Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

April 9.

My wedding day thirty-six years ago! It does not seem possible that there can be one atom of the intensely pleasure loving, gay slip of a girl left in the philosopher who, battered and bruised by life's battle, looks with calm, serene eyes on the stormy path behind her and with absolute faith forward to the sunset hour. It does not seem as though the ego could possibly be the same. Had some magic mirror been possible, in which that girl could have been shown herself, and her solitary life at the end of forty years, she could not have faced life, she would have prayed passionately for death.

Everything she specially cared for and valued has been taken from her, the things she specially disliked and feared have come upon her, and yet all that is great and noble in life, seems nearer to her now. God seems to have turned all the evil into good, all the mud and mire into gold, and there are around her the beautiful mists and clouds of the sunset, which is not so far off now. So does the Great Father fuse and mould and change in His mighty workshop. Thank God for His alchemy.

April 10.

Spent the day at Casa Bianca sheep trading. I am no trader and should have some one else to do these things. I am always afraid of taking advantage of other people, and as a consequence I am generally a severe loser.

My sheep are fat and have not been shorn and they have been a paying investment, the best I have ever had, but they are being stolen steadily. Last Wednesday we counted twenty-four sheep and fifteen lambs, and to-day I could only count twenty-three sheep, and this has been going on a long time.

There is one splendid ram and the lambs are beauties, but Capt. M. only paid me $54.75 for the whole lot. I also sold two cows which I was still milking for $10 apiece. I need the money and have to take what is offered.

April 11.

Sent Gibbie yesterday to take the two cows I sold down to the ferry. The cows are very gentle so that I never thought of any trouble. In the afternoon went out to ask him about it. When I asked what time he reached the ferry he seemed much embarrassed, scratched his head and stood on one foot and then the other and finally said he never got down to the ferry. He stopped to talk to some one and the cows were eating, and the first thing he knew they had got away in the woods, and he had of course pursued them with great activity, but to no purpose, and finally gave it up, and when he got back home found them waiting at the gate.

Joy unspeakable.

So that has all to be done over, and I have to write and appoint another day for them to be met at the ferry. It is very discouraging. Nothing that I cannot personally attend to gets done. Poor dear old Bonaparte cannot help; he can only denounce and condemn "this new giniration," which does no good at all.

Cherokee, April 12.

Such intense excitement pervades this household that it is difficult to accomplish anything. The last two weeks have been very full. Corn has been planted, also potatoes, and land prepared for cotton. The incubator hatched out a splendid lot of healthy chicks.

Besides all this I have been sewing and dressmaking, for the day after to-morrow I am leaving for a visit to New York, and, wonder of wonders, Chloe is to go too by special invitation. I was afraid at first the excitement would put an end to her, for when I read the letter of invitation she seemed overcome.

At first she said it would be impossible for her to leave the chickens, and who would take care of the house and yard while she was gone? No, it was impossible. But I arranged to get Jim's wife to take charge of the precious "'cubators," also the whole poultry yard, and Chloe is to go. She prides herself on being a travelled person, having been in North Carolina and Georgia, as well as to many different parts of South Carolina and having gone all through the public buildings in the capital of this State, but the idea of going to New York and having to pass through Washington going and coming—it seems too much.

Besides this a complete outfit had to be got for the journey. That of itself was joy unspeakable. My own preparations sink into insignificance beside the magnitude of those of my good Chloe.

April 13.

We drove to Casa Bianca, where we had lunch, and M. and L. left us and drove to Gregory to take the train. It had been an ideal day.

Told Nat he must come to Cherokee to-morrow and drive down a bunch of young cattle, as the pasture there is splendid and I have only two cows, while at Cherokee the pasture is poor and I have twenty-four head of cattle. Nat said he could not possibly bring the young cattle down, that they had never been outside of the enclosure at Cherokee and that as soon as they got out they would all scatter in the woods and be lost.

He has always been a good hand with cattle and has three cows and calves and a pair of oxen at Casa Bianca, as sleek and fat as possible. I was surprised at his refusal and told him he could get one, or even two, boys to help him and I would pay for it, but still he insisted he could not do it.

At last I said, "If you have any trouble in getting off with them, I will get on my horse and help drive them myself." At once he brightened up and said: "Bery well, miss, I'll cum for dem to-morrer." His refusal and the consequent discussion delayed us greatly and we were very late getting home.

