occurred which obliged him to study at
home, he detailed it in simple terms to me, told me the course
he should pursue, and its probable results; while, satisfied and
happy, I would sit by his side like Klopstock's Meta, “looking
so still in his sweet face.” Understanding his conduct and feel-
ings, I began to be ambitious for him. Step by step he mounted
the ladder of fame. I saw all eyes gazing on him with delight,
heard every lip echoing applause; and those sights and Sounds
were doubly dear to me, for I knew every spring that moved
his noble heart, and that his thoughts were mine before they
were the world's.
CHA PTE R W II.
G. R. E. A. S. E.
Chattels which, yesterday, good housewifery
Had rang’d, in cleanly and delightful order,
Lay now disjointed, broken, rent.—GoBTHE.
In the subject I am about to introduce, I am confident of
the sympathy of housekeepers.-The theme is grease, which, if
I may be allowed a poor pun, has produced as many domestic
disturbances in modern, as it did political in ancient times.
Who can tell the amount of temper that has been roused by
this evil, from the single drop of lamp-oil on the finger, to,
which the olfactory sense, though driven back, returns with
painful tenacity, to the mass which, sinking in your white floor,
looks fresher, like the stain on Blue Beard's key, for many a
scouring 2
I hope I may be excused here for a homely piece of advice,
which is, that wives should not only keep the lamps of their
souls trimmed and burning, but attend to that department in
their household economy. If they do not, their husbands may
as well sit down to sup with the ladies of Queen Charlotte's
Sound, whom Captain Cook describes as not only “drinking
the oil from his lamps, but eating the cotton wick.”
In return for the various attentions we had received, Edward
and myself sent out invitations for an evening party. We had
RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW EN GLAND BRIDE. 349
not the facilities for lighting our rooms which make it so little
trouble now, by sending for a professor in the art, to produce a
blaze that shall cast no shadow; but we treated ourselves to
an astral lamp, they having been newly brought to this country.
Being somewhat ambitious of intellectual display, and the time
beginning to pass away when ladies did not feel themselves
pinned to the same seat for three hours, we managed, by buying
and borrowing, to collect some amusing novelties; among them
was a magnifying glass, with splendid Italian views. These
were arranged on the sofa table, illuminated by our new lamp,
which attracted universal admiration. The Italian views be-
came the chief subject of attention, but alas ! as our guests
crowded around the table it was suddenly overthrown, and the
lamp shattered to pieces. Satin slippers and gentlemen's
pumps received the indiscriminate shower of oil, and the beau-
tiful engravings coming in for a share, a young beau, who never
lost a pun, even in calamity, whispered to me that they were
“oil paintings.”
A general shock was given to our before complacent group;
first were circulated whispered complaints and commiseration,
then in a louder tone followed details of similar misfortunes,
and recipes for extracting them.
I contrived to affect great indifference, and Edward got up
his best jokes, but after a struggle at general sociability the
company retired, and left us, at an earlier period than we ex-
pected, gazing on the wreck. -
It is easy to preserve a sweet smile in the presence of fifty
people, but the test of good nature follows in a tête-d-tête.
“What an awkward wretch that Mason is,” said Edward.
“I wish people would not go into society until they are civil-
ized ſ”
“I am surprised at your blaming Mr. Mason,” said I. “It
350 RECOLLECTIONS OF
was Miss Otis who knocked over the table—that girl thinks she
must be first in everything.”
“Mrs. Packard, I am confident that it was Mr. Mason,” re-
turned Edward. .
“Mr. Packard,” replied I, “I saw Miss Otis do it with my
own eyes.”
“Women are always obstinate,” said he, turning away.
“And men are always domineering,” I answered, in the same
tone. .
There ended our first party, and began our first quarrel; but
it seemed so odd, that turning round, our eyes met, and we burst
out into unaffected laughter. .
I will not enter into a detail of similar misfortunes. Who
has not, after long deliberation, purchased a set of expensive
lamps, only to suffocate himself or his friends with smoke?
Who has not heard his glass shades pop one after another, with
a report as harassing as the small arms of an enemy? Who
has not welcomed “the tall mould candle straight and round,”
while the costly lamp, that gave for five minutes a gleam of
light, is
“Wisely kept for show.”
But I have other themes of varied trouble to relate. One
commencement day a large party assembled to dine with us,
after the college exercises. Edward had presented me with a
new silk dress. It was a rare and important addition to my
wardrobe, and I made my toilet with many resolutions to be
careful of it. As I sat at the table, with the consciousness of
a well-ordered dinner and an appropriate dress, whose value to
me was doubly enhanced by its being Edward's choice, one of
the waiters, with a zeal worthy of a better cause, jostled by
another, who was reaching above my shoulder to deposit a
gravy-boat, and knocked it over. I felt the warm stream trickle
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 351
through my lace tippet, and saw it pour into my lap. Selon Za
règle, I was obliged either not to notice or make a jest of it.
I had the resolution not to look at the servant (how often have
I seen looks speak more than words!) and turning quietly to
my left-hand neighbor, I said, “Pray, sir, excuse my being
helped first.”
A short period only elapsed before Edward was called upon
to sympathize with me in a similar experience. Being invited
to a ceremonious party, he mounted a new coat. I could per-
ceive considerable complacency in his manner of pulling down
the waist and turning out the collar. He was in excellent spir-
its through the evening, and on his return said, laughing,
“Either I or my new coat was a great favorite this evening,
for my friends certainly regarded me with uncommon interest.”
“And well they might !” I exclaimed, in alarm, on looking at
him, “for you have half of one of Mrs. Winthrop's candles
streaming down from your collar to your elbow.”
Poor Edward was thrown all aback. “Hang it,” said he,
quite off his guard, “I can interpret their looks now. They
could not quite resolve to tell me what a figure I cut, and I
thought they were admiring my genteel person, while I was
strutting about with the sign of a tallow-chandler on my shoul
der.”
Speaking of a new coat reminds me of an anecdote of Mr.
Shaw, a literary friend of ours. In the pride of his heart he
too put on a coat fresh from the tailor's, to attend a party, and
while bowing to the ladies, an acquaintance tapping him on the
shoulder said, “Shaw, your coat was very reasonable,” pointing
at the same time to the tailor's mark, which was pinned con-
spicuously on the skirt.
When albums were first in vogue, a choice one was sent us
for our contributions. I have always loved albums, much as
352 RECOLLECTIONS OF
they have been ridiculed. They seem to me the leading-strings
of literature, and it interests me to see the ardor of a young
lady, when, opening the gilt leaves, she finds there sentiments
dedicated to her alone. Woe to him who shall dare to trace
impure characters on those unsullied leaves | Indeed, so sa-
cred are they, that though folly often intrudes upon them, vice
rarely profanes them.
The album sent us was elegantly bound, and enriched by con-
tributions from native poets. Edward and I communicated our
mite immediately. It is a good rule. The next day I looked
at the book to review what I had written, but what was my dis-
may at finding its beautiful pages discolored with lamp oil.
Down it had streamed over a sentimental effusion of Wilde ;
Percival's wing was clogged, and even Bryant's purity was
marred by the contact.
“I did not think to shed a tear”
over my silk frock or Edward's coat, but this was really alarm-
ing. An album I could purchase, but how restore the hand-
writing of those poets on which I knew the enthusiastic owner
loved to dwell with natural pride? I summoned Becky Rand,
“my woman in the kitchen,” (the New-England circumlocution
for cook).
She confessed that after I had retired she thought it would
do no harm to read a little, and being “dozy,” she let the kitchen
lamp fall on the book and “il'd” it.
I suspected as much from Becky's literary taste. I had
often observed a volume of “Zimmerman on Solitude,” covered
with blue homespun, lying on the dresser, and once, being in
want of a skewer, detected one put for a mark at the following
anecdote.
“The celebrated Armelle, who died in the convent of Wannes,
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER, 353
was placed by her parents who were villagers, as a menial ser-
vant in the house of a neighboring gentleman, with whom she
lived five-and-thirty years (just Becky's age). During this
time his groom, finding the kitchen-door fastened, had the
curiosity to peep through the keyhole, where he discovered the
pious maid in a paroxysm of divine ecstacy spitting a fowl.
The youth was so much affected by this religious fervor, that
he devoted himself to a convent.” .
Becky was very sentimental, and usually had an interjectional
remark whenever I entered the kitchen.
“Oh, ma'am,” said she to me one day, pointing to a bean
she had trained over her kitchen window, “how can the human
natur's heart help for to see how miraculous beans is "
I did not ridicule Becky's sentimentalities, but found pleasure
in moralizing over the progress of her bean vine, and even kept
my countenance when, the morning after a frost, she assumed a
pensive attitude, and said, “Ah, Miss Packard, so frail is the
human natur's life of a bean P"
I heard, however, a conversation between herself and Polly,
as we were preparing for a guest at dinner, that completely ex-
cited my risibility. - -
“Who is coming here to day ?” said Polly.
“A tutor from Cambridge,” answered Becky.
“What is a tutor "asked Polly.
“Mercy child, don't you know?” said:Recky, “why, a per-
son that tutes ſ” -
Becky's sentimentalism was not confined to her bean vine.
She rarely took up the gridiron without a sigh over the re-
mains of the beef and poultry, and one would think from her
looks she was about to bear the martyrdom of St. Lawrence on
its well-scraped parallels.
But the place where her mind was most under my inspection
354 RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE.
was the ironing-table, where, as Mr. Packard's shirts and cravats
were my first care, I felt a feminine pride in smoothing their
snowy texture. -
Many were the experiences detailed by Becky as we gave the
sheets a finishing Snap in folding, or wielded our irons with the
skill of artists.
And when on Tuesday evening every article was translated
to its appropriate drawer, and Becky sat by the kitchen fire, at
her pine table, with her mending, I have often heard her say,
“Polly, child, always regulate your concerns in the day, and
then when you come to set by your taper (looking at the small
tallow candle), you can have time to meditate on the human
natur’s heart.”
Alas, for romance Becky married my butcher, and became
Mrs. Ichabod Whittemore
CHA PTE R W III.
T EI E F I R S T - B O R. N.
