May 29 {1857}. Richmond . . . . The Hotel did not promise much from the outside, but we had a good room and sat down to a good table. I looked around with complacency upon its abundance, tasted its good coffee, broke bread and asked for butter. “We have none” said the waiter, “it can’t be had in this part of the country.” I looked at the milk and I said to the Landlady “Why can’t butter be made in this country?” “Oh,” said she, “we have it usually but have not now for five days. Blountville is the county town and the lawyers were all here last week and they’ve eaten up all.” “How large is your population?” asked Prudie. “Three hundred,” she replied. We looked at each other in amazement. The county town has 300 people, how few people have the other towns!

Before her tour of Europe, Maria and Prudie – the young woman she chaperoned for these    tours – visited the southern United States. They had some interesting exploits. From visiting the Natural Bridge to Mammoth Cave (you try climbing ladders and crawling in caves with a bonnet, heeled shoes, petticoats, long skirts and a corset!) to New Orleans and Atlanta, they covered a lot of ground. Maria was not without her complaints, however. Having already spent a night at a hotel in which she advised people to not look too closely at the black spot on their pillowcase and, “ . . . just get in bed and go to sleep at once and keep asleep if you can,” to this small town – that was actually the largest town – that couldn’t keep up with its butter supply she seemed to come across minor, but interesting situations.

JNLF