April 14.

Yesterday at nine Nat came for the cattle. I went out and had the good Martha, who is as quiet as a cow can be, roped so as to act as pioneer in conducting the others down. I am milking her and am sorry to send her away, but she was born and reared at Casa Bianca and is always overjoyed to go there, so that nothing will make her leave the road.

Equinox, the beautiful young bull, with John Smith, the two-year-old steer, and Ideala, a beauty three years old, and Pocahontas, Virginia, and Queenie were the party. They are all very gentle and started out of the front gate quietly and I returned to the house, but before I had taken my seat at the sewing machine Nat sent for me.

"Miss," he said, "yu know yu promise yu go too en help me."

"Oh, Nat, that was only in case there was any trouble. I only said that for fun. I knew they would not give any trouble. See how quietly they went out of the gate."

"But, miss, I neber would 'a' cum ef yu neber say so, 'case I know dem cows gwine loss. En, miss, yu done promise."

They know a promise is sacred with me. There was nothing for it but to tell Green to put the saddle on Romola at once, and to prepare for the sixteen-mile ride.

It was very provoking. I had some sewing which was most important, and I have so few days at home and with D. now, but I told Nat to go on with the cattle and I would catch up with them in a few moments.

Green is slow about saddling, so they had gone about half a mile beyond the avenue gate when I came upon Nat alone in the road with Martha, who was going round and round, while Nat used his long lash upon her. I called to him to stop at once, and I asked where the others were. He answered in an I-told-you-so voice:—

"In de 'oods, en Mahta want to git dey too."

He had sent the two boys after the young cattle instead of tying Martha to a tree and going too. I said nothing, but rode out into the woods, and after some little trouble brought them back into the road, where by great vigilance and activity we managed to keep them.

As they were unaccustomed to travel they went very slowly and we had often to stop in shady places and let them rest. When they came to a stream of water crossing the road they would lie down, and there was nothing but wait.

However, all the irritation of giving up my plans at home passed from me and I soon was thoroughly enjoying God's beautiful world—the fresh air, the lovely wild flowers, the birds and bees, all rejoicing in the return of spring with its promise of fruition—it was all a joy.

At last we got the party safely through the gate at Casa Bianca, and when they came to the turn where the avenue runs along the river they felt rewarded for all their trials, such thick, rich grass under their feet, cool shade above them, and that great stream of water beside them.

I had not brought the house key, to my sorrow, for there I keep a demijohn of artesian water and a box of crackers—the well is so little used that I do not like to drink the water. I turned my face homeward very hungry and very thirsty. As I rode down the avenue I saw a great mulberry tree loaded with ripe fruit. With delight I rode under the branches and satisfied both hunger and thirst and went on my way refreshed.

It had taken so long to get the cattle down there, what with the various stoppages, that it was 5 o'clock when I got home. Found D. had been very anxious about me and was much surprised to see me so little exhausted by the day. Chloe gave us a delicious dinner and I was not too tired to walk over the fields with Bonaparte and give him directions for his guidance during my approaching absence.

Everything is now about ready and D. V. we leave here next Wednesday. I never can keep up my diary while away and will not attempt it.

I have taken a little boy of 8, Elihu's son, to take the place which Rab and Dab have successively occupied for years about the yard. I cannot afford to keep a man-servant at the pineland. This little boy's name is Green, but he is so strong and capable that I call him Goliah. He did not like it at first, not until I told him Goliah was a giant. I asked him if he had no nickname, as I never could remember to call him Green. He answered gravely that he had a nickname, and when I asked what it was he said "Isaiah." A most unusual nickname, but it seemed to open the way for me, so I said:—

"My nickname for you will be Goliah, because you are so strong."

Poor little Goliah was in rags and I have made him some clothes, but my forte is not tailoring and I could not get just the stuff I wanted for him. He speaks of himself as my "'ostler." I speak of him as my "man of all work," for such he is.

Sunday, April 15.

After service I went over to my house in Peaceville, which is just opposite the church, and took out four queer little, old-fashioned trunks full of papers which I have kept out there until now. Two of the trunks are covered with skins with the hair on and studded with brass nails. One has the initials "E. F. B." in brass on the top.

They all contain very old papers, among them grants to my ancestors for 6000 acres of land. These are very much the worse for age and I am going to take them on to Washington to see if I can have them repaired. I scarcely think it will be possible as the grant to my great-great-grandmother, Esther Allston, is falling to pieces, and the seal seems in danger of crumbling. The date is December 21, 1769.

