Chapter X (2)

After the carriage of the motion of Mr. Mangum to proceed to the consideration of the order of the day, Mr. Clay folds his papers and puts them in his desk, and after the business is announced, rises gracefully and majestically. Instantaneously there is general applause, which Mr. Clay seems not to notice. The noise within is heard without, and the great crowd raised such a shout that Mr. Clay had to pause until the officers went out and cleared all the entrances, and then he began. He spoke on that day two hours and fifteen minutes. The speech was reported in the _Globe_ word for word as he uttered it. I never saw such a report before. His voice was good, his enunciation clear and distinct, his action firm, his strength far surpassing my expectation. He had the riveted gaze of the multitude the whole time. When he concluded, an immense throng of friends, both men and women came up to congratulate and to _kiss_ him.

_March 31st._--The Angel of Death has just passed by, and his shadow is seen lingering upon the startled countenances of all. A great man has just fallen,--Calhoun! His race is ended. His restless and fiery spirit sleeps in that deep and long repose which awaits all the living. He died this morning about seven o'clock. Peace to his ashes! His name will long be remembered in the history of this country. He has closed his career at a most eventful period of that history, and perhaps it is most fortunate for his fame that he died just at this time.

TRUE COURAGE.

(_From a Speech, 1855._)

I am afraid of nothing on earth, or above the earth, or under the earth, but to do wrong. The path of duty I shall endeavor to travel, fearing no evil, and dreading no consequences. I would rather be defeated in a good cause than to triumph in a bad one. I would not give a fig for a man who would shrink from the discharge of duty for fear of defeat.

FOOTNOTES:

[19] By permission of the National Publishing Co., Philadelphia.

[20] By permission of authors, and publishers, J. B. Lippincott Co., Philadelphia.

ALEXANDER BEAUFORT MEEK.

~1814=1865.~

ALEXANDER BEAUFORT MEEK was born at Columbia, South Carolina, was educated at the University of Alabama, and began life as a lawyer and editor in Tuscaloosa, then capital of Alabama. He was a lieutenant in the Seminole War. He was a judge, a member of the State Legislature and Speaker of the House, and father of the public school system of the state. His later years were devoted to literary pursuits and he stands high as an orator, poet, and historian.

WORKS.

Red Eagle, [a poem].
Romantic Passages in South-Western History.
History of Alabama, [unfinished].
Songs and Poems of the South.
Pilgrims of Mt. Vernon, [unfinished poem].

The story of the Indian Chief, Red Eagle, or Weatherford, is one of the most interesting traditions of our country. Judge Meek's writings teem with the romantic and marvellous incidents of the early history of Alabama, such as De Soto's march to the Mississippi, the Battle of Mauville and defeat of the great Indian King, Tuscaloosa, or Black Warrior, the Canoe-Fight of Dale, or Sam Thlucco, as the Indians called him ("Big Sam"), and the attack on Fort Mims.

RED EAGLE, OR WEATHERFORD.

(_From Romantic Passages in South-Western History._)

The battle of Tohopeka put an end to the hopes of Weatherford. This village was situated on a peninsula, within the "horse-shoe bend" of the Tallapoosa. Here twelve hundred warriors . . . had fortified themselves for a desperate struggle, assured by their prophets that the Master of Breath would now interpose in their favor. Across the neck of land, three hundred and fifty yards wide, that leads into the peninsula, they had constructed powerful breastworks of hewn logs, eight or ten feet high, and pierced with double rows of port-holes, from which they could fire with perfect security. The selection of this spot and the character of its defence did great credit to the military genius of Weatherford,--and his eloquence, more than usually persuasive and inspiriting, filled his devoted followers with a courage strangely compounded of fanaticism and despair.

At an early hour in the morning, General Coffee's command having crossed the river and encircled the bend so as to cut off all escape, General Jackson opened his artillery upon the breastworks, and having but in part demolished them, ordered forward the thirty-ninth regiment to carry the place by storm. The van was gallantly led by Col. Williams, Col. Bunch, Lieut.-Col. Benton, and Maj. Montgomery. Amidst a most destructive fire, they pressed to the breastworks, and desperately struggled for the command of the port-holes. But Maj. Montgomery, impatient at the delay, cried out to his men to follow him, and leaped upon the wall in face of the deadliest fire. For an instant he waved his sword over his head in triumph, but the next fell lifeless to the ground, shot through the head by a rifle ball. A more gallant spirit never achieved a nobler death, and the name of the young Tennesseean is preserved as a proud designation by one of the richest counties, as well as by one of the most flourishing cities, in the State whose soil was baptized by his blood!

The breastworks having been carried by storm, the Indians fell back among the trees, brush, and timber of the peninsula, and kept up a spirited contest. But, in the meantime, a portion of Coffee's command, and some of the friendly warriors under their distinguished chief, McIntosh, had swum across the river, fired the village of Tohopeka, and carried off the canoes of the enemy. The followers of Weatherford now became desperate, and from the banks, hollows, and other fastnesses of the place, fought with fury, refusing all offers of quarter. The fight continued in severity for five hours; and the going down of the sun was hailed by the survivors as furnishing them some chance of escape. But the hope was, in the main, deceptive. . . .

. . . Not more than twenty warriors are believed to have escaped, under cover of the night. Among these, strange enough, was the chieftain [Weatherford], whose appellation, "the Murderer of Fort Mims," had formed the watch-word and war-cry of his enemies in this very engagement. Favored by the thick darkness, he floated down the river with his horse, until below the American lines, and then reaching the shore, made his way in safety to the highlands south of the Tallapoosa. . .

