John Milton Binckley to Charlotte Stocker Binckley, November 10, 1862

[John Milton Binckley at Washington City to Charlotte Stocker Binckley, November 10, 1862. Extra paragraph breaks added 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 Johnston Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

                                                                    Wash DC 10 Nov 62

My dear Mother

I have your letter of the 31 and answer it in bed. I am a little better of about 11 days' illness complicated with some serious derangements of which jaundice is the last shape the thig has taken and I am deeply salivated now I have not for five days & nights partaken of so much nourishment as is contained in a cup of coffee -- not more than a spoonful of which I can take at once. So you see I can fast as well as eat.

I am in no danger but that of losing my patience & breaking down my poor wife.

I would certainly not write now but when I saw the pile of letters & business which have accumulated before me, I am afraid to put off anything.

We were greatly surprised at what you say of naming the newcomer. Knowing your lifelong detestation of what is the dearest name on Earth to me, Charlotte, as well as Sister's equal dislike, it never entered my mind that you would desire it. We did indeed think of giving you the naming of the child according to your fancy, but I was determined that Mary should have her fancy -- not mine, & not anybody's.

I knew she had some name she would prefer, and after my standing and solitary condition, to wit = that it should be a single name & short; I would not permit her to consult about it. 

At last it came out, Rosalie -- and a very pretty name with Binckley, I think, too.  Now she has one child after her fancy. I, one after mine (Ellen). Father's name was almost a devotion, & Allen's naming his John Henry was almost the act of the whole family.

If 40 boys were born in the family, I would be for naming the fortieth John if all the others should die.  

It seems ridiculous to ask why George don't write.  If he will just say he gets my letters, I'll write on.

Poor George! If I could only continue some way for him to live here!

As to your PH -- I deeply deplore the settled gloom which seems to envelop him, & from but which I no more hear  his solemnly melting words.

By this time I suppose you are at Allen's from what you wrote. Tell me in your next all about PH and Allen's children.

If we do not look out better, we will have families grown up about us before they learn each other's names.

Adieu my dear Mother and I will go to my pillow
                                   Milton  

[Mary = Mary Louisa Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
John Milton Binckley (1831-1878).
Mother = Charlotte Stocker Binckley (1788-1877).
Rosalie Binckley (October 1862-June 15, 1864).
Ellen = Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (1860-1951).
George = George Michael Binckley (1828-1885).
PH = Philander H. [Henry?] Binckley (1826-1898).
Allen = Allen Otho Binckley (1826-1876).
John Henry = John Henry Binckley (1861-1948), named after John Henry Binckley (1788-1849).]

Nella Fontaine Binckley to John Milton Binckley, December 1, 1870

[Nellie (Nella Fontaine) Binckley (ten years old) at Norfolk, Virginia, to John Milton Binckley at [Colorado?], December 1, 1870. My rough transcription. 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.]

                                                  Norfolk. December 1st 1870
Dear Papa,

I am just as busy as I can be making Christmas gifts. I am making a penwiper for Sue, and I've made one for Aunt Charlotte, and I am making a mat for an old colored woman, Aunt Jane Butt they call her, but mama calls her Mammy. Mammy's niece was burnt up not long ago, and left a little tiny baby for Mammy to [take] care of. Was'nt [wasn't] it dreadful to be burnt up? I think so.

I was hurt right bad with hot water and that is almost as bad as being burnt? [O]nly I was'nt [wasn't] killed. 

Mama has named the baby George after Uncle George, and I know you'll like that better than Julius. 

I am dreadfully sorry Uncle George is sick, and I hope he'll get well soon.

I'd tell you what Grandma's Christmas gift is but I'm afraid Grandma might read this letter before Christmas and then she'd know. 

There is the funniest old gentleman boarding here, he can't speak more than three words of English, and he has taken a great fancy to Harvey and tries so hard to talk to him (Harvey) making such funny mistakes. The old gentleman's name is Mr. Snykers, he and his wife butter their bread with red peppers . . . just to think of buttering your bread with those red and green peppers. Mamma says they must have throats of iron and I think so too. 

They have a whole shaggy dog, that they wont [won't] let have any salt meat, for they say it makes its hair come out, and it (the dog) has his hair washed with soap and water, and combed, and curled, every morning, by the old Mrs. Snykers, is'nt [isn't] that queer?

I am going to give you a gift on Christmas that I know you'll like. I'm sure you will, its [it's] something splendid, but I'm not going to tell you, for you'll see. 

I'm going to give Tommy Butts a little gilt watch chain and Sam[?] is going to buy a little toy watch for two[?] cents to put on it.

I went to see a man named Wyman play tricks with Mr. and Mrs. Blanford and Miss Harriet Howard, and they gave presents to every body. I got a little gilt watch chain and I didn't [it] want so I'm to give it to Tommy on Christmas. Mr. Blanford got a set of black jewelry but he gave it to Mrs. Blanford for a little watch-chain like mine that she got. Miss Harriet got a set of jewelry too. I'll write about the tricks Wyman played, in my next letter, for I hav'nt [haven't] room here. 

                                               Your Affectionate Daughter, Nellie
                                  Please write to me soon

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951).
John Milton Binckley (circa 1831-1878).
Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940).
Aunt Charlotte =  Aunt Charlotte = Charlotte Elizabeth Griffin Mitchell/Michel (1829-1921).
Aunt Jane Butt = there is a Jane Butt (born circa 1818, age 52) listed in the 1870 federal census, living in the 4th Ward.
Mama = Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
Baby George = George Sydney Binckley (born September 9, 1870-1941).
Uncle George = George Michael Binckley (1828-1885).
Grandma = Jane Mary Wood Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Harvey = Harvey Mitchell Binckley (1864-1928). 
Mr. and Mrs. Snykers = not sure who they are.
Tommy Butts = there are two Thomas Butts listed in the 1870 federal census, living in the 1st Ward].
Wyman = not sure who this is. 
Mr. and Mrs. Balnford = not sire who they are. 
Miss Harriet ]= not sure who this is.]
                                

