Edgar Poe and Alexander Stephens of Georgia were also at the university with these gentlemen.
Although presenting an infinite variety of mind, manner, and temperament, all the gentlemen who visited us, young and old, possessed in common certain characteristics, one of which was a deference to ladies which made us feel that we had been put in the world especially to be waited upon by them. Their standard for woman was high. They seemed to regard her as some rare and costly statue set in a niche to be admired and never taken down.
Another peculiarity they had in common was a habit—which seemed irresistible—of tracing people back to the remotest generation, and appearing inconsolable if ever they failed to find out the pedigree of any given individual for at least four generations. This, however, was an innocent pastime, from which they seemed to derive much pleasure and satisfaction, and which should not be regarded, even in this advanced age, as a serious fault.
Among our various visitors was a kinsman—of whom I often heard, but whom I do not recollect—a bachelor of eighty years, always accompanied by his negro servant as old as himself. Both had the same name, Louis, pronounced like the French, and this aged pair had been so long together they could not exist apart. Black Louis rarely left his master's side, assisting in the conversation if his master became perplexed or forgetful. When his master talked in the parlor, black Louis always planted his chair in the middle of the doorsill, every now and then correcting or reminding with: "Now, marster, dat warn't Colonel Taylor's horse dat won dat race dat day. You and me was dar." Or: "Now, marster, you done forgot all 'bout dat. Dat was in de year 1779, an' dis is de way it happened," etc., much to the amusement of the company assembled. All this was said, I am told, most respectfully, although the old negro in a manner possessed his master, having entire charge and command of him.
"NOW, MARSTER, YOU DONE FORGOT ALL 'BOUT DAT."—Page 37.
The negroes often felt great pride in "our white people," as they called their owners, and loved to brag about what "our white people" did and what "our white people" had.
On one occasion it became necessary for my sister and myself to ride a short distance in a public conveyance. A small colored boy, who helped in our dining room, had to get in the same stage. Two old gentlemen, strangers to us, sitting opposite, supposing we had fallen asleep when we closed our eyes to keep out the dust, commenced talking about us. Said one to the other: "Now, those children will spoil their Sunday bonnets." Whereupon our colored boy spoke up quickly: "Umph! you think dems my mistesses' Sunday bonnets? Umph! you jes' ought to see what dey got up dar on top de stage in dar bandbox!" At this we both laughed, for the boy had never seen our "Sunday bonnets," nor did he know that we possessed any.