UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 Pioneers of Southern 
 Literature. 
 
 BY SAMUEL ALBERT LINK. 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 NASHVILLE, TENN.; DALLAS, TEX.: 
 
 PUBLISHING HOUSE M. E. CHURCH, SOUTH. 
 
 BARBEE & SMITH, AGENTS. 
 
 1900.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1900, 
 
 BY 
 BARBEE & SMITH, AGENTS.
 
 TS 
 
 s&l 
 
 Contents. 
 
 Page 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE: A GENIUS IN 
 STORY AND SONG ...... 285 
 
 WAR POETS OF THE SOUTH. SING 
 ERS ON FIRE 335 
 
 SINGERS IN VARIOUS KEYS: JOHN R. 
 THOMPSON, JAMES BARRON HOPE, 
 HENRY LYNDEN FLASH, AND OTH 
 ERS 385 
 
 SOUTHERN HUMORISTS: LONG- 
 STREET, BALDWIN, HOOPER, W. 
 T. THOMPSON, DAVY CROCKETT, 
 AND OTHERS 465 
 
 POLITICAL WRITERS AND HISTO 
 RIANS 549
 
 Elian poe. 
 
 IN the summer of 1833 Mr. Lam 
 bert A. Wilmer, proprietor of 
 the Baltimore Saturday Vis 
 itor, offered two prizes as follows : 
 for the best tale in prose, one hun 
 dred dollars ; for the best poem, 
 fifty dollars. Among the tales sub 
 mitted, was a collection of half 
 a dozen neatly written in a small 
 volume, and entitled " Tales of the 
 Folio Club." These proved so en 
 thralling that, it is said, the com 
 mittee of award read the entire 
 number from beginning to end, and 
 found their only difficulty in choos 
 ing which of the six should be en 
 titled to the premium. Finally, one 
 of these, entitled " MS. Found 
 in a Bottle," was adjudged wor 
 thy not only of the prize but also 
 of a certificate of flattering praise. 
 285
 
 Edgar Bllan poe. 
 
 " The Coliseum " was awarded the 
 second prize as the best poem, but 
 when this was found to be the work 
 of the same writer the second award 
 was transferred to another compet 
 itor. The judges in this contest 
 were Dr. J. H. Miller, J. H. B. La- 
 trobe, Esq., and John P. Kennedy, 
 Esq., the author of " Swallow Barn.'" 
 The author of the prize tale proved 
 to be a stranger to the committee. 
 The publication of the report of the 
 committee led to an interview be 
 tween Mr. Kennedy and the un 
 known author, Mr. Edgar Allan 
 Poe. Of this meeting we get the 
 following account in Tuckerman's 
 "Life of Kennedy." "The prize 
 money had not been paid, and he 
 was in the costume in which he had 
 answered the advertisement of his 
 good fortune. Thin and pale even 
 to ghastliness, his whole appearance 
 indicated sickness and the utmost 
 destitution. A well-worn frock coat 
 concealed the want of a shirt, and 
 286
 
 Bllan ipoe. 
 
 imperfect boots disclosed the ab 
 sence of hose. But the eyes of the 
 young man were luminous with in 
 telligence and feeling, and his voice, 
 conversation, and manners, all won 
 upon the lawyer's regard." The 
 story goes that Mr. Kennedy not 
 only advanced the means for much 
 needed clothing, but availed to se 
 cure literary hack work for him at 
 Baltimore, at length securing for 
 him admission to the columns of 
 the Southern Literary Messenger, 
 which was established at Richmond, 
 Va., August, 1834, by Mr. Thomas 
 W. White, and of which Mr. Poe 
 became assistant editor in Novem 
 ber, 1835. This is the introduction 
 to the world of literature of the un 
 fortunate but gifted Edgar Allan 
 Poe, who in the originating power 
 of his genius stands preeminent and 
 unique among American men of 
 letters. 
 
 When we seek to learn his history 
 and understand his gifts we are met 
 287
 
 EDgar Sllan poe. 
 
 upon the threshold of the subject by 
 a decided and ofttimes angry va 
 riance among those who have at 
 tempted to set forth the facts of his 
 life and assign his works a proper 
 position in the field of literature. A 
 few of his critics are, no doubt, too 
 laudatory ; on the other hand, some 
 have shown a lack of comprehen 
 sion and a meanness of spirit al 
 most marvelous beyond belief. From 
 Griswold to Thomas Dunn English, 
 those who have found everything 
 to censure and little to praise have 
 shown a virulence hardly to be 
 found in the discussions concerning 
 any other character in literature. 
 However, this bitterness of spirit 
 has not been without its advantage 
 to his name and fame, since many 
 who knew him best were led to 
 speak in his behalf before it was too 
 late. More has been written of him 
 than of any other American writer. 
 Walter Scott's schoolmaster would 
 have been forgotten long ago but 
 288
 
 BUan f>oc. 
 
 for the fact that he called the Wiz 
 ard of the North a dunce, so Gris- 
 wold would hardly remain a mem 
 ory but for the fact that he wreaked 
 his hate upon the dead in the shape 
 of a biography of Poe. Neverthe 
 less, he and his successors have 
 failed to mar the continued growth 
 of Mr. Poe's fame. His foibles 
 have been held up to censure, and 
 his faults he had one which be 
 came his master have been paraded 
 as if these would utterly invalidate 
 his claims to genius. This has not 
 always originated from the fact that 
 these self-constituted censors have 
 despised his faults above those of 
 others. The man who does not 
 take his literary values from his 
 cotemporaries must ever appear to 
 them as erratic and perverse, nor 
 can they have any conception of his 
 genius, but in many instances and 
 on the most petty pretexts deny to 
 him any such creative force. The 
 blazing comet that burns its way 
 S 289
 
 Hilan pee. 
 
 through our system is ever a mys 
 terious visitant. No laws belong 
 ing to less eccentric bodies are 
 known to apply to its weird move 
 ments. From what vast cavern of 
 the universe has it come? In the 
 conflagration of what worlds have 
 its fires been lighted, and in what 
 unknown ocean of space shall they 
 be extinguished? These seem des 
 tined ever to be questions of specu 
 lation not unmixed with wonder and 
 awe. No more can the laws which 
 govern genius in its advent and des 
 tiny be understood by those outside 
 the pale of its splendor. Cavilers 
 have found enough worthy of cen 
 sure in Poe's life, for his literature 
 was based on better principles than 
 his life, but none of them in their 
 own efforts have made any approach 
 to the originating genius and dis 
 criminating care shown in his art. 
 
 While Poe died poor and appar 
 ently forsaken nearly fifty years ago, 
 his is the one name which ranks all 
 290
 
 BUan 
 
 others in the European estimate 
 of American literature. Of two 
 names sometimes mentioned in con 
 nection, Hawthorne excels in touch 
 of human sympathy, but Poe is 
 superior in creative and structural 
 ability. The directing hand of power 
 and the poetic touch of beauty are 
 continually discerned in Poe's best 
 tales. Both he and Hawthorne bor 
 rowed much of the Erebuslike 
 shade of Charles Brockden Browne, 
 but "The Fall of the House of 
 Usher " excels all known pictures in 
 its spectacle of inevitable ruin. 
 
 Various and conflicting statements 
 have been published in regard to al 
 most all the ordinary facts of Poe's 
 life. If we follow these curiously 
 wrought histories, we find that 
 this ill-fated child of genius was 
 born in 1811, in 1809, on January 
 19, on February 19, at Baltimore, 
 at Boston, that he quitted the Uni 
 versity of Virginia with highest 
 honor, that he was expelled, that he 
 291
 
 Bllan poe. 
 
 started to Greece and found himself 
 a prisoner in Russia, that he did not 
 go to Europe at that time, but en 
 listed instead in the United States 
 army under an assumed name but 
 these discrepancies might be contin 
 ued ad libitum, as this does not half 
 exhaust the list. Material for a bi 
 ography was put into the hands of 
 Rufus W. Griswold, who soon 
 proved that even death had failed to 
 soften a former enmity which Poe 
 had supposed forgotten. A few 
 days after Poe's death he wrote a 
 notice so bitter that friends came to 
 the defense of the dead writer's 
 name. Possibly these were not al 
 ways judicious in the choice of ex 
 pressions. At any rate Griswold 
 became so enraged that he wrote 
 a biography which became histor 
 ical for its falsehoods and vituper 
 ation ; facts were suppressed, and 
 detrimental incidents invented. 
 Such of Poe's literary remains as 
 have not been destroyed have not 
 292
 
 BDgar Bllan ipcc. 
 
 yet passed into the hands of im 
 partial critics. However, many of 
 the difficulties have in a measure 
 been removed by a number of friends 
 raised up by the very bitterness of 
 the Griswold memoir. There has 
 been a revival of Poe cult in recent 
 years, and with that a disposition here 
 and there to revive old slanders by 
 a few who fear that efforts to whiten 
 Poe may blacken those who for 
 merly wrote of him with such bitter 
 ness. 
 
 Mr. Woodberry has written the 
 life of Poe for the American Men 
 of Letters Series. In that he has 
 succeeded in throwing light upon 
 some hitherto obscure parts of the 
 life of this " Unlucky Master." 
 With this work and Ingram's " Life 
 of Poe " before me, together with 
 sketches by Stoddard, Stedman, 
 Lowell, Brander Matthews, Mrs. 
 Susan Archer Talley Weiss, and a 
 dozen others, the following seems 
 the proper outline of what may be 
 293
 
 ;62>0ar aiian ipoe. 
 
 set forth : Edgar Poe was born in 
 Boston January 19, 1809. He was 
 the son of David Poe, a young 
 lawyer who had married an Eng 
 lish actress of considerable talent, 
 having previously adopted her pro 
 fession. This David Poe was like 
 wise the son of David Poe of 
 Baltimore. The elder David was 
 known as General Poe, on ac 
 count of an honorable part taken in 
 the War for Independence. After 
 the birth of Edgar his parents, who 
 were temporarily at Boston in the 
 exercise of their profession, jour 
 neyed south as far as Richmond, 
 where his mother died when he was 
 three years old, leaving him, an 
 elder brother, and a younger sister 
 to be disposed of as might seem be 
 fitting a world of strangers. The 
 children were apportioned out to 
 such as felt charitably inclined, 
 young Edgar finding favor in the 
 eyes of the young and childless wife 
 of Mr. John Allan, a wealthy to- 
 294
 
 aiian Poe. 
 
 bacco-dealer of Richmond, who 
 had emigrated from England. 
 From this time the child Edgar 
 Poe became at first perhaps Ed 
 gar Allan, and later Edgar Allan 
 Poe. He was brought up in the 
 luxuriance of wealth as the child 
 of this family. No money seems to 
 have been spared in gratifying 
 his whims or giving him pleas 
 ure. The memory of this mu 
 nificence gnawed upon his spirit 
 when he became an outcast. At the 
 age of six we are told this preco 
 cious lad could read, draw, de 
 claim, dance, and, what was worse, 
 by at least one account, could stand 
 in a chair and pledge the company 
 " right roguishly " in a glass of wine, 
 thus laying the foundation for so 
 many of the woes by which he was 
 beset and sharpening the beak of 
 the raven which was to pierce his 
 heart. Mr. Allan spent his sum 
 mers for a few years at White Sul 
 phur Springs, where the prettily 
 295
 
 Edgar BUan poe. 
 
 dressed, handsome boy with his 
 pony and dogs was long remem 
 bered. Mr. Allan returned to Eng 
 land for a time about 1815, and the 
 lad was placed in Manor House 
 school at Stoke-Newington, a suburb 
 of London, there to remain for pos 
 sibly five years. Some of the mem 
 ories of that school were afterward 
 woven into that wonderful story, 
 " William Wilson," which brought 
 a new theme into literature, the 
 idea of a man being haunted by his 
 double. Hawthorne in " Howe's 
 Mask," and Stevenson in " Dr. 
 Jeckel and Mr. Hyde " have availed 
 themselves of the same weird fancy 
 in somewhat diverse guise. A gen 
 tleman visiting Stoke-Newington 
 thinks the gloom of the old Quaker 
 building impressed itself upon the 
 spirit of the boy to depart never 
 more. In August, 1820, young 
 Poe entered the English and clas 
 sical school of Mr. Joseph H. Clarke, 
 of Richmond, Va. 
 296
 
 2lUan 
 
 Of this period of his life Col. 
 J. T. L. Preston, the husband of 
 Mrs. Margaret J. Preston, says : 
 " Edgar Poe might have been at 
 this time fifteen or sixteen, he being 
 one of the oldest boys in the school 
 and I one of the youngest. His 
 power and accomplishments capti 
 vated me, and something in me or in 
 him made him take a fancy to me. 
 In the simple school athletics of 
 those days, when a gymnasium had 
 not been heard of, he was facile 
 princeps. He was a swift runner, 
 a wonderful leaper, and, what was 
 more rare, a boxer, with some 
 slight training. . . . For swim 
 ming he was noted, being in many 
 of his athletic proclivities surpri 
 singly like Byron in his youth. 
 There was no one among the school 
 boys who would so dare in the 
 rapids of the James River." An 
 other of Poe's schoolmates recorded 
 a particular feat in swimming in 
 which he swam six miles against a 
 2 297
 
 EDgar ZUlan poe. 
 
 tide of three or four miles per hour. 
 A sensitive morbidness was a dis 
 tinguishing trait through life. This 
 often rendered him unhappy and 
 produced at times a disposition to 
 turn and defy not only his foes but 
 likewise those who sought to be his 
 friends. There is a passage in 
 Col. Preston's recollections which 
 gives some explanation of that 
 phase of character. Col. Preston 
 says : "At the time of which I 
 speak, Richmond was one of the 
 most aristocratic cities on this side of 
 the Atlantic. ... A school is 
 of its nature democratic, but still, 
 boys will unconsciously bear about 
 the odor of their fathers' notions, 
 good or bad. Of Edgar Poe it was 
 known that his parents had been 
 players, and that he was dependent 
 upon the bounty that is bestowed 
 upon an adopted son. All this had 
 the effect of making the boys de 
 cline his leadership ; and on looking 
 back on it since, I fancy it gave him 
 298
 
 BHan fi>oe. 
 
 a fierceness he would not otherwise 
 have had." Yet the same narrator 
 tells of his superior scholarship, 
 which ordinarily would have brought 
 leadership. The same resentment 
 against humanity in general was 
 naturally excited in later years when 
 he so often found men of far less 
 ability occupy ing positions of greater 
 honor and profit, while those dear 
 to him were suffering the pangs of 
 cold and hunger. Need it be a 
 matter of surprise that as a critic he 
 waged fierce war upon mediocrity 
 to an extent that sometimes assumed 
 the appearance of personal spite? 
 We have only to read some of the 
 names which came under his pen 
 to realize how he must have felt 
 while he in a measure effected the 
 dethronement of some of the " quacks 
 of Helicon." The records show Ed 
 gar A. Poe to have entered the Uni 
 versity of Virginia February 14, 
 1826, and to have closed his connec 
 tion with that institution December 
 299
 
 SDgar Bllan poe. 
 
 15 of the same year. Much has 
 been written of his connection with 
 the university, but the fact re 
 mains that his standing in scholar 
 ship was excellent, that he had no 
 trouble with the authorities, and that 
 his bust occupies a central position 
 in the new library. There is a tra 
 dition of drinking handed down by 
 some of his fellow students, and 
 certain gambling debts made trouble 
 with his foster-father. Hands of 
 horror have been held up over 
 these early sins to an extent not 
 thought of in the case of any other 
 author. The infirmities of genius 
 have been the plea in the case of 
 Goldsmith, Burns, Byron, et omne 
 id genus. At that period the side 
 board was a piece of furniture in 
 Virginia not yet abolished. Stod- 
 dard tells us that drinking was all 
 too common in New England in his 
 boyhood. Some students who per 
 haps afterward made doctors of 
 divinity and good bishops yielded 
 300
 
 BDgar Bllan 
 
 to the fascination of cards. Of 
 course all that has passed away in 
 universities, and the Poe of seventy 
 years ago is judged by present 
 standards. One point is certain : he 
 thought even gambling debts should 
 be paid, but therein is shown the 
 difference between an adopted and 
 a real son. Had Poe been the son 
 of the rich merchant, the debts 
 would have been paid, and the fact 
 of their making would not have 
 been bruited over the world. The 
 result was that the boy who had 
 been petted and spoiled as the heir 
 of a rich man became an outcast and 
 a wanderer without knowledge of 
 business or means of support. 
 
 Much has been said against Poe 
 to justify the procedure of Mr. 
 Allan in all matters relating to him 
 in subsequent time. During the 
 academic days in Richmond, and 
 during his student career at the uni 
 versity, the youth had shown his 
 proclivities for writing verse. A 
 2 301
 
 EDgar BHan IPoe. 
 
 strange, romantic spirit had revealed 
 itself even then. The mother of 
 one of his young friends had spoken 
 kindly to the orphan boy, and had 
 thus so won upon his susceptible 
 heart that, when she died not long 
 after, her grief-stricken admirer 
 would spend hours at her grave on 
 the most dismal of nights. We 
 see thus early something of the 
 bent of mind which produced cre 
 ations of spiritual darkness and ter 
 ror. 
 
 From Richmond Poe proceeded 
 at once to Boston, and brought out 
 a small volume of poems which 
 would have been forgotten but for 
 his subsequent career. Shortly after 
 this event, which occurred in 1827, 
 he disappeared, and his whereabouts 
 was long a mystery. Poe himself 
 threw an air of mystery over the 
 affair. Mr. Woodberry finds that, 
 moved perhaps by his inability to se 
 cure bread otherwise, he enlisted in 
 the United States army May 26, 
 302
 
 BDgar Bllan jpoe. 
 
 1827, and prompted, no doubt, by 
 deeply wounded pride, he gave his 
 name as Edward A. Perry. A fine 
 report is given of his sobriety and 
 attention to duty while in the army. 
 So faithful was he that he was made 
 sergeant-major in January, 1829. 
 The officers of his acquaintance 
 were solicitous that he should have 
 the advantage of a course at West 
 Point, as that is the only door to 
 promotion in time of peace. Mrs. 
 Allan died about that time, and Mr. 
 Allan, having learned of the situa 
 tion of his former charge, in the 
 hour of his grief invited Edgar, who 
 was then at Fortress Monroe, to vis 
 it his home on furlough. Mr. Allan 
 and his friends set about procuring 
 the young soldier's discharge and 
 admission to West Point. The dis 
 charge was procured April 15, 1829, 
 and he entered West Point July i, 
 1830. Not long after it was evident 
 no more could be expected from 
 his former patron, who took unto 
 303
 
 Bllan ipoe. 
 
 himself a young wife. Perry, the 
 soldier, might drill and earn promo 
 tion ; but Poe, the poet, found mili 
 tary affairs not to his taste. He 
 sought release, but could not pro 
 cure it without the consent of Mr. 
 Allan, who was registered as his 
 guardian. This was refused, al 
 though Poe was now over twenty- 
 one years of age in fact, no doubt 
 with Mr. Allan's connivance, his 
 age had been put back to effect his 
 entrance into the military institute. 
 No recourse was left except to de 
 cline such duties as would make it 
 necessary for the authorities to dis 
 miss the refractory cadet. This 
 course he pursued in January, 1831, 
 mainly between the yth and 27th. 
 He was dismissed, to take effect on 
 the 6th of March. There must 
 have been no feeling against him, 
 as the cadets were allowed to sub 
 scribe for the volume of his poems 
 which he proposed to issue. They 
 had expected numerous squibs of a 
 304
 
 2lllan poe. 
 
 local nature to be included, but Poe 
 could not trifle with his art. 
 
 The poems issued in New York 
 in 1831 were not of the kind to be 
 appreciated by a cadet of that date, 
 nor did they token the finished 
 musical lyrics to emanate later from 
 the same pen. Yet a judge might 
 have seen glimmerings of the fires 
 of inspiration hereafter to burn. 
 Besides, one of his finest poems, 
 " To Helen," was included in this 
 thin volume. Moreover, what ap 
 peared to be a new theory of poetry 
 was put forth in a rambling intro 
 duction. This theory was thereaft 
 er more fully elaborated but never 
 changed. This laid the foundation 
 of a lecture entitled "The Poetic 
 Principle," which may be expressed 
 in brief as follows : " Poetry is 
 rhythmical creation of beavity. The 
 pleasure derived from the contem 
 plation of beauty is the object to be 
 attained in every poem. This mani 
 festation of beauty is to be found in 
 20 T 305
 
 ' an elevating excitement of the soul.' 
 As truth appeals to reason, poetry 
 appeals to ' the human aspiration 
 for supernal beauty.' Poetry is op 
 posed to vice on account of its de 
 formity, its hideousness, its dispro 
 portion. Poetry is designed not to 
 teach a lesson except incidentally, 
 which is often more effective than 
 direct didacticism, but to raise a 
 pleasurable emotion. As any such 
 emotion can only be short-lived, no 
 poem can be long, and the long 
 poems which have become a per 
 manent part of literature are really 
 a succession of short poems woven 
 together." Poe's theory has been 
 much derided, but with some modi 
 fications would hardly be rejected 
 now. Sidney Lanier did not differ 
 widely in his " Beauty Is Holiness, 
 and Holiness Is Beauty." The 
 principle of poetry thus propounded 
 by a mere youth has won a place 
 among the laws of literature. The 
 poet did not always follow his own 
 306
 
 Bllan iPoe. 
 
 principle, since he seems often to 
 nave sought to produce a picture of 
 ruin, terror, or despair, rather than 
 an emotion derived from a contem 
 plation of beauty. 
 
