Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VIII, Part 3

Cannonball, Saint Paul's Episcopal Church, Norfolk, Virginia. (lori05871 from Rural Vermont, Wiki Commons)

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VIII, part 3. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." or "M.J.B." (Milton Johnston Binckley, 1902-1991). Occasionally, additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.
 
Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.

This is the final section of the transcription annotated by P.D. Binckley.]

In the spring, Cousin Eliza Hughes invited me to visit them in Norfolk. I had not been there since I was a little girl. I dismissed my classes and hied me joyfully to that lovely city. 

It was so nice to see them again. The Judge and Cousin Eliza had two sons. Cousin Robbie was married to a girl he'd known in his student days at William and Mary College at Williamsburg. I think he graduated at the University of Virginia also. Floyd was the other son and still at home, but engaged to a lovely girl, Nannie Ricks, whom Cousin Eliza adored.

I had a gorgeous time, of course. Floyd's friends called on me and took me out. They had a queer custom in Norfolk, which still survives I think. Floyd would hang around the house till ten o'clock in the evening before starting out to make a call. And I'd be thinking of going to bed when a gentleman would be announced. They had a very much nicer custom, though. The first time a young man took me to the theatre, Cousin Eliza told me to ask him in when he brought me home, and take him to the dining room for a little supper. We found on the table a beautiful cake and brandied peaches.

On [Sunday] we went to church, old Christ Church with the British cannon ball, still plainly visible, embedded in its front wall. 

One of the young men I'd met at Alleghany Springs was from Norfolk, I remembered and I mentioned it to Floyd. He told me he afterward inquired about him, but he did not belong to any of the clubs. Which evidently disposed of him. I didn't care as I'd only danced with him. I never bothered with him in the daytime.

Then I went to Grandmother in Salem. [Before 1883, since Jane died in that year. -- P.D.B.] [Correction: Jane Johnston Mitchell/Michel died January 6, 1892, at age eighty.] 

In spite of Aunt Charlotte, Grandmother and Aunt Sue were not going to stay put, it seemed. Grandmother's only surviving brother, Uncle Joe and his wife, Aunt Lily [Lydia McLane -- M.J.B.] who had lived in Washington for years, wanted them to come to Washington to live and be near them. Uncle Joe had promised to get Aunt Sue a government clerkship. So they were going. And they wanted me to join them there. I had a couple of portraits to paint and then I could go. 

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the artist's full signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.

Cousin Eliza Hughes = Eliza Mary Johnston Hughes (1825-1909), daughter of Eliza Madison Preston Johnston (1803-1828) and Charles Clement Johnston (1795-1832).
The Judge = Robert William Hughes (1821-1901).
Cousin Robbie = Robert Morton Hughes, Sr. (1855-1940), married to Martha "Mattie" Louisiana Smith Hughes (1853-1944) since 1879).
Floyd = Floyd Hughes (1861-1940).
Nannie Ricks = Annie M. Ricks (1862-1891). Married Floyd on April 8, 1885, in Norfolk.
Aunt Charlotte = Charlotte Elizabeth (Griffin) Mitchell/Michel (1829-1921).  
Grandmother = Jane Mary Wood Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892). 
Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940).
Uncle Joe = Joseph Eggleston Johnston (1807-1891).
Aunt Lily = Lydia Milligan Sims McLane (1822-1887).]

Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VIII, Part 1

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VIII, part 1. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." or "M.J.B." (Milton Johnston Binckley, 1902-1991). Occasionally, additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.
 
Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

Mother was now living in California, in Santa Rosa. An old friend, Senator Thompson of California, when not in Washington lived with his family in Santa Rosa. He had got Mother a position there as town librarian. His sister, Mrs. Huie lived in San Francisco. It was a friendship of many years standing.