Weatherford could not consent to fly from the nation; he felt that he owed it, as a duty to his people, not to abandon them until peace was restored. In this state of mind he was apprised that the American commander had set a price upon his head, and refused peace to the other chiefs, unless they should bring him either dead, or in confinement, to the American camp, now at Fort Jackson, near the junction of the rivers. His determination was at once taken in the same spirit of heroism that always marked his conduct. Accordingly, mounting his horse, he made his way across the country, and soon appeared at the lines of the encampment. At his request, a sentinel conducted him to the presence of the commander-in-chief, who was seated in his marquee, in consultation with several of his principal officers. The stately and noble appearance of the warrior at once excited the attention and surprise of the General, and he demanded of the Chief his name and the purpose of his visit.

In calm and deliberate tones, the chieftain said: "I am Weatherford. I have come to ask peace for myself and for my people."

The mild dignity with which these words were uttered, no less than their import, struck the American commander with surprise. [He hardly knew what to do; but he allowed some parley and Weatherford made a speech, ending thus:] "General Jackson, you are a brave man: I am another. I do not fear to die. But I rely on your generosity. You will exact no terms of a conquered and helpless people, but those to which they should accede. . . . You have told us what we may do and be safe. Yours is a good talk and my nation ought to listen to it. They _shall_ listen to it!" . . .

General Jackson acceded to the demands of Weatherford, and assured him of peace and safety for himself and people.

PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE.

~1816=1850.~

PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE, the elder brother of the better known John Esten Cooke, was born in Martinsburg, Virginia, and spent his short life happily in his native county, engaged in field sports and in writing stories and poems for the "Southern Literary Messenger" and other magazines. His lyric, "Florence Vane," has been very popular and has been translated into many languages. He was said to be stately and impressive in manner and a brilliant talker. Philip Pendleton and John Esten Cooke were first cousins of John Pendleton Kennedy, their mothers being sisters.

His death was caused by pneumonia contracted from riding through the Shenandoah on a hunting trip.

WORKS.

Froissart Ballads and other Poems.
John Carpe.
Gregories of Hackwood.
Crime of Andrew Blair.
Chevalier Merlin [unfinished].

FLORENCE VANE.

I loved thee long and dearly,
Florence Vane;
My life's bright dream, and early,
Hath come again;
I renew, in my fond vision,
My heart's dear pain,
My hope, and thy derision,
Florence Vane.

The ruin lone and hoary,
The ruin old,
Where thou didst hark my story,
At even told,--
That spot--the hues Elysian
Of sky and plain--
I treasure in my vision,
Florence Vane.

Thou wast lovelier than the roses
In their prime:
Thy voice excelled the closes
Of sweetest rhyme;
Thy heart was as a river
Without a main.
Would I had loved thee never,
Florence Vane!

But fairest, coldest wonder!
Thy glorious clay
Lieth the green sod under--
Alas the day!
And it boots not to remember
Thy disdain--
To quicken love's pale ember,
Florence Vane.

The lilies of the valley
By young graves weep,
The pansies love to dally
Where maidens sleep;
May their bloom, in beauty vying,
Never wane,
Where thine earthly part is lying,
Florence Vane!

THEODORE O'HARA.

~1820=1867.~

THEODORE O'HARA, son of an Irish exile, was born in Danville, Kentucky, and educated at St. Joseph Academy, Bardstown, where he taught Greek to the younger classes while finishing his senior course. He read law, was appointed clerk in the Treasury Department at Washington, 1845, and on the outbreak of the Mexican War entered the army as a soldier, rising to be captain and major. At the close of the war, he returned to Washington and practised law. He was afterwards editor of the "Mobile Register," and of the Frankfort "Yeoman," in Kentucky, and was employed in diplomatic missions. He was a colonel in the Confederate Army, and after the war, settled in Georgia. On his death the Kentucky Legislature passed a resolution to remove his remains to Frankfort and lay them beside the soldiers whom he had so well praised in his "Bivouac of the Dead;" and there he rests, the soldier bard, among the voiceless braves of the Battle of Buena Vista. This poem was written for the occasion of their interment; and it has furnished the lines of inscription over the gateways of several military cemeteries.

WORKS.

Bivouac of the Dead.
The Old Pioneer.

THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD.

(_In Memory of the Kentuckians who fell at the Battle of Buena Vista, Jan. 28, 1847._)

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on Life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards, with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead.

No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms;
No braying horn nor screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.

Their shivered swords are red with rust,
Their plumèd heads are bowed;
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashed,
Are free from anguish now.

The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout, are past;
Nor war's wild note nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that never more may feel
The rapture of the fight.

. . . . . . . . .

Full many a norther's breath has swept
O'er Angostura's plain,--
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above its mouldered slain.
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight,
Or shepherd's pensive lay,
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned o'er that dread fray.

Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground,
Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound
Along the heedless air.
Your own proud land's heroic soil
Shall be your fitter grave:
She claims from war his richest spoil--
The ashes of her brave.

Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the gory field,
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast
On many a bloody shield;
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them, here,
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by
The heroes' sepulchre.

Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead!
Dear as the blood ye gave;
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave;
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps,
Or Honor points the hallowed spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps.

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
In deathless song shall tell,
When many a vanished age hath flown,
The story how ye fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor Time's remorseless doom,
Shall dim one ray of glory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.

FOURTH PERIOD ... 1850-1894.

