Book ,3.3 
 
 Copyright!*! 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
'J.I 
 
 
 No. S. Ten Cents. 
 
 Per Year, One Dollar. 
 
 mm 
 
 Southern TKHritera. 
 
 Biographical and Critical Studies. 
 
 Charles €guert eraaaocft, 
 
 $b William Calotte JBasftervill, 
 
 FEBRUARY, I8&T* 
 
 Barbee & Smith, Agents, 
 
 2Vasltvi22e, Tenn. 
 
 Copyrighted by Barbee <fc Smith, Agents, 1897. 
 
Southern Writers, 
 
 £L 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL AND 
 CRITICAL STUDIES. , < i 
 
 ^e^ 
 
 "\3> 
 
 BY WILLIAM MALONE BASKERVILL 
 
 . $' 
 
 Volume I. 
 
 16MO. 404 PAGES, 76 CENTS. 
 
 This present, and the preceding numbers— Irwin 
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 Sidney Lanier, George W. Cable— of Southern Wri- 
 ters have been put in a volume as indicated above. 
 
 Dr. Baskervill has somewhat modified the origi- 
 nal scheme of these papers and enlarged their scope. 
 
 The succeeding numbers will include James Lane 
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 ston, Mrs. Burton Harrison, Miss Grace King, 
 " Sherwood Bonner," Mrs. Margaret Preston, Sam- 
 uel Minturn Peck, and Madison Cawein. 
 
 When these shall have run their course serially 
 they will be gathered into another volume, with a 
 concluding chapter on Other Contemporary South- 
 ern Writers of Fiction. 
 
 Single numbers, in paper covers, as heretofore, 
 10 cents each. 
 
 BARBEE L SMITH, Agents, 
 NASHVILLE TENN. 
 

 Gbarles BQbert Crafcfcocft* 
 
 ^ 'THE appearance of Miss Mary 
 4£^> I Noailles Murf ree as a writer em- 
 t$ A phasized the fact that the old or- 
 der of the South- had utterly passed 
 away. For more than one hundred 
 years the different generations of 
 her family had been commonwealth- 
 builders, not writers. Her great- 
 great-grandfather, William Murf ree, 
 was a member of the North Caro- 
 lina Congress which met at Hali- 
 fax, November 12, 1776, for the pur- 
 pose of framing a constitution for 
 the new state. A year before, his 
 son Hardy, just twenty-three years 
 old, had been made a captain in the 
 Continental line of his native state, 
 and at the capture of Stony Point 
 he had risen to the rank of major 
 and was in command of a body of 
 , picked men. His descendants still 
 treasure the sash that he used in 
 357 
 
Cbarles Egbert Cra&Docft, 
 
 helping to bear the mortally wound- 
 ed Gen. Francis Nash from the bat- 
 tle-field of Germantown. Before 
 independence was won, he was pro- 
 moted again, and after peace reigned 
 once more Col. Murfree "was found 
 busy with his plantation " on the 
 banks of Meherrin River, near Mur- 
 freesboro, N. C, till 1807, when he 
 removed to Middle Tennessee, set- 
 tling in Williamson County, on 
 Murfree's fork of West Harpeth 
 River. Those early settlers had an 
 eye for rich lands and pleasant 
 places. The town of Murfreesboro, 
 not far off, was named in his honor, 
 and his family throve and married 
 well. 
 
 Just prior to the Civil War Hardy 
 Murfree's grandson, William R. 
 Murfree, was a successful lawyer in 
 Nashville and the owner of a large 
 amount of property in and about the 
 city. His wife was Priscilla, the 
 daughter of Mr. David Dickinson, 
 whose residence, " Grantlands," near 
 358 
 
Gbarles Egbert Grad&ocft. 
 
 Murf reesboro, was in its day the most 
 magnificent in that region. In this 
 home was born, about 1850, a little 
 girl to whom her parents gave the 
 name Mary Noailles, but whom most 
 people will prefer to remember as 
 Charles Egbert Craddock. 
 
 In childhood a paralysis, which 
 caused lameness for life, deprived 
 her of all participation in the sports 
 of children and set her bright and 
 active mind to work to devise its 
 own amusement and entertainment. 
 Early sickness has more than once 
 proved a blessing in disguise to the 
 future writer of fiction by teaching 
 him to train the observation, to live 
 in good books, and to company with 
 his fancies. It sent Scott to the 
 country and to the fountains of leg- 
 end and story, strongly inclined 
 Dickens to reading, and laid Haw- 
 thorne upon the carpet to study the 
 long day through. In the same way 
 the Tennessee girl early developed 
 a marked fondness for works of fic- 
 359 
 
Cbarles Egbert Graooocfc. 
 
 tion. It is easy to see that Scott and 
 George Eliot were her favorites, and 
 after reading with great earnestness 
 one of their stirring and enlarging 
 romances she would in her imagina- 
 tion body forth the entire story, in- 
 vesting mother, father, and other 
 members of the large household 
 with the characteristics of the per- 
 sons of the powerful drama. 
 
 While an imagination originally 
 vivid was thus strengthened, her life 
 and surroundings encouraged a nat- 
 ural tendency to acute observation. 
 After the cordial Southern manner, 
 hospitality reigned in her home, and 
 the wide family connection and many 
 friends were equally hospitable. At 
 the academy in Nashville, where 
 she was put to school, she was asso- 
 ciated with the daughters of the best 
 families in her own and neighboring 
 states. She must also have been 
 thrown much with her brother and 
 other boys, for few masculine wri- 
 ters show so thorough an under- 
 360 
 
Cbarles yBQbcxt CtaoDocfc. 
 
 standing and appreciation of boy 
 nature. And then there were the 
 family servants, to whom every 
 Southern child of the old regime 
 was indebted for unique cultivation 
 of the fancy" and many lasting im- 
 pressions. To this day, it is said, 
 Charles Egbert Craddock finds 
 more enjoyment in a boy or darky 
 than in anything else. 
 
 This condition of society, along 
 with her father's and mother's large 
 estates, was swept away by the war. 
 The old Dickinson mansion was still 
 standing, and to this the family now 
 went, expecting to stay only a short 
 time, but remaining for years. This 
 is the house of " Where the Battle 
 Was Fought," and though the vivid 
 description of it and the battle-field 
 in the opening chapter of this novel 
 is somewhat fanciful, enough of the 
 reality remains to give us an accu- 
 rate impression of the scenes amid 
 which she now lived. 
 