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 2

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VIII, 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." 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.]

Things being unsatisfactory, I got a room at Miss Kate Langhorne's on Diamond Hill and took all my meals across the street at Mrs. Ambler's. She was a widow with some little children. Her husband, Dr. Ambler, was surgeon on an ill-fated ship lost on an Arctic expedition with all on board. Everyone was so sorry for her. 

I was very comfortable in a room all to myself with delightful neigbors. Miss Kate and Miss Nannie Langhorne were sisters, perhaps -- as the darkies would put it -- "pushin'" forty, handsome and as nice as they could be. They were cousins of the famous Langhorne sisters, of whom Lady Astor and Mrs. Charles Dana Gibson are the best known. 

Miss Nannie owned a house just across the street from her sister's. And Colonel Maurice Langhorne, a cousin and distinguished looking elderly gentleman, owned a charming house just across from Miss Nannie's and incidentally was engaged to her. I was told that they had been engaged for years, but that Miss Nannie somehow seemed to balk at matrimony.

Miss Kate wanted some painting done in her house, so we were all shifted over to Miss Nannie's, which was already full. I was put in a big first floor room with a charming old lady whose name I've forgotten. We were wakened in the night by Miss Kate running into our room shrieking, "Get up, Nannie's house is on fire!" 

She ran out again, leaving the door open. We saw flames. It turned out to be the outside kitchen, near, but a separate building.  

I jumped into a kimono and slippers and went outside to the front porch. Anna Langhorne, a niece, was frantically dashing around in her nightgown, calling for her brother Armistead whom she had not found in his room. As a mater of fact, he had very sensibly gone to give the alarm. The Colonel was on the front porch trying to reassure his terrified fiancee [fiancée]. Just then the fire department clanged up the hill and the fire was soon out. It developed that a lady upstairs had in her panic thrown a mirror out of her window and carried a pair of shoes downstairs in her hand.

Nearby was Dr. Strother's house. He had married [one] of Uncle Robert's daughters years before and she had died young, leaving two little boys, Will and Bob. He had married again, Miss Jennie Langhorne, and their son Syd was now a young man. She had been a devoted stepmother and Syd was twelve years old before he learned -- from an outsider -- that Will and Bob were not his own brothers. I was very fond of Cousin Jennie and she used to have me over there for dinner every Sunday. Sometimes she would invite me for a weekend. Though I enjoyed the rest of it very much, I hated to go to bed. Linen sheets in the guest room! Like going to bed in a snowbank. I would have preferred less elegance and warm cotton sheets.

Dr. Strother had two beautiful English setters and he got me to paint them. Frost was a lovely creature, orange and white and getting along in years, who had won lots of ribbons at dog shows. She was very fond of ice cream, and as we sat in the drawing room, was usually given a plate full. She'd get to shivering and would go to the fireplace and lie down before the blazing logs till she warmed up, then go back to her ice cream. The other dog was a Gordon setter, black and white. He was away at a trainer's, being a young dog, but came back in the spring. I painted him out in the back yard. Dr. Strother put a pigeon on a box and tied its leg there, then brought the dog out. When he saw the pigeon he pointed. It was easy to paint him. He stood there motionless, quivering with excitement and wondering no doubt why the Doctor didn't shoot the pigeon.

One day a visitor came to my studio -- a very unusual visitor. A tall, handsome, distinguished looking man of perhaps forty. He told me he was an [officer] in the Austrian army. He said he had always been much interested in art and knew many artists abroad. He liked my work but deplored my being in Lynchburg, urging me to go to a large city where my work would gain recognition. He suggested my going to Boston. He knew artists there [and] wrote their names and addresses for me, saying to mention his name, [Captain] von Bendeleben, and they would welcome me. But I knew my family would not hear of such a thing. As it happens, I've never been to Boston to this day. I abominate codfish, and whiile I like beans, I don't care for them baked with molasses.  

[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.

Diamond Hill Historic District = link here. They lived in a cluster by Church and 14th Street.
Miss Kate Langhorne = Mary Catherine Langhorne (1845-1924).
Mrs. Ambler's = not sure who this is. Possibly conflated with another relative of Dr. Ambler's.
Dr. Ambler = Dr. James Markham Ambler (1848-1881).
Miss Nannie Langhorne = Anne Scott Langhorne (1841-1920).
Famous Langhorne sisters = Lizzie, Irene, Nancy, Phyllis and Nora. See James Fox, Five Sisters: The Langhornes of Virginia (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000).
Colonel Maurice Langhorne = Maurice Scarsbrook Langhorne (1823-1908). 
Anna Langhorne = not sure of full name.
Armistead Langhorne (1860-1951).
Dr. Strother = William Alexander Strother (1832-1892).
One of Uncle Robert's daughters = Sally Ann Mitchell (1835-1860), daughter of Robert Crump Mitchell (1807-1872) and Ann Lucy Phillips (1809-1880). 
Will = William Mitchell Strother (1857-1899).
Bob = Robert Strother (1858-1917).
Jennie Langhorne (1837-?).
Syd = Sidney Strother (circa 1863-?).
Captain von Bendeleben = strangely enough, an Ottfried von Bendeleben (1836-1908) lived in Santa Rosa, California, from about 1879 until his death.]
  

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.]