A saffron-hued young man, tall and lean, with a sharp nose and thin face, sat on the steps of the White Horse. "The ager got hold of me yesterday and shook me right smart," he said. "It is a bad place for the ager. The people that used to live here have all moved away. The land is run out. They have terbakkered it to death. We can't raise nothing, and it ain't no use to try." He pointed to a deserted farmhouse standing on a hill, and said, "There's a place the owner has left to grow up to weeds. He can't get nobody to carry it on." A stately brick mansion, standing back from the highway, once the residence of a man of wealth and taste, with blinds, portico, and carriage - house, elaborate in design and finish, was in the last stages of ruin. The portico had settled away from the house. The roof was hollowed like a weak-backed horse, the chimneys were tumbling, blinds swinging by a hinge, windows smashed, outhouses tottering with age and neglect, all presenting a most repulsive appearance. How changed from former years, when the courteous, hospitable proprietor of the estate received his guests at the magnificent portico, ushered them to his spacious halls, opened the sideboard and drank to their health, while attendant slaves took the horses to the stables! It is easy to fill up the picture, the grand dinner, the walk over the estate, the stroll by the river, the duck - shooting on the marshes, the gang of slaves in the tobacco-patch, the army of black and yellow servants in the kitchens, chambers, and parlours. When this old house was in its glory, this section of Maryland was in its prime; but how great the change! It was sad to think of the departed days. Our reflections were of what the place had been, what it was, and what it might have been, had Maryland, in the beginning of her history, accepted freedom instead of slavery. Taverns were not to be found in the vicinity of Pamunkey, and it was necessary that we should seek private hospitality for the night. A first attempt for accommodations brought us to a house, but the owner had no oats, hay, or corn; a second ride in from the highway brought us to a whitewashed farmhouse, with immense outside chimneys, piazza, adjoining mud - chinked negro quarters, with chimneys of sticks and clay, and a dozen surrounding buildings, as usual, all tumbling to pieces. Explanations as to who we were secured kind hospitality from the host, a gray - headed man, with a family consisting of his wife, three grown-up sons, and nine adult daughters. "Such as I have is at your service, gentlemen," said our courteous host. But he had no hay, no oats, no corn, nothing but shucks for our horses. Our supper consisted of fried pork, fried salt shad, pone, wheat cakes, pea - coffee, strawberry-leaf tea, sweetened with damp brown sugar. "We don't raise butter in this section of the State," said our host, in apology. The supper was relished after an afternoon ride of thirty miles. The evening being chilly, a roaring fire was kept up in the old-fashioned fireplace. The daughters put on their most attractive attire, and left nothing untried to entertain their three visitors. Could we dance? Unfortunately we could not. It was a serious disappointment. They evidently had anticipated having "a good time." One of the ladies could play a violin, and treated us to jigs, reels, and hornpipes. "You must sing the gentlemen a song, Jane," said one. Jane turned scarlet at the suggestion, but finally, after polite requests and a little urging, turned her back to the company, faced the corner of the room, and sang a love song. She could sing She could sing "Dixie," but knew nothing of the "Star Spangled Banner" or "Hail Columbia." young ladies were in sympathy with the Rebellion. The "It must be expected that Southern people should sympathise with the South," said our host. "You own some slaves?" I said. "I have three servants, sir. I think," he added, "that the people of eastern Maryland would be more favourable towards the Union if they could be assured that the war would not finally become one of emancipation. My neighbour over there had a servant who ran away into the camp of one of the New York regiments. He went after him. The colonel told the master to take him, but the servant would n't leave till the colonel drew his pistol and threatened to shoot him. But notwithstanding that, I reckon that the war will make them restless." It was spoken frankly and unreservedly. It was pitiable to walk round his farm in the morning, to see everywhere the last stages of decay,- poor, worn-out lands, brokendown fences, weedy fields, pastures without a blade of grass, leafless orchards, old buildings, — everything a wreck; and yet to know that he was wedded to the very institution which was reducing the country to a wilderness. He was not an owner of the estate, but a rentee. He paid one hundred and fifty dollars rental for three hundred acres of land, and yet confessed that he was growing poorer year by year. Tobacco, corn, and oats were the only crops. He could get no manure. He could make no hay. He kept two cows, but made no butter. The land was being exhausted, and he did not know what he should come to. All energy and life were gone; we saw only a family struggling against fate, and yet clinging with a death-grapple to the system that was precipitating their ruin. 66 Why do you not go to Illinois ?" "Oh, sir, I am too old to move. Besides, this is home." We pictured the boundless resources of the West, the fertile lands, the opportunities for bettering his condition, but our words fell upon an inert mind. As a last argument, we said: "You have a large family of daughters. In Illinois there are thousands of young men wanting wives, who will make good husbands. There are few young men here, but good homes await your daughters there." There were blushes, smiles, and sparkling eyes from the "sacred nine." My fellow correspondent of the Chicago Tribune then drew a florid picture of the West, of the need of the State for such good-looking, virtuous ladies. His eloquence was persuasive. One of the daughters wanted to know how far it was to Illinois; but, when informed that it was a thousand miles, her countenance fell. Bliss so far away was unattainable. We passed a second night with our host, who, during our absence, sent one of the servants a dozen miles to obtain some butter, so courteous an entertainer was he. Yet he was struggling with poverty. He kept three slaves to wait upon his nine grown-up unmarried |