As mine own shadow was this child to me,
A Second self, far dearer, and more fair.
SHELLEY.
THERE can be but few domestic trials, comparatively speak-
ing, without children. In their absence, that combination of
articles expressively designated clutter, seldom alarms the eagle-
eyed housewife. From day to day, from week to week, from
year to year, may she descend to the breakfast table with her
smooth morning dress, her well-combed hair, and her face un-
wrinkled by nursing vigils.
Such was my happy predicament until Master Frederick
Packard entered on the before tranquil scene, when forthwith
appeared an accompanying train of vials, fennel-seed, and pap.
He was blessed from the moment of his birth with a pair of
lungs that needed no Demosthenean pebbles to bring them into
play. Two thirds of the time his face was in lines as thick as
the rivers on a well-drawr map, and his roaring brought kind
inquiries from the neighbors “if anything was the matter with
the baby?” His father flattered himself that he was destined
to make a noise in the world, and descanted long and loud (for
we were obliged to speak at “the top of our voices”) on the
kindness of Providence in permitting infants to scream, since it
356 RECOLLECTIONS OF
was necessary to the healthy action of the lungs; he added,
moreover, that all sensible children were cross, and that his
mother had often said he was the most fretful child in the
world.
Polly, now thirteen years of age, succeeded the regular nurse
in assisting me to attend my little boy, and if ever any one,
with the kindest attentions, had a knack at making a child
scream, it was she, notwithstanding my woman in the kitchen
would occasionally put her head into the parlor door and call out,
“Polly, Polly, why don't you shue” the child?” but alas ! Polly's
sole ability lay in trotting and walking, walking and trotting,
with all the energy of human muscles; her last resource, and it
was often effectual, was to sit on a particularly hard chair, and
rock backward and forward on an uncarpeted floor. At each
jolt Master Frederick's voice grew fainter and fainter, until at
length, overpowered by superior physical strength, he dropped
asleep, and looked as if no storm had ever hung over his placid
brow. .
How beautiful is the sleep of infancy, with its breathing like
the uplifting of lily leaves on a summer wave It would be
sculpture-like, did not the motion of the lips betray a sweet
remembrance of its natural wants,
“As the shifting visions sweep,
Amid its innocent rest.”
Edward often stole from his office at the hour of our infant's
slumber, and we knelt together by his cradle, our thoughts
leaping from baby-hood to manhood, living long, long years in
that lingering gaze. He always blessed us by awaking with a
smile. An unutterable sweetness played over his lips, and his
hands were outstretched in gentle joy.
* Probably meaning hush,
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 357
“His hair is growing darker. He will look like you,
Clarissa.”
“No, Edward, his cradle shades it. See now, as I turn it to
the light, your own sunny brown, and Polly thinks his eyes are
blue.” -
To this day the point is not settled. Frederick, who is now
a successor in his father's office, has dark eyes when shaded by
fatigue or sorrow, but in health and joy they light up with his
father's hue. -
Notwithstanding Mr. Packard's arguments about expanding
the chest, and though he was as brave as a lion, and, in the old
uniform of “The Ancient and Honorable Artillery,” white
broadcloth, faced with red, with a gold-laced chapeau bras, he
looked as though -
- - “his eye
Could create soldiers, and make women fight,”
yet was he a mere coward when Frederick opened his infantile
battery of screams; and from this weakness arose the uncom-
fortable habit of walking with him at night. Even after my hus-
band became Judge Packard, you might have seen his honor at
the dead of night, with a half naked baby in his arms, whose
whims increased in proportion to their indulgence. For my-
self, I scarcely knew whether to laugh or weep one night,
when, as peeping from my comfortable pillow, I saw the judge
dividing the remains of a cold turkey between little Martha,
my eldest daughter, and her brother. Fred was then four years
old.
When Frederick ceased to be fretful, he became mischievous.
By a well-timed slap, I cured him of some daydawn experi-
ments on me; but his favorite plaything at that hour so de-
lightful for repose after a disturbed night, was his father's
nose; and when with a groan or remonstrance he turned away,
358 RECOLLECTIONS OF
the boy's scream became so tremendous that the nasal toy was
restored. .
Nothing is more helpless than a kind-hearted man with a
passionate child. Its very weakness is its strength, and
though one finger of his masculine hand could terminate its ex-
istence, yet the infant's feeblest touch can conquer both body
and mind.
It is not my intention to theorize on the subject of manag-
ing children; I am simply practical. When Frederick was a
week old, his father brought home the treatises of Hamilton,
West, Edgeworth, &c. on education. I had previously seen
him poring over Rousseau and Xenophon. He read them faith-
fully, and discussed them eloquently, yet not one of these
writers could induce him to deny Fred his nose; therefore,
finding them insufficient to establish his authority, and not
having much taste for reading, I did not look into these cele-
brated works, and yet my boy obeyed my words, and even my
looks. I found great virtue in a rational, well-managed rod.
Scolding is every way injurious. It is pouring water into a
sieve; your child becomes accustomed to threats, and the pas-
sions of both rise with the voice. -
“How did you contrive to be so cool,” said a gentleman to a
Quaker, “when that rascally porter cheated you?” His reply
is a lesson to parents and housewives. “Friend, I long ago
obliged myself not to speak Zoud, and therefore I never lose my
temper.”
I have seen so many well-regulated families brought up un-
der Solomon's discipline, and sometimes controlled by the mere
sight of a switch hung over the mantelpiece, that I am tempted
to think he is getting too much out of fashion, and modern theo-
ries, with their feather rods, seem to me like “the crackling of
thorns under the pot.”
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 359
My first sally from my bedroom was to ride; a common cus-
tom in New-England. My babe protested with all his lungs,
and well he might, against the preparations of his cumbrous
toilet. He instinctively raised his trembling hands to his
frilled cap, and when a smart blue satin hat was perched on the
top of that, making him by contrast look the color of a mum-
my, his indignation was beyond all bounds; and the flannel
blanket, enveloping the whole, scarcely smothered his screams.
The motion of the chaise fortunately soon lulled him to sleep,
and I was enabled to enjoy the repose of nature.
Every object was as fresh as though it had just sprung into
being before my eyes. The beautiful sloping hills of Brook-
line, the sparkling fulness of Charles river, emptying into the
bay, the apple orchards filling the senses with gentle colors and
odors, the sweet-brier throwing out its perfume at the very feet
of passengers, the barberry bushes, with their delicate yellow
blossoms, preludes to the scarlet fruit of autumn, and even the
palace-like buildings, placed at almost regular distances along
the road from Cambridge to Sweet Auburn, seemed all made
for me. I pressed my boy close to my heart, with a gush of
gratitude to Him who had thus blessed me. The cares of life
had not taken rough hold of Edward or myself, nor were we
satiated with its pleasures. There was ever a fount of gayety
in our hearts, that threw its sprinklings over the deeper shades
of parental consciousness, and gave that relish to the ludicrous
which is almost always discernible in delicate minds.
But rides, like all things else, must end. Fred awoke, and
began to grow restive beneath the “bonnet of blue.” I “shued”
him as well as my strength would allow, but his clamor in-
creased. Every father and mother, who have ridden through a
populous city with a screaming child, will know how the per-
spiration stood on our faces at this awful publicity, and how we
360 RECoLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE.
imagined that every eye was fixed on us, and every individual
condemming the breeding of Master Packard.
I gave my hopeful baby into Polly's arms on our return, and
reconnoitred my establishment below. A good-tempered WOIYlän
WàS governing all its various departments. Mrs. Philipson was
one of those who seemed to think the old allowance of a “peck
of dirt” to a man was too small, for her practical allowance was
a bushel.
In vain did I seek for my own reflection in the dim looking-
glass; a kitchen towel was thrown on the sofa ; Edward, for-
getful of all my hints and hopes, “that everything was in order
down stairs.” had suffered his slippers, coat, books, &c. to ac-
cumulate with utter unconsciousness of the effect; no dusting-
cloth had passed, like the wing of a good angel, over the furni-
ture, and a waggish friend had written in plain characters on
one of the tables, with his finger, “Mr. B
's compliments.”
(; H A PT E R IX.
I N T E L L I G E N C E O FFIC E.
Voyons donc, je vous prie;
Mettons l'original auprés de la copie.
Parma foi, c'est vous-même;—
Jamais peintre ne fit portrait siressemblant.—REGNAUD.
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away ?—Picar of Wakefield.
MRs. PHILIPSON, the votary of the Penates mentioned in the
preceding chapter, had been obtained for me by my mother at
the intelligence-office. It often startles me when I reflect what
unprincipled wretches may be brought into the very heart of
our domestic circles, and how the pure minds of our children
may be blighted in their very unfolding, by these necessary but
vicious instruments. - -
Mrs. Philipson was a chubby woman of forty, with a scarlet
face and scarlet throat laid in fat folds. Her eyes were promi-
nent and whitish. Her round elbows rested upon her hips,
from whence her short arms projected, and her hands hung from
her wrists with an imbecile air. She spoke softly, and was
liberal in promises. Polly, whom my readers may recollect as
the little girl of our establishment, was necessarily greatly un-
der the influence of the cook, particularly as she occupied the
same room. She was an orphan from the Female Asylum,
bound to me until the age of eighteen. She was so docile and
16
362 RECOLLECTIONS OF
innocent, that could I always have sheltered her under my own
wing, she would have been pure as a bird, and might have
plumed her flight from me to Heaven; but after the birth of
Frederick, new affections came to me, and new cares to her. I
could no longer confine her to the parlor, in her half-sized chair,
with her calico frock and apron, and her hair simply parted.
One morning I discerned a row of ambitious paper-curls on her
head; soon, a soiled muslim frill was pinned round her neck;
and on the following Sabbath, when I was conjecturing what
stranger was passing the window stealthily, a second revealed
to me Polly, with a bunch of faded flowers surmounting the
simple green riband on her hat, and an old silk dress, which,
hanging like a bag about her trim figure, betrayed at once the
ungainly circumference of Mrs. Philipson. I called to her to
come back. She blushed, and said, “the last bell was tolling.”
“Come in immediately,” said I.