I did not know the grants were in these old trunks, which I was gradually looking over. I kept them at Peaceville because the summer days are longer and more suitable for reading old letters and papers. I have been urged by two publishers to write all I can remember from my earliest years. It seems to me absurd for one who has lived such a secluded life to write her reminiscences, but I would find it most interesting work, as it would involve the reading over of old letters. I have every letter written to me since I was 10 years old. If the pressure of daily anxiety for the wherewithal to carry on the work is ever lightened I think I will try to do it just for my own satisfaction, for I do not think it would ever be a profitable venture for publication.

I have always kept a diary of some sort. When I was married and was ambitious to become a fine housekeeper, though I could never hope to rival my belle-mÈre, who had a genius for housekeeping besides being a brilliantly clever woman, I kept a "Diary of Dinners," in which I recorded every culinary triumph of my belle-mÈre, with whom we lived for two years. Then when thrown upon my own resources, I had this delightful guide to the possibilities of the season as to dinners.

It was not so difficult then to provide because we raised great quantities of poultry, turkeys, and ducks and guinea fowl as well as chickens, for the negroes did not steal things then as they do now; they all raised an abundance of poultry themselves and so the temptation to steal was not so great. Now they raise less and less poultry every year. This comes from their selling all their chickens and eggs and buying canned salmon, sardines, biscuit, and ginger snaps.

April 16.

Left home at 11:30, drove to Woodstock for luncheon with my brother and then on to the station. There the two charming little travelling mates I am to have met me. Son is 4½ and Sister 2½. Their fair hair, lovely brown eyes, and piquant little retroussÉ noses were a joy to watch. Everything interested them; nothing escaped them. Their father went with us as far as Lanes, where we changed cars and took the sleeper.

I thought this would cause a breakdown and tears when he left them, but there was none. He had provided them with a liberal supply of bananas and candy, which rather alarmed me, but occupied their full attention, and with the wonders of the transforming of the seats into accommodations for the night there was no space for homesickness or sadness. When I proposed bed they were eagerly acquiescent, and Son was most efficient in producing all that was necessary from the tightly packed valise.

The greatest problem was to get off Sister's little dress. The dear mother wishing to save me trouble had made the little travelling frock of a pattern which called for no buttons; it was simply slipped over the head, but it was so close a fit that it seemed to me if I pulled it rashly off, Sister's dear little tip tilted nose would go with it. Son at last said: "Now, Sister, don't cry; I just have to give it a jerk over your nose; it will hurt some, but not too much."

So Sister braced herself to stand the jerk and off it came, leaving her little pansy face unhurt but very rosy. I tucked them into the lower berth, opposite mine, and after a few suppressed ripples of laughter have not heard a sound from them.

April 17.

We reached Washington on time. The dear little children slept like tops all night. I woke them at 7. Son again proved himself a most accomplished nurse-maid, and Sister emerged from the train looking very dainty and fresh. Son insisted on struggling to carry their heavy valise, but was finally persuaded to let the porter take it with mine out to the gate, where my dear sister was waiting, and the children uttered a cry of delight as they recognized their beautiful aunt with her husband, their unknown uncle, who had come over from Philadelphia to meet them. We parted company here, and I could truthfully say they had not given me the smallest trouble, but on the contrary, had been a genuine pleasure.

The Camps, June 11.

I left Carrollton on the 4 p.m. train. En route anxiety came to me as to whether I had given my letter, telling when I would reach Gregory, time enough to precede me. As I neared my destination I felt more and more sure that I had not. If I had mailed it myself it might have arrived, but I gave it to the children who were playing in the garden and asked them to drop it in the box. A child's hand is almost as dangerous a place for a letter as a man's pocket, and I had an inward conviction there would be no one to meet me at the train.

I asked the negro porter to look out and see if the phaeton was there to meet me when we arrived at 10 p.m. He came back and told me he did not see it. Then I asked him to engage a hack to take me out the three miles to this pineland, where I was to spend the night and make a little visit to C. By the time he had made sure there was no one to meet me and reported this to me, every vehicle had gone except a huge omnibus with a large pair of mules driven by a small darky who looked about 10. He was eager to undertake to get me out to the Camps for a small sum.