 ** By wintry daylight the battle- 
 361 
 
Cbaties Bebert Cta&oocfc. 
 
 field is still more ghastly. Gray 
 with the pallid crab-grass which so 
 eagerly usurps the place of last sum- 
 mer's crops, it stretches out on every 
 side to meet the bending sky. The 
 armies that successively encamped 
 upon it did not leave a tree for miles, 
 but here and there thickets have 
 sprung up since the war, and bare 
 and black they intensif}' the gloom 
 of the landscape. The turf in these 
 segregated spots is never turned. 
 Beneath the branches are rows of 
 empty, yawning graves, where the 
 bodies of soldiers were temporarily 
 buried. Here, most often, their 
 spirits walk, and no hire can induce 
 the hardiest plowman to break the 
 ground. Thus the owner of the land 
 is fain to concede these acres to his 
 ghostly tenants, who pay no rent. 
 A great brick house, dismantled and 
 desolate, rises starkly above the dis- 
 mantled desolation of the plain. De- 
 spite the tragic aspect of this build- 
 ing, it offers a certain grotesque sug- 
 362 
 
Gbavles Bgbert Crafcoock. 
 
 gestion — it might seem in the mad 
 ostentation of its proportions a vast 
 caricature of succumbed prosperi- 
 ties. There is no embowering shrub- 
 bery about it, no enclosing fence. It 
 is an integrant part of the surround- 
 ing ruin. Its cupola was riddled by 
 a cannonade, and the remnants shake 
 ominously with every gust of wind ; 
 there are black fissures in the stone 
 steps and pavements where shells 
 exploded ; many of the windows are 
 shattered and boarded up. . . . The 
 whole place was grimly incongruous 
 with the idea of a home, and as he 
 [the hero of the story] was ushered 
 into a wide, bare hall, with glimpses 
 of uninhabited, unfurnished rooms 
 on either hand, there was intimated 
 something of those potent terrors 
 with which it was instinct — the pur- 
 suing influences of certain grisly 
 deeds of trust, for the battle-field, 
 the gruesome thickets, the house it- 
 self, all were mortgaged." 
 
 As a recompense for this monoto- 
 363 
 
Cbarles Bgbert Craofcoclu 
 
 nous and disheartening existence 
 amid scenes of former happiness 
 and splendor came the annual so- 
 journ of the family during the sum- 
 mer months in the mountains of 
 Eastern Tennessee, which was re- 
 peated for fifteen successive years. 
 Breathing this invigorating air, the 
 thoughtful girl also enjoyed the wild 
 birds and wilder flowers, the sylvan 
 glades and foaming cataracts, and 
 companioned daily with the Blue 
 Ridge, the Bald, the Chilhowee, and 
 the Great Smoky Mountains, whose 
 tops pierced the blue sky and whose 
 steep and savage slopes were covered 
 with vast ranges of primeval forest. 
 These scenes were so indelibly 
 etched upon her memory that in 
 after-years a rare profusion of 
 perfect pictures was easily obtain- 
 able. The very atmosphere itself 
 of her life at this period seems to 
 be preserved in the opening para- 
 graph of "The Despot of Broom- 
 Sedge Cove : " " On a certain steep 
 364 
 
Cbatles Babert Ctaooocfc. 
 
 and savage slope of the Great 
 Smoky Mountains the primeval 
 wilderness for many miles is un- 
 broken save by one meager clear- 
 ing. The presence of humanity 
 upon the earth is further attested 
 only by a log cabin, high on the 
 rugged slant. At night the stars 
 seem hardly more aloof than the val- 
 ley below. By day the mountains 
 assert their solemn vicinage, an aus- 
 tere company. The clouds that si- 
 lently commune with the great peaks, 
 the sinister and scathing deeds of the 
 lightnings, the passionate rhetoric of 
 the thunders, the triumphal pageant- 
 ry of the sunset tides, and the wist- 
 ful yearnings of the dawn aspiring 
 to day — these might seem the only 
 incidents of this lonely and exalted 
 life. So august is this mountain 
 scheme that it fills all the visible 
 world with its massive, multitudi- 
 nous presence ; still stretching into 
 the dim blue distances an infinite 
 perspective of peak and range and 
 1* 365 
 
Cbarles Bgbert Craooocfc. 
 
 lateral spur, till one may hardly be- 
 lieve that fancy does not juggle with 
 fact." 
 
 But the deepest interest of a na- 
 ture rich in thought, imagination, 
 and wide human sympathy centered 
 in the dwellers among those wild and 
 rugged fastnesses. They were for 
 the most part descendants of the 
 earliest settlers in the Old North 
 State, and more than three-quarters 
 of a century before had climbed 
 over the high ranges which form a 
 natural boundary between Tennes- 
 see and her parent state and perched 
 on the mountain sides or nestled in 
 the coves of their new home. To 
 them the great world outside and 
 beyond the hazy boundaries of their 
 mountain ranges remained an un- 
 known land ; and the tide of mod- 
 ern progress dashed idly at the foot 
 of their primitive ideas and conserv- 
 ative barriers. There was no room 
 for progress, for the mountaineers 
 were not only satisfied with things 
 366 
 
Gbaries Egbert GraD&ocft. 
 
 as they existed, but were unaware 
 that there could be a different exist- 
 ence. For centuries no enlargement 
 had come into their narrow individ- 
 ual lives and scant civilization, which 
 to the casual observer seemed as 
 bare and blasted as the " balds " 
 upon the Great Smokies. 
 