She walked slowly and sulkily back, and I asked her why she
wore borrowed clothes 7
For the first time in her life she looked pertly as she an-
swered, “I don't see why I can't dress as well as other folks.”
I reasoned with her, and used affectionate persuasions, but
finding her obstinate, ordered her to take off finery so unsuited
to her age and situation. My anger was new to her, and she
obeyed. For several days she was sulky and silent; every ac-
tion seemed forced, and she looked at me as if I were a tyrant.
This expression wore off, and I hoped for better things. I
would willingly have discharged Mrs. Philipson, but how could
I, with an infant in my arms, my husband's comfort to study,
and the fang-like chains of custom clinging to me?
Two weeks elapsed in apparent acquiescence to my wishes.
My whole soul was absorbed in Frederick, or perhaps I should
have noticed the under-current that was hurrying Polly to de-
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 363
struction. To see his intelligent smile awakening like young
creation, to kiss his rounded limbs as they came flushed like the
heart of a white rose from the morning-bath, to feel his dimpled
hand on my cheek, or press the little velvet luxury in my own,
to dress him with maternal pride in robes wrought by the hand
of friendship, to sing him lullabies conjured up from the breath-
ings of love, and to whisper to my own heart a thousand and
thousand times, “he is an angel”—was not this occupation
enough for a young mother ? -
I was surprised one morning not to hear the usual move.
ments in the house below, and on descending, found the shutters
unopened, no fire in the kitchen, and the outer door unlocked.
I repaired in some trepidation to the kitchen-chamber. It was
untenanted. Astonished and agitated, I ran to acquaint Ed-
ward, and we proceeded to examine the premises. Polly's
reasons for departing were told in language as strong as words,
by a bundle of her plain clothes directed to me.
With what a crash comes the first breach of confidence on
the affections, as the circle of agitation is more violent when a
stone is thrown on a smooth lake, than on the wilder ocean I
had loved Polly like a younger sister. She came to me when
my cup of happiness was full, and I was glad to see her taste
her daily draught with me. She had looked at me with a
trustingness that seemed to say, “you are my oracle P. She
had confided to me her childish sorrows, and was a willing
hearer when I talked of Edward. I had administered to her in
sickness, and when my head ached, if every other step was
heavy, hers was light and careful.
I looked round her chamber. There was the little glass
hung against the wall, before which she had so often combed
her parted hair, and which had recently reflected the first
awakened glance of vanity. She had forgotten her Bible, Ed.
364 RECOLLECTIONS OF
ward's gift. It was lying on the pine dressing-table, with her
pocket-handkerchief folded over it, as if it had been her inten-
tion to take it, but it was forgotten I I glanced at Edward,
and sinking on her bed, burst into violent and bitter tears.
Edward comforted me with a husband's better love, but though
a neighbor sent us breakfast and assistanée, and we were at
length seated at table, I could not speak; my voice was choked,
and large drops fell from my eyes on Fred's silky hair, as he
lay sleeping on my lap.
My dear mother hastened to me as soon as Edward sent her
intelligence of my misfortune. She insisted on my returning
with her, and passing the remainder of the season; and as Ed-
ward was deeply engaged in business, he urged it too. In
making the necessary arrangements for my removal, I perceived
that several articles of my dress were missing, together with
Some silver, and my miniature. The sorrowful conviction burst
upon me, that Polly, instigated by that human fiend, had robbed
Iſle.
Several months elapsed, and all inquiries for the poor child
were unavailing. How gladly would I have taken her back to
my protection, and showed her the “better part,” for she was
young in sin.
On entering the court-house one day, Edward understood
that the suit in which he was engaged would not be brought up
immediately, and having some pressing business, he commenced
writing. Quite absorbed, he knew not what was occupying the
bar, until he heard a lawyer before him exclaim,
“By heavens ! it looks like Packard's wife.”
Edward started, and saw a miniature passing from hand to
hand among the gentlemen. He rose to join them, and it came
to him in turn. It was my likeness. I may write, for the
Sake of my narrative, what Edward said in his enthusiasm, for
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 365
my age of vanity, if I ever possessed any, has departed. A
brilliant eye, a rose-tinged cheek, and an airy form, speak only
to me now of the Great Architect who made them, and who has
beauty for us in reversion that will be as the fine gold to dross.
“Clarissa,” said my husband, “think what must have been
my sensations at that moment, when the low jests of some of
my brethren, and the unsubdued admiration of others, ignorant
of my connection with the picture, fell on my ear. I gave one
long glance at their lineaments to assure me of their identity.
There were your dark flashing eyes looking a sweet defiance on -
that heartless crowd; there were your ruby lips softening those
eyes with smiles; there were these very curls, nature's handi-
work, falling over the polished brow; there was this white hand,
pledged to me in truth and innocence, and those slight fingers,
with their one golden circlet, holding back the clustering locks,
and glancing among their darkness like breaks of the galaxy
between parting clouds. I thrust the miniature next my heart,
and held my hands crushed over it as a miser holds a rescued
treasure. I was recalled to my recollection by an astonished
smile from those around me. A few words to the counsel con-
vinced them of my claim on the picture, and my interest in the
disclosures to be made.”
But Edward soon forgot even me, for stationed at the bar
were two female figures familiar to his memory. It was impos-
sible to mistake the vulgar air and face of Mrs. Philipson. As
the various testimony was given in, her eyes rolled in uneasy
impudence from side to side, her red hands were clenched in
anger, or she gave an hysterical Sob, half affectation, half alarm,
and raised the corner of her shawl to wipe pretended tears.
But a deeper feeling absorbed him when he scrutinized the
timid-looking figure by her side. Her bonnet, a mixture of
sorry finery, scarcely hid her face, but it was closely covered
366 RECOLLECTIONS OF
with both her hands. She looked like one who would gladly
have called on the rocks to cover her, and a feeling of shame
could be seen in the very bend of her figure as it crouched by
the side of the bolder criminal.
Mrs. Philipson had committed a series of thefts on the indi-
vidual at whose charge she was summoned, and it was proved
but too clearly that her young companion was her accomplice.
When Polly was requested to uncover her face, she only pressed
her hands upon it more closely. The necessity was explained
to her, and she complied. It was pale as death, and care-worn
as though age had trampled over it. She gave one frightened
glance around, but that glance took in the face of Edward, who
was leaning forward with harrowing interest. It was too much
for poor Polly. A scream of joy and horror burst from her,
and extending her arms towards him, she fell senseless. He
Calºle forward, and stating his relation to her, begged to be al-
lowed a few moments' conversation with her in presence of coun-
sel. The poor child soon recovered, and shrinking from the
baleful touch of her seducer, met Edward's compassionate eye,
who spake soothingly to her, and she gathered courage.
“It was first flattery, then fear, that ruined me,” she said, in
a low voice; “but I have never loved wickedness. I would have
come back to you if I could, but that wicked woman frightened
me, and gave me vile drinks, and then I did her bidding. I
never stole for myself. She gave me these clothes,” continued
she, earnestly, “they are all I own in the wide world. If it
hadn't been for the picture, sir,” and she shuddered as she
spoke, “I might have been worse. I hid it where she could not
find it, and I knelt down and looked at it when I was afraid to
pray to God, and it seemed to strengthen me, and make me
bolder in the right. They took it from me, or I would give it
to you, sir.” Here her voice was very mournful but looking
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 367
again terrified, she said, “Do you think they can hang me for
this? I am sure I shall grow good again.”
The trial closed, and Mrs. Philipson was sentenced to the
heaviest penalty of the law. Polly's youth and inexperience
were mitigating circumstances, and her punishment was almost
nominal.
About twilight on the evening of that day, Edward came
home, as I thought, with a stranger. In a moment, Polly was
at my feet, asking pardon through gushing tears. Her story
was soon told, and I comforted the young penitent with Chris-
tian promises.
The next morning she came down with her calico frock and
apron, her hair parted again with girlish simplicity, and hid her
bashfulness in caresses of my Frederick.
She has been my tried and faithful friend, through joy and
sorrow, for many years; and is now sitting in her low chair,
with a plain, respectable looking cap over her hair, which is just
revealing the first tread of time, while my grand-daughter Clar-
issa is roguishly trying on her new spectacles.
C H A P T E R X.
K IT C H E N C O U R T S H II?.
— his aspect breathed repose,
And in sweet torpor he was plunged deep,
Ne could himself from ceaseless yawning keep.
CAstle of INDOLENCE.
IT was winter when I returned to housekeeping, and installed
Lydia, commonly pronounced Lyddy Pierce, as president of the
dishcloth. She was of the demure sort, as silent and regular
as the stars, past the heyday of youth, and had reached an
age which the eagle-eyed housekeeper loves. I had restored
Polly to full confidence. The sooner you trust in a generous
mind after error, the more hold you possess over its returning
rectitude, and the more it feels the practicability of virtue.
One of our visitors was Mr. Stockton, a gentleman of broken-
mercantile fortunes, about thirty-five years of age. He had re-
served from his creditors just sufficient for his own support;
but not having much energy of character, stood still at that
point, and kept himself alive by calling about once a week to
pass an evening with his friends. His ideas were all in a circle,
and to us it was a mental tread-mill. We soon learned to dis-
tinguish his knock at the door, and what a death-peal was it to
our imaginations when, after having put Frederick to bed, I sat
sewing and Edward reading, in the luxury of winter evening
repose. We could have tolerated his visits with cheerful polite-
RECoLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE. 369
ness had they been of moderate length; or had he possessed
any conversational powers, we would have listened patiently;
but Mr. Stockton seemed to have nothing on earth to say.
Why he came to see us, and why he tarried so long, I have
never learned to this day. I once heard a father say to a son
who was going to college, “Samuel, however intimate you may
be, never make long visits.” This good advice Mr. Stockton
either never heard, or disregarded.
He had been sitting with us one evening five hours, having
come to a sociable tea. A pause in the conversation being
unusually long, I looked up from my sewing, and saw Edward
asleep. I felt a little fidgety, and took the tongs to mend the
fire. Edward stretched forward his legs and called out, “May
it please your honor, the plaintiff—” I contrived to pass near
him, and trod upon his foot. He started and recovered, some-
what refreshed, while Mr. Stockton, brightening up with the
incident, thought proper to sit an hour longer.