My grandparents Michel when young had moved to Louisville, Kentucky and Mother was born there [in 1836 -- M.J.B.] [corrected: February 16, 1838]. The Thompsons lived there and became intimate and beloved friends. When Miss Thompson married Dr. Huie, Grandmother dressed her for her wedding. The bride and groom went west in a covered wagon, arriving in San Francisco when it consisted of only a few houses and the Spanish Mission Dolores.  

My grandparents did not stay in Louisville, but grew homesick and returned to Virginia and Mother grew up there. Though she loved Virginia, she was always proud of being born in Kentucky. It's a fine old State, too. 

I went to Lynchburg and had a class there. Mother had left me her kiln and her china painting class and I rented a very tiny one story house on Church Street for a studio. I boarded at Mrs. Jordan's a block or two away. The house was full and all I could get was half a big room, sharing it with a school teacher. She was out all day at school, and I was out all day at my studio.

In the evenings she went to a big revival going on in the town, often staying there till midnight. I went out with the unregenerate, so to speak, some of my young friends, or they came to see me in the parlor. So, though we slept in the same big bed, we seldom saw each other awake. When I'd get home she'd be in bed asleep, or vice-versa. She went out early in the morning and I later. 

There was but one key to the room and we arranged that the one going out last should put the key in the drawer of a table in the hall downstairs. But she often forgot and took the key with her, and I couldn't get in my room. Then I had to go to the revival where I'd find her laboring with a sinner and looking very holy. She'd be hurt at the interruption, but I got the key.

One of the boarders was a musician, Theodore Presser. He edited a musical magazine named The Etude [The Etude], which still survives, I believe. He had a piano in his room which he pounded louder than I had ever heard a piano pounded before. He must have played with his fists.

One day I saw a book on our table and being a bookish creature, picked it up and glanced through it. It was an anthology and to my amazement, I came across some little verses I had written when we lived in suburban Chicago, called "Clouds." Verse was never a form of expression with me. In all my life I never wrote but very few bits of verse, very trifling ones. I happened to be looking up into the sky that day. I always showed everything to Dad. As I learned afterward, he showed the verse to an intimate friend of his, a literary man, Mr. F. F. Browne. [This was Francis Fisher Brown, whose papers contain some correspondence with John Milton Binckley -- P.D.B.] 

He sent them to a publisher or a magazine -- I never knew and being but a child never gave the matter any thought. They gave me a dollar, and told me the verses had been paid for. I never saw them in print till I chanced to come across them in Lynchburg. I did not bother to remember the magazine to which the anthology credited them.

The teacher borrowed my copy of Longfellow and never returned it. And it was a special copy, too. It was the prize at a spelling bee the neighbors got up in suburban Chicago. Everyone was in it, grownups as well as children. Our family were good spellers, and Dad and I were the last on the floor. The Dad got tangled up in the word 'unparalleled.' He knew perfectly well how to spell it but was not accustomed to spelling aloud.

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the artist's full signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.

Mother = Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
My grandparents Michel = Harvey Mitchell/Michel (1799-1866) and Jane Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892). 

Senator Thompson = Representative Thomas Larkin Thompson (1838-1898), son of Robert Augustine Thompson (1805-1876) and Marion Satterlee Thompson (d. 1905).  
His sister, Mrs. Huie = Sarah Elizabeth Thompson Huie (1827-1905), had married Dr. George William Huie of Louisville (1825-1877) in 1848.

Theodore Presser (1848-1925), musical director at Hollins College in the early 1880s; began The Etude in October 1883 in Lynchburg; published in Philadelphia from 1884 forward.

Dad = John Milton Binckley (circa 1831-1878). 
Francis Fisher Brown (1843-1913). See The Newberry Library (Chicago) for his papers. Link here.]

Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, Part 4

French Market Levee. Barracks Card, 1888. New Orleans (Wiki Commons)

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, part 4. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading. 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

A wealthy man, whom I had met at Alleghany Springs and who had bought several of my pictures, now sent me a photo of a favorite horse and wanted me to make a painting from it. I practically rode that horse to New Orleans.