GEORGE RAINSFORD FAIRBANKS.

~1820=----.~

GEORGE RAINSFORD FAIRBANKS was born in Watertown, New York, but settled in Florida at St. Augustine in 1842 and identified himself with his adopted state. From 1860 to 1880 his home was at Sewanee, Tennessee, and he has been on the Board of Trustees of the "University of the South" since 1857. During the war he served as major in the Confederate army, 1862-65. In 1880 he returned to Florida and has since made his home in Fernandina. His "History of Florida" is considered the best history of that state, and is written in a clear and interesting style.

WORKS.

History of Florida.
History and Antiquities of St. Augustine.

OSCEOLA, LEADER OF THE SEMINOLES.

(_From History of Florida._[21])

His true Indian name was As-se-se-ha-ho-lar, or Black Drink, but he was commonly called Osceola, or Powell. He belonged to a Creek tribe called Red Sticks, and was a half-breed. He removed to Florida with his mother when a child, and lived near Fort King [three miles east of Ocala]. At the beginning of the Florida war he was about thirty-one years of age, of medium size, being about five feet eight inches in height, resolute and manly in his bearing, with a clear, frank, and engaging countenance. He was undoubtedly the master-spirit of the war, and by his firmness and audacity forced the nation into the war which a large majority were averse to engaging in, and either broke up every attempt at negotiations or prevented their fulfillment. He was to have been one of the leaders at Dade's massacre, but was detained at Fort King by his determination to gratify his revenge upon General Thompson. He participated in the battles at the ford of the Withlacoochee and Camp Izard, and led the attack upon Micanopy, where, with his force of less than two hundred and fifty men, within sight of the fort, he attacked upwards of one hundred regular troops in an open field, supported by a field-piece.

His capture, [October, 1837], by General Hernandez was due to his audacity and self-confidence. Bad faith, and a disregard of the usages of civilization, have been imputed to General Jesup on this occasion, Osceola having come in under a white flag to negotiate; but that officer contended that Osceola had broken his faith in reference to the Fort Dade capitulation [when he had promised to emigrate] and was to be treated as a prisoner.

From all that can be gathered of his character, Osceola was possessed of nobler traits than usually belong to his race. His manners were dignified and courteous, and upon the field he showed himself a brave and cautious leader. It is said that he instructed his people in their predatory excursions to spare the women and children. "It is not," said he, "upon them that we make war and draw the scalping-knife. It is upon men. Let us act like men."

Osceola has furnished to the poet, to the novelist, and to the lover of romance, a most attractive subject, and scarce any limit has been placed to the virtues attributed or the exploits imagined in connection with this renowned chief of the Seminoles. A poet has sung of him,--

"His features are clothed with a warrior's pride,
And he moves with a monarch's tread;
He smiles with joy, as the flash of steel
Through the Everglades' grass is seen."

Upon his removal to Charleston, he became dejected and low-spirited, and gradually pined away. All efforts to interest him in a Western home failed to arouse him, and in a few weeks he died of a broken heart, and was buried just outside of the principal gateway of Fort Moultrie, where his resting-place is inclosed and a monument erected.

FOOTNOTE:

[21] By permission of the author.

RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON.

~1822=----.~

RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON was born in Hancock County, Georgia. He was professor of Literature in the University of Georgia, 1857-1861. He served, as colonel, in the Confederate army, and has since had a school for boys at Sparta, Georgia, and later near Baltimore.

In connection with Prof. William Hand Browne of Johns Hopkins, he has published a "History of English Literature" and a "Life of Alexander H. Stephens." His tales describe life among the Georgia "Crackers" and they have many readers and admirers. His style has the stamp of simple truth and is irresistible. See _Sketch_ in Miss Rutherford's "American Authors."

WORKS.

Dukesborough Tales.
Old Mark Langston.
Two Gray Tourists.
Collection of Stories.
Mr. Absalom Billingslea and other Georgia Folks.
Widow Guthrie.
History of English Literature;
Life of Alex. H. Stephens: (both with Prof. W. H. Browne.)
Ogeechee Cross-Firings.
Mr. Bill Williams.
Primes and their neighbors.
Pearce Amerson's Will.

The following extract is a true story of an old gentleman who was Alexander H. Stephens' first client.

MR. HEZEKIAH ELLINGTON'S RECOVERY.

(_From Life of Alexander H. Stephens._[22])

The old gentleman was brought very low with malarious fever, and his physician and family had made up their minds, that, notwithstanding his extreme reluctance to depart from this life,--a reluctance heightened no doubt by his want of preparation for a better,--he would be compelled to go. The system of therapeutics in vogue at that time and in that section included immense quantities of calomel, and rigorously excluded cold water. Mr. Ellington lingered and lingered, and went without water so long and to such an extent that it seemed to him he might as well die of the disease as of the intolerable thirst that tormented him. . . . . . . .

At last, one night, when his physicians, deeming his case hopeless, had taken their departure, informing his family that he could hardly live till morning, and the latter, worn down by watching, were compelled to take a little rest, he was left to the care of his constant and faithful servant, Shadrach, with strict and solemn charge to notify them if any change took place in his master's condition, and, above all, under no circumstances to give him cold water.

When the rest were all asleep, Mr. Ellington, always astute and adroit in gaining his ends, and whose faculties at present were highly stimulated by his extreme necessity, called out to his attendant in a feeble voice, which he strove to make as natural and unsuggestive as possible,--

"Shadrach, go to the spring and fetch me a pitcher of water from the bottom."

