Caroline Howard Gilman, 1794-1888. "Recollections of a Southern Matron"

Recollections Of A Southern Matron:
Electronic Edition.

Caroline Howard Gilman, 1794 -1888

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First edition, 1998.
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Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill,
1998.

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Call number PS1744.G5 R4 1838 (Davis Library, UNC-CH)

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Library of Congress Subject Headings, 19th edition, 1996

LC Subject Headings:

Plantation life -- Southern States -- Fiction.
Southern States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction.
Southern States -- Religious life and customs -- Fiction.
Women -- Southern States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction.
Dialect literature, American -- Southern States.
Domestic fiction, American -- Southern States.

Title
Page

RECOLLECTIONS
OF A
SOUTHERN MATRON.

BY CAROLINE GILMAN,
AUTHOR OF
"RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW-ENGLAND HOUSEKEEPER."

                        "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:
HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF STREET.
1838.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1837 by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.

Page vii

P R 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 imagination 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 recognise in their daily experience

Some apology may be necessary, as a matter of taste, for the frequent introduction of the negro dialect; but the careful reader will perceive that it has only been done when essential to the development of individual character.

Page viii

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.

Page 9

RECOLLECTIONS
OF A
SOUTHERN MATRON.

CHAPTER I.
OLD JACQUE.

                        "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 graceful sweep, glitters like a lake before me, reflecting the sky and the bending foliage. Occasionally a flat, with its sluggish motion, 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 passing breeze. My children are frolicking on the lawn where my first footsteps were watched by tender parents, and one of those parents rests beneath yonder

Page 10

circling cedars. Change! Sameness! 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 one.

I sometimes feel a joy that all are here - my grandparents; 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 noonday 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! - 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 blossoms 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.

My grandfather fell early in our national struggle for liberty, and his bones might have whitened on the battlefield, had not a locket, containing the fair hair of my grandmother, suspended from his neck, revealed him to a faithful servant. Good old Jacque! How often have I climbed his knees to hear his stories of the past! I even love to recall the peculiar accent with which he beguiled

Page 11

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 lightwood 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 conscientious 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. Roseland, 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 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

Page 12

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 riband from which it was suspended about his neck, and kissed it fondly. The night passed heavily away, and darkness heavier than night hung over Roseland, when, on the following morning, he departed, attended by Jacque.

In an engagement with the British, Jacque lost sight of his master, the enemy were victorious, and the Americans retreated, 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 remains he vainly endeavoured 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 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 reverently, 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, "Papa! papa!" His mother started as Jacque entered, and exclaimed, "Where is your master?"

Page 13

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 marched about her apartment, threatening to revenge his father's death.

Jacque was for several days revolving a measure of importance 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,

Page 14

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 appropriate spot for her husband's grave. It seemed to her excited 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 cluster 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 continued, "and you must see that I am laid there too."

The boy looked wistfully at her, and said, "And where shall I go, mamma?"

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 contrast 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 moonlight night, one of those nights which seem to exaggerate brightness 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 tremour, almost expecting the pictures of

Page 15

our grandparents to start from their flames; "'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 niggers (natural fools) get scare when we get to maussa self; den says I, 'My men, how you been let folks say dat we have Christian 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 neighbouring 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. Labour 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 recent 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 negro female waiters dressed in white, with napkins pinned over their shoulders, who were preceded by

Page 16

the coffin, which was borne by his people, attended by the pall-bearers, 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 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 zealous 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 mansion; 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 honours; 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 favourite 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.

Page 17

CHAPTER II.
COLLEGE FRIENDSHIP AND COLLEGE LOVE.

"Look, when I vow I weep; and vows so born,
In their nativity all truth appears."
Midsummer Night'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 monarch 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 counteracted 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 horses, his hounds, his rabbits, his terapins, his birds, &c., gave him incessant occupation between his hours of study. He was a lad of wild and warm affections, and no one knew whether he threw his arms around his horse's or his mother's neck with the most ardour. With great quickness of capacity he contrived to glean an education 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.

Page 18

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 weeping 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 apologetic 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!" 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 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 sensed 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 dishonour de family. 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 Maus Henry but God Almighty?"

* These expressions are very common among the negroes, and signify, be correct; be pious.

Page 19

Henry was admitted pretty fairly at Harvard, and his collegiate 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 recitations; 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 milk* or chocolate 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 honour, but it was sufficient 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. His sparkling countenance, graceful manner, fine oratory, and a few appropriate compliments to the ladies, bore off peals of applause, while more elaborate essays were unheeded by the audience. 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!

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,

* A custom for which the meals in the commons hall is now a substitute.