I'd always wanted to see that city and thought I'd probably never be that near again. So I took the money for that picture and made a little trip down to the Crescent city. 

Aunt Sue knew a lady there, Mrs. Lemmon, of a distinguished family who kept a very exclusive boarding-house on St. Charles Street where I could stay. In those days a Southern gentlewoman who found it necessary to support herself could do but two things. She could teach, if she were competent. If not, there was but one alternative. Southern women were usually notable housewives, so she could keep a boarding-house.

When I got on the train for New Orleans, I had [taken] a lower berth and the Pullman conductor turned out to be a young man. He was very polite. He told me that if no one had taken the drawing room by dark, he was allowed to give it as usual rates and he'd then give me the drawing room.  

No one took it so he ushered me in, and I traveled in such state as I'd never known before. But his attentions were so profuse and he regaled me with the story of his life, and I became much bored. I finally got rid of him by saying I had to write a letter. I wrote one to Aunt Sue, and in it told about the absurd conductor and how ridiculous he'd made himself. He was hovering around and offered to mail the letter for me, assuring me that he'd be on hand next morning to help me off the train.

I woke about daylight next morning and looked out my window at the most enchanting scene. The train seemed to be running along the surface of Lake Ponchartrain [Pontchartrain]. There must have been a causeway under the water, but it didn't show at all. In the sky the silver sickle of a moon in its last quarter.  When we reached New Orleans a few hours later, the conductor, to my relief, did not appear. As I got off I caught a glimpse of him in the distance, but he promptly turned his back when he saw me. I [chuckled] to myself. He had evidently read my letter. 

I met some very nice young men at Mrs. Lemmon's and they took me around sightseeing. I had a wonderful time in that fascinating old city. 

There was a charming Englishman named Nicholls, and a picturesque young Mexican named Arturo Paz. I had never met a Mexican before, and was much intrigued by his gorgeous dark eyes -- like a deer's eyes. But his only idea for entertaining a girl was to make love to her in the most poetical and extravagant way -- not at all convincing. (Evidently not meant to be). 

Then there were several nice young Americans. And there was one American of a different type. A cousin of Mrs. Lemmon's came to call one evening and I met him. He was a very handsome man, dark, about forty, [with languid] manners and a superior air.  Considered very eligible, No doubt spoiled by feminine adulation. He was called Colonel, but I don't know that he was ever in the Army. When a gentleman in the Deep South gets along in his thirties, he automatically becomes a Colonel. I was accustomed to men making some effort to be agreeable. When he just sat there expecting to be entertained, I too just sat there expecting to be entertained. So nothing happened. Impasse. Mrs. Lemmon had gone out for a moment and looked surprised when she returned to find a dead silence.

I loved the French Quarter with its lacelike ironwork and its verandas on every story of the houses -- they call them galleries there. It looked so [incredible] to see bananas growing on trees and oranges growing on trees, too. And live orange blossoms! I never saw any but artificial ones before. 

One of the men took me out to Spanish Fort. He got me a brick of ice cream and one for himself. (This was before the day of cones.) I never saw one before, nor did he, being a Northern man. So we didn't know how to manage it. We should have opened the paper wrapper at one end. But we opened it half way down, with disastrous results. The grass got most of it.

I did not have time for the French Market, but saw it after all. As I started back to La Grange [LaGrange], our train got as far as the French Market and was held up by a train wreck farther up the road. We stood there for several hours till the tracks were cleared. Passengers got out and walked around in the market. And I think every one of us bought a whole bunch of bananas. Our car racks were choked with them. But they came in very handy to eat, our train being so late.

Banana Trees in bloom in New Orleans in 1880s. George Francois Mugnier

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the artist's full signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.

Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940).
Mrs. Lemmon = not sure who this is yet. Contemporary newspapers mention a Mrs. Lemmon "of California," and Mrs. Lemmon connected to cultural events in New Orleans. Remotely possible connection to: The John and Sara (Plummer) Lemmon papers, 1863-1911 | University and Jepson Herbaria Archives, University of California, Berkeley. Link here.]

Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, Part 3

Nella Fontaine Binckley, mid-1880s. Julius Lindsay Schaub, LaGrange, Georgia

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, part 3. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading. 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

That fall I took a position as art teacher in a Methodist college for girls in La Grange, Georgia. Three of us young teachers shared a huge bedroom. Ella Pond, the music teacher was from Boston. She and I were accustomed to warm rooms in winter. But here the ceiling was lofty, the windows very large -- and loose. And the only heat was a tiny grate. We nearly froze, and got dreadful colds. Stella was the third, but she was indigenous to the soil and didn't mind. She was a very quiet girl and I've forgotten her family name and what she taught.

The President of the college, Dr. Heidt, was a good natured jolly sort of man and we all liked him. Being a Methodist, he disapproved of dancing. But the young men of the town got around that by calling their dancing parties "sociables!" I always had a shrewd suspicion that he was not in the least fooled, but in the kindness of his heart winked at it.

They had very nice dances. The musicians were all colored of course, a fiddle or two and a guitar and always a banjo. Don't imagine that a fiddle is the same thing as a violin. Not at all. They may look alike, but in the capable hands of a darkey, the music is an altogether different thing. And it's the perfect music for square dances. One darkey would call out the figures according to his own fancy and hugely enjoyed doing it.They entered into the spirit of it as I don't think white people could ever do. 

The youngsters of the present day don't know how much fun square dances are. The quadrille was a gay and lively dance, the figures called out. The lancers, on the contrary was a slow and stately affair, no calling out, as the figures were always the same and everybody knew them. The Southern balls always had half the programme square dances. The round dances were the waltz, the polka and an occasional schottische. The Highland schottische was a little different [and] very pretty. In La Grange, a nice young fellow named Dixie always got them to play the Highland schottische and he and I danced it. Nobody else seemed to know it, so we had the floor to ourselves while everybody looked on. All balls invariably wound up with the Virginia reel, an even more rollicking dance than the quadrille.

Down there in the [Deep] South, serenading was customary. Not like the Spanish and Mexican serenades, which were solo affairs. In La Grange the young men would bring along several darkey musicians who would play beneath the window of the lady, or ladies. We had serenades several times under our windows. The ladies so honored were supposed to wave a handkerchief from their window. In private houses, I believe refreshments were generally offered to the serenaders by servants, or men of the household. The ladies, of course, did not appear.

During the winter a gentleman I had met in Salem -- older than the young men I knew there -- was passing on his way to New Orleans and stopped off in La Grange to call on me. I took Ella down to the parlour with me, of course. We had those awful colds, and he told us his way of curing a cold. He'd get a bottle of whiskey, lock himself in his hotel room, drink it and go to bed. In the morning his cold was gone. We were impressed.

Next day, feeling pretty desperate, we decided we'd like to try it. It was a local option town, but we learned we could get some at the drug store, especially as we knew the clerk. We went there after school, coughed piteously, and he sold us a flask. I imagine it was about half a pint. We didn't know, being inexperienced. That evening we divided it into two glasses. Stella had no cold, so got none. Besides, in case the house burned down in the night it was necessary to have someone able to drag us out, as we expected to be utterly incompetent ourselves. Ella was a few years older than I and knew how to fix the glasses up with water and sugar to make the stuff palatable. I had never tasted whiskey, except once as a medicine when I had a chill and Mother dosed me.

There was a big round table in our room and we sat there and drank it. Ella drank hers right down but I sipped mine. It seemed to take hold pretty promptly. It was not long before Stella and I ceased to get any response from Ella. Then she slumped, her head on the table, and went to sleep. Meanwhile, my head had become very buzzy and I had a conviction that I had better not try to walk. But my mind was perfectly clear. We thought Ella had better get to bed, so Stella, with a little help from me (not much) got her there. There were two big beds in the room, Stella had one and Ella and I had the other. There were four pillows on our bed. Ella got partly awake as she was pushed into bed on the nearest side. She piled three pillows under her head and this propping her up considerably, put the other pillow on her chest. Then she stretched out her arm and drowsily requested, "Gimme 'nother pillow!" 

