University of Virginia Library

LETTER LXVIII.

This is written in an old fashioned country Inn, in
the heart of the Old Dominion, where we are sojourning
for a week. It is now ten days since we left the pleasant
city of Mobile, which I shall always embalm in my
memory with the sweetest spices of affection, for the
kindness I received there from so many dear friends.
If I were disposed to be personal, I could make my letter
brilliant with the names of those esteemed people who
extended towards me the hospitable courtesies and graceful
amenities of which I was the unworthy object. My
husband is charmed with the place, and has half a mind
to live there during the winters, which I am told are delightful.
In Mobile I had the pleasure of seeing the
celebrated Dr. Nott, who, in conjunction with Mr. Cairo
Gliddon, has published a work to show that the arithmetic
of Moses was not creditable for a school boy. I hear
that the work has not overthrown the Bible, although
bigger than the Bible, and written almost by as many
men. It overshot itself, and from its very bulk and cost
will never be read, except by students—and what book
ever convinced a student? Learned men read books
only to be confirmed in what they previously believed
they knew.

Dr. Nott very justly, for he is by no means an infidel,
repudiates the infidel portions of this book (“Types of
Mankind”); and says he is responsible only for the
scientifically anatomical and physiological contributions,
and complains that his confrere, Gliddon, surreptitiously
inserted, after the MS. had left his hands, into the body
of the work his own sceptical theories. But Dr. Nott,
like all persons found in suspicious company, unfortunately
has to suffer for his companionship. He is at the
head of the medical profession here; a South Carolinian,
a man of fine intellect, agreeable manners, and with the
finished air of a thorough-bred and born gentleman.
I liked him very much the few moments I was in his
society.

We left Mobile for Montgomery at the close of a
lovely day, and in forty-six hours, after a pleasant sail
up the romantic Alabama river, reached the stately capital
of Alabama, Montgomery. It reminds me somewhat
of Albany, in its location and elevated aspect. On
board the boat was the venerable Bishop Cobbs, a large,
heavy man, and advanced in years, but with a face full
of the spirit of benevolence. He has all the simplicity
of a pure child, united with the dignity of a Christian
minister. He resides in this city, and was on his return
to his family, from whom he had been some time absent,
on his apostolic mission of “confirming the churches.”

After a day agreeably spent in Montgomery, we took
the cars for Augusta, Georgia. Our ride was full of interest.
I was annoyed, the first hour or two after starting,
at having left hanging on a projection of the toilet stand,
in our room at the hotel, a valuable ring, which encircled
many dearest associations within its golden periphery.

My husband made the fact known to the conductor, who
pledged himself that, on his return to Montgomery, in
the next train, he would go to the hotel and get it, and
forward it to Washington city by mail. As he would be
back to the hotel in three or four hours, I consoled myself
with all that was left me, hope, and now hope to find
it in Washington, when we reach there, on Monday!
But I mistrust my hopes; and that the large eyes of the
Ethiopian maid, who waited on me, have discovered the
jewel, and that it last Sunday dazzled the eyes and won
the heart of some sable Cæsar or Pompey! What is
forgotten at hotels falls natural prizes into the hands of
the chambermaids, who begin their foray of discovery
about the room before the lady has reached the last stair
in her descent to the coach.

It is so provoking to leave (and, of course, lose) things
traveling. I never yet took a journey without such a
misfortune. It was either a book half read, and I dying
with interest to finish it—or a parasol, or a reticule, or
a glove, (and one can't easily replace gloves, traveling,)
or a veil, or a ring! If all ladies leave and lose in the
same way, lynx-eyed chambermaids in some hotels on
the great routes of travel can, in a year, obtain stock
enough to set up a magazin des varietés. I half-suspect
the minxes of misplacing, in order that travelers may
not see and so forget; but yet so misplace, that if they
are searched or asked for, they may easily be found, and
all seem to be “accidental.”

My husband quietly says:

“Kate, it is your fault! You are careless, and don't
take proper care, I fear, of your things. Literary people
are proverbially indifferent [a great scandal] about

mundane matters. If you don't forget and lose Harry
on the way I shall be content. It would not be so easy
to have him mailed on to Washington as your ring, and,
touching said ring, wife, I am very well satisfied you
will never see it again.”

“But the conductor pledged his word—and was so desirous
of serving me!”

“He may do his duty! but the landlord may not take
the trouble to go to the room for it. You know some
landlords care little about guests a hundred miles away
on a railroad. If he ask the servant, she will simply
say, `Lor', massa, I neber seed no ring in de room!'
and so the matter will end!”

“I hope it will be found!” I said, quite hopelessly;
and I yet hope it will, for it was the first ring given to
me by my husband; and a woman values that gift above
all others.