 But to this acute and sympathetic 
 observer were revealed not only the 
 elemental qualities of our common 
 humanity, but also the sturdy inde- 
 pendence, integrity, strength of char- 
 acter, and finer feelings always found 
 in the English race, however dis- 
 guised by rugged exterior or hin- 
 dered by harsh environment. Their 
 honesty, their patriotism, their re- 
 spect for law, their gloomy Calvin- 
 istic religion, their hospitality were 
 in spite of the most curious modifi- 
 cations the salient points of a stri- 
 king individuality and unique char- 
 acter. The mountains seemed to im- 
 part to them something of their own 
 dignity, solemnity and silence. 
 367 
 
Cbarles Egbert CraooocFu 
 
 Their archaic dialect and slow, drawl- 
 ing speech could flash with dry hu- 
 mor and homely mother -wit and 
 glow with the white heat of biting 
 sarcasm or lofty emotion. Their 
 deliberate movements and impassive 
 faces veiled deep feelings and pent- 
 up passions, and they could be as sud- 
 den and destructive as Nature her- 
 self in her fiercer moods, or as ten- 
 der and self-forgetful as Mary of 
 Magdala. Fearless of man and open 
 foes, the bravest of them shuddered 
 at the mention of the " harnt of 
 Thunderhead " and shrank from 
 opening the graves of the " little 
 people." Every stream and cave 
 had its legend or spirit, and tower- 
 ing crag and blue dome were chron- 
 icled in tradition and story. No 
 phase of this unique life escaped the 
 keen eye and powerful imagination 
 of the most robust of Southern wri- 
 ters in this most impressible period 
 of her life. 
 
 The growth of Craddock's art 
 368 
 
Gbarles Egbert Crao&ocft. 
 
 can not now be traced with certain- 
 ty, though it is known that she 
 served an apprenticeship of nearly 
 ten years before her stories began 
 to make any stir in the world. The 
 general belief, therefore, that her lit- 
 erary career began with the " Dan- 
 cin' Party at Harrison's Cove," which 
 appeared in the Atlantic for May, 
 1878, is incorrect. She used to con- 
 tribute to the weekly edition of Ap- 
 plet oil's Jotirnal^ which ceased pub- 
 lication in that form in 1876, and it 
 is a little remarkable that her con- 
 tributions were even then signed 
 Charles E. Craddock. Two of her 
 stories were left over, and one of 
 them, published in ;f Appleton's Sum- 
 mer Book," in 1880, "Taking the 
 Blue Ribbon at the Fair," rather in- 
 dicates that she had not yet discov- 
 ered wherein her true power lay. 
 Although it is a pleasing little story, 
 it is not specially remarkable for any 
 of the finer qualities of her later 
 writings ; and it appears out of place 
 24 369 
 
Cbarles Babett GraD&ocft. 
 
 in a collection of stories published in 
 1895, as if it were a new production. 
 The assumed name which her wri- 
 tings bore was finally determined 
 upon by accident, though the matter 
 had been much discussed in her fam- 
 ily. It was adopted for the double 
 purpose of cloaking failure and of 
 securing the advantage which a man 
 is supposed to have over a woman 
 in literature. It veiled one of the 
 best-concealed identities in literary 
 history. More than one person di- 
 vined George Eliot's secret, and the 
 penetrating Dickens observed that 
 she knew what was in the heart of 
 woman. But neither internal nor 
 external evidence offered any clue to 
 Craddock's personality. The start- 
 lingly vigorous and robust style and 
 the intimate knowledge of the moun- 
 tain folk in their almost inaccessible 
 homes, suggestive of the sturdy 
 climber and bold adventurer, gave 
 no hint of femininity, while certain 
 portions of her writings, both in 
 370 
 
Cbarles Bgbert GraDDocfc. 
 
 thought and treatment, were pecul- 
 iarly masculine. 
 
 In no way did Craddock betray 
 " his " identity . Mr. Ho wells, who 
 was the first to perceive the striking 
 qualities of the stories, never sus- 
 pected that the new writer was a 
 woman ; and Mr. Aldrich, who short- 
 ly succeeded him, and one of whose 
 first acts as editor was to write to 
 " My Dear Craddock " for further 
 contributions, was equally wide of 
 the mark, though he mused consid- 
 erably over the personality of the 
 remarkably original contributor. 
 Once, indeed, he wrote asking how 
 the latter could have become so inti- 
 mate with the strange, quaint life of 
 the mountaineers, but the pleasant re- 
 ply threw no light upon the author's 
 personality. Gradually, however, 
 the mystery cleared away, though 
 the final revelation was reserved for 
 a particularly dramatic situation. 
 
 In the course of a year or two the 
 editor and publishers learned that 
 371 
 
Cbarles Sgbert Cra&Docft. 
 
 M. N. Murfree was the author's real 
 name, and Mr. Aldrich rather prided 
 himself, we are told, upon directing 
 his communications thereafter to M. 
 N. Murfree, Esq., feeling very con- 
 fident that one who evinced such 
 knowledge of the law as appeared 
 in her writings and wrote with such 
 a pen could be no other than a law- 
 yer. The manuscript of "Mr." 
 Craddock certainly had nothing fem- 
 inine about it, with its large, bold 
 characters, every letter as plain as 
 print, and strikingly thick, black 
 lines. So liberal indeed was the au- 
 thor in the use of ink that the editor 
 had his little joke, as he was writing 
 to ask for what proved to be the 
 powerful novel of the " Prophet of 
 the Great Smoky Mountains," re- 
 marking, " I wonder if Craddock 
 has laid in his winter's ink yet, so 
 that I can get a serial out of him." 
 What was his surprise, therefore, as 
 one Monday morning in March, 
 1885, he was called from the edito- 
 372 
 
Gbarles Egbert arafc&ocft. 
 
 rial room, to find awaiting him be- 
 low a young lady of slight form, 
 about five feet four inches in height, 
 with blond complexion and light- 
 brown, almost golden hair, bright, 
 rather sharp face, with all the fea- 
 tures quite prominent — forehead 
 square and projecting, eyes gray, 
 deep-set, and keen, nose Grecian, 
 chin projecting, and mouth large — 
 who quietly remarked that she was 
 Charles Egbert Craddock ! 
 