 Where Poe spent the two years 
 after the publication of his poems 
 has never been ascertained. Haw 
 thorne is said to have spent twelve 
 lonely years in learning to gage 
 and direct his powers, but where 
 Poe learned that lesson we may 
 never know, as some of his best 
 tales were among his earliest. The 
 next we know of him he is in Bal 
 timore, as we have seen, with six fin 
 ished tales, and perhaps others in 
 embryo, while little more than two 
 years have elapsed since he left 
 West Point. During that time he 
 has been without literary friends or 
 associates. Usually those who have 
 written have been more or less in 
 an atmosphere of letters. With him 
 we know this could not have been 
 true. 
 
 307
 
 EDgar Bllan poe. 
 
 Passing over the prize story and 
 his appointment as editor at Rich 
 mond, it is sufficient to say that his 
 salary was $520 per year, and that 
 he found the Southern Literary 
 Messenger with five hundred sub 
 scribers, and in a few months brought 
 the list up to five thousand. During 
 this time he was married to his 
 cousin, Virginia Clemm, a beautiful 
 girl of only fourteen or fifteen years 
 of age. Like his father's, it was a 
 love-match. 
 
 Poe was the first to lift literary 
 criticism out of the sugar-plum 
 surroundings which encumbered it 
 in America. The coterie of the 
 best New England writers were 
 said to be " insured in the mu 
 tual." If one wrote a poem, essay, 
 or tale, the others praised. These 
 were secure in their fame, at least 
 temporarily ; but Poe never loved 
 Boston, nor did Boston love Poe. 
 Some of his lack of recognition in 
 his lifetime was caused thereby, yet 
 308
 
 2Ulan ipoe. 
 
 there were many lesser lights scat 
 tered throughout the domain of the 
 Union whose friends had praised 
 until any pretense at writing stood 
 for good literature as heralded by a 
 ready chorus. Poe seized a keen 
 rapier and began the work of punc 
 turing these pretenders. So little 
 was known of the province of true 
 criticism that these reviews were 
 often resented as personal attacks *, 
 but this new Daniel come to judg 
 ment loved a wholesome row, hence 
 the work of flaying went bravely 
 forward. It has been claimed that 
 adverse criticism never freed the 
 fields of literature of any meretri 
 cious weeds, but at least the labeling 
 of the fruit-bearing plant enables 
 men to recognize and shun the weed. 
 Healthy criticism enlightens public 
 sentiment, and makes possible a vig 
 orous and healthy literature. Poe 
 did much in his editorial capacity at 
 Richmond, Philadelphia, and New 
 York to prepare the soil for the bet- 
 309
 
 BHan 
 
 ter recent growth. Not that he was 
 always free from personal bias ; not 
 that all the women writers, particu 
 larly poets, whom he praised were 
 really inspired, but he had principles 
 upon which he felt just criticism 
 must be based, and he did not hesi 
 tate to apply these principles to the 
 work of friend or foe. Nothing 
 like this had been known in Amer 
 ica before. Poe was the true pio 
 neer in literary criticism on this side 
 of the water. 
 
 The connection of Poe with 
 the Southern Literary Messenger 
 closed in January, 1837. The cause 
 has never been fully explained. At 
 a later period he wrote for the Mes 
 senger , and Mr. White seems to 
 have continued to be his friend. A 
 letter written by Mr. White to Poe 
 at an earlier time evidently refers 
 to the fact that his editor had in 
 dulged in drink with certain Rich 
 mond companions, and he is advised 
 to choose other friends, but this was 
 310
 
 BDgar Bllan IPoe. 
 
 evidently previous to Poe's mar 
 riage. Not a word against him did 
 Mr. White ever utter or write. 
 Rev. Francis L. Hawks, of North 
 Carolina, had established the New 
 York Review and is said to have in 
 vited Poe to become its editor. New 
 York even then must have appeared 
 to the rising young writer a better 
 field than Richmond, yet the Re 
 view had closed its inauspicuous ca 
 reer before his arrival. 
 
 During the respite from editorial 
 work Poe wrote "Arthur Gordon 
 Pym," which was published by the 
 Harpers in 1838. 
 
 In addition to this, the text-book 
 on " Conchology " was published 
 the next year. This has been the 
 subject of much animadversion, but 
 seems to have differed little in its 
 preparation from many of the text 
 books of to-day, though it must be 
 confessed few of these are prepared 
 by men of literary ability. During 
 this time he contributed to a few 
 311
 
 Sllan poe. 
 
 Poe became editor of Graham's 
 Magazine in January, 1841. Mr. 
 Graham seems to have been a true 
 gentleman and to have appreciated 
 the talents of his editor. Not only 
 that, but none labored harder to free 
 from aspersions the name of this 
 unfortunate genius, after his death. 
 The magazine prospered under this 
 management. There were eight 
 thousand subscribers in January, 
 1841 ; in July, seventeen thousand; 
 in December, twenty-five thousand ; 
 and in March, 1842, forty thousand. 
 During the spring Poe returned 
 after a brief absence, and found 
 Rufus Griswold occupying his chair. 
 The arrangement was to have been 
 temporary, but the sensitive nature 
 of Poe was wounded and he never 
 again occupied the editorial chair of 
 the magazine, though he afterward 
 wrote for it and assisted in its make 
 up. In Griswold he had met his 
 evil fate. For a time they were 
 friends, but when Poe criticized 
 314
 
 Bllan ipoe. 
 
 Griswold's compilations as he usu 
 ally criticized poor work that rev 
 erend gentleman became his ene 
 my with a hate which has covered 
 his own name with odium. Poe 
 had ever hoped to start a mag 
 azine of his own, hence he read 
 ily broke with those whose pub 
 lications he had helped to render 
 successful ; besides, at the best his 
 salary was never large enough to 
 drive the wolf far from his door. 
 Some of his best tales were pub 
 lished in Graham; but the work 
 which brought him most into notice 
 was his pungent, but, for the most 
 part, highly intellectual reviews of 
 the literary efforts of the time. 
 Even in Poe's day it took money to 
 float a monthly, and, though this 
 remained the dream of his life, he 
 found himself unable to proceed, 
 even after the repeated publication 
 of a prospectus. 
 
 From various sources we get from 
 time to time agreeable views of 
 315
 
 Elian poc. 
 
 Poe's home life. Of this period of 
 his life at Philadelphia, Woodberry 
 says : " Whatever practical difficul' 
 ties it was his lot to encounter, no 
 shadow had crossed the threshold 
 of the little Cottage where he lived 
 with his wife and her mother in a 
 close privacy of watchful love and 
 domestic happiness. Mrs. Clemm, 
 a vigorous woman of about fifty 
 years who is said to have had the 
 face, size, and figure of a man, was 
 the head of the household, received 
 and expended Poe's wages, and kept 
 things in order. The few acquaint 
 ances who called on the family 
 sometimes wondered, as did Mayne 
 Reid, how this masculine matron 
 should have been the mother of the 
 fragile girl, still under twenty-one, 
 whose feminine beauty and charm 
 was of so delicate an order that 
 she seems nearly as sylphlike as 
 one of Poe's imaginary creations." 
 " She hardly looked more than four 
 teen," writes Mr. A. B. Harris, who 
 316
 
 Bllan fcoe. 
 
 knew her at this time, " fair, soft, 
 graceful, and girlish. Every one 
 who saw her was won by her. Poe 
 was very proud and very fond of 
 her, and used to delight in the 
 round, childlike face, and plump lit 
 tle finger (sic. Q. figure?), which he 
 contrasted with himself, so thin and 
 half-melancholy looking, and she in 
 turn idolized him. She had a voice 
 of wonderful sweetness, and was an 
 exquisite singer, and in some of 
 their more prosperous days, when 
 they were living in a pretty little 
 rose-covered cottage on the outskirts 
 of Philadelphia, she had her harp 
 and piano. The third member of 
 this strangely consorted group, Poe 
 himself, was the same reserved, iso 
 lated, dreamy man of high-strung 
 nerves, proud spirit, and fantastic 
 moods that he had been in youth. 
 With senses excessively acute and a 
 mind easily accessible to motives of 
 dread, if he was noc the monomaniac 
 of fear he knew in Roderick Usher, 
 317
 
 Hllan poe. 
 
 he was always haunted by sugges 
 tions of evil to come ; nor was he 
 quite free from the vague apprehen 
 sion that belongs to children's minds. 
 He did not like to go out in the 
 dark, and, with such jocularity as he 
 was capable of, said that he believed 
 evil demons had power then. In 
 his home alone he found happiness, 
 affection, and a refuge from contact 
 with the world." 
 
 Another disaster was soon to fol 
 low. Mrs. Poe, while singing one 
 evening, ruptured a blood-vessel, and 
 life was despaired of at first, then 
 hope revived, only to increase the 
 pangs of disappointment as she grew 
 weaker. The alternating between 
 hope and despair drove Poe to 
 frenzy to frequent returns of the 
 drink habit. He was unable to 
 write, and his wife was in need of 
 comforts which he was unable to pro 
 vide. An appeal to literary friends 
 was made, which his sensitive nature 
 resented. When she appeared bet- 
 318
 
 2Ulan jpoe. 
 
 ter, hope revived, and, perhaps in 
 search of a larger field, he went to 
 New York, whither his literary rep 
 utation had preceded him. This 
 change of residence was made in 
 1844. 
 
 His means of support during these 
 several months of transition had 
 been meager. The Dollar News 
 paper had offered a prize of one 
 hundred dollars for a story. Poe 
 won this with "The Gold Bug." 
 Many of his stories remained in the 
 hands of editors unpublished. 
 
 N. P. Willis was the proprietor 
 of a daily paper, the Evening Mir 
 ror. During the latter part of the 
 year we find Poe at work upon this 
 paper. Willis greatly approved of 
 his work and conduct, nor did any 
 one write of Poe after his death in 
 a more appreciative way than Willis. 
 
 Something happened now which 
 
 brought all bis delayed articles and 
 
 tales out of editor's pigeonholes. 
 
 " The Raven " was published in the 
 
 319
 
 EDgac SUan 
 
 Evening Mirror January 29, 1845. 
 The poem had been published from 
 advanced sheets of the American 
 Whig Review, in which it appeared 
 in February. No poem ever met 
 with more immediate favor. All 
 over the land there was a snipping 
 of editorial shears. " The Raven " 
 was the bird of the hour, and the 
 author found himself famous. He 
 was the lion of the season. A lec 
 ture in New York followed. His 
 rapidly failing wife and himself be 
 gan to meet many of the literary 
 people, some of whom, like Mrs. 
 Osgood, became life friends. But 
 " The Raven " brought him very 
 little money, and the Evening Mir 
 ror continued for a time to claim his 
 attention. 
 
 In the brief space allotted to this 
 sketch, only a mere outline of his 
 further movements can be given. 
 March 8, 1845, ^ e became joint 
 editor of the Broadway Journal. 
 Later he became sole editor, and in 
 320
 
 Bllan ipoe* 
 
 November, proprietor. The Jour 
 nal soon attracts attention, but the 
 proprietor is in debt and the Journal 
 suspends. In the meantime " The 
 Raven, and Other Poems " is pub 
 lished in New York and London. 
 "The Literati of New York," be 
 gun in Godey*s Lady's Book in 1846, 
 made the author many enemies, 
 largely because the truth may prove 
 disagreeable. 
 
 The cottage at Fordham became 
 the home of the Poes in the sum 
 mer of 1846. This was some dis 
 tance out of New York then, but is 
 in the city now. Here Mrs. Poe 
 died, January 30, 1847. ^ ti me of 
 sickness and desolation followed, 
 but Mrs. Clemm clung to him and 
 took care of him as best she was 
 able. Though he seems to have 
 been engaged to marry Mrs. Whit 
 man, a New England poet, and pos 
 sibly at a later period Mrs. Shel- 
 ton, of Richmond, after the death of 
 his T vife, yet he never really recov- 
 U 321
 
 Sllan poe. 
 
 ered from that blow. " Eureka," a 
 prose poem, was published in 1848. 
 This was an effort to expound his 
 theory of the universe. 
 
 He lectured in various places, and 
 departed for the South June 30, 1849. 
 The summer and autumn were spent 
 in Richmond, where he at first had 
 a lapse to his old habit. He was 
 warned by his physicians against its 
 repetition, as his constitution was 
 greatly impaired. During the pro 
 tracted decline of his wife, if not be 
 fore, he had acquired the use of 
 opium. These habits, with want 
 and anxiety, had well-nigh wrecked 
 him. During the stay in Richmond 
 hope seemed to rebloom. One of 
 the most graceful sketches of him 
 by any pen is that given by Mrs. 
 Susan Archer Talley Weiss. Of his 
 appearance and conversation at that 
 time, she says : "As I entered the 
 parlor, Poe was seated near an open 
 window quietly conversing. His at 
 titude was easy and graceful, with 
 322
 
 2lltan 
 
 one arm lightly resting upon the 
 back of his chair. His dark, curl 
 ing hair was thrown back from his 
 broad forehead a style in which he 
 habitually wore it. At sight of him, 
 the impression produced upon me 
 was of a refined, high-bred, chival 
 rous gentleman. I use this word 
 ' chivalrous ' as exactly descriptive 
 of something in his whole personnel, 
 distinct from either polish or high 
 breeding, and which, though in 
 stantly apparent, was yet an effect 
 too subtle to be described. He rose 
 on my entrance, and, other visitors 
 being present, stood with one hand 
 resting on the back of his chair, 
 awaiting my greeting. So dignified 
 was his manner, so reserved his ex 
 pression, that I experienced an in 
 voluntary recoil, until I turned to 
 him and saw his eyes suddenly 
 brighten as I offered my hand ; 
 a barrier seemed to melt between us, 
 and I felt that we were no longer 
 strangers. . . . And as himself 
 323
 
 Bllan poe. 
 
 that is, as he appeared to me in 
 my home and in society Poe was 
 preeminently a gentleman. This 
 was apparent in everything about 
 him, even to the least detail. He 
 dressed always in black, and with 
 faultless taste and simplicity. An 
 indescribable refinement pervaded 
 all that he did and said. His gen 
 eral bearing in society, especially to 
 ward strangers, was quiet, dignified, 
 and somewhat reserved, even at times 
 unconsciously approaching hauteur. 
 He rarely smiled, and never laughed. 
 When pleased, nothing could exceed 
 the charm of his manner to his 
 own sex cordial, to ladies marked by 
 a sort of chivalrous, respectful cour 
 tesy. I was surprised to find that 
 the poet was not the melancholy 
 person I had unconsciously pictured. 
 On the contrary, he appeared, ex 
 cept on one occasion, invariably 
 cheerful, and frequently playful in 
 mood. He seemed quietly amused 
 by the light-hearted chat of the 
 324
 
 2Ulan poe. 
 
 young people about him, and often 
 joined them in humorous repartee, 
 sometimes tinged with a playful sar 
 casm. Yet he preferred to sit quietly 
 and listen and observe. Nothing 
 escaped his keen observation." 
 
 Here, as usual, accounts differ as 
 to Foe's intentions. One is that 
 he meant to return North with 
 renewed purpose to found the 
 Stylus, his talked-of magazine. 
 The other is that he arranged to 
 make Richmond his future home, 
 and started on his return North to 
 make arrangements to that effect. 
 In a hospital in Baltimore he died, 
 October 7, 1849. He had been 
 brought to the hospital in an in 
 sensible state, and the full particu 
 lars of his stay in that city will per 
 haps never be known. Sad was 
 his fate, no matter what may have 
 brought him to the end. 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe was truly a man 
 of letters. No other pursuit ever en 
 gaged his serious attention. There 
 325
 
 poe. 
 
 that is, as he appeared to me in 
 my home and in society Poe was 
 preeminently a gentleman. This 
 was apparent in everything about 
 him, even to the least detail. He 
 dressed always in black, and with 
 faultless taste and simplicity. An 
 indescribable refinement pervaded 
 all that he did and said. His gen 
 eral bearing in society, especially to 
 ward strangers, was quiet, dignified, 
 and somewhat reserved, even at times 
 unconsciously approaching hauteur. 
 He rarely smiled, and never laughed. 
 When pleased, nothing could exceed 
 the charm of his manner to his 
 own sex cordial, to ladies marked by 
 a sort of chivalrous, respectful cour 
 tesy. I was surprised to find that 
 the poet was not the melancholy 
 person I had unconsciously pictured. 
 On the contrary, he appeared, ex 
 cept on one occasion, invariably 
 cheerful, and frequently playful in 
 mood. He seemed quietly amused 
 by the light-hearted chat of the 
 324
 
 2Ulan 
 
 young people about him, and often 
 joined them in humorous repartee, 
 sometimes tinged with a playful sar 
 casm. Yet he preferred to sit quietly 
 and listen and observe. Nothing 
 escaped his keen observation." 
 
 Here, as usual, accounts differ as 
 to Poe's intentions. One is that 
 he meant to return North with 
 renewed purpose to found the 
 Stylus, his talked-of magazine. 
 The other is that he arranged to 
 make Richmond his future home, 
 and started on his return North to 
 make arrangements to that effect. 
 In a hospital in Baltimore he died, 
 October 7, 1849. He had been 
 brought to the hospital in an in 
 sensible state, and the full particu 
 lars of his stay in that city will per 
 haps never be known. Sad was 
 his fate, no matter what may have 
 brought him to the end. 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe was truly a man 
 of letters. No other pursuit ever en 
 gaged his serious attention. There 
 325
 
 auan 
 
 is something knightly in his strug 
 gle for success in authorship at a 
 time when few Americans had the 
 temerity for such a Jasonlike ven 
 ture. 
 
 As a critic Poe often saw with 
 almost prophetic eye. While their 
 place was hardly yet secure, he 
 praised Mrs. Browning, Lowell, 
 and Hawthorne. Tennyson he early 
 ranked among the truly noble poets. 
 While he charged Longfellow with 
 plagiarism, he nevertheless placed 
 him first of American poets. 
 
 Of his poetry, Edmond Gosse 
 says : " Poe has proved himself to 
 be the ' Piper of Hamelin ' to all 
 later English poets. From Tenny 
 son to Austin Dobson, there is 
 hardly one whose verse-music does 
 not show traces of Poe's influence." 
 A thin volume would comprise all 
 his poems, but these have an excel 
 lency of finish seldom attained. 
 Poetry he declares to have been 
 with him a passion and not a pur- 
 326
 
 Hllan pee. 
 
 pose. Yet he polished and rewrote 
 as few poets have had the persist 
 ency to do. He was a melodist of 
 the highest order, and married his 
 thought to the richest word-music. 
 " The Bells," written after " The 
 Raven," must be placed at the head 
 of all successful efforts to produce 
 musical effects by means of a few 
 words of similar sound. Since he 
 sought to produce a sudden eleva 
 tion of mind, a pleasurable sensa 
 tion of beauty, his poems could not 
 be long, according to his theory. 
 Nor did he in a single instance de 
 part from the poetic principles laid 
 down in youth. He has been re 
 garded as the poet of a single mood. 
 That mood is one of sadness, ruin, 
 despair. The theme upon which he 
 made many variations both in prose 
 and verse is the death of a beautiful 
 woman. Sometimes he couples with 
 this, as in " The Raven," unending 
 despair ; as in " The Fall of the 
 House of Usher," ruin physical and 
 327
 
 Bllan poe. 
 
 mental. He does not deal with peo 
 ple so much as with gnomes, ghouls, 
 dreams, demons, angels. The range 
 is narrow, but words of haunting 
 melody place the senses under a 
 spell until we seem to roam with 
 him his weird, enchanted realms. 
 Stedman says : " Poe's melodies lure 
 us to the point where we seem to hear 
 angelic lutes and citherns, or elfin 
 instruments that make music in ' the 
 land east of the sun and west of the 
 moon.' The enchantment may not 
 be that of Israfel, nor of the harper 
 who exorcised the evil genius of 
 Saul, but it is at least that of some 
 plumed being of the middle air, of a 
 charmer charming so sweetly that 
 his nvimbers are the burden of mys 
 tic dreams." To most persons Poe 
 is a poet of two poems, " The Ra 
 ven " and " The Bells." " Ulalune " 
 perhaps ranks next to these two, 
 though " The Conqueror Worm " 
 and " The Haunted Palace " are al 
 most flawless as works of art. " The 
 328
 
 BHan poe. 
 
