Even the pine forests in which he rambled in boyhood, are still
hallowed in his recollection.--_Farmer's Register_.
There is a bright and glowing loveliness in the climate of Virginia.
Its sudden vicissitudes, like the smiles of the coquette, bring with
them all the excitements of pleasing variety, and we half forget its
momentary frowns in the constancy of its brightness. Spring dallies
away all its freshness and gentleness among the hills, the flowers and
the forests of Virginia; at this season of the year the cloudless sky,
the exhilarating luxury of the noontide sun, the dark yet bright green
of her woods and meadows, and the busy hum of animated nature, steal
over the heart with a holy and impassioned sympathy. Habit, with all
its deadening attritions, cannot wear off that admiration and rapture
with which we revel in the softness of a Virginian day. Italy's
burning sky awakens into ecstacy the sluggish native of England, and
he breathes in polished verse the brilliancy of that clime which
stands in bold relief against the gloomy fogs of his own sea-girt
isle. We catch the delusive truth which poetry whispers, and forget
that the climate of Italy is saddened, even in its brightness, by a
tedious monotony which falls on the sated appetite. It is a spirit
without animation, and burns on with the steadiness and glare of a
sepulchral lamp. In Virginia it is diversified by endless and varied
blushes of gentleness and beauty. The laziest cloud seems to roll away
in voluptuous ether. The breeze murmurs through the forest, and
lingers there to gather all its swelling fragrance. Every thing is
redolent of that freshness of nature which fancy would invoke for the
bridal of the earth and sky.
"And all the scene in short, sky, earth and sea
Breathes like a bright-eyed face--that laughs out openly."
It was in this beautiful season of the year that, on turning an angle
of the forest, the Chalgrave plantation with its stately mansion,
extensive champaign and numerous cottages, broke upon our anxious
view. The last rays of the setting sun poured their struggling light
over the broad bosom of the Chesapeake, which reflected in trembling
obscurity the shadowy outline of the forest, hill and plain. One bound
from the chariot, placed me in my mother's arms. She was dignified
even in her tenderness; and disengaging herself from me with a kiss,
she left me to the affectionate salutation of Lucy, the warm greeting
of Frederick, and the smiles of my uncle. A scuffle now ensued among
the negroes who should be the first to grasp my extended hand; for in
the fulness of my joy, I had offered this simple politeness with more
of feeling than generally characterizes this striking indication of
the well-bred Virginian. My old nurse sobbed, and laughed aloud in the
rapture of her pleasure; the ostler commenced a tedious history of the
pedigree, form, and swiftness of every colt on the estate; while the
dining room servant told me that he was (Je-oh) delighted I had not
learned to chew tobacco or wear striped pantaloons. For every
salutation I gave, I received a compliment remarkable for its wildness
of metaphor and for the affection which accompanied it. "Mass Lionel
(said one) is a true Diomed, every inch of him." "He is born like the
eagle, (cried another) a gentleman, and a man of spirit." "He is
prettier (exclaimed a third) than all Miss Lucy's flowers!" I laughed
outright at their odd and curious courtesy, and dismissing them with a
promise that I would visit the aged and infirm in the morning, I
lingered at the door, listening to their light and frolic laugh, which
mingled and lost itself in the murmuring breeze which was now dancing
over the Chesapeake.
And this was slavery! That heart must be torpid--that sensibility
obtuse, which could experience such a display of unbought affection,
without emotion. This devotion disarms slavery of half its gorgons
dire, and leaves us the gratifying consolation, that its abstract vice
is softened into gentleness by the humanity of its practice. Laws are
not always the truest indications of the moral tone of society. They
are the heartless creations of policy, necessity and faction, and take
their pride of place from the darkest passions of human nature. Power
and obedience are the necessary components of their being; penalty and
punishment the active spirit of their existence. Fully armed, they
spring into the conflict of virtue and depravity, and bear an iron
front, independent of season, time and circumstance. Policy may rivet
their fetters, yet they fall inoperative and harmless beneath the
silent force of that gigantic lever of society--public opinion.
Slavery, considered with reference to the laws of Virginia, is a state
of penalty, degradation and suffering. Viewed in relation to its
practical existence, it is a condition of ease, tranquillity and
protection. There is no misery where there is no complaint; no
wretchedness where all is peace; and if happiness arise from
comparative situation, the Virginian slave eminently enjoys it. He is
far removed from the starvation and nakedness of European pauperism.
He is a being who invites kindness by acknowledging gratitude; who
excites humanity by the noiseless virtue of his life; and who awakens
protection by the constancy of his fidelity. The master feels the
pride of protection expanding into a chivalry of defence; the slave,
in confiding in it, makes no other offering than that of fidelity.
These blended feelings invigorate and form the strength and harmony of
social life, and eloquently argue to us the truth of that simple
maxim, that there can be no fear where all is confidence--no treachery
where there is no oppression. The Virginian slave becomes a member of
the family in which he was born, and what mutation soever of fortune
attend him, his heart is never recreant to the scenes of his
childhood. Proud in the prosperity of his "_family_," yet never
faithless in its adversity, he is the living chronicler of its rise
and elevation, and cannot--will not, believe that it can fall. He is
the greatest aristocrat on earth; and the surest avenue to his
friendship, is made by that vanity which induces him to believe that
the family in which he was _raised_, is noble, prosperous and proud.