The scenery increased in beauty as we flew on, and I
soon forgot my loss. As we entered Georgia, we saw
finer towns, richer agricultural districts, and more
mountainous scenery. We passed one mountain, like a
mighty pyramid, lifting its great head more than a thousand
feet above the level country, and visible for hours
before and after we passed it. The city of Augusta is
a handsome metropolis, with broad streets, a beautiful
river (the Savannah), fine churches, but hotels indifferent.
Every city should have a Tremont or Astor. These
hotels have rendered their like, necessities everywhere
else. Most of the hotels South, except in the large
cities, are overgrown inns or large taverns. Why, there
is as much difference between a “hotel” and a “tavern”
as between a “yacht” and a “fishing smack!”

We were pleased with Augusta, but made but a short
stay. Columbia is the paradise city of the South.
Here resides the distinguished novelist and poet, W.
Gilmore Simms, to whom we had letters, but unfortunately
he was absent. We regretted we could not pay
our respects to a man of genius, who has conferred such
distinction on the literature of the South, and of the
whole Republic. One has to unpack and repack to
stay in a place two or three days, and it is so much
trouble to “dress” for a day's sojourn, that one often
hurries forward, where it would be agreeable to linger
for a few days, as it would have been here. On
our way from Augusta we delayed a day to visit a
friend's rice plantation, and thence took the cars to
Charleston.

This is a city Southerners are very proud of, and with
good cause. But it is the people more than the houses
and “scenery” that makes Charleston so agreeable to
strangers. The Battery is a charming promenade, but
there are few handsome streets.

The residences have a respectable, substantial, home-like
air about them, and universally are buried in the
shade of tropical trees. The finest building is the
Military Academy, erected for training South Carolina
youth to the chivalrous accomplishment of arms. “Nullification”
is a word fast growing into disuse, as it
has ceased to have meaning. This State is as true to
the Confederacy as the brightest star in our Federal
standard.

The proposed superb monument to Mr. Calhoun (the
Demosthenes of the New World) is not yet erected!
Much as cotemporaries admire a mighty genius rising

and culminating within their own horizon, they are never
the people who raise the noblest mementoes to him! It
is the succeeding generation which is the true echo of a
great man's fame. Fifty years hence, Webster, Clay,
Calhoun, will be more honored than they now are, and
that age will erect to them the colossal plinths which
the men of their own day neglect. Centuries after Cromwell
and Joan d'Arc lived, even at this day, magnificent
statues are erected to their fame.

As the glories that surround the heads of the noble
Triumviri, “Calhoun, Webster, and Clay,” increase in
splendor with time, the higher and grander will rise the
monuments that men will build up of stone and marble,
to their mighty names! Whatever South Carolina does
now in honor of her idol, the whole Republic will later
do more nobly as a national tribute to his intellectual
greatness; and what our mighty Inter-oceanic Republic
will do, will later still be done by the whole civilized
world! for the glory of the names of these three men,
like those of Cicero, Demosthenes, and Caius Cæsar,
shall be claimed as the common heritage of the round
earth; and in Paris, London, Naples, Vienna, St. Petersburg,
and Constantinople, statues and monuments shall
likewise be erected to them; for godlike genius like theirs
has no country, no other bounds than those of the globe's
circumference.

We left Charleston with regret, after a day's sojourn,
and part of which was spent in a visit to Sullivan's
Island, an hour's sail down the harbor. This is a
charming spot for air and bathing and beach-galloping,
but its “grass” is sand. Several cultivated families
pass the summer here, and the hotel is a fine structure;

it looks like a theatre turned inside out, with the galleries
running all round its exterior. Commander Ingraham's
family reside here. I felt like paying my
respects to a man who has contributed abroad so much
honor to our national name; but I let propriety subdue
curiosity, and only satisfied myself with passing his
house, hoping to get a glimpse of the “great man of his
day.”

The young and rich South Carolinians have a peculiar
manner. They move about quietly, are self-possessed,
silent or rather taciturn, love to sit and read, are well
educated, polished in behavior, dress well, cultivate the
moustache, affect small feet and white hands, and are
somewhat dilettanti, but yet manly and well-informed;
are lovers of the poets, have fine libraries, faultless
riding horses and equipage, wear wide-awake hats, and
love indolence and ease. Most of them have seen
Europe, but prefer South Carolina! They are proud and
aristocratic, and do not feel particularly honored to shake
hands with a traveling lord, and in England are haughtier
than England's nobles.

They are expert fencers, superb billiard-players,
splendid riders when their indolence will let them put
their blooded horses to their full flight; fond of hunting,
unerring with the rifle, have practiced with the duelling
pistol, and have knowledge of military matters! Under
all their calm and indolent exterior, lies all the fire
and energy of their prototype, Calhoun; and to insult
them is infinitely perilous, though they never seek a
quarrel. I think they are the most finished gentlemen
(when they reach middle life) in the world! My husband

says he will write for me (perhaps) a description of the
ladies.

We leave this Inn direct for Washington! Shall I
find my ring there?