Social Life in Old Virginia
Before the War
by
THOMAS NELSON PAGE
With Illustrations by
THE MISSES COWLES
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
M DCCC XCVII
Copyright, 1897,
BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, MASS, U. S. A
Page vii
List of Illustrations
"Tall lilies, white as angels' wings and
stately as the maidens that walked among
them ". . . . .
FRONTISPIECE
The Plantation House . . . . .
9
"Shining tables with slender brass-tipped
legs " . . . . .12
"Where the guns were kept ". . . . .
13
"Bookcases filled with brown-backed,
much-read books " . . . . .
15
"The flower of all others was the
rose " . . . . . 18
Tobacco . . . . .
20
A "Typical Mammy" . . . . .
23
"The little girls in their
great sun-bonnets ". . . . .
26
"Busy over their little matters with that
ceaseless energy of boyhood " . . . . .
27
"The test of the men's prowess "
. . . . . 29
Page viii
The Exclusive Property of the Mistress
. . . . . 33
The Mistress . . . . .
39
"His thoughts dwelt upon serious
things " . . . . . 49
An Old Virginia Sideboard . . . . .
55
"She was never anything but tender
with the others' " . . . . . 61
"The Butler was apt to be severe, and
was feared " . . . . . 65
The Lady and the Ox-Cart . . . . .
69
An Old-fashioned Grist-Mill . . . . .
75
A Colonial Stove . . . . .
81
Dressing the Church . . . . .
87
"At last the 'big gate'
is reached " . . . . .
93
The Virginia Reel . . . . .
99
A Negro Wedding . . . . . .
103
A Typical Negro Cabin . . . . .
107
Page 1
Introduction
Which none need read unless he pleases.
NO one can be more
fully aware
of the shortcomings of this brief
sketch of Social Life in the South before
the War than is the writer. Its slightness
might readily have excused it from
republication. And yet it has seemed well
to let it go forth on its own account, to
take such place as it may in the great world
of books. One reason is the partiality of a
few friends who have desired to see it in
this form. Another is the absolute
ignorance of the outside world of the real
life of the South in old times, and the
desire to correct the picture for the benefit
of the younger generation of Southerners
themselves. One of the
Page 2
factors in that life was slavery. The most
renowned picture of Southern life is one
of it as it related exclusively to that
institution. As an argument in the case
then at bar, it was one of the most
powerful ever penned. Mrs. Stowe did
more to free the slave than all the
politicians. And yet her picture is not one
which any Southerner would willingly
have stand as a final portrait of Southern
life. No one could understand that life
who did not see it in its entirety.
The old life at the South passed away in
the flame of war and in the yet more fiery
ordeal of Reconstruction. So complete was
this devastation that now unless one
knows where to go he may search in vain
for its reality. Its remnants lie scattered in
far-off neighborhoods; its fragments
almost overgrown with the tangles of a
new life. The picture of it which at present
is mainly presented is wholly
Page 3
unreal. The Drama is one of the accepted
modes of judging of passing life. It is
assumed to be a reasonably true reflection
of the life it pretends to portray. If this
standard shall be accepted, what a life that
must have been which existed in the South!
The bloodhounds, brute and human, that
chased delicate women for sport, have
mainly been given up. But their place has
been taken by a different species of
barbarian if possible even more unreal than
those they supplanted. Quite a large crop
of so-called Southern plays, or at least
plays in which Southerners have figured,
has of late been introduced on the stage,
and the supposititious Southerner is as
absurd a creation as the wit of ignorance
ever devised. The Southern girl is usually
an underbred little provincial, whose chief
characteristic is to say "reckon" and
"real," with strong emphasis, in every
Page 4
other sentence. And the Southern
gentleman is a sloven whose linen has
never known starch; who clips the
endings of his words; says "Sah" at
the end of every sentence, and never
uses an "r" except in the last syllable
of "nigger." With a slouched hat, a
slovenly dress, a plentiful supply of
"sahs," and a slurred speech exclusively
applied to "niggers," he is equipped for
the stage. And yet it is not unkindly
meant: only patronizingly, which is
worse. That Thackeray, Matthew
Arnold, Lawrence, and other visitors
whose English passes current,
declared after a visit to America that
they found the purest English speech
spoken in Virginia, goes for nothing.
If the writers of the plays referred
to would attend one of the formal
assemblies under one of the old social
associations in the South, - for
instance,
Page 5
the St. Cecilia Ball in Charleston, one
of the final refuges of old-fashioned
gentility and distinguished manners, -
they would get some idea of what
old-time good breeding and high
courtesy were.
It is perhaps partly to correct this
erroneous idea of the Old South that
this little essay has been attempted.
But mainly it has been from sheer
affection.
T. N. P.
Page 7
SOCIAL LIFE IN OLD
VIRGINIA
BEFORE THE WAR
LET me see if I can
describe an old
Virginia home recalled from a
memory stamped with it when a
virgin page. It may, perhaps, be
idealized by the haze of time; but it
will be as I now remember it.
The mansion was a plain
"weatherboard" house, one story and a
half above the half-basement ground
floor, set on a hill in a grove of primeval
oaks and hickories filled in with ash,
maples, and feathery-leafed locusts
without number. It was built of timber cut
by the "servants " (they were never
termed slaves except in legal documents)
out of the virgin forest, not long after the
Revolution, when that branch of the
family moved from Yorktown. It had
quaint dormer windows, with small
Page 8
panes, poking out from its sloping
upstairs rooms, and long porches to
shelter its walls from the sun and allow
house life in the open air.
A number of magnificent oaks and
hickories (there had originally been a
dozen of the former, and the place from
them took its name, "Oakland"), under
which Totapottamoi children may have
played, spread their long arms about it,
sheltering nearly a half-acre apiece; whilst
in among them and all around were ash
and maples, an evergreen or two, lilacs
and syringas and roses, and locusts of
every age and size, which in springtime
filled the air with honeyed perfume, and
lulled with the "murmur of innumerable
bees."
There was an "office" in the yard;
another house where the boys used to
stay, and the right to sleep in which was
as eagerly looked forward to and as highly
prized as was by the youth of Rome the
wearing of the
toga virilis . There the guns
were kept; there the
Page 9
Page 11
dogs might sleep with their masters,
under, or in cold weather even on, the
beds; and there charming bits of
masculine gossip were retailed by the
older young gentlemen, and delicious
tales of early wickedness related, all the
more delightful because they were veiled
in chaste language phrased not merely to
meet the doctrine, maxima reverentia
pueris debetur , but to meet the higher
truth that no gentleman would use foul
language.
Off to one side was the orchard, in
springtime a bower of pink and snow, and
always making a pleasant spot in the
landscape; beyond which peeped the
ample barns and stables, and farther yet
lay the wide green fields.
Some of the fields that stretched
around were poor, and in places where
the rains had washed off the soil, red
"galls" showed through; but the tillage
was careful and systematic, and around
the house were rich hay-fields where the
cattle stood knee-deep in clover.
Page 12
The brown worm fences ran in lateral
lines, and the ditches were kept clean
except for useful willows.
