The year after my fifteenth birthday was destined to be an eventful one to me. In May of that year I wrote a letter to my aunt, Mrs. Izard Bacon Rice, who lived at "The Oaks" in Charlotte County. This letter, the earliest extant of my girlhood, has recently been placed in my hands, and I venture to hope I may be pardoned for inserting the na?ve production here; not for any intrinsic merit, but because of the light it reflects upon my development and associations at the age of fifteen,—a light not to be acquired by mere recollection, as a photograph of the person must be more lifelike than a sketch from memory.
"Charlottesville, May 25, 1845.
"My dear Aunt: I think that I have fully tested the truth of the old saying, viz. 'Hope deferred maketh the heart sick,' for I have hoped and hoped in vain for an answer to my last letter, and since it does not make its appearance, I write to request an explanation.
"I received a letter from Willie (Carrington) this morning, and was rejoiced to hear that you still intend coming to Charlottesville 'some of these times,' and that she thinks of coming also. I am overjoyed at the idea of seeing my dear little Henry, and Tom in a few weeks. Willie says that Henry is beautiful, and that Tom has become quite a famous beau, improved wonderfully in gallantry, etc. I anticipate a great many long, pleasant walks with him, 63though I am afraid he will not like Charlottesville, as he will find no rabbits' tracks or partridges here. I hope you will come the first of June and stay a long while with us.
"Aunt Mary has been very unwell for a long time, but I am in hopes that she is getting a little better. I think your visit will improve her wonderfully. We are all as busy as we can be: aunt and uncle in the garden and yard, and I studying my French lessons, sewing, reading, and housekeeping for Aunt Mary when she is sick. I am very disconsolate at the thought of losing my most intimate friend (Lizzie Gilmer) for a few months. She is going to Staunton, and I expect to miss her very much. We have a very quiet time now—as most of my acquaintances were sent off at the late disturbances at the University, and I can study, undisturbed by company. I scarcely visit any one except Lizzy, and receive more visits from her than any one else, as she comes every day, and frequently two or three times a day. I am going to spend my last evening with her this evening, as she leaves to-morrow. I am very sorry that Willie will not see her, as I know they would like each other.
"Who do you think I have had a visit from? No less a personage than Dr. Schéle de Vere, professor of modern languages at the University. He has called on me twice, but I, unfortunately, was not at home once when he called. He is a German (one of the nobility), and speaks our language shockingly, and is such an incessant chatterer that he gives me no possible chance of wedging in a syllable. He walked with me from church last Sunday, and jabbered incessantly, much to the amusement of the congregation in general, but particularly of two little boys who walked behind us. When he parted with us, he asked uncle's permission to visit us, which was granted; and he seemed very grateful, and said he 'would have de pleasure den of sharing de doctor's hospitality and hearing some of Miss 64Rice's fine music.' But what mortifies me beyond measure is that he treats me as a little child, and inquires most affectionately about my progress in music, etc. He is not so much older than I am, either, as he is only twenty-one, so I think he might be more respectful in his demeanor. What do you think of it all? He plays very well on the piano, and has heard the best performers in Europe, so I feel very reluctant to play for him. The first time he heard me play, he wanted to applaud me as they do at concerts, but he was checked by one of the company, who intimated to him that it was not customary in this country, so he contented himself with clapping his hands several times.
"I have neither time nor paper for much more, so good-by. Aunt Mary joins me in love and a kiss to all grandfather's household and to Tom, Henry, and Uncle Izard.
"Yours affectionately,
"Sara A. Rice.
"P.S. I send my best respects to Lethe, Viny, and Aunt Chany, and my love to all the ducks, geese, chickens, turkeys, and Tom's dogs.
"Yours affectionately,
"Sara A. Rice."
This sixty-four-year-old letter was beautifully written with a quill pen, clear and distinct without an erasure, blotted with sand from a perforated box, without envelope, and sealed with wax. Written in figures upon the envelope was "Uncle Sam's" receipt for prepaid postage, 12? cents, no stamps having then been issued by him.
Fanciful seals and motto wafers were in high favor among romantic young people. "L'amitié c'est l'amour sans ailes" was a prime favorite; also a maiden in a shallop looking upward to a star, the 65legend "Si je te perds je suis perdu." The most delicate refusal to a lover on record was the lady's card, "With thanks," sealed with a bird in flight and "Liberty is sweet!"
The "disturbances of late," for which my friends were "suspended for a month," were not of a serious nature. They were only the midnight pranks of mischievous boys, such as hyphenating the livery-stable's name "Le Tellier" to read "Letel-Liar," drawing his "hacks" to the doors of the citizens, placing the undertaker's sign over the physician's office, driving Mr. Schéle's ponies, and leaving on their flanks the painted words "So far for to-day," the phrase with which he invariably ended his lectures. It remained later for the student in whom I was most interested to excel them all. He drove a flock of sheep one dark night up the rotunda stairs to the platform on the roof, and then shut down the trap-door. A plaintive good-morning-bleating welcomed faculty and students next day. Needless to say, the valiant shepherd was "suspended."
Late in the summer of this year another large convention of clergymen, Presbyterian this time, was held at Charlottesville. No good hotel could be found anywhere in Virginia. The landlord was ruined by the hospitality of the citizens. As soon as a pleasant stranger "put up" at a public house, he was claimed as a guest by the first man who could reach him.
When large religious or political or literary meetings convened in our town, my uncle would send to the chairman asking for the number of guests 66we could entertain. Until they arrived, we were as much on the qui vive as if we had bought numbers in a lottery.
On this occasion, Lizzie and I were in great grief. She had been away from town for two months, and was now to make me a long visit. We had made plans for a lovely week. Now the house would be filled with clergymen,—no music, no visitors (and Lizzie was engaged), no "fun"! My aunt sympathized with us, and fitted up a small room at the far end of the hall, moved in the piano and guitar, and bade us make ourselves at home.
We were seated at church behind a row of the grave and reverend seniors, when Dr. White leaned over our pew and said to one of them, "I'm glad to tell you I can send you to Dr. Hargrave's. He will take fine care of you."
"But," demurred the reverend gentleman, "I have my son with me."
"Take him along! There's plenty of room," replied the doctor.
Lizzie gave me a despairing glance. Now we are ruined, we thought. A dreadful small boy to be amused and kept out of mischief.
That afternoon we were condoling with each other in our little city of refuge, when the opening front door revealed among our guests a slender youth, who, upon being directed to his room, sprang up the stairs two or three steps at a time.
"Mercy!" said I. "Worse and worse! There's no hope for us! A strange young man to be entertained in our little parlor!" 67 My aunt entering just then, we confided our miseries to her. "Never mind, Lizzie," she said, "Sara shall keep him in the large room. She must bring down all her prettiest books and pictures and arrange a table in a corner for his amusement. He will not be here much of the time. He has to go to church with his father, you know."
The name of this unwelcome intruder was Roger A. Pryor. He made himself charming. I had not yet tucked up my long braids, but he treated me beautifully. He was so alert, so witty, so amiable, that he was unanimously voted the freedom of our sanctum. He entered with glee into our schemes for self-defence. Running out to a shrub on the lawn, he returned with a handful of "wax berries," gravely explained,............