[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

Just as I was about to drop my pen into my inkstand
to commence this epistle, the clear, startling cry
of a hunter's horn in the forest drew me to the window,
which overlooked the south, and the cliff called the
Lion's head. Just emerging from the wood was a cavalcade,
that reminded me of something of a similar description
Scott has in one of his romances. First, there
rode the colonel, our “lord of the manor,” bare-headed,
his gun laid across his saddle-bow, and his hunting skirt
open at the collar, and thrown negligently back over his
shoulders. By his side were some half dozen dogs,
trotting along with their red tongues lolling out and looking,
for all the world, thoroughly beat out with the day's
chase. Behind the colonel came a negro, mounted, with
a wounded dog laid across the neck of his horse. Behind
the negro, riding on elegantly shaped horses, cantered
two young men, one of them very handsome, but dressed
in a frock coat, and gaiters of blue cottonade. His rifle
was slung at his back; he was belted, and a knife and a
powder flask were in his girdle. His companion was
more fashionably dressed, and instead of a rifle carried
only a light bird gun. In the rear followed two negro
men on foot, bearing between them a slain deer, slung
by the fetlocks to a newly-cut branch. Two or three
African boys, and some half dozen more dogs completed

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

the cortêge. One of the young men (the handsome one
in the kerseys) carried a horn, which, ever and anon, he
wound cheerily to give notice at the Lodge of their approach.
So I will leave them to make their way to the
house, and fulfil the promise made in my last, to let you
understand why a Yankee girl finds herself a dweller in
the far South-west.

Shall I begin in the true romantic vein, Mr. —, or
in the style biographique? I think I will, for the sake
of trying my forte that way, assume the manner of the
tale-writers; for perhaps one of these days, who knows?
I may get to the dignity of being a story-writer to the
Ledger or magazines, a distinction (all things being equal—
that is, the quid being equal to the quo as my brother
used to say) I should feel highly honored, I confess, to
arrive at. Now to my own story:

Once upon a time there stood in a New England
village, not far from Portsmouth, in N. H. a little cottage,
white, with a portico trellised by honeysuckles, and a
little gate in the paling in the front of it. The cottage
stood upon a quiet street, near the outskirts of the
village, and was so near the river-bank, that I, who was
one of the “cottagers,” could toss pebbles into its lucid
bosom from my window. It was a quiet spot, this village
with its garden-buried houses, its one tin-plated spire,
shining in the sun like a silver “extinguisher,” its green
river shores, and pleasant woodlands where the boys had
famous bird's-nesting of Saturday afternoons.

My father, a naval officer of name and honor, fell
sick and died on a foreign station, leaving my mother
with six little mouths to feed, and six little backs to keep
warm, and six little heads to fill with learning. To aid

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

her to do all this, she received a narrow pension allowed
her for her widowhood. It was a sore struggle for the
mother to guard and nourish and cover her large brood
with such narrow wings. Her widowed feathers would
hardly cover us all, and some of us always were sufferers,
either for supper, a pair of shoes, or may be a
frock, or jacket, or a necessary school-book.

But Providence takes care of the widow, and so none
of us perished; nay, were ever sick, and what with kind
neighbors, (oh, how many kind neighbors there are in the
world!) what, with presents of Christmas-days, Thanks-giving-days,
and the blessed Common-school where we all
went without cost, we managed to weather the beginning
of life bravely.

Charles, my elder brother, through the kindness of
the member of Congress from our district, had his name
presented to the Secretary of the Navy for a midshipman's
warrant; but, none offering, soon the same kind
influence placed him in West Point as a cadet, and now
he is a lieutenant, and won, though it is a sister's praise,
a distinguished name on the fields of Mexico. If I dared
name him, sir, you would at once bear testimony to the
truthfulness of my eulogy.

The second child, a daughter, after as good an education
as the village school offered, was chosen at the
age of sixteen as its assistant, and after three years she
married a young minister, near Norfolk, Va., who subsequently
went abroad as a missionary, and is now a
resident in a far, far land.

The third child was a son, who, inspired by the tales
of his father's exploits on the ocean during the war,
went to sea, before the mast, as he said, “to win a

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

name.” Seven years have elapsed since his departure,
and he has not been heard from, and I fear that we shall
meet no more in this life. He was a noble, bold, chivalrous
boy, and my mother's joy! If he is alive, I know
that he is yet worthy of our love and pride.

The fourth child is your humble correspondent, of whom
I will speak when I have dismissed the remaining two.

The fifth is a girl; but alas! she is an invalid, having
a lame hip, which confines her to the house. She is the
loveliest flower of our family parterre! Never were such
deep, dark, glorious eyes as hers! They speak! Her
face is exquisitely shaped, every feature as soft and spiritual
as the gentle angel faces we see in dreams! I
can behold her now—the enchanting Ida, seated by my
mother's knee on her favorite stool, her heavenly face
of pure intelligence blended with love, upturned with a
smile. She is now sixteen, but there is so much wisdom
in her eyes, so much gravity in her manner, the result
of suffering, that she seems twenty. But her figure is
child-like, and faultless as that of the chiseled Greek
Slave! Noble Ida! If thy eyes should rest on these
lines, accept, sweet sister mine, this tribute of love and
memory! She is my mother's second self, the partner
of her hours, the confidant of her heart's secrets, the
angel of her presence.

