University of Virginia Library

23. CHAPTER XXIII.

We have all heard of a man who went through
the ceremony of combing only once a year, and who
always, when the dread moment came, pitied those
poor creatures who endured the operation every
day. Even so, after one day of dissipation, did we,
dwellers in the voiceless woods, where it is a task
to remember the days of the week—one being so
much like another,—pity those unfortunates whose
lot it is to “go a pleasuring” all the time. The
fatigue of eye and ear,—the heat, the dust, the
din of yesterday, and after all, the sleepless night,
—made repose really necessary; and we lounged
away the morning, visiting several friends, and surveying,
under their guidance, what was best worth
notice in the village and its neighborhood. The
place stands on rising ground, and commands a
fine view of the surrounding country, then smiling
in soft summer loveliness, and diversified every
where with wood and water, though destitute of
any striking features, if we except the one deep
dell, whose full and rapid stream forms the wealth
of the village.

“Hard times” had made no impression on the
sweet face of Nature. Not a frown reproved the
ungrateful grumbler, man; who, if he cannot find
the superfluity which is required by an insatiable
thirst for distinction, overlooks and contemns the
kind care that richly provides for all his real wants.
All was peace, industry and abundance, and the
heart could not but dilate with pleasure at the sight
of a multitude of objects all typical of the overflowing
goodness of God, and calling upon his
rational creatures for “the honor due unto his
name.”

We were most hospitably treated—for the spirit
of hospitality is not confined to the cottages of the
West—and our kind entertainers proposed several
plans for a pleasant evening; but the one which
proved most attractive was a visit at the house of a
clergyman with whom we had some acquaintance,
and who was to receive all the world within five
miles of—,in the form of that relic of primitive
Puritanism known among us as a “donation party.”
We had heard of this custom—a general visit to
the clergyman, each guest bringing something by
way of offering,—and we were delighted with
the opportunity of assisting at one—assisting à
la Francaise, I mean. We presented ourselves, by
special request, at an early hour; but, early as it
was, dozens of good plain folks from the country
had preceded us. Some indeed, we were told, had
been on the ground since breakfast-time. We always

do things in earnest here. When we say,
“Come and spend the day,”—we should stare to
see the invited guest come at two o'clock, just as we
had put away the dinner dishes, and taken out our
knitting-work or our patchwork for the afternoon.
Avis au lecteur, in case he ventures to invite a
Western friend without specifying the hour.

But, as we were saying, some good ladies had
taken time by the forelock, and here they were,
beginning already to yawn, (covertly,) and to long
for their tea. Two great baskets in the hall were
already pretty well filled with bundles of yarn,
woollen stockings of all sizes, (sure to fit, in a clergyman's
family,) rolls of home-made flannel, mysterious
parcels enveloped in paper, and bags which
looked as if they might contain a great many precious
things. Flocks of company were arriving,
and no one empty handed, so that the “removal of
the deposits” became a measure of necessity, and
the contents of the two baskets were transferred to
some reservoir above stairs. Before the baskets
had been restored to their places, there was some
embarrassment among the new comers as to the
proper bestowment of their contributions, etiquette
requiring that an air of mysterious reserve should
be observed. But the difficulty was obviated by
the arrival of a handsome tea-table, borne by
two young men as the representatives of a little
knot who had hit upon this pretty thought of a
present for the minister's lady. Upon this the

tasteful class of offerings were displayed to good
advantage, and I observed among the rest a study-lamp,
a richly-bound Shakspere, and a bronze
inkstand with proper appurtenances. Among the
more magnificent were a standing fire screen elegantly
wrought, and a pair of foot-stools on which
the skill of the cabinet-maker had done its utmost
in displaying to advantage very delicate embroidery.
The variety as well as the beauty of the
gifts was very ingenious, and nobody could find
fault with a handsome purse, filled with gold,
bearing, in minute letters wrought into its bead-work,
the inscription, “To the Reverend Mr.—,
from the young men of his church.”

