LETTER VI.
I have seen in your paper a little notice of my letters
by some lady, (I am sure it was a female,) who takes me
to task for writing about myself. She says it does not
matter what the color of an authoress's eyes are, or
whether she have small or large hands, or feet; and she
takes it upon herself to box my ears for talking about
myself. Now, Mr. —, I think that a great deal can
be learned about an authoress, by knowing the hue of
the eyes, and the number of the shoe or glove she hides
foot or hand in. It don't matter much, perhaps, whether
a man who writes an arithmetic, or a woman who writes
a geography, have gray locks or red, long noses or
short, beards or no beards, for I have seen, (ah, shocking!)
women with beards, and they always seem to be
proud of them, the way they cherish them! While I
write, I recall a “lady” with four moles on her chin, each
of which is tufted with a respectable camel's hair pencil.
Do not such monsters know there are such inventions
as tweezers?
When one writes to interest, and writes one's thoughts,
then it is agreeable to the reader to know something
about the writer's person. I am sure (now don't call me
vain, lady critic severe) that my readers will not like me
any thing the less for the description I have given of
myself. I see also that one of your readers wishes to
know the address of the “Yankee Girl,” and that you
decline giving it. Very good, Mr. —; and pray, who
gave it to you? How coolly you decline to give what
you do not possess; for I am sure you could not tell how
to reach me by a letter, if you wished to do so. But
one of these days, if I see a paragraph in your paper,
saying that after my ten
trial “needles” are written,
you will engage me to persevere in authorship, I will
then remove the veil.
I have already described to you the happiness I enjoy
in my new and stately home, the appearance of things,
and the beautiful scenery with which the villa is surrounded.
I will now give you some account of the manner
in which we pass the day on the plantation, and
every day is pretty much the same, save when Sunday
comes, or a party of visitors from town, or from some
neighboring plantation arrives. About half past four in
the morning, I am regularly awakened by a bell, as loud
as a college or chapel bell; which is rung in the belfry
of the overseer's house, to call the slaves up. Its clear
lively peal continues for about three minutes. I open
my eyes, see that all is dark, and then sink to sleep
again. Or if I lie awake, I soon hear the tramp of the
laborers passing along the avenue, and the jingling of
horse chains, as the horses and mules are led by to the
field. All is soon again still as midnight; for the plantation
bell does not disturb the domestic servants in the
house, who generally indulge in bed a half hour longer.
I believe that I am the only one in the house that the
bell disturbs; yet I do not begrudge the few minutes'
loss of sleep it causes me, it sounds so pleasantly in the
half-dreamy morning.
About six o'clock I am awakened for the day, by the
soft footstep of my pretty negress Eda, who steals to my
bedside to whisper—“Missy Kate, six o'clock, missy,”
and next goes to withdraw the curtains, and let in the
glorious sumbeams, to gild the atmosphere of the room.
She then brings me a laver of cool fresh water from the
spring, and snowy napkins; and for the first three or
four mornings after my arrival, she brought me a wine
mint julep. Yes, sir, a regular mint julep! And when
I refused it, spite of its delicious taste and aroma, (for I
am a Daughter of Temperance, Mr. —,) she opened
her large eyes with wonder, saying, “Why, missy, dey
nebber so nice!” Her assurance, that it was the custom
of the house to guests, never moved me, though I must
confess they looked very tempting. When she found
that I was not to be tempted, she brought me coffee,
black, and clear, and fragrant enough for a Turkish Sultana.
But I had been raised in the plain, simple, Yankee
way, and so had no use for such luxury, and have banished
both julep and coffee before I get up in the morning.
My sable maid aids me in my toilet, combs and twists
my long hair with the grace and art of a Parisienne, and
makes herself most useful. Indeed one does not know
of how many uses a servant may be, till one has one, as
I have now for the first time in my life. How differently
brought up are we Yankee girls from the Southern girls,
who never do any thing themselves, being always attended
by a shadow of a little negress, or an ancient
mammy! For my part, I find it very pleasant:—“Eda,
a glass of water;” or, “Eda, bring me such a book from
the parlor below;” or, “Eda, hand me my fan;” or,
“Eda, a dozen other things.” Oh, it is very convenient;
and I do believe a Northern girl in these circumstances,
will, in a year, render herself more helpless than even a
Southerner to the manor born.
At seven, a clear-ringing, silver table bell calls all from
their rooms to the breakfast apartment, which is a
spacious, cool piazza, shut in by green blinds, and adorned
with cages of mocking and canary birds, which sing all
the meal time.
Breakfast usually consumes half an hour. Four or
five varieties of warm bread load the table, with succotash,
and hominy, and ham always. Two men and two
negresses, all well dressed and in white aprons, wait on
table, and anticipate every wish. The colonel always
asks a devout blessing, all being seated, and all respond
a loud “Amen.” Two noble dogs generally crouch
either side of the colonel's arm chair, and a monstrous
Maltese cat, having taken a liking to me, seats herself
by my chair with a wistful look. After breakfast the
colonel lights a cigar at a coal brought him, unbidden,
by a negro boy, for he knows his master's habits; and
another servant holds a ready saddled horse at the
door.
The colonel mounts him, and rides away to overlook
his estate, sometimes accompanied by Isabel and me,
when we have brave gallops home alone. About nine
o'clock we take to our books or our needles, and sit
wherever we choose; in our rooms, in the breezy hall, on
the piazza, or in the drawing-room. At eleven an attentive
servant brings refreshments, when studies and
needles are dropped, and we have gossip, music, and
sometimes jump the rope, swing, or play at battledore.
If we have calls to make, the carriage is ordered at half-past
eleven, and after a drive of two hours or three, we
return to dine at two o'clock.
The dinner table is placed in the large central hall of
the house, and every dish elegantly served. Above the
table is a huge silk covered fan, the breadth of the table.
Tassels are attached to it, and it is fringed with crimson.
From rings in the corners lead red cords, which are
pulled to and fro by a little negro, all dinner time.
This regular and ceaseless movement of the fan above
our heads creates an agreeable breeze, which in this
climate is most luxurious. The dinner consists of many
courses, with wine and dessert of fruit, sweetmeats, ices,
nuts, domestic grapes, and black coffee. The ladies
then leave the gentlemen at the table to smoke, and retire
to their own rooms to sleep till the cool of the day.
The “lords” sometimes at hunting dinners sleep at the
table.
Towards evening all is animation. Saddle horses are
ordered, and away we scamper, now to the tarn, or to
climb the lion's head, or to canter along the turnpike.
We generally get back by twilight in fine spirits. Tea
and coffee are handed to us whenever we choose to have
it, no table being ever set for the evening repast. It
takes three servants to hand it. One comes with a waiter
of napkins first; another follows with coffee and sugar;
a third with cakes of all sorts, and sometimes a fourth
with purple finger glasses. In the evening we all assemble
in the brilliantly lighted parlors, where we have
music, play at chess, (the colonel and I take a game at
backgammon usually,) read, or talk. By ten we all retire;
and soon the house is buried in the repose of midnight.
So pass the happy days at Overton Lodge.