 Sleeper," The Valley of Unrest," 
 The City in the Sea," To One 
 in Paradise," are among the poems 
 which can not perish. The beauti 
 ful lyric " Israfel " is the one which 
 has no touch of ruin. Like " The 
 Bells," "Annabel Lee " was written 
 after the death of his wife, and has 
 been supposed to enshrine his pas 
 sionate sorrow for the one above all 
 others to whom his soul was truly 
 joined. Poe wrote slowly that is, 
 he wrote and rewrote the same 
 poem or tale until it grew into a 
 masterpiece under the touch of the 
 magician's hand. " The Raven " 
 has been a subject of much discus 
 sion. The question at issue is 
 whether the poem was the outburst 
 of despair, as he wrote it while his 
 wife was slowly sinking and he 
 was unable either to provide for her 
 necessities or to break away from 
 his tormenting appetite for drink, 
 or did he deliberately set himself to 
 the task of working out a particular 
 4 329
 
 2Ulan 
 
 effect? The latter was the case ac 
 cording to his own testimony, though 
 the impending ruin of his life and 
 hopes made the sought-for effect 
 easier of attainment. 
 
 Many of Poe's tales were really 
 poems in prose. This is true of 
 " The Fall of the House of Usher," 
 " Ligeia," " Morella," and " William 
 Wilson." The beauty-touches of a 
 gifted poet are upon these and many 
 others of his tales. When we read 
 them we are entranced by their 
 mystic spell and held in thrall by the 
 genius of their creator. We are 
 lifted into an enchanted atmosphere, 
 and think not of the weaknesses of 
 the artist, but of the nobility of his 
 gifts. Poe is said to have originated 
 the detective story in such tales as 
 "The Murders in the Rue Morgxie," 
 " The Mystery of Marie Roget," 
 and The Purloined Letter." "Ar 
 thur Gordon Pym " tells his adven 
 tures with that Defoelike attention 
 to details which gives a verisimili- 
 330
 
 Bllan f>oe. 
 
 tude to all of Poe's stories. " The 
 Descent into the Maelstrom," " The 
 Black Cat," and some others run 
 the gamut of all the possibilities of 
 terror and horror. " Eureka," the 
 last written, is called a prose poem, 
 but of all his productions contains 
 the least poetry. 
 
 Hawthorne and Poe stand at 
 the head of American literature in 
 the line of creative ability. The 
 chosen field of both was romance. 
 Hawthorne, as said, had a large 
 sense of humor, in which Poe was 
 somewhat deficient. Hawthorne, 
 though a recluse by nature, had 
 finer touches of human sympathy. 
 Poe had more of that imagination 
 which bodies forth shapes unknown 
 from airy nothingness and clothes 
 them with rarest beauty. In struc 
 ture of work, in painting with the 
 rich colors of the South, Poe has 
 never been excelled. When we 
 would classify him, we may men 
 tion Coleridge and others as similar 
 331
 
 Bllan poe. 
 
 at a few points, but the author of 
 " The Raven " and " The Fall of 
 the House of Usher " stands alone. 
 His \vorks are unique and original. 
 As to his personality, his doom 
 was ever upon him. Perhaps with 
 an inherited taint of intemperance 
 inflamed by indulgence in early 
 childhood, escape was well-nigh im 
 possible. He deplored his misfor 
 tunes, and ever sought to break the 
 chain. He was not a habitual 
 drunkard, but prevailed against him 
 self for long periods. Lack of will 
 was his ruin. A single glass of 
 wine threw him into a frenzy, and 
 at times he seemed unable to resist 
 that glass. Like most men of simi 
 lar habits, he often deceived himself, 
 hence sometimes failed in his prom 
 ises and deceived his friends. A 
 delicate child of poetry toiling in a 
 rude, coarse, unpoetic age, for a 
 small pittance ; a painstaking writer, 
 whose literary conscience would not 
 allow him to slight even his edito- 
 332
 
 BDgar 2Ulan 
 
 rial works, dying with his work in 
 complete, he produced only about 
 forty poems and sixty tales. In 
 temperance did not in his case carry 
 with it the usual train of evils, hence 
 he was not a man of immoral habits. 
 Those who knew him best praised 
 him most, though the preponder 
 ance of evidence is that he was al 
 ways unduly restless, often selfish 
 and forgetful of the feelings of 
 others. That he was at times too 
 sensitive to be helped even by 
 friends seems certain. His imper 
 fect and unfortunate life does not so 
 much concern his art, since his life 
 and his art were distinct entities. 
 No unchaste expression or intima 
 tion mars any of his writings. He 
 burned incense upon the altar of 
 beauty. 
 
 The question has been raised as 
 to whether Poe was truly a South 
 erner. His family on his father's 
 side was Southern. His boyhood 
 was largely spent in the South. His 
 333
 
 dgar Bllan poe. 
 
 first poetic impulse, so far as we 
 know, came upon him under a South 
 ern sun. His wife was a beautiful, 
 dark-eyed Southern girl. Stedman, 
 who has written of his works with 
 rare discrimination, ascribes him 
 to that section. Brander Matthews 
 says : " He was a Southerner both 
 by temperament and descent." Fi 
 nally, Poe always claimed the South 
 as his home, and was in the heart 
 iest sympathy with such of his 
 countrymen as essayed the field of 
 letters. 
 
 However, his work was for all 
 times and climes. He truly said : 
 
 I have reached these lands but newly 
 From an ultimate dim Thule 
 From a wild, weird clime that lieth, 
 
 sublime, 
 
 Out of Space out of Time. 
 334
 
 IPdlar poete of tbc Soutb. 
 
 TROY was not the only city 
 destroyed in war in ancient 
 times, but Troy alone found 
 a Homer. Many heroic struggles 
 for freedom have never been en 
 shrined in song. Yet the hour and 
 the man with the opportune word 
 have met a few times in the world's 
 history. Thus descended the af 
 flatus upon Rouget de Lisle, a 
 French engineer, when at the hour 
 of gray dawn the Marseillaise hymn 
 was struck out in the white heat of 
 the French revolution. A patriotic 
 son of the South, Francis Scott 
 Key, wrote the "Star - Spangled 
 Banner" while the British vessel on 
 which he was forcibly detained 
 joined in the unsuccessful bom 
 bardment of Fort McHenry with 
 the hope of reaching Baltimore. 
 335
 
 War poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 "Yankee Doodle" was an English 
 melody in vogue before the Revo 
 lution, but adopted by the Ameri 
 cans during that conflict. One pa 
 triotic poem, "Columbia," written 
 by Timothy Dwight, chaplain in the 
 army, survived the period, but was 
 practically superseded by " Hail Co 
 lumbia," written by Joseph Hop- 
 kinson during the threatened war 
 with France. Later poets have 
 rendered immortal certain incidents 
 of the American Revolution. The 
 exploits of the Frigate "Constitu 
 tion" in the second war with Eng 
 land furnished inspiration for "Old 
 Ironsides," written by Holmes many 
 years afterward. The Mexican war 
 gave at least one permanent con 
 tribution to literature in the "Biv 
 ouac of the Dead," written by 
 Col. Theodore O'Hara on the oc 
 casion of the erection of a monu 
 ment to the Kentucky soldiers who 
 fell at Buena Vista. This poem had 
 the strange destiny of furnishing 
 336
 
 poets of tbc Soutb. 
 
 the lines placed over the gateway of 
 the National Cemetery at Arling 
 ton, though no doubt these were 
 carved while their author was in the 
 Confederate army. When the coun 
 try awoke to the fact in 1861 that 
 war existed, armed men sprang up 
 as if dragon's teeth had been sown, 
 and with them came an army of 
 singers. In the corners of news 
 papers many names unheard of be 
 fore found a place, and not all their 
 verses were poor. That the South 
 ern people loved their section and 
 believed in the righteousness of 
 their cause is proved by what they 
 endured and dared for four terrible 
 years. 
 
 No better portrayal of the deep 
 emotions which surged through the 
 hearts of the people in that fated 
 first year can be given than by quo 
 ting "Tiger Lilies," a novel pub 
 lished in 1867 by Sidney Lanier, 
 himself a Southern soldier. Lanier 
 says : "An afflatus of war was 
 V 337
 
 TDdar poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 breathed upon us. Like a great 
 wind, it drew on and blew upon 
 men, women, and children. Its 
 sound mingled with the solemnity 
 of the church organs and arose with 
 the earnest words of preacher pray 
 ing for guidance in the matter. It 
 sighed in the half-breathed words 
 of sweethearts conditioning impa 
 tient lovers with war services. It 
 thundered splendidly in the impas 
 sioned appeals of orators to the 
 people. It whistled through the 
 streets, it stole into the firesides, it 
 clinked glasses in bar-rooms, it lift 
 ed the gray hairs of our wise men in 
 conventions, it thrilled through the 
 lectures in college-halls, it rustled 
 the thumbed book - leaves of the 
 schoolrooms. This wind blew upon 
 all the vanes of all the churches of 
 the country, and turned them one 
 way toward war. It blew, and 
 shook out, as if by magic, a flag 
 whose device was unknown to sol 
 dier or sailor before, but whose ev- 
 ?38
 
 TOlar poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 ery flap and flutter made the blood 
 bound in our veins." 
 
 Several anthologies of Southern 
 war poetry have been made. Nat 
 urally much of the verse in these is 
 very poor, but gems do abound, and 
 these are not so infrequent as many 
 suppose. Nor do the Southern 
 songs appear at a disadvantage 
 when placed side by side with the 
 efforts of the best-known poets of 
 the North, as has been done by 
 George Gary Eggleston in "Amer 
 ican War Ballads and Lyrics," and 
 by F. F. Browne in " Bugle Ech 
 oes." No doubt the best, as it was 
 among the first noteworthy songs 
 to emanate from Southern pens, 
 was "My Maryland." I n M r. 
 Browne's "Bugle Echoes" is found 
 the history of the poem as given by 
 the author. Mr. Browne says : 
 "From his editorial desk in Augus 
 ta, Ga., he [Randall] had sent a 
 corrected version of 'My Mary 
 land' with these interesting partic- 
 339
 
 "GClar poets of tbe soutb. 
 
 ulars of its history: 'In 1860-61 he 
 who pens these lines was, though 
 very young, a professor at Poydras 
 College, upon the Fausse Riviere, 
 of Louisiana. There, a stripling, 
 just from college in Maryland, full 
 of poetry and romance, he dreamed 
 dreams, and was only awakened by 
 the guns of Sumter. At an old 
 wooden desk, in a second - story 
 room of Poydras College, one 
 sleepless April night in 1861, the 
 poem of "My Maryland" was writ 
 ten. . . . And now the desk is ash 
 es, and the building too.' The 
 poem first appeared in the New Or 
 leans Delta" As this part of the 
 series is to be largely given to a 
 reproduction of the songs of the war 
 poets, "My Maryland" is given en 
 tire. 
 
 The despot's heel is on thy shore, 
 
 Maryland! 
 His torch is at thy temple door, 
 
 Maryland! 
 
 Avenge the patriotic gore 
 340
 
 That flecked the streets of Baltimore, 
 And be the battle queen of yore, 
 Maryland, my Maryland! 
 
 Hark to an exiled son's appeal, 
 
 Maryland! 
 My Mother State, to thee I kneel, 
 
 Maryland! 
 
 For life or death, for woe or weal, 
 Thy peerless chivalry reveal, 
 And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, 
 Maryland, my Maryland! 
 
 Thou wilt not cower in the dust, 
 
 Maryland! 
 Thy beaming sword shall never rust, 
 
 Maryland! 
 
 Remember Carroll's sacred trust, 
 Remember Howard's warlike thrust, 
 And all thy slumberers with the just, 
 Maryland, my Maryland! 
 
 Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day, 
 
 Maryland! 
 Come ! with thy panoplied array, 
 
 Maryland! 
 
 With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, 
 With Watson's blood at Monterey, 
 With fearless Lowe and dashing May, 
 Maryland, my Maryland! 
 341
 
 Tldar Poets of tbc Soutb. 
 
 Come! for thy shield is bright and 
 strong, 
 
 Maryland! 
 
 Come! for thy dalliance does thee 
 wrong, 
 
 Maryland! 
 
 Come! to thine own heroic throng, 
 That stalks with Liberty along, 
 And ring thy dauntless slogan-song, 
 Maryland, my Maryland! 
 
 Dear mother! burst the tyrant's chain, 
 
 Maryland! 
 Virginia should not call in vain, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 
 She meets her sisters on the plain 
 "Sic semper," 'tis the proud refrain 
 That baffles minions back amain, 
 
 Maryland! 
 Arise in majesty again, 
 
 Maryland, my Maryland! 
 
 I see the blush upon thy cheek, 
 
 Maryland! 
 For thou wast ever bravely meek, 
 
 Maryland! 
 
 But lo! there surges forth a shriek 
 From hill to hill, from creek to creek 
 Potomac calls to Chesapeake, 
 
 Maryland, my Maryland! 
 342
 
 War gtoets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Thou wilt not yield the vandal toll, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 Thou wilt not crook to his control, 
 
 Maryland! 
 
 Better the fire upon thee roll, 
 Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, 
 Than crucifixion of the soul, 
 
 Maryland, my Maryland! 
 
 I hear the distant thunder-hum, 
 
 Maryland! 
 The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 
 She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb 
 Huzzah! she spurns the Northern scum! 
 She breathes She burns! She'll come! 
 She'll come! 
 
 Maryland, my Maryland! 
 
 JAMES RYDER RANDALL was 
 born in Baltimore January i, 1839. 
 He cornes of an old Maryland 
 stock. From his tenth to his sev 
 enteenth year he studied at George 
 town (D. C.) College and received 
 an excellent classical education, 
 but failed to remain until gradua 
 tion on account of poor health. For 
 a time he was connected with the 
 343
 
 War poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 press in New Orleans, Augusta, 
 and finally Baltimore. "There's 
 Life in the Old Land Yet" was 
 written in 1862 or 1863, and is 
 scarcely inferior to "My Mary 
 land." Mr. Randall has been chief 
 ly an editorial writer, and has never 
 devoted himself very extensively to 
 literature. 
 
 Among the first to join the cho 
 rus of singers on fire with patriotic 
 fervor was HENRY TIMROD, of 
 Charleston, S. C. "A Cry to 
 Arms," with its trumpetlike lines, 
 is stronger than Bryant's "Call to 
 Arms." 
 
 Ho! woodsmen of the mountain-side! 
 
 Ho ! dwellers in the vales ! 
 Ho! ye who by the chafing tide 
 
 Have roughened in the gales ! 
 Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot, 
 
 Lay by the bloodless spade; 
 Let desk and case and counter rot, 
 
 And burn your books of trade. 
 
 The despot roves your fairest lands; 
 And till he flies or fears, 
 344
 
 Itdar poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Your fields must grow but armed bands, 
 Your sheaves be sheaves of spears! 
 
 Give up to mildew and to rust 
 The useless tools of gain; 
 
 And feed your country's sacred dust 
 With floods of crimson rain! 
 
 Does any falter? Let him turn 
 
 To some brave maiden's eyes, 
 And catch the holy fires that burn 
 
 In those sublunar skies. 
 Oh! could you like your women feel, 
 
 And in their spirit march, 
 A day might see your lines of steel 
 
 Beneath the victor's arch. 
 
 What hope, O God! would not grow 
 warm 
 
 When thoughts like these give cheer? 
 The lily calmly braves the storm, 
 
 And shall the palm-tree fear? 
 No ! rather let its branches court 
 
 The rack that sweeps the plain; 
 And from the lily's regal port 
 
 Learn how to breast the strain ! 
 
 Ho! woodsmen of the mountain-side! 
 
 Ho! dwellers in the vales! 
 Ho! ye who by the roaring tide 
 
 Have roughened in the gales! 
 5 345
 
 Wat pests of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Come! flocking gaily to the fight, 
 From forest, hill, and lake; 
 We battle for our country's right, 
 And for the lily's sake! 
 
 "My Maryland" came at the op 
 portune time, and was shouted and 
 sung from the Gulf to the northern 
 limits of Maryland. Timrod's 
 "Carolina" was barely inferior, but 
 did not reach beyond the place of 
 its origin. A part is given : 
 
 I. 
 
 The despot treads thy sacred sands, 
 Thy pines give shelter to his bands, 
 Thy sons stand by with idle hands, 
 
 Carolina! 
 
 He breathes at ease thy airs of balm, 
 He scorns the lances of thy palm; 
 O who shall break thy craven calm, 
 
 Carolina! 
 
 Thy ancient fame is growing dim, 
 A spot is on thy garment's rim; 
 Give to the winds thy battle-hymn, 
 
 Carolina! 
 
 III. 
 
 Hold up the glories of thy dead; 
 Say how thy elder children bled, 
 
 346
 
 War posts of tbe Soutb. 
 
 And point to Eutaw's battle-bed, 
 
 Carolina! 
 
 Tell how the patriot's soul was tried, 
 And what his dauntless breast defied; 
 How Rutledge ruled and Laurens died, 
 
 Carolina! 
 
 Cry! till thy summons, heard at last, 
 Shall fall like Marion's bugle-blast 
 Re-echoed from the haunted Past, 
 
 Carolina! 
 
 IV. 
 
 I hear a murmur as of waves 
 
 That grope their way through sunless 
 
 caves, 
 Like bodies struggling in their graves, 
 
 Carolina! 
 
 And now it deepens; slow and grand 
 It swells, as, rolling to the land, 
 An ocean broke upon thy strand, 
 
 Carolina! 
 
 Shout! let it reach the startled Huns! 
 And roar with all thy festal guns! 
 It is the answer of thy sons, 
 
 Carolina! 
 
 Perhaps Timrod's "Ethnogene- 
 
 sis" was the earliest as it was the 
 
 most ambitious Southern effort, 
 
 since it was written during the sit- 
 
 347
 
 War fpoets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 ting of the first Confederate Con 
 gress, at Montgomery, in February, 
 1861. Ticknor's "Virginians of the 
 Valley" came after fighting had be 
 gun. This, together with "Little 
 Giffin" and "Loyal/' is given else 
 where in this series. 
 
 JOHN R. THOMPSON, of Virginia, 
 was editor of the Southern Literary 
 Messenger for nearly ten years, and 
 was the author of numerous poems 
 which have never been collected. 
 Many of these were devoted to war 
 subjects.' "Coercion" expressed 
 what most Southern and many 
 Northern people felt just previous 
 to the commencement of hostilities. 
 Enough is given to show the spirit : 
 
 Who talks of coercion? Who dares to 
 
 deny 
 
 A resolute people the right to be free? 
 Let him blot out forever one star from 
 
 the sky, 
 
 Or curb with his fetter the wave of the 
 sea! 
 
 348
 
 poets of tbe Soutb* 
 
 Who prates of coercion? Can love be 
 
 restored 
 To bosoms where only resentment 
 
 may dwell? 
 Can peace upon earth be proclaimed by 
 
 the sword, 
 
 Or good-will among men be estab 
 lished by shell? 
 
 Shame! shame! that the statesman, and 
 
 trickster, forsooth, 
 
 Should have for a crisis no other re 
 course, 
 Beneath the fair dayspring of light and 
 
 of truth, 
 
 Than the old brutum fulmen of tyranny 
 force. 
 
 Could you conquer us, men of the North 
 
 could you bring 
 Desolation and death on our homes 
 
 as a flood 
 Can you hope the pure lily, affection, 
 
 will spring 
 
 From ashes all reeking and sodden 
 with blood? 
 
 Could you brand us as villains and serfs, 
 
 know ye not 
 
 What fierce, sullen hatred lurks under 
 the scar? 
 
 349
 
 THUar Poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 How loyal to Hapsburg is Venice, I 
 
 wot! 
 
 How dearly the Pole loves his father, 
 the czar! 
 
 But 'twere well to remember this land 
 
 of the sun 
 
 Is a nutrix leonum, and suckles a race 
 Strong-armed, lion-hearted, and banded 
 
 as one, 
 
 Who brook not oppression and know 
 not disgrace. 
 
 And well may the schemers in office be 
 ware 
 The swift retribution that waits upon 
 
 crime, 
 When the lion, Resistance, shall leap 
 
 from his lair, 
 
 With a fury that renders his venge 
 ance sublime. 
 
