Mrs. Childs was here to-night (Mary Anderson, from
Statesburg), with several children. She is lovely. Her hair is piled up on the
top of her head oddly. Fashions from France still creep into Texas across
Mexican borders. Mrs. Childs is fresh from Texas. Her husband is an artillery
officer, or was. They will be glad to promote him here. Mrs. Childs had the
sweetest Southern voice, absolute music. But then, she has all of the high
spirit of those sweet-voiced Carolina women, too. Then Mr. Browne came in with his
fine English accent, so pleasant to the ear. He tells us that Washington
society is not reconciled to the Yankee regime. Mrs. Lincoln means to
economize. She at once informed the major-domo that they were poor and hoped to
save twelve thousand dollars every year from their salary of twenty thousand.
Mr. Browne said Mr. Buchanan's farewell was far more imposing than Lincoln's
inauguration.
The people were so amusing, so full of Western stories. Dr.
Boykin behaved strangely. All day he had been gaily driving about with us, and
never was man in finer spirits. To-night, in this brilliant company, he sat
dead still as if in a trance. Once, he waked somewhat — when a high public
functionary came in with a present for me, a miniature gondola, “A perfect
Venetian specimen,” he assured me again and again. In an undertone Dr. Boykin
muttered: “That fellow has been drinking.” “Why do you think so?” “Because he
has told you exactly the same thing four times.” Wonderful! Some of these great statesmen
always tell me the same thing — and have been telling me the same thing ever
since we came here.
A man came in and some one said in an undertone, “The age of
chivalry is not past, O ye Americans!” “What do you mean?” “That man was once
nominated by President Buchanan for a foreign mission, but some Senator stood
up and read a paper printed by this man abusive of a woman, and signed by his
name in full. After that the Senate would have none of him; his chance was gone
forever.”
SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin
and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 16-7