The furniture was old-timey and
plain, - mahogany and rosewood
bedsteads and dressers black with age,
and polished till they shone like mirrors,
Page 13
Page 15
hung with draperies white as snow;
straight-backed chairs generations old
interspersed with common new ones;
long sofas with claw feet; old
shining tables with slender brass-tipped
legs, straight or fluted, holding some
fine old books, and in springtime a blue
Page 16
or flowered bowl or two with glorious
roses; bookcases filled with brown-backed,
much-read books. This was all.
The servants' houses, smoke-house,
wash-house, and carpenter-shop were set
around the "back yard," with "mammy's
house" a little nicer than the others; and
farther off, upon and beyond the quarters
hill, "the quarters," - whitewashed,
substantial buildings, each for a family,
with chicken-houses hard by, and with
yards closed in by split palings, filled
with fruit trees, which somehow bore
cherries, peaches, and apples in a
mysterious profusion even when the
orchard failed.
Beyond the yard were gardens. There
were two, - the vegetable garden and the
flower garden. The former was the test of
the mistress's power; for at the most
critical times she took the best hands on
the place to work it. The latter was the
proof of her taste. It was a strange affair:
pyrocanthus hedged it on the outside;
honeysuckle ran riot
Page 17
over its palings, perfuming the air; yellow
cowslips in well-regulated tufts edged
some borders, while sweet peas, pinks,
and violets spread out recklessly over
others; jonquilles yellow as gold, and,
once planted, blooming every spring as
certainly as the trees budded or the birds
nested, grew in thick bunches; and here
and there were tall lilies, white as angels'
wings and stately as the maidens that
walked among them; big snowball bushes
blooming with snow, lilacs purple and
white and sweet in the spring, and always
with birds' nests in them with the bluest of
eggs; and in places rosebushes, and tall
hollyhock stems filled with rich rosettes of
every hue and shade, made a delicious
tangle. In the autumn rich dahlias and
pungent-odored chrysanthemums ended
the sweet procession and closed the
season.
But the flower of all others was the
rose. There were roses everywhere;
clambering roses over the porches and
windows, sending their fragrance into
Page 18
the rooms; roses beside the walks; roses
around the yard and in the garden;
roses of every hue and delicate
refinement of perfume; rich yellow roses
thick on their briery bushes, coming
almost with the dandelions and
buttercups, before any others dared face
the April showers to learn if March had
truly gone, sweet as if they had come
from Paradise to be worn upon young
maidens' bosoms, as they might well
have done - who knows ? - followed by
the Giant of Battles on their stout stems,
glorious enough to have been the
worthy badge of victorious Lancastrian
kings; white Yorks, hardly less royal;
cloth-of-golds; dainty teas; rich
damasks; old sweet hundred-leafs
sifting down their petals on the grass,
and always filling with two the place
where one
Page 19
had fallen. These and many more whose
names have faded made the air fragrant,
whilst the catbirds and mocking-birds
fluttered and sang among them, and the
robins foraged in the grass for their
greedy yellow-throats waiting in the
hidden nests.
Looking out over the fields was a
scene not to be forgotten.
Let me give it in the words of one who
knew and loved Virginia well, and was her
best interpreter: l -
"A scene not of enchantment, though
contrast often made it seem so, met the
eye. Wide, very wide fields of waving
grain, billowy seas of green or gold as the
season chanced to be, over which the
scudding shadows chased and played,
gladdened the heart with
1.
Dr. George W. Bagby. His "Old Virginia
Gentleman" is perhaps the best sketch yet
written in the South. To it I am doubtless
indebted for much in this paper. His description
might do for a picture of Staunton Hill resting
in delicious calm on its eminence above the
Staunton River.
Page 20
wealth far spread. Upon lowlands level as
the floor the plumed and tasselled corn
stood tall and dense, rank behind rank in
military alignment - a
Page 21
serried army lush and strong. The rich,
dark soil of the gently swelling knolls
could scarcely be seen under the broad
lapping leaves of the mottled tobacco.
The hills were carpeted with clover.
Beneath the tree-clumps fat cattle chewed
the cud, or peaceful sheep reposed,
grateful for the shade. In the midst of this
plenty, half hidden in foliage, over which
the graceful shafts of the Lombard poplar
towered, with its bounteous garden and
its orchards heavy with fruit near at hand,
peered the old mansion, white, or dusky
red, or mellow gray by the storm and shine
of years.
"Seen by the tired horseman halting at
the woodland's edge, this picture,
steeped in the intense quivering summer
moonlight, filled the soul with
unspeakable emotions of beauty,
tenderness, peace, home.
"How
calm could we rest
In
that bosom of shade with the friends we love
best!
Page 22
"Sorrows and care were there - where
do they not penetrate? But, oh! dear God,
one day in those sweet, tranquil homes
outweighed a fevered lifetime in the gayest
cities of the globe. Tell me nothing; I
undervalue naught that man's heart
delights in. I dearly love operas and great
pageants; but I do know - as I know
nothing else - that the first years of
human life, and the last, yea, if it be
possible, all the years, should be passed in
the country. The towns may do for a day,
a week, a month at most; but Nature,
Mother Nature, pure and clean, is for all
time, - yes, for eternity itself."
The life about the place was amazing.
There were the busy children playing in
groups, the boys of the family mingling
with the little darkies as freely as any other
young animals, and forming the
associations which tempered slavery and
made the relation one not to be
understood save by those who saw it.
There they were, stooping
Page 23
Page 25
down and jumping up; turning and
twisting, their heads close together, like
chickens over an "invisible repast," their
active bodies always in motion: busy over
their little matters with that ceaseless
energy of boyhood which could move the
world could it but be concentrated and
conserved. They were all over the place;
in the orchard robbing birds' nests,
getting into wild excitement over catbirds,
which they ruthlessly murdered because
they "called snakes"; in spring and
summer fishing or "washing" in the
creek, riding the plough-horses to and
from the fields, running the calves and
colts, and being as mischievous as the
young mules they chased.
There were the little girls in their great
sunbonnets, often sewed on to preserve
the wonderful peach-blossom
complexions, with their small female
companions playing about the yard or
garden, running with and wishing they
were boys, and getting half scoldings
Page 26
from mammy for being tomboys and
tearing their aprons and dresses. There, in
the shade, near her "house," was the
mammy with her assistants, her little
charge in her arms, sleeping in her ample
lap, or toddling about her, with broken,
half-formed phrases, better understood
than framed. There passed young negro
girls, blue-habited, running about bearing
messages; or older women moving at a
statelier pace, doings with deliberation the
little tasks which were their "work;"
whilst about the office or smoke-house or
dairy or
Page 27
wood-pile there was always some
movement and life. The peace of it all was
only emphasized by the sounds that broke
upon it: the call of ploughers to their
teams; the shrill shouts of children; the
chant of women over their work, and as a
bass the recurrent hum of spinning-wheels,
like the drone of some great
insect, sounding from cabins where the
turbaned spinners spun their fleecy rolls
for the looms which were clacking in the
loom-rooms making homespun for the
plantation.
