My playing seemed to give satisfaction; the piano is a beautiful one, like ours on a more brilliant scale, and as there was no one to rival me in the instrumental way I raised the top, played the ‘Pot Pourri,’ and made a tremendous noise. (I do wish that minister would stop singing his nasal hymn-tunes just underneath me; he has been at it all day, and it quite puts me out.)
I also showed some tricks which puzzled the company—particularly a very tall man, with long, projecting nose and retreating forehead, who looked like a stupid fox. Miss Jane P. was seated in a corner, behind a little table, on which were draughts arranged as the nuns of the Lady Abbess, she challenging everybody to introduce the four cavaliers unknown to the blind mistress. Everybody said it was not possible, and Miss Jane turned triumphantly to me to know if I could do it. I said I could not only introduce the four knights, but their four squires also, and then suffer knights, squires, and four nuns to elope, without the blind Abbess having the slightest suspicion of the defection. Everybody thought it impossible, but when I actually performed the feat they looked upon me as half a conjuror—particularly the stranger fox—and Mrs. Dickson thought it was hardly safe that I should occupy the front bedroom in a young ladies’ boarding-school. I also amused them with the three jealous couples crossing the stream; we were all very merry, and I did more talking than I have accomplished in the same space of time for many a day. On our return home, the young gentleman who accompanied me said that if he had only known I was coming he would have gone from New York to Cincinnati, to escort me to Asheville (I did not tell him how very glad I was he did not know it); and on my expressing a wish to visit Mount Pisgah, he assured me that to the very next party that was made up he would be sure to see that I received an invitation. (I did not say he need not trouble himself, that I should get the invitation without his interference; I only thought all that, for I am growing very polite in my manners.)
... About a week ago I rode to the Sulphur Springs, which are about four miles from Asheville; they are not much resorted to, the country round being tangled and rather uninteresting. The springs, however, are situated in a delightful valley, through which the wind blew most refreshingly; a roofed platform is erected in the midst of the grass plat, the perfectly clear water welling up into a marble basin on one side, and then flowing away in a little rivulet. I found a country woman resting herself on the platform, with a bright, pleasant face and very communicative. I sat and talked to her and thought of the woman of Samaria; presently a bilious-looking Southerner came down and drank a dipper full of water, which dispelled all the illusion, for my imagination conjured up rice-swamps and clanking chains.
I have not taken many walks about here, for the weather, though delightful for July, is too hot for walking, and riding seems out of the question, it being harder to get a horse here even than it was at Henderson. Dr. Dickson has one old fellow, but he is used in the fields a good deal, and one person cannot ride alone. Borrowing or hiring seems equally impossible, so I shall be the poorest rider in the family apparently, for I suppose Henry’s ‘nice little pony,’ and our three (?) other horses, will be kept in constant use.
I find it equally impossible to get a partner in chess; Dr. Dickson understands no such games, and disapproves of them, so I cannot train any of the girls, and Miss C. does not care to play. I set up the men one afternoon and tried to beat myself; but it would not do, I could get up no enthusiasm, so I put the pieces away in despair, and used the board as a writing-desk.
Tell me all the home news: what M. does and Ellen and Kate, what nonsense H. talks and S.’s puns, the visits they receive and the excursions they make.
If you hear of any new books let me know, for I imagine they do not find their way up here very quickly. I have Littel’s ‘Living Age’ regularly, and I am reading Alison’s ‘History of Europe;’ but such a thing as a novel Dr. Dickson reprobates, and all he calls light reading.
Now, Howy, do you not think I am very good to send you such a long letter for your little scrap? Write me a full sheet soon.
Asheville: July 27, 1845.
Dear Mother,—I received your welcome letter last night while engaged in your favourite Saturday evening’s employment—singing hymns. A stranger minister who was to preach next day had just arrived, and I, seated at the piano, surrounded by the girls, was supplying him with sacred entertainment, when Howard Dickson laid your letter beside me. I smiled, and gave an involuntary quaver in the ‘Come, Holy Spi—,’ which made the girls giggle; but seeing the four eyes of the two ministers bent astonishedly upon us, I pulled a long face, the girls straightened theirs, and we continued—‘rit, heavenly Dove.’