"Do you know the way?" I asked.

"Yes'um. Oh, yes'um; know um well."

So I climbed into my chariot, where a feeble lantern hung. A still smaller urchin slammed the door, and I started. I must say I felt I was doing a rash thing, for I was not at all familiar with the road myself, and by this time it was 11 o'clock. As long as we were within the radius of the electric lights of the town I didn't feel so anxious, but when we got into the blackness of darkness I began to think how foolish I was not to have gone to a hotel for the night.

Every now and then my Jehu would climb up to the front window, where I stood peering out into the night, and ask, "You t'ink we git dey yit?" I could faintly make out houses at intervals along the way on each side and was sure we still had a long way to go. At last when we got into a denser growth of pines and I could see nothing I called to him: "Stop, and I will walk the rest of the way if you will bring the lantern!"

Greatly relieved, I think, for he began to fear he was to drive all night, he got down, charged the other mite not to let the mules stir, a command which seemed to me superfluous, for they were only too glad to stop, and with much difficulty undid the wire which held the lantern in place, and we started. I knew that if we had come to the place to turn in to C.'s house there was a narrow bridge with a sharp turn which it would be difficult for the very large vehicle and mules to make safely. After a little wandering around, most of the houses being in darkness, I saw a light in a house, and as we approached the fence, the dogs gave tongue and I knew I was getting to the right place. The dogs are fierce, so I stood and called for some one to come, rejoicing that this family were not as early in their habits as their neighbors.

My little guide now resumed his confident air and said: "I t'ink, ma'am, you ought to pay me mo'n I charge you fust time."

"Oh, boy," I said, "for this voyage of discovery I will pay you double what you charged; here it is. Now, tell me, were you ever here before?"

"Not to dis place, ma'am, but onst las' year I bin about halfway here, but I didn't bin a dribe, I bin on me foot."

I felt that the Providence which is said specially to protect fools and children had been with us. I felt anxious as to how the house on wheels was to be turned in the narrow road with a deep ditch on each side, and proceeded to offer some suggestions, but this individual of resources stopped me by saying, "Needn't fret, ma'am. I onderstand dribe," and I was free to enjoy the pleasant welcome that awaited me within. C. had received no letter from me and had no idea I was coming.

Peaceville, June 14.

Got back from my delightful holiday last evening. I stopped on my drive from the Camps at Cherokee to see how everything was. Found my good old Bonaparte in deep distress; his faithful and devoted wife died two weeks ago.

They had lived together happily fifty-three years and he is crushed. He cried like a child on seeing me. I gave him my earnest sympathy. I'm so sorry her illness and death should have come while I was away. In broken words he told me what a surprise it was to him; he never thought "Liz could die en lef him." When a working-man loses a good wife he is indeed bereft; his companion, helpmeet, cook, washer, seamstress, mender, all gone at one fell swoop, and he is left forlorn.

I shall myself miss Lizette very much. There were certain things she always did in the sausage making and Christmas preparations. I always meant to get her to tell me all she remembered and to write it down. She belonged to a family much considered by my father and by his parents before him. They were distinguished for loyalty, fidelity, and honesty, and took great pride in their distinction as a family.

Lizette's mother, Maum Maria, was our nurse and her father, old Daddy Moses, could be trusted with anything. Put gold, silver, provisions, anything in his charge and it was safe. His sense of responsibility was sacred—alas, alas, to find such a one now! Some of his descendants are very smart, but none has just his character.

One of his sons, William Baron, who had been our third house servant, I mean in rank, there being two men above him, made quite a name for himself as a caterer and steward of the club in Charleston after the war, and one of his great-grandsons Sam Grice (Lizette and Bonaparte's grandson) is a minister of the Episcopal Church. He was educated in a church school here and when there was a call for a boy of high character to be taken and to be educated by the church he was chosen and proved most satisfactory in every way, and he passed a remarkably fine examination in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew before his ordination.

He used to visit his grandparents every year, but since he has been ordained priest he has not been here, as he has married and has work. He is the pride and joy of his grand-parents' heart, but there is always a little drawback in the fact that they are uncompromising Methodists and they feel he has deserted their church.

For the present Bonaparte's usefulness is quite gone, even his capacity to do anything with his hands, and he cannot stay in his house, has to go over to stay at his son's, a mile away. He seemed to feel that now I had come home things would be easier.