From the back yard and quarters the
Page 28
laughter of women and the shrill, joyous
voices of children came. Far off, in the
fields, the white-shirted "ploughers"
followed singing their slow teams in the
fresh furrows, wagons rattled, and oxcarts
crawled along, or gangs of hands in lines
performed their work in the corn or
tobacco fields, loud shouts and peals of
laughter, mellowed by the distance,
floating up from time to time, telling that
the heart was light and the toil not too
heavy.
At special times there was special
activity: at ice-getting time, at
corn-thinning time, at fodder-pulling time,
at threshing-wheat time, but above all at
corn-shucking time, at hog-killing time,
and at "harvest." Harvest was spoken of
as a season. It was a festival. The severest
toil of the year was a frolic. Every "hand"
was eager for it. It was the test of the
men's prowess and the women's skill. For
it took a man to swing his cradle through
the long June days and keep pace with the
bare-necked,
Page 29
Page 31
knotted-armed leader as he strode and
swung his ringing cradle through the
heavy wheat. So it demanded a strong
back and nimble fingers in the binding to
"keep up" and bind the sheaves. The
young men looked forward to it as young
bucks look to the war-path. How gay they
seemed, moving in oblique lines around
the "great parallelograms," sweeping
down the yellow grain, and, as they neared
the starting-point, chanting with mellow
voices the harvest song "Cool Water"!
How musical was the cadence as, taking
time to get their wind, they whet in unison
their ringing blades!
Though the plantations were large, so
large that one master could not hear his
neighbor's dog bark, there was never any
loneliness: it was movement and life
without bustle; whilst somehow, in the
midst of it all, the house seemed to sit
enthroned in perpetual tranquillity, with
outstretched wings under its spreading
oaks, sheltering its children like a great
gray dove.
Page 32
Even at night there was stirring about:
the ring of an axe, the infectious music of
the banjos, the laughter of dancers, the
festive noise and merriment of the cabin,
the distant, mellowed shouts of 'coon or
'possum hunters, or the dirge-like chant of
some serious and timid wayfarer passing
along the paths over the hills or through
the woods, and solacing his lonely walk
with religious song.
Such was the outward scene. What
was there within ? That which has been
much misunderstood, - that which was
like the roses, wasteful beyond measure in
its unheeded growth and blowing, but
sweet beyond measure, too, and filling
with its fragrance not only the region
round about, but sending it out
unmeasuredly on every breeze that
wandered by.
The life within was of its own kind.
There were the master and the mistress:
the old master and old mistress, the young
masters and young mistresses,
Page 33
and the children; besides some aunts and
cousins, and the relations or friends
who did not live there, but were only
always on visits.
Properly, the mistress should be mentioned
Page 34
first, as she was the most important
personage about the home, the presence
which pervaded the mansion, the centre of
all that life, the queen of that realm; the
master willingly and proudly yielding her
entire management of all household matters
and simply carrying out her directions,
confining his ownership within the
cartilage solely to his old "secretary,"
which on the mistress's part was as sacred
from her touch as her bonnet was from his.
There were kept mysterious folded papers,
and equally mysterious parcels, frequently
brown with the stain of dust and age. Had
the papers been the lost sibylline leaves
instead of old receipts and bills, and had
the parcels contained diamonds instead of
long-dried melon-seed or old flints, now
out of date but once ready to serve a
useful purpose, they could not have been
more sacredly guarded by the mistress.
The master usually had to hunt for a long
period for any particular paper, whilst the
mistress could in a
Page 35
half-hour have arranged everything in
perfect order; but the chaos was regarded
by her with veneration as real as that with
which she regarded the mystery of the
heavenly bodies.
On the other hand, outside of this piece
of furniture there was nothing in the house
of which the master even pretended to
know. It was all in her keeping. Whatever
he wanted he called for, and she produced
it with a certainty and promptness which
struck him as a perpetual miracle. Her
system appeared to him as the result of a
wisdom as profound as that which fixed
and held the firmament. He would not have
dared to interfere, not because he was
afraid, but because he recognized her
superiority. It would no more have
occurred to him to make a suggestion
about the management of the house than
about that of one of his neighbors; simply
because he knew her and acknowledged
her infallibility. She was, indeed, a
surprising creature - often delicate in
frame,
Page 36
and of a nervous organization so sensitive
as perhaps to be a great sufferer; but her
force and character pervaded and directed
everything, as unseen yet as unmistakably
as the power of gravity controls the
particles that constitute the earth.
It has been assumed by the outside
world that our people lived a life of
idleness and ease, a kind of
"hammock-swung," "sherbet-sipping"
existence, fanned by slaves, and, in their
pride, served on bended knees. No
conception could be further from the truth.
The ease of the master of a big plantation
was about that of the head of any great
establishment where numbers of operatives
are employed, and to the management of
which are added the responsibilities of the
care and complete mastership of the liberty
of his operatives and their families. His
work was generally sufficiently
systematized to admit of enough personal
independence to enable him to participate
in the duties of hospitality; but any master
who had a successfully
Page 37
conducted plantation was sure to have
given it his personal supervision with an
unremitting attention which would not
have failed to secure success in any other
calling. If this was true of the master, it
was much more so of the mistress. The
master might, by having a good overseer
and reliable headmen, shift a portion of the
burden from his shoulders; the mistress
had no such means of relief. She was the
necessary and invariable functionary; the
keystone of the domestic economy which
bound all the rest of the structure and
gave it its strength and beauty. From early
morn till morn again the most important
and delicate concerns of the plantation
were her charge and care. She gave out
and directed all the work of the women.
From superintending the setting of the
turkeys to fighting a pestilence, there was
nothing which was not her work. She was
mistress, manager, doctor, nurse,
counsellor, seamstress, teacher,
housekeeper, slave,
Page 38
all at once. She was at the beck and call of
every one, especially of her husband, to
whom she was "guide, philosopher, and
friend."
One of them, being told of a broken
gate by her husband, said, "Well, my
dear, if I could sew it with my needle and
thread, I would mend it for you."
What she was, only her husband
divined, and even he stood before her in
dumb, half-amazed admiration, as he might
before the inscrutable vision of a superior
being. What she really was, was known
only to God. Her life was one long act of
devotion, - devotion to God, devotion to
her husband, devotion to her children,
devotion to her servants, to her friends, to
the poor, to humanity. Nothing happened
within the range of her knowledge that her
sympathy did not reach and her charity
and wisdom did not ameliorate. She was
the head and front of the church; an
unmitred bishop in
partibus , more effectual
than the vestry or deacons, more
Page 39
Page 41
earnest than the rector; she managed her
family, regulated her servants, fed the
poor, nursed the sick, consoled the
bereaved. Who knew of the visits she
paid to the cabins of her sick and
suffering servants! often, at the dead of
night, "slipping down" the last thing to
see that her directions were carried out;
with her own hands administering
medicines or food; ever by her cheeriness
inspiring new hope, by her strength
giving courage, by her presence awaking
faith; telling in her soft voice to dying ears
the story of the suffering Saviour; with
her hope soothing the troubled spirit, and
lighting with her own faith the path down
into the valley of the dark shadow. What
poor person was there, however
inaccessible the cabin, that was sick or
destitute and knew not her charity! Who
that was bereaved that had not her
sympathy!
The training of her children was her
work. She watched over them,
Page 42
inspired them, led them, governed
them; her will impelled them; her word
to them, as to her servants, was law.
