Everything had a "shackling," lazy appearance. The master was always, it appeared to us, reading a newspaper in the front porch, and never observing anything that was going on. The house was so full of idle negroes standing about the halls and stairways that one could scarcely make one's way up or down stairs. Everything needed repair, from the bed upon which you slept to the family coach which took you to church. Few of the chairs had all their rounds and legs, and, when completely disabled, were sent to the garret, where they accumulated in great numbers, and remained until pressing necessity induced the master to raise his eyes from his paper long enough to order "Dick" to "take the four-horse wagon and carry the chairs to be mended." A multitude of kinsfolk and acquaintance usually congregated here. And at one place, in order to accommodate so many, there were four beds in a chamber. These high bedsteads presented a remarkable appearance,--the head of one going into the side of another, the foot of one into the head of another, and so on, looking as if they had never been "placed," but as if their curious juxtaposition had been the result of an earthquake. One of these houses is said to have been greatly improved in appearance during the war by the passage of a cannon-ball through the upper story, where a window had been needed for many years. But the owners of these places were so genuinely good, one could not complain of them, even for such carelessness. For everybody was welcome to everything. You might stop the plows if you wanted a horse, or take the carriage and drive for a week's journey, and, in short, impose upon these good people in every conceivable way. Yet, in spite of this topsy-turvy management--a strange fact connected with such places--they invariably had good light-bread, good mutton, and the usual abundance on their tables. We suppose it must have been a recollection of such plantations which induced the negro to exclaim, on hearing another sing "Ole Virginny Nubber Tire": "Umph! ole Virginny nubber tire, kase she nubber done nuthin' fur to furtigue herself!" CHAPTER XV. Confining these reminiscences strictly to plantation life, no mention has been made of the families we knew and visited in some of our cities, whose kindness to their slaves was unmistakable, and who, owning only a small number, could better afford to indulge them. At one of these houses this indulgence was such that the white family were very much under the control of their servants. The owner of this house, Charles Mosby, an eminent lawyer, was a man of taste and learning, whose legal ability attracted many admirers, and whose refinement, culture, and generous nature won enthusiastic friends.