Shadrach expostulated, pleading the orders of the doctor and his mistress.

"You Shadrach, you had better do what I tell you, sir."

Shadrach still held by his orders.

"Shadrach, if you don't bring me the water, when I get well I'll give you the worst whipping you ever had in your life!"

Shadrach either thought that if his master got well he would cherish no rancor towards the faithful servant whose constancy had saved him, or, more likely, that the prospect of recovery was far too remote to justify any serious apprehension for his present disobedience; at all events, he held firm. The sick man, finding this mode of attack ineffectual, paused awhile, and then said, in the most persuasive accents he could employ,

"Shadrach, my boy, you are a good nigger, Shadrach. If you'll go now and fetch old master a pitcher of nice cool water, I'll set you free and give you _Five Hundred Dollars_!" And he dragged the syllables slowly and heavily from his dry jaws, as if to make the sum appear immeasurably vast.

But Shadrach was proof against even this temptation. He only admitted its force by arguing the case, urging that how could he stand it, and what good would his freedom and five hundred dollars do him, if he should do a thing that would kill his old master?

The old gentleman groaned and moaned. At last he bethought him of one final stratagem. He raised his head as well as he could, turned his haggard face full upon Shadrach, and glaring at him from his hollow blood-shot eyes, said,

"Shadrach, I am going to die, and it's because I can't get any water. If you don't go and bring me a pitcher of water, after I'm dead I'll come back and HAUNT you! I'll HAUNT you as long as you live!"

"Oh Lordy! Master! You shall hab de water!" cried Shadrach; and he rushed out to the spring and brought it. The old man drank and drank,--the pitcherful and more. The next morning he was decidedly better, and to the astonishment of all, soon got well.

FOOTNOTE:

[22] By permission of authors, and publishers, J. B. Lippincott Co., Philadelphia.

JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON.

~1823=1873.~

JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON was born at Richmond, and educated at the University of Virginia. He studied law, but practised little, and in 1847 became editor of the "Southern Literary Messenger." This position he filled with great success for twelve years and he exerted a fine influence on the literary taste and effort of his times. In this magazine first appeared the writings of Donald G. Mitchell ("Dream Life" and "Reveries of a Bachelor"), the early pieces of John Esten Cooke, Philip Pendleton Cooke, Paul Hamilton Hayne, Henry Timrod, and others.

His delicate health induced him to resign his place in 1859 and to go farther south to Augusta, Georgia, as editor of the "Southern Field and Fireside." In 1863 he travelled in Europe and his descriptive letters are very bright and interesting. He later became literary editor of the "Evening Post," N. Y.; in 1872 he went to Colorado in one last but vain effort to restore his health. He died in 1873 and is buried in Hollywood Cemetery at Richmond.

His writings, consisting of poems, letters, sketches, and editorials, are found mainly in the "Southern Literary Messenger" and "The Land We Love."

ASHBY.

To the brave all homage render,
Weep, ye skies of June!
With a radiance pure and tender,
Shine, oh saddened moon!
"Dead upon the field of glory,"
Hero fit for song and story,
Lies our bold dragoon.

Well they learned, whose hands have slain him,
Braver, knightlier foe
Never fought with Moor nor Paynim,
Rode at Templestowe;
With a mien how high and joyous,
'Gainst the hordes that would destroy us
Went he forth we know.

Never more, alas! shall sabre
Gleam around his crest;
Fought his fight; fulfilled his labour;
Stilled his manly breast.
All unheard sweet Nature's cadence,
Trump of fame and voice of maidens,
Now he takes his rest.

Earth that all too soon hath bound him,
Gently wrap his clay;
Linger lovingly around him,
Light of dying day;
Softly fall the summer showers,
Birds and bees among the flowers
Make the gloom seem gay.

There, throughout the coming ages,
When his sword is rust,
And his deeds in classic pages,
Mindful of her trust,
Shall Virginia, bending lowly,
Still a ceaseless vigil holy
Keep above his dust!

MUSIC IN CAMP.

Two armies covered hill and plain,
Where Rappahannock's waters
Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain
Of battle's recent slaughters.

The summer clouds lay pitched like tents
In meads of heavenly azure;
And each dread gun of the elements
Slept in its hid embrasure.

The breeze so softly blew, it made
No forest leaf to quiver,
And the smoke of the random cannonade
Rolled slowly from the river.

And now, where circling hills looked down
With cannon grimly planted,
O'er listless camp and silent town
The golden sunset slanted.

When on the fervid air there came
A strain--now rich, now tender;
The music seemed itself aflame
With day's departing splendor.

A Federal band, which, eve and morn,
Played measures brave and nimble,
Had just struck up, with flute and horn
And lively clash of cymbal.

Down flocked the soldiers to the banks,
Till, margined by its pebbles,
One wooded shore was blue with "Yanks,"
And one was gray with "Rebels."

Then all was still, and then the band,
With movement light and tricksy,
Made stream and forest, hill and strand
Reverberate with "Dixie."

The conscious stream with burnished glow
Went proudly o'er its pebbles,
But thrilled throughout its deepest flow
With yelling of the Rebels.

Again a pause, and then again
The trumpets pealed sonorous,
And "Yankee Doodle" was the strain
To which the shore gave chorus.

The laughing ripple shoreward flew,
To kiss the shining pebbles;
Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue
Defiance to the Rebels.

And yet once more the bugles sang
Above the stormy riot;
No shout upon the evening rang--
There reigned a holy quiet.

