In going from Woodlawn to Hermitage, the road ran along the river bank for miles, the embankment was very low, and the water often flowed into the road sometimes making it impassable.

I was always afraid of the water. I remember the only punishment my Father ever gave me was for crying in crossing a mountain stream on an ever memorable journey of three weeks in a carriage to the Virginia Springs.

Sometimes in going on these visits to my Grandparents, the water would not only fill the road but come over the hub of the wheels, and even in the bottom of the carriage. A man in a boat followed the carriage for several miles, and once we were taken from the vehicle and brought in safety to higher lands in a skiff.

Streets's Ferry was a most trying place to my youthful nerves; we would arrive at the Ferry, descend from the carriage, watch Jacob, the driver, go carefully into the flat, unhitch the horses and stand at their heads while we, that is always “my Mother and I,” occupied a stand in the rear. Once the horses became frightened, jumped overboard and were with some little difficulty secured in a cove into which they had swam.

Fort Barnwell is name d for an old fort built about 1712 to protect our people from the Indians, and named for Colonel Barnwell of South Carolina.

The Indians committed many depredations, among others, shooting a Mr. Stevenson, who, with his wife and baby, was standing in the door of his little home. As a child I made frequent visits to this moss-covered old fort and picked up shot and shell.

General Simpson and his father General John Simpson of Pitt County were strong supporters of the Church of England. After the war this church became very upopular, people naturally connecting it with the church of of England.

At this early day the question of slavery was agitated. I quote from the will of your Great Grand father, Rev. Wm. P. Biddle, written in 1820:

“I will that Isabel, Owen and Lillie be made and set free the first court after January. Isabel belonged to my Grandfather and lived with him a faithful servant and has greatly assisted me. Lillie nursed me and belonged to my parents; I desire her to be free. At the end of five years I desire Eli to be free, for there are few such servants for faithfulness and merit. I wish all my other servants to be hired out for ten years, after which time I will that all who are now twenty-one years of age shall be free, except Lewis and Wiley - then I will that all the balance shall be hired out for ten years from that time, which bings the year 1847; then I most earnestly wish that all shall be free. I wish that in this, and the former freeing they may be tendered to the Colonization Society of Virginia, they shall be settled in the most eligible place in Africa or in the South West of our continent. I will that all of twenty-one years of age shall receive from my estate six months' education.”

My Mother had a beautiful Arabian mare given her by General Simpson, which carried her many miles, both on pleasure and duty. Her father, the old minister, had very strict ideas about bringing up children, and sometimes when she would be ready for a journey, her capes, which her own hands had been weeks in embroidering, beautifully done up, and packed with dainty things in her bag she smilingly ready to mount her horse, he would tell her she need not go, he preferred her remaining at home, without giving any reason at all. This was discipline, and with never a thought of rebelling, she would cheerfully acquiesce. I scarcely thing that girls of the present day would be so amiable. I am sure I would not. This dear old grandfather, General Simpson, though possessed of ample means, had these same ideas about discipling youth; he offered my mother a fine hat if she would make him a set of shirts, which she did, every thread pulled, and every stitch taken by her dear hands, it took weeks to make them, as there were no sewing machines in those days. General Simpson was a very handsome old man, tall, with piercing black eyes and white hair tied in a que, which he wore to the day of his death. In earlier life he wore knee breeches, silk stockings and silver buckles.

- My Father's health began to fail very soon after I was born and the physicians advised a trip to the Green Briar White Sulphur Springs in Virginia. How well I remember the journey there, though only four years old; it took three weeks to make it and we went in our own carriage. John Brimage, a bright little man, was our driver. Buck and Rock, our sturdy horses, took us safely along and we arrived there one lovely evening in June. In a short while Father began to decline rapidly, and on the 6th of July, 1845, passed away. I followed the path up the lonely mountain side and he was laid away under a big oak tree, where the bleak winds of winter and the soft breezes of summer keep up a sacred vigil. I have so much desired to visit this hallowed spot, but the changes which this cruel war has made has prevented that and much else I desired to do. We had a tomb stone hauled in a wagon from Richmond. I mention this that you may see how difficult transportation was in those days.