The sixth is a boy, a buoyant, laughing, rollicking
boy, with spirits enough in him for half a dozen girls,
of whom, however, he is as shy as if he had no fine,
handsome face to commend him to the romping hoydens.
He is just nine years old, and the baby! He has no
idea of books, and never could bend his fingers to pen-holding.
His genius lies in kite-flying, fishing,

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

rabbit-snaring, bird's-nesting, boating on the river, and in riding
the minister's old blind horse to water, full gallop,
a feat, (that is, the galloping,) the minister could never
succeed in getting out of him. This brother is his mother's
other joy; or, rather, Ida is her joy, and Preble
(so named by my father after the gallant commodore)
is her admiration.

Now, if you have listened as becomes you to listen
when a “fayre ladye” speaks, you know all about my
family and myself. No—not myself. Be patient, and
you shall have your ignorance enlightened on this score.
Shall I describe myself? or shall I leave you to guess
that my height is five feet four, that my hair is a dark
brown, and worn smoothly so as to hide both ears like a
coif, and knotted behind in very abundant folds; that
my cast of beauty is brunette; that my eyes are said to
be like my sister Ida's, only less, that is to say, a little
more saucy in their brilliancy; that my nose is a very
good nose as noses go; that I have a good mouth and
very fine teeth, which I don't show too much when I
smile; that I usually dress in white in summer and maroon
in winter, and that my hand is—is—like too many
of the hands of northern maidens, better looking in a
glove than out of one? I do not sing at all. I never
was taught the piano, for you must by this time be aware
that our little cottage had no room for such a costly
affair, though somehow the instrument does seem to find
room in a great many houses too small for it! I do not
dance, for we had no dancing-school in our village, and
our mother was too sensible to have sent me to one if
there had been. She knew that there were temptations
enough in this naughty world to surround young people,

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

without adding to them the love of dancing, which
tempts many a sweet, good girl into many a folly, afterwards
bitterly repented of. Parlor dancing, in the home
circle, where grandpa joins in it, that is the only dancing
that is truly innocent and cheerful. I draw, for my
mother taught me; I sometimes sketch, and color my
efforts; I speak and write French, being taught this by
my brother when he came home at intervals from West
Point. I have mastered German and Italian, and know
enough of Spanish to pronounce correctly the names of
all our victorious battle-fields,—a no mean acquisition in
itself, they are so numerous. Lastly, I am a governess,
and am aiming, with all modest diffidence and deference
to your decisions, dreadful sir, to be an authoress.

When I had attained my fifteenth year, I also was advanced
to be assistant in the school where I had been
educated from a child. After two years' pleasant toil,
I heard that in Massachusetts there were institutions,
called Normal Schools, where young females were educated
to be teachers. Having some money, the fruits of
my teaching, I applied to be received into this noble
school, and after due time I received my diploma, attesting
my qualifications to teach. I soon obtained a school
in a considerable town, and had no expectations of doing
any thing else than growing gray in my vocation, when,
about a year and a half after I had come to the town, as
I was locking up my castle one evening after my day's
duties were over, my attention was drawn to a handsome
private carriage rolling along the road. In it sat a fine-looking
man, with the unmistakeable air and aspect of a
Southerner, and by his side was a young girl of fifteen
or sixteen, with that rich olive cheek and Italian form

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

of face which distinguishes the maidens of our more
sunny South.

My school-house was a very pretty one, with a handsome
portico, green blinds, granite steps, a grassy yard,
and neat, snow-white fence, while trees shaded as well
as adorned the premises. I saw him cast his eyes over
the whole with a pleased look, and then his gaze fell
upon me. I dropped my eyes, and taking out the keys,
put them in my bag, and was turning to go homeward,
when I saw the carriage stop. The gentleman, who was
a man of fifty, with a fine bearing, and gray and brown
locks mingled about his forehead, raised his hat, and
courteously beckoned to me to approach.

“Pardon me, Miss,” he said, in that half apologetic
tone which marked the thorough-bred gentleman, “May
I take the liberty to inquire if you are a teacher?”

I bowed affirmatively.

“You will excuse the liberty I take, but I am desirous
of obtaining a teacher to go south-west with me,
and having applied to the Normal School, I was directed
to this town by the Principal, who told me that there
was a young lady here whom I could, no doubt, succeed
in employing. As he spoke so highly of her, and gave
me her address, I have driven here to have an interview
with her. You will be likely to know her abode, and
will oblige me by directing me to it.”

“What is her name, sir?” I inquired.

“Miss Catharine Conyngham,” he read off from the
back of a letter.

I started with surprise and pleased confusion. He
saw my embarrassment, and read plainly the secret in
my tell-tale face.

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

“Perhaps,” he added, with a look of gratification,
“perhaps I have the pleasure of addressing the very
person—Miss Conyngham herself?”

I informed him that I was that person, when, interchanging
a glance of satisfaction with the young lady,
he handed me the letter, and requested me to read it;
but first that I must get up into the carriage and sit
down, but this courtesy I declined, and breaking the
seal I read as follows:—But I will defer the letter to my
next, as I am invited down to look at the slain deer in
the back gallery.

p613-050

Previous section

Next section