Chloe came home two weeks ahead of me so as to accomplish the move from the plantation to the pineland, and I found everything comfortably arranged for me, a nice dinner and no bad news.

My delightful new possession, a most high-bred and distinguished Scottish terrier, MacDuff, which I sent home with her, met me with enthusiasm. He was a present from my charming friend and hostess and is going to be a great pleasure to me. It is impossible to describe him, he reminds one of so many different wild beasts, all the time being strangely human.

After dinner Chloe brought out a beautiful fruit-cake which she had made for my birthday. She seemed afraid I might accuse her of extravagance and assured me she had only used up the odds and ends of fruit which were left in the storeroom and the fresh butter and fresh eggs which I was not at home to eat. I was delighted and praised her very much for her cleverness and thought; seeing me looking in the silver drawer for the cake knife, she added hastily:-

"Mind, Miss Pashuns, I ain't tell yu fu' cut um till yu hab kump'ny."

So I said, "That is very wise, Chloe; put it away until we have company," and she removed it with great agility, but it was a disappointment, for I have got accustomed to having a great many nice things all the time recently. I know it is going to be hard to force myself back to the great economy I have felt necessary and practised for the past year.

June 16.

Rose at 5:20 o'clock and had breakfast early. That is one of the unexpected results of Chloe's travel; she is much earlier in the morning, which is a great comfort; that is the only cool time, and I am so anxious for Jim to get off to his work at 6:30 o'clock every day; it is much better for man and beast to start the ploughing very early, and then knock off for the hottest hours and plough again in the afternoon.

The season has been hard on all crops; a severe drought after the late frost, so that it was hard for seeds to come up. I have nice snap beans and corn from the garden and soon will have tomatoes. The cotton and corn in the field look poorly, the watermelons need work, but I hope they will be abundant.

Chloe's visit to New York is a subject of immense and unending interest to every one. She spends her time narrating to white and black all she has seen. She brought most carefully selected little presents for every one. How she managed I do not know.

The truth is Chloe was a great success at the North; the height of her white turban, the width and length of her white apron, the classically disposed white kerchief crossed over her ample form, the large gold hoop earrings and her Mona Lisa smile as she dropped a curtsy to any guest appearing at the door of my sitting room at the St. Regis impressed those unaccustomed to it very much.

Her ready answers to all questions were most discreet. A friend of mine asking her what she had seen in her short stop in Washington said, "Did you see the President?"

"No, ma'am, I ain't see de Presidence, but I see de gold pianner," that piece of furniture of the White House seeming the full equal in interest and grandeur of the head of the nation.

Chloe's face during Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show was a study. She would not give way to surprise of any sort, but occasionally I felt a violent punch in my back when Chloe's excitement had reached a point where some action was necessary and she was afraid I might miss something—we were in a box. The presence of none but white servants was very unexpected and unaccountable to Chloe, but she made no sign. She spoke with pride of the table she had to herself and how attentive every one was. She said:—

"Miss Pashuns, I never hurry fu' eat. I look 'roun' en enjoy meself. Fust thing I had fu' brekfust, I had a oringe. I jes' wait en res' meself till I see de lady to de nex' table cut she oringe een half en tek de spoon en eat um wid de spoon, den I dun de same, but I neber let um see I watch um.

"Den de gentleman tek dat plate way, en bring some hom'ny een a saucer. Den I watch de lady en see um put shuger on de hom'ny en por milk on, en I done de same. Den de gen'leman tek dat 'way en bring me sum aig, but I tell um 'Thank yo', sah, but yu needn't truble yo'self to bring me no aig, kase I don't eat aig, neither no mutton kase I don't eat dat needer.' I didn't like him to hav' de trubble fo' bring um en tek um back."

The second day she was there she was quite agitated.

"Miss Pashuns," she said, "I 'most had a accidence. W'en I git een de allivatu de nyung man staat off mos' too quick, un lik' to t'row me down, en 'e was dat skeer till 'e trimble en 'e ketch me a'm en 'e say 'Is yu hurt?' en I mek ansuh, 'No, sa, I ain't hurt,' den 'e say, 'Please don't tell no one. I hope yu ain't hurt, fu' dat would git me in big trubble.' Den I promise I wouldn't tell."

On the way home Chloe stopped several days with my sister in Washington, who took her all over the public buildings. She saw a great deal that I never have seen because I always have so many other things I want to do while in Washington.