 Miss Murfree's literary success 
 really began with the publication of 
 her collection of short stories, " In 
 the Tennessee Mountains," in May, 
 1884. It was at once recognized 
 that another Southern writer of un- 
 common art, originality, and power 
 had entered into a field altogether 
 new and perfectly fresh. Only here 
 and there was discernible the slight- 
 est trace of imitation in conception 
 or manner, while the atmosphere 
 was entirely her own; and to the 
 rare qualities of sincerity, simplicity, 
 1** 373 
 
Cbarles Bgbert Craooocfc. 
 
 and closeness of observation were 
 added the more striking ones of 
 vivid realization and picturing of 
 scene and incident and character. 
 Her magic wand revealed the poetry 
 as well as the pathos in the hard, 
 narrow, and monotonous life of the 
 mountaineers, and touched crag and 
 stream, and wood and mountain 
 range with an enduring splendor. 
 All the admirable qualities of her 
 art are present in this volume. The 
 spontaneous, instinctive power of 
 telling a story for its own sake pro- 
 claimed close kinship with Scott, 
 while the exquisite word-painting 
 and beautiful descriptions of moun- 
 tain scenery, with all the shifting 
 phases of spring and autumn, of 
 sunset, mist, storm, and forest fire, 
 could have been learned only in the 
 school of Ruskin and of nature. In 
 the profound and tragically serious 
 view and contemplation of life she 
 is the child of George Eliot and of 
 the battle-scarred South. But her 
 374 
 
Cbarles jBghctt GraDDocft. 
 
 real power, as is true of every wri- 
 ter that has been either an enriching 
 or an uplifting force in human lives, 
 rests upon a sympathetic under- 
 standing of human life. Her insight 
 into the ordinary, commonplace, 
 seemingly unpoetic lives of the 
 mountaineers, her tenderness for 
 them, her perception of the beauty 
 and the wonder of their narrow ex- 
 istence is one of the finest traits in 
 her character and her art. Through 
 this wonderful power of human 
 sympathy the delicately nurtured 
 and highly cultured lady entered 
 into the life of the common folk 
 and heard their heart-throbs under- 
 neath jeans and homespun. She 
 realized anew for her fellow men 
 that untutored souls are perplexed 
 with the same questions and shaken 
 by the same doubts that baffle the 
 learned, and that it is inherent in hu- 
 manity to rise to the heroic heights 
 of self-forgetfulness and devotion to 
 duty in any environment. Indeed, 
 375 
 
Cbarles Bgbert Gra&Docfc. 
 
 the key-note of her studies is found 
 in the last sentence of this volume : 
 " The grace of culture is, in its way, 
 a fine thing, but the best that art can 
 do — the polish of a gentleman — is 
 hardly equal to the best that nature 
 can do in her higher moods." 
 
 Each of these stories embodies a 
 "higher mood" of some uncultiva- 
 ted, simple soul influenced by a 
 noble motive, and the good lesson 
 taught with equal art and modesty 
 stirs the heart with refining pity and 
 admiration. Cynthia Ware's long 
 journeys on foot and heroic exer- 
 tions are rewarded with the pardon 
 of the unjustly imprisoned man 
 whom she loves, only to find that he 
 has never taken the trouble to ask 
 who secured his release, that his love 
 was but a little thing which he had 
 left in the mountains, and that while 
 she was waiting for him he was 
 married to some one else. Through 
 Craddock's skill we become witness- 
 es of this heart -tragedy and enter 
 376 
 
Cbarles Bgbert GraDoocfe. 
 
 into the inner experience of a human 
 soul which through suffering learns 
 to adjust itself anew, " ceases to ques- 
 tion and regret, and bravely does the 
 work nearest her hand." Again it 
 is the weak and slender Celia Shaw 
 who painfully toils at night through 
 the bleak, snow-covered woods to 
 save the lives of the men whom her 
 father and his friends had deter- 
 mined to u wipe out." Again and 
 again in Craddock's writings the 
 strange miracle of this sweet, trust- 
 ful, loving, yet heroic girlhood ap- 
 pears amid the lonely, half- mourn- 
 ful life of the mountain folk, inten- 
 sified by the attitude of the faded, 
 gaunt, melancholy older women, 
 "holding out wasted hands to the 
 years as they pass — holding them 
 out always and always empty" — 
 with the grace, the beauty, and the 
 pervasive fragrance of a wild rose 
 in the wilderness. Our author seems 
 to agree with George Eliot in think- 
 ing that "in these delicate vessels is 
 377 
 
Cbarles jEQbeit Cradfcocft. 
 
 borne on through the ages the treas- 
 ure of human affections." 
 
 Craddock's heroes — blacksmiths, 
 constables, herders, illiterate preach- 
 ers, and other rude mountaineers — 
 are equally attractive in their way, 
 and are drawn with an even tenderer 
 and more skilful hand. She is a 
 master in depicting those situations 
 which touch the springs of pathos 
 or thrill the heart with a generous 
 elation. It does not matter whether 
 it is merely the noble impulse which 
 leads a Bud Wray, or in a later story 
 a Mink Lorey — " Mink by name 
 and Mink by nature*' — to enthrone 
 in one supreme moment the better 
 part of his nature, or the settled pur- 
 pose and lofty determination of a 
 Simon Burney, who gallantly de- 
 fends at the risk of his own life and 
 gives a permanent home to the ill- 
 tempered, worthless little "harnt" 
 that walks Chilhowee, saying with 
 noble simplicity : k< I'll take keer of 
 ye agin them Grims ez long ez I kin 
 378 
 
Cbarles Bsbect Craodocfc. 
 
 fire a rifle. An arter the jury hev 
 done let ye off, ye air welcome ter 
 live along o' me at my house till ye 
 die." The central idea or the strong 
 situation, however, is not unduly 
 stressed. The touches of incident 
 and of humor and the exquisite land- 
 scapes leave unfading impressions. 
 After thirteen years the ring of the 
 metaled hoof upon the flinty path 
 echoes in the memory, and the broad 
 antlers of the noble stag garlanded 
 with blossoming laurels stand out in 
 bold relief on the edge of the moun- 
 tain road. One can still see the 
 highly imaginative picture of the 
 gamblers throwing their cards upon 
 the inverted basket, first by the light 
 of tallow dip and then by the blaze 
 of pine knots, while the moon shines 
 without and the hidden mimic of the 
 woods uncannily repeats their agi- 
 tated tones. Nor is the reader likely 
 to forget the touch of grim humor 
 in the speech of the young moun- 
 taineer, glad that the "fightin' preach- 
 379 
 
Cbatles Egbert CraDDocft. 
 
 er *' had prevented him from killing 
 the outlaw and horse thief, yet naive- 
 ly remarking : "An' the bay filly 
 ain't sech a killin' matter, nohow ; 
 ef it war the roan three-year-old, 
 now, 'twould be different." 
 