The sad, slow stream its noiseless flood
Poured o'er the glistening pebbles;
All silent now the Yankees stood,
And silent stood the Rebels.

No unresponsive soul had heard
That plaintive note's appealing,
So deeply "Home Sweet Home" had stirred
The hidden founts of feeling.

Or Blue, or Gray, the soldier sees
As by the wand of fairy,
The cottage 'neath the live-oak trees,
The cabin by the prairie.

Or cold, or warm, his native skies
Bend in their beauty o'er him;
Seen through the tear-mist in his eyes,
His loved ones stand before him.

As fades the iris after rain
In April's tearful weather,
The vision vanished, as the strain
And daylight died together.

But memory, waked by music's art,
Expressed in simplest numbers,
Subdued the sternest Yankee's heart,
Made light the Rebel's slumbers.

And fair the form of music shines,
That bright celestial creature,
Who still, 'mid war's embattled lines,
Gave this one touch of Nature.

JABEZ LAMAR MONROE CURRY.

~1825=----.~

DR. CURRY was born in Georgia, but his father removed to Alabama in 1838, and he was reared in that State. After graduation at the University of Georgia and at the Harvard Law School, he began the practice of law in Talladega County, Alabama. He served in the State Legislature and in Congress, and in 1861 entered the Confederate Army.

After the war he was ordained to the Baptist ministry and became president of Howard College, Alabama, and later, professor of English, Philosophy, and Law, in Richmond College, Virginia, which latter position he filled for thirteen years. From 1881 to 1885 he was agent of the Peabody Educational Fund; in 1885 he was appointed minister to Spain, and on his return to America resumed the agency of the Fund. His wise administration and his well-directed efforts have done much to further the cause of education; and his ability and effectiveness as a speaker and writer have given him national fame.

WORKS.

Constitutional History of Spain.
Gladstone.
Southern States of the American Union [just issued, 1895].

RELATIONS BETWEEN ENGLAND AND AMERICA.

(_From Gladstone._[23])

By his frank utterances, expressive of his admiration of the people and the institutions of the United States, he has provoked adverse criticism from a portion of the English press. He thinks the Senate of the United States "the most remarkable of all the inventions of modern politics," and the American constitution "the most wonderful work ever struck off at a given time by the brain and purpose of man," and that "its exemption from formal change, has certainly proved the sagacity of its constructors and the stubborn strength of the fabric."

In the same essay--_Kin Beyond Sea_--speaking of our future, he says, "She will probably become what we are now, the head servant in the great household of the world, the employer of all employed; because her service will be the most and the ablest." In 1856, when the relations between Great Britain and the United States became considerably strained, in an able speech may be found this sentence: "It appears to me that the two cardinal aims that we ought to keep in view in the discussion of this question are peace and a thoroughly cordial understanding with America for one, the honor and fame of England for the other."

In 1884, he wrote: "The convulsion of that country between 1861 and 1865 was perhaps the most frightful which ever assailed a national existence. The efforts which were made on both sides were marked. The exertions by which alone the movement was put down were not only extraordinary, they were what antecedently would have been called impossible; and they were only rendered possible by the fact that they proceeded from a nation where every capable citizen was enfranchised and had a direct and an energetic interest in the well-being and unity of the State." "No hardier republicanism was generated in New England than in the slave States of the South, which produced so many of the great statesmen of America."

In a conversation with Mr. Gladstone in 1887, he referred to the enormous power and responsibilities of the United States, and suggested that a desideratum was a new unity between our two countries. We had that of race and language, but we needed a moral unity of English-speaking people for the success of freedom.

The English or Anglo-Saxon race is essentially the same in its more distinguishing characteristics. Unity of language creates unity of thought, of literature, and largely unity of civilization and of institutions. It facilitates social and commercial intercourse, and must produce still more marked political phenomena. We profit naturally by inventions, by discoveries, by constitutional struggles, by civil and religious achievements, by lessons of traditions, by landmarks of usage and prescription. Magna Charta, Petition of Right, Habeas Corpus, what O'Connell even called the "glorious Revolution of 1688," are as much American as English.

England claims to have originated the representative system six hundred years ago. Our ancestors brought to this soil, "singularly suited for their growth, all that was democratic in the policy of England and all that was Protestant in her religion." Our revolution, like that of 1688, was in the main a vindication of liberties inherited. In freedom of religion, in local self-government, and somewhat in state autonomy, our forefathers constructed for themselves; but nearly all the personal guarantees, of which we so much boast on our national anniversaries, were borrowed from the mother country.

FOOTNOTE:

[23] By permission of B. F. Johnson and Co., Richmond, Va.

MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON.

~1825=----.~

MRS. PRESTON is a native of Philadelphia, the daughter of Dr. George Junkin who in 1848 removed to Lexington, Virginia, as president of the Washington College, and remained there till 1861. She was married in 1857 to Prof. J. T. L. Preston of the Virginia Military Institute, her sister Eleanor being the wife of Colonel T. J. Jackson of the same institution.

She identified herself with the South, and her "Beechenbrook: a Rhyme of the War" contains the poems, "Stonewall Jackson's Grave" and "Slain in Battle." Her later writings are mostly short poems, many of them religious, articles for magazines, and sketches of travel, all of which breathe forth a sweet and wise influence.

WORKS.

Silverwood, [novel].
Old Songs and New.
For Love's Sake.
Book of Monograms, [travels].
Beechenbrook: a Rhyme of the War.
Cartoons, [poems].
_Translated_ Dies Irae.
Tales and articles for papers [uncollected].