 Once, men of the North, we were broth 
 ers, and still, 
 Though brothers no more, we would 
 
 gladly be friends, 
 Nor join in a conflict accursed, that 
 
 must fill 
 
 With ruin the country on which it de 
 scends. 
 
 350
 
 ipoets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 But, if smitten with blindness, and mad 
 
 with the rage 
 The gods gave to all whom they 
 
 wished to destroy, 
 You would act a new Iliad, to darken 
 
 the age 
 
 With horrors beyond what is told us 
 of Troy 
 
 If, deaf as the adder itself to the cries, 
 When wisdom, humanity, justice im 
 plore, 
 You would have our proud eagle to feed 
 
 on the eyes 
 
 Of those who have taught him so 
 grandly to soar 
 
 To the breeze then your banner dishon 
 ored unfold, 
 And, at once, let the tocsin be sounded 
 
 afar; 
 We greet you, as greeted the Swiss, 
 
 Charles the Bold 
 
 With a farewell to peace and a wel 
 come to war! 
 
 For the courage that clings to our soil, 
 
 ever bright, 
 
 Shall catch inspiration from turf and 
 from tide; 
 
 351
 
 TKflar IPoets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Our sons unappalled shall go forth to 
 
 the fight, 
 
 With the smile of the fair, the pure 
 kiss of the bride; 
 
 And the bugle its echoes shall send 
 
 through the past, 
 In the trenches of Yorktown to waken 
 
 the slain; 
 While the sod of King's Mountain shall 
 
 heave at the blast, 
 And give up its heroes to glory again. 
 
 Many of the songs and tunes 
 which Southerners have adopted, 
 such as "Suwanee River" and "My 
 Old Kentucky Home," were writ 
 ten by STEPHEN C. FOSTER, a 
 Northern man. "Dixie" took the 
 form in which it became popular at 
 the hands of DAN EMMETT, of Ohio. 
 His parents were from the South, 
 though he has always lived in the 
 North. Mr. Emmett says that 
 "Dixie" was made in New York 
 City one rainy Sunday in 1859. 
 
 The "Bonnie Blue Flag" was 
 composed by HARRY MACARTHY, 
 352
 
 "Cdar ff>oets of tbe Soutb* 
 
 one of the few actors left in the 
 South during the war. He was an 
 Irishman, and enlisted in the Con 
 federate army from Arkansas. Aft 
 er a time he was granted a dis 
 charge, and continued his career as 
 actor at Richmond and other 
 points. The " Bonnie Blue Flag" 
 was first sung in a theater in New 
 Orleans in 1861. He wrote other 
 war verse, but none so popular as 
 the song which rang alike through 
 camps and homes. The author of 
 the "Bonnie Blue Flag" died in 
 California in extreme poverty a 
 year or two ago. 
 
 We are a band of brothers, and native 
 
 to the soil, 
 Fighting for the property we gained by 
 
 honest toil, , 
 
 And when our rights were threatened, 
 
 the cry rose near and far: 
 Hurrah for the bonnie blue flag that 
 
 bears a single star! 
 Hurrah! hurrah! for the bonnie Blue 
 
 Flag that bears a single star. 
 W 353
 
 War poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 As long as the Union was faithful to her 
 trust, 
 
 Like friends and like brothers, kind were 
 we and just; 
 
 But now, when Northern treachery at 
 tempts our rights to mar, 
 
 We hoist on high the bonnie Blue Flag 
 that bears a single star. 
 
 First, gallant South Carolina nobly 
 
 made the stand; 
 Then came Alabama, who took her by 
 
 the hand; 
 Next, quickly, Mississippi, Georgia, and 
 
 Florida 
 All raised the flag, the bonnie Blue Flag 
 
 that bears a single star. 
 
 Ye men of valor, gather round the ban 
 ner of the right; 
 
 Texas and fair Louisiana join us in the 
 fight. 
 
 Davis, our loved President, and Ste 
 phens statesmen are; 
 
 Now rally round the bonnie Blue Flag 
 that bears a single star. 
 
 And here's to brave Virginia, the Old 
 
 Dominion state 
 With the young Confederacy at length 
 
 has linked her fate. 
 354
 
 War ipoets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Impelled by her example, now other 
 
 states prepare 
 To hoist on high the bonnie Blue Flag 
 
 that bears a single star. 
 
 Then here's to our Confederacy; strong 
 we are and brave, 
 
 Like patriots of old we'll fight, our her 
 itage to save; 
 
 And rather than submit to shame, to die 
 we would prefer; 
 
 So cheer for the bonnie Blue Flag that 
 bears a single star. 
 
 Then cheer, boys, cheer, raise the joy 
 ous shout, 
 
 For Arkansas and North Carolina now 
 have both gone out; 
 
 And let another rousing cheer for Ten 
 nessee be given, 
 
 The single star of the bonnie Blue Flag 
 has grown to be eleven! 
 
 Many changes were rung on 
 "Dixie" and the "Bonnie Blue 
 Flag." For quiet dignity none of 
 the variations of "Dixie" excelled 
 the poem written by Gen. ALBERT 
 PIKE, of Arkansas, a man of North 
 ern birth who ardently espoused the 
 355
 
 War poets of tbe Soutb, 
 
 Southern cause. This is typical in 
 hope and defiance of hundreds pub 
 lished in the first months of the war. 
 
 Southrons, hear your country call you! 
 Up! lest worse than death befall you! 
 
 To arms! to arms! to arms in Dixie! 
 Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted, 
 Let all hearts be now united! 
 
 To arms! to arms! to arms in Dixie! 
 Advance the flag of Dixie! 
 Hurrah! hurrah! 
 
 Chorus. For Dixie's land we take our 
 
 stand, 
 And live or die for Dixie! 
 
 To arms! to arms! 
 And conquer peace for Dixie. 
 
 To arms! to arms! 
 And conquer peace for Dixie. 
 
 Hear the Northern thunders mutter! 
 Northern flags in South winds flutter! 
 Send them back your fierce defiance, 
 Stamp upon the accursed alliance! 
 
 Fear no danger! shun no labor! 
 Lift up rifle, pike, and saber! 
 Shoulder pressing close to shoulder 
 Let the odds make each heart bolder! 
 356
 
 Wlac poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 How the South's great heart rejoices 
 At your cannons' ringing voices! 
 For faith betrayed and pledges broken, 
 Wrong inflicted, insults spoken. 
 
 Strong as lions, swift as eagles, 
 Back to their kennels hunt these bea 
 gles! 
 
 Cut the unequal bonds asunder! 
 Let them hence each other plunder. 
 
 Swear upon your country's altar 
 Never to submit or falter, 
 Till the spoilers are defeated, 
 Till the Lord's work is completed 
 
 Halt not till our federation 
 Secures among earth's powers its sta 
 tion! 
 
 Then at peace, and crowned with glory, 
 Hear your children tell the story. 
 
 If the loved ones weep in sadness, 
 Victory soon shall bring them gladness; 
 Exultant pride soon banish sorrow, 
 Smiles chase tears away to-morrow. 
 
 Chorus. For Dixie's land we take our 
 
 stand, 
 
 And live or die for Dixie! 
 To arms! to arms! 
 357
 
 poet0 of tbe Soutb. 
 
 And conquer peace for Dixie. 
 
 To arms! to arms! 
 And conquer peace for Dixie. 
 
 Sung to the air of " Bonnie Blue 
 P'lag," the Homespun Dress" was 
 in no sense an exaggeration of the 
 state of feeling existing among the 
 women of the South. They prac 
 tised self-denial as never before, and 
 gloried in their privations. Wom 
 en who knew not the hardship of 
 toil went to work cheerfully in be 
 half of fathers, brothers, husbands, 
 or lovers in the field. Miss CARRIE 
 BELL SINCLAIR, of Augusta, Ga., 
 was the author of "The Home 
 spun Dress," which was sung far 
 and wide in war-times. 
 
 Oh, yes, I am a Southern girl, 
 
 And glory in the name, 
 And boast it with far greater pride 
 
 Than glittering wealth or fame. 
 We envy not the Northern girl 
 
 Her robes of beauty rare, 
 Though diamonds grace her snowy 
 neck, 
 
 And pearls bedeck her hair. 
 358
 
 War ftoets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Chorus. Hurrah! hurrah! 
 
 For the sunny South so dear, 
 Three cheers for the homespun dress 
 The Southern ladies wear! 
 
 The homespun dress is plain, I know; 
 
 My hat's palmetto, too; 
 But then it shows what Southern girls 
 
 For Southern rights will do. 
 We send the bravest of our land 
 
 To battle with the foe, 
 And we will lend a helping hand 
 
 We love the South, you know. 
 
 Now Northern goods are out of date; 
 
 And since old Abe's blockade, 
 We Southern girls can be content 
 
 With goods that's Southern made. 
 We send our sweethearts to the war; 
 
 But, dear girls, never mind 
 Your soldier-love will ne'er forget 
 
 The girl he left behind. 
 
 The soldier is the lad for me 
 
 A brave heart I adore; 
 And when the sunny South is free, 
 
 And when fighting is no more, 
 I'll choose me then a lover brave 
 
 From out that gallant band. 
 The soldier lad I love the best 
 
 Shall have my heart and hand. 
 359
 
 "Odar poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 The Southern land's a glorious land, 
 
 And has a glorious cause; 
 Then cheer, three cheers for Southern 
 rights, 
 
 And for the Southern boys! 
 We scorn to wear a bit of silk, 
 
 A bit of Northern lace, 
 But make our homespun dresses up, 
 
 And wear them with a grace. 
 
 And now, young man, a word to you: 
 
 If you would win the fair, 
 Go to the field where honor calls, 
 
 And win your lady there. 
 Remember that our brightest smiles 
 
 Are for the true and brave, 
 And that our tears are all for those 
 
 Who fill a soldier's grave. 
 
 No attempt can be made at quo 
 ting or even mentioning poems de 
 scriptive of battles. Their name is 
 legion. None of them rose to the 
 dignity of real battle lyrics. A few 
 were not without merit. "Our Left 
 at Manassas," by Ticknor, and " On 
 to Richmond," a burlesque descrip 
 tion of the same battle by John R. 
 Thompson, are among the best, 
 360
 
 poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 though not superior to some others, 
 After the first effervescence had 
 passed away, and war had become 
 a serious, deadly business, requiems 
 for the dead began to multiply. 
 These were often written by a fel 
 low soldier, for many of these who 
 wrote best fought best. Zollicoffer, 
 of Tennessee, was among the first 
 notable men to fall. His death 
 found an elegist in CAPT. HARRY 
 FLASH, of Alabama. 
 
 First in the fight, and first in the arms 
 
 Of the white-winged angels of glory, 
 With the heart of the South at the feet 
 of God, 
 
 And his wounds to tell the story: 
 And the blood that flowed from his hero 
 heart, 
 
 On the spot where he nobly perished. 
 Was drunk by the earth as a sacrament 
 
 In the holy cause he cherished. 
 
 In heaven a home with the brave an-1 
 
 blessed, 
 
 And, for his soul's sustaining, 
 The apocalyptic eyes of Christ 
 And nothing on earth remaining, 
 6 361
 
 TiClar poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 But a handful of dust in the land of his 
 
 choice, 
 
 A name in song and story, 
 And Fame to shout with her brazen 
 
 voice : 
 "Died on the field of glory!" 
 
 An incident but too common in 
 both armies is celebrated in the ex 
 quisite lines by Miss MARIE LA- 
 COSTE, of Savannah, Ga. 
 
 SOMEBODY'S DARLING. 
 
 Into a ward of the whitewashed walls, 
 Where the dead and the dying lay 
 Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls 
 Somebody's darling was borne one 
 
 day. 
 Somebody's darling! so young and so 
 
 brave, 
 
 Wearing still on his pale sweet face 
 Soon to be hid by the dust of the 
 
 grave 
 
 The lingering light of his boyhood's 
 grace. 
 
 Matted and damp are the curls of gold, 
 Kissing the snow of that fair young 
 brow, 
 
 362
 
 War iPoets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Pale are the lips of delicate mold 
 Somebody's darling is dying now. 
 
 Back from the beautiful, blue-veined 
 
 face 
 Brush every wandering, silken thread, 
 
 Cross his hands as a sign of grace 
 Somebody's darling is still and dead! 
 
 Kiss him once for somebody's sake; 
 
 Murmur a prayer, soft and low, 
 One bright curl from the cluster take 
 
 They were somebody's pride, you 
 
 know. 
 Somebody's hand hath rested there; 
 
 Was it a mother's soft and white? 
 And have the lips of a sister fair 
 
 Been baptized in those waves of light? 
 
 God knows best. He was somebody's 
 
 love; 
 Somebody's heart enshrined him 
 
 there; 
 Somebody wafted his name above, 
 
 Night and morn on the wings of 
 
 prayer. 
 
 Somebody wept when he marched away, 
 Looking so handsome, brave, and 
 
 grand; 
 
 Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay, 
 Somebody clung to his parting hand. 
 363
 
 Tffilar poets of tbe Soutb. , 
 
 Somebody's watching and waiting for 
 him, 
 
 Yearning to hold him again to her 
 
 heart. 
 There he lies with the blue eyes dim, 
 
 And smiling, childlike lips apart. 
 Tenderly bury the fair young dead, 
 
 Pausing to drop on his grave a tear, 
 Carve on the wooden slab at his head, 
 
 " Somebody's darling lies buried here!" 
 
 A poem characteristic of the 
 times was entitled " Stonewall Jack 
 son's Way." The lines were said 
 to have been found, stained with 
 blood, in the breast of a dead sol 
 dier of the old Stonewall Brigade, 
 after one of Jackson's battles. At 
 a later day the authorship has been 
 ascribed to DR. J. W. PALMER, of 
 Maryland. 
 
 Come, stack arms, men! pile on the 
 
 rails; 
 
 Stir up the camp-fire bright; 
 No matter if the canteen fails, 
 We'll make a roaring night. 
 Here Shenandoah brawls along, 
 Here burly Blue Ridge echoes strong, 
 364
 
 War poets of tbe Soutb* 
 
 To swell the brigade's rousing song, 
 Of "Stonewall Jackson's way." 
 
 We see him now the old slouched hat 
 
 Cocked o'er his eye askew 
 The shrewd dry smile the speech so 
 
 pat, 
 
 So calm, so blunt, so true. 
 The "Blue Light Elder" knows 'em 
 
 well. 
 Says he, "That's Banks; he's fond of 
 
 shell. 
 Lord save his soul! we'll give him " 
 
 well, 
 That's "Stonewall Jackson's way." 
 
 Silence! Ground arms! Kneel all! Caps 
 off! 
 
 Old "Blue Light's" going to pray. 
 Strangle the fool that dares to scoff! 
 
 Attention! it's his way! 
 Appealing from his native sod 
 In forma pauperis to God, 
 "Lay bare thine arm! Stretch forth thy 
 rod! 
 
 Amen!" That's Stonewall's way. 
 
 He's in the saddle now: Fall in! 
 
 Steady! The whole brigade! 
 Hill's at the ford, cut off; we'll win 
 
 His way out, ball and blade. 
 365
 
 poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 What matter if our shoes are worn? 
 What matter if our feet are torn? 
 Quick step! we're with him before 
 
 dawn! 
 That's Stonewall Jackson's way! 
 
 The sun's bright lances rout the mists 
 Of morning and, by George! 
 
 Here's Longstreet, struggling in the 
 
 lists, 
 Hemmed in an ugly gorge. 
 
 Pope and his Yankees, whipped before: 
 
 "Bayonets and grape!" hear Stonewall 
 roar; 
 
 "Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score 
 In Stonewall Jackson's way!" 
 
 Ah, maiden! wait and watch and yearn 
 For news of Stonewall's band! 
 
 Ah, widow! read, with eyes that burn, 
 That ring upon thy hand! 
 
 Ah, wife! sew on, pray on, hope on; 
 
 Thy life shall not be all forlorn. 
 
 The foe had better ne'er been born 
 That gets in Stonewall's way. 
 
 The verse in memory of the dead 
 
 thrilled with love of glory in the 
 
 early days of the contest. Each 
 
 dirge was in a measure a call to the 
 
 366
 
 "Cdar ipoets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 living to emulate as well as honor 
 the deeds of dead heroes. "Ash- 
 by," by John R. Thompson, is a 
 case in point. (Gen. Turner Ash- 
 by, a noted Confederate cavalry of 
 ficer, fell in an engagement at Har- 
 risburg, Va., in June, 1862.) 
 
 To the brave all homage render. 
 
 Weep, ye skies of June! 
 With a radiance pure and tender, 
 
 Shine, O 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 'gainst Moor or Paynim 
 
 Rode at Templestowe: 
 With a mien how high and joyous, 
 'Gainst the hordes that would destroy us 
 
 Went he forth, we know. 
 
 Nevermore, alas! shall saber 
 
 Gleam around his crest; 
 Fought his fight, fulfilled his labor, 
 
 Stilled his manly breast; 
 All unheard sweet nature's cadence, 
 367
 
 War poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Trump of fame and voice of maidens; 
 Now he takes his rest. 
 
 Earth, that all too soon hast bound him, 
 
 Gently wrap his clay! 
 Linger lovingly around him, 
 
 Light of dying day! 
 Softly fall, ye summer showers; 
 Birds and bees among the flowers, 
 
 Make the gloom seem gay ! 
 
 Then 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! 
 
 COL. W. S. HAWKINS (the neph 
 ew of Gen. A. P. Stewart), of Ten 
 nessee, wrote a number of poems 
 while in the Northern prison, from 
 Avhich the close of the war released 
 him only to come home and die. 
 "A Prison Scene" gives but one of 
 many pathetic incidents of the war. 
 
 Last night a comrade sent in haste 
 For me to soothe his fearful pain; 
 368
 
 ipoets of tbe Sciitb. 
 
 He felt Death's power advancing fast, 
 He knew that hope was vain. 
 
 God's promises I read again, 
 
 Till Faith's sweet light shone from 
 his eye; 
 
 Sole gleam for sorrow filled me then, 
 As shadows fill the sky. 
 
 A dreary place that hospital 
 
 Where dim lamps break the solemn 
 
 gloom, 
 And nurses move with slow footfall, 
 
 Like specters through the room. 
 Above those cots all miseries blend, 
 
 On each some form of suffering lies; 
 Some groan, some sleep; but here one 
 friend 
 
 Puts on the angel's guise. 
 
 Scarcely I heard the bugle's call, 
 
 Scarce felt the night wind's heavy 
 
 breath, 
 I only saw the shadows fall, 
 
 And the ghastly chill of death, 
 Save where a pallid splendor lay 
 
 Upon his brow, like martyr's crown, 
 The sweet foreshadowing of the day 
 
 In which life's star goes down. 
 
 I hear his piteous tones implore 
 
 And heed his hand's hot clinging 
 grasp 
 
 X 369
 
 War poets of tbc Soutb. 
 
 Pale hands, alas! that nevermore 
 Shall feel love's answering clasp. 
 
 His frenzied spirit flies from pain, 
 He thinks himself once more at home: 
 
 "Dear wife, dear child, I'm here again, 
 Close to me, closer come." 
 
 His voice was hushed short grew his 
 
 breath, 
 
 The glazing eyes closed slowly o'er, 
 The bloodless lips were kissed by 
 
 Death 
 
 They'll speak of love no more. 
 One clammy hand I held in mine 
 And o'er it breathed my fervent 
 
 prayer; 
 
 Beneath the other seemed to shine 
 His baby's golden hair. 
 
 As the war advanced sorrow for 
 the "unreturning brave" was min 
 gled with each poem of praise. 
 Witness the verses by CAPT. J. E. 
 COOKE addressed to the "Band of 
 the Pines," heard after Pelham 
 died. 
 
 O band in the pine-wood, cease! 
 Cease with your splendid call; 
 370
 
 TiGlar poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 The living are brave and noble, 
 But the dead are bravest of all! 
 
 They throng to the martial summons, 
 To the loud triumphant strain, 
 
 And the dear bright eyes of long-dead 
 
 friends 
 Come to the heart again! 
 
 They come with the ringing bugle, 
 And the deep drum's mellow roar; 
 
 Till the soul is faint with longing 
 For the hands we clasp no more! 
 
 O band in the pine-wood, cease! 
 
 Or the heart will melt with tears, 
 For the gallant eyes and the smiling 
 lips. 
 
 And the voices of old years! 
 
