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We have at length reached Natchez, and I write
once more from a plantation, but one situated in Mississippi
instead of Tennessee, and in the bosom of the
most opulent and cultivated portion of the South. I have
already spoken of the town of Natchez, which possesses
all the charming features of a tropical city. Its streets
lined with the Pride of China tree, now in full flower, its
verandah-ornamented residences, with their wide, airy
halls and piazzas; the sweet gardens that fill all the
atmosphere, even in the business streets, with the perfume
of flowers; the quiet repose and comfort of the
whole place; the indolent luxury of the nothing-to-do air
of the citizens, who like all Southerners, never bustle
about; the half foreign air descended to it from the old
Spaniards, who first dwelt here, give to Natchez a tout
ensemble, wholly different from a Northern town.

Then there are the handsome suburban villas embedded
amid flower gardens, their white columns glancing here
and there, from openings in the foliage of the umbrageous
trees that shade them.

Many of the more wealthy cotton planters, whose
estates lie on the river where it is unhealthy to reside,
live in the vicinity of Natchez, in country houses, on

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which they lavish taste and expense without limit. There
is, therefore, a beautiful wilderness of architectural and
horticultural elegance around the city. The pleasant
drives carry you winding along among these tasteful
homes now rolling over a graveled lawn-road, now traversing
hedges enclosing gardens that contain nearly all
the tropical plants; now catching sight of a summerhouse,
now of statuary, and on all sides beauty.

It is in these homes, which extend a league or more
around the town, that are to be found the families that
have given to the society of Natchez so much celebrity.
Here are to be found persons who have traveled abroad,
and cultivated their tastes by European discipline. Their
parlors are adorned with pictures from pencils of the first
masters. Their halls are not deficient in fine statuary.
Their private libraries are often large and well chosen.
The furniture, equipages, and style of living are all in
keeping.

In Natchez itself there are but few wealthy persons;
but the society is exceedingly good, and every stranger,
who has enjoyed its hospitality, will have a grateful recollection
of their tasteful and pleasant homes.

Natchez is the diocesan residence of Bishop Green,
the Bishop of Mississippi, and also of Bishop Chance, the
Roman Catholic Prelate. The Cathedral is a noble
building, in the Gothic style of architecture, and its tall
white spire can be seen for many miles around. Although
I am more than two leagues distant from it, I have it in
sight, visible over a rich undulating country, with here
and there the chimneys of a villa rising above the sea of
foliage. The Episcopal Church in Natchez is said to
have the most opulent parish in the South-western

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country, which is doubtless the case. The Roman
Catholics are not numerous here, yet they have a Female
Boarding-school or Nunnery, under the charge of Mad'lle
Marcellus, a lady formerly from Baltimore, and who, in
her infancy, with her mother, was one of the few who
escaped the massacre of St. Domingo. This school is
supported mainly by Protestant pupils, who in almost
every instance leave the school with a decided bias
towards the Roman Church, if not actually Romanists.

The appearance of the country from the plantation
where I am now sojourning for a few days, is very beautiful,
diversified as it is to the eye with woodlands, broad
cotton fields, and country seats in the centre of surrounding
estates. The magnolia is here the pride and
glory of all trees. Within sight is a ridge that is thickly
forested with them, and such a spectacle of green magnificence
I have never beheld. When the sun at a
certain angle glances upon the polished surface of the
large leaves, every tree seems as if encased in emerald
armor. Then the grand, huge flowers, that glitter here
and there amid the masses of foliage like large silver
stars, fill all the air around with their fragrance. Some
of these trees rise to the height of ninety feet—tall,
proud cones of beauty that seem to be conscious of their
elegance.

The Southern ladies are all natural gardeners. The
taste with which they lay out and arrange their parterres
would delight and surprise a Northern eye. The
garden of this house where we are now visiting, though
by no means regarded as the finest in this vicinity, I
will describe, and it will give you some idea of others

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here. But first let me describe our drive hither from
town.

After we had driven half an hour amid the most luxuriant
hedge rows, which extended miles further, we came
to a white gateway, set in the hedge. It was the entrance
to the estate. Passing through it, we rode a
quarter of a mile beneath the majestic branches of a fine
old forest, and then emerged into an open road, which
was bounded on both sides by cotton fields, in which
gangs of slaves in their white and blue cotton dresses
were at work, under the eye of a mounted overseer.

The villa, or “great house,” was visible half a mile off,
fairly embowered in an island of the deepest verdure, for
an island it seemed, surrounded by the ploughed, brown
fields of the plantation. As we advanced, we could catch
sight of a column between the trees, then of a wing, and
get a glimpse of the portico. At length, after two or
three times losing sight of it as we wound round the
undulations of the fields, we emerged full in front of its
handsome arched gateway. The enclosure was many
acres, entirely shut in by a hedge that was spangled with
snow white flowers. A slave opened the gate for our
carriage. We drove through, and found ourselves within
a horticultural paradise. The softest lawns, the loveliest
groups of trees of the richest leaf, the prettiest walks,
the brightest little lakes, with swans upon their bosoms,
the most romantic vistas, met our enraptured gaze.
Through this lovely place we drove over a smooth avenue,
at one time almost in complete darkness from the overarching
limbs interlaced above; at another rolling in sunlight
upon the open sward.

