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.]
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