 While many elegies are found in 
 all collections of war poetry, such 
 as "Polk," by H. L. Flash; "John 
 Pelham," by J. R. Randall ; "Dirge 
 for Ashby," by Mrs. M. J. Preston ; 
 "The Burial of Latane," by J. R. 
 Thompson; and "Obsequies of Stu 
 art," by the same writer ; and while 
 numbers of elegies were written on 
 371
 
 Tldar poete of tbe Soutb. 
 
 the death of Jackson, one addition 
 al selection will close this part of 
 the subject. It seems to be con 
 ceded that CAPT. H. L. FLASH 
 wrote the best poem on the death of 
 the great leader, 
 
 Not midst the lightning of the stormy 
 
 fight, 
 
 Nor in the rush upon the vandal foe, 
 Did kingly Death, with his resistless 
 
 might, 
 Lay the great leader low. 
 
 His warrior soul its earthly shackles 
 
 broke 
 In the full sunshine of a peaceful 
 
 town, 
 When all the storm was hushed, the 
 
 trusty oak 
 That propped our cause went down. 
 
 Though his alone the blood that flecks 
 
 the ground, 
 
 Recalling all his grand heroic deeds, 
 Freedom herself is writhing in the 
 
 wound, 
 
 And all the country bleeds. 
 372
 
 Mar poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 He entered not the nation's Promised 
 
 Land, 
 At the red belching of the cannon's 
 
 mouth, 
 But broke the house of bondage with 
 
 his hand 
 The Moses of the South! 
 
 O gracious God! not gainless in the 
 
 loss, 
 A glorious sunbeam gilds the sternest 
 
 frown; 
 And while his country staggers 'neath 
 
 the cross, 
 He rises with the crown! 
 
 The "Gray Jacket," by MRS. C. 
 A. BALL, of South Carolina, ex 
 pressed the feelings and experience 
 of many a home. Nor did that feel 
 ing of loss and desolation pass away 
 for many a sad day. 
 
 Fold it up carefully, lay it aside, 
 
 Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride; 
 
 For dear must it be to our hearts ever 
 more, 
 
 The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy 
 wore. 
 
 373
 
 War poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Can we ever forget when he joined the 
 
 brave band, 
 Who rose in defense of dear Southern 
 
 land; 
 And in his bright youth hurried on to 
 
 the fray, 
 How proudly he donned it, the jacket of 
 
 gray? 
 
 His fond mother blessed him and looked 
 
 up above, 
 Commending to Heaven the child of her 
 
 love; 
 What anguish was hers, mortal tongue 
 
 may not say, 
 When he passed from her sight in the 
 
 jacket of gray. 
 
 But her country had called him, she 
 
 would not repine, 
 Though costly the sacrifice placed on 
 
 its shrine; 
 Her heart's dearest hopes on its altar 
 
 she lay, 
 When she sent out her boy in his jacket 
 
 of gray! 
 
 Months passed, and war's thunders 
 
 rolled over the land, 
 Unsheathed was the sword and lighted 
 
 the brand; 
 
 374
 
 llflar jpoets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 We heard in the distance the noise of 
 
 the fray, 
 And prayed for our boy in the jacket of 
 
 gray. 
 
 Ah! vain all all vain were our prayers 
 and our tears, 
 
 The glad shout of victory rang in our 
 ears; 
 
 But our treasured one on the cold battle 
 field lay, 
 
 While the life-blood oozed out on the 
 jacket of gray. 
 
 His young comrades found him and ten 
 derly bore 
 
 His cold, lifeless form to his home by 
 the shore; 
 
 Oh, dark were our hearts on that terri 
 ble day 
 
 When we saw our dead boy in the jacket 
 of gray. 
 
 Ah! spotted and tattered and stained 
 
 now with gore, 
 Was the garment which once he so 
 
 gracefully wore; 
 
 We bitterly wept as we took it away, 
 And replaced with death's white robes 
 
 the jacket of gray. 
 375
 
 War poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 We laid him to rest in his cold, narrow 
 
 bed, 
 And graved on the marble we placed 
 
 o'er his head, 
 As the proudest of tributes our sad 
 
 hearts could pay, 
 "He never disgraced the dear jacket of 
 
 gray." 
 
 Then fold it up carefully, lay it aside, 
 
 Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride; 
 
 For dear must it be to our hearts ever 
 more, 
 
 The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy 
 wore. 
 
 There came a time when the thin 
 lines of gray were full of gaps which 
 could not be filled, for the land held 
 many graves, and too few were left 
 at home to take the places of the 
 fallen. The note of defiance had 
 been early mingled with dirges. 
 Now a wail broke over the land 
 a wail for the fallen comrades, 
 HAYNE dreamed of the dead gliding 
 by, but said : 
 
 Vain dream. Amid far-off mountains 
 They lie where the dew mists weep, 
 376
 
 TKHar poets of tbc Soutb. 
 
 And the murmur of mournful fountains 
 Breathes over their painless sleep; 
 
 On the breast of the lonely meadows, 
 Safe, safe from the despot's will, 
 
 They rest in the starlit shadows, 
 And their brows are white and still. 
 
 Alas for our heroes perished! 
 
 Cut down at their golden prime, 
 With the luminous hopes they cher 
 ished, 
 
 On the height of their faith sublime! 
 For them is the voice of wailing 
 
 And the sweet blush-rose departs, 
 From the cheeks of the maidens paling 
 
 O'er the wreck of their broken hearts. 
 
 JUDGE A. J. REQUIER, of Ala 
 bama, wrote "Our Faith in '61," in 
 which he was sure "no belted 
 Southron can retreat." Of the 
 stars and bars he had sung "Fling 
 wide the dauntless banner," but 
 over the blood-stained ensign he 
 chanted 
 
 ASHES OF GLORY. 
 
 Fold up the gorgeous silken sun, 
 By bleeding martyrs blest, 
 7 377
 
 poets of tbc Soutb. 
 
 And heap the laurels it has won 
 Above its place of rest. 
 
 No trumpet's note need harshly blare 
 
 No drum funereal roll 
 Nor trailing sables drape the bier 
 
 That frees a dauntless soul ! 
 
 It lived with Lee and decked his brow 
 From Fate's empyreal palm: 
 
 It sleeps the sleep of Jackson now 
 As spotless and as calm. 
 
 It was outnumbered, not outdone; 
 
 And they shall shuddering tell, 
 Who struck the blow, its latest gun 
 
 Flashed ruin as it fell. 
 s. 
 
 Sleep, shrouded ensign! not the breeze 
 
 That smote the victor tar, 
 With death across the heaving seas 
 
 Of fiery Trafalgar; 
 
 Not Arthur's knights, amid the gloom 
 Their knightly deeds have starred; 
 
 Nor Gallic Henry's matchless plume, 
 Nor peerless-born Bayard; 
 
 Not all that antique fables feign, 
 And Orient dreams disgorge; 
 378
 
 poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Nor yet the Silver Cross of Spain, 
 And Lion of St. George, 
 
 Can bid thee pale! Proud emblem, still 
 
 Thy crimson glory shines 
 Beyond the lengthened shades that fill 
 
 Their proudest kingly lines. 
 
 Sleep! in thine own historic night, 
 
 And be thy blazoned scroll, 
 A warrior's banner takes its flight, 
 
 To greet the warrior's soul! 
 
 FLASH, who had written imper 
 ishable dirges over Zollicoffer, 
 Polk, and Jackson, wrote some of 
 his strongest lines on 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE FLAG. 
 Four stormy years we saw it gleam, 
 
 A people's hope and then refurled, 
 Even while its glory was the theme 
 
 Of half the world. 
 
 The beacon that, with streaming ray, 
 Dazzled a struggling nation's sight, 
 
 Seeming a pillar of cloud by day, 
 Of fire by night. 
 
 They jeer, who trembled as it hung, 
 Cometlike, blazoning the sky; 
 379
 
 "ODlar poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 And heroes, such as Homer sung, 
 Followed it to die. 
 
 It fell but stainless as it rose, 
 Martyred like Stephen, in the strife; 
 
 Passing like him, girdled with foes, 
 From death to life. 
 
 Fame's trophy, sanctified by tears, 
 Planted forever at her portal ; 
 
 Folded, true what then? four short 
 
 years 
 Made it immortal. 
 
 FATHER ABRAM J. RYAN fol 
 lowed the fortunes of the Confed- 
 eracy with his ministrations, 
 prayers, and tears; then caught up 
 the desolate wail of a people whose 
 homes were darkened and whose 
 hearts were crushed, and wove this 
 into the fadeless song: 
 
 THE CONQUERED BANNER. 
 
 Furl that banner, for 'tis weary; 
 Round. its staff 'tis drooping, dreary; 
 
 Furl it, fold it, it is best; 
 For there's not a man to wave it, 
 And there's not a sword to save it, 
 380
 
 oets ot tbe Soutb. 
 
 And there's not one left to lave it 
 In the blood which heroes gave it; 
 And its foes now scorn and brave it; 
 Furl it, hide it let it rest! 
 
 Take that banner down! 'tis tattered; 
 Broken is its staff and shattered; 
 And the valiant hosts are scattered 
 
 Over whom it floated high. 
 Oh, 'tis hard for us to fold it; 
 Hard to think there's none to hold it; 
 Hard that those who once unrolled it 
 
 Now must furl it with a sigh. 
 
 Furl that banner! furl it sadly! 
 Once ten thousands hailed it gladly, 
 And ten thousands wildly, madly, 
 
 Swore it should forever wave; 
 Swore that foeman's sword should never 
 Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, 
 Till that flag should float forever 
 
 O'er their freedom or their grave! 
 
 Furl it! for the hands that grasped it, 
 And the hearts that fondly clasped it, 
 
 Cold and dead are lying low; 
 And that banner it is trailing! 
 While around it sounds the wailing 
 
 Of its people in their woe. 
 For, though conquered, they adore it; 
 Love the cold, dead hands that bore it; 
 381
 
 poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Weep for those who fell before it; 
 Pardon those who trailed and tore it! 
 But oh, wildly they deplore it, 
 Now who furl and fold it so. 
 
 Furl that banner! True, 'tis gory, 
 Yet 'tis wreathed around with glory, 
 And 'twill live in song and story, 
 
 Though its folds are in the dust: 
 For its fame on brightest pages, 
 Penned by poets and by sages, 
 Shall go sounding down the ages 
 
 Furl its folds though now we must. 
 
 Furl that banner, softly, slowly! 
 Treat it gently it is holy 
 
 For it droops above the dead. 
 Touch it not unfold it never, 
 Let it droop there, furled forever, 
 
 For its people's hopes are dead! 
 
 In this collection an attempt has 
 been made to select poems repre 
 senting some of the various phases 
 of the war. Of the many at hand 
 only a few could be included. T. 
 C. DE LEON says: "I had in my 
 collection no fewer than forty-seven 
 monodies and dirges on Stonewall 
 382
 
 i- Sheets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 Jackson, some dozen on Ashby, and 
 a score on Stuart." In glancing 
 over names not mentioned one may 
 find that of CAPT. J. BARRON HOPE, 
 of Virginia, with his "Oath of 
 Freedom;" ST. GEORGE TUCKER, 
 with his "Southern Cross;" W. 
 GILMORE SIMMS, with his "Our 
 City by the Sea;" J. DICKSON 
 BRUN, with his "O Tempora; O 
 Mores;" JUDGE MEEKS, with his 
 "Wouldst Thou Have Me Love 
 Thee?" W. GORDON McCABE, with 
 his "J onn Pegram;" MRS. SUSAN 
 ARCHER TALLEY, with her "Rally 
 ing Song of the Virginians;" MRS. 
 TOWNSEND, with her "Georgia Vol 
 unteer" but the list is too long to 
 give in a small compass, and many 
 of these wrote several poems. The 
 dust of ages will not bring oblivion 
 to the heroic deeds of a Titanic 
 struggle, but more and more, as the 
 years advance, will these become 
 themes for song and story. An at 
 tractive glamour of romance always 
 383
 
 "Cdar poets of tbe Soutb. 
 
 hangs over those who fight bravely 
 but unsuccessfully for a cause which 
 they have loved and deemed worthy 
 of every sacrifice. 
 384
 
 Jobn IReuben Gbompson. 
 
 VIRGINIA has honored herself 
 and honored her poet-editor 
 in placing his likeness upon 
 ' the walls of her State library among 
 the portraits of her statesmen. This 
 is as it should be, for too often the 
 man of letters has not been held as 
 the peer of the man of affairs. Par 
 ticularly has the singer been slight 
 ed v/hen the politicians were seated 
 around the festal board. The Old 
 Dominion has been prolific of Cor 
 nelias whose Grachi have borne 
 large part in the making and move 
 ments of a great nation, but the 
 number of her well-known literary 
 men and women is greater now 
 than at any former period of her 
 history. This does not dim the 
 splendor of the mighty intellects 
 which molded and brightened the 
 385
 
 3obn 'Reuben ftbompson. 
 
 past, but only shows that the mind 
 o<f the people has turned more to 
 creative art since there has arisen 
 a national Pharadh who knows not 
 Joseph politically that is, that the 
 soil which has produced the great 
 est statesmen and soldiers may well 
 hope to produce leaders in all the 
 refinements of learning. No writer 
 comes full-fledged into his posses 
 sions of fame, nor does a nation 
 come into the full possession of lit 
 erary power without first passing 
 through a state of apprenticeship. 
 Now that the figures sound fabu 
 lous which designate the circulation 
 of magazines and the sales of cer 
 tain books, and that literature pays 
 some dollars per magazine column, 
 almost any one might yearn to be 
 a writer, but no such inducements 
 moved the ambitious in ante bellum 
 days in the South, hence only those 
 wrote who loved literature for its 
 own sake. 
 
 Among those who helped to lay 
 386
 
 $obn "Reuben tTbompson. 
 
 the foundation for modern literary 
 development in the Southern half 
 of the Union no name chines out 
 brighter and more deserves honor 
 than that of John Reuben Thomp 
 son. In the case of Thompson, the 
 man is greater than any body of 
 writing which he hias left. While 
 his poems some of them gems of 
 beauty are an ornament to every 
 Southern anthology, his influence 
 and hence his fame rests chiefly upon 
 his long term as editor of the South 
 ern Literary Messenger, published ait 
 Richmond, Va., from August, 1834, 
 until sometime in 1864. T. W. 
 White, its founder, secured the 
 services of Poe as its first ed 
 itor. Later the tripod was held by 
 such as B. B. Minor, John R. 
 Thompson, and George W. Bagby. 
 Donald G. Mitchell, Matthew Fon 
 taine Maury, Richard Henry Wilde, 
 Henry Timrod, Paul H. Hayne, and 
 a host of others won or added to 
 their fame in its columns. 
 387
 
 5obn "Reuben abompson, 
 
 John R. Thompson was born in 
 Richmond, Va., October 23, 1823. 
 He was graduated at the University 
 of Virginia in 1844. He afterwards 
 studied law at the same place, and 
 settled in Richmond, with every 
 prospect of success. But soon his 
 proclivities for literature overmas 
 tered those for law, and accordingly 
 with the November number of 1847 
 he became editor of the Southern 
 Literary Messenger, and began that 
 career of critical writing which did 
 so much to foster the true literary 
 spirit among the younger genera 
 tion of his section. Its proper fruit 
 age has revealed itself in the names 
 already famous in the field of 
 Southern literature. For the per 
 sonnel of Mr. Thompson and addi 
 tional history of the Messenger I 
 cannot do better than to quote at 
 length from a letter by Mr. B. B. 
 Minor to this writer. Be it remem 
 bered that Mr. Minor was the im 
 mediate predecessor of Mr. Thomp- 
 388
 
 3obn TReubcn Gbompson, 
 
 son as editor. In answer to some 
 questions propounded concerning 
 Thompson he says : 
 
 "Mr. Thompson was rather low 
 in stature, neat and prim and at 
 tentive to his dress and personal ap 
 pearance. His address was good, 
 but rather studied ; his conversation 
 was pleasant, and he had some hu 
 mor; his manner was respectful and 
 unassuming, but painstaking and 
 ingratiating; he was a man of cul 
 ture and aesthetic taiste. You ask 
 also about his lectures, etc. They 
 were well and correctly prepared, 
 but he had little oratorical power, 
 and was only a fair and pleasant 
 reader. He did write other poems 
 besides those relating to the war. 
 One was delivered at one of the cel 
 ebrations here in regard to our 
 splendid Washington monument. 
 It was published at the time. I 
 have never seen any volume of his. 
 . . . I wish to correct, or per 
 haps amplify, one statement in Ap- 
 389
 
 3obn "Reuben tlbompson. 
 
 pleton. It is there said that Mr. 
 Thompson was elected as editor of 
 the Southern Literary Messenger. 
 He 'elected' himself just as I had 
 done. There was, however, a busi 
 ness difference between his position 
 and mine. In August, 1843, I ^ 
 my own accord purchased from the 
 administrator of Mr. Thomas W. 
 White, its founder, the whole es 
 tablishment of the Southern Literary 
 Messenger, printing office and all, 
 and employed the same force. Aft 
 er a while two of the printers formed 
 a partnership, and bought from me 
 the entire printing department, but 
 continued to be the printers and 
 publishers of the magazine for me. 
 When I sold to Mr. Thompson I 
 conveyed to him only the magazine, 
 but he made the same arrangements 
 with the printers. When Mr. 
 Thompson left the Messenger to go 
 to Augusta, Ga., he sold out to the 
 printers, and thereafter they elected 
 and engaged editors, as, in fact, Mr. 
 390
 
 Sobn IReuben {Thompson. 
 
 Thomas White had done in his life 
 time, for he too was a printer, and 
 not a literary man. Thus you see 
 that Mr. Thompson's tastes and 
 ambition, which were similar to 
 mine, led him to purchase the mag 
 azine from me." 
 
 In addition, a personal descrip 
 tion by James Wood Davidson may 
 be of interest : 
 
 "In person Mr. Thompson is a 
 small and slender man, of easy man 
 ner; dresses with marked taste; has 
 an engaging and steady blue eye, 
 and a voice low, earnest, and brisk, 
 with a well-defined emphasis in talk 
 ing; converses well; wears Amer 
 ican whiskers, of neutral yellowish 
 color; has hair darker, and thin, 
 with an approach toward baldness ; 
 is not married." 
 
 Davidson wrote in the lifetime of 
 Thompson. Of his critical work 
 and lectures Davidson says : 
 
 "As a lecturer, he has appeared 
 on several occasions, and always 
 391
 
 3obn IReuben Gbompson. 
 
 with success. His immense fund 
 of information, and the ready adapt 
 ive faculty of his mind, render him 
 eminently fitted for this sphere, and 
 eminently successful in it. The one 
 of his lectures most attractive to 
 myself personally, and upon a sub 
 ject best suited to his genius, was 
 that delivered before the Young 
 Men's Christian Association in 
 Richmond during the War, upon the 
 life and character of Edgar A. Poe. 
 The lecturer's intimate personal ac 
 quaintance with Poe and the sphere 
 of Poe's genius and labors, togeth 
 er with the lecturer's liberal views 
 upon life and literature, and his 
 broad catholic charity for the eccen 
 tricities of his erratjc brother's fe 
 vered but godlike genius, made him 
 preeminently the man to lecture on 
 that subject, and made the lecture 
 a masterpiece in its way. As a lec 
 turer, Mr. Thompson's style is pure, 
 clear, vigorous, direct, and impress 
 ive. As an editor and critical writ- 
 392
 
 Jobn TReuben Gbompson. 
 
 er he stands, as I have said, very 
 high; and his style in this sphere 
 of labor is ais fine, as polished, and 
 ornate as that of any American 
 writer that I have re'ad." 
 
 To continue the life of our poet- 
 editor, he left the Messenger in 1859 
 on account of delicate health, and 
 went South, to Augusta, Ga., where 
 he edited the Southern Field and 
 Fireside. He had gone to Europe 
 for his health in 1854. While there 
 he wrote letters of travel which were 
 brought out in book form, but the 
 edition, save the author's copy, was 
 burned in the publishing house. In 
 1863, both for health and with a 
 hope of aiding the Confederacy, he 
 again sought Europe. Temporary 
 improvement came to him, and he 
 became either editor or a member 
 of the staff of the London Index. 
 After the war he returned to Amer 
 ica and became literary editor of the 
 New York Evening Post, a position 
 which at once brought him the ac- 
 8 393
 
 5obn "Reuben ttbompson. 
 
 qtraintance and soon the friendly in 
 terest of a large number of the liter 
 ary celebrities of the day. A losing 
 fight tor health continued. His last 
 effort at recovery resulted in a trip 
 to Colorado in the winter of 1872, 
 from which he returned to die in 
 New York April 30, 1873. He is 
 buried in Hollywood Cemetery, at 
 Richmond. Mr. Thompson was 
 never married. 
 
 Though some of his poems be 
 came as household words in the 
 South, especially during the war, as 
 said, by far his best work was done 
 as editor. On taking charge of the 
 Southern Literary Messenger, in No 
 vember, 1847, ne P ut forth his ad 
 dress as follows : 
 
 "The present number of the Mes 
 senger comes to you under the guid 
 ance of a new editor. On the cover 
 you will read a strange: 's name 
 where you have been wont to see 
 one endeared to you by a long and 
 pleasant intercourse. In the ed- 
 394
 
 3obn IReuben ^bompson. 
 