Page 20

looked back on the beautiful girl, and catching 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 moment 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 coloured riband 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 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 costume 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, contrasted 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 wo.

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;

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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 dinner 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 president, clergymen collected from every quarter, statesmen, lawyers, graduates, and invited guests, all stood reverently, and responded 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 up-rose from that assembly, but busy associations were in every breast, as they thus linked their alma mater with religious responsibilities.

* 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 performed 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."

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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,* to view the glories of a dying sunset together, and pledge again their vows of friendship. They were 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 expressive 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 following extract: -

                        "Ah, te meæ si partem animæ rapit
                        Maturior vis, quid moror altera,
                        Nec carus æque, 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 growing manhood were to be severed. Were they happy? If they were, happiness has sighs and tears. With hand clasped in hand they looked far down into 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

* Now Mount Auburn Cemetery.
**

                        "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!"

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on her restless slumber. A sound awoke her, a single flute - the tune, a familiar air of tender farewell. With a delicious tremour 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? 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 thenorthern stars.

Three years elapsed, and he married an Edisto belle with "whole acres of charms;" and when memory asked, "Where is Lucy Sullivan?" echo answered, "Where?"

At a still later period he visited New-England. Colonel Wilton - for papa had acquired honours - 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 quietly brushed away. It fell at her feet, and was crushed by an unconscious movement. The house-maid sweeping

Page 24

the next morning wondered how Miss Lucy could drop so much litter on the carpet.

And thus ended college love and college friendship.

CHAPTER 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 canceled from our lot,
                         Full soon would man deplore the unhallowed blot!
                        Life's busy day would want its tranquil even,
                        And earth would lose her stepping-stone to heaven."
S. GILMAN.

                        "Years have past -
                        Yet still,
                        When bygone 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 matrons eye; and though my ear
                         Hath listened 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 afterward every fact that had been stated, to the colour of a riband or the stripe of a waistcoat. Home was her true sphere; there everything was managed with promptitude and decision, and papa, who was a politician, a candidate

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for military honours, 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 eloquent 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 labouring under embarrassment. Her sausages were pronounced to be the best flavoured in the neighbourhood; her hog's cheese (the English 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 watermelons 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 breakfast; and her boiled rice answered to Shakespeare'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 odour, 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 pillows 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 morning-dress, with plaited frills, a tasteful cap, her hands decorated with rings, holding a handkerchief of exquisite fineness, and her gold watch suspended from her belt, with its face outward. Chloe, with a turban of superior height (for there is great ambition

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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 perform 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 tol lol 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 beside 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;" now was I disabused of this impression until my own mind wrought it out for me by after reflection.

My best religious impressions were derived from my grandmamma. 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 grandparent at Roseland. A certain tenderness gathered over papa's manner whenever he addressed her;

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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 respect 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 armchair, where she revives from a gentle stupor at the sight of familiar objects. Her children's children play on the lawn, but I sometimes think my Eleanor awakens stronger interest even than they, from her resemblance 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 began 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 seen in grandmamma and she had evinced a gentle impatience to be once more an inmate of her favourite home. She could no longer walk without assistance, and papa proposed that she should pass on directly through the hall to her bedroom.

"I will rest here, if you please, my son," said she, quietly; and as her still speaking eye dwelt on the likeness of her husband, 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

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one giving a word of advice, to another of comfort; se 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 member 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-by 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!" "Many tanks, my old missis," was heard amid stifled sobs, as, with their aprons or handkerchiefs to their eyes, they withdrew.

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

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herself, she said, "Excuse me," with that graceful and lofty air so peculiarly hers.

She never left her apartment again. A rapid but gentle decay came on; so gentle, that when my brothers and myself were told that she was dead, and saw first the bustle and then 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 forehead 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 whispered confidence; when those eyes, now curtained by uplifted 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!"

Then, however, I experienced not this. A fearful awe overpowered 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 unhinged by the dawn of salvation.

I was carried from the room, and aroused by the strange contrast 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

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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 brothers' 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 irresistibly stepped into a march. I twitched his arm. Still he stepped forward with great manliness. "John," said I, in unaffected indignation, "are you not ashamed to march at a funeral?"

Thus, even at that early age, we betrayed that love of observances 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 flowers, 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

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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, disencumbered 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!

CHAPTER IV.
MR. JOSEPH BATES, THE YANKEE LAD.

                        "A shallow brain behind a serious mask,
                        An oracle within an empty cask,
                        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 honourable 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 Charleston; our summers at a Pine-land settlement; and this arrangement 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 plasters, and handed them to our teacher, with the direction, "To, Miss Susan Wheeler, to cure the disease of the Gauls." One day, when she

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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 coloured wafers, which gave us a fearful 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, particularly as we unkindly adverted to some personal defects. Ridicule 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 excellent 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 behave. We will behave good."

