Here’s a picture of the famous “Lady Baltimore”.
I’ve just finished Wister’s novel (of the same name). It was enjoyable though tinged with Yankee sentiment. The main character was from Boston (if I recall) and suggested he was neither a Northerner nor a Southerner – he was an American. As noble as that sounds, our modernist peers have rebelled against provincialism. With that and the advent of the internet, I’m not sure there will be any local flavor left. Wister wouldn’t appreciate today’s amalgamation.
…so have the ladies in your lives bake a Lady Baltimore and while eating it, remember the gracious societies that once peppered the South. They were the last bastions of Christendom. (1)
And while we’re on the subject of Southern aristocrats and their habits, awhile back, I asked my friends why some of them seemed to think the “working class” (so called) had an inherent goodness that all the other classes lacked. I get the feeling sometimes they’re trying to win popular support with flattering rhetoric; at other times, I feel like they actually believe America’s working class is morally superior to all those “rich” people.
The first millionaire I ever met knew my parents and I suspect they hinted to him I needed extra summer income (during my high school days). I was working a landscaping job when he pulled up next to me in an old pickup. He motioned to the next lot over and told me he owned it and needed the ditch-bank mowed. He said he’d pay me to do it.
I took the job but only had a small weed-eater which was barely enough. The weeds were so thick it kept getting bogged down and I went through a few spools of line. After awhile, my hands got so blistered it hurt to hold the machine. I had a temper back then and when the weed-eater sputtered out for the millionth time, I flung it as far as I could.
…of course he pulled up just in time to see it go flying. He got out and I was afraid he was going to yell at me, but he didn’t. He saw my bleeding hands and said something about how he admired my work ethic.
When I think of Southern aristocrats, I think of him and others like him (and I aspire to be like them one day). And while I don’t believe any class is inherently more moral than any other, I do believe in the formal structuring of societies and the “great chain of being” idea. I’m not particularly fond of our democratic emphasis on “equality” which amounts to men measuring themselves according to their pay checks instead of their deeds or family honor; this system has spawned rootless men with no relation to their communities and who purchase bad debt for re-sell to Asians without care for the destruction reaped among their countrymen.
Wister’s “Lady Baltimore” contrasts these “replacers” with the old Southern aristocracy of Charleston. In my last post I spoke of being homesick. I’m all the more homesick after finishing the novel. I want to marry the heroine, shake the hero’s hand, and most of all, I want to try a piece of that cake!
(1). Satanists hate provincialism because God reaches us through our immediate social context, especially the family; the small southern societies in Wister’s fictional “Kingsport” are archetypical examples. This flow of divinity must be stopped by appeal to television, internet, mass media of all sorts, and an involuntary “education” process that sears young consciences. Our enemy has no idea the power he’s taunting or the anger he’s storing up against himself. I just pray to God I’m around when the holy dam explodes.