I want you to understand, dear children, that a self- made man is the noblest work of God; your Grandfather was very unhappy when a little boy, his stepfather was cruel to him, so although but ten years of age, he ran away from home. You can imagine how well he succeeded, when I tell you that at the age of eighteen, he was sent in charge of a large sailing vessel to the West Indies. This same vessel ran the blockade successfully and brought out a cargo of rum and molasses, which netted his employer many thousands of dollars.

Mr. Lovejoy, whose name is well known, throughout the South, was brought here through the instrumentality of your Grandfather, the little boy of whom I have been telling you; afterwards, he moved to Raleigh, through the influence of your other Grandfather, John H. Bryan, whose eight sons he prepared for Chapel Hill. And now I return to Woodlawn for a while. The house was situated about the middle of the plantation and was approached by a long, straight avenue of pines for a mile or two. How beautiful were the long drives up and down! There were so many successions of interest on a plantation. The drives to the landing where large flats were being filled with cotton and corn for market, such fun driving the gin horses round and round, and rolling down huge hills of cotton seed, and watching the looms weave thick, strong cloth for winter use. What a jolly time was hog killing, the delicious hams put up by a receipt handed down from father to son and quite equal to the Smithfield. The great pots of boiling lard with a bay leaf thrown in for perfume, several huge blocks of wood in the yard and fat smiling mammies with red bandannas on their heads singing sweet old negro melodies, and chopping up sausage meat. The tom thumb is a thing of the past, so seldom eaten now.

Christmas, what a time of good cheer! the most delightful season of the whole year. The turpentine hands came home then, with plenty of money in their pockets, made from extra work. Such getting married, midnight suppers and dances, visiting other plantations, and careless happy living, with not a thought for the future. How cunning I though the little darkey babies, what a privilege to sit in old Aunt Rachel's cabin, and rock the cradles - first one and then another; the mothers brought them to be taken care of while they were in the fields. The two big oak trees, the well from which water was being drawn, the cool pleasant lane, in which the little darkies and dogs played, were much more enjoyable than the present-day sports of the negro. Sometimes on the streets now I meet a darkey to whom I have given a name. This very afternoon I had a very gracious bow from “Edward Stanley.” I learned to sew by making the babies I had named clothes, and I am not ashamed even now of my sewing. This era of sewing machines has in a great measure ruled out the old- fashioned hem-stitching, over-casting, herin-boning, darning and so on.

Of course you will understand that traveling done in those days was on horseback, gig, private carriage, and stage coach. The horn blew as the stage approached town, the horses came in with a gallop, every head was at a window, everybody flew to the post office to ask the news, and such an important time it was.

- When I was a little girl at Woodlawn, six years old, I had a teacher, Miss Wallingford, from Lowell, Mass. She came to us in poor health and great distress of mind; her lover had either died or deserted her. She was treated with great kindness; our seamstress was put to work making garments for her; she was helped in many ways and her grateful letters continued to come for some years after her return to Lowell.

In the dear old Dixie days, and before that, company was considered a great treat, the best room, best food and heartiest welcome awaited them. I have the tenderest recollections of “Auld Lang Syne.” The old-fashioned house in which I was born with the low windows opening on a broad veranda with steps into the flower garden, in the center of which stood a huge fringe tree, roses and bright flowers clustered around. Then a gate into the vegetable garden, Oh! what vegetables, fruits and berries, we had in succession month by month. There were goose-berry and currant bushes, two large asparagus beds, and everything in such perfect order.

Our cook, Rachel, whose equal in preparing savory dishes I have never seen, was fond of imbibing too freely of “mountain rye” at times, and such fun I had in placing a big black doll in the path of the kitchen to hear her clap her hands and cry, “De debil is gwine to git me sho!” Later when the poor old woman was an inmate of the Poor House, I sent her a weekly allowance of coffee and sugar.