THE SHADE OF THE TREES.

(On the death of Stonewall Jackson, 1863, his last words being, "Let us pass over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.")

(_From Cartoons._[24])

What are the thoughts that are stirring his breast?
What is the mystical vision he sees?
"_Let us pass over the river and rest
Under the shade of the trees._"

Has he grown sick of his toils and his tasks?
Sighs the worn spirit for respite or ease?
Is it a moment's cool halt that he asks
Under the shade of the trees?

Is it the gurgle of waters whose flow
Ofttime has come to him borne on the breeze,
Memory listens to, lapsing so low,
Under the shade of the trees?

Nay--though the rasp of the flesh was so sore,
Faith, that had yearnings far keener than these,
Saw the soft sheen of the Thitherward Shore,
Under the shade of the trees;--

Caught the high psalms of ecstatic delight,--
Heard the harps harping, like soundings of seas,--
Watched earth's assoilèd ones walking in white
Under the shade of the trees.

O, was it strange he should pine for release,
Touched to the soul with such transports as these,--
He who so needed the balsam of peace,
Under the shade of the trees?

Yea, it was noblest for _him_--it was best,
(Questioning naught of our Father's decrees,)
_There_ to pass over the river and rest
Under the shade of the trees!

FOOTNOTE:

[24] By permission of author, and publishers, Roberts Brothers, Boston.

CHARLES HENRY SMITH.

"BILL ARP."

~1826=----.~

CHARLES HENRY SMITH, or "Bill Arp," the "Country Philosopher," was born in Lawrenceville, Georgia, and has made a wide reputation by his humorous letters in the Atlanta "Constitution." He served in the Confederate Army as colonel. Since the war, he has served his country still by giving some very sound and good advice in his "Country Philosopher" articles, seasoned with much humor; and his sketches of Georgian life are valuable.

WORKS.

Bill Arp's Letters.
Articles in Atlanta "Constitution."
Fireside Sketches.
Bill Arp's Scrap-Book.

BIG JOHN, ON THE CHEROKEES.

(_From Fireside Sketches._[25])

Big John had had a little war experience--that is, he had volunteered in a company to assist in the forcible removal of the Cherokees to the far west in 1835. It was said that he was no belligerent then, but wanted to see the maiden that he loved a safe transit, and so he escorted the old chief and his clan as far as Tuscumbia, and then broke down and returned to Ross Landing on the Tennessee River. He was too heavy to march, and when he arrived at the Landing, a prisoner was put in his charge for safe keeping. Ross Landing is Chattanooga now, and John Ross lived there, and was one of the chiefs of the Cherokees. The prisoner was his guest, and his name was John Howard Payne. He was suspected of trying to instigate the Cherokees to revolt and fight, and not leave their beautiful forest homes on the Tennessee and Coosa and Oostanaula and the Etowah and Connasauga rivers. He brought Payne back as far as New Echota, or New Town, as it was called, an Indian settlement on the Coosawattee, a few miles east of Calhoun, as now known. There he kept the author of "Home, Sweet Home" under guard, or on his parole of honor, for three weeks, and night after night slept with him in his tent, and listened to his music upon the violin, and heard him sing his own sad songs until orders came for his discharge, and Payne was sent under escort to Washington.

Many a time I have heard Big John recite his sad adventures. "It was a most distressive business," said he. "Them Injuns was heart-broken; I always knowd an Injun loved his hunting-ground and his rivers, but I never knowd how much they loved 'em before. You know they killed Ridge for consentin' to the treaty. They killed him on the first day's march and they wouldent bury him. We soldiers had to stop and dig a grave and put him away. John Ross and John Ridge were the sons of two Scotchmen, who came over here when they were young men and mixed up with these tribes and got their good will. These two boys were splendid looking men, tall and handsome, with long auburn hair, and they were active and strong, and could shoot a bow equal to the best bowman of the tribe, and they beat 'em all to pieces on the cross-bow. They married the daughters of the old chiefs, and when the old chiefs died they just fell into line and succeeded to the old chiefs' places, and the tribes liked 'em mighty well, for they were good men and made good chiefs. Well, you see Ross dident like the treaty. He said it wasent fair and that the price of the territory was too low, and the fact is he dident want to go at all. There are the ruins of his old home now over there in De Soto, close to Rome, and I tell you he was a king. His word was the law of the Injun nations, and he had their love and their respect. His half-breed children were the purtiest things I ever saw in my life. Well, Ridge lived up the Oostanaula River about a mile, and he was a good man, too. Ross and Ridge always consulted about everything for the good of the tribes, but Ridge was a more milder man than Ross, and was more easily persuaded to sign the treaty that gave the lands to the State and to take other lands away out to the Mississippi.

"Well, it took us a month to get 'em all together and begin the March to the Mississippi, and they wouldn't march then. The women would go out of line and set down in the woods and go to grieving; and you may believe it or not, but I'll tell you what is a fact, we started with 14,000, and 4,000 of 'em died before we got to Tuscumbia. They died on the side of the road; they died of broken hearts; they died of starvation, for they wouldent eat a thing; they just died all along the way. We didn't make more than five miles a day on the march, and my company didn't do much but dig graves and bury Injuns all the way to Tuscumbia. They died of grief and broken hearts, and no mistake. An Injun's heart is tender, and his love is strong; it's his nature. I'd rather risk an Injun for a true friend than a white man. He is the best friend in the world and the worst enemy."

FOOTNOTE:

[25] By permission of the author.

