From the course, rode to the mansion of Mrs. M——r, the very beau idéal of a Southern dwelling, having on either front very deep porticoes opening into a capacious hall, with winding stairs of stone outside leading on to a gallery twenty feet wide, which is carried round the building on a level with the first-floor story, and is covered by a projecting roof supported by handsome pillars: by this means the inner walls are far removed from the effect of either sun or rain, and the spacious apartments kept both cool and dry. The kitchen and other offices are detached, forming two sides of a quadrangle, of which the house is the third, and the fourth a garden.
Here I saw a negro whose age was supposed by Mrs. M——r to be about one hundred and twenty. He had been in her husband's house, who was an officer in the Spanish service, when she married, and first came here half a century back, and was then considered past labour. The old boy was quite a wag; cracked several jokes, as well as his want of teeth would let him, upon one of the company about to be married; and, on being shown a lump of fine Cavendish tobacco he had asked for, his eye sparkled like a serpent's. Mr. M——r assured me his appetite was good; and that when supplied with abundance of tobacco, he was always as at present, cheerful.
After eleven o'clock P.M. put on my cloak, and, tempted by the fineness of the night, accompanied my friend T——r on his way to his own quarters; returning along the edge of the lofty bluff between whose foot and the river is squeezed the town of Natchez.
Whilst smoking my cigar here, the murmur of a fray came to me, borne upon the light breeze: my curiosity was excited by the indistinct sounds, and I walked along in the direction whence they came for a couple of minutes. As I neared it, the tumult grew in loudness and fierceness; men's hoarse and angry voices, mingled in hot dispute, came crashing upwards as from the deeps of hell. I bent anxiously over the cliff, as though articulate sounds might be caught three hundred feet above their source;—a louder burst ascended, then crack! crack! went a couple of shots, almost together;—the piercing shrieks of a female followed, and to these succeeded the stillness of death.
I lay down upon the ground for several minutes, holding my ear close over the edge of the precipice, but all continued hushed. I then rose, and seated myself upon one of the benches scattered along the heights, almost doubting the evidence of my senses—which told of a wild brawl and probable murder as having had place beneath the very seat I yet occupied—so universal was the tranquillity.
On one hand lay the town of Natchez, sunk in repose; the moon at full, was sleeping over it, in as pure a sky as ever poet drank joy and inspiration from; far below, wrapt in shade, lay the scene of my almost dream, the line of houses denoted by a few scattered lights, and in its front was the mighty Mississippi; rolling on in its majesty through a dominion created by itself, through regions of wilderness born of its waters and still subject to its laws; I could distinctly hear the continuous rush of the strong current; it was the only sound that moved the air. I hearkened intently to this rushing; it had indeed an absolute fascination for the ear: it was not like the hoarse roar of the ocean, now breaking along a line of beach, then again lulled as though gathering breath for a renewed effort; it was a sound monotonous and low, but which filled the ear and awed the very heart. I felt that I was listening to a voice coeval with creation, and that ceased not either by night or day! which the blast of winter could not rouse, or the breath of summer hush; a voice which the buzz and bustle of noon might drive from the ear, but which the uplifting of the foundations of the world alone could silence.
Saturday, 14th.—This being my last day in Natchez, I employed it in visiting any lions that might hitherto have escaped me; amongst other unlooked-for wonders, was an exhibition of pictures advertised from England, and purporting to be a choice collection of ancient and modern masters. One picture, a Bacchus and Ariadne, was finely painted; but had suffered a good deal from time and travel, combined with a dip in the Mississippi. The remainder of the collection was composed of worse pictures than are offered to connoisseurs at a pawnbroker's sale in London. The proprietor informed me that they were to be brought to the hammer and sold without reserve in a few days, when he anticipated a lively sale for the large pictures, the quantity of raw material used up in the work being a great consideration with the lovers of art here. I looked upon the mere fact of such a speculation being made in these countries as creditable to the people and worthy of notice. Natchez will, no doubt, one day have an academy of her own; men can hardly fail to paint where nature offers so much that is beautiful for their imitation; and, indeed, I have in the remotest places seen attempts by self-taught artists that have convinced me example and encouragement alone are needed.
Learning that the steamer Carolton was to sail this afternoon, I once more descended into Natchy-under-hill, where I had an interview with the captain, who was, I found, a worthy legitimate follower of old Father Ocean, recently transferred to the service of one of his greatest tributaries: he readily promised to delay sailing for a couple of hours for me, until the play was over; this point being settled, I felt at ease, and accompanied Mr. M——r to his mother's place to dinner. The wind came from the south, and was indeed as perfumed as though blowing "o'er a bed of violets." The perfume of early spring began to exhale from the magnolia and Cape jasmin, to a degree that rendered distance necessary to prevent its being over cloying. I felt my spirits bound within me, as on a half-wild, little thorough-bred Mississippi nag, I rattled up and down the well-turfed slopes lying along the edge of the forest.