Sumter, S. C.
Feb. 13, 1867

Dear Fuller,

Still engaged as once in sending me puzzles to guess? What was the error you led me into?and which you go on to explain thus: You love me; very good so far. you like farm-life: very well, what next? Nothing. There seems to be something lacking in the premises. I fail to see where the "error" comes in.

You should have seen a love-letter which Miss Breck had to send yesterday for a sooty damsel-- name unknown. The love-lorn swain was devoured by anxiety lest his addresses should be rejected; was in danger of a decline in consequence of the lonely vigils during which he reflected upon her "lovely form," and pathetically entreated her to write at once and let him know what "his future condition was to be; whether he was to be a madman or ruined for life." What shocking alternatives!

My school-boys are wonderfully gallant and chivalric in their treatment of their teacher. They are always b ringing me presents; sometimes eggs which are in great danger of premature "hatching" from the rough treatment they have to undergo; sometimes a live chicken, a sweet-potato as big as a pumpkin, or a little paper of candy all stuck together by the temperature of the donor's pocket. But this week the grand climax arrived--I thought--in the shape of a bottle of hair-oil!

We had a call last Sunday from two young men from Massachusetts who are in business here. They were both in the army through the war and officers in a negro regiment, one of them perfectly disgusted us with his nonsense. He hates everything Southern, white or black but especially black. He is making himself miserable over the prospect of a "nigger president" in which he feels sure events are to culminate and was quite ridiculous over it. He asked about our school, and when we told him how the children learned, he plainly intimated that he didn't believe it. Of course we politely requested him to come and see for himself,-- catch him doing it! Then he went off on another tack. He said the North were very one-sided in their efforts. They made a great fuss about educating the blacks, but did not seem to care whether the whites were educated or not. Why said he, with a solemn gravity, perfectly ludicrous, seeming to feel the danger very sensibly. "In ten years more the blacks will be the educated class at this rate." We could not help laughing at his evident concern, and told him that the whites were at perfect liberty to send their children to our schools if they wished; that our instructions were to make no difference whatever on account of color. Well, he said, that was virtually excluding them, for of course no white man would send his children to the same school where niggers sent theirs. We told him that was their own fault, but we assured him that if he could induce any Northern philanthropists to establish free schools for the whites, the field was open;--we should not interfere. thus ended the discussion, very much to our amusement. Probably he had said what he had heard, for he is one of those men who would embrace almost any opinion likely to make him popular. The idea of the Southerners standing with their hands in their pockets (as they usually do) and whimpering because the blacks are going to be best educated! I don't wonder though. Nobody can be so degraded or so lost in ignorance as these "mean whites."

Aunt Louisa's "ole missis" died last Saturday. She was very glad to go, for she had suffered a great deal. She fell asleep at lat as peacefully as a tired child.

I had a nice letter from Aunt Hannah this week. I suppose you know all the news she has to write through Aunt carolina. Will has gone to Baltimore.

There! how stupid! I have taken up the wrong letter again, and have treated you to the above unintelligible paragraphs. I will explain that the "ole missis" we [?] a beautiful old lady who owned a plantation about a mile from Sumter, and whom we had been once or twice to visit.

Oh , dear, I am so tired tonight I could cry for very weariness. I don't think this climate is good for me. At Hilton Head a year ago I felt so strong and well, and able to do everything that lay at my hand. All I wanted was time. Now I lack time and strength as well.

Now how foolish to write this to you when you make so much of the least hint of the kind from me and think it so much worse than it is. Don't fear, my Friend, there is no danger of my wearing out at present. My natural indolence will assert itself and when I write without reserve will crop out.! Don't worry about my colds either. I have not been accustomed to them of late years, and make undue fuss over them.

I am not marked for a long life; I have not for more than ten years been in perfect health; but I can endure vastly ore hardship and exposure than many stronger women. So lay aside all anxiety,--do, please.

Thank you for writing so often with so poor encouragement. Please lay no restrictions on your pen;--let it write all the pages it likes. I much prefer reading letters to writing them;--yet I like write them too, or I wouldn't write so many.

Spring is opening apace. The birds are full of rejoicings, and the gardeners are busy. Our garden is doing well. We shall probably have cold weather and frosts yet, but they will not last. How beautiful spring is in this climate! Full of long dreamy days when the mere fact of existence is luxury, and the nights, especially when the moon is shining! So you will not come South this summer.

Good night,

Yours with an aching head

Jeanie B. Smith
(Box 89)

 

W. F. Fisk Esq.
Mast Yard, N.H.