ST. GEORGE H. TUCKER.

~1828=1863.~

ST. GEORGE H. TUCKER, grandson of Judge St. George Tucker, was born at Winchester, Virginia. He was clerk of the Virginia Legislature: and in 1861 he entered the Confederate service and rose to be Lieutenant-Colonel. He died from exposure in the Seven Days' Battles around Richmond, 1862.

His "Hansford" is considered one of the best of historical romances and gives a vivid picture of Virginia in the seventeenth century under Governor Berkeley.

WORKS.

Hansford, A Tale of Bacon's Rebellion.
The Southern Crop.

BURNING OF JAMESTOWN IN 1676.

(_From Hansford._)

Scarcely had Berkeley and his adherents departed on their flight from Jamestown, when some of the disaffected citizens of the town, seeing the lights in the palace so suddenly extinguished, shrewdly suspected their design. Without staying to ascertain the truth of their suspicions, they hastened with the intelligence to General Bacon, and threw open the gates to the insurgents. Highly elated with the easy victory they had gained over the loyalists, the triumphant patriots forgetting their fatigue and hunger, marched into the city, amid the loud acclamations of the fickle populace. But to the surprise of all there was still a gloom resting upon Bacon and his officers. That cautious and far-seeing man saw at a glance, that although he had gained an immense advantage over the royalists, in the capture of the metropolis, it was impossible to retain it in possession long. As soon as his army was dispersed, or engaged in another quarter of the colony, it would be easy for Berkeley, with the navy under his command, to return to the place, and erect once more the fallen standard of loyalty.

While then, the soldiery were exulting rapturously over their triumph, Bacon, surrounded by his officers, was gravely considering the best policy to pursue.

"My little army is too small," he said, "to leave a garrison here, and so long as they remain thus organized peace will be banished from the colony; and yet I cannot leave the town to become again the harbour of these treacherous loyalists."

"I can suggest no policy that is fit to pursue, in such an emergency," said Hansford, "except to retain possession of the town, at least until the Governor is fairly in Accomac again."

"That, at best," said Bacon, "will only be a dilatory proceeding, for sooner or later, whenever the army is disbanded, the stubborn old governor will return and force us to continue the war. And besides I doubt whether we could maintain the place with Brent besieging us in front, and the whole naval force of Virginia, under the command of such expert seamen as Gardiner and Larimore, attacking us from the river. No, no, the only way to untie the Gordian knot is to cut it, and the only way to extricate ourselves from this difficulty is to burn the town."

This policy, extreme as it was, in the necessities of their condition was received with a murmur of assent. Lawrence and Drummond, devoted patriots, and two of the wealthiest and most enterprising citizens of the town, evinced their willingness to sacrifice their private means to secure the public good, by firing their own houses. Emulating an example so noble and disinterested, other citizens followed in their wake. The soldiers, ever ready for excitement, joined in the fatal work. A stiff breeze springing up favored their designs, and soon the devoted town was enveloped in the greedy flames.

From the deck of the _Adam and Eve_, the loyalists witnessed the stern, uncompromising resolution of the rebels. The sun was just rising, and his broad, red disc was met in his morning glory with flames as bright and as intense as his own. The Palace, the State House, the large Garter Tavern, the long line of stores, and the Warehouse, all in succession were consumed. The old Church, the proud old Church, where their fathers had worshipped, was the last to meet its fate. The fire seemed unwilling to attack its sacred walls, but it was to fall with the rest; and as the broad sails of the gay vessel were spread to the morning breeze, which swelled them, that devoted old Church was seen in its raiment of fire, like some old martyr, hugging the flames which consumed it, and pointing with its tapering steeple to an avenging Heaven.

GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY.

~1828=1883.~

DR. BAGBY was born in Buckingham County, Virginia, and educated at Edge Hill, New Jersey, and the University of Pennsylvania. He took his degree in the study of medicine, and made his residence in Richmond. He was correspondent for several papers, wrote some very witty letters under the pen-name of "Mozis Addums," and made a reputation as a humorous lecturer. From 1859 to 1862 he was editor of the "Southern Literary Messenger," ably succeeding John R. Thompson in that position: and from 1870 to 1878 he was State Librarian of Virginia.

His writings are not only witty but wise as well, and give many interesting aspects of Southern life and manners. A selection from them has been published by Mrs. Bagby, under the title "Writings of Dr. Bagby" (1884-6). Among them are: My Uncle Flatback's Plantation, Meekins's Twinses, Jud. Brownin's Account of Rubinstein's Playing, Bacon and Greens, or the True Virginian, What I Did with my Fifty Millions, [a sort of Utopian Prophecy.]

JUD. BROWNIN'S ACCOUNT OF RUBINSTEIN'S PLAYING.

"When he first sot down he 'peared to keer mighty little 'bout playin', and wished he hadn't come. He tweedle-leedled a little on the trible, and twoodle-oodle-oodled some on the bass--just foolin' and boxin' the thing's jaws for bein' in his way. And I says to a man settin' next to me, s'I, 'What sort of fool playin' is that?' And he says, 'Heish!' But presently his hands commenced chasin' one 'nother up and down the keys, like a passel of rats scamperin' through a garret very swift. Parts of it was sweet, though, and reminded me of a sugar squirrel turnin' the wheel of a candy cage. 'Now,' I says to my neighbor, 'he's showing' off. He thinks he's a-doin' of it; but he ain't got no idee, no plan of nuthin'. If he'd play me up a tune of some kind or other, I'd'--

"But my neighbor says, 'Heish!' very impatient.