 [tor's corner you will miss the famil 
 iar teachings of a pen which has 
 held excellent converse with you 
 during a period of four years. The 
 person on whom has fallen his edi 
 torial mantle now addresses you, 
 and as the public ear is ever open to 
 the cadences of an unaccustomed 
 voice, 
 
 As when a well-graced actor leaves the 
 
 stage 
 
 The eyes of men 
 Are idly bent on him who enters next, 
 
 he supposes you will grant a pa 
 tient hearing while he ventures a 
 few words by way of salutation. In 
 this place, however, he has some 
 thing to say beyond a mere friendly 
 greeting. It is proper that the Mes 
 senger should be discussed in con 
 nection with its history, its pros 
 pects, and its aims. The occasion 
 invites, too, some serious reflections 
 on the literature of the country and 
 the causes which have hitherto op 
 erated to retard its progress. These 
 395
 
 5obn "Reuben iSbompson. 
 
 are kindred topics, and deserve at 
 our hand's an attentive considera 
 tion. We presume that none will 
 dispute the proposition that an ex 
 alted literature is the noblest trait in 
 a national character. The Chinese 
 have a proverb that letters and hus 
 bandry 'are the two principal pro 
 fessions. Certainly there can be 
 nothing better calculated to human 
 ize a people, to raise them in the 
 standard of true greatness, than an 
 expansive intellectual development. 
 It gives them an influence surpass 
 ing theprestigeof military fame, and 
 a power that shall survive the wreck 
 of dynasties and thrones. Accord 
 ingly all history goes to establish 
 that those nations who have most 
 cultivated polite letters have exer 
 cised the largest sway over human 
 affairs and left us the worthiest ex 
 amples of national renown. Why 
 do we venerate Athens above all 
 the cities of antiquity? Because she 
 has bequeathed to us the rich leg- 
 396
 
 Jobn IReubcn {Thompson. 
 
 acy of an imperishable literature, 
 and upon her models we are taught 
 to form our style. What throws a 
 halo around the pontificate of Leo 
 X.? Assuredly its literary luster. 
 If we look back to the age of 
 Elizabeth or Louis, we shall find 
 their most permanent glory not 
 in Turenne leading vast armies in 
 the field, or Raleigh giving chaise to 
 the galleons of Spain, but in their 
 mental wealth in Shakespeare, 
 Massinger, Jonson, and Marlowe, 
 in Corneille, Racine, Bossuet, and 
 Massillon. Humiliating to our 
 pride as may be the confession, 4 it 
 must be admitted that America has 
 added little as yet to the garners of 
 intellect. In the physical sciences 
 and the mechanical arts, we have ac 
 complished great results. The 
 finest merchant navy in the world 
 wafts to our shores the products of 
 the Orient, and carries back the fab 
 rics of a thousand looms. The 
 prophetic rhapsody of Darwin has 
 397
 
 3obn "Reuben Gbompson. 
 
 been more than fulfilled in our fa 
 cilities of locomotion, and it has 
 been reserved for an American, in 
 the wondrous invention of the tele 
 graph, to reduce to practical utility 
 what an old writer foreshadowed as 
 a figment of fancy. But we are still 
 dependent on our transatlantic 
 brethren for the more important and 
 considerable portion of our litera 
 ture. We can point as yet to no 
 poem of American composition 
 which is likely to become a classic. 
 The sketches of Irving and the his 
 tories of Prescott have indeed re 
 flected credit on our literary pre 
 tensions, and pleasant Sidney 
 Smith, were he now among the liv 
 ing, could ask no longer, "Who 
 reads an American book?" But as 
 a great continent, we cannot deny 
 that we are still in literary leading- 
 strings. To account for this ac 
 knowledged inferiority many causes 
 have been assigned. . . . And 
 among them we regard ais most im- 
 398
 
 Jobn TReuben 
 
 portant our peculiar social condi 
 tions, growing out of our position 
 as a new country. In all infant 
 communities the attention of the 
 people is first of all directed to the 
 exigencies of the State. To rear 
 habitable settlements, to cultivate 
 the soil, to establish commercial 
 relations, to provide a system of 
 national defense, these are the oc 
 cupations which demand their ear 
 liest concern. In a meager popu 
 lation no one can be spared from 
 these urgent duties to foster let 
 ters, the want of which cannot yet 
 be felt. From the very nature of 
 things there can be no literary class, 
 The temples of justice must precede 
 the lyceum and the university, and 
 there must be laid an agricultural 
 basis for all the branches of intel 
 lectual research. While the ener 
 gies of our infant republic have 
 been directed to these necessary ob 
 jects, letters and the arts have pro 
 gressed in England and on the 
 399
 
 Jobn TReuben tTbompson. 
 
 Continent under the encouraging 
 auspices oi a class of men whose 
 whole time is devoted to literary 
 pursuits. . . . We have been 
 engaged, too, in a great political 
 experiment. The struggle for free 
 dom in this Western hemisphere, 
 an issue between the powers of light 
 and the powers of darkness, broke 
 out just at that period of our his 
 tory when we were preparing to 
 put forth some literary efforts, and 
 those who under other circum 
 stances would have added to the 
 treasures of the language which 
 Ch'a'tham spoke were absorbed in 
 the shock and stir of passing events. 
 The people of these colonies turned 
 from the peaceful avocations which 
 had employed them and made a 
 united opposition to the aggres 
 sions of the English Parliament 
 and Crown. They appealed to the 
 God of Battles to decide a momen 
 tous question, and until that deci 
 sion was rendered they abandoned 
 400
 
 5obn IReuben Gbompscn. 
 
 all other pursuits. When peace at 
 last smiled on their victorious 
 eagles a government was framed 
 which was to demonstrate a prob 
 lem in political science, and from 
 the day which saw the signatures 
 affixed to the immortal instrument 
 which binds us together to the pres 
 ent time the first minds of the na 
 tion have never ceased to regard 
 the operation of that government 
 with zealous and anxious interest. 
 We cannot regret this, even while 
 we deduce from it our literary pov 
 erty, for if the price of liberty be 
 eternal vigilance and the cause of 
 free institutions be threatened by 
 open enemies from without and 
 treacherous friends within the State 
 cannot be guarded with too watch 
 ful a care. This untiring devotion 
 to politics has not been without 
 happy effects in exhibiting the most 
 gratifying proofs of the capacity of 
 our people in the highest efforts of 
 forensic eloquence, of statesman- 
 401
 
 5obn "Reuben Cbompson. 
 
 ship and diplomacy. In the pro 
 gressive changes of the country, 
 then, from a sparsely settled region 
 to one swarming with an opulent 
 and enlightened population have 
 we not abundant reason to hope for 
 a noble literature, adapted to our 
 sensibilities and adequate to our 
 wants? When some future Waver- 
 ley shall depict the domestic char 
 ities and homebred virtues of Amer 
 ica in the pages of fiction, or some 
 unborn minstrel shall 'wake to ec 
 stasy the living lyre,' he will find 
 millions to laugh and weep over 
 his chapters, or to be roused by his 
 strains from tire chain of the Alle- 
 ghanies to 
 
 The continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no 
 
 sound 
 Save his own dashings. 
 
 "In the cause of Southern let 
 ters the Messenger has labored ear 
 nestly, and we trust not without 
 success, since the appearance of its 
 402
 
 5obn IReubcn Cbompson. 
 
 first nuimber in 1834. Month after 
 month it has reached you freighted 
 with rich and valuable stores of in 
 struction and amusement. It has 
 not indeed sought to beguile an idle 
 hour without leaving some useful 
 impression on the mind of the read 
 er. The contributors, who have 
 filled its pages have not written 
 thoughtlessly, nor have they en 
 deavored by flippanlt common 
 places to 'catch, as she flies, the 
 Cynthia of the minute.' Content to 
 stand upon its own merits in the 
 estimate of an impartial public, it 
 has left to others those adventitious 
 aids and (so-called) embellishments 
 by which the eye of the million is 
 caught in this day of mezzotint en 
 graving. It has put forth as orig 
 inal no bad copies of tawdry pic 
 tures in the English annals, nor has 
 it circulated a monthly fashion 
 plate to show how the extravagant 
 demoiselles of the Faubourg St. 
 Germain dress themselves for a 
 403
 
 $obn IReuben Cbompson. 
 
 ship and diplomacy. In the pro 
 gressive changes of the country, 
 then, from a sparsely settled region 
 to one swarming with an opulent 
 and enlightened population have 
 we not abundant reason to hope for 
 a noble literature, adapted to our 
 sensibilities and adequate to our 
 wants? When some future Waver- 
 ley shall depict the domestic char 
 ities and homebred virtues of Amer 
 ica in the pages of fiction, or some 
 unborn minstrel shall 'wake to ec 
 stasy the living lyre/ he will find 
 millions to laugh and weep over 
 his chapters, or to be roused by his 
 strains from the chain of the Alle- 
 ghanies to 
 
 The continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no 
 
 sound 
 Save his own dashings. 
 
 "In the cause of Southern let 
 ters the Messenger has labored ear 
 nestly, and we trust not without 
 success, since the appearance of its 
 402
 
 Jobn IReubcn Cbompson. 
 
 first nuimber in 1834. Month after 
 month it has reached you freighted 
 with rich and valuable stores of in 
 struction and amusement. It has 
 not indeed sought to beguile an idle 
 hour without leaving some useful 
 impression on the mind of the read 
 er. The contributors, who have 
 filled its pages have not written 
 thoughtlessly, nor have they en 
 deavored by flippanlt common 
 places to 'catch, as she flies, the 
 Cynthia of the minute.' Content to 
 stand upon its own merits in the 
 estimate of an impartial public, it 
 has left to others those adventitious 
 aids and (so-called) embellishments 
 by which the eye of the million is 
 caught in this day of mezzoitint en 
 graving. It has put forth as orig 
 inal no bad copies of tawdry pic 
 tures in the English annals, nor has 
 it circulated a monthly fashion 
 plate to show how the extravagant 
 demoiselles of the Faubourg St. 
 Germain dress themselves for a 
 403
 
 5obn "Keuben ^Thompson. 
 
 morning call. It has ever had a 
 higher aim and exercised a nobler 
 ministry. It has attempted to pre 
 sent some truths in manifestations 
 more lovely and imposing than 
 they had before assumed, and thus 
 to fasten them upon the moral per 
 ception. It has enlisted in the pros 
 ecution of literary studies many 
 minds whose light might other 
 wise have been long obscured. In 
 commending the lessons of history, 
 and by a salutary recurrence to the 
 recorded experience of our own 
 country, it has wiped the dust from 
 the urns of the illustrious dead and 
 held up their characters to the af 
 fectionate remembrance and imita 
 tion of the living. In an age of 
 prosing realities and calculating 
 utilitarianism, it has labored to 
 gather up every fragment of intel 
 lect, to refine the taste, to soften 
 the asperities of party warfare, and 
 to invest with poetic beauty the 
 daily walks of life." 
 404
 
 Jobn TReuben {Thompson. 
 
 Brief as is this selection from a 
 long address, it shows the beauty and 
 excellence of Mr. Thompson's prose 
 and gives some idea of the great loss 
 to the South occurring from the fact 
 that no collection of his best work 
 h'as been made. He left a diary of 
 his last trip -to Europe and other 
 papers in the hands of the poet 
 R. H. Stoddard, who published an 
 installment in Lippincott for No 
 vember, 1888. It is to be hoped 
 that the aged poet will give us addi 
 tional facts and selections. Some 
 of Thompson's occasional poems 
 were too occasional that is, were 
 sent forth wi'th too little care of 
 preparation. Others are among the 
 most graceful ever penned in Amer 
 ica. Same of his most admired 
 poems are "The Burial of Latane," 
 "The Death of Stewart," "The Bat 
 tle Rainbow," and "Ashby," though 
 many others have a high order of 
 merit. A selection of three stanzas 
 is made from "The Battle Rain- 
 405
 
 5obn IReuben Cbompson. 
 
 bow." The rainbow of the poem 
 was seen from Richmond during 
 the seven days of blood in 1862 : 
 
 For the fierce flame of war on the mor 
 row flashed out, 
 And its thunder peals filled all the 
 
 tremulous air; 
 
 Over slipp'ry entrenchment and red 
 dened redoubt 
 
 Rung the wild cheer of triumph, the 
 cry of despair. 
 
 Then a long week of glory and agony 
 
 came 
 Of mute supplication and yearning 
 
 and dread; 
 When day unto day gave the record of 
 
 fame, 
 
 And night unto night gave the list 
 of its dead. 
 
 We had triumphed the foe had fled 
 
 back to his ships, 
 His standard in rags and his legions 
 
 a wreck; 
 But alas! the stark faces and colorless 
 
 lips 
 
 Of our loved ones gave triumph's re 
 joicings a check. 
 406
 
 5obn IReuben ITbompson. 
 
 From the Alumni Bulletin of the 
 University of Virginia, dated Au 
 gust, 1899, is taken the following: 
 
 "A large portrait of the poet, 
 John R. Thompson, which had been 
 presented by the artist, Mrs. Mariet 
 ta Minnegerode Andrews, of Wash 
 ington, was unveiled in the public 
 hall on Monday, June 12, at n A.M. 
 Dr. Barringer presided, and the ex 
 ercises were opened with prayer by 
 the Rev. Dr. Alexander Barr, of 
 Richmond. The portrait was pre 
 sented by the Hon. R. Walton 
 Moore, of Fairfax, and accepted by 
 Prof. William M. Thornton. 
 
 "Thompson's life was sketched 
 by Capt. William McCabe, of Rich 
 mond; letters of appreciation were 
 read by Dr. C. W. Kent; a me 
 morial ode by the Rev. Dr. Bever 
 ly D. Tucker, of Norfolk, followed ; 
 and finally, Thompson's "Burial of 
 Latane" was read by the Hon. Arm- 
 istead C. Gordon, of Staunton. The 
 "Burial of Latane" is here given : 
 407
 
 3obn iReuben Cbornpson. 
 
 [In Gen. Stuart's famous raid around 
 the rear of McClellan's army Capt. 
 Latane* was the only man killed. His 
 brother, returning after the fight, carried 
 the body to Dr. Brockenbrough's planta 
 tion, near by, and left it with Mrs. Brock - 
 enbrough to be interred. Mrs. Brocken- 
 brough sent for a clergyman to perform 
 the funeral rites; but he not being per 
 mitted to pass, she read the burial serv 
 ice herself, some ladies of the family 
 and a few faithful servants forming a 
 small, sad audience. This scene has 
 been made the subject of a touching pic 
 ture by Mr. Washington.] 
 
 THE BURIAL OF LATANE. 
 
 The combat raged not long, but ours 
 
 the day, 
 
 And, through the hosts that com 
 passed us around, 
 
 Our little band rode proudly on its way, 
 Leaving one gallant comrade glory- 
 crowned, 
 
 Unburied on the field he died to gain 
 
 Alone, of all his men, amid the hostile 
 slain. 
 
 One moment on the battle's edge he 
 
 stood; 
 
 Hope's halo, like a helmet, round his 
 hair; 
 
 408
 
 Jobn IKeuben ftbompson. 
 
 The next beheld him, dabbled in his 
 
 blood, 
 Prostrate in death; and yet, in death 
 
 how fair! 
 Even thus he passed through the red 
 
 gates of strife, 
 From earthly crowns and palms to an 
 
 immortal life. 
 
 A brother bore his body from the field, 
 And gave it unto strangers' hands, 
 that closed 
 
 The calm blue eyes, on earth forever 
 sealed, N 
 
 And tenderly the slender limbs com 
 posed: 
 
 Strangers, yet sisters, who with Mary's 
 love 
 
 Sat by the open tomb, and, weeping, 
 looked above. 
 
 A little child strewed roses on his bier 
 Pale roses, not more stainless than 
 his soul, 
 
 Nor yet more fragrant than his life sin 
 cere, 
 
 That blossomed with good actions 
 brief, but whole; 
 
 The aged matron and the faithful slave 
 
 Approached, with reverent feet, the 
 hero's lowly grave. 
 9 409
 
 $obn "Keuben ^bompson. 
 
 No man of God might say the burial 
 
 rite 
 
 Above the "rebel" thus declared the 
 foe 
 
 That blanched before him in the deadly 
 
 fight; 
 
 But woman's voice, with accents soft 
 and low, 
 
 Trembling with pity, touched with pa 
 thos, read 
 
 Over his hallowed dust the ritual for 
 the dead. 
 
 " 'Tis sown in weakness, it is raised in 
 
 power." 
 Softly the promise floated on the air, 
 
 While the low breathings of the sunset 
 
 hour 
 
 Came back responsive to the mourn 
 er's prayer. 
 
 Gently they laid him underneath the 
 sod, 
 
 And left him with his fame, his country, 
 and his God! 
 
 A 
 
 Let us not weep for him, whose deeds 
 
 endure. 
 So young, so brave, so beautiful! He 
 
 died 
 
 As he had wished to die; the past is 
 sure; 
 
 410
 
 Jobn IRcubcn {Thompson. 
 
 Whatever yet of sorrow may betide 
 Those who still linger by the stormy 
 
 shore, 
 
 Change cannot harm him now, nor for 
 tune touch him more. 
 
 And when Virginia, leaning on her 
 
 spear, 
 Victrix et vidua the conflict done 
 
 Shall raise her mailed hand to wipe the 
 
 tear 
 
 That starts as she recalls each mar 
 tyred son, 
 
 No prouder memory her breast shall 
 sway 
 
 Than thine, our early host, lamented 
 Latane! 
 
 Since Thompson was an ardent 
 Southerner the tragedy of his times 
 stirred his poetic fervor to deeper 
 strains, but "The Greek Slave," 
 "Virginia," "Patriotism," and par 
 ticularly "Carcassonne," translated 
 from the French, are lit up with 
 poetic fire. One little thing written 
 earlier is here reproduced, as show 
 ing Mr. Thompson in lighter vein. 
 It is called 
 
 411
 
 3obn "Reuben TTbompson. 
 A PICTURE. 
 
 Across the narrow, dusty street 
 
 I see, at early dawn, 
 A little girl with glancing feet, 
 
 As agile as the fawn. 
 
 An hour or so and forth she goes, 
 The school she brightly seeks; 
 
 She carries in her hand a rose, 
 And two upon her cheeks. 
 
 The sun mounts up the torrid sky; 
 
 The bell for dinner rings; 
 My little friend, with laughing eye, 
 
 Comes gayly back and sings. 
 
 The week wears off, and Saturday 
 A welcome day, I ween 
 
 Gives time for girlish romp and play- 
 How glad my pet is seen ! 
 
 But Sunday in what satins great 
 
 Does she not then appear! 
 King Solomon, in all his state, 
 
 Wore no such pretty gear. 
 
 I fling her every day a kiss, 
 
 And one she flings to me. 
 I know not truly when it is 
 
 She prettiest may be. 
 412
 
 Jobn IReuben 
 
 "Patriotism," written in 1856, is 
 worthy of reproduction : 
 
 Whoe'er has stood upon the Rigi's 
 
 height 
 And watched the sunset fading into 
 
 night, 
 While every moment some new star was 
 
 born 
 From the bold Egar to the Wetter- 
 
 horn, 
 
 Has seen, as steadily the airy tide 
 Of darkness deepened up the mountain 
 
 side, 
 The glowing summits slowly, one by 
 
 one, 
 Lose the soft crimson splendor of the 
 
 sun 
 
 (Like altar lights in some cathedral dim 
 Extinguished singly with the dying 
 
 hymn) 
 
 Till the last flush would lovingly repose 
 Upon the Jungfrau's purple waste of 
 
 snows. 
 Thus, O my country, when primeval 
 
 gloom 
 Shall over earth its ancient reign re 
 
 sume; 
 When night eternal shall its march 
 
 begin 
 
 413
 
 5obn "Reuben ^Thompson. 
 
 O'er the round world and all that is 
 
 therein; 
 
 As dark oblivion's rising waves absorb 
 All human trophies, thus shall glory's 
 
 orb 
 
 Thy lone sublimity the latest see 
 And pour its parting radiance on thee! 
 414
 
 3ame0 Barren 1bope* 
 
 A FEW years ago, among the 
 twenty and odd thousand in 
 habitants of Norfolk, Va., one 
 might have met a slender, graceful 
 man, with gray eyes under a broad 
 while forehead, a carefully kept 
 gray beard, and a manner refined 
 and Southern and as courtly as that 
 of Sir Roger de Coverley. A Nor 
 folk child would have pointed out 
 the pale-faced, thoughtful gentle 
 man as the superintendent of city 
 schools ; to a citizen he would have 
 been the founder and editor of the 
 Norfolk Landmark; the music folks 
 would have greeted him as the 
 President of the St. Cecilia Musical 
 Society; the "crippled Confeder 
 ate" would have felt his heart beat 
 faster as he caught the glance of 
 that eye and saluted the command- 
 415
 
 Sames Barren 1bope. 
 
 er of his camp of veterans ; almost 
 any distinguished Virginian would 
 have said : "This is our poet, Capt. 
 J. Barron Hope, who wears well 
 all these honors." 
 