When Amy, my black mammy died, I was sent for, and mingled my tears along with the dusky mourners about her coffin. In great contrast indeed, to this one day just after my return home after the close of the war and during that awful reconstruction period, I was walking along quietly on Broad street, when a fat buxon mulatto wench came up to me, and shaking her fist in my face ordered me off the side-walk. I quickly looked up and seeing no white person visible, and the streets full of negroes, as a church had just emptied itself into the streets, I stepped aside into the gutter and went home. I will not tell what I thought on that occasion.

We left the low country in the summer and remained until frost, which generally took place in October, and oh! what fun the three days going to the hills was. The railroad was not built through the western part of the State, so the people of the tidewater section went to Hillsboro, Oxford, Warrenton, Jones and Shocco Springs. Old Frank Johnson's band discoursed sweet music. Frank was a slave who hired his time from his master, and with half a dozen sons equally musical, was known and sought after throughout the middle of the State. It took us three days to make the journey from our home to Shocco Springs. I got awfully tired and restless being shut up in a close carriage for that length of time, but we had regular places to stop on our way to and fro, and the noon-day stop by the side of a shady tree on the roadside was restful.

The refined and cultivated society which frequented Jones and Shocco Springs cannot be excelled. The large dancing hall was filled nightly with belles and beaux; how well I remember the green lawn, the half dozen swings suspended from the limbs of the oak tree, the band stand from which Frank Johnson's band sent forth its inspiring music; the candy stand presided over by Oscar Alston, and everybody so kind and pleasant.

Last winter, while spending a few days with a cousin of mine, I met at church a friend who belonged to the days of my childhood, and who brought back so vividly those journeys up and down the country. She told me her history since I had met her, which is so interesting that I write it here for your benefit. Not long before the Civil War she married a young Doctor and lived happily and comfortably on a large farm with their slaves. One colored boy, who went with the Doctor on his round of professional visits, was especially attached to them. When Sherman's bummers came along, they were drunken and unmanageable and ordered the negroes to leave the place, which they all did but this boy; he refused and the bummers ordered him to be shot. Preparations were made to carry out this order; he was placed in position, when my friend ran and put her body in front of him and told these lawless creatures that they would have to shoot her also. They finally left without performing the threat. In a few years the Doctor died, the negro went North to seek his fortune, and the widow, feeling no security in the country, moved into a town to live. The boy became quite prosperous and finally opened a men's furnishing shop in Boston. He returned South, bought the old plantation and offered it to his mistress for her life time. He asked her to visit his city, offering to entertain her at any hotel, and he sends her a check every three months.

Our faithful servant, Hollen, was without an equal in my opinion. She was a most beautiful seamstress, there was nothing in the way of fine work she could not do. I have known her to be a week in making a pair of pantlettes for me, “ladder stitch,” and herinbone always being used to put the insertion together. She said, “I do not feel free unless I go North” - I advised her to go and she secured a home with a Mr. and Mrs. White, at Chepachet, R.I. They were, as many others at that time, interested in asking how the negroes were treated by their owners in slavery times. So on long winter nights Hollen would regale them with tales of our plantation life, and their surprise was great when they found how kind we were to the slaves. No subject has ever been so misrepresented as has this one. I corresponded with Mrs. White and when my oldest boy went to Bingham School, I sent her his picture in uniform; she showed the picture to Mr. White, and a few days after I received a letter from him offering to adopt my son and do a good part by him, as he was childless and wealthy. I was much pleased but I had given up too much to give up my boy also.

Quite a noted colored man was Arthur Simmons, who served as janitor of the “White House” through the term of four Presidents. He belonged to Mr. Attmore, of New Bern, North Carolina, who was a great friend of mine when I was a young lady, and many a waiter of dainties, interesting books, birds and squirrels did he bring me. You can imagine how my meeting him at Washington some years ago brought up many recollections of the past. My son was with me and Arthur could not do enough to make our visit interesting. In passing through several of the rooms we met a gentleman who proved to be the Secretary of War, Alger. After our departure, he said to Arthur “Who was that lady and gentleman who seemed glad to see you and to whom you were so very polite?” Arthur told him with much gusto, and Mr. Alger replied, “We Northern people must have misunderstood the friendly relation that existed between master and slave.”

