CHAPTER V.
English books never fail to make honorable mention of a "roast of beef," "a leg of mutton," "a dish of potatoes," "a dish of tea," etc., while with us the abundance of such things gave them, we thought, not enough importance to be particularized. Still my reminiscences extend to these.
Every Virginia housewife knew how to compound all the various dishes in Mrs. Randolph's cookery book, and our tables were filled with every species of meat and vegetable to be found on a plantation, with every kind of cakes, jellies, and blanc-mange to be concocted out of eggs, butter, and cream, besides an endless catalogue of preserves, sweetmeats, pickles, and condiments. So that in the matter of good living, both as to abundance and the manner of serving, a Virginia plantation could not be excelled.
The first specialty being good loaf bread, there was always a hot loaf for breakfast, hot corn bread for dinner, and a hot loaf for supper. Every house was famed for its loaf bread, and said a gentleman once to me: "Although at each place it is superb, yet each loaf differs from another loaf, preserving distinct characteristics which would enable me to distinguish, instantly, should there be a convention of loaves, the Oaklands loaf from the Greenfield loaf, and the Avenel loaf from the Rustic Lodge loaf."
And apropos of this gentleman, who, it is needless to add, was a celebrated connoisseur in this matter of loaf bread, it was a noticeable fact with our cook that whenever he came to our house, the bread in trying to do its best always did its worst!
Speaking of bread, another gentleman expressed his belief that at the last great day it will be found that more housewives will be punished on account of light-bread than anything else; for he knew some who were never out of temper except when the light-bread failed!
Time would fail me to dwell, as I should, upon the incomparable rice waffles, and beat biscuit, and muffins, and laplands, and marguerites, and flannel cakes, and French rolls, and velvet rolls, and lady's fingers constantly brought by relays of small servants, during breakfast, hot and hotter from the kitchen. Then the tea-waiters handed at night, with the beef tongue, the sliced ham, the grated cheese, the cold turkey, the dried venison, the loaf bread buttered hot, the batter-cakes, the crackers, the quince marmalade, the wafers,—all pass in review before me.
The first time I ever heard of a manner of living different from this was when it became important for my mother to make a visit to a great-aunt in Baltimore, and she went for the first time out of her native State; as neither she nor her mother had ever been out of Virginia. My mother was accompanied by her maid, Kitty, on this expedition, and when they returned both had many astounding things to relate. My grandmother threw up her hands in amazement on hearing that some of the first ladies in the city, who visited old aunt, confined the conversation of a morning call to the subject of the faults of their hired servants. "Is it possible?" exclaimed the old lady. "I never considered it well bred to mention servants or their faults in company."
Indeed, in our part of the world, a mistress became offended if the faults of her servants were alluded to, just as persons become displeased when the faults of their children are discussed.
Maid Kitty's account of this visit I will give, as well as I can remember, in her own words, as she described it to her fellow-servants: "You nuver see sich a way fur people to live! Folks goes to bed in Baltimore 'thout a single moufful in de house to eat. An' dey can't get nothin' neither 'thout dey gits up soon in de mornin' an' goes to market after it deyselves. Rain, hail, or shine, dey got to go. 'Twouldn't suit our white folks to live dat way! An' I wouldn't live dar not for nothin' in dis worl'. In dat fine three-story house dar aint but bar' two servants, an' dey has to do all de work. 'Twouldn't suit me, an' I wouldn't live dar not for nothin' in dis whole creation. I would git dat lonesome I couldn't stan' it. Bar' two servants! an' dey calls deyselves rich, too! An' dey cooks in de cellar. I know mistess couldn't stan' dat—smellin' everyt'ing out de kitchen all over de house. Umph! dem folks don't know nothin' 'tall 'bout good livin', wid dar cold bread an' dar rusks!"