 The large and solemn presence of 
 Nature is never lost sight of, her va- 
 rious moods and manifestations be- 
 ing used, as a kind of chorus co in- 
 terpret the melancholy or the emo- 
 tion of the human actors. The nar- 
 rative is inlaid with exquisite bits of 
 landscape, serving not so much to 
 disclose the range and minuteness 
 of the author's observation — at least 
 in her earlier works — as to give ex- 
 pression to the fitting sentiment or 
 development to the appropriate pas- 
 sion. When the great beauty of the 
 style with which these fresh and ro- 
 bust stories were clothed is taken 
 into consideration, something of the 
 present pleasure and the richer an- 
 ticipation of the readers of 1884 may 
 be imagined. 
 
 380 
 
G'mtles JSQbext Grao&ock, 
 
 In September, of the same year, 
 "Where the Battle Was Fought" 
 appeared, a story in which Craddock 
 gives an effective picture of the dev- 
 astation caused by the Civil War. 
 The plot and the villains intriguing 
 for a young girl's property are pure- 
 ly conventional, but so far from be- 
 ing a misstep this is a story of rich- 
 est promise. The unmistakable bent 
 of the author's genius is, it is true, 
 shown in such creations as Toole, 
 Graffy Beale, and Pickie Tait, while 
 her superb landscape-painting has 
 never been used more suggestively 
 and impressively. " There is some- 
 thing Hawthornesque in the part 
 which inanimate nature is made to 
 play in this novel — a gigantic per- 
 sonification that wails and loves and 
 hates — speechless, yet full of speech ; 
 tearless, yet fraught with innumera- 
 ble tears ; voiceless, yet full of tongues 
 and languages." But the hand that 
 sketched Marcia and General Vayne 
 gave tokens of possibilities far great- 
 381 
 
Gbartes Egbert GraDDccfc. 
 
 er than could be attained through 
 Marcellys, Dorindas, Letitias, and 
 Aletheas, or through prophets of the 
 Great Smoky Mountains and despots 
 of Broom- Sedge Cove, for Nature 
 in her higher moods has never pro- 
 duced a Romola, a Portia, a Colonel 
 Esmond, or a Sir Roger de Coverley. 
 As the penetrating Sartor, in speak- 
 ing of clothes, observes : " Nature 
 is good, but she is not the best; 
 here truly was the victory of Art 
 over Nature." No one had a better 
 chance to know the old Southern 
 gentleman than Craddock, and that 
 she had made use of her opportunity 
 is more than suggested in her real- 
 istic description of General Vayne's 
 moral magnifying-glass : " Through 
 this unique lens life loomed up as 
 rather a large affair. In the rickety 
 court-house in the village of Chat- 
 talla, five miles out there to the south, 
 General Vayne beheld a temple of 
 justice. He translated an office- 
 holder as the sworn servant of the 
 382 
 
Gbaries Egbert Graofcocfc. 
 
 people. The State was this great 
 commonwealth, and its seal a proud 
 escutcheon. A fall in cotton struck 
 him as a blow to the commerce of 
 the world. From an adverse polit- 
 ical fortune he augured the swift 
 ruin of the country. Abstract ideas 
 were to him as potent elements in 
 human affairs as acts of the Legis- 
 lature, and in the midst of the gen- 
 eral collapse his large ideals still re- 
 tained their pristine proportions." 
 
 Such is the lifelike presentation of 
 the sentiments of a certain type of 
 old Southerner, and in the further 
 portrayal of the one-armed ex- Con- 
 federate general the graphic touches 
 of speech, manner, noble impulses, 
 and actions are so true to nature that 
 one readily recognizes the picture as 
 a study from life. Though the 
 story itself, however, does not pre- 
 sent the orderly and artistic devel- 
 opment and unfolding of a well-con- 
 structed plot, failing chiefly in co- 
 herence and a natural transition of 
 383 
 
Cbatles Egbert Gra&Docft, 
 
 scene and incident, and though it 
 contains much that is undeniably 
 conventional, yet its many strong 
 and original features and powerful 
 close leave the impression that this 
 new departure contains the promise 
 of richest possibilities which, it may 
 be hoped, Craddock will some day 
 realize for the world. 
 
 In her next volume, " Down the 
 Ravine," our author takes us back 
 to the mountains, and gives us a 
 book for boys not easily matched in 
 juvenile literature. Avoiding all sen- 
 timental weakness and set preach- 
 ments, and conveying its fine and 
 healthy moral in the whole spirit 
 and atmosphere of the story, she un- 
 folds plot and underplot simply, 
 naturally, and with fine artistic ef- 
 fect. Scene, incident, and character 
 are fused in the glow of a well-or- 
 dered imagination. The ubiquitous 
 imp of a small boy is there, of course, 
 but can the world do without him 
 any better than the story-books? 
 384 
 
Cbarlea jEflbert GraDDocft. 
 
 and also the saving grace of a sis- 
 ter's quiet love and shaping influ- 
 ence, suggested with rare art and 
 delicacy in little Tennessee's con- 
 stant presence. But the crowning 
 merit of the tale is the fresh and 
 original presentation of the old story 
 of a mother's love and the beauty of 
 confidence between mother and son 
 in a rude mountain home. "Don't 
 everybody know a boy's mother 
 air bound ter take his part agin all 
 the worl' ? " she asks with simple 
 candor, and when misfortune touch- 
 es him every trace of her caustic 
 moods disappears and she becomes 
 as gentle and tender and wise as if 
 she had been nurtured in a lady's 
 bower. Years afterward the son 
 had not forgotten how stanchly she 
 upheld him in every thought when 
 all the circumstances belied him. 
 'Taint no differ ez long ez 'tain't 
 the truth," said his mother, philo- 
 sophically. " We-uns will jes' abide 
 by the truth." "And day by day as 
 25 385 
 
Cbaiies ©gbert Gtaooocft. 
 
 he went to his work, meeting every- 
 where a short word or a slighting 
 look, he felt that he could not have 
 borne up, save for the knowledge of 
 that loyal heart at home." This has 
 all been told a thousand times, but 
 never in a simpler, healthier, more 
 natural way than in this delightful 
 little volume. In unity of effect this 
 is perhaps Craddock's most perfect 
 story. 
 
