Among our various visitors was a kinsman--of whom I often heard, but whom I do not recollect--a bachelor of eighty years, always accompanied by his negro servant as old as himself. Both had the same name, Louis, pronounced like the French, and this aged pair had been so long together they could not exist apart. Black Louis rarely left his master's side, assisting in the conversation if his master became perplexed or forgetful. When his master talked in the parlor, black Louis always planted his chair in the middle of the doorsill, every now and then correcting or reminding with: "Now, marster, dat warn't Colonel Taylor's horse dat won dat race dat day. You and me was dar." Or: "Now, marster, you done forgot all 'bout dat. Dat was in de year 1779, an' _dis_ is de way it happened," etc., much to the amusement of the company assembled. All this was said, I am told, most respectfully, although the old negro in a manner _possessed_ his master, having entire charge and command of him. [Illustration: "NOW, MARSTER, YOU DONE FORGOT ALL 'BOUT DAT."--_Page 37._] The negroes often felt great pride in "_our_ white people," as they called their owners, and loved to brag about what "_our_ white people" did and what "_our_ white people" had. On one occasion it became necessary for my sister and myself to ride a short distance in a public conveyance. A small colored boy, who helped in our dining room, had to get in the same stage. Two old gentlemen, strangers to us, sitting opposite, supposing we had fallen asleep when we closed our eyes to keep out the dust, commenced talking about us. Said one to the other: "Now, those children will spoil their Sunday bonnets." Whereupon our colored boy spoke up quickly: "Umph! _you_ think _dems my_ mistesses' Sunday bonnets? Umph! you _jes' ought_ to see what dey got up dar on top de stage in dar bandbox!" At this we both laughed, for the boy had never seen our "Sunday bonnets," nor did he know that we possessed any. CHAPTER V. English books never fail to make honorable mention of a "roast of beef," "a leg of mutton," "a dish of potatoes," "a dish of tea," etc., while with us the abundance of such things gave them, we thought, not enough importance to be particularized. Still my reminiscences extend to these. Every Virginia housewife knew how to compound all the various dishes in Mrs. Randolph's cookery book, and our tables were filled with every species of meat and vegetable to be found on a plantation, with every kind of cakes, jellies, and blanc-mange to be concocted out of eggs, butter, and cream, besides an endless catalogue of preserves, sweetmeats, pickles, and condiments. So that in the matter of good living, both as to abundance and the manner of serving, a Virginia plantation could not be excelled.