Another evening (it was the Sabbath), when Edward had
taken two or three nods I went into the kitchen, and with a
preliminary yawn told Polly that I could keep awake no longer,
and bade her come in and collect the silver to carry to my bed-
room, and close the parlor shutters. “There is some hope,”
said I, “that Mr. Stockton may observe what you are doing
and depart.” It was then ten o'clock. Polly bustled about and
closed the shutters, and as she passed me I whispered, “Make
as much noise as possible.” -
“An excellent plan that,” said Mr. Stockton, “to close the
shutters; it keeps in the warm air;” and he buttoned up his
coat, drew his chair nearer the fire, and put his feet on the
fender.
Edward almost groaned, and we sat cogitating until eleven
o'clock before Mr. Stockton said, with a hem and a little hitch
16%
370 RECOLLECTIONS OF
of his chair, that he “believed it was getting late.” Edward
and I were silent. .
“The evenings are growing long,” said he.
“Very,” rejoined Edward and I, in a breath.
“These are fine nights for sleep, Mr. Packard,” said our im-
perturbable visitor.
“Very,” answered Edward, and I echoed “Very.”
“The fire treads snow,” said Mr. Stockton, “I think we
shall have falling weather.” .
Edward rose, unbolted a window, and looking out, said, “Yes,
falling weather;” and bolting the window-shutter again, sat
down. - -
“I believe I must think of going,” said Mr. Stockton. A
dead pause.—At length, for all late sittings, whether in Con-
gress or parlors, will have an end, our guest departed.
I usually visited the kitchen before retiring, to observe
whether all were safe. For several evenings I found the ashes
raked up in a symmetrical mound, the hearth swept clean, the
boiler filled and placed upon the trammels, and the dough in its
white trough, with its whiter towel, set at a safe distance to
rise. -
After Mr. Stockton's departure I went as usual to inspect
the premises, leaving the parlor door open to light the passage.
Everything was quiet, but I fancied that the settle, the back of
which was towards me, was too near the fire. In the act of re-
moving it I caught hold of a head of well greased hair, and
heard, though too late, a warning hem
I screamed, and Edward ran with a light. Lyddy and a
young man who sat beside her rose in some confusion, but the
maiden soon recovered, and said with great composure,
“I forgot to tell you, ma'am, that I had a spark—This is
* A phrase for a crackling sound in ignited wood.
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 3.71
Nathan Osgood, Mr. Hill the tailor's 'prentice, a very reputable
person.”
I apologized in my turn, and left Mr. Osgood to “smooth his
raven darkness.” -
There is a tacit agreement in New-England, allowing this
midnight intercourse in the best regulated families; families
who would raise their hands and eyes at every breach of deco-
rum; I therefore retired, and left Nathan and Lyddy in undis-
turbed possession of the settle.
It so chanced, that Lyddy having as little to say in the
kitchen as Mr. Stockton in the parlor, the happy couple fell
asleep. In the meantime the elements, which pay regard
neither to Leanders nor Nathans, were brewing a quiet but p0-
tent snow-storm. They formed a regular and sure barricade of
snow-flakes through the silent hours of night; a drifting wind
bore them against our doors and windows, and settling into a
biting northeaster cemented them there; and when Nathan, stiff
from his sitting posture and chilled with cold, awoke at the
mechanic's early hour, he found himself imprisoned by these
Alpine banks. .
He awoke Lyddy, and called a council of love. The snow-
banks reached to the second story over the kitchen. He might
have gone out at the front door, but was he a man to leave his
Lyddy struggling with the powers of frost 7 Not he. With
shovel in hand he commenced operations, and in an hour she
was able to follow him with a broom, sweeping away the lighter
particles, under an arch of snow, to the wood-house; and in
half an hour more he cleared his way to the street, claimed a
lover's reward, went home, mounted his week-day clothes, and
for six days was as faithful a tailor as he had been lover on the
seventh. * -
I arose at eight, and found snow-patches in every crevice of
372 RECOLLECTIONS OF
my windows, a tracery of frost-work on the panes of glass, and
the water in the ewer a mass of ice. With chattering teeth
and purple fingers I descended to the parlor. It was in per-
fect order; a cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, and Edward's
boots, polished to the highest, were warming by the fender.
The scene in the kitchen was equally auspicious. Lyddy, with
as grave a look as though she had never felt la belle passion,
stood at the wash-tub (in which she had made far advances),
watching the baking cakes. Polly had Fred between her knees,
wrapped up in a flannel gown, his scorched face looking like a
full moon. She was dexterously keeping her sewing from his
mischievous grasp, and persevering in spite of him in her indus-
try. What could rival the comfort of such a home, when, to
complete the luxury, Polly with her smiling face brought to the
breakfast-table the hot coffee, which, as the poet sings of some-
thing else, was
“deep, yet clear,
Strong without rage, without overflowing, full.”
And all this with the thermometer below zero
I have not yet mentioned that Lyddy was excessively deaf.
Polly used to say “she was as deaf as a haddock.” I havo
sometimes speculated about this New-England phrase, but have
not been able to trace its origin, and I do not find that natural-
ists refer to any peculiar organization of the species which
authorizes it.
It was not the fault of my lungs if our neighbors did not
know the items of our daily food. I often forgot that others
were not deaf, and caught Edward smiling at my trumpet.
tongued style. One day in particular, when a stranger was
dining with us, I had been unusually occupied in preparing for
dinner in the kitchen, and had pitched my voice very high.
Quite unconsciously I turned to our guest, and his politeness
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER, 373
could scarcely prevent his starting when I screamed, “Allow me
to give you a piece of ham, sir.”
“Clarissa,” said Mr. Packard, greatly amused, “Mr. Stevens
is not deaf.” -
I was sadly disconcerted, and it was some time before our
courteous visitor could bow and smile me into self-possession.
One of the accidents which Lyddy's infirmity caused was
particularly provoking, and occurred in the following manner at
a fruit-party, given by us to some New-Yorkers, who brought
us letters. I made unusual efforts to procure fresh cream, and
had succeeded so well, that dishes with ladles stood at the head,
foot, and centre of the table ; enough indeed for a housekeep-
er's measure, which is, to make every one help freely, without
looking round to see how far a thing will go. My sensitiveness
was perfectly satisfied with the display, as I saw the thick white
volumes poured over the rich red raspberries and strawberries,
but as quickly I detected a change in my guests; here a half
look of disgust, there a glance of concern, in one quarter un-
usual eloquence, in another unusual taciturnity. Every one
knows that the lady of the house is the last person to taste at
table of her own delicacies, and so confident was I in the per-
fection of the cream, that I would have volunteered to stand
in Hebe's place with it, as cup-bearer to the gods. Edward's
turn came before mine. “Bless my soul, my dear,” said he,
with a wry face, “what is the matter with the cream º'
I dipped my spoon in the compound which has furnished the
poet with so exquisite an illustration of beauty,
“Her lips looked like strawberries smothered in cream.”
and .
“When fondly thinking to allay
My appetite with gust, instead of fruit
Chewed bitter ashes which th' offended taste
With spattering noise rejected.”—
374 RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE.
Or, to be less Miltonian, I tasted, and would willingly have
thrown from my mouth a nauseous mixture of salted cream.
Lyddy, who, as is not unfrequently the case, had doffed her
cook's habit and acted as waiting-woman, perceived in helpless
ignorance of wrong, the consternation that prevailed. I had
tact enough to know that to question her would be worse than
useless; but Edward, forgetting her deafness, asked her, as she
stood near him, “what was the matter with the cream *
“Very sweet and fresh, sir,” said she, in the guttural tone
peculiar to very deaf people; “kept down the cellar all the
forenoon.” . .
This malapropos answer came in very well, and turned mor-
tification to mirth, which was increased when Edward said, in a
louder tone,
“But, Lyddy, what have you done to the cream?” and she
answered,
“Yes, sir, very fresh; Miss Hatch was spoke to aforehand
for the best, and I thought I would salt it to presarve it, as
Miss Packard tell'd me.” -
This grave answer let loose the flood-gates of wit and laugh-
ter, and we finished our dessert with attic salt, as a substitute
for poor Lyddy's mistaken mixture.
But while I thus detail circumstances which, if taken by the
housekeeper in a right spirit, produce at worst but a passing
shade over the brightness of her régime, let me stop a moment
to pay a tribute to Lydia's unpretending virtues. Happy shall
we be if, like her, we only mistake our duty. Through her
long days of toil, her onward course was calm and steady, un-
ruffled by passion, studious to please, contemplative and prayer-
ful. Her study was to serve God and her fellow-creatures.
Peace to thy memory, my humble friend When the lords of
this world are summoned to the test of a high tribunal, will
they not envy thee ? .
CHAPTER XI.
T H E H E L P L E S S B R II) E.
For the maist thrifty man could never get
A well-stored room, unless his wife wad let.
Gentle Shepherd.
In short,’twas his fate, sir,
To eat mutton cold. -
GoLDs MITH's Retaliation.
A LETTER which I have recently received seems so appropri-
ate to my recollections, that I hope I shall be excused for pre-
senting it in these details. Its writer, Emily Lawrence, seemed
never made for a coarser implement than a No. 12 needle.
Before her marriage she breathed the very atmosphere of indul-
gence, the acquisition of various accomplishments being the
only discipline she was called to endure. Her hands were white
and soft as infancy, her step untroubled and elastic, her spirits
joyous and gentle, her smile delicate as moonlight; she was a
sweet creature, and her friends loved to lift her along the road
of life without her touching the earth. Her experiences after
her marriage will be best illustrated by her letter.
“QUINCY, Mass., Aug. 9th, 18–.