She looked so funny that we were in fits of laughter. Stella said "you ought to make a sketch of her, Nel" adding derisively, "but I suppose you're too drunk to do it." "No, I'm not!" I declared. I pulled open the drawer, got out paper and pencil, and made the sketch. (I have it still.) Ella and I, fearing we might be incapacitated later, had prudently undressed and donned our robes de nuit. So, when Stella's back was turned, I seized the opportunity and managed to negotiate the short distance to the bed, crawled in and immediately went to sleep. When I woke the next morning I learned that poor Stella had been up all night with Ella, who had been very sick. It did actually cure our colds, but I wouldn't recommend it.

One of the young men who used to call on us, a young lawyer named Gaffney, was joking with me about law and offered to lend me a copy of Blackstone to read. He did. When I was ready to return it, (I can't say I had read it) I looked in the back of it where there were forms for various deeds, but couldn't find anything to fit the case. However, I got a sheet of legal cap and made out a "Deed of Return," filling it all in and sent it to him with the book. He told me afterward it was all perfectly legal and he had filed it at the courthouse. I presume it's still there.

At one of the sociables, some of the girls had [taken] a notion to powder their hair. I powdered mine, and with a pink dress and a tiny black patch of court plaster placed at a strategic point on my cheek, it was very becoming. But afterwards! For several days I was brushing out that powder and going around gray haired.

All winter Ella had been making disparaging remarks about the shiftless ways of Southerners, gates hanging on one hinge, etc. With her New England energy and neatness it was shocking to her. But I told her up North people had to be energetic to keep warm in that climate. In the Spring, when it turned terribly hot, poor Ella wilted completely. After her teaching was done, all she could do was to lie in the bed and wave a palm leaf fan -- feebly. She said she took back everything she had said about Southerners. She declared every gate might be off the hinges and she'd never be able to fix them in that climate. Or care whether they were fixed or not.   

Smith Hall, LaGrange College (Wiki Commons)

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the artist's full signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.

Ella, Nella and Stella = Ella Pond of Boston, Nella Fontaine Binckley, and Stella of Georgia.

La Grange = LaGrange, Georgia.
Dr. Heidt = John Wesley Heidt (1841-1909) served as president of LaGrange College from 1880 to 1885.]

Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, Part 2

Roanoke College (formerly Virginia Institute) in late 1800s. Wiki Commons. 

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, part 2. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading. 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

There was a large garden at the back, already flourishing under Grandmother's green thumb. We had fresh vegetables galore. Their cook was named Mollie and I went into the kitchen one morning to get acquainted with her. Her baby was playing on the floor, a little pickaninny as black as the ace of spades with eyes like shoe buttons. I asked its name. "Her name's Hope, Miss Nellie, but we calls her Hopy for short."

Mollie was a genial soul and I often went in and talked with her. She told me she had a sister who was a cook to a fine family in Washington. They were Episcopalians, it seemed, and her sister begged Mollie to join that church, as she had done herself. Mollie had visited her once in Washington and had been much impressed. "She tuk me with her to the 'Piscolopian Chu'ch and we set in de gallery. It sho' was de biggest an' mos' splendiforous chu'ch I ever seen in my life. I reckon dey has chu'ches like dat in Heaven. I didn't know what it was all about, but I riz an' fell with 'em."

In spite of all this elegance, however, Mollie remained a Baptist. She told me of a friend of hers who appeared to have solved the religious problem very neatly. "When I last sees Sally, she says to me, she says, 'I'm a Catholic now,' says she. Oh, is you says I. 'Yes,' says she. 'I was a Methodist at my las' place, de folks dere was Methodists, you know. An' de place befo' dat I was a Baptis'. I always tries to suit de folks,' says she."