At length we drew near the mansion, which was an

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Italian villa of the purest style, elevated so as to be
ascended by a broad flight of steps. There were immense
vases, three feet tall, standing in front, just where
the eye of taste would have them, containing West
Indian plants, with gorgeous leaves, and flowering splendidly,
the names of which I do not know. The color of
the edifice was a shade under the lemon tint, which relieved
finely the foliage about it. In the centre were
broad folding doors, which were thrown open, and presented
a prospect, through a noble central hall with a
polished oak floor, of the garden in the rear of the
house. Standing in the door of this hall, we could command
the main avenue of the garden, which descended
in a succession of terraces to a small lake glittering at
the extremity. This lake lay in deep seclusion beneath
a grove of overhanging oaks and sycamores, of magnolia
trees, elms, and orange trees. The south piazza commanded
the whole garden, which was a labyrinth of
beauty and floral magnificence. Upon descending into
the garden, one passed through an avenue of tropical
plants, many of which I had never seen, nor could have
believed they ever existed, their loveliness and grandeur
were so novel and extraordinary. In some of the
flowers it seemed as if “the Angel of flowers” had tried
to see how beautiful a thing it could make. Such exquisite
forms and colors! Ah me! how beautiful,
thought I, as I gazed on them, must things in Heaven
be, if things, their shadows on earth, are so lovely!

Which way soever one turns her steps in wandering
through this magical garden, new and ever varied scenes
open upon the eye. If I should particularize, I would

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but give you a catalogue and description of the plants.
A bed of violets, sixty feet square, as blue and brilliant
as a paved floor of turquoise, and fragrant as all Araby;
bordering one side of a walk, a bank of verbenas, one
hundred feet in length and seven feet broad, composed
of every shade of the varied color of this flower, looked
like a mosaic aisle, surpassing description for its gorgeous
brilliancy. There were strange looking flowers, the
leaves of which appeared as if they had been cut out of
crimson silk velvet, while fringes of golden flowers seemed
to hang pendant from them.

In the winter months, the large galleries of the house
are shut in with glass casements, and the rarest flowers
removed from the garden thither; so that one can look
from the parlor windows upon flowers, or, opening them,
promenade among them in a pleasant atmosphere; for
these winter conservatories are kept at an equal temperature
by furnaces beneath.

Many of the tropical plants require in this climate
this protection from the first of December to the first of
April; though all the winter the gardens look green and
beautiful, so numerous are the plants that can remain
out. Our charming hostess told me she used formerly
to bring in the Agave Americana every winter, not
thinking it would live otherwise, till at length some of
them grew too large and heavy to be removed, even by
four men; and she sorrowfully let them remain, supposing
the winter would kill them, when, lo, to her surprise,
they were not touched; and many of the cacti that are
usually sheltered, will endure the winter abroad. I was
shown by her a night-blooming cereus, preserved in

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alcohol, which she cut off in the height of its bloom.
This is probably one of the most delicate and beautiful
flowers created by the hand of Him who made this world
of beauty. It is the custom here, when a lady has one
of these plants on the eve of blooming, to send a servant
to all her friends on the surrounding estates, inviting
them to the spectacle. The gathering at such times is
a pleasant one. Carriages roll, and saddle horses come
galloping up the avenue, bearing youths and maidens,
and gray heads, and children; and a merry frolic it is,
with a fine supper at the close, and an exciting gallopade
back a cheval by moonlight, or star-beams.

There is here a touching custom of having burying
grounds on the estates. Nearly all plantations have a
private cemetery. These places of buried affection,
where hope and faith wait the resurrection, are often
gems of funereal beauty. Some secluded but sweet
spot, not too remote from the mansion, is selected. It
is enclosed by a snow-white paling, or a massive wall of
brick; ivy is taught to grow over it; elms, willows, and
cypresses are planted within the inclosure. White marble
tombs glisten among the foliage. Perhaps over all,
towers a group of ancient oaks, subduing the light beneath,
and lending to the hallowed spot a mournful
shade, a soft twilight even in the sultry noontide's
glare.

Such is the family burial-place on this estate. Not
far from it, in a place scarcely less picturesque, is the
cemetery for the slaves, enclosed by a neat white-washed
wall. The affection of the poor Africans has planted the
rose and the lily, the violet and verbena, upon many

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of the graves. I was struck with the inscription upon
a slab at the head of one of the green mounds of
earth:

“TO THE MEMORY
OF
GOOD OLD PETER,
A FAITHFUL SERVANT,
AGED 97 YEARS,
“Well done good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”

ERECTED BY HIS MASTER.

I learned that he had been in the family three generations,
and that for the last thirty years of his life he had
been exempt from all duties, except such as he chose
voluntarily to perform. He had served faithfully the
father and grandfather of our present host, who had
raised this tribute to his memory.

“A faithful servant,” mused I, as I fixed my gaze on
those three words. Who can ask for greater commendation?
In his narrow and humble sphere he served faithfully,
and has entered into his rest. Oh! that I, also,
may have it inscribed upon my tomb, that I have been
“a faithful servant” in my sphere wherein my Maker
has placed me. It is praise enough for a king; for,
monarch or slave, we are all servants to “one Master,
who is in heaven.” I left the grave of “good old
Peter' with a healthy lesson impressed upon my heart.

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