“My DEAR FRIEND,
“I have been for some time intending to write to you, as I
promised at parting, to give you a description of our establish-
ment, and the beautiful scenery about this delightful region. I
376 RECOLLECTIONS OF
have but little excuse for my delay, and will make amends by a
long letter. -
“You recollect that when I left my dear maternal home, my
mother provided me with excellent domestics, and everything
useful and elegant suited to our large fortune. Indeed there
seemed no deficiency throughout the whole establishment, and
she departed for England, happy in the belief that the care and
expense bestowed on my education had been attended with com-
plete success; that I was fitted to adorn the fortune I inherited,
and to preside over a family with grace and dignity. Alas !
she had only seen me in my drawing-room, surrounded with
taste and elegance, beautifully dressed, with an admiring hus-
band who studied every wish. But, my dear friend, I soon
found myself involved in perplexities. Oh how I wished you
were here to enlighten me by your experience
“The domestics I brought with me from Boston soon began
to grow dissatisfied with the monotony of a country life, and to
feel the want of those social pleasures to which all human be-
ings aspire. My cook, an excellent woman, pined for her own
'minister. She had been a very respectable member of the Con-
gregational church in her native town, and feeling the want of
those respectful attentions to which she had been accustomed
on the Sabbath, it was always a melancholy day to her. In
vain I took her in our comfortable coach to the Episcopal
church, which was under the especial patronage of my husband,
and seated her in a respectable pew; she said “she did not like
to hear prayers read, she wished to hear the minister pray from
his heart, as she had been accustomed to hear.”
“My chamber-maid Amanda, who was something of a co-
quette, and very fond of dress, complained that she ‘might as
well be shut up in a prison; to be sure the house was well
enough, and her wages were high, and she hadn't much to do,
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 377
and got presents from the visitors, but what did all that signify
if she was to be moped up in a great castle of a place, with nobody
to speak to ? Besides, she didn't like the prospect from the
kitchen winders, and Mr. Lawrence had not given her a rocking-
chair—she had always been used to a rocking-chair in kitchens.’
“My own little waiting-maid, who knew nothing but how to
dress me, and whose whole happiness consisted in making me
look beautiful, was, except the coachman, the only contented
one in the establishment; her happiness was complete when my
dear Henry came into my dressing-room, admired my charms,
and the taste with which Jane had adorned them.
“Complaints daily increased, although Mr. Lawrence cut
down a fine tree to open the view from the kitchen, and pro-
vided a rocking-chair for Amanda; and she soon left me, be-
cause, when a smart young gardener in our employ wished to
stay with her, I would not allow them a separate room from the
kitchen to court in.
“My footman was equally discontented; he was tired of a
subordinate situation, and having accumulated a considerable
amount in the Savings Bank, decided to go back to the city and
set up in trade; and this decision seemed accelerated by Mr.
Lawrence offering him a second-hand hat, upon which he took
up his own and departed.
“Our cook, who was a woman of principle, gave us formal
notice of her intention to go away, and really seemed to feel for
my situation; but she said her conscience wouldn't let her stay.
She remained, however, until we were accommodated with such
domestics as the country afforded.
“The mistakes which occurred the first few days after her
departure we ascribed to accident, and, as we were without com-
pany, they rather amused us. The waiting-man, John, on his
first début, placed the dinner-service on the table, putting a
378 RECOLLECTIONS OF
small dish of vegetables at the head, a piece of roast-beef at one
corner, and deliberately moving the pickles in front of my
carver. I followed him, and gave him directions, to which
he paid very respectful attention. As we seated ourselves,
he took up a newspaper and sat down by the window to read.
Mr. Lawrence was exceedingly annoyed, because he could
not instantly decide whether he was impudent as well as igno-
rant. After some embarrassment he said,
“‘Young man, it is not customary for a person employed to
wait at table to sit down.” -
“John started up with great alacrity, and said, ‘Oh, isn't it?
Well, I’d as lief stand, I ain't the least grain tired. You havn't
a power of work for a hired man to do.” -
“We felt some comfort in the idea that we had only igno-
rance to contend with, though that was bad enough, considering
our inexperience. Henry very good-naturedly instructed him
in his business, and although it seemed very strange to him
that two persons should require a third to stand and watch
them while they were eating, yet finding the work easy and
profitable, he soon acquitted himself to our satisfaction.
“As we lived at some distance from town, I was frequently
without the common necessaries for cooking, from my total ig-
norance of what ought to be furnished beforehand. My new
cook, though perfectly obliging, knew nothing of her business,
and it was deplorable to see her serve up a dinner. It hap-
pened, perhaps unfortunately, that we had no company for sev-
eral weeks, and Henry and myself were too much engrossed
with each other to observe the gradual decline of good order
which had taken place since the departure of our city help; but
we were at length aroused by a letter from Henry's uncle and
former guardian, announcing that as we had been at housekeeping
long enough to have everything in fine order, he would pay us a
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 379
visit. We were delighted at the prospect of seeing him, and it
did not occur to us immediately that he was very particular,
and our domestics very ignorant. .
“When he arrived I felt some anxiety that he should have a
comfortable dinner, and went into the kitchen for the first time
to consult with the cook. I confess, with all my inexperience,
I felt shocked and alarmed at the dirt with which I was sur-
rounded, and at the singular appropriations of the various arti-
cles of kitchen furniture. One of the best tin-pans was on the
hearth, full of ashes; a fine damask towel had been used to
wipe the dishes; the oil-can and rags stood in a chair; and a
pair of Henry's good boots were thrust under the sink with
some iron pots, in which were the accumulated skimmings of
weeks. . .
“I found that the butcher had left a leg of veal, and nothing
else; but recollecting that my uncle was very fond of stuffed
veal, I told the cook to stuff and roast it. She asked if I had
any sweet herbs. I told her that I believed the herbs in the
kitchen were used, but that my mother had put me up several
paper bags of sage, catnip, &c., which I supposed would do as
well, and ordered her to put in a plenty, as my uncle liked his
food high-seasoned. -
“My husband invited two neighboring gentlemen to take
a family dinner. When the veal was carved and tasted, I
leave it to your imagination to conceive of my distress and
Henry's mortification, on finding that our only dish was ruined.
A half-picked ham-bone was summoned from the store-room, on
which our guests satisfied the cravings of appetite.
“The following day we made more elaborate preparations,
and Mr. Lawrence asked me, in the most gentle manner, just to
look into the kitchen and see that everything was going on
right. Being sincerely desirous to please my dear husband and
380 RECOLLECTIONS OF
discharge my duty, I determined to spend the morning in the
kitchen. But there I was in everybody's way and only worried
by trying to hurry my unskilful domestics; indeed, I was
wholly incompetent even to advise them.
“I began to feel some trepidation as the dinner-hour ap-
proached; and when I saw the heterogeneous mass on the ta-
ble, in a style so different from our former elegant dinners, I
had scarcely courage to take my seat. My uncle sat next to
me, and offered to carve a pair of roasted chickens. When he
cut off the wing, out dropped from the crop (as I have since
heard it is called) corn, and beans, and grass, just as they had
been eaten by the fowl. I perceived by his countenance that
something was wrong, but he adroitly concealed the unsightly
objects from our visitors, and refrained from making any re-
mark.
“When our guests departed, he took me aside, and said,
“‘My dear child, you had materials enough on your table
for twenty persons, but your cookery is deplorably deficient.
Your mother neglected a very important part of your educa-
tion. You will spend your fortune to very little purpose if,
amid the abundance with which you are surrounded, you cannot
procure a well-cooked dinner.”
“I felt at that moment as if I would have given up all my
French, German, and every accomplishment, in exchange for
the knowledge which would make me a good housekeeper.
Every young married woman who is ignorant of her duties will
meet mortifications at every step; an elegant establishment, an
ample fortune, and even a devoted husband, will not secure her
happiness.
“You may suppose that my nerves became considerably ex-
cited; indeed, I could not always control my feelings during
my uncle's visit. The day before his departure Henry again
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 381
had company, and had been at some pains to procure a brace
of partridges for dinner. They looked very well, for I studied
a cook-book that morning, but when my husband cut them,
they were nearly raw ; he gave a glance at me, I burst into
tears, and was so much agitated that I was obliged to quit the
table. He followed, and said everything he could to console
me, but utterly unable to command myself, I begged him to
carry my apology to his guests, and I sobbed away the after-
In OOI).
“My uncle has promised to look out for an experienced house-
keeper for me, and I have engaged to take lessons of her, so
that when he comes again I can show him my own cookery. I
told him I should be more proud of serving up a well-dressed
turkey for him, with all the accompaniments in good order,
than in performing the most difficult piece of music. Both he
and Henry smiled encouragingly on me, and said that with such
a disposition to do right I could not fail of succeeding. But
how much better would it have been to have been taught these
things under the eye of a mother My husband is very social
in his disposition, and frequently brings home guests unexpect-
edly, and I often see his brow clouded and his temper disturbed
by the total ignorance of his wife. Not that he complains, for
he knows how desirous I am to please him ever to say a word
to wound my feelings, but I can perceive that he is anxious,
and instead of feeling light-hearted with his guests, is dreading
blunders which will make me ridiculous.
“And now, my dear and respected friend, let me ask you to
come, and counsel and teach me. I find that wealth cannot pro-
duce order and comfort, and I long for your example and ad-
vice in the absence of my mother.
“Affectionately yours,
“EMILY LAwRENCE.”
C H A P T E R X II.
A S T R U G. G. L. E F O R. PO W E R.
JHe reprimands, by glancing with his eye—
And she inflicts her soft reproach—a sigh.
That's all—and that's enough for man and wife;
Did you expect an Iliad of strife?
Why need invective to make error smart,
When looks and signs as deeply touch the heart 2
. . S. GILMAN.
THREE years passed quietly away before Lyddy gave her
hand in marriage to Nathan Osgood. Notwithstanding her at-
tention to the duties of my family, Lyddy made two quilts of
marvellous beauty. One was in hexagon pieces, each the size
of a dollar. The other displayed in the centre a tree, on which
were birds larger than the limbs thereof, while each corner con-
tained what I was glad to be informed was a shepherd with his
flock. To accomplish these chefs d'ouvre I had seen several
yards of good chintz destroyed; but, as the gentlemen say, de
gustibus non est disputandum.