She reaped the reward. If she
admired them, she was too wise to let
them know it; but her sympathy and
tenderness were theirs always, and
they worshipped her.
There was something in seeing the
master and mistress obeyed by the
plantation and looked up to by the
neighborhood which inspired the
children with a reverence akin to awe
which is not known at this present
time. It was not till the young people
were grown that this reverence lost
the awe and became based only upon
affection and admiration. Then, for the
first time, they dared to jest with her;
then, for the first time, they took in
that she had been like them once,
young and gay and pleasure-loving,
with coquetries and maidenly ways,
with lovers suing for her; and that she
still took pleasure in the
recollection, - this gentle,
Page 43
classic, serious mother among her
tall sons and radiant daughters. How
she blushed as they laughed at her and
teased her to tell of her conquests, her
confusion making her look younger
and prettier than they remembered
her, and opening their eyes to the truth
of what their father had told them so
often, that not one of them could be as
beautiful as she.
She became timid and dependent as
they grew up and she found them
adorned with new fashions and ways
which she did not know; she gave
herself up to their guidance with an
appealing kind of diffidence; was
tremulous over her ignorance of the
novel fashions which made them so
charming. Yet, when the exactions of
her position came upon her, she calmly
took the lead, and, by her instinctive
dignity, her wisdom, and her force,
eclipsed them all as naturally as the
full moon in heaven dims the stars.
Such in part was the mistress. As
Page 44
to the master himself, it is hard to
generalize. Yet there were indeed certain
generic characteristics, whether he was
grave and severe, or jovial and easy.
There was the foundation of a certain
pride based on self-respect and
consciousness of power. There were
nearly always the firm mouth with its
strong lines, the calm, placid, direct gaze,
the quiet speech of one who is
accustomed to command and have his
command obeyed; there was a
contemplative expression due to much
communing alone, with weighty
responsibilities resting upon him; there
was absolute self-confidence, and often a
look caused by tenacity of opinion. There
was not a doubtful line in the face nor a
doubtful tone in the voice; his opinions
were convictions; he was a partisan to the
backbone; and not infrequently he was
incapable of seeing more than one side.
This prevented breadth, but gave force.
He was proud, but rarely haughty except
to dishonor. To that he was inexorable.
Page 45
He believed in God, he believed in
his wife, he believed in his blood. He was
chivalrous, he was generous, he was
usually incapable of fear or of meanness.
To be a Virginia gentleman was the first
duty; it embraced being a Christian and all
the virtues. He lived as one; he left it as a
heritage to his children. He was fully
appreciative of both the honors and the
responsibilities of his position. He
believed in a democracy, but understood
that the absence of a titled aristocracy had
to be supplied by a class more virtuous
than he believed any aristocracy to be. He
purposed in his own person to prove that
this was practicable. He established the
fact that it was. This and other
responsibilities made him grave. He had
inherited gravity from his father and
grandfather. The latter had been a
performer in the greatest work of modern
times, with the shadow of the scaffold over
him if he failed. The former had faced the
Page 46
weighty problems of the new government,
with many unsolved questions ever to
answer. He himself faced problems not
less grave. The greatness of the past, the
time when Virginia had been the mighty
power of the New World, loomed ever
above him. It increased his natural
conservatism. He saw the change that was
steadily creeping on. The conditions that
had given his class their power and
prestige had altered. The fields were
worked down, and agriculture that had
made his class rich no longer paid. The
cloud was already gathering in the
horizon; the shadow already was
stretching towards him. He could foresee
the danger that threatened Virginia. A peril
ever sat beside his door. He was "holding
the wolf by the ears." Outside influences
hostile to his interest were being brought
to bear. Any movement must work him
injury. He sought the only refuge that
appeared. He fell back behind the
Constitution that his fathers
Page 47
had helped to establish, and became a
strict constructionist for Virginia and his
rights. These things made him grave. He
reflected much. Out on the long verandas
in the dusk of the summer nights, with his
wide fields stretching away into the
gloom, and "the woods" bounding the
horizon, his thoughts dwelt upon serious
things; he pondered causes and
consequences; he resolved everything to
prime principles. He communed with the
Creator and his first work, Nature.
This communion made him a wonderful
talker. He discoursed of philosophy,
politics, and religion. He read much,
generally on these subjects, and read only
the best. His bookcases held the masters
(in mellow Elzevirs and Lintots) who had
been his father's friends, and with whom
he associated and communed more
intimately than with his neighbors. Homer,
Horace, Virgil, Ovid, Shakespeare, Milton,
Dryden, Goldsmith, "Mr. Pope," were his
Page 48
poets; Plutarch, Bacon, Burke, and
Dr. Johnson were his philosophers.
He knew their teachings and tried to
pattern himself on them. These "new
fellows" that his sons raved over he
held in so much contempt that his mere
statement of their inferiority was to his
mind an all-convincing argument.
In religion he was as orthodox as
the parson. He might not be a
professing member of the church; but
he was one of its pillars: ready to
stand by, and, if need were, to fight to
the death for the Thirty-nine Articles,
or the Confession of Faith. Yet,
if he was generally grave, he was
at times, among his intimates and
guests, jovial, even gay. On festive
occasions no one surpassed him in
cheeriness. To a stranger he was
always a host, to a lady always a
courtier. When the house was full of
guests, he was the life of the company.
He led the prettiest girl out for the
dance. At Christmas he took her
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under the mistletoe, and paid her
gracious compliments which made her
blush and courtesy with dimpling face
and dancing eyes. But whatever was
his mood, whatever his surroundings,
he was always the exponent of that
grave and knightly courtesy which
under all conditions has become
associated with the title "Virginia
gentleman."
Whether or not the sons were, as
young men, peculiarly admirable may
be a question. They possessed the
faults and the virtues of young men of
their kind and condition. They were
given to self-indulgence; they were
not broad in their limitations; they
were apt to contemn what did not
accord with their own established
views (for their views were
established before their mustaches);
they were wasteful of time and
energies beyond belief; they were
addicted to the pursuit of pleasure.
They exhibited the customary failings
of their kind in a society of an
aristocratic character.
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But they possessed in full measure the
corresponding virtues. They were brave,
they were generous, they were high-spirited.
Indulgence in pleasure did not
destroy them. It was the young French
noblesse who affected to eschew exertion
even to the point of having themselves
borne on litters on their boar-hunts, and
who yet, with a hundred pounds of iron
buckled on their frames, charged like furies
at Fontenoy. So these same languid,
philandering young gentlemen, when the
crucial occasion came, suddenly appeared
as the most dashing and indomitable
soldiery of modern times. It was the
Norfolk company known as the
"Dandies" that was extirpated in a single
day.
But, whatever may be thought of the
sons, there can be no question as to the
daughters. They were like the mother;
made in her own image. They filled a
peculiar place in the civilization; the key
was set to them. They held by
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a universal consent the first place in the
system, all social life revolving around
them. So generally did the life shape itself
about the young girl that it was almost as if
a bit of the age of chivalry had been blown
down the centuries and lodged in the old
State. She instinctively adapted herself to
it. In fact, she was made for it. She was
gently bred: her people for generations
(since they had come to Virginia) were
gentlefolk. They were so well satisfied that
they had been the same in the mother
country that they had never taken the
trouble to investigate it. She was the
incontestable proof of their gentility. In
right of her blood (the beautiful Saxon,
tempered by the influences of the genial
Southern clime), she was exquisite, fine,
beautiful; a creature of peach-blossom and
snow; languid, delicate, saucy; now
imperious, now melting, always bewitching.