When she was being taken through the Capitol and saw in the great hall the statues of distinguished men she went round and examined each one very carefully, then came to where L. was sitting waiting for her, and said in a low tone very wistfully:—

"Miss Luise, Ole Maussa ain't yere."

When L. answered: "No, Chloe, papa's statue is not here," she heaved a sigh of deep disappointment.

"Ole Maussa" to Chloe was the greatest man in the world and she thought less of the Capitol when she did not find him.

When any one treats her with scant courtesy or intrudes on her feelings in any way she is in the habit of explaining: "My master was de Guv'ner en I kno' how tu behave." We showed her the family name in the ceiling of the beautiful library building, telling her it was the name of Uncle Washington, whose bust was in the dining room at home. After craning her neck for a long time her small book-learning enabled her to make it out for herself and she was greatly pleased.

Chloe has been made very proud and happy by the graduation of her granddaughter Clara with great Éclat. She is only 16 and very small and childish looking, but she took her diploma and made a very fine speech. Chloe told me, when the principal came to speak he said:—

"For five years the name at the head of every class she was in, was Clara Galant and not a black mark against it."

"She was dressed very fine een a w'ite silk net, a twenty-dollar frock, en w'ite shoes en a big w'ite bow on 'e head, en everybody say 'e speak butiful en dem was surprise." I was greatly surprised to hear all this and very much pleased. Bonaparte has a grandson who has distinguished himself, passing the test examinations in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew and is a minister of the Episcopal Church and is now in Virginia. That has given me much pleasure, and now to have Chloe's little granddaughter distinguish herself is very nice; and dear, faithful Chloe is so proud and happy. Clara received very handsome presents from people in Gregory, two gold pieces of $10 each, a silver set of writing implements, and many more. I suppose people were anxious to show their appreciation of her faithful good work in school.

The house looks so fresh and clean in its new coat of whitewash and feels so solid and unshakable after its thorough repairing that I feel as though it was a palace. My dear Chloe has brought out all the pictures and books she thinks I would like to have. Her selections always amuse me. "Forty Days of Lent" is one book prominent, and the King and Queen of Spain in bridal array hold the place of honor over the mantelpiece! After all it is good to get home, though it may not be a bed of roses; there dwell your Lares and Penates, and there only. Jim reported Chloe's other granddaughter, Josephine, as very ill; she has a baby three weeks old. I told Chloe she must go down at once. She began to say, "Impossible to lef' yu, Miss Pashuns, wid nobuddy but dis gal." But I would not listen. I ordered Jim to put Ruth in the buckboard at once and told Goliah to make himself decent to drive her.

It was impossible to get her off till after 5. I fear from what Jim says there is no hope for Josephine. He said they were giving her an ice bath when he left she was so burned up with fever.

I took MacDuff to sleep in the house as there was no one anywhere near the house. I have been practising a good deal lately and to-night played for two hours.

June 20.

A quiet night alone with MacDuff. He behaved very well, though he does not like staying in the house as Mops used to do. When I tried him before he walked about all night, making so much noise that I could not sleep.

Lizette cooked some hominy and corn-bread very well and boiled an egg, so that I had a good breakfast. Chloe returned at 8 o'clock, just as I had finished. Poor little Josephine died ten minutes before she got there, but she had the satisfaction of sitting up with the body last night, and left early this morning to give orders here about digging the grave, as she begged them to "bring her home en put her by her mudder." She told me the "castle" was ordered very fine and that she was beautifully dressed. She was wonderfully composed. I told her to lie down and rest at once.

Then she confided to me that she had nothing suitable to wear at the funeral. Nothing black but a silk trimmed with lace. I went and ransacked all my belongings and at last found something that I thought would do. Unfortunately Chloe is formed in a more generous mould and the present cut of skirts makes it difficult to stretch them, but Jim's wife, Hetty, happened to be here and she is clever with her needle, so she undertook to enlarge the skirt, while I got a black hat and trimmed it and found a suitable veil, so that by the time the funeral procession arrived from Gregory, Chloe looked very nice.

To-night before going to bed she gave me an account of it with great pride. The "castle" was beautiful and four carriages and three buggies came up from Gregory behind the "hurst." One of Josephine's aunts has adopted the baby. I wanted Chloe to take it, but she does not care for children.

June 21.

