"Oh, yes, I am a Southern girl, and glory in the name, And boast it with far greater pride than glittering wealth or fame. I envy not the Northern girl her robes of beauty rare Though diamonds grace her snowy neck, and pearls bedeck her hair.
"Hurrah, hurrah, for the Sunny South so dear! Three cheers for the homespun dress The Southern ladies wear."
After the exalted strain of the first part of this letter, we confess to a great satisfaction in the latter part, which seems to come so much closer to the ground on which most of us live: "I delivered your message to Miss Shaw Turner. She expressed an ardent desire to see you, and gave evidence to a strong attachment to you,—which I suppose you will allow me to do." (Observe the artfulness of that "which") "I am very much obliged to you for the invitation to the railroad picnic, and I think it would be altogether proper for the Car to beat the railroad, ric, tic." (A pun! what next?) "Well, I have heard Brother Lard preach lately; no wonder I can't write to you! We are anticipating a happy time in June at our society exhibitions. Please come! But before you come, oblige me by writing some of your thoughts on this subject: 'The Tears of History and the Smiles of Prophecy.' This is my subject and I have not written a word. Jas. C. Keith, Albert Myles and myself are to represent the University on the 28th June—a distinguished honor, indeed. I am also elected to represent the Philothean society, and I have not prepared that speech. Oh, what a fix I'm in! Please, Mattie, help me! Next summer, let us visit Mount Carmel again, and go to Æsculapia for our health." (Only for our health?) "Brother Myles sends his kindest regards, and says he doesn't think near so much of Miss Ada as of you! Mattie, please write soon."
Next month comes the "exhibits," and in July—this from Oliver,—"I know you will be surprised at the caption of this letter—Ghent, Carroll County, Kentucky." It does, indeed, surprise her, for after a year's absence, one would have supposed the student anxious to go back to his parents, kindred and friends. But "I have sacrificed the pleasure of meeting my loved ones, and given up all, for the good of this people." His roommate, Albert Myles, has urged him to this course, for Albert, who has been assisted in College by Mrs. Drusie Tandy Ellis of Ghent, is called there to hold the meeting. "College days were over June 28th," he continues. "I underwent six critical, trying examinations, and prepared my two speeches—and was then so sick I could hardly walk. The doctor brought me out of a weakening disease so that I could stand on the stage while I spoke; but that was about all. When the boys parted for their homes, they left me in extreme agony. My poor frame was racked and tortured by unmerciful disease. Many I did not get to bid goodby—dear boys! God be with you, and may we meet again next October. My roommate, Brother Myles, remained with me. When I recovered, he plead so affectionately for his 'chum Ol.' to go with him to Ghent, that I could not refuse."
And so they go to Covington, and at Cincinnati take the "Joe Anderson" for the river town. But in about two weeks, Oliver will be at Mount Carmel where Mattie is now—he urges her to stay till he comes—and he will bring her a book by one of his favorite professors—McGarvey's "Commentary"—solid food for the young lady, one would think.
Back in the University next fall—let us hope in better health than when he left it!—we find Oliver again pen in hand: "James Keith, Albert Myles and myself will finish the course this year by hard study, having about twenty-five recitations each week—and I am in wretchedly poor condition. I'm fearful of my health's giving way under the great burden. I hope and pray for strength of mind and body to prepare for a long service. I sometimes think it is almost a sin for us young men who are preparing for the ministry, to stay here conning over dull lessons in mathematics, Latin and Greek. Like a caged bird, I long to be free of the College-wall cage. I am anxious to go into the world and preach the Gospel. I have been telling my friend of how you and I preach together, and what a good, assistant preacher you are. How I would like to be with you and your sister tonight. Dear me! What a contrast this dull monotony presents to that blissful happy meeting—to do such noble work as that in which we were engaged! Never can I forget that meeting, nor our trips to Orangeburg! neither can I forget you who cling so tenaciously to 'that good part.' You and Sister O'Bannon both impressed me as being God's dear children. Remember your mission to speak to my sister Mary about becoming a Christian. I suppose you heard of my good meeting at Sardis. Forty-five were added—four of my cousins among the number. Don't fail to send that sermon. Mattie, I send the promised photograph, please send me yours. Write to me soon, and tell me what you are doing. I know you are not hearing Brother Lard now. I think you might write poor Ol. a long letter very soon!"
