Mary Louisa Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899): Part II

Mont Calm (aka Montcalm), Virginia Department of Historic Resources*

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899), Part II. 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 scans of the original documents, and in turn many thanks to Peter Johnston Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

When a young girl Mother was invited there to a tea-party. There was in those days much ceremony in all social matters. Everything had a right way, and every man woman and child had a holy horror of doing it the wrong way.

At Mrs. Campbell's infrequent entertainments a more than usual strictness prevailed, so you can imagine all these outwardly prim young folks seated around the great square parlor trying to curb their high spirits into due decorum and keep up convention during the stiff hour before tea was brought in.

It was always a relief when the servants began a noiseless distribution around the room of certain small polished tables (they came in sets of four, fitting in to each other), and there was a gentle stir and rustle as the company settled into groups around the slender-legged bits of rosewood while young men maneuvered and young girls managed to make room for a favorite.

A moment of pleasant suspense, and the door was thrown open to the black waiters, (solemn with a profound sense of the occasion) who brought in the great silver salvers laden with the priceless china and delicious confections of that by-gone-day. 

The ceremonious serving, the subdued mirth, and the rather stately wit and manners was all of a piece with the mahogany furniture, fine and solid.

At Mrs. C.'s that night, conversation had dragged even more heavily than usual. The usual constraint was added to it by the wonderful new thing on the floor -- a velvet carpet -- so precious to its owner that it was rumored she never let a broom touch it, but overlooked a servant, on his knees, sweep it with a bunch of turkey feathers. So the guests hardly dared put a foot to the floor, & nothing was genial but the great open fire of hickory logs.

When, at last, the door was thrown open, a sigh of relief breathed thro' the room. But -- instead of the table-laden darkey appeared a tall waiter in white gloves & apron bearing aloft a huge silver salver heaped high with something white. To the horror of the guests he walked to the hearth and threw the contents into the glowing fire! Mrs. C. had had her hickory chips scoured! And it required the softening influences of the delicious supper when it did come to calm the nerves of the hungry after such a shock. 

In Abingdon circles the story was told of Mrs. C. that she had just completed arrangements for one of her semi-annual entertainments when news came of a near relative. Immediately recalling all invitations, she had the cake carefully put away, & one year from that day had her party, using the cake. Of course it was not popular, and one venerable frosted sponge did duty for months afterwards as the cake handed with wine to callers. It was so well known no one would cut it -- a glass of wine would be accepted, but no one cared for (that) cake. 

At last a party of young folks on their way to call, resolved to end the days of that hoary patriarch. When asked to have refreshments, to Mrs. C.'s horror they accepted cake; it was your uncle Bev who stuck the knife in, & the cake flew into a thousand pieces.

Years after the day she made me eat my peach over the railing, I was in Abingdon for the summer, and her property was being divided among distant kin. She had lived to extreme old age, miserly and unloved. When the place was sold for division, in the garret were found boxes and trunks by the dozen filled with the clothes she had been buying for sixty years. Rather than give, she had hoarded, & there, moth eaten and yellowed, was a collection unique and enormous -- but entirely without value to heirs who were accustomed to relics -- and so all were scattered. 

Negroes helped themselves, & many an old silk that had rustled down the church aisle fifty years before was altered by awkward black fingers into a "Sunday meetin'" gown. Driving out one afternoon we met a little darkey trotting leisurely along the shaded road stride an old mule on his way to mill. Dressed in the usual scant tow-linen shirt & trousers, his woolley head was crowned by a great fine Dunstable straw bonnet of the early 20s [1820s]  -- this shape [small sketch inserted] which in its prime, must have cost $30.00  [worth perhaps $250 in 2018].

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
First memories are of "Lilliput" See 1841 letter from Jane (Mother), link here.  This part refers entirely to Mont Calm / Montcalm, the Campbell residence.
Mother = Jane Mary Wood Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Campbells = David Campbell (1779-1859) and Mary Hamilton Campbell (1783-1859). Virginia Campbell, a niece, and David H.R. Campbell, a nephew, also lived there for a time.
Bev = Beverly Randolph Johnston (1803-1873).
*Photographic link here.]