She was not versed in the ways of the
world, but she had no need to be; she was
better than
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that; she was well bred. She had not to
learn to be a lady, because she was born
one. Generations had given her that by
heredity. She grew up apart from the great
world. But ignorance of the world did not
make her provincial. Her instinct was an
infallible guide. When a child she had in
her sunbonnet and apron met the visitors
at the front steps and entertained them in
the parlor until her mother was ready to
appear. Thus she had grown up to the
duties of hostess. Her manners were as
perfectly formed as her mother's, with
perhaps a shade more self-possession. Her
beauty was a title which gave her a
graciousness that well befitted her. She
never "came out," because she had never
been "in;" and the line between girlhood
and youngladyhood was never known.
She began to have beaux certainly before
she reached the line; but it did her no
harm: she would herself long walk "fancy
free." A protracted devotion
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was required of her lovers, and they
began early. They were willing to serve
long, for she was a prize worth the service.
Her beauty, though it was often dazzling,
was not her chief attraction.
That was herself: that indefinable charm;
the result of many attractions, in
combination and perfect harmony, which
made her herself. She was delicate, she
was dainty, she was sweet. She lived in an
atmosphere created for her, -
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the pure, clean, sweet atmosphere of her
country home. She made its sunshine. She
was generally a coquette, often an
outrageous flirt. It did not imply
heartlessness. It was said that the worst
flirts made the most devoted wives. It was
simply an instinct, an inheritance; it was in
the life. Her heart was tender towards
every living thing but her lovers; even to
them it was soft in every way but one. Had
they had a finger-ache, she would have
sympathized with them. But in the matter of
love she was inexorable, remorseless. She
played upon every chord of the heart.
Perhaps it was because, when she gave up,
the surrender was to be absolute. From the
moment of marriage she was the
worshipper. Truly she was a strange being.
In her muslin and lawn; with her delicious,
low, slow, musical speech; accustomed to
be waited on at every turn, with servants
to do her every bidding; unhabituated
often even to putting on her dainty
slippers or combing
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her soft hair, - she possessed a reserve
force which was astounding. She was
accustomed to have her wishes obeyed as
commands. It did not make her imperious;
it simply gave her the habit of control. At
marriage she was prepared to assume the
duties of mistress of her establishment,
whether it were great or small.
Thus, when the time came, the class at
the South which had been deemed the
most supine suddenly appeared as the
most efficient and the most indomitable.
The courage which the men displayed in
battle was wonderful; but it was nothing
to what the Southern women exemplified at
home. There was, perhaps, not a doubtful
woman within the limits of the
Confederacy. Whilst their lovers and
husbands fought in the field, they
performed the harder part of waiting at
home. With more than a soldier's courage
they bore more than a soldier's hardship.
For four long years they listened
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to the noise of the guns, awaiting with
blanched faces but undaunted hearts the
news of battle after battle; buried their
beloved dead with tears, and still amid
their tears encouraged the survivors to
fight on. It was a force which has not
been duly estimated. It was in the blood.
She was indeed a strange creature, that
delicate, dainty, mischievous, tender, God-fearing,
inexplicable Southern girl. With
her fine grain, her silken hair, her satiny
skin, her musical speech; pleasure-loving,
saucy, bewitching - deep down lay the
bedrock foundation of innate virtue, piety,
and womanliness, on which were planted
all for which human nature can hope, and
all to which it can aspire. Words fail to
convey an idea of what she was; as well
try to describe the beauty of the rose or
the perfume of the violet. To appreciate
her one must have seen her, have known
her, have loved her.
There are certain other characters
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without mention of which no picture of the
social life of the South would be complete:
the old mammies and family servants about
the house. These were important, and
helped to make the life. The Mammy was
the zealous, faithful, and efficient assistant
of the mistress in all that pertained to the
care and training of the children. Her
authority was recognized in all that related
to them directly or indirectly, second only
to that of the Mistress and Master. She
tended them, regulated them, disciplined
them: having authority indeed in cases to
administer correction; for her affection was
undoubted. Her regime extended
frequently through two generations,
occasionally through three. From their
infancy she was the careful and faithful
nurse, the affection between her and the
children she nursed being often more
marked than that between her and her own
offspring. She may have been harsh to the
latter; she was never anything but tender
with the others.
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Her authority was, in a measure, recognized
through life, for her devotion was
unquestionable. The young masters and
mistresses were her "children" long after
they had children of their own. When they
parted from her or met with her again after
separation, they embraced her with the
same affection as when in childhood she
"led them smiling into sleep." She was
worthy of the affection. At all times she
was their faithful ally and champion,
excusing them, shielding them, petting
them, aiding them, yet holding them up too
to a certain high accountability.
Her influence was always for good. She
received, as she gave, an unqualified
affection. If she was a slave, she at least
was not a servant, but was an honored
member of the family, universally beloved,
universally cared for - "the Mammy."
Next to her in importance and rank were
the Butler and the Carriage-driver, These
with the Mammy were the aristocrats of
the family, who trained the
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children in good manners and other
exercises; and uncompromising aristocrats
they were. The Butler was apt to be
severe, and was feared; the Driver was
genial and kindly, and was adored. I recall
a butler, "Uncle Tom," an austere
gentleman, who was the terror of the
juniors of the connection. One of the
children, after watching him furtively as he
moved about with grand air, when he had
left the room and his footsteps had died
away, crept over and asked her
grandmother, his mistress, in an awed
whisper, "Grandma, are you 'fraid of Unc'
Tom?"
The Driver was the ally of the boys, the
worshipper of the girls, and consequently
had an ally in their mother, the mistress.
As the head of the stable, he was an
important personage. This comradeship
was never forgotten; it lasted through life.
The years might grow on him, his eyes
might become dim; but he was left in
command even when he was too feeble to
hold the
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horses; and though he might no longer
grasp the reins, he at least held the title,
and to the end was always "the Driver of
Mistiss's carriage."
Other servants too there were with
special places and privileges, - gardeners
and "boys about the house," comrades
of the boys; and "own maids," for each
girl had her "own maid." They all formed
one great family in the social structure
now passed away, a structure incredible
by those who knew it not, and now, under
new conditions, almost incredible by
those who knew it best.
The social life formed of these elements
combined was one of singular sweetness
and freedom from vice. If it was not filled
with excitement, it was replete with
happiness and content. It is asserted that
it was narrow. Perhaps it was. It was so
sweet, so charming, that it is little wonder
if it asked nothing more than to be let
alone.
They who lived it were a careless
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and pleasure-loving people; but, as in
most rural communities, their festivities
were free from dissipation. There was
sometimes too great an indulgence on the
part of young men in the State drink, the
julep; but whether it was that it killed early,
or that it was usually abandoned as the
responsibilities of life increased, an elderly
man of dissipated habits was almost
unknown. They were fond of sport, and
excelled in it, being generally fine riders,
good shots, and skilled hunters. Love of
horses was a race characteristic, and fine
horsemanship was a thing little considered
only because it was universal.
