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List of Illustrations [not in WebRoots online edition]

"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 

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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 

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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 

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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 

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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, 

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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 

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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. 

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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, 

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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

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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 

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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 

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 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 

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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:(1) - 

   "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!

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   "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 

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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, 

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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, 

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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 

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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, 

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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 

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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, 

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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, 

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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. 

Page 52

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 

Page 53

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 

Page 54

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 

Page 59

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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Page 67
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 

Page 73

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 

Page 74

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 

Page 78

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 

Page 79

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. 

Page 80

   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 

Page 81

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 

Page 82

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 

Page 83

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 

Page 86

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. 

Page 90

"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, 

Page 91

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 

Page 92

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.

Page 96

   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.

Page 97

   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.