 In the following October appeared 
 "The Prophet of the Great Smoky 
 Mountains," and almost every year 
 since that time has witnessed the 
 appearance of some new volume — 
 "In the Clouds," 1886; "The 
 Story of Keedon Bluffs," 1887; 
 " The Despot of Broomsedge 
 Cove," 1888; "In the Stranger 
 Peoples' Country," 1891 ; "His 
 Vanished Star," 1894 5 " The Phan- 
 toms of the Footbridge " and " The 
 Mystery of the Witch-Face Moun- 
 tain," 1895; while "The Jugglers," 
 which has been running as a serial 
 386 
 
Cbarles Babert GtaDoocfc. 
 
 in the Atlantic, has just appeared, 
 and " The Mountain Boys " is an- 
 nounced for immediate publication. 
 Though the result is on the whole 
 disappointing — the rare promise of 
 the author's earlier work not being 
 fulfilled in her later more labored 
 efforts — Miss Murfree has taken a 
 place among the very best writers of 
 purely American fiction. The too 
 great regularity of production in 
 which she has indulged has led her 
 into dreary wastes of repetitious shal- 
 lows, and still more frequently has 
 weighted her stories with manner- 
 isms which mar the beauty and per- 
 fection of their art. The reader 
 soon begins to scent favorite epi- 
 thets and grandiloquent phrases, to 
 be on the lookout for the " gibbous" 
 moon, the " mellow " moon, the 
 " lucent, yellow " moon, and every 
 kind of moon that ever was and 
 never was, and to divine when the 
 katydid is to "twang a vibrant 
 note," or the night is to " sigh au- 
 387 
 
Gbatles Bcbert Crafcfcocft. 
 
 dibly in sheer pensiveness," or the 
 song of the cicada is to be "charged 
 with somnolently melodious post- 
 meridian sentiment." 
 
 A still more serious complaint 
 may be urged against the author's 
 tendency to overdo landscape pic- 
 tures, and to make needless digres- 
 sions. Miss Murfree is, above all 
 things, a painter, and particularly in 
 her earlier works has given abun- 
 dant evidence that she is a real artist 
 in adapting story and landscape to 
 each other. Her description, too, 
 serves a literary purpose, now ex- 
 pressing the fitting sentiment, anon 
 developing the appropriate passion. 
 She seizes and interprets physical 
 features and natural phenomena in 
 their relation to various aspects of 
 human life with at times unerring 
 precision, vigor, and dramatic force. 
 Indeed, the scenery of the moun- 
 tains is essential to the comprehen- 
 sion of the gloom of the religion, 
 the sternness of the life, the un- 
 388 
 
Cbarles J6gbert CracDccfc. 
 
 couthness of the dialect, and the 
 harshness of the characters pre- 
 sented in her stories. 
 
 All her digressions are not irrele- 
 vant. Oftentimes what seems to be 
 a mere digression is according to 
 nature, and used with significant 
 effect in the presentation of moun- 
 tain scene, life, and character. The 
 result is a complete and perfect 
 picture. The mountaineers are pro- 
 verbially slow of speech and of 
 thought, and during their long re- 
 flective pauses in conversation the 
 skilful narrator must interest the 
 mind of the reader just as in real 
 life the listener would seek some- 
 thing for his mind to dwell upon. 
 This gives lifelikeness to the pic- 
 ture, and, like a sweet interlude in 
 music, a charming bit of description 
 serves to fill in delightfully the in- 
 tervening moments which would 
 otherwise seem unreasonably long 
 and tedious. The opening pages of 
 " The Despot of Broomsedge Cove" 
 3 389 
 
Cbarles Egbert GraDDocfu 
 
 reveal the author at work in her 
 happiest vein and making the best 
 use of this extraordinary gift. With 
 a few skilful touches the corn-field, 
 the winding road, the three moun- 
 taineers, each with his salient fea- 
 tures of look, gait, and character, 
 made known in the fewest possible 
 words, and the glorious mountain 
 view, are made to stand out before 
 us as in real life, so that the reader 
 becomes identified with the story 
 and naturally shares in the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " ' The Sperit has been with me 
 strong, mighty strong, ter-day,' said 
 Teck Jepson suddenly. 1 1 hev 
 been studyin' on Moses, from the 
 time he lef ' the saidges by the ruver- 
 bank,' he added, bridling with a sen- 
 timent that was strikingly like the 
 pride of earth. Then as he gazed 
 down at the landscape his face sof- 
 tened and grew pensive." " The 
 great ranges were slowly empur- 
 pled against the pale eastern horizon, 
 390 
 
Gbarles Bgbeit Cra&Doca. 
 
 delicately blue, for the sua was in 
 the western skies. How splendidly 
 saffron those vast spaces glowed ! 
 What purity and richness of tint ! 
 Here and there were pearly wing- 
 like sweeps of an incomparable 
 glister; and the clouds, ambitious, 
 must needs climb the zenith, with 
 piled and stately mountainous effects, 
 gleaming white, opaque, dazzling. 
 The focal fires of the great orb 
 were unquenched, and still the yel- 
 low, divergent rays streamed forth ; 
 yet in its heart was suggested that 
 vermilion smoldering of the sunset, 
 and the western hills were wait- 
 ing." 
 
 « i 'Twas tur'ble hard on Moses,' 
 said Teck Jepson, ' when the Lord 
 shut him out'n Canaan, arter travel- 
 in' through the wilderness. Tur'- 
 ble hard, tur'ble hard ! ' " During 
 another pause the reader learns that 
 this slow talker has an imagination 
 aflame with the trials of Moses, the 
 glories of Solomon, the atrocities of 
 391 
 
Cbarles Egbert GraDDocft. 
 
 Ahab and Jezebel ; and in his igno- 
 rance it had never occurred to him 
 that his Biblical heroes had lived 
 elsewhere than in the Great Smoky 
 Mountains. " Their history had to 
 him an intimate personal relation, as 
 of the story of an ancestor in the 
 homestead ways and closely familiar. 
 He brooded upon these narrations, 
 instinct with dramatic movement, 
 enriched with poetic color, and lo- 
 calized in his robust imagination, 
 till he could trace Hagar's wild 
 wanderings in the fastnesses ; could 
 show where Jacob slept and piled 
 his altar of stones ; could distinguish 
 the bush, of all others on the * bald,' 
 that blazed with fire from heaven, 
 when the angel of the Lord stood 
 within it." In every way this is a 
 model introductory chapter, and 
 every incident, bit of description, 
 explanatory digression, and situa- 
 tion serves as an admirable back- 
 ground for the heroic picture of 
 the Despot, whose impressive per- 
 392 
 
Cbarles Sgbett GraDfcocfc. 
 
 sonality, in spite of qualities that 
 would naturally inspire aversion, 
 compels our admiration. 
 
