What a rush of visitors last night! One would imagine they
had all come by appointment, expressly to have an impromptu dance, which they
certainly enjoyed, by the way. There was little Captain C––, the Susceptible
and Simple, who so innocently says “I seen” and “I done it,” without the
faintest suspicion of the peculiarity, and looks so sweet, and guileless, and
amiable, and soft, that I can't help wondering if he would be sticky if I touch
him. Indeed, I think his hands stick, at least; for when he told me good-bye,
it was with the greatest difficulty that I extracted mine from his grasp (he
having forgotten to return it during a long farewell address), and even when I
succeeded in recovering it, by being almost rude, it was not released without a
very sensible pressure from the putty, or whatever it is that is
so tenacious. I am afraid it is rather a habit of his, which has lost all force
or meaning by being too frequently repeated. Then there was a horrid little
wretch, vulgar and underbred (to my idea), to whom I was introduced as Mr. G––
. . . . But here is Lieutenant Dupré,
whom I have not yet introduced, though we have met before. Tall, good-looking,
a fine form, and not a sparkling face, I am inclined to believe that his chief
merit lies in his legs. Certainly when he dances he puts his best foot forward,
and knows it, too. Miriam, who adores dancing, is flirting openly with this
divinity of the “Deux Temps” and polka, and skims around with his arm about her
(position sanctified by the lively air Lydia is dashing off on the piano) with
a grace and lightness only equaled by his own. And Lieutenant Duggan, with his
good, honest, clever face which so unmistakably proclaims him “Tom,” we know
already, so no further description is needed. Captain Fenner, too, is well
known, with his short, though graceful figure, his good-humored, intelligent
face, irresistible imperial, and that roguish expression about that large mouth
which displays such handsome teeth, and seems to say, “Don't trust me too far.”
Little Captain C–– tells me a long story about how Colonel
Steadman had come to him and asked if he believed it possible that Miss Morgan
had put her life and happiness in the hands of a homoeopathic physician; how he
considered her fate sealed; and what a shame it was to trifle with such a sad
affair, at my age, too, ruined for life! It was dreadful! Too sad! Hereupon, as
continuing the story, he remarks that being asked his opinion by the Colonel,
he agreed perfectly and thought with him it was an appalling sacrifice, and oh,
all sorts of things! Anything, just to make me miserable and unhappy!
Well, what is written will come to pass. First comes a
doctor with a butchering apparatus who cups and bleeds me unmercifully, says I’ll
walk ten days after, and exit. Enter another. Croton oil and strychnine pills,
that’ll set me up in two weeks. And exit. Enter a third. Sounds my bones and
pinches them from my head to my heels. Tells of the probability of a splinter
of bone knocked off my left hip, the possibility of paralysis in the leg, the
certainty of a seriously injured spine, and the necessity for the most violent
counter-irritants. Follow blisters which sicken even disinterested people to
look at, and a trifle of suffering which I come very near acknowledging to
myself. Enter the fourth. Inhuman butchery! wonder they did not kill you! Take
three drops a day out of this tiny bottle, and presto! in two weeks you are
walking! A fifth, in the character of a friend, says, “My dear young lady, if
you do, your case is hopeless.” What wonder that I am puzzled? A wiser head
would be confused. I want to believe all, but how is it possible? “What will
be, will be.”
*
* * * * * * * * *
Bon! here comes a note from Mr. Halsey! Ah ça! Lend him “Zaidee”?
Certainly! Here is a postscript three times the length of the note; voyons. Will
Miss Sarah make the annotations he requested, in “Kate Coventry”? He is anxious
to have the lady's opinion on the questions of taste and propriety which so
frequently occur in the book. ... I'1l not attempt such a display; yet there
are several passages I am dying to mark. One in particular, speaking of the
peculiarities of men, of how they are always more at ease when they have their
hands employed, drawing confidence and conversation from a paper-knife and book
to tumble, a pair of scissors and a thread to snip, or even from imbibing the
head of a cane, I am anxious to call his attention to. If I dared add to the
list, “or a cord and tassel to play with”! This nervous Mr. Halsey is wearing
out my pretty blue tassel that Frank admires so much; he says he can talk
better when he dangles it. Think the hint might save it in the future!
SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's
Diary, p. 312-6
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