A low sweet prelude finds its way,
Thro’ cloud of Doubt and creeds of Fear
A Light is breaking calm and clear.”
My caller was a queer little old woman. Her figure, however, was erect, her eyes bright and her voice low, soft and firm. She was becomingly dressed, in what might appear to be a Quaker garb, and a look of rare intelligence radiated her countenance.
In a deep, sweet voice, she began:
“I was born in the year of our Lord, 1828, and am, consequently, in my 86th year. I have lived a long time, but when I glance backward, it seems but yesterday that I nestled in my mother’s arms. I was born in Virginia in the year Andrew Jackson was elected President and my parents took me to Washington on the day of his inauguration. We traveled in our own vehicle, drawn by two dapple grey horses, and we had several neighbors as companions each having a conveyance of their own.
“Schools were unknown in our neighborhood and my early education was derived from my parents, principally, assisted by a maiden aunt, who spent each summer at our plantation.
“My clothes were cut out, fitted and made by my aunt, and my hats lacked any feather trimmings or other finery. The material of my dresses was generally of a slate color, and but few other shades were affected. All of our neighbors dressed in the same way, without any affectation of style whatsoever. But enough of this.
“The musical instruments of that day were the melodeon, harp and violin. There were very few of even these, and were confined, the melodeon to the village church, the violin to our darkey’s cabins.
“We read by a tallow dip during the winter nights, but there was not very much to read, our library consisting of the family Bible, Bunyan’s Pilgrims Progress, together with a weekly paper published in Philadelphia, that had originally been started by Benjamin Franklin.