Where so many people, young and old, were
collected with a kind purpose, and under circumstances
which levelled, for a time, all distinctions,
conversation was not likely to flag. In truth, the
general complacency evinced itself in a ceaseless
stream of talk,—with only a moderate infusion of
scandal, for every body was present. The old
ladies chatted soberly among themselves, and their
husbands talked politics in corners. The young
ladies fluttered about busily, as in duty bound; for
on them devolves, by inviolable usage, all the
ministering necessary on the occasion—all the
reception of the company and bestowing of their
offerings—all care of tea affairs and distribution of
refreshments in order due. Such a dodging of
pretty heads—such dancing of ringlets,—such

gleaming of white teeth as there was among them!
I scarcely wondered that the young men became a
little bewildered, and forgot where they ought to
stand, and had to be ordered about or turned out
into the hall to make room for the more dignified or
bulky part of the assembly, only to slip back again
upon the first opportunity. So much youthful
beauty is not collected every day, and especially
beauty endowed with such a pretty little coquettish
station of command. I cannot doubt that much
execution was done, and, in truth, there were some
very obvious symptoms—but I shall not betray.

The clergyman's lady occupies rather an equivocal
station on these occasions. She is not exactly
in the position of hostess, for every article set before
the company is furnished by themselves; and all
the ordinary attentions are rendered by the young
stewardesses of the hour; so the domine's lady has
only to smile and look happy, and to show by her
manner that she is gratified by the interest evinced,
and if to this she superadd good talking powers,
and can entertain those of her guests who are not
particularly easy to entertain, she has accomplished
all that is expected of her. And all this the fair
and lady-like heroine of the present occasion did
very sweetly.

The tea hour drew on, and now the mêlée began
to assume a business-like air. The scampering
reminded me of “Puss in the Corner,” such was
the sudden chase for seats. The old ladies put

away their knitting, and their spouses began to
spread their handkerchiefs on their knees, at the
first rattle of the tea-spoons. Those who were not
so fortunate as to secure seats, insinuated themselves
as near as possible to tables and mantel-pieces,
which might serve to hold the anticipated good
cheer.

The younger gentlemen officiated as footmen,
and they had an arduous task. Over and above
the bearing of great trays of tea and coffee, and
bounteous salvers of cake, biscuits, sandwiches,
cheese, tongue, and all that belongs to the city
and country tea-table, they had, in addition, to
attend to the contradictory directions of a host of
capricious mistresses of the ceremonies, who delighted
in perplexing them, and who gave orders and
counter-orders for the very purpose of seeing them
go on bootless errands and get laughed at for their
pains. But they bore all very good-humoredly, and
managed to render something like a return to their
fair tyrants by persuading the old ladies to drink as
much tea as possible, and commending and urging
the excellence of the coffee to the gentlemen in
such sort that an extra supply was required, and the
damsels' elbows were fain to sue for quarter. After
all were served, the attendants were at liberty to
provide for themselves, and, whatever may have
been left for them to eat and drink, I can testify
that they had abundance of talking and laughing.

I ought sooner to have mentioned that the pastor

in whose behalf such general interest was shown,
was a person accustomed to society, and an adept
in the best power of hospitality—that of making
every one feel welcome and at ease. Mr.—was
every where, and in every body's thoughts. Grave
with the old, gay with the young, and cheerful with
all, he was in every respect the life and soul of the
occasion, and each felt the time spent in conversation
with him to have been “the sweet of the
night.” An enviable power! and one possessed in
its perfection only by those whose hearts are full
of kindly sympathies,—who are what others only
try to appear.

After the bustle attendant upon serving the tea
had subsided, the conversation gradually, and as if
spontaneously, took a more serious turn, and, before
we were aware, the sweet and solemn notes of a
hymn, well supported in all its parts, stole upon
the ear, and hushed all lighter sounds. When
several stanzas had been sung, the clergyman, after
a short address, invited all present to unite in prayer
and thanksgiving to the bounteous Giver of all
good. And thus seriously closed a very cheerful
evening, without any violent transition or unpleasant
contrast.

This custom of donation parties certainly seems
to belong to a very primitive and simple state of
society, yet its observance is by no means limited
to these newly-settled regions. Wherever New
Englanders have given a tone, these little gatherings

have been introduced, and though there are various
opinions as to the general question whether this is
the best or a good way of contributing to the support
of a clergyman, people generally unite in them
very heartily, which affords at least a presumption
in their favor. This very union is something. As
far as I have been able to observe, they certainly
have the one good effect of creating a nearer personal
interest in the pastor and his family; and
whatever tends to draw closer and nearer the ties
which bind minister and people, may not be lightly
discouraged; for in this calculating and utilitarian
age the dangers lie on the opposite side—the side
of proud indifference and chilling neglect, the most
discouraging and impracticable of all atmospheres
for a minister of religion.