"’THE BATH,’ ENTERPRISE, S.C., "January 27, 19--
"MY DEAR MR. HOWARD:--If only I could drop in on you this evening and make my report in person, what couldn’t I tell! You would laugh if you knew why we call our house The Bath. But first, have I ever told you that we have a house? Well, Guildford is so far from even Whitehall, which is the nearest place we visited, that I lost too much time in coming and going. I must have been eight hours in the saddle some days, and I didn’t get on fast enough to suit my leaping ambition,--and--bathrooms are scarce in the country, so Cousin Lois and I decided to build a model cabin or quarters before we started the house, and live on the place. There was already a windmill, so I ordered a porcelain tub in Charleston, and built my house around it. Cousin Lois preëmpts it most of the time, but I get my full share, and it is a luxury. Did you ever try going without a bathroom? Try it. It will make you ’t’ink ob yo’ marcies,’ as the negroes say.
"Oh, we are so happy! Every day some of the dear neighbours who knew Guildford in its prime ride or drive over to tell me little forgotten quirks of the blessed place, and to assure me that I am copying it faithfully. Cousin Lois calls it curiosity, but I think it is interest. But the primitive methods in vogue in the South--well, you simply would not believe me unless you saw them. For example, at the turpentine plant at Schoville, which I will tell you more of later, my engineer found them ladling out the crude turpentine by hand, when you know it ought to be piped, and half the time this cheap negro labour, which they hire to save machinery, is drunk or striking, which often shuts down the plant for days at a time,--ten days at Christmas always. Machinery may be expensive, but, at least, it doesn’t get drunk, and by means of it a man may run his business, even in the South, regularly, and so build up a reputation for reliability, which, honestly, Mr. Howard, nobody down here seems to know the meaning of, as we understand it! Any excuse serves. Just make your excuse--that’s all. It not only seems to relieve the conscience of the purveyor, but satisfies the consumer as well. In Georgia it is a State law not to move freight on Sunday. Imagine that, added to the railroad service as it stands! And in a certain town in Middle Georgia, the fire-engines are drawn by oxen. I enclose the kodak I took of it, for I know you won’t believe me else. One thing the South needs more than anything else is some of our Northern Italian labour. Then the negroes will see what it really is to work.