Lyddy's successor, Hannah Sanders' first request on becom-
ing my help was, that she might attend night-meetings. I readily
agreed to this, thinking that she was attached to some church,
and would be more conscientious from her religious profession;
but she proved to be the mere child of excitement. She at
tended every denomination,--was out every evening. The toll-
ing of a bell unhinged all her faculties. When I said to her,
“Hannah, I should like to have you reflect one evening on what
RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE. 383
you have heard the evening before,” she answered, “Oh, Miss
Packard, you don't know anything about it. When I am at
meeting I feel like a gill cup running over.”
But I must not omit to introduce at this period a department
of my establishment which, though humble in itself, wrought
important effects on my after-happiness.
I carried with me from my mother's house a cat, which was
so beautiful that I named her Fairy, in honor of the damsel
who was changed to Grimalkin in the old romance. If I had a
prejudice it was in favor of cats and against dogs; this was un-
fortunate, for soon after my marriage I was introduced to a
mastiff of Edward's nearly as large as myself. I had often
heard him speak of this dog, and praise the faithfulness with
which he guarded the office. I was too busy in other interests to
think much of Growler for some time. I only observed, that on
his occasional visits (for the office was his head-quarters), Fairy's
back rose indignantly, and I felt mine disposed to mount too.
At length, Growler finding the house so comfortable, came
home at night with his master, and daringly laid his unwieldy
form on the centre of the hearth-rug, while Fairy, routed from
her luxurious station, stood upon her dignity, hissing and sput-
tering in one corner.
For a long period a single look from me would make Edward
banish Growler from the room ; but a present of a new office-
dog from a friend completely established him at home, and my
husband became accustomed to my look and Growler's presence.
When he grew indifferent my ire was roused. I affirmed, that
of all created things dogs were the dirtiest,--that the house
was filled with fleas; -that my visitors never could approach
the fire-that Growler ate us out of house and home-and if
he were to be indulged in tracking the Wilton carpet and
painted floors, we had better live in a wigwam.
384 RECOLLECTIONS OF
Edward sometimes gently excused his dog, sometimes de-
fended him, and always turned him out of doors. The animal,
knowing he had an enemy in the cabinet, would sneak in with a
coward look, his tail between his legs, but invariably succeeded
in ensconcing himself on Fairy's rightful domain.
At length I became quite nervous about him. It seemed to
me that he haunted me like a ghost. I was even jealous of Ed-
ward's caresses to him, and looked and spoke as no good wife
should look or speak to her husband.
It is from permitting such trifles to gain the ascendency over
the mind that most connubial discord proceeds. We dwell on
Some little peculiarity in manner or taste opposed to our own,
and jar the rich harp of domestic happiness until, one by one,
every string is broken. I might have gone on in this foolish
ingenuity in unhappiness, and perhaps have been among those
whose matrimonial bands are chains, not garlands, had I not,
when reading one Sabbath morning the fifth chapter of Ephe-
sians, been struck with a sudden sense of my duty, as I met the
words, “and the wife see that she reverence her husband.”
Oh, young and lovely bride, watch well the first moments
when your will conflicts with his to whom God and society have
given the control. Reverence his wishes even when you do not
his opinions. Opportunities enough will arise for the expres.
sion of your independence, to which he will gladly accede, with-
out a contest for trifles. The beautiful independence that soars
over and conquers an irritable temper is higher than any other.
So surely as you believe faults of temper are beneath prayer
and self-examination, you are on dangerous ground ; a fountain
will spring up on your household hearth, of bitter and troubled
WaterS.
When this conviction came over me I threw myself on my
knees, and prayed to God for a gentle, submissive temper.
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HousBKEEPER. 385
After long and earnest inquiry into my own heart, I left my
chamber calm and happy. Edward was reading, and Growler
stood beside him. I approached them softly, and patting the
dog's head, said, “So, Growler, helping your master to read 7"
Edward looked at me inquiringly. I am sure my whole expres-
sion of face was changed; he drew me to him in silence, and
gave me a token of regard he never bestowed on Growler.
From that moment, though I might wince a little at his inroads
on my meat housekeeping, I never gave the dog an angry word,
and I taught Fairy to regard him as one of the lords of the
creation. -
Growler's intelligence was remarkable, although it did not
equal that of Sir Walter Scott's bull-dog terrier, Camp, who
could perceive the meaning of words, and who understood an
allusion to an offence he had committed against the baker, for
which he had been punished. In whatever voice and tone it
was mentioned, he would get up and retire into the darkest part
of the room with an air of distress. But if you said, “The ba-
ker was not hurt after all,” Camp came forth from his hiding-
place, capered, barked, and rejoiced. Growler, however, had
many of those properties of observation which raise the canine
race so high in the affections of man. . -
When Edward made his forenoon sortie from the office to
look at his sleeping boy, Growler always accompanied him, and
rested his fore-paws on the head of the cradle. As the babe
grow older, he loved to try experiments upon the dog's sagacity
and the child's-cqurage. -
Sometimes Fred was put into a basket, and Growler drew
him carefully about the room with a string between his teeth;
as the boy advanced in strength, he was seated on the dog's
back with a whip in his hand. When my attachment to Growler
increased, new experiments were made, particularly after the
. 17
386 RECOLLECTIONS OF
birth of Martha. She was an exquisite little infant, and it
seemed to us that the dog was more gentle and tender in his
movements with her than with Frederick. When two months
old, Edward sometimes arranged a shawl carefully about her,
tied it strongly, and putting the knot between the dog's teeth,
sent her across the room to me. No mother ever carried a child
more skilfully. Of course all these associations attached him
to the infant, and after a while he deserted the rug, where Fairy
again established herself, and laid himself down to sleep by the
infant's cradle. .
There is nothing more picturesque than the image of an in-
fant and a large dog. Every one has felt it. The little plump
hand looks smaller and whiter in his rough hair, and the round
dimpled cheek rests on his shaggy coat–like a flower on a rock.
Edward and I and Frederick rode one afternoon to Roxbury
to take tea with a friend. Our woman in the kitchen wished
to pass the night with a sick person after the evening's lecture,
and I felt no hesitation in leaving Martha to Polly's care. We
were prevented, by an accidental delay, from returning until
ten o'clock. The ride over the neck, although it was fine
sleighing, appeared uncommonly long, for I had never been so
far and so long from my infant. The wind was sharp and frosty,
but my attention was beguiled by sheltering Frederick with my
furs, who soon fell asleep, singing his own little lullaby. As
we entered the Square we perceived that the neighboring houses
were closed for the night, and no light visible, but a universal
brilliancy through the crevices of our parlor-shutters. Our
hearts misgave us. I uttered an involuntary cry, and Edward
said, that “a common fire-light could not produce such an ef.
fect.” He urged his horse-we reached the house-I sprang
from the sleigh to the door. It was fastened. We knocked
with violence. There was no answer. We looked through a
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 387
small aperture, and both screamed in agony “fire P’ In vain
Edward attempted to wrench the bolt or burst the door, that
horrible light still gleaming on us. We flew to the side-door,
and I then recollected that a window was usually left open in
that quarter, in a room which communicated with the parlor,
for the smoke to escape when the wind prevailed in the quarter
it had done this day. The window was open, and as Edward
threw down logs that we might reach it, we heard a stifled howl.
We mounted the logs, and could just raise our heads to the win-
dow. Oh, heavens ! what were our emotions, as we saw Growler
with his fore-paws stationed on the window, holding Martha
safely with her night-dress between his teeth, ready to spring at
the last extremity, and suspending the little cherub so carefully
that she thought it but one of his customary gambols With
a little effort Edward reached the child, and Growler, springing
to the ground, fawned and grovelled at our feet. -
Edward alarmed the neighborhood and entered the window.
Poor Polly had fainted in the entry from the close atmosphere
and excess of terror. She could give no account of the origin
of the fire, unless she had dropped a spark on the window-cur-
tain. The moment a blaze appeared she endeavored to extin-
guish it; “but,” said she, “the flames ran like wild-fire; and
when I found I could do nothing, I snatched Martha from the
cradle, and ran into the entry to go out by the back-door; after
that I recollect nothing.”
With prodigious efforts the house was saved, though with a
great loss of furniture. But what were pecuniary losses that
night to us? We were sheltered by a hospitable neighbor; our
little cherub was clasped in our arms, amid smiles and tears;
and Growler, our good Growler, with a whimpering dream, lay
sleeping at our feet. r
C H A P T E R XIII.
FA CTS AND RE FIL ECTION S.
Mistress of herself, though china fall.
Popº.
But see, the well-plumed hearse comes nodding On.
BLAIR’s GRAVE.
EveRY housekeeper has experienced what is called a “break
ing season,” when the centre of gravitation seems shaken, as far
aS crockery is concerned. Such an era followed the departure
of Hannah Sanders, who left me to reside with a minister's
lady. -
I will offer no excuse for this subject, since it forms the
point of discussion for half my sex in their select circles, and
constitutes, in some measure, the conversational boundary line
between men and women. True to my character of house-
keeper, let me proceed.
Compassion and interest induced me to offer the situation of
cook to a Mrs. Sliter, whose husband had recently died in the
neighborhood. She was one of those persons who may look
decently in new crape, but who generally, with a great display
of pins on their waist and sleeves, put them nowhere else; or
who apply them as if totally ignorant of the “fitness” of dress,
as well as of things. I took her as a forlorn hope—one of
those experiments that New-England ladies are so constantly
obliged to make of the morals and dispositions of strangers.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE. 389
Edward was detained late at court the day on which she came,
and I ordered some hashed lamb and roasted potatoes for his
supper. Mrs. Sliter, with the hash in one hand and the hot
potatoes in the other, issued from the kitchen, but unfortunately
turned towards the cellar instead of the parlor passage. We
were startled by a sudden noise, and hastened to the kitchen;
but neither cook nor viands were there, and we heard a stifled
voice from the cellar, crying, “Marcy me, marcy me !” Fol-
lowing the sound, and descending the stairs, we found Mrs.
Sliter lying at the foot, who with her meat and potatoes had
rolled down into the ash-heap, and, in attempting to rise, pulled
over a barrel of soft soap.