A most exhausting day. The only way we have of making money for our auxiliary is by making ice-cream for sale two or three times during the summer. Ice-cream is a rarity in Peaceville and consequently these sales are very successful and we had arranged to have one this afternoon. I and my dear little neighbor, who is secretary of the auxiliary, furnish part of the milk. As soon as I could get off after the many impediments which arose this morning I took the demijohn of milk and drove over to Mr. F.'s and got theirs and took them out to Peaceville, where Mrs. R. and J. F. are going to make the cream.

I came home, had a hurried dinner, and went back to Peaceville to serve the cream, which I always enjoy, but the heat and the drive back and forth, amounting to sixteen miles, were almost too much for me. I brought some ice-cream to poor ill Georgie. I had the can packed well in ice and her delight over it was pathetic. She washed off the salt and ate all the ice after finishing the cream. I also brought some for Chloe and Lizette.

When I got seated down in the cool dining room in Mama's big chair and my little lamp with the shade on it I was too tired to move until after 12 o'clock. On the table by me was a book which I read in every spare moment with much pleasure: "The Bible in Spain; or the Journeys, Adventures and Imprisonments of an Englishman in an Attempt to Circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula." George Borrow made these journeys as far back as 1835, so there is nothing new in the book, but it holds my attention when I am too tired to read anything else, and to-night it did not fail me.

June 22.

The cotton is coming up, also the corn which was so long in the ground. I am so glad cow-peas are selling for $3 a bushel, and I am having mine threshed out so that I can sell some and be able to pay for the hoeing which is absolutely necessary now. As long as the cotton had not come up it seemed dangerous to attempt to work it.

Jim is in great distress because the doctor says his little girl has tuberculosis and that unless she is brought into the country and kept out of doors she will not live until August. He wants to break up in town and move into the country, but the wife will not. As Jim says, "Seems like they rather die in town than live in the country." So he asked my permission to bring her up to stay with him. Of course I consented.

Chloe came to tell me she had got a letter from her sister saying she must go down to-morrow and take $30 with her to pay for the funeral expenses. I said: "You have that much in the bank, Chloe?" She said yes, but after a while it came out that she had taken all her money out of the bank at her sister's bidding to buy finery for Clara to graduate in.

I was quite distracted, for I will have to borrow the $30 to give her, and I never know where to borrow money. I once borrowed $1000 from the bank. It was when I was planting rice successfully and had no doubt as to paying it easily when the crop came in. But that year some misfortune happened and I thought I should lose my mind over that debt. I had given a mortgage on Casa Bianca. It was a year of great depression in this country from loss of crops and the low price of rice, and if there had been a forced sale the place would have gone for nothing. Since then I have done anything rather than borrow—but now for my dear Chloe I must do it.

July 4.

A brilliant day for the darkies to celebrate; it is the day of days to them. Lizette has been in such an excitement that she broke the top of one of my precious little pink Wedgwood dishes. I could have cried if I had not been ashamed; having no people around me I get so fond of things. Goliah behaved abominably, refusing to crack the corn for Chloe before he went off, though I had given him 10 cents and a watermelon.

Had dinner at 12 so that the servants could all go and had a most delightful long afternoon. I took my sewing and book and sat down by the river with the dogs. When I found it too dark to see either to read or to sew I chained Don and then came in and lighted the lamps and had my tea.

Chloe returned about 10 o'clock. I had sent poor little Georgie a present of a melon by her, and she said:—

"Miss Pashuns, ef yu cud a see Georgie w'en I g'en she de melun! 'Twas teching! 'E say 'e had a dreem 'bout mellun en dem so scarse. Moses cudn't give him money f'r buy none, en now 'e hab one, en 'e say 'e cudn't tenk yu 'nuff."

July 11.

S. came up and made me a delightful visit.

Though there is a great gap of years between S. and myself we have so many of the same tastes and interests that the years do not count in our intercourse. Her music is a delight to me, and it is such a wonder that she keeps it up as she does with so many drawbacks and with such an old and weary piano. I often feel that I would like to give her my Steinway, which, when I come to count the years, is itself not in its first bloom, having been bought in 1885; but it is an infant compared to hers and would be a joy to her, the action is so good and the tone so full; but really I would not dare to face my existence here without it. I shudder at the thought; so I hastily quench the impulse.