The life was gay. In addition to the
perpetual round of ordinary entertainment,
there was always on hand or in prospect
some more formal festivity, - a club
meeting, a fox-hunt, a party, a tournament,
a wedding. Little excuse was needed to
bring people together where every one
was social, and where the great honor was
to be the host.
Page 68
Scientific horse-racing was confined to the
regular race-tracks, where the races were
not dashes, but four-mile heats which
tested speed and bottom alike. But good
blood was common, and even a ride with a
girl in an afternoon meant generally a dash
along the level through the woods, where,
truth to tell, Miss Atalanta was very apt to
win. Occasionally there was even a dash
from the church. The highswung carriages,
having received their precious loads of
lily-fingered, pink-faced, laughing girls with
teeth like pearls and eyes like stars, helped
in by young men who would have thrown
not only their cloaks but their hearts into
the mud to keep those dainty feet from
being soiled, would go ahead; and then,
the restive saddle-horses being untied
from the swinging limbs, the young
gallants would mount, and, by an
instinctive common impulse, starting all
together, would make a dash to the first
hill, on top of which the dust still
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lingered, a golden nimbus thrown from
the wheels that rolled their goddesses.
The chief sport, however, was
fox-hunting. It was, in season, almost
universal. Who that lived in that time does
not remember the fox-hunts, - the eager
chase after "grays" or "old reds"! The
grays furnished more fun, the reds more
excitement. The grays did not run so far,
but usually kept near home, going in a
circuit of six or eight miles. "An old red,"
generally so called irrespective of age, as a
tribute to his prowess, might lead the dogs
all day, and end by losing them as evening
fell, after taking them a dead stretch for
thirty miles. The capture of a gray was
what men boasted of; a chase after "an
old red" was what they "yarned" about.
Some old reds became historical
characters, and were as well known and as
much discussed in the counties they
inhabited as the leaders of the bar or the
crack speakers of the circuit. The wiles
and guiles of each
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veteran were the pride of his neighbors
and hunters. Many of them had names.
Gentlemen discussed them at their club
dinners; lawyers told stories about them in
the "Lawyers' Rooms" at the court-houses;
young men, while they waited for
the preacher to get well into the service
before going into church, bragged about
them in the churchyards on Sundays.
There was one such that I remember: he
was known as "Nat Turner," after the
notorious leader of "Nat Turner's
Rebellion," who remained in hiding for
weeks after all his followers were taken.
Great frolics these hunts were; for there
were the prettiest girls in the world in the
country houses round about, and each
young fellow was sure to have in his heart
some brown or blue-eyed maiden to whom
he had promised the brush, and to whom,
with feigned indifference but with
mantling cheek and beating heart, he
would carry it if, as he counted on doing,
he should
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win it. Sometimes the girls came over
themselves and rode, or more likely were
already there visiting, and the beaux
simply followed them by a law as
immutable as that by which the result
follows the premises in a mathematical
proposition.
Even the boys had their lady-loves, and
rode for them on the colts or mules: not the
small girls of their own age (no "little girls"
for them!). Their sweethearts were grown
young ladies, with smiling eyes and silken
hair and graceful mien, whom their grown
cousins courted, and whom they with their
boys' hearts worshipped. Often a half-dozen
were in love with one - always the
prettiest one - and, with the generous
spirit of boys in whom the selfish instinct
has not yet awakened, agreed among
themselves that they would all ride for her,
and that whichever got the brush should
present it on behalf of all.
What a gallant sight it was! The appearance
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of the hunters on the far hill,
in the evening, with their packs surrounding
them! Who does not recall
the excitement at the house; the arrival
in the yard, with horns blowing, hounds
baying, horses prancing, and girls laughing;
the picture of the young ladies on
the front portico with their arms round
each other's dainty waists, - the slender,
pretty figures, the bright faces, the
sparkling eyes, the gay laughter and
musical voices, as with coquettish merriment
they challenged the riders, demanding
to blow the horns themselves
or to ride some specially handsome
horse next morning! The way, the
challenge being accepted, they tripped
down the steps, - some with little
screams shrinking from the bounding
dogs; one or two with stouter hearts,
fixed upon higher games bravely ignoring
them and leaving their management to
their masters, who at their approach
sprang to the ground to meet them, hat
in hand and the telltale blood mounting
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to their sunburned faces, handsome with
the beauty and pride of youth!
I am painfully aware of the inadequacy
of my picture. But who could
do justice to the truth!
It was owing to all these and some
other characteristics that the life was
what it was. It was on a charming
key. It possessed an ampleness and
generosity which were not splendid
because they were too genuine and
refined.
Hospitality had become a recognized
race characteristic, and was practiced as
a matter of course. It was universal;
it was spontaneous. It was one of the
distinguishing features of the civilization;
as much a part of the social life
as any other of the domestic relations.
Its generosity secured it a distinctive
title. The exactions it entailed were
engrossing. Its exercise occupied much
of the time, and exhausted much of the
means. The constant intercourse of
the neighborhood, with its perpetual
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round of dinners, teas, and entertainments,
was supplemented by visits of friends and
relatives from other sections, who came
with their families, their equipages, and
personal servants, to spend a month or
two, or as long a time as they pleased. A
dinner invitation was not so designated. It
was, with more exactitude, termed
"spending the day." On Sundays every one
invited every one else from church, and
there would be long lines of carriages
passing in at the open gates.
It is a mystery how the house ever held
the visitors. Only the mistress knew. Her
resources were enormous. The rooms, with
their low ceilings, were wide, and had a
holding capacity which was simply
astounding. The walls seemed to be made
of india-rubber, so great was their
stretching power. No one who came,
whether friend or stranger, was ever
turned away. If the beds were full - as
when were they not! - pallets were put
down on the
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floor in the parlor or the garret for the
younger members of the family, sometimes
even the passages being utilized.
Frequently at Christmas the master and
mistress were compelled to resort to the
same refuge.
It was this intercourse, following the
intermarriage and class feeling of the old
families, which made Virginians clannish,
and caused a single distinguishable
common strain of blood, however distant,
to be recognized and counted as kinship.
Perhaps this universal entertainment
might not now be considered elegant. Let
us see.
It was based upon a sentiment as pure
and unselfish as can animate the human
mind, - upon kindness. It was easy,
generous, and refined. The manners of
entertainers and entertained alike were
gentle, cordial, simple, with, to strangers, a
slight trace of stateliness. The best the
hosts had was given; no more was
required.
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The conversation was surprising; it
was of the crops, the roads, history,
literature, politics, mutual friends,
including the entire field of neighborhood
matters, related not as gossip, but as
affairs of common interest, which every
one knew or was expected and entitled to
know.
Among the ladies, the fashions came in,
of course, embracing particularly "patterns."