"I was just about to git up and go home, bein' tired of that foolishness, when I heard a little bird wakin' up away off in the woods, and callin' sleepy-like to his mate, and I looked up and I see that Ruben was beginnin' to take interest in his business, and I set down agin. It was the peep of day. The light come faint from the east, the breeze blowed gentle and fresh, some more birds waked up in the orchard, then some more in the trees near the house, and all begun singin' together. People begun to stir, and the gal opened the shutters. Just then the first beam of the sun fell upon the blossoms; a leetle more and it techt the roses on the bushes, and the next thing it was broad day; the sun fairly blazed; the birds sang like they'd split their little throats; all the leaves was movin', and flashin' diamonds of dew, and the whole wide world was bright and happy as a king. Seemed to me like there was a good breakfast in every house in the land, and not a sick child or woman anywhere. It was a fine mornin'.

"And I says to my neighbor, 'that's music, that is.'

"But he glared at me like he'd like to cut my throat.

"Presently the wind turned; it begun to thicken up, and a kind of gray mist come over things; I got low-spirited d'rectly. Then a silver rain began to fall; I could see the drops touch the ground; some flashed up like long pearl ear-rings; and the rest rolled away like round rubies. It was pretty, but melancholy. Then the pearls gathered themselves into long strands and necklaces, and then they melted into thin silver streams running between golden gravels, and then the streams joined each other at the bottom of the hill, and made a brook that flowed silent except that you could kinder see the music specially when the bushes on the banks moved as the music went along down the valley. I could smell the flowers in the meadows. But the sun didn't shine, nor the birds sing; it was a foggy day, but not cold. Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind moaned and wept like a lost child for its dead mother, and I could a-got up then and there and preached a better sermon than any I ever listened to. There wasn't a thing in the world left to live for, not a blame thing, and yet I didn't want the music to stop one bit. It was happier to be miserable than to be happy without being miserable. I couldn't understand it. . . . . . . Then, all of a sudden, old Ruben changed his tune. He ripped and he rar'd, he tipped and he tar'd, he pranced and he charged like the grand entry at a circus. 'Peared to me like all the gas in the house was turned on at once, things got so bright, and I hilt up my head, ready to look any man in the face, and not afeared of nothin'. It was a circus, and a brass band, and a big ball, all goin' on at the same time. He lit into them keys like a thousand of brick, he gave 'em no rest, day nor night; he set every living joint in me agoin', and not bein' able to stand it no longer, I jumpt spang onto my seat, and jest hollered:

"'_Go it, my Rube!_'

"Every blamed man, woman, and child in the house riz on me, and shouted 'Put him out! Put him out!'

"With that some several p'licemen run up, and I had to simmer down. But I would a fit any fool that laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear Ruby out or die.

"He had changed his tune agin. He hopt-light ladies and tip-toed fine from eend to eend of the key-board. He played soft, and low, and solemn. I heard the church bells over the hills. The candles in heaven was lit, one by one. I saw the stars rise. The great organ of eternity began to play from the world's end to the world's end, and all the angels went to prayers. Then the music changed to water, full of feeling that couldn't be thought, and began to drop--drip, drop, drip, drop--clear and sweet, like tears of joy fallin' into a lake of glory.

"He stopt a minute or two, to fetch breath. Then he got mad. He run his fingers through his hair, he shoved up his sleeves, he opened his coat-tails a leetle further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, and, sir, he just went for that old pianner. He slapt her face, he boxed her jaws, he pulled her nose, he pinched her ears, and he scratched her cheeks, till she farly yelled. He knockt her down and he stompt on her shameful. She bellowed like a bull, she bleated like a calf, she howled like a hound, she squealed like a pig, she shrieked like a rat, and then he wouldn't let her up. He run a quarter-stretch down the low grounds of the bass, till he got clean into the bowels of the earth, and you heard thunder galloping after thunder, through the hollows and caves of perdition; and then he fox-chased his right hand with his left till he got away out of the trible into the clouds, whar the notes was finer than the pints of cambric needles, and you couldn't hear nothin' but the shadders of 'em. And then he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He fetchet up his right wing, he fetcht up his left wing, he fetcht up his center, he fetcht up his reserves. He fired by file, he fired by platoons, by company, by regiments, and by brigades. He opened his cannon, siege-guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve-pounders yonder, big guns, little guns, middle-sized guns, round shot, shell, shrapnel, grape, canister, mortars, mines, and magazines, every livin' battery and bomb a goin' at the same time. The house trembled, the lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come up, the ceilin' come down, the sky split, the ground rockt--BANG! With that _bang!_ he lifted hisself bodily into the ar', and he come down with his knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his elbows, and his nose, strikin' every single solitary key on that pianner at the same time. The thing busted and went off into seventeen hundred and fifty-seven thousand five hundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi-quivers, and I know'd no mo'."

SARAH ANNE DORSEY.

~1829=1879.~

MRS. DORSEY, daughter of Thomas G. P. Ellis, was born at Natchez, Mississippi, and was a niece of Mrs. Catherine Warfield who left to her many of her unpublished manuscripts. She was finely educated and travelled extensively. In 1853 she was married to Mr. Samuel W. Dorsey of Tensas Parish, Louisiana. Here she found scope for her energies in the duties of plantation life. She established a chapel and school for the slaves, and her account of the success of her plans gained her the title of "Filia Ecclesiae" from the "Churchman." She afterwards used "Filia" as a pen-name.