 To deliver three great anniver 
 sary poems in a little more than a 
 year is an attainment large enough, 
 it would seem, to satisfy any ambi 
 tion. This honor fell to Hope 
 when, on the two hundred and fif 
 tieth anniversary, May 13, 1857, 
 he read a poem celebrating the first 
 English settlement at Jamestown; 
 on February 22, 1858, he recited a 
 poem at the base of the Washing 
 ton statue on Capitol Square, Rich 
 mond ; on July 4, 1858, he delivered 
 a poem before the graduating class 
 of William and Mary. 
 
 Any of these, delivered in New 
 England, would have been thought 
 worthy of more than local interest. 
 But the storm clouds of war, which 
 overshadowed so much Southern 
 literature, were even then in the 
 416
 
 Barnes 3Sarron 1bope. 
 
 air. This poem on Washington 
 breathes a dread of their portent. 
 The poet himself was soon to lay 
 down the quill of Jove's bird and 
 grasp the hilt of a shining blade as 
 his fathers had done. The same 
 year in which he delivered the first 
 of these poems Lippencott pub 
 lished "Leoni Di Monata, and Oth 
 er Poems," by James Barron Hope. 
 Among the "other poems" was 
 "Balaklava," which so delighted the 
 late English novelist James, then 
 British consul at Richmond, that he 
 sent a copy to the queen. It was 
 graciously acknowledged by her, 
 and, being published in England, 
 received many favorable notices 
 from eminent men of that day. 
 James thought it "not one whit be 
 hind Tennyson's version of the same 
 conflict as given in the 'Charge of 
 the Light Brigade.' " The martial 
 spirit of the South has caused three 
 of her poets (Hope, Alexander 
 Smith, and Judge Meek) to at- 
 417
 
 Barnes asarron 1bope. 
 
 tempt this same stirring theme. In 
 1859 Hope gathered into another 
 volume his "Anniversary" and some 
 other poems. This was published 
 in Richmond, and hence was too far 
 South and too near the war to out 
 ride the storm. It shared the fate 
 of that much-praised first volume of 
 Flash's, published a year later. It 
 costs an effort now to find any of 
 these books. 
 
 From these Southern works, sev 
 eral of which are before me, it can 
 easily be shown that, while the war 
 may have made, it also blighted a 
 goodly company of rising poets. 
 Hope was of fighting stock. On 
 his mother's side he was a son of 
 the Barrens, of naval fame. He 
 had already been dangerously 
 wounded on the "field of honor," 
 and had been on a cruise to the 
 West Indies. Of course he went 
 into the war. He came out cap 
 tain. He seems to have served 
 Mars, and not the Muses, during 
 418
 
 3amcs 3Batton 1bope. 
 
 these dark years, and the duties of 
 the editorship which he soon after 
 assumed kept his feet from Parnas 
 sus save at intervals for years after. 
 His genius was not forgotten. Too 
 often had his articles for his paper 
 shaken off their "prose and mount 
 ed up into the dignity and beauty of 
 measured rhythm for the powers of 
 the poet to be utterly lost to view." 
 When the centennial of the surren 
 der at Yorktown was to be cele 
 brated Capt. Hope was invited by a 
 committee of Congress to deliver a 
 poem. He complied, and delivered 
 a "metrical address" in the pres 
 ence of a vast assembly, among 
 which were representatives from 
 France. With this address, in 
 measure, it is said "he stirred the 
 throng about him as if it had been 
 one man." There was such power 
 in the delivery as well as in the 
 poem that at the close Americans 
 and French "pressed around him 
 with praise and enthusiasm." The 
 419
 
 3Barron Ibope. 
 
 lessons of patriotism in this ode 
 should be taught in every house 
 hold, and the martial ring of its po 
 etry has not been surpassed in this 
 country. This was published in a 
 volume with a revised "Balaklava" 
 and a few other poems in 1882. 
 Hope was naturally selected to re 
 cite the poem for the laying of the 
 corner stone to the monument of 
 his chief in arms, Lee, which took 
 place at Richmond October 26, 
 1887. The poem was written, but 
 before it was read the writer was 
 still in death. The recitation of this 
 poem by Capt. McCabe, the great 
 Petersburg teacher, "was frequent 
 ly interrupted by rapturous ap 
 plause." In his other poem Wash 
 ington had been his ideal. He 
 called his Yorktown ode "Arms 
 and the Man," and "the man" was 
 Washington. In this he says : 
 
 And to-day Virginia matches him, 
 And matches him with Lee. 
 420
 
 Matron Dope. 
 
 In a letter Capt. McCabe says 
 Capt. Hope "wrote the Lee poem 
 almost in the throes of death," and 
 "undoubtedly would have made 
 some changes in it had he lived." 
 This draft was finished September 
 15, and on the i6th, after a day of 
 his usual labors, Mr. Hope passed 
 away. 
 
 The running wheel often throws 
 off bright sparks while bearing the 
 weight of the moving train, so he, 
 while bearing other burdens of life, 
 threw off these bright scintillations 
 of poetry. Under the nom de plume 
 of Henry Ellen he was called the 
 "gifted young Virginian" as early as 
 1856. Several of his minor poems of 
 early date are of delicate fancy. It 
 may be said that he was brought out 
 by the Southern Library Messenger, 
 which brought out so much South 
 ern talent. We talk of "'the recent 
 movement in Southern literature." 
 We have seen no movement such 
 as we might see if some wealthy 
 421
 
 James 3Barron f>ope. 
 
 man or corporation should estab 
 lish in the South a publication 
 equal in make-up to the great 
 monthlies of the East. Such a 
 work would be the benefaction of 
 the age. Lasting fame is for some 
 founder of such enterprise. The 
 Virgils and Caesars might not 
 cease to "fodder cattle and keep 
 sheep," but the lowings of the cat 
 tle and the flowers of the pastures 
 would be turned into living poesy 
 and given a "local habitation and 
 a name." 
 
 The principal facts concerning 
 Hope I get from the pen of his 
 daughter, Mrs. Janey B. H. Marr, 
 herself a gifted authoress. He was 
 born in 1829, took his A.B. at Wil 
 liam and Mary in 1847, was then 
 Secretary to his uncle, Commis 
 sioner Samuel Barron, made a 
 cruise to the West Indies, was se 
 verely wounded in an "affair of 
 honor" with J. Pembroke Jones in 
 1849, was Commonwealth Attorney 
 422
 
 James asarron tbope. 
 
 from 1856 to the war. He served 
 through the war with courage and 
 fidelity, then took up his pen for the 
 routine work of editor, finally 
 "founding the Norfolk Landmark" 
 which he edited with signal ability. 
 His people delighted to heap hon 
 ors upon him. As Commander of 
 the camp he addressed the Confed 
 erate veterans on their first deco 
 ration day in these stirring lines : 
 
 A king once said of a prince struck 
 
 down, 
 
 Taller he seems in death; 
 And this speech holds true, for now, as 
 
 then, 
 
 'Tis after death that we measure men. 
 And as mists of the past are rolled away 
 Our heroes, who died in their tattered 
 
 gray, 
 Grow taller and greater in all their 
 
 parts, 
 Till they fill our minds as they fill our 
 
 hearts, 
 And for those that lament them there 
 
 is this relief, 
 
 That glory sits by the side of grief. 
 Yes, they grow "taller" as the years 
 
 pass by 
 
 423
 
 James JSatron 1bope. 
 
 And the world learns how they could do 
 and die. 
 
 A nation respects them. The East and 
 
 West, 
 
 The far-off slope of the Golden Coast, 
 The stricken South and the North agree 
 That the heroes who died for you and 
 
 me 
 
 Each valiant man, in his own degree, 
 Whether he fell on the shore or sea, 
 Did deeds of which 
 This land, though rich 
 la histories, may boast, 
 And the sage's book and the poet's lay 
 Are full of the deeds of the men in gray. 
 
 No lion cleft from the rock is ours, 
 
 Such as Lucerne displays; 
 Our only wealth is in tears and flowers, 
 
 And words of reverent praise. 
 And the roses brought to this silent 
 
 yard 
 
 Are red and white. Behold! 
 They tell how wars for a kingly crown, 
 In the blood of England's best writ 
 
 down, 
 
 Left Britain a story whose moral old 
 Is fit to be graven in text of gold: 
 The moral is, that when battles cease 
 The ramparts smile in the blooms of 
 peace, 
 
 424
 
 Barnes JBarron 1bope. 
 
 And flowers to-day were hither brought 
 From the gallant men who against us 
 
 fought, 
 
 Each to itself and the other true! 
 And so I say 
 Our men in gray 
 
 Have left to the South and North a tale 
 Which none of the glories of earth can 
 pale. 
 
 These are random shots o'er the men 
 
 at rest, 
 
 But each rings out on a warrior's crest. 
 Yes, names, like bayonet points, when 
 
 massed, 
 Blaze out as we gaze on the splendid 
 
 past. 
 
 That past is now like an Arctic sea 
 Where the living currents have ceased 
 
 to run, 
 But over that past the fame of Lee 
 
 Shines out as the "Midnight Sun;" 
 And that glorious orb, in its march sub 
 lime, 
 
 Shall gild our graves till the end ot 
 time! 
 
 There are societies of many 
 names and objects, but there ought 
 to be at least one more. It is just 
 10 425
 
 James 33arron 1bope. 
 
 barely possible now to obtain cop 
 ies of the works of many of the best 
 Southern writers. Very few of 
 these are found in any public libra 
 ries, not even those of the South. 
 Several Southern magazines have 
 been for a time waymarks along 1 
 the path of literature, and then have 
 passed into the dim regions of his 
 tory. Public libraries, which con 
 tain even obscure British journals, 
 contain no files of these. Their 
 keepers have not even heard the 
 names. Only one public library in 
 these parts, so far as the writer 
 knows, contains numbers of the 
 Southern Literary Messenger, yet 
 that was founded by Edgar A Poe 
 and long conducted by John R. 
 Thompson poets among poets, 
 Titans in literature. Files of the 
 "Land We Love" before me con 
 tain such poems as "Little Giffen 
 of Tennessee;" yet such files are 
 not easy to be procured. Many 
 volumes of good, fair, and indiffer- 
 426
 
 James JJarron Ibope. 
 
 ent literature were published in the 
 years just before the war. All these 
 things should be preserved, not 
 merely for their literary value, but 
 to show the world, and especially 
 our own children, what literature 
 the South really produced. It is 
 American literature, and as such 
 should be gathered and preserved. 
 A society might do this. 
 
 I have before me three volumes 
 of poems by J. Barron Hope. Two, 
 maybe all, are out of print. A few 
 selections may be of interest. The 
 "Charge of the Light Brigade," by 
 Tennyson, is justly considered one 
 of the finest battle lyrics. Some 
 have thought not one whit inferior 
 Hope's "Balaklava," describing the 
 same incident. I give specimen 
 stanzas : 
 
 Brightly gleam six hundred sabers, 
 And the brazen trumpets ring; 
 
 Steeds are gathered, spurs are driven, 
 
 And the heavens widely riven 
 
 With a mad shout upward given, 
 Scaring vultures on the wing. 
 427
 
 James JSatron l>ope. 
 
 Onward! On! the chargers trample; 
 
 Quicker falls each iron heel! 
 And the headlong pace grows faster; 
 Noble steed and noble master, 
 Rushing on to red disaster, 
 
 Where the heavy cannons peal. 
 
 Down went many a gallant soldier; 
 
 Down went many a stout dragoon; 
 Lying grim and stark and gory 
 On the crimson field of glory, 
 Leaving us a noble story 
 
 And their white-cliffed home a boon. 
 
 The poem has twenty such stan 
 zas, and would be found in collec 
 tions for elocutionary exercises, but 
 for well, what? "Dreamy eyes," 
 "pensive lids," and "dark hair's 
 silken flow" are apt to make part of 
 a young man's first volume of 
 poems. Hope's was no exception. 
 Well, the world will never tire of 
 love and beauty, nor of the songs 
 that thrill with these, and it will be 
 a poor world when it wearies of its 
 choicest gifts. He watches Zeno- 
 \a moving with the music : 
 428
 
 t>ope. 
 
 And thy face is ever changing 
 With the changes of the time, 
 As they say the waters vary 
 With the changes of the moon. 
 
 Now thy eyes are downward looking, 
 Now upraised in laughing light, 
 
 Ever fitful in their luster 
 Like the tropic waves at night. 
 
 The following has a lover's ex 
 travagance, but a poet's delicacy : 
 
 Were I a knight, those hands of hers 
 
 Those little hands so small and 
 
 white 
 Alone should buckle on my spurs, 
 
 The golden spurs which proved me 
 
 knight. 
 
 Those hands hast ever seen them? 
 Nay; 
 
 Then marvel not that thus I sing 
 Their loveliness in this poor lay. 
 
 They well might wake a string 
 More noble than this trembling now, 
 
 To tell how wondrous fair their hue, 
 White as Madonna's stainless brow, 
 
 Or lily wet with moonlit dew; 
 And yet they have a rosy sign 
 
 Just lingering on their dainty tips 
 As if she'd dipped them in red wine 
 
 And dried them on her crimson lips. 
 429 *
 
 James Matron f)ope. 
 
 What is more exquisite than the 
 last four lines just given? 
 
 From one of his poem orations 
 I select this on the name of Wash 
 ington: 
 
 I've called his name a statue; stern 
 and vast, 
 
 It rests enthroned upon the mighty 
 past; 
 
 Fit plinth for him whose image in the 
 mind 
 
 Looms up as that of one by God de 
 signed! 
 
 Fit plinth, in sooth! the mighty past 
 for him 
 
 Whose simple name is glory's syno 
 nym! 
 
 Een Fancy's self, in her enchanted sleep, 
 
 Can dream no future which may cease 
 to keep 
 
 His name in guard, like sentinel, and 
 cry 
 
 From Time's great bastions: "It shall 
 never die!" 
 
 It is hard to say things upon 
 
 themes like the following that have 
 
 not been said before in some form, 
 
 but he is the true poet who finds the 
 
 430
 
 James Barton 1bope. 
 
 "apt word" to better say an old 
 thing. Such is this : 
 
 All is quiet save the murmur 
 Of the tide upon the bar; 
 
 See each little breaker playing 
 With the image of a star! 
 
 I take two stanzas from the York- 
 town address : 
 
 Float out, O flag, and float in every 
 
 clime! 
 Float out, O flag, and blaze on every 
 
 sea! 
 Float out, O flag, and float as long as 
 
 time 
 And space themselves shall be! 
 
 Float out, O flag, above a smiling land! 
 Float out, O flag, above a peaceful 
 
 sod! 
 Float out, O flag, thy staff within the 
 
 hand 
 Beneficent of God! 
 
 These may not be the best spec 
 imens that might have been select 
 ed, but they give some idea of the 
 poetry of J. Barron Hope. 
 431
 
 Benr$ X$nfcen iflasb. 
 
 THE loss to humanity can never 
 be repaired when the inevitable 
 stress of affairs leads the poet from 
 the steeps of Parnassus to the strug 
 gling marts of trade. Any one 
 fortunate enough to own a thin vol 
 ume of poems published in 1860 
 bearing the name at the head of this 
 essay realizes the loss to the South 
 which befell when Mr. Flash de 
 cided that "the South preferred po 
 tatoes to poetry," and went into 
 business. 
 
 Of his advent as a poet I will 
 again allow that ardent devotee to 
 Southern writers, James Wood Da 
 vidson, to speak. In "Living Writ 
 ers of the South," published in 1859, 
 he says : 
 
 "Several years ago it may be 
 ten in some newspaper, probably 
 the Home Journal, of New York, 
 432
 
 fflasb. 
 
 I chanced upon this little poem, 
 called 'Love and Wrong,' under 
 the authority of Lynden Eclair : 
 
 A scoffed-at prayer, the flit of a dress, 
 The glance of a frenzied eye, 
 
 A sullen splash, and the moon shone 
 
 out, 
 And the stream went muttering by. 
 
 And never again will I walk by the 
 moon, 
 
 Through the oaks and chestnuts high; 
 For I fear to see the flit of a dress, 
 
 And the glance of a frenzied eye. 
 
 And some may laugh and some may 
 
 weep, 
 
 But as for me, I pray; 
 For I know that a tale of love and 
 
 wrong 
 Will be told on the judgment day. 
 
 ' ' I was startled at the power of 
 these three stanzas at the con 
 densation, the multum in p<wvo, the 
 thrilling tact of telling so much in 
 so very few words. It is true, there 
 is too much of the melodramatic 
 and spasmodic in the fiction of this 
 433
 
 jflasb. 
 
 ' Love and Wrong/ but still there 
 is power. Whoever has read the 
 poem will never forget it. I felt 
 that, whoever he was, Lynden 
 Eclair was a true poet. The name 
 was evidently a nom de plume, and 
 I awaited anxiously the name of the 
 author. The next I saw of Lynden 
 Eclair was in the Sunday Delta, of 
 New Orleans, during 1858, I be 
 lieve in a lyric called 'Who Can 
 Tell,' dated Mobile, Ala. I know of 
 no man in America who could ap 
 proach the peculiar verve of these 
 lyrics, except Stoddard, and had 
 reasons for believing that it was not 
 he. Aldrich might have conceived 
 and even written them ; he could 
 never have left them without some 
 evidence of polish and of his patient 
 retouching could never have left 
 them in the Greek simplicity in 
 which they here appear. My mind 
 at once turned to a transatlantic 
 star, just then rising into view, from 
 which alone, as I conceived, this pe- 
 434
 
 culiar light could come. My mind 
 fixed upon Owen Meredith Bul- 
 wer fits as the one living poet who 
 might be the author of the poem- 
 lets, of such unique spirit and vigor, 
 of such concise, suggestive, and yet 
 easy and nonchalant expression." 
 Mr. Davidson further says : 
 "Imagine my surprise and pleas 
 ure, then, when a new poem came 
 unmistakably from the same brain, 
 and with it the identity of author 
 ship, under the true name of Henry 
 Lynden Flash, and with it came, 
 too, the information that the poet 
 was not only an American, but a 
 Southron. 
 
 In 1860 Mr. Flash published his 
 poems in a small volume just the 
 'time when the first mutterings of 
 the cloud of war were heard, and in 
 the thunderstorm that has succeed 
 ed, the book has been comparative 
 ly forgotten, as have all things else 
 than blood, horrors, and death. 
 The volume contains sixty-one 
 435
 
 poems, all lyrical, and is, I have not 
 the least hesitation in saying, the 
 best first volume of poems ever pub 
 lished in America." 
 
 When the war between the States 
 broke out Mr. Flash was a young 
 man who had made some friends by 
 his pen, had made a visit to Europe, 
 which no doubt ministered to the 
 cultivation of his artistic taste, and 
 was the author, as said, of a volume 
 of poems which deserved far more 
 than ordinary attention. Being an 
 ardent Southerner, he entered the 
 army, making a fine record as a 
 soldier, attaining the rank of cap 
 tain. Later his pen was more need 
 ed than his sword, and he became 
 editor of the Telegraph, published 
 at Macon, Ga. It was here that he 
 wrote the three poems found in the 
 collections of war poetry "Zolli- 
 koffer," "Jackson," and "Polk." It 
 is said that "Polk" was written in 
 five minutes, while the foreman 
 waited for "copy." Mr. Flash him- 
 436
 
 Jlasb. 
 
 self says that, so far as he remem 
 bers, all of his earlier writings were 
 published in forty-eight hours after 
 they were written. This shows 
 what a force in literature he might 
 have become by better methods of 
 composition had he not sought for 
 tune in other fields. 
 
 Pains have been taken to make 
 the following brief sketch of Mr. 
 Flash as accurate as possible. 
 