Another event occurred which brings up the lowly Christian character of my Mother. Among our slaves was one named Reuben. I had lost sight of him during the war; one day not long since the door bell rang and the servant said there was a colored man at the door who wished to speak to me. I found it was Reuben, who told me he had been a very bad man since he was free, and that he was only then out of the Penitentiary. He said, “I have had time to think and I have determined to be a better man. I have thought a great deal about my old missus, how she used to read the Bible and pray for us, and as she is gone, I concluded to tell you my resolution.” I shook hands with him and wished him God speed. I have not heard if he adhered to his resolution.

Since the war, on one occasion when my Mother and I were on our way to the seashore, a nice looking man came up and spoke to my mother. She failed to recognize him, when he said, “What, do you not remember the poor student whose tuition you paid, to whom you gave comfort in many ways and helped by your advice and prayers to lead a good life?” I recall this as one of the many instances of my dear Mother's charity. I read a dear little book once, written by Miss Mullock, called “My Mother and I,” which described the relations between us. Never was there sweeter sympathy than between this Mother and daughter.

We made many pleasure trips to the Northern cities before the War, and always took a maid, and as one of our own slaves would have produced unpleasant complications, Bettie, a daughter of old Oscar Alston was our attendant. I have a dim recollection of a fall spent in Philadelphia where my Mother was under the care of the celebrated Dr. Hodges. We boarded with a Quaker lady named Sedgswick. I remember that on each side of her fire-place was a cupboard in which she kept cakes and sweet meats, and try as hard as I could, my childish arms were too short to reach them. I made a later visit to this same city and had a very humiliating experience. One Sunday afternoon I was walking on one of the streets with some North Carolina friends. Just as we got opposite a large church, a Sunday School turned out, the children looked at me and seemed to find great amusement in commenting on my attire. I turned very red and wondered what could be the matter, as also did my companions. After returning to the hotel I found that the reign of pantlettes was over, I had worn mine just a few weeks too long.

- I quote from a letter written in 1837 from New York:

“Dearly Esteemed Friend: Pardon me that I have delayed this long in writing to you, it has not been from want of inclination, but solely on account of troubles and vexations incident to travelers at this time of the year. After leaving your kind and hospitable mansion, we pursued our weary way through snow and mud to Tarboro, found little of interest there. Next day we had a very agreeable passenger in the person of a Mr. Branch to a place called Scotland Neck. He much amused us in relating occurrences and old reminiscences of the country through which we passed. We arrived safe at Halifax, passing on by way of Blakely to Petersburg, through an incessant rain, though the statecoach was quite dry. Had a gentleman passenger who was very amusing, he could quote poetry, sing songs and talk Latin and Greek; they were of his own productions, he said, and quite witty descriptions of former sweethearts. He parted from us at Richmond. Of all places I am less pleased with this than any other of like importance; it is a muddy, dirty, dusty place, and we did not see buildings of much importance. An excellent railroad took up to Fredericksburg, we were were to be hurried away from a place we were anxious to leave. Here saw only the monument erected to Mary, the mother of Washington, and viewed that only in the distance; it was impossible to get nearer on account of the muddy roads. Then we took a stage coach to Washington City, which is sixty-five miles distant; it took us two days to reach there, the traveling horrid, passed many interesting spots, Mount Vernon, also Creek Church where General Washington used to attend. It is an ancient brick building, nothing interesting or striking about it; though we gazed at all these places as though determined to find something to say about them not familiar to everyone, but in vain, as the subject has long been exhausted.

