IX
A COLLEGE NEIGHBORHOOD—THE WORLD WIDENS—A BELOVED TUTOR—COLONIZATION DREAMS AND DISAPPOINTMENT—MAJOR MORTON

“Ricehill, February 3d, 1843.

“Dear Dorinda,—I suppose mother has told you of our privileges and pleasant situation. I only want some of my friends to enjoy it with me to make me perfectly happy. Oh, how I wish you were here to go to the debating society with me and to hear the young men preach! I went to college last night to hear some speeches delivered by the Senior Class. They have questions given, and one takes one side and one another. The two best speeches were made on the question ‘Is a love of fame more injurious than beneficial?’ One young man took the affirmative, and one the negative. They made the best speeches. Then the question was whether ‘the execution of Charles I. was just or not.’ Both of these speakers needed prompting; that is, one of those who had spoken or was to speak took the speaker’s speech which he had written off, and, if he forgot, set him right again. The young man who performed this office was very well qualified for it; he spoke in a low, distinct tone, and seemed to find no difficulty in reading the writing. They speak again in about six weeks. But the chief enjoyments I have are the religious privileges. I can go to the prayer-meeting at the Seminary every Wednesday, and can hear three sermons every Sunday. Don’t you wish you were here, too? Aunt Rice and sister went to the Court House last Sunday evening to hear Mr. Ballantine’s lecture, and as they did not come back very soon the young men came in to supper. While sister and Aunt Rice were away I wrote an account of Mr. Hoge’s and Mr. Howison’s sermons. Well, when Mr. Howison came in, ‘Well, Miss Virginia, have you been by yourself all this evening?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Did you not feel very lonely?’ ‘Not at all.’ ‘Why, what have you been doing?’ ‘I have been writing.’ He paused, laughed, and then said, ‘And what have you been writing?’ And when I told him, I wish you could have seen him! He looked at me for a while as if he did not understand me, and then laughed heartily. He is very easy to laugh, but his manners are as different from Mr. Tayloe’s as can be—but hush! what am I drawing comparisons for? I do not feel in the least restrained where he is, and can talk to him better than to any other gentleman here. Would not you like to have such a teacher?

“Feb. 6th.—I wonder when father will come up; I have been looking for him every day for more than a week. Mr. Nevius was here the other day. I inquired after you, but he had never seen you when he went to Mr. Miller’s. I was quite disappointed, and I wish you would show yourself next time—that is, if you can.

“I very often think of the times we ate roasted corn and turnips in the midst of the corn-field; don’t you remember the evening when the supper-bell rang and we hid our corn among the leaves of the corn that was growing? I never knew how much I loved you or any of my friends until I was separated from them. Mr. Nevius brought a letter for sister from Anne Carus. She still writes in that desponding style you know she was so remarkable for in school, but I am glad to see from her letter that she has come to the conclusion to be contented with her lot.

“I hope you do not indulge in such feelings, and, indeed, you have no reason to do so, for you are only six miles from your mother and friends, and you are with your brother, and I think you will find a valuable friend in Malvina. How do you like your new teacher and situation? If you are ever home-sick, study hard and forget it.

“I have made many pleasant acquaintances here, and among them Mr. Tayloe’s flame! I do not think they are engaged, but he goes there very frequently, and the students plague him half to death about her, and he never denies it. He boards here. She has a fair skin, blue eyes, and almost red hair, but she is very pretty ‘for all that.’ She is about seventeen. There is a little girl about my own age here, who takes your place in my affections while here; she is a granddaughter of Professor Wilson, and lives in his house. Her name is Louisa Caruthers. I will speak to Lou about you, for you must be acquainted. But a truce to this nonsense! Do not show this letter to any one of Mr. Miller’s family, for I feel restrained if I think that my letters are to be shown to any except my particular friends. I will not show yours. Show this to mother, your mother, E. D., and V. Winfree. Give my respects to all Mr. M.’s family, take some of my best love for yourself, and divide the rest among my friends.

“Now farewell, do not forget me, and I will ever be

“Your sincerely attached friend,
“M. V. H.”