Quick to perceive vulgarity, and constant in his hatred of it, he
wears his pride gracefully, and his dignity with calm tranquillity.
Public opinion will suffer no master to use him inhumanly. Undisturbed
by the cares and vexations attendant on the support of a family, he is
clothed with comfort, and has enough of finery to be a Sunday
exquisite; and though he be degraded in the order of society, he feels
and believes himself to be an important link in the chain of life.
Claudian's beautiful lines convey no paradox when applied to the
slavery of Virginia:
"Nunquam gratior, extat libertas
Quam sub pio rege."
Home, with all its endearments of early association and present
enjoyment, was now within my eager embrace, and my affections poured
out their suppressed enthusiasm, in the expanded circle of tranquil
rapture, even as a bold stream which gushes up to the full fountain
which gave it life. This was _home!_--that ideal abstraction which
takes the deepened hue of reality, and which leaps into existence,
independent of all control. Strange, powerful, unconquerable passion!
It asks no aid from the sternness of reason; it demands no support
from the habits or pursuits of life. The heart is its chosen dwelling
place; and around this hallowed altar, memory invokes her active
drama, and fancy scatters its opiate dreams. It burns on amid the
eternal snows of the poles, and glows with unextinguishable ardor
under the sunny skies of the equator. It breathes its soft melody to
the slumbers of the child--stimulates the energy of virtue--nerves the
arm of courage--chequers with light the gloom of despair--invigorates
the hope of the exile--chastens into patriotism the wild riot of
ambition--and while it is the first passion of our nature, it is the
last vital fragment in the wreck of mortality.
The history of one day at Chalgrave, was the history of the year. Its
portals were ever open to the neighbor and stranger, and a constant
throng of company, attracted by its easy hospitality, rendered it gay,
social and animated. Each morning the old bell summoned the household
to prayers, which by their simplicity, awakened religious awe, without
melancholy, and excited humble piety, without fanaticism. Breakfast
was a feast, where the mongrel compound of dinner and supper appeared
like the relics of a banquet for giants. Earth, sky and sea produced
their tributary luxuries; and we were left not to wonder at its
extravagance, but at that generous hospitality which found its honor
in profusion. This important hour, so useful in dividing the day,
having passed, the old chariot was regularly wheeled to the door;
ponies for the ladies, blooded horses for the gentlemen, and colts for
the boys, were brought out, and the whole household prepared for a
ride. Any route would suffice--any highway would be agreeable; but the
ride was as necessary to a Virginian's existence, as sedentary
grumbling is to an Englishman's. He is then happy--for early and
unbroken habit has made him for one half of his life a perfect
centaur. On horseback he experiences no solitude, and in its
exhilarating exercise, he can forget his much loved politics. The
excursion being finished, the company to please their own feelings as
much as the pride of their host, would gather around the stables, and
for hours critically examine, and earnestly dispute the merits and
points of every blooded colt. Dinner was the feast of a caravan. At
its close, my mother would retire, followed by the ladies--and at the
door she would make a curious old fashioned court'sy, which my uncle,
graceful as he was, uniformly returned by a bow, equally aboriginal
and grotesque. The pure wine of Madeira now sparkled on the board, and
awoke flashes of wit from the indolent, and started from its dream of
torpor that spirit-stirring eloquence which sleeps in the intellectual
quiescence of the Virginian character. Festivity was never prolonged
to debauch, and a firm step carried the gentlemen into the parlor,
where the ladies, chess and newspapers, beguiled the lethargy of time.
Arthur Ludwell had resolved to pursue his studies at the College of
William and Mary, and his determinations had influenced my mother to
send me to the same institution. In a few days I was summoned into the
library, where my mother and Frederick were prepared to persuade me
into the scheme,--she by the resistless weapon of maternal tenderness,
and he by the deceitful logic of ambition. I heard with patience their
advice and flattery; and first learned to dread, from an intimation of
my brother, that fiend-like spectre, which in the guise of a chancery
suit, greets the rising opulence of every family in Virginia--lends a
hue of melancholy to its prosperity, and never quits its iron grasp,
until it shriek a requiem over the utter ruin and despair of its
victim.
"You are affluent," said Frederick, "but whether we gain or lose one
chancery suit, it is highly probable that you may yet be forced to
engage in some profession which can ensure an honorable support. Can
you object to the practice of law? It is a profession full of profit
and honor--the highway to intellectual distinction and political
advancement. Enter then diligently on its study, and how rude soever
may be its details, you will quickly find that its pursuit will
imperceptibly fashion your mind into a passionate love for its wisdom
and philosophy. Look on it as a jealous coquette; give it all your
attention or none; and success will be as honorable to your genius as
it is gratifying to your pride."
"Go! my dear boy," said my uncle, who now entered the room, "for we
all belong to William and Mary--it is the cradle of our genius, and
the nurse of our chivalry. I care naught about your profession, but
for God's sake, learn something about the mystery of this fatal
chancery."
I might have been stubborn! My indolence reeled under the fear of this
dark suit, and I instantly resolved to propitiate the demon by
becoming a priest in his temple.