Daily Advocate
Baton Rouge
May 10, 1861
Letter from Grace Hopper.
New Orleans, May 7th, 1861.
Messrs. Editors:—Grace and her beau went to the Varieties the other night. Pocahontas was the card of the evening. Did you ever hear and see it—if you have not you may rest assured you have lost food for laughter.There was not much of a crowd, and the most of the few present were country people.
Why this is—can only be accounted for by the fact that the star of the Varieties, Mrs. Leighton, is a married lady, and will not descend to the catch of putting Miss before her name.
She may be a second rate actress, or a star of the first magnitude in the eyes of those “know alls” (who, on the strength of getting in theatres free, I suppose, are presumed to be competent judges,) for ought I know—but that she acts to the life—will make you laugh or cry despite your resolves to not do it—is true, and you have Garce Hopper’s word for it. She is none of your great big, long women, with a walk like a Zouave, and a voice ditto, but she
is just what “yours truly” would like to be, a dah-lin-duk, or lum-pa-shuga. She acted the character of Pocahontas, as laid down in the plot, to perfection. Just like a dear creature, she saved Capt. Smith’s head from the impression that old Powhatan wanted from mere love of him, to take on a rock, and just like a woman, she insisted on marrying Smith, instead of Rolfe. There was not fun in keeping to the strict letter of the dull matter of fact history, and therefore the author of the piece just reversed it. No wonder she prefered Smith—if he resembled Mr. Davenport, who personified him—if he is single. I would’nt mind ———
is just what “yours truly” would like to be, a dah-lin-duk, or lum-pa-shuga. She acted the character of Pocahontas, as laid down in the plot, to perfection. Just like a dear creature, she saved Capt. Smith’s head from the impression that old Powhatan wanted from mere love of him, to take on a rock, and just like a woman, she insisted on marrying Smith, instead of Rolfe. There was not fun in keeping to the strict letter of the dull matter of fact history, and therefore the author of the piece just reversed it. No wonder she prefered Smith—if he resembled Mr. Davenport, who personified him—if he is single. I would’nt mind ———
The entry of the Pelicans made my heart swell with a pride for old Redstick, I never felt before. The people here are used to Company processions, but still our gallant gentlemen attracted all eyes. I didn’t go as far in my enthusiasm as the young Baton Rougean, who was standing on the same balcony. Her eyes were on both the observed and observers, and noticing a large group of gazers were looking the other way, she jealously exclaimed: “Oh, why don’t they look—did they ever see anything like that.” In the “Pride” of Baton Rouge, she thinks is embodied the hope of the South, and stamina of the Confederate Army. They say that West Baton Rouge is sending the noblest Company that ever trod the soil of Louisiana. If they are
now with full ranks, the same quality of men as the fifty or sixty of them that paraded Baton Rouge once, their friends have some ground for their proud boast. When I looked down upon the gray caps of our Pelicans as they passed, and thoughts of the hundreds more our parish was waiting to send, as a mother sends her children forth to battle against her foe, it sent unwonted fire through every nerve. Pride in noble old Redstick—pride in the thought that she is giving her best, and her noblest to our glorious cause, and that their feet are now treading in the bright gleaming path of duty, would bring the tears into the proudest eye.
now with full ranks, the same quality of men as the fifty or sixty of them that paraded Baton Rouge once, their friends have some ground for their proud boast. When I looked down upon the gray caps of our Pelicans as they passed, and thoughts of the hundreds more our parish was waiting to send, as a mother sends her children forth to battle against her foe, it sent unwonted fire through every nerve. Pride in noble old Redstick—pride in the thought that she is giving her best, and her noblest to our glorious cause, and that their feet are now treading in the bright gleaming path of duty, would bring the tears into the proudest eye.
Perhaps before this letter reaches you, Grace will be in her country home. Brick, stone, glare and noise are a poor substitute for fields, trees, and the thousand other glories of the country; and the combined brass bands of New Orleans, though stunning in effect, would’nt begin to compare with the trill of the operatic and erratic troupe of mocking birds that sings in
the garden of
the garden of
Grace Hopper.