Her determination was not, however, to be shaken by

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our entreaties, and she soon departed to another family to "incline" more docile "twigs."

I remember the debût of our new tutor as if it were yesterday. 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 rackoon 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 exchanged my bonnet for his hat, while I put his hat over my tangled curls. Jim, our favourite 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 characteristic remarks.

"Bro'* Jim ride more better dan Maus John, for true," said one.

"Ha!" said another, striding a gum-tree branch, "gie me one horse, and I show you how for ride!"

If I have described our appearance correctly, language is inadequate to represent the clamour that was issuing from the group when, turning a point on entering the avenue, we came in immediate contact with a gentleman in a horse and chair. 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,

* Brother. The terms daddy, maumer, uncle, aunty, broder and titter (brother and sister), are not confined to connexions among the blacks, they seem rather to spring from age.

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"I reckon you could 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 respectfully, until the stranger, who sat particularly straight, passed through.

We held a consultation, and at last concluded that our parents would be angry if we did not go and entertain the visiter.

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 hands joined, and the fingers crossed, except the two fore fingers, 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 occasional application of my brothers' heels to each other's backs. At last, in a general scuffle, we were all precipitated forward together 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.

The gentleman arose, and, after a preliminary remark, presented papa with a paper from his large flat pocketbook. 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 ---, Connecticut. EZEKIAL DUNCAN, Pastor."

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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 manners.

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 honour 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 sitten 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 germes of heart and mind.

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 he same fruitful source.

Joseph availed himself of his privilege of a quarter every year at the district school up to the lawful age of

* In illustration of this description, I beg to leave to state, that a Connecticut gentleman at the South told me recently, that he asked a pedler who had come from his neighborhood if the increased tax had not injured the members of his craft. "Oh, I don't know," said he, "I guess not, as they have pretty much turned schoolmasters."

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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 parish clergyman, who is willing to advance the cause of learning, and aid his scanty resources, by a trifling pecuniary compensation 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 intimacy with Joseph. This intercourse produced a restless desire of change in our incipient tutor.

"I calculate, captain," said he, after a long stroll through the town, where the sailor had gone to indulge those associations which come up like young verdure over the most hardened souls, "I calculate it's pretty difficult to git edication down at Charleston."

"Dreaded difficult," said the captain; "I reckon they a'nt much better than niggers."

"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 possible. 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

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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, borrowed 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 pedler - they approached, retreated, parlied, once or twice there were signs of actual warfare; but at length Joseph came off, we know not at what loss, with a large silver watch, which he boasted kept excellent time. Joseph humoured it, as we ought to humour 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 better than hurrying him to death by going too fast."

How fortune favours enterprise! The second day after his bargain he called at one of his neighbours to bid them farewell. There was a great commotion among the daughters, and a scramble 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 afternoon sewing, with smiling faces and sanded floors. The scrambling 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 suggestion that "to-morrow was ironing day, and she wouldn't have no time to finish it," induced her to draw out a braided watch-riband of various colours. 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

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over the souls of the gentle and refined, or spreadest thy heavier flight near coarser hearts, thou art sacred still! 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 blushers were not diminished when her sisters observed, 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!" Appreciating affection would have smoothed his path, and labour sweetened his repose.

Such was the man whom my papa was obliged to welcome as 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 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 character as a good servant, which is one who sees everything without seeming to see.

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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 V.
MR.JOSEPH BATES, THE TUTOR.

"Wandering through the southern countries,
Teaching the A B C from Webster's spelling book."
Halleck's Connecticut.

                        "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 Aristophanes.

FROM the unrestrained freedom described in the last chapter, we were called on the following morning to take our first lessons. John was not forthcoming.

"Where may your brother be?" 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?" 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 orthography as he was in pronunciation, and Mr. Bates was more puzzled than ever. He turned to me for an explanation. It may surprise some readers that I should be so much further advanced in correct speaking than

* The common southern expression is eh? or what say? pronounced almost like one word.

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Richard; but southern children, 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 obleeging 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 at each other, but of course we could not dispute Boston phraseology.

"You must git red of these curious ways of talking," continued 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 expression; and ladies, very intellectual ones too, say, "I wish I could git red of my bunnet."

Let me at this point protest against the word get, as not only of selfish origin, but a miserable expletive. There is no sentence 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 Passions," and commenced with,

"First fare his hand its skill to try -"

"Fare!" said Mr. Bates, "how do you spell it?"

"F-e-a-r fare," said I.

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"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, state men and belles, that many of them pronounce in this style unconsciously, 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,

"Wreath'd in its dark brown curls, her here
Half hid Matilda's forehead fere."