Politics took the place of honor among
the gentlemen, their range embracing not
only State and national politics, but British
as well, as to which they possessed
astonishing knowledge, interest in English
matters having been handed down from
father to son as a class test. "My father's"
opinion was quoted as conclusive
authority on this and all points, and in
matters of great importance historically
"my grandfather, sir," was cited. The
peculiarity of the whole was that it was
cast on a high plane, and possessed a
literary
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flavor of a high order; for, as has been
said, the classics, Latin and English, with
a fair sprinkling of good old
French authors were
in the bookcases, and
were there not for
show, but for
companionship. There
was nothing for show
in that life; it was all
genuine, real, true.
They had preserved
the old customs that
their fathers had brought
with them from the
mother country. The
great fête of the people
was Christmas. Spring
had its special delights,
- horse-back rides
through the budding
woods, with the birds singing; fishing
parties down on the little rivers, with
out-of-doors lunches and love-making;
parties of various kinds from house to
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house. Summer had its pleasures, -
handsome dinners, and teas with
moonlight strolls and rides to follow;
visits to or from relatives, or even to
the White Sulphur Springs, called
simply "the White." The Fall had its
pleasures. But all times and seasons
paled and dimmed before the festive
joys of Christmas. It had been handed
down for generations; it belonged to
the race. It had come over with their
forefathers. It had a peculiar
significance. It was a title. Religion
had given it its benediction. It was the
time to "Shout the glad tidings." It was
The Holidays. There were other
holidays for the slaves, both of the
school-room and the plantation, such
as Easter and Whit-Monday; but
Christmas was
distinctively "The Holidays." Then the
boys came home from school or
college with their friends; the
members of the family who had
moved away returned; pretty cousins
came for the festivities; the
neighborhood grew merry. The
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negroes were all to have holiday, the
house-servants taking turn and turn
about, and the plantation, long before
the time, made ready for Christmas
cheer. It was by all the younger
population looked back to half the
year, looked forward to the other half.
Time was measured by it: it was either
so long "since Christmas," or so long
"before Christmas." The affairs of the
plantation were set in order against it.
The corn was got in; the hogs were
killed; the lard "tried;" sausage-meat
made; mince-meat prepared; turkeys
fattened, with "the big gobbler"
specially devoted to the "Christmas
dinner;" the servants' winter clothes
and new shoes stored away ready for
distribution; and the plantation began
to be ready to prepare for Christmas.
In the first place, there was
generally a cold spell which froze up
everything and enabled the ice-houses
to be filled. (The seasons, like a good
many other
Page 84
things, appear to have changed since
that old time before the war.) This
spell was the harbinger; and great fun
it was at the ice-pond, where the big
rafts of ice were floated along, with the
boys on them. The rusty skates with
their curled runners and stiff straps were
gotten out and maybe tried for a day.
Then the stir began. The wagons all
were put to hauling wood - hickory.
Nothing but hickory now; other wood
might do for other times. But at
Christmas only hickory was used; and
the wood-pile was heaped high with the
logs; while to the ordinary wood-cutters
"for the house" were added three, four,
a half-dozen more, whose shining axes
rang around the wood-pile all day long.
(With what a vim they cut, and how
telling was that earnest "Ha'nh!" as
they drove the ringing axes into the
hard wood, sending the big white chips
flying in all directions! It was always
the envy of the boys, that simultaneous,
ostentatious expulsion of the
Page 85
breath, and they used to try vainly to
imitate it.
In the midst of it all came the wagon or the
ox-cart from "the depot," with the big white
boxes of Christmas things, the black driver
feigning hypocritical indifference as he
drove through the choppers to the
storeroom. Then came the rush of all the
cutters to help him unload; the jokes among
themselves, as they pretended to strain in
lifting, of what "master" or "mistis" was
going to give them out of those boxes,
uttered just loud enough to reach their
master's or mistress's ears where they stood
looking on, whilst the driver took due
advantage of his temporary prestige to give
many pompous cautions and directions.
The getting the evergreens and
mistletoe was the sign that Christmas had
come, was really here. There were the
parlor and hall and dining-room to be
"dressed," and, above all, the old church.
The last was the work of the
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neighborhood; all united in it, and it was
one of the events of the year. Young men
rode thirty and forty miles to "help"
dress that church. They did not go home
again till after Christmas.
The return from the church was the
beginning of the festivities.
Then by "Christmas Eve's eve" the
wood was all cut and stacked high in the
wood-house and on and under the back
porticos, so as to be handy, and secure
from the snow which was almost certain to
come. It seems that Christmas was almost
sure to bring it in old times; at least it is
closely associated with it. The excitement
increased; the boxes were unpacked, some
of them openly, to the general delight;
others with a mysterious secrecy which
stimulated curiosity to its highest point
and added immeasurably to the charm of
the occasion. The kitchen filled up with
assistants famed for special skill in
particular branches of the cook's art, who
bustled about with glistening faces
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and shining teeth, proud of their elevation
and eager to prove their merits and add to
the general cheer.
It was now Christmas Eve. From time to
time the "hired out" servants came home from
Richmond or other places where they had
been hired or had hired out themselves, their
terms having been by common custom
framed, with due regard to their rights to the
holiday to expire in time for them to spend
the Christmas at home.
1 There was much
hilarity over their arrival, and they were
welcomed like members of the family as, with
their new winter clothes donned a little ahead
of time, they came to pay "bespec's to master
and mistis."
Then the vehicles went off to the
distant station for the visitors - the
visitors and the boys. Oh the excitement
of that! at first the drag of the long hours,
and then the eager expectancy as the time
approached for their return; the
1. The hiring contracts
ran from New Year to
Christmas.
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"making up" of the fires in the visitors'
rooms (of the big fires; there had been
fires there all day "to air" them, but now
they must be made up afresh); the
hurrying backwards and forwards of the
servants; the feverish impatience of every
one, especially of the children, who are
sure the train is "late" or that something
has "happened," and who run and look
up towards the big gate every five
minutes, notwithstanding the mammy's
oft-repeated caution that a "watch' pot never
b'iles." There was one exception to the
general excitement: the Mistress, calm,
deliberate, unperturbed, moved about with
her usual serene composure, her watchful
eye seeing that everything was "ready."
Her orders had been given and her
arrangements made days before, such was
her system. The young ladies, having
finished dressing the parlor and hall, had
disappeared. Satisfied at last with their
work, after innumerable final touches,
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every one of which was an undeniable
improvement to that which had already
appeared perfect, they had suddenly
vanished - vanished as completely as a
dream - to appear again later on at the
parlor door, radiant visions of loveliness,
or, maybe, if certain visitors unexpectedly
arrived, to meet accidentally in the less
embarrassing and safer precincts of the
dimly lighted halls or passages. When
they appeared, what a transformation had
taken place! If they were bewitching
before, now they were entrancing. The
gay, laughing, saucy creature who had
been dressing the parlors and hanging the
mistletoe with many jests and parries of
the half-veiled references was now a
demure or stately maiden in all the dignity
of a new gown and with all the
graciousness of a young countess.
But this is after the carriages return.
They have not yet arrived. They are late -
they are always late - and it is dark before
they come; the glow of
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the fires and candles shines out through
the windows on the snow, often blackened
by the shadows of little figures whose
noses are pressed to the cold panes, which
grow blurred with their warm breath.
