_March 20, 1844._—So far as I can learn I give general satisfaction, but I believe the people are a little afraid of me, particularly when they see me read German (for I often forget myself with Hoffman). I am amused to learn accidentally how I have been talked over in every direction, and my teeth particularly admired in peculiarly Kentucky style. ‘Well, I do declare she’s got a clean mouth, hasn’t she!’—white teeth seeming remarkable where all use tobacco! All the chief people of the place have called on me, which plagues me dreadfully, as I have to return the calls, and find them in the lowest degree uninteresting, with nothing to do but knit, nothing to hear but their own petty affairs. Then they are most unmerciful in the length of visit. If they live in what is called out of town, nothing will satisfy but giving up the afternoon, taking tea, and sleeping. The sleeping I have victoriously fought against, but the rest I have sometimes been betrayed into, and have sat hour after hour striving dreadfully to take an interest in the gossip, swallowing yawns until my eyes watered, and then suddenly awaking out of a long reverie on all of you to the consciousness that everybody is sitting in an awkward silence, and that it is absolutely necessary to say something. The first evening I so spent I was rejoicing at the prospect of escape, for the watches had been pulled out, and it was declared late (half-past eight), when I was taken quite by surprise by seeing the Episcopal clergyman who was present seat himself by the table with a large Bible before him, wipe his spectacles, and give a preparatory hem! I gave an inward groan, sat down again and looked with a long face steadily at the fire, whilst a north-wester was blowing all the time through a crack of the door into my ear. As we knelt down, and I looked round at the funny kneeling figures and up at the walls of a real log cabin, and on one side at the immense wood fire, it all seemed so very odd that I almost began to doubt my own identity.