“Alexandria was once a place of much importance, beautifully situated on the Potomac, but it seems to berapidly going back to its original element - from thence, almost all the seven miles to the great city in view before us, was filled with many and celebrated places, we crossed the Potomac on a bridge one and one quarter miles long. Could not get any accommodations at the hotels, but finally found a very nice boarding house; we then sallied out to see some of the wonders of the place. To attempt a description of what you have often seen and heard would be useless, we spent one day in the Senate Chamber, the early part in the House, and other in going to see the far famed East Room with all its splendors. We were denied the gratifification of seeing the old General (he was indisposed). Saw in the Navy Department the portraits of all the Indian delegates that have ever visited this city, it was indeed amusing, and that of itself is sufficient to amply compensate one for all the discomforts of the trip. It was truly a sight at which one could gaze, but not describe. I think you would enjoy a visit to Washington at this season of the year, February; a very cold place it is when walking up the great grand avenue. The capitol is a splendid building; saw much beauty and fashion, and many of our great men. From Baltimore we come across to Philadelphia by land, in one day, a hard rain, the roads were bad; the gentleman passengers, sixteen in number, walked and slid, while I rode, mounted on the baggage sleigh, drawn by an old gray horse, who was not as much pleased with the sport as myself; and finally reaching home in New York wihtout any accident, for so great a blessing, I trust we are thankful. We stopped at the American Hotel first and now are pleasantly fixed at 213 Fulton street, west-side. I have a front room, am seated before a nice grate with a bright fire burning cheerfully, am very comfortable, so much so as to almost forget it is snowing and storming outdoors. Board is much more expensive than when we left New York in November; we now pay twelve dollars per week; house rent is enormous, too high for us to take a house this spring. I found my niece, Elizabeth Clute, at home and engaged to be married to a young gentleman from England; he is only twenty-four, she is sixteen, too young I think; the match is pleasing to all, they are to be married in St. John's Church, great preparations are being made for the ceremony. There has been but a few pleasant days since our return home; very muddy walking. Yesterday was like a Spring day. Broadway appeared fine, such gay things of elegantly dressed ladies, every variety of costume. I wish for you, my dear Mrs. Norcott indeed I never walk out on a pleasant day, without wishing for you. Wish we all were with you, if only for one day, to have a good old-fashioned chat and enjoy your good society; trust I shall have that pleasure in New York in a time not far distant. I assure you of the grateful sense we have of all your kindness and polite attention and that of your friends, to us, the remembrance of it will never be erased from our memory. Farewell, and God bless you dear friends.”

This is one of the many letters I found in my Mother's trunk after her death.

“They never quite leave us, our friends who have passed, Through the shadows of death - to the sunlight above, A thousand sweet memories are holding them fast, To the places they blessed with their presence and love. ” Myrtle Villa, April 27,1908.

- I had led such a happy roving life that my education was sadly neglected, so when I was thirteen years old, I was put in a boarding school, and my Mother, who was recovering from a severe attack of illness, was taken to the Greenbriar White Sulphur Springs. My experience at this school was very sad indeed; the teacher became offended with me in some way and made my life miserable. She told some of the girls I was not in good health, and if I died, she had decided what dress to put on me, and as I would take a dress which had been fashioned so tenderly by my Mother's hands from my trunk, I would wonder if that was the one chosen for that sad occasion.

But my most delightful experience, and which quite made up for anything bad that had gone before, was my school life at Washington City. This was a seelct school, kept by an English lady, Mrs. Kingsford. I had such lovely school mates, I correspond with some of them now. We attended President Buchanan's levees, admired Miss Lane's graciousness, took walks to the Capitol and heard great speeches, went to art galleries, and best of all had an informal soiree every month at the school, to which our sweethearts always managed to come. I had my first real love affair then, Mr. Corcoran's nephew was the subject, and how we managed to evade the teachers and pass notes even at the church door, is a mystery to me even now. I read Miss Clay's book lately about the times then and many of the names are very familiar. Macon Thompson, son of the Secretary of Interior, married my roommate and their beautiful daughter lives in Kentucky. I shall never forget Mrs. Kingsford's gooseberry and pie plant pies, especially as each pie was divided into eight pieces and we were only allowed one piece. Her plum puddings, made by English receipt, were dreams; she would give no one the formula; twelve were made and one cooked each week until used up. The boxes of good things I received from home were something to be remembered; gold cake and fruit cake, great packages of home-made candy, jelly, nuts and everything nice one could think of, and with every taste of the food I had a loving thought of my Mother. Sometimes the teacher would take us to Baltimore on a lark and once we went on the steamer to Mount Vernon. Then at our commencement at the Smithsonian Institute, I made the one triumph of my life, which was due to the fact that the subject of my composition - “A Trip Through Time's Spy Glass” was a pleasant hit at the girls.