Meantime the carriages, piled outside and
in, are slowly making their way homeward
through the frozen roads, followed by the
creaking wagon filled with trunks, on
which are haply perched small muffled
figures, whose places in the carriages are
taken by unexpected guests. The drivers
still keep up a running fire with their young
masters, though they have long since been
pumped dry as to every conceivable matter
connected with "home," in return for
which they receive information as to
school and college pranks. At last the "big
gate" is reached; a half-frozen figure rolls
out and runs to open it, flapping his arms
in the darkness like some strange, uncanny
bird; they pass through; the gleam of a
light shines away off on a far hill. The
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shout goes up, "There she is; I see
her!" The light is lost, but a little later
appears again. It is the light in the
mother's chamber, the curtains of the
windows of which have been left up
intentionally, that the welcoming gleam
may be seen afar off by her boys on
the first hill - a blessed beacon
shining from home and her mother's
heart.
Across the white fields the dark
vehicles move, then toil up the house
hill, filled with their eager occupants,
who can scarce restrain themselves;
approach the house, by this time
glowing with lighted windows, and
enter the yard just as the doors open
and a swarm rushes out with joyful
cries of, "Here they are!" "Yes, here
we are!" comes in cheery answer,
and one after another they roll or step
out, according to age and dignity, and
run up the steps, stamping their feet,
the boys to be taken fast into motherly
arms, and the visitors to be given
warm handclasps and cordial
welcomes.
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Later on the children were got to bed,
scarce able to keep in their pallets for
excitement; the stockings were all hung up
over the big fireplace; and the grown
people grew gay in the crowded parlors.
There was no splendor, nor show, nor
style as it would be understood now. Had
there been, it could not have been so
charming. There were only profusion and
sincerity, heartiness and gayety, cordiality
and cheer, and withal genuineness and
refinement.
Next morning the stir began before light.
White-clad little figures stole about in the
gloom, with bulging stockings clasped to
their bosoms, opening doors shouting
"Christmas gift!" into dark rooms at
sleeping elders, and then scurrying away
like so many white mice, squeaking with
delight, to rake open the embers and
inspect their treasures. At prayers, "Shout
the glad tidings" was sung by fresh
young voices with due fervor.
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How gay the scene was at breakfast!
What pranks had been performed in the
name of Santa Claus! Every foible had
been played on. What lovely telltale
blushes and glances and laughter greeted
the confessions! The larger part of the day
was spent in going to and coming from the
beautifully dressed church, where the
service was read, and the anthems and
hymns were sung by every one, for every
one was happy.
But, as in the beginning of things, "the
evening and the morning were the first
day." Dinner was the great event. It was
the test of the mistress and the cook, or,
rather, the cooks; for the kitchen now was
full of them. It is impossible to describe it.
The old mahogany table, stretched
diagonally across the dining-room,
groaned; the big gobbler filled the place of
honor; a great round of beef held the
second place; an old ham, with every other
dish that ingenuity, backed by long
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experience, could devise, was at the side,
and the shining sideboard, gleaming
with glass, scarcely held the dessert. The
butler and his assistants were
supernaturally serious and slow, which
bespoke plainly too frequent a recourse to
the apple-toddy bowl; but under the
stimulus of the mistress's eye, they got
through all right, and their slight
unsteadiness was overlooked.
It was then that the fun began.
After dinner there were apple-toddy
and egg-nog, as there had been before.
There were games and dances -
country dances, the lancers and
quadrilles. The top of the old piano was
lifted up, and the infectious dancing-tunes
rolled out under the flying fingers. Haply
there was some demur on the part of the
elder ladies, who were not quite sure that
it was right; but it was overruled by the
gentlemen, and the master in his frock coat
and high collar started the ball by catching
the prettiest girl by the hand and leading
her to the
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head of the room right under the noses of
half a dozen bashful lovers, calling to them
meantime to "get their sweethearts and
come along." Round dancing was not yet
introduced. It was regarded as an
innovation, if nothing worse. It was held
generally as highly improper, by some as
"disgusting." As to the german, why, had it
been known, the very name would have
been sufficient to damn it. Nothing foreign
in that civilization! There was fun enough
in the old-fashioned country dances, and
the "Virginia reel" at the close. Whoever
could not be satisfied with that was hard
to please.
But it was not only in the "great house"
that there was Christmas cheer. Every
cabin was full of it, and in the wash-house
or the carpenter-shop there was
preparation for a plantation supper.
At this time, too, there were the negro
parties, where the ladies and gentlemen
went to look on, the supper
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having been superintended by the
mistresses, and the tables being decorated
by their own white hands. There was
almost sure to be a negro wedding during
the holidays. The ceremony might be
performed in the dining-room or in the hall
by the master, or in one of the quarters by
a colored preacher; but it was a gay
occasion, and the dusky bride's trousseau
had been arranged by her young mistress,
and the family was on hand to get fun out
of the entertainment, and to recognize by
their presence the solemnity of the tie.
Other weddings there were, too,
sometimes following these Christmas
gayeties, and sometimes occurring "just
so," because the girls were the loveliest in
the world, and the men were lovers almost
from their boyhood. How beautiful our
mothers must have been in their youth to
have been so beautiful in their age!
There were no long journeys for the
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young married folk in those times; the
travelling was usually done before
marriage. When a wedding took place,
however, the entire neighborhood
entertained the young couple.
Truly it was a charming life. There was a
vast waste; but it was not loss. Every one
had food, every one had raiment, every
one had peace. There was not wealth in
the base sense in which we know it and
strive for it and trample down others for it
now. But there was wealth in the good old
sense in which the litany of our fathers
used it. There was weal. There was the
best of all wealth; there was content, and
"a quiet mind is richer than a crown."
We have gained something by the
change. The South under her new
conditions will in time grow rich, will wax
fat; nevertheless we have lost much. How
much only those who knew it can
estimate; to them it was inestimable.
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That the social life of the Old South had
its faults I am far from denying. What
civilization has not? But its virtues far
outweighed them; its graces were never
equalled. For all its faults, it was, I believe,
the purest, sweetest life ever lived. It has
been claimed that it was non-productive,
that it fostered sterility. Only ignorance or
folly could make the assertion. It largely
contributed to produce this nation; it led
its armies and its navies; it established
this government so firmly that not even it
could overthrow it; it opened up the great
West; it added Louisiana and Texas, and
more than trebled our territory; it
christianized the negro race in a little over
two centuries, impressed upon it regard
for order, and gave it the only civilization
it has ever possessed since the dawn of
history. It has maintained the supremacy
of the Caucasian race, upon which all
civilization seems now to depend. It
produced a people whose heroic fight
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against the forces of the world has enriched
the annals of the human race, - a people
whose fortitude in defeat has been even
more splendid than their valor in war. It made
men noble, gentle, and brave, and women
tender and pure and true. It may have fallen
short in material development in its narrower
sense, but it abounded in spiritual
development; it made the domestic virtues as
common as light and air, and filled homes
with purity and peace.
It has passed from the earth, but it has
left its benignant influence behind it to
sweeten and sustain its children. The
ivory palaces have been destroyed, but
myrrh, aloes, and cassia still breathe amid
their dismantled ruins.