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.

"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 little 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 companion. Several odd incidents occurred, but the two I am about to

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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 neighbourhood 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,

"Neber mind, Miss Neely, Jim can play cootah * to da buckrah."

About ten o'clock in the evening, when we had retired for the night, 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,

* Alluding to the deception of the turtle, which draws in its head previously to snapping at anything.

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feeling a weight in the basket as he entered, called in a whisper, say, "Ready, Jim?" "Ready," said Mr. Bates, squeezing himself into the basket, and feeling for the first time a little tremour.

"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 honoured Mr. Bates.

By the time Mr. Bates had risen half way on his aerial excursion, 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.

"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 particular 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?"

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"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 handkerchiefs into their mouths to conceal their laughter. The shaking of the bedstead moved the basket, and they heard another ejaculation.

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, together 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 considerable 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 contempt 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 warmhearted Prudence, his affectionate family and cheerful home, often stole over his mind and shaded his brow with gloom.

We had been upon good behaviour for some time,

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when the first of April, that day of "quips and cranks," and more than "wreathed smiles," drew near. Mr. Bates himself seemed animated by the reminiscences of April-fool-day, and detailed to Jim and us the exploits of his youth.

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 drawing 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 tremour. 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 afterward, 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 candle to him, told him to light it quickly. Jim went to the servants' 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 enlarging 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 process, 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

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trick, which is this. I have heard two gentlemen never used an oath on any other occasion, swear at it.

It was but too obvious that our connexion with Mr. Bates must be terminated.

Papa opened the matter to him, and gave him a generous remuneration. 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 VI.
PARENTAL TEACHING.

"Mrs. 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 committed 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 ourselves 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 compelled to ditch rice-fields, but he never would undertake to teach children again.

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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 attention was attracted by my sun-burnt complexion and my brother's torn clothes.

"This will never answer," said she to papa. "Look at Cornelia's face! It is as brown as a chinquapin. Richard has ruined his new suit, and John has cut his leg with the carpenter's tools. I have half a mind to keep school for them myself."

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 interruptions, 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 dependents 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 liveried carriage, may be seen with these steel talismans, presiding over storehouses, and measuring, with the accuracy and conscientiousness of a shopman, the daily allowance of the family,

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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 establishment, where all care and responsibility 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 trepidation in her manner, but we loved her too well to annoy her by noticing it. Her education had been confined to mere rudiments, and her good sense led her only to conduct our reading, writing, and spelling.

We stood in a line.

"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 him bay horse."

The key was given.

"Spell imitate," said mamma.

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"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 coloured circle, appeared.

"Will mistress please to medjure out some calomel for Syphax, 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 required some time to cleanse and arrange ourselves; and just as we were seated and had advanced a little way on our orthographical journey, Maum Phillis entered with her usual drawl,

"Little maussa want for nurse, marm."

While this operation was going on, we gathered round mamma to play bo-peep with the baby, until even she forgot our lessons. 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 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 firmness.

"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

* Uneasy.

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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 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 overseer 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 extracting some extraneous substance from the wound, her manner was as resolute as it was gentle and consoling. This episode gave Richard an opportunity to unload his pockets of groundnuts, and treat us therewith. We were again seated at 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 approached, and said,

"Missis, Daddy Ajax say he been broke de axe, and ax me for ax you for len him de new axe."

This made us shout out with laughter, and the business

* Potatoes.

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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 settlement, 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 Madame 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 entered 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 poorly, having attacks of the rheumatic, 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. Ezekiel 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 complaint 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 candour 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;

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and when I told neighbour Holt tother day about growing corn, and spoke about somebody 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 everybody that happens in how they eat hogs' victuals down at Charleston.

"Sister Nancy was very much obligated by the fans and basket Miss Neely sent her, and was in a great maze at niggers doing anything so tasty; and they were all astonished when I 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. Then 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 critters 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 russet 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;

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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 colour, as a very respectable 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 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 dont know.

"Excuse all errors.
"Yours to serve,

"JOSEPH 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 instantly that he was a gentleman, by the atmosphere of refinement which was thrown over him, and I saw that papa sympathized with me, as with graceful courtesy he welcomed him to Roseland.

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CHAPTER VII.
CHARLES DUNCAN.

                        "A spirit urging 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 countries liberty,
                        The improvement of our race, the happiness
                        Of one poor individual,
                        Or of unnumber'd thousands be attain'd."
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 conscientious 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 the 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 atheist 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 God, and reverences it; of a preserving God, and rejoices in it. Woman is sheltered by fond arms and guided by loving counsel; 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.

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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 this 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 coloured 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 vehemence, but wit

Recollections Of A Southern Matron: Electronic Edition.