The beautiful Christian custom of lighting a Christmas tree—bringing "the glory of Lebanon, the fir tree, the pine tree, and the box," to hallow our festival—had not yet obtained in Virginia. We had heard much of the German Christmas tree, but had never seen one. Lizzie Gilmer, who was to marry a younger son of the house, was intimate with the Tuckers, and brought great reports of the preparation of the first Christmas tree ever seen in Virginia.
I had not yet been allowed to attend the parties of "grown-up" people, but our young friend John Randolph Tucker was coming of age on Christmas Eve, and great pressure was brought to bear upon my aunt to permit me to attend the birthday celebration. This was a memorable occasion. "Rare Ran Tucker" was a prime favorite with the older set, handsome, distingué, and already marked for the high place he attained later on the honor roll of his country.
My aunt could not persist in her rules for me, and I was permitted, provided I went as "a little girl in a high-necked dress," to accompany Lizzie. My much-discussed gown was of blue silk, opening over white, and laced from throat to hem with narrow black velvet! Never, never was girl as happy! The tree loaded with tiny baskets of bonbons, each enriched with an original rhyming jest or sentiment, was magnificent, the supper delicious, the speeches and poems from the two old judges (Tucker) were apt and witty. I went as a little girl—a close bud—but no "high-necked" gown ever prisoned a happier heart.
It seems to me, as I look back, that my University friends, Mr. Schéle de Vere, James Southall, William C. Rives, Jr., George Wythe Randolph, Roger Pryor, et al., felt all at once a very kind interest in my education. They sent me no end of books. The last presented me with a gorgeous Shakespeare, also Macaulay's "Essays," Hazlitt's "Age of Elizabeth" and Leigh Hunt's "Fancy and Imagination," and came himself to read them to me, along with Shelley, Keats, Byron, and Coleridge. Mr. Schéle sent me much music and French literature, he also coming to read the latter with me. William C. Rives loved my music, to which he could listen by the hour. I kept the friendship of these brilliant men as long as they lived. Only two lived to be old.
The Tuckers were a family of literary distinction—One of the happiest and wittiest of them was my dear Lizzie's husband, St. George Tucker. Anything, everything, would provoke a pun, a parody, or a graceful rhyme.
When it was proposed to change the name of "Competition"—a court-house village in the county of Pittsylvania—to "Chatham," he produced a pencil and paper, and in a moment gave:—
"Illustrious Pitt, how glorious is thy fame,
When Competition dies in Chatham's name."
He was a friend of G. P. R. James, whom he once surprised eating a very "ripe" cheese.
"You see, Tucker, I am, like Samson, slaying my thousands."