We were often at the Griffin homestead, and I loved them and called them cousin. Em, the daughter of the house, was a few years older than I and we were great friends. She was small and dark and a great belle. Strings of admirers. One was an Englishman who asked her to marry him every time he saw her. Eligible, too. Her brother Tom was an ensign in the Navy and used to send her wonderful silk stockings -- rare outside of the cities in those days -- and other pretty things to wear from various countries. 

He had brought them a parrot, an African one, gray with a red tail. It usually perched on top of its cage in the dining room, observing all that went on, but with little to say. They told a story of one disconcerting occurrence, however. They were Episcopalians and a convocation was being held in Salem. As their house was very large, they were entertaining a group of clergymen. On the last day of their stay, at breakfast, one of the ministers spoke of the parrot, remarking that he seemed a very moral one, as most of them swore. At which the parrot replied, "Go to Hell!" (You can't make me believe parrots don't know what the say.)

When Cousin Tom was home on leave, he used to groan over peacetime, as promotion was so slow. He remarked bitterly that he supposed he'd die an ensign. As a matter of fact, he died an admiral a good many years later. I heard his mother Cousin Sarah say to him, "Oh, Tom, whenever there's a storm, I pray that your ship may be near the shore." And he replied in alarm, "For Heaven's sake, Mother, pray that it may not be near the shore." 

There was a big college in Salem and one of the young men told me about a new president they had. The preceding one had been a fossil. And the students had done as they pleased. But this one was a younger man and was managing them very deftly. On Halloween night the students had always been outrageous, and Salem dreaded it. Last Halloween they had found an old tin roof somewhere, and a crowd of them had hold of it and were racing along main street rattling it and yelling. The President, unobserved in the darkness, grasped a corner and ran with them, yelling as loud as any of them. Under a street lamp, the youngster next to him recognized him and, in consternation, dropped off. The President moved up a little closer and ran on. Again his neighbor recognized him, dropped the tin and disappeared. This went on till the last boy had precipately [precipitously] run away. The President went quietly back to the college and Salem was surprised to be left in peace. 

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the artist's full signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley. 

Grandmother = Jane Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Aunt Charlotte = Charlotte Elizabeth Griffin Mitchell/Michel (1829-1921).
Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940); William Meade Taliaferro (1840-1913), had married Sue on October 16, 1867. He was apparently lost to "nostalgia," shell shock, post traumatic stress, war wounds, alcohol and other comorbidities, eventually committing suicide at the Camp Lee Soldier's Home in Richmond.

Mollie and Hope = not sure who they are yet.

Griffin homestead = Thomas "Tom" Dillon Griffin (1854-1938); Emeline/Emmeline "Em" Griffin (circa 1856/57-1926); "Cousin Sarah" = Sarah Jane McClanahan Griffin (1812-1903), widow of John Hook Griffin (1808-1878).

Big college = Roanoke College, formerly the Virginia Institute. The younger president was undoubtedly Julius Daniel Dreher (1846-1937).]

Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, Part 1

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, part 1. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading. 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

That summer [1883, Harvey Michel had died by now -- M.J.B.] Mother decided to go to California. Harvey had gone to Cuba with a surveying party, as he was learning to be a civil engineer. I was extremely anxious to go to New York to study art and was saving every cent I could for that, so I was staying in New York[?] They went to Bellevue for a farewell visit and I went with them. It was good to see them all again. Aunt Charlotte and the beloved Wingfields. And the blessed Peaks, as beautiful as I remembered them. I recall Aunt Charlotte saying once that during the Civil War there had been a great comet and that it stood right between the Peaks like a flaming sword.