This afternoon I brought back seven nice watermelons from the plantation, greatly to Goliah's delight. They weighed down the buckboard so that he proposed to walk home to lighten the buggy. I suppose he weighs about fifty-five pounds. I thanked him for the proposal, but said I did not wish to reach home before him. Oh, no, he said, he would run and keep up; but I would not let him.

Little Goliah is the happiest, jolliest little boy, so fat and so black and shiny. My efforts to teach him are futile in the extreme, but why should Goliah be taught anything? He has a vast fund of general information of things to me unknown, and above all he has such a power of observation that nothing escapes him.

I am absent-minded and constantly lose keys and things like pencils and handkerchiefs, etc. When I ask Goliah as to what I had in my hand when I spoke to him last he can always tell me accurately, and my next question is, "And where did I go when I finished talking with you?" He can always tell exactly, and, moreover, I always find that he knows every step I have taken since, though he is in the yard and I am in the house.

If I say, "Goliah, remind me to-morrow to write a particular letter" or to do any special thing, he is sure to remind me. He has learned to wash his clothes so beautifully white that it is a pleasure to see him—to all but Gibbie, who is very much provoked at Goliah's white suits, only varied by a sky blue suit. He grumbles aloud, and I heard him say, "Miss Pashuns hab dat chile dress up all een w'ite till 'e far' look like a shadder; 'e skare me."

Altogether I consider Goliah a luxury. I have not the luxury of electric lights nor telephone nor automobile nor ice, but I have unlimited space and fresh air and sunshine and the wild flowers springing up everywhere around me, and this little piece of animated nature just bubbling over with life and joy and the absolute delight of having plenty to eat and nice clothes to wear and being always clean and owning a spelling book and slate and a bed of his own and a little trunk, also saying a very mild lesson every day and catechism on Sundays—all these things which to most children are a matter of course are to him something quite new in his little experience and pure bliss.

When you add to this that he has Ruth, that big fiery looking animal at his command, and that when he has been out on Sunday to visit his family and appears at the gate on his return she whinnies and goes to meet him, really his little cup, for eight years empty, is full to overflowing—and what gives me so much pleasure is there is no arriÈre pensÉe, no dÉjÀ-connu—it is all so fresh and so perfectly natural. Of course I know it cannot last.

Goliah is a constant amusement to me. I am teaching him to drive, and I read, for when it is very hot and the horse seems to feel it as much as I do, I cannot make her go fast, and I get so impatient and so hot that it is an immense relief to have a magazine to read. Of course I have to keep an eye always on Goliah and the reins. He stands at the back of the buckboard, finding that gives more power than sitting.

He talks constantly. I think he conceives it part of his duty to entertain me. "You see dat bu'd, Miss Pashuns?" A large brown bird which would light in the road and when Ruth got within six feet of it would fly, to light a little way ahead, waiting until I thought the horse must tread on it.

"Yes, I see the bird."

"Yu kno' wha da bird does say? 'E tell eberybody, 'Plant bittle fu' winta! Plant bittle fu' winta!"

Now we call the bird a chick-will-willo; it is a first cousin of the whip-poor-will and has a more cheerful note, but I had never heard any sense attributed to its incessant and insistent note before, and I was delighted with the darky version.

"Oh, Goliah," I said, "what a pity people will not mind him, there is so much land and so many idle people; if they only would plant victuals for winter what abundance there would be for everybody, man and beast."

At which he informed me that he had planted a corn crop himself before he came to me and as we passed his father's house he showed it to me with pride, the feeblest growth.

I am trying to teach him to read and I'm sure it would be easy if he could only learn his letters, but I cannot accomplish that. He says the alphabet off glibly, but the letters seem to look all alike to him and my efforts to describe them don't seem successful. I point to a letter and say that is T, it stands for "table" and looks like this table—showing him one with a leg in the middle and two leaves. S stands for "snake" and looks like one. A is like the step-ladder. But when I go over them he knows not one, unless he says the whole alphabet and stops at the letter. I try making him copy the letters on the slate, but nothing seems to impress them on him; and yet he is so clever in learning his catechism and hymns.

This village feels it has taken an immense step forward since the honk honk of the automobile can be heard here daily. Fortunately the owner is very considerate of horses and slows down and even stops if necessary, so that Ruth is getting quite over her fright about it. All she wanted was to understand what it was, and now she is beginning to recognize it as a new kind of horse of great speed. When it passes her on the road she tries her best to catch up with it.