 But far too often in her later sto- 
 ries the author's descriptions of nat- 
 ural scenery and observations of nat- 
 ural phenomena are excessive. In 
 this paticular novel they reach the 
 point of downright padding. The 
 pictures are exceedingly well done, 
 and the observations are sometimes 
 very acute and perfectly true ; but 
 they are altogether out of place, and 
 serve only to interrupt the action 
 and to make the reader chafe, till he 
 learns to skip. As a specimen of 
 this provoking method we may take 
 the account of Parson Donnard's 
 endeavor to find out whether it is a 
 " human critter " or the devil him- 
 self that lights the nightly fires of 
 the lonely forge. He and his hypo- 
 critical scamp of a son are sitting on 
 a rock in the dead of the night with 
 every nerve a-quiver; momently 
 we are expecting a solution of the 
 393 
 
Cbarles ^Egbert GraDfcocft. 
 
 mystery, but instead of this we are 
 kept waiting with remarks about 
 the stars, the darkness, the stony 
 passes, the briers. Then we have 
 shooting-stars and the clarion cock, 
 and then again while the ignorant 
 and superstitious old mountain 
 preacher is intent upon his hand-to- 
 hand grapple with the archfiend the 
 author credits him with this series of 
 sophisticated observations : " He no- 
 ted how he seemed to face the great 
 concave of the sky, how definite the 
 western mountains stood against 
 the starry expanse, how distinct cer- 
 tain objects had become even in the 
 pitchy blackness, now that his eyes 
 were in some sort accustomed to it." 
 It may readily be acknowledged 
 that Miss Murfree's people are the 
 people of the district she describes. 
 Folk and mountains belong togeth- 
 er. But she deals with life rather 
 as a whole, as a community, a 
 class, at best as a type. She has 
 not succeeded in creating any indi- 
 394 
 
Cbarles Bgbert GraDDocfc. 
 
 vidual or distinct character. Even 
 Cynthia Ware, Dorinda Cayce, Al- 
 ethea Sayles, Letitia Pettingill, and 
 Marceliy Strobe, the heroines in as 
 many different stories, are but va- 
 riants of one and the same type. 
 Slight changes are introduced in 
 adapting them to different situations, 
 but the characters all seem to be 
 drawn from the same model. A 
 graver defect is noticeable in the 
 author's treatment of her he- 
 roes, wherein she shows a fatal 
 inability to sustain character. When 
 the Prophet is introduced, revealing 
 in the quick glance of his eye 
 "fire, inspiration, frenzy — who can 
 say ? " the reader is thrilled at the 
 prospect of a masterly delineation. 
 He expects to travel along the 
 narrow border-land between spir- 
 itual exaltation and insanity. But 
 in only one of Miss Murfree's 
 stories, " The Dancin' Party at 
 Harrison's Cove," does she reveal 
 a sympathetic understanding and 
 395 
 
Cbatles Egbert GraDdocfe. 
 
 appreciation of the character of the 
 minister. With the circuit-riders 
 and pa'sons she seems to have had 
 no personal acquaintance. They 
 are drawn just as we would expect 
 them to be depicted by one whose 
 sole information was based on tra- 
 dition, hearsay, and imagination. 
 Nor does Craddock at any time 
 exhibit that profound knowledge 
 of the human heart and sympa- 
 thetic insight into spiritual mat- 
 ters revealed by George Eliot in the 
 character of Dinah Morris. Pa'son 
 Kelsey remains hazy and indistinct 
 throughout the story, the reader is 
 left in doubt as to his sanity, and the 
 catastrophe throws little light upon 
 his character. 
 
 The Despot offered even a greater 
 opportunity for masterly portraiture. 
 In conception this is one of the most 
 original and striking figures to be 
 found in contemporary literature. 
 This dauntless rider, singing his ec- 
 static psalms, this arrogant inter- 
 396 
 
Cbarles Bgbert Cra&Docfc. 
 
 preter of "the Lord's will," this 
 firm believer in his own might and 
 goodness, captivates the imagina- 
 tion of the reader from the first mo- 
 ment of his dramatic introduction : 
 "A moment more and the young 
 psalmist came around a curve, gal- 
 loping recklessly along beneath the 
 fringed boughs of the firs and the 
 pines, still singing aloud ; the reins 
 upon his horse's neck, his rifle held 
 across the pommel of the saddle ; 
 his broad hat thrust upon the back 
 of his head, his eyes scarcely turn- 
 ing toward the men who stood by 
 the wayside. . . . The rider 
 drew rein. The rapt expression of 
 his countenance abruptly changed. 
 He fixed imperative, worldly eyes 
 upon the speaker. They were deep- 
 ly set, of a dark blue color, full of 
 a play of expression, and, despite 
 the mundane intimations of the mo- 
 ment, they held the only sugges- 
 tions in his face of a spiritual pos- 
 sibility. He had a heavy lower 
 397 
 
Cbarles Egbert Cvaooocft. 
 
 jaw, stern and insistent. A firm, 
 immobile mouth disclosed strong, 
 even teeth. His nose was slightly 
 aquiline, and he had definitely 
 marked black eyebrows. 
 There was a strong individuality, 
 magnetism, about him, and before 
 his glance the peremptory spirit of 
 his interlocutor was slightly abated." 
 
 After a few chapters, however, 
 the author seems to lose interest in 
 the working out of her original con- 
 ception. The hero is discarded for 
 other matters, while at the same 
 time the author's grip of the narra- 
 tive suffers loss, and the way is 
 paved for irrelevant landscapes and 
 digressions. Even the hero's con- 
 nection with the tragedy of the 
 story is accidental, and the heroine 
 gradually absorbs the interest and 
 the attention of the reader. The 
 author almost invariably leaves her 
 chief characters looking sadly, if 
 not hopelessly, into the future. 
 
 Perhaps Miss Murfree has at- 
 398 
 
Gbarles Sgbert GraDDock* 
 
 tempted an impossible task in seek- 
 ing to invest the meager life and 
 primitive character of the mountain- 
 eers with an annual interest. When 
 the author of." Jane Eyre" — a novel 
 whose phenomenal success would 
 have greatly enhanced the value of 
 any work from her pen — was im- 
 portuned to write a new story, she 
 quietly answered : " I have told all 
 I knew in the last one, and I must 
 wait two or three years, till I learn 
 something more, before I can write 
 again." 
 
