“Have no shams. Procure an abundance of the freshest, richest, real cream, milk, eggs, butter, lard, best old Madeira wine, all the way from Madeira, and never use a particle of soda or salaratus about anything or under any pressure.”
These were the ingredients “Aunt Jenny” used—for “Uncle Dick” had rare old wine in his cellar which he had brought from Europe, thirty years before—and every day was a feast day at Elkwood. And the wedding breakfasts “Aunt Jenny” used to “get up” when one of her nieces married at her house—as they sometimes did—were beyond description.
While at Elkwood, observing every day, that the carriage went to the depot empty, and returned empty, we enquired the reason, and were informed that “Uncle Dick,” ever since the cars had been passing near his plantation, ordered his coachman to have the carriage every day at the station, “in case some of his friends might be on the train, and might like to stop and see him!”
Another hospitable rule in “Uncle Dick’s” house was, that company must never be kept “waiting” in his parlor, and so anxious was his young niece to meet his approbation in this as in every particular, that she had a habit of dressing herself carefully, arranging her hair beautifully—it was in the days too when smooth hair was fashionable—before laying down for the afternoon siesta, “in case,” she said, “some one might call, and ‘Uncle Dick’ had a horror of visitors waiting.” This process of reposing in a fresh muslin dress and fashionably arranged hair, required a particular and uncomfortable position, which she seemed not to mind, but dozed in the most precise manner without rumpling her hair or her dress.
Elkwood was a favorite place of resort for Episcopal ministers, whom “Aunt Jenny” and “Uncle Dick” loved to entertain. And here we met the Rev. Mr. S——, the learned divine, eloquent preacher and charming companion. He had just returned from a visit to England, where he had been entertained in palaces. Telling us the incidents of his visit, “I was much embarrassed at first,” said he, “at the thought of attending a dinner party given in a palace to me,—a simple Virginian,—but on being announced at the drawing-room door, and entering the company I felt at once at ease, for they were all ladies and gentlemen—such as I had known at home, polite, pleasant and without pretence.”
This gentleman’s conversational powers were not only bright and delightful, but also the means of turning many to righteousness; for religion was one of his chief themes.
A proof of his genius and eloquence was given in the beautiful poem recited—without ever having been written—at the centennial anniversary of old Christ church in Alexandria. This was the church in which General Washington and his family had worshiped, and around it clustered many memories. Mr. S., with several others, had been invited to make an address on the occasion, and one night while thinking about it an exquisite poem passed through his mind, picturing scene after scene in the old church. General Washington with his head bowed in silent prayer; infants at the baptismal font; young men and maidens in bridal array at the altar, and funeral trains passing through the open gate.
On the night of the celebration when his turn came, finding the hour too late, and the audience too sleepy for his prose address, he suddenly determined to “dash off” the poem, every word of which came back to him, although he had never written it. The audience roused up electrified, and as the recitation proceeded, their enthusiasm reached the highest pitch. Never had there been such a sensation in the old church before. And next morning the house at which he was stopping was besieged by reporters begging “copies” and offering good prices, but the poem remains unwritten to this day.
Elkwood—like many other old homes—was burned by the Northern army in 1862, and not a tree or flower remains to mark the spot, for so many years the abode of hospitality and good cheer.