It is difficult to describe her appearance as she arose from
this alkaline immersion. The soap trickled from the deep frill
of her widow's cap in streams over her cheeks, and commingling
with the ashes, left scarcely a trace of the “ human face divine ;"
and what added to the grotesqueness of the scene was her hold-
ing up the mutton dish unharmed. How this was accomplished
in her necessary gyrations down a deep flight of stairs, we
never could comprehend. Her complaints were eloquent
enough, mingled with some irritability at our ill-restrained
laughter.
In arranging the bed-rooms the following morning she broke
a toilet glass, and was in still deeper consternation.
“Oh, Miss Packard,” she cried, “there will sartainly be a
death in the family. It was only two months ago, poor Mr.
Sliter that's dead and gone broke his shaving glass, and you see
what's come on’t. I'm left, as it were, a poor lone vider, with-
out a partner; and it was but a year ago that my neighbor, Miss
Stone, that keeps the wittle (victual) house, broke her parlor-
glass, and that same day, as she was chawing some fish, a bone
choked her, and she was as good as dead for an hour.”
390 RECOLLECTIONS OF
To verify Mrs. Sliter's prediction, Polly, a month from the
date of the broken toilet-glass, heard of the death of a great-
uncle whom she had never seen, and Mrs. Sliter went about the
house with a self-congratulatory cackle at the birth of the dis-
aster. To me, however, the prediction of trouble, if not of
death, seemed realized. Piece after piece of my dinner set (a
rare and beautiful style at the time, white ground with a rose-
colored vine on the edge), came tinkling on my ears with a
sound that a housewife can detect from afar.
I early obliged myself not to stir on such occasions. If one
can sit still a few moments, quietly lay down a book, or fold up
one's work, or knit to the middle of one's needle, there is a
favorable prospect of keeping the temper smooth; but as surely
as you start up with “there, now,” your feminine dignity is
gone. I had a friend who once conquered an irritable temper
by obliging herself to count twenty when under sudden excite-
ment. . . .
Mrs. Sliter's next feat was to lose the balance of the break-
fast-tray, and deposit the whole apparatus on the floor. Every
housekeeper will give me their sympathy when I describe to
them my sugar-bowl without a cover, my cream-pot without a
handle, my coffee-pot indented at the side, and an unmatching
slop-bowl called in from the kitchen to complete the muster-roll.
An honest, open breakage, one can bear with a tolerable
grace, but it is hard to be the subject of duplicity as well as
carelessness, Mrs. Sliter's favorite practice was to conceal the
results of her organ of destructiveness, until they were dis-
covered in some nook or corner, in the form of irregular trian-
gles of glass or china. Frederick, who was as great a collector
of old china, in his way, as Monkbarns, discovered, in Mrs.
Sliter's short but emphatic reign, treasure upon treasure; and
his broken dishes, as he called the pieces of crockery, were
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HousBKEEPER. 391
gathered up from the cellar, the ash-heap, the wood-house, and
every other spot where his busy little feet resorted for what is
miscalled mischief. At length, one day, he brought in a sample
to his grandmother, who was visiting us. The moment she saw
it she detected the cup, the very teacup from which Dr. Frank-
lin had once drunk. It had been a family boast, and she had
given it to me at my earnest solicitation. My mother was
really affected; she took Frederick in her arms, and told him
the story of the cup; how Benjamin Franklin sat and talked
with her parents as he sipped his tea; how her mother whis-
pered to her that he was a great man; how she took the cup
from his hand, and said, “No one shall use this again.”
We were all silent as she sat polishing the fragment with her
pocket-handkerchief, and even the boy laid it aside carefully.
To heighten my troubles at this period, I found the contents
of my decanters sensibly lowered, and perceived that Mrs.
Sliter was frequently intoxicated. When accused of purloining
the liquor she denied it until the proof became too glaring, and
when no longer able to evade, said to me, “Miss Packard,
you're the unfeelingest person I ever see, to speak so onkind to
a lone vider that ain't got no consolation, and wishes to raise
her sperits. I ain't a going to stay with a person that be-
grudges every mouthful that's ate and drank, and you needn't
expect me to give you a character, for I shan’t recommend your
house to nobody.”
She decamped in violent wrath, and we were thrown for sev-
eral weeks on our OWI) reSOUIrCéS.
There could scarcely be a more striking illustration of the
lamentable dependence of housekeepers on servants, than in the
obligation I felt myself under when deserted by Hannah, to
take under my roof this woman, with whose character and dis-
position I was so little acquainted. Mrs. Sliter was the wife
392 RECOLLECTIONS OF
of a wood-sawyer, and sent for me in haste, as a neighbor, to see
her after her husband's decease. I went with as much promp-
titude as possible. Mr. Sliter had died in a fit of drunkenness,
and his bloated body was laid out in all the state that extreme
poverty could assume, in the small apartment, the common bed-
room and parlor of the miserable pair. In an old chair, from
which hung the broken rushes, sat his wife, rocking in the rest-
lessness of unoccupied grief .
I took her hand, and was about offering her consolation; but
her sorrow was not of that sort that breaks the heart in silence,
and I was interrupted by her dolorous voice, preceded by a
long-drawn sigh. . -
“Death is a dreadful thing, ma'am. Mr. Sliter, poor man,
that's dead and gone, and I have lived nigh twenty year to-
gether. It's hard to be left a lone woman, as it were. He was
nobody's enemy but his own. I shall be a lone body indeed,”—
and she put her handkerchief to the corners of both eyes.
I commenced once more the usual common-place attempts at
consolation, when looking up, she said briskly, “Miss Packard,
do viders wear wei's now 7” .
This miserable attempt at the semblance of mourning first
led me to speculate on the propriety of black apparel for
the bereaved. If our friends are virtuous, and our belief in
Christianity sincere, why assume a mourning robe, when they
are clothed in the white garments of immortality? Why shroud
our heads, when theirs are crowned with amaranthine wreaths?
Why utter sighs of woe, when they are hymning to celestial
harps, amid celestial choirs? And when a case occurs where
those who should have loved us have rent our hearts by sin, or
broken them by harshness, and the weary spirit shrinking from
observation, turns on itself to commune in silence, why assume
the ostentation of regret before an unsympathizing world?
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 393
Yet let me not treat lightly or harshly a prejudice founded
on the delicate impulses of nature. Perhaps the hand that
writes these strictures might be the first to mould those sombre
monuments which affection raises to departed friends, and would
be the last to lay aside the time-honored associations that clus-
ter in the day of earthly separation.
However this may be, Mrs. Sliter, with a veil of proper di-
mensions, followed him to the grave who had thrice kicked her
out of doors; actually, if not nominally, caused the death of
her only infant by brutality; left her whom God and society
demanded him to support, a miserable pauper, and gone down
to the tomb, a bloated carcass, to meet the changes, for weal or
woe of an endless immortality.
17%
C H A P T E R XIV.
A TEMPERANCE LECTURE TO MY COUSIN WILLIAM.
She could go near the precipice, nor dread
A failing caution, or a giddy head;
She’d fix her eyes upon the roaring flood,
And dance upon the brink where danger stood.
The Borough.
IT seems to me a dream, that Ionce cleansed and replenished
a gin and brandy decanter every Saturday morning. My
“swords are turned into ploughshares, and my spears into
pruning hooks;” for there they stand, the pictures of innocence,
converted into water-crafts and molasses bottles.
Let every housekeeper seriously look back through her past
experience, and ask herself how many individuals (unintention-
ally of course) she has led into temptation with these polished
seducers: and if she has herself escaped a pit where so many
of the bright and good have fallen, offer up a prayer of thank-
fulness.
I know not how others may have felt, but my soul has often
been wrung with anguish at the utter hopelessness of prevent-
ing any individual, who has betrayed a tendency to intem-
perance, from plunging daily further and further into sin, when
the means were spread out before him, leaving unchecked his
vitiated taste.
Edward, like others, provided liquors for his sideboard, but
RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE. 395
only drank them as the compliment which society demanded
with his guests. William Ingols, my cousin, an interesting
young man, entered his office as a student, and resided with us.
He was confiding and communicative, and I soon began to love
him as a member of our household. At his first dinner Edward
joined him in a glass of brandy and water; on succeeding days
he took it unsolicited ; in a short time he drank at the side-
board before dinner; and, in a few weeks, repeated the draught
at bedtime. i
I asked Edward's advice on what was to be done. He ans.
wered with a smile, “You are a woman, and can manage these
things better than I. Talk with Ingols on the subject. You
know my detestation of this genteel tippling, but I have no
authority over him.” -
A fair opportunity offered, in Edward's necessary absence at
a circuit court for a week, to speak on the subject without im-
plicating my husband.
As Ingols was visiting the sideboard as usual, and (what
seems to me an alarming symptom) covering the lower part of
the tumbler with his hand, I asked him, with a little hesitation,
if he drank brandy for his health.
“I cannot say that I do,” said he, smiling, “Will you take
a little for yours, cousin!”
“No, I thank you,” said I; “I am afraid of it.”
“Afraid of it, cousin' It will not hurt you. You would
be all the better for a little tonic.”
“A little tonic might not hurt me, cousin William, but I
fear being tempted. I distrust my own strength of character.”
“Pshaw you are not serious ! I have been drinking a little
several years.” -
“Why do you drink it?” I asked. “Your mind is naturally
active, your conversation agreeable, you have no mental or
396 RECOLLECTIONS OF
bodily suffering, and you have a thousand rational modes of
enjoyment. If you will only look into your own feelings, you
will find a cormorant settling over them, whose guilty cry is
‘give, give '''
“You are a sweet monitor, cousin Clara; I believe I must
take a little brandy, if it is only to hear you scold so prettily.”
“Oh, Ingols,” I answered, “do not, in mercy to yourself,
treat this subject so lightly. Why society tolerates its abuse,
I know not. I see already a look directed to that bottle when
you are about to pour out its libations to your incipient sensual
desires, which speaks an awkward consciousness. You are
already screening the quantity you take. If you love my
schooling, hear it plainly. Your manly and graceful form will
soon begin to lose its firmness, your brilliant eyes shine with a
drunkard's glassy inexpressiveness, and your mind
——“where God has set his seal
To give the world assurance of a man,”
reduced to childishness, worse than childishness, since its weak-
ness will have no redeeming innocence.”