"Poor Ol." received the letter; for we find him answering in a short time—from his letter we may gain an insight into hers: "You speak of your benevolent scheme in progress for the 'poor wanderers of New York.' I do not know your exact meaning, but ever since I formed your acquaintance, I have believed you a chosen instrument of God to accomplish great good for poor mortals. Now you are making the step. Dear me! How I wish such a spirit of Christianity infused itself through the purposes of the ten thousand accomplished and efficient young ladies of Kentucky! How much good might be done by womanhood, if they would devote their time, means and energy to alleviating suffering. Perhaps it would be a better plan to look nearer home. I am glad to know that you whom God has blessed with a mind and heart able to conceive, plan and feel, are breathing a prayer for the distressed. Mattie, it speaks well for you, and makes me rejoice. A young friend of mine insists on my preaching at Mount Sterling that he may obey the Gospel. I can't refuse to go. I know I will lose time, and distract my attention from my studies, but what is that in comparison to saving a soul? I don't hesitate to go, but will be off soon. Encourage the building of the church at Mount Carmel all you can. They will receive $50.00 from me next summer for that purpose. Excuse bad writing. You know I can do better."
In Oliver's next letter—December—we find him in a rather sensitive mood. Mattie has accused him of "Some egotism clearly manifested in a parenthesis" he appears to have stowed away in his last epistle. "Dear me!" says Oliver, wounded and perplexed, "What can it be?" After trying to recall anything that may have prompted her "sarcasm," and after an eloquent outburst against the meanness of egotism wherever found, he is obliged to give it up. After relieving his feelings he falls back on "Brother Lard," who appears as a convenient stalking-horse for both sides. "If you think my writing home a poor excuse for not writing to you, I have a very good one at hand. Brother Lard is preaching here every night. That, as you know (having offered it yourself) is a valid excuse! I have just returned from a visit to President Williams who is in high spirits. He has just been giving me a lecture on my returning here for still another year. He is a dear good man, and often gives me good advice; but I don't think it would be right, after taking a diploma in the Bible College and another in the College of Arts, to remain another year. Now, Mattie, I have always paid much attention to your advice; what do you think on the subject? You know my deficiences; but you also know my burning desire to be at work. Like you, I admire Geo. D. Prentice's 'Closing Year' extravagantly. He has immortalized himself with that inimitable production. What a pity that such a man is not a Christian! The world is presenting a sad picture. The people are beginning to lose confidence even in the clergy. I am convinced that, as a Christian body, we are more in need of deep-toned piety than of anything else. We have more learning than we put to good use. We need exemplary conduct in young men and women. I am going to start out in the New Year to live a holier, better and consequently a happier life. Please remember me in your prayers."
Our next letter to "Miss Mattie," dated December 25th, is not from Oliver Carr, but from another University student, who signs himself by his initials. Poor young gentleman, we seek not to know his name, as he pours out his love of near half a century gone. Her "very welcome favor," it appears, had nipped his sweetest hopes in the bud, but he was "glad to receive it." He goes to the point: "You say that no more intimate relationship can exist between us than that of friendship. Miss Mattie, why not? I do not presume to ask for details, whether your heart is prepossessed in favor of another or whether * * *" But no, this was very real to the "D.," of those days, let us not listen to his heart-beats, but hope rather that "D." now sixty-odd, if he is a day, has long since forgotten all about it. He is introduced here merely to cast one tiny ray upon the character-development of the young lady addressed: "In the mean time, you will allow me to thank you very sincerely for the candor with which you have dealt with me, not only in this correspondence, but ever since our acquaintanceship." And then, remembering that it is the 25th, he adds with a stout heart, "Just while I think of it, I will take your 'Christmas Gift!'"
He gives a flash-light of those vacation days: "Most of the students have gone to their homes. Egg-nog is flowing freely here. The landlady has it in abundance, today. Some of the company partook largely; among them I noticed two young ladies. By the way, a little news afloat: Miss Jennie Lard is to be married to a very interesting youth" (Note the bitterness of our rejected lover!) "of fifty and odd summers: This lovely lad is Woodson, a lawyer of St. Louis, who is very promising for a mere beginner in this up-hill business of life. In the exuberance of his youthful feelings he has presented her with a gold watch, rings infinite, and earbobs not a few." (Oh, the bitterness of it!)