My school days ended, I became a young lady. I was so happy, the world was so beautiful, every one was so kind, that I smiled all the time. Life held nothing but roses and sunshine for me, and with the most indulgent and intelligent Mother in the world, I had nothing to desire.

I enjoyed my winter at home immensely, the freedom from school was delightful, went to parties, took sails on the river, danced the dear old dances, Virginia Reel, Lancers, Cotillion and waltzed in a dignified way, played Consequences, Stage Coach, Grand Mufto, and so on, and at home Backgammon with Mother.

Then the summer at the Virginia Springs, mostly spent at the Alleghany, Montgomery White Sulphur and Yellow Sulphur, the most bewitching spot in all that lovely country. Oh! how I did ride horseback and drive in those days, it seems to me the horses were better then than now.

Then in October, we went to New York and stayed at the St. Nicholas; I had several months before this become engaged to your Father. We met many Spring acquaintances in New York and had a royal good time. I had lovely clothes and what dreams of beauty my dresses were, and how unconscious I was of any personal charm, if I possessed any, or anything else except to be happy all the day long.

In November I was married to your Father. We spent two months visiting the Southern cities, New Orleans, Mobile, Montgomery, Selma and other places. I enjoyed the French Theatre, and the quaint old things about New Orleans very much. The slave market I did not like, that was raelly the only objectionable thing about slavery, the being bought and sold. We met many of your Father's Chapel Hill college friends, and the voyage of six days from Memphis down the Mississippi on the steamer Ingomar was an experience. There were seven brides and grooms on board. I was much disappointed at the appearance of the “Father of Waters,” it can't compare with our own beautiful Neuse, it is much muddier and deeper, and the color of the water cruel and dark. Many beating hearts and happy voices have been stilled beneath its waters.

While we were staying at the St. Nicholas in New York, I met an exceedingly handsome girl from South Carolina named Victoria Jordan. We were getting our wedding trousseaus at the same time, and she and her young husband followed on our same route down the Mississippi about a week later; the steamer took fire and many perished, among them our friends. As the fire approached that part of the boat on which they were standing, and the scorching heat became unbearable, they clasped hands, took one last lingering kiss and plunged into a watery grave.

We had a gay time at New Orleans, went there twice, stopping both times at the St. Charles. The French Theater was fine, and the Levees along the river very interesting; met several acquaintances; one Chapel Hill student, a friend of my husband's, had had a quarrel with his sweetheart, which I tried in vain to reconcile.

Mobile was charming with the wide shady streets and bay glimmering in the sunshine, the sweet old homes and the dear people. I met Edith Whitfield there. The home of her father, General Nathan Whitfield at Demopolis was something to remember, a plantation containing nine hundred slaves, all polite and happy, a lovely house with everything in it heart could desire, a ball-room, the white pillars reaching to the ceiling, broad verandas, a sweet place in which to while away the sultry hours, a lake in front, surrounded by evergreens, on which swam swans and ducks. We were in the midst of a freshet on the Alabama river, for miles the earth was covered with water, people going about in boats, and the steamer could only be guided in its course by the line of trees on the river banks; I was quite cured of any desire to live there.

After two months spent in pleasant meandering, we returned to North Carolina and settled down to the every- day life of married people. In '61 my little boy, Norcott, was presented to me and he filled out my full measure of happiness, how fondly we stood over his cradle, and Mammy Amy, who had nursed me, declared he was a wonder; we called his name, watched each look and smile, admired his cute little ways and thought there never was such a wonderful baby. I am sure there never was such a fond young Mother. His carriage and other presents were on the last vessel that came from New York before the blockade.