One day, old Uncle Harrison, Grandfather's body servant, appeared at the house. He had heard that Mother was going to California and had come all the way from Wheatley [Wheatly] to sat goodbye to Miss Lou. He was now ninety-six and said he knew he would never see her again. He was a striking looking old man. His skin was a pale yellow and his features straight and regular. He was the grandson of an African king, of a different tribe from the ones from which the slave traders usually took their victims. 

He had a mass of straight hair, now snowy white. I made a small sketch of him in oils as he sat on the porch. He stayed all day, of course, and then one from his family took him home. None of his various descendants had ever been able to get him to admit that he was free. Before the Civil War slaves were occasionally freed as a reward for some outstanding service. But the freed slave usually lost caste among the others. He no longer had a "family" to be proud of and boast about. The other darkies looked down on him. Darkies loved aristocrats, and regarded with contempt what they called "po' white trash." They were inordinately proud of their "families" -- their wealth, their social position -- the latter considered far more important than money. When any of Uncle Harrison's  kin reminded him he was really free, he'd retort scornfully that it'd take more'n a passel of Yankees to make a free nigger out'n him!

Apropos of that word, we children had been brought up to never use the word nigger. That was vulgar; that was for poor whites. We should say darkies. In their presence we should always say colored people. [T]he word negro was used only in very formal speech.

The day after Uncle Harrison's visit, some of the darkies about the place brought in a possum they had caught the night before and showed it to us. They'd put it on the rail of the porch and it sat there with its smooth tail wrapped tightly around the rail. I made a sketch of it. I never saw an opossum before. It made no effort to run away, knowing (poor little beast) that it was hopeless. I am afraid the darkies had him for supper that night.

Among Mother's goodbye trips was one to Cousin Ned Dillon in Rockbridge County. There has been a lot in the newspapers not long before about an English earl (or maybe it was a Scottish earl, I don't remember now) who had died, and those in succession had died before him, he being very old. His solicitors had found the next of kin in the United States, as a branch of the family had settled there years before. But the American heir had no desire to become a belted earl. His name had not been given. Mother happened to mention this in conversation with Cousin Ned. He remarked "The fact is, Lou, I'm the earl of so and so (I've forgotten the name). But I don't want to leave Virginia and go over there to live. Hang the earldom."

Aunt Charlotte had bought a small house in Salem, a little town not far from Bedford, for Grandmother [Charlotte' stepmother -- M.J.B.] to live in and wanted her to settle down. Aunt Charlotte had lived in one place -- in face one house -- all her life. It was hard for her to understand Grandmother's easy mobility, her facile flitting from one city to another with complete nonchalance. Aunt Sue's sister-in-law, Mrs. Deyerly and her husband lived there, and the Griffins, the family of Aunt Charlotte's mother. We all knew the town well. So Grandmother and Aunt Sue had gone there to live. Of course Mother and the rest of us had gone there to visit.  

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the full artist's signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.

Grandmother = Jane Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Mother = Mary Louisa Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
Harvey Mitchell/Michel (1799-1866).
Harvey Mitchell Binckley (1864-1928).

Uncle Harrison = former slave, freed by Harvey Mitchell/Michel before the American Civil War. In the 1870 Federal Census, there is a Harrison Mitchell (aka Coles) residing in Bedford/Liberty, born circa 1790, listed as "black."

Aunt Charlotte = Charlotte Elizabeth Griffin Mitchell/Michel (1829-1921).
Ned Dillon = Colonel Edward Dillon (1835-1897), a son of Mary Morris Johnston Dillon Cunningham (1810-1884) and grandson of Charles Johnston (1769-1833) and Elizabeth "Eliza" Prentiss "Betsey" Steptoe Johnston (1783-1820). 

Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940); William Meade Taliaferro (1840-1913), had married Sue on October 16, 1867. He was apparently lost to "nostalgia," shell shock, post traumatic stress, war wounds, alcohol and other comorbidities, eventually committing suicide at the Camp Lee Soldier's Home in Richmond. 

Mrs. Deyerly [Dyerly] = not sure who this is.]