“But, Mrs. Packard,” said Ingols, “you forget how many
indulge in ardent spirits without injury.” .
“I do not forget that, William, but I remember more vividly
how many have been destroyed, soul and body, while these
moderate drinkers, favored perhaps by constitutional resistance,
have been unscathed by the burning trial. But they will not
escape, cousin William ; they cannot escape His eyes who
watches motives rather than deeds. They may be strong
enough to carry until death the unrighteous banner of the
drunkard without reeling, while others are falling on the right
hand and on the left, but they lead the way to the destruction
of others, and they must answer for it.”
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 397
“My dear cousin,” said Ingols, “you take this matter too
seriously. You make a bugbear of a trifle.”
“A trifle !” I exclaimed ; “call not that a trifle which rifles
the mind and body of their best gifts. If I were permitted, I
would go (not in the wildness of quixotism, but in the spirit of
him who drove the profaners from God's temple) and destroy
every implement like that before you, which attracts you and
others from the simplicity of nature. They disgrace our homes,
they deform the purity of domestic scenes, and often convert
them into bacchanalian orgies. I had a friend once, William,
young and lovely; such a one as your warm heart would have
loved, and your discriminating mind would have appreciated.
She received a shock from the early disappointment of her af.
fections, pined, sickened, and drooped like a withering flower.
Would to God she had died in the unstained paleness of her
beauty Tomics were recommended, and as medicine they were
right. Her health was restored, and all would have been well,
had they not been spread out among the wants and luxuries of
life. . Her sensual appetite increased. I sicken as I remember
the miserable subterfuges that marred her fair character, first
chilling the confidence of friends, and then by open exposures
disgracing them. The enemy wrought surely, baffled but not
subdued by reproaches, by sarcasms, by entreaties, by the shun-
ning eye of retreating friendship, by the agonizing appeals of a
dying conscience. She died a drunkard. Her mother wept
bitterer tears than should ever fall over a daughter's grave;
her sister's cheek paled with a sorrow sadder than grief; and
her father, I tremble while I say it, cursed his first-born child.”
Ingols had not tasted his draught while I was speaking, but
held it in his hand, and when I ceased, quietly placed it on the
table and said, “Cousin, I have not the heart to drink this now,
and will give it up if only to please you.”
398 RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE.
“You are not angry, then,” I said, eagerly.
“Angry? no,” he replied. “How can I be angry with a true
friend, and a lady too?” with a low bow.
“Thank you,” said I, “and now that I have gone thus far,
may I proceed?”
“Yes, cousin, I give you carte blanche.”
“I shall do it by actions, not words,” I said, with solemnity;
“and I warn you to be prepared, for I have solemnly pledged
myself in prayer to God that I will never again aid the cause
of the destroying angel. But promise me (not that I claim any
right over you but that of interest in your welfare) that you will
abstain from ardent spirits, now in the sunshine of your youth,
‘before the evil days come.’” - - -
Ingols hesitated, reflected, and promised half earnestly, half
jestingly.
On the following day, no decanter was to be seen on my side-
board or table, and I carried the keys up stairs. Ingols was
very amiable, and our week passed happily away. Edward re-
turned, and took no notice of the withdrawal of the decanters.
I had retired to my bedroom early one evening, when I heard
Ingols enter, and ask Polly for the keys. She came up stairs,
and I gave them to her in silence. I heard her transfer them
to him, and held my breath. He opened the door. I trembled
so much that I could not stand. I had emptied every decanter.
I heard the rattling of the keys as the door closed, and a faint-
mess came over me at my own daring. A half-hour passed
away, and Polly came back with a slip of paper, on which was
written, “You have conquered, cousin. I thank you, and thank
God.”
I burst into tears, and sobbed as if my heart would break;
nor was I relieved until Edward returned and said he loved me
better for my moral courage.
C H A PTE R X W.
C O N C L U S I O N.
Frae morn to e'en it’s naught but toiling,
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling.
The Twa Dogs.
THE successor of Mrs. Sliter was Sukey Hopkins, an untamed
damsel from Nantucket; and as Edward required some attend-
ance at the office, he engaged a friend of hers, Aaron Wheeler,
who had driv her down, to remain with us. I passed every
forenoon for a month in the kitchen, to initiate her in cookery;
and even after that period was obliged to be with her whenever
I had guests, of course at the period when I ought to have been
most unincumbered with care. I was obliged to watch the last
turn of the spit, and the last bubble of the boiling gravy, and
even lay the meats in their right position; for know, inexperi-
enced reader, that a lady may as excusably stand on her own
head at her table, as have her turkey or goose in an unauthor-
ized posture. One bleak autumnal day we had company to
dine; but I became so much heated with my business and anx-
iety as not to dream of the necessity of a fire. Just five min-
utes before dinner was carried in, I ran up stairs, changed my
dress, and seizing a fan, descended to the drawing-room. My
Zeal in fanning was proportioned to the kitchen thermometer;
and it was not until I detected a shiver in a lady who sat within
400 RECOLLECTIONS OF
the influence of my AEolus, as Edward prettily called a fan, that
I perceived my favºc pas. .
The day after Aaron's induction into his duties, I went to
Cornhill, shopping; and Edward left word with him that if a
certain gentleman called, he must ask him in to sit until he
came. When Edward opened the door, what should he behold
but Aaron, sitting with his feet on the fender, entertaining Mr.
with the last Nantucket news |
A few evenings succeeding I invited company to tea. I was
the whole morning drilling Sukey and Aaron, and as I went to
make my toilet, I said, “Be very careful, Aaron, that the ladies
and gentlemen are all supplied with sugar and cream in their
coffee.” When the company had assembled, and the very last
visitor, according to the old and formidable rule, had arrived
and was seated, Aaron entered with his tea tray, followed by
Sukey with the cream and sugar. He walked round as care-
fully as if he were treading on eggs. When the circuit was
over, and he had reached the door, his mind seemed to misgive
him; and with an anxious look, standing on tiptoe, he said, “I
say, how are ye on't for sugar and cream in that corner!”
On that memorable evening, a lady spilled some quince syrup
on the carpet, when, to my utter dismay, Sukey set the waiter
on the floor, rushed out, and brought in the mop to wipe it up.
I have inserted these lingering reminiscences in this chapter,
to show that the most skilful housewifery cannot counteract the
mortification and embarrassment of our present system. I took
infinite pains to make my daughter useful. She was a sweet,
docile girl, and at the age of eleven often made our tea, ar-
ranged the table, and assisted in handing it when we had com-
pany; but notwithstanding this early discipline, the awkward
blending of lady and housewife led to countless anxieties; in-
deed, it requires an omnipresent eye to meet one's guests with
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 401
the personal welcome they demand, while providing for their
grosser wants. How many girls like Sukey have I passed
months in drilling, when, just as I began to realize the effects
of my care, they have taken a sudden whim and departed How
many were there whom I never could teach, whose inattention
or wilfulness rendered me miserable ! How much hard labor
have I performed while paying high prices for that of others
What then can be done to remedy this evil? It is the opinion
of Adam Smith, and an humble housekeeper agrees with him,
that the perfection of society consists in the division of labor.
Is it not monstrous that educated, intelligent women, should
be obliged to give over their children to the care of servants,
and pass their days in the most menial occupation ? And must
our lovely daughters be called from intellectual or graceful ac-
complishments, to associate with the vulgar inmates of the
kitchen
We have a partial system, which it appears to me might
easily be carried through the whole order of social life. We
have our chimney-sweeps, our wood-Sawyers, our bakeries; why
not have our grand cooking-establishments, our scourers, our
window-cleaners, &c.? I will give one example, a direct one
however, of the helplessness of a housekeeper on the present
plan of life. She perceives, and none but those who have wit-
nessed it can tell how irritating is the feeling, that about five
hundred panes of glass in her house require washing. How
can they be cleansed? It is properly a man's business, but she
must put an inexperienced female to the work who is required
for a hundred other things; one, too, who perhaps never wiped
a glass before. A particular set of cloths is required, step-lad-
der, hammer, and a knack at cleaning glass. By the time she
has accomplished her task, which is probably imperfectly done
402 RECOLLECTIONS OF
broken a few panes, and left the sashes loose and clattering,
dust and flies have been equally active, and the gude man be.
gins to say, “My dear, our windows require a little cleaning.”
What a cheering sound would it be to a lady so circumstanced,
if she could hear in the street “any windows to clean to-day ?”
or, what is better, know where to send to an establishment for
a person devoted to that object. .
What a desideratum is a cooking-establishment, where fam-
ilies can be provided with prepared food, and a still greater to
have our meals brought to us, now that the improvements in
steam can give them hotter than from our own hearths. They
could probably be furnished cheaper than on the present plan.
Our husbands would no longer be seen haggling with butchers
at their stalls, or balancing raw meat in the open streets; nor
should we see decent women, in utter uncertainty of their din-
ners, throwing up their window-sashes to the passing country-
men, with “Mister, what's you got to-day ?” A friend could
drop in without disconcerting a family, and the lady of the
house sit without a thorn. How many more smiles would kin-
dle up around the domestic board, could the wife be assured
of her husband's comfort. She has enough to do in the agita-
ting responsibility of her maternal cares; her little ones may
be sickly, her own health feeble. Many a woman breaks and
sinks beneath the wear and tear of the frame and the affections.
She rallies before the world, and “her children rise up and call
her blessed,” and she is blessed in the conscious attempt to dis-
charge her duty; but cares eat away at her heart; the day
presses on her with new toils, the night comes, and they are
unfulfilled; she lies down in weariness, and rises with uncer-
tainty; her smiles become languid and few, and her husband
wonders at the gloominess of his home.
A NEW ENGLAND BRIDE AND HOUSEKEEPER. 403
How great a duty is it, then, to study modes of comfort, and
preserve the song of cheerfulness in the routine of domestic in-
dustry. It is not below the task of legislation, if legislation is
a study of the order and happiness of a community, or if legis-
lators would have neat houses, good dinners, and smiling wives.
THE END.