 But the sweep and power of Miss 
 Murfree's narrative in all her finer 
 stories is sufficient to carry the read- 
 er over greater difficulties than these. 
 Story-telling is her true vocation. 
 She is no essayist or historian drawn 
 by the fashion of the time into the 
 facile fields of fiction. Fresh ma- 
 terial and picturesque character lend, 
 it is true, their unique charms ; but, 
 after all, we are interested in this 
 writer chiefly on account of the 
 399 
 
Gbaries Egbert Ctafcfcocft. 
 
 stories she has to tell of the lives of 
 men and women whose traits are in 
 common with those of all times and 
 all places. While, however, the 
 reader's desire is to reach the end of 
 any of her stories and " see how it 
 comes out," still there are many 
 places where he delights to linger. 
 There are whole chapters in which 
 scene, situation, and incident are 
 handled without a flaw. The 
 situations are admirably planned, 
 the incidents inimitably related. 
 The author can be descriptive or 
 dramatic at will, and shows the 
 command of a humor which has the 
 tang but not the deep thought and 
 mellow wisdom of George Eliot's. 
 
 In the meeting between Teck 
 Jepson and Marcelly we lose sight 
 of the author, so completely does 
 she identify herself with the char- 
 acters. We feel the fascination of 
 this girl as she sits upon the ledge 
 of a rock, and delight in the picture 
 of the old dog lying wheezingly 
 400 
 
Cbarles Egbert GraDDocfc. 
 
 down in the folds of her blue 
 dress, " closing his eyes in a sort of 
 blinking resignation " at the rain- 
 storm, or rising to yawn, " stretch- 
 ing himself to his extreme length, 
 rasping his long claws on the 
 stones," and so rousing the Des- 
 pot's impatience that he bids the 
 hound " hush up ! " Her stories 
 abound in these graphic scenes. 
 Nor would it be true to life if the 
 humor were left out. Chaucer, 
 Shakespeare, Scott, George Eliot, 
 Lowell, Joel Chandler Harris, Ian 
 Maclaren — all English writers who 
 excel in depicting the life and char- 
 acter of the common people — make 
 prominent their wit and humor. It 
 is a characteristic of the race. The 
 Tennessee mountaineer is noted for 
 his dry, caustic speech, and under 
 his slow drawl and rustic manners 
 are concealed no little practical wis- 
 dom and shrewd observation. Of 
 course geniality and playful fancy 
 do not flourish in so harsh a region, 
 26 401 
 
Cfoarles Ssbert GtaDDocfc. 
 
 but there is no lack of pungent, 
 pithy sayings. This humor per- 
 vades the mountains. " Wall, 'pears 
 like to me," says the filly-like Mi- 
 randy Jane, " ez Brother Jake To- 
 bin sets mo' store on chicken fixin's 
 than on grace, an' he fattens ev'y 
 year." Old Mis' Cayce quaintly 
 remarks : " I 'member when I war 
 a gal whisky war so cheap that up 
 to the store at the settlemint they'd 
 hev a bucket set full o' whisky an' 
 a gourd, free fur ail comers, an' 
 another bucket alongside with wa- 
 ter ter season it. An' the way 
 that thar water lasted war surpri- 
 sin' ; that it war ! " The dull old 
 constable declares that " sech spell- 
 in' as Clem Sanders kin do oughter 
 be agin the law ! It air agin every 
 law o' spellin'. Clem ought to be 
 hung a leetle fur each offense. It 
 jes' fixes him in his criminal conduct 
 agin the alphabet." Dorinda Cayce, 
 when the sheriff, who has just en- 
 joyed her mother's good dinner, ac- 
 402 
 
Gbarles ^ebert CtaDDock. 
 
 cuses her of harboring a fugitive, 
 quietly remarks : " 'Pears like ter 
 me ez we gin aid an' comfort ter 
 the officer o* the law ez well ez we 
 could." Letitia Pettingill's bright 
 sayings lighten up many a page 
 of " In the Stranger Peoples' Coun- 
 try," as well as the lot of the seem- 
 ingly deserted wife ; and Marcelly's 
 imperative old grandmother makes 
 the doctor, and many another, writhe 
 under the hail of her stinging sar- 
 casm. Without this pungent hu- 
 mor the distinct flavor of the inner 
 life of the strange, unique inhabit- 
 ants of the mountains would be 
 lost. 
 
 Here, then, we have originality, 
 robust vigor, womanly insight, and 
 the charm of a born story-teller 
 brought to bear with genuine art 
 upon a fresh field and a unique civ- 
 ilization. Much of her later work 
 may have suffered from an attach- 
 ment to the narrow sphere of the 
 mountain folk ; but such are her 
 403 
 
Cbarles Ssbert CraD5ocft, 
 
 strength of purpose and great capa- 
 bility that it is not unreasonable yet 
 to expect the complete fulfilment of 
 the promise of her earlier work, if 
 the larger world may demand a 
 share of her attention and energies. 
 404 
 

NOVELS AND STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 Cftarles Egbert €raaaeck 
 
 [Miss Mary N. Murfree]. 
 
 «*« 
 
 The Mystery of Witch 'Face Mountain, 
 and Other Stories. 16mo $1 00 
 
 His Vanished Star. A Novel. 16mo. . . 1 25 
 
 In the Tennessee Mountains. Stories. 
 16mo 1 25 
 
 The Prophet of the Great Smoky Moun' 
 tains, A Novel. 16mo ; 1 25 
 
 In the Clouds. A Novel. 16mo 1 25 
 
 The Despot of Broomsedge Cove, A 
 Novel. 16mo 1 25 
 
 Where the Battle Was Fought. A Novel. 
 16mo 1 25 
 
 Down the Ravine, Illustrated. 16mo.. 1 00 
 
 The Story of Keedon Bluffs. 16mo 1 00 
 
 IN PREPARATION : 
 
 The Young Mountaineers. Illustrated. 
 
 12mo 1 50 
 
 The Juggler. A Novel 
 
 Sold by All Booksellers, Sent, post-paid, by 
 
 Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 
 
 BOSTON- 
 
I E A P '09