 Henry Lynden Flash was born 
 in Cincinnati, Ohio, July 20, 1835. 
 In 1839 ne moved to New Orleans. 
 In 1849 he went to Western Mil 
 itary Institute in Kentucky, and 
 was graduated there in 1852, at the 
 age of seventeen. He first wrote 
 and published verses while at col 
 lege. When he left college he went 
 to Mobile, Ala., in a branch of 
 his father's commercial house, and 
 wrote verses off and on all the time. 
 In 1857 he went to Europe and 
 spent a year in Italy. While there 
 he was engaged as a correspondent 
 437
 
 en JFlasb. 
 
 of the New Orleans Delta and the 
 Montgomery Mail. Before going to 
 Europe he was for a few months one 
 of the editors of the Mobile Reg 
 ister. On returning from Italy in 
 1858, he went into a cotton com 
 mission house in Mobile. In the 
 summer of 1860 his volume of 
 poems was published by Rudd & 
 Carleton, New York. It was sold 
 out in two or three months, and an 
 other edition was to have been pub 
 lished, but the war prevented. He 
 served during the war as a volun 
 teer, and was aid-de-camp to Gen.. 
 W. J. Hardee and Gen. Joe Wheel 
 er, and during the last year of the 
 war owned and edited the Macon 
 (Ga.) Telegraph. In the fall of 
 1860 he had gone to Galveston, 
 Tex., and opened a wholesale West 
 ern produce business. After the 
 war in 1865, ne returned to his 
 business in Galveston, but in 1868 
 left there and went into the same 
 business at his old home in New 
 438
 
 fflasb. 
 
 Orleans. In 1870 he was married to 
 Miss Clara Dolson, of New Or 
 leans, and lived in that city until 
 1868, when he moved to Los An 
 geles, Cal., his present home. He 
 wrote verses more or less all this 
 time. Sometimes he wrote two 
 the same day ; sometimes not a 
 line in two or three years. He has 
 always been most actively engaged 
 in business, and never gave any spe 
 cial time to literature. His father 
 and mother were natives of Jamai 
 ca, West Indies, and were both ed 
 ucated in England. 
 
 In person he has been described 
 -as follows : "Our poet is a trifle be 
 low medium height maybe five 
 feet nine and stands erect. He has 
 black hair; black, keen, piercing 
 eyes ; a strongly-marked Roman 
 nose ; a prominent and forcible 
 chin ; and an expressive mouth." 
 He has written a number of poems 
 within the last half-dozen years 
 some equal to his best work, but 
 439
 
 fflasb* 
 
 The maid I love has violet eyes, 
 
 And rose-leaf lips of red, 
 She wears the moonshine round her 
 neck, 
 
 The sunshine round her head; 
 And she is rich in every grace, 
 
 And poor in every guile, 
 And crowned kings might envy me 
 
 The splendor of her smile. 
 
 She walks the earth with such a grace 
 
 The lilies turn to look, 
 And waves rise up to catch a glance, 
 
 And stir the quiet brook; 
 Nor ever will they rest again, 
 
 But chatter as they flow, 
 And babble of her crimson lips, 
 
 And of her breast of snow. 
 
 And e'en the leaves upon the trees 
 * Are whispering tales of her, 
 And tattle till they grow so warm 
 
 That, in the general stir, 
 They twist them from the mother- 
 branch, 
 
 And through the air they fly, 
 Till, fainting with the love they feel, 
 
 They flutter down and die. 
 
 And, what is stranger still than all 
 
 The wonders of her grace, 
 Her mind's the only thing to match 
 
 The glories of her face. 
 442
 
 1benrt> SLgn&en Jflaeb, 
 
 O, she is nature's paragon 
 
 All innocent of art; 
 And she has promised me her hand, 
 
 And given me her heart. 
 
 And when the spring again shall flush 
 
 Our glorious Southern bowers, 
 My love will wear a bridal veil, 
 
 A wreath of orange flowers; 
 And so I care not if the sun 
 
 Should founder in the sea, 
 For O! the heaven of her love 
 
 Is light enough for me! 
 
 Two stanzas of "Curst and Blest/' 
 voicing the thought of the opium 
 eater, have been cited as of surpass 
 ing beauty. 
 
 For I have a friend, a luminous friend, 
 The soul of the poppies rich and red, 
 
 That walks the pathway of my heart 
 Like an angel among the dead. 
 
 And down, far down to the bottom lie 
 
 goes, 
 
 Till he comes to the hope that is bur 
 ied there, 
 
 Waves his magical hands, and lo! 
 A blessing upstarts from a great de 
 spair. 
 
 443
 
 fflasb* 
 
 Then why should I die, with such a 
 
 friend 
 
 To work his miracle when I will 
 To speak to me like Christ to the waves, 
 And quiet my heart with his "Peace, 
 be still?" 
 
 No! Twine sweet flowers around my 
 
 brow, 
 And give me the wondrous drug to 
 
 drink 
 
 That makes it a melody only to live, 
 And a perfect poem to think. 
 
 Like Poe, he sometimes portrays 
 scenes that are "out of space, out 
 of time." Of this complexion is 
 "Lifting the Veil," a poem too 
 long to be given entire, but a few 
 stanzas will suffice to show what is 
 meant. 
 
 I am lying in my shroud, 
 
 Dead. 
 
 So they say; 
 And they pray 
 
 Round my bed. 
 
 And they weep and wail aloud, 
 For they little think that I, 
 All stiffened as I lie, 
 444
 
 Jflasb. 
 
 Have a power and a vision 
 
 That I never knew before. 
 Though my limbs are cold and rigid, 
 
 And my heart will beat no more, 
 Yet my spirit sees a demon 
 
 That it never saw before. 
 Do you see that woman sitting 
 Near my bed, 
 
 Watching through the night 
 By the dead? 
 
 The taper's misty light 
 Shows a forehead broad and fair 
 Partly shadowed by the darkness 
 Of her cloudy mass of hair. 
 She looks pure, and sweet, and holy, 
 As the moon up in the sky, 
 But her heart is cold as marble, 
 And her looks are all a lie; 
 And this woman that I worshiped 
 Is an animated lie. 
 
 I died but yesternight! 
 But my spirit in its flight 
 Has seen the varied wonders 
 Of the sky and of the air. 
 It has been among the stars, 
 In Venus and in Mars, 
 And has seen the angels fair 
 That are singing in their light; 
 But the woman that I cherished, 
 By whose treachery I perished, 
 445
 
 Denrg %ttDen nftasb. 
 
 With the fairest of their numbers 
 
 Could compare. 
 O! 'tis well the dead are palsied; 
 
 Else my heart, 
 Inflated with the flood 
 Of my injured body's blood, 
 
 Would break apart. 
 For she twined her arms around me, 
 And she pressed her lips to mine, 
 And she wished that I should pledge her 
 
 In a golden cup of wine; 
 And she placed a deadly poison 
 In this very cup of wine. 
 
 Space only remains to give one 
 of Mr. Flash's poems of recent 
 years: 
 
 MEMORIES OF BLUE AND GRAY. 
 (This was read at the second anniver 
 sary of the Confederate Veterans' As 
 sociation at Los Angeles, September 
 25, 1897-) 
 We are gathered here, a feeble few 
 
 Of those who wore the gray; 
 The larger and the better part 
 
 Have mingled with the clay. 
 Yet not so lost but now and then 
 
 Through dimming mist we see 
 The deadly calm of Stonewall's face, 
 
 The lion-front of Lee. 
 446
 
 jflasb. 
 
 The men who followed where they led 
 
 Are scattered far and wide 
 In every valley of the South, 
 
 On every mountain side. 
 The earth is hallowed by the blood 
 
 Of those who, in the van, 
 Gave up their lives for what they deemed 
 
 The sacred rights of man. 
 
 And you who faced the boys in blue 
 
 (When like a storm they rose), 
 And played with life and laughed at 
 
 death 
 
 Among such stalwart foes, 
 Need never cast your eyes to earth ; 
 Though fortune frown, your names are 
 
 down 
 Upon the roll of fame. 
 
 The flag you followed in the fight 
 
 Will never float again. 
 Thank God, it sunk to endless rest. 
 
 Without a blot or stain. 
 And in its place "old glory" rose 
 
 With all his stars restored; 
 And smiling Peace with rapture raised 
 
 A paean to the Lord. 
 
 We love both flags; let smiles and tears 
 
 Together hold their sway. 
 One won our hearts in days agone; 
 
 One owns our love to-day. 
 447
 
 t>enn2 Tiynben 
 
 We claim them both, with all their 
 wealth 
 
 Of honor and of fame; 
 One lives triumphant in the sun, 
 
 And one, a hallowed name. 
 
 A few short years, and "Yank" and 
 
 "Reb," 
 
 Beneath their native sod, 
 Will wait until the judgment day 
 
 The calling voice of God. 
 The Great Commander's smile will 
 
 beam 
 
 On that enrollment day 
 Alike on him who wore the blue 
 And him who wore the gray. 
 448
 
 tber Writers of IDerse. 
 
 IN the limited space at the au 
 thor's command little more than 
 mention can be made of several 
 writers who published one or more 
 volumes of poems which had more 
 than local celebrity. Mention has 
 been made elsewhere of Augustus 
 Julian Requier, a lawyer of Mobile, 
 Ala., who was born in Charleston, 
 S. C., in 1825, and died in New 
 York in 1887. His "Ashes of Glo 
 ry," was written in response to Fa 
 ther Ryan's "Conquered Banner." 
 Judgpe Requier wrote several vol 
 umes in both dramatic and lyric 
 verse. Outside of his war poems, 
 "Ode to Shakespeare" is perhaps 
 the most spirited as well as the best 
 known. 
 
 Alabama borrowed another poet- 
 lawyer from South Carolina in the 
 person of Judge Alexander B. 
 449
 
 tbec Writers of IDcrse. 
 
 Meek, who was born at Columbia, 
 S. C., in 1814 ; practiced law in Tus- 
 caloosa, Ala. ; and died in 1865, hav 
 ing in the meantime published sev 
 eral works, poetical and historical. 
 His published poetical works were 
 "Red Eagle" and "Songs and 
 Poems of the South." Judge Meek 
 left a history of his adopted State 
 unfinished, but his "Romantic Pas 
 sages in Southwestern History" is 
 of more than passing value. The 
 anthologies contain war poems 
 showing his devotion to the South. 
 "Balaklava," on the same theme as 
 Tennyson's "Charge of the Light 
 Brigade," is perhaps his most spir 
 ited poem. Judge Meek was ora 
 tor, editor, historian, and author of 
 the public school system of Ala 
 bama. 
 
 No account of Southern poets 
 would be complete without the 
 name of Gen. Albert Pike, who, 
 though born in Boston, resided in 
 Arkansas from early manhood, 
 450
 
 (Ptbec "GQlrtters ot IDerse. 
 
 where he wrote "Hymns to the 
 Gods," poems adjudged worthy to 
 be reprinted in Blackwood's Maga 
 zine. He served in the Mexican 
 war, and was brigadier general in 
 the Confederate army. At one time 
 he was editor of the Memphis Ap 
 peal. Gen. Pike was a lawyer by 
 profession, but in his later years 
 went to Washington and devoted 
 himself to literature and freemason 
 ry. The mocking bird has been a 
 favorite with the poets. Judge 
 Meek, Harry Flash, Rodman 
 Drake, Richard Henry Wilde, 
 Longfellow, and many others have 
 given that poet-bird more than a 
 passing line, but hardly any one 
 has hymned the songster so elo 
 quently as Pike. "Every Year" is 
 without doubt his best poem : 
 
 The spring has less of brightness 
 
 Every year; 
 And the snow a ghastlier whiteness, 
 
 Every year; 
 
 Nor do summer flowers quicken, 
 451
 
 tbcr "Qdriters of Derse. 
 
 Nor the autumn fruitage thicken, 
 As they once did, for they sicken, 
 Every year. 
 
 It is growing darker, colder, 
 
 Every year; 
 As the heart and soul grow older, 
 
 Every year; 
 
 I care not now for dancing, 
 Or for eyes with passion glancing, 
 Love is less and less entrancing, 
 
 Every year. 
 
 Of the loves and sorrows blended, 
 
 Every year; 
 Of the charms of friendship ended, 
 
 Every year; 
 
 Of the ties that still might bind me, 
 Until time to death resign me 
 My infirmities remind me, 
 
 Every year. 
 
 Ah! how sad to look before us, 
 
 Every year; 
 While the cloud grows darker o'er us, 
 
 Every year; 
 
 When we see the blossoms faded, 
 That to bloom we might have aided, 
 And immortal garlands braided, 
 
 Every year. 
 452
 
 tbet THUriters ot IDerse* 
 
 To the past go more dead faces, 
 
 Every year; 
 As the loved leave vacant places, 
 
 Every year; 
 
 Everywhere the sad eyes meet us, 
 In the evening's dusk they greet us, 
 And to come to them entreat us, 
 
 Every year. 
 
 "You are growing old," they tell us, 
 
 Every year ; 
 "You are more alone," they tell us, 
 
 Every year ; 
 
 "You can win no new affection ; 
 You have only recollection, 
 Deeper sorrow and dejection, 
 
 Every year." 
 
 Yes, the shores of life are shifting, 
 
 Every year; 
 And we are seaward drifting, 
 
 Every year; 
 
 Old places, changing, fret us, 
 The living more forget us, 
 There are fewer to regret us, 
 
 Every year. 
 
 But the truer life draws nigher, 
 
 Every year; 
 And its morning star climbs higher 
 
 Every year; 
 453
 
 tber TMitfters of Derse. 
 
 Earth's hold on us grows slighter, 
 And the heavy burden lighter, 
 And the dawn immortal brighter, 
 Every year. 
 
 Abr'am Joseph Ryan, the poet- 
 priest, has already found a place 
 in these pages. But he wrote beau 
 tiful poetry other than that pertain 
 ing to the war. Father Ryan was 
 born at Norfolk, Va., about 1834; 
 and, after living in various Southern 
 cities, died at Louisville, Ky., in 
 1886. His poems in a single vol 
 ume are easy of access, hence the 
 writer does not give selections. 
 
 At an early date another gifted 
 with the vision of poesy passed 
 away at Louisville. George Deni- 
 son Prentice was not only a poet, 
 but through the Louisville Journal 
 (now the Courier- Journal), of which 
 he was the founder, he did more 
 to foster literature in the South than 
 was accomplished by any other 
 newspaper editor. The roll call 
 from Kentucky in his time would 
 454
 
 Writers ot IDerse, 
 
 reveal such names among the 
 verse writers as Theodore O'Hara, 
 John E. Hatcher, Will Wallace 
 Harney, Mrs. Warfield, Mrs. Rosa 
 Vertner Jeffreys Johnson, Mrs. 
 Amelia B. Welby, Mrs. Piatt, and 
 many others. Mrs. Welby's "Rain 
 bow" is one of the most beautiful 
 poems produced in the West. 
 
 Coming down to the border 
 State, Mrs. Anna Chambers Ketch- 
 urn and Mrs. L. Virginia French, of 
 Tennessee, belong to the same 
 group. Mrs. Ketchum, formerly of 
 Memphis, is the author of two vol 
 umes of poems and several novels. 
 
 Mrs. L. Virginia French (nee 
 Smith) was born in Virginia, edu 
 cated in Pennsylvania, and married 
 in Tennessee, living at McMinn- 
 ville. She died in 1881. "Wind 
 Whispers," a volume of poems pub 
 lished in 1856, represents her best 
 work before the war. Perhaps "The 
 Palmetto and the Pine" is her best 
 known and strongest poem, yet 
 455
 
 Qtber 'CUriteis of l?ctrc. 
 
 "Buried To-Day" is full of pathos. 
 "The Beautiful South" is fairly typ 
 ical of her best verse. 
 
 "Knowest thou the land" where the 
 summer is queen, 
 
 And her regal profusion enriches the 
 scene 
 
 Till earth is enrobed in her emerald 
 dyes, 
 
 And royal emblazonry glows on the 
 skies; 
 
 Where the signet of loveliness ever has 
 shone, 
 
 And the spirit of beauty established 
 her throne? 
 
 Hast heard of a clime where the care- 
 haunted bosom 
 
 Is soothed by the spells of the balm- 
 breathing blossom, 
 
 Where the free spirit mirrors the height 
 of the mountain 
 
 The depth of the forest, the sheen of 
 the fountain, 
 
 And loses its shadows of grief and of 
 gloom 
 
 In tropical valleys all riant with bloom? 
 
 Hast sought, over sunny savannas, the 
 wood, 
 
 456
 
 tbcc Writers of IDerse. 
 
 "With its arches Titanic and still soli 
 tude 
 
 Where zephyrs are curling the emerald 
 billows 
 
 Of slow-swaying foliage, and under the 
 willows 
 
 The fawn nestles down mid the feathery 
 fern, 
 
 And the wild lily holds up her delicate 
 urn? 
 
 Hast joined in the melody sweeping 
 along 
 
 With a waving of plumage, a gushing of 
 song; 
 
 Where the bobolink warbles, the ori 
 ole sings, 
 
 And the mocking bird's madrigal glee 
 fully rings; 
 
 Where the stately magnolia the wood 
 land perfumes, 
 
 And the parroquet flutters his rich-tint 
 ed plumes? 
 
 Hast looked on the hillside the south 
 wind has kissed, 
 
 When its bold breath has lifted its veil 
 ing of mist; 
 
 Or soft-shadowed vistas lit up by the 
 gleams 
 
 Of glittering sunshine and far-flashing 
 streams; 
 
 12 457
 
 tber TJdrtters of IDerse. 
 
 Where the sweet waters melt on the 
 coralline shore, 
 
 Like the murmurs of love from the lips 
 we adore? 
 
 Dost dream of an Eden whose bright- 
 flowing waters 
 
 Find rivals as graceful and pure in its 
 daughters; 
 
 Of a lip's living coral, a cheek where the 
 rose 
 
 Sheds its soft, dimpled freshness and 
 dewy repose; 
 
 Of an eye oriental, where witchery 
 sleeps 
 
 Enshrined in its kindling and passion 
 ate deeps? 
 
 Canst tell of her sons, ever chainless and 
 free 
 
 As their proud rivers seeking the blue- 
 rolling sea, 
 
 By frost never fettered, whose spirits of 
 fire 
 
 Flash forth the quick impulse of love or 
 of ire; 
 
 As noble, as knightly, as brave as in 
 years 
 
 Long past were their fathers, the bold 
 Cavaliers? 
 
 O, swift as a bird to its bowery nest, 
 
 My young spirit flies from a world of 
 unrest 
 
 458
 
 tber TSUriters of Derse* 
 
 To the sheltering hearts all aglow, like 
 the prime 
 
 Of summer abroad in our glorious 
 clime; 
 
 And with pride we'll proclaim it wher 
 ever we roam: 
 
 "I too am a Southron the South is 
 my home." 
 
 Other volumes, prose as well as 
 verse, came from the pen of this 
 gifted woman at various times, 
 while her newspaper and magazine 
 sketches have been innumerable. 
 
 Names crowd apace, but no men 
 tion can be made of hundreds who 
 sought with more or less success to 
 mount the winged steed. Judge 
 Henry R. Jackson, of Georgia, 
 must at least be called by name. 
 He has idealized "The Red Hills of 
 Georgia," whose seams and gashes 
 made by poor husbandry Lanier 
 so deplored at a later date. His vol 
 ume, "Tallulah and Other Poems," 
 was published in 1850. More that 
 is local attaches to his poems than 
 459
 
 tbec TDQWterg ot IDecee. 
 
 to those of his contemporaries. 
 "My Wife and Child," written dur 
 ing the Mexican war, went the 
 rounds again during the civil war, 
 being attributed by ardent admirers 
 to "Stonewall Jackson." Lawyer, 
 legislator, judge, editor, United 
 States Minister to Austria, colonel 
 in the Mexican war, general in the 
 late war, nevertheless some of Judge 
 Jackson's poems are touching and 
 tender. 
 
 Who has not heard that plaintive, 
 sweet, and deeply religious song, 
 "Passing under the Rod?" It was 
 born of sickness, repeated bereave 
 ment, and resignation, and was writ 
 ten by a daughter of South Caro 
 lina. Mary Stanly Bunce Palmer 
 was born at Beaufort, S. C., in 1810. 
 She was mainly educated at the 
 schools of the Misses Ramsays, in 
 Charleston, attending, however, 
 schools in the North at a later pe 
 riod. In 1835 she was married to 
 Mr. Dana, and went first to New 
 460
 
 tber THttriters of Dcrse. 
 
 York and later to the West, where 
 an epidemic slew both her husband 
 and her only child in the short space 
 of two weeks. Her sorrow voiced 
 itself in song, and the "Southern 
 Harp," published in 1841, was the 
 result. The "Northern Harp" fol 
 lowed. In 1848 she became Mrs. 
 Shindler, having in the meantime 
 published other volumes. The fol 
 lowing verses will sound strangely 
 familiar to older readers : 
 
 Shed not a tear o'er your friend's ear 
 ly bier, 
 
 When I am gone, when I am gone; 
 Smile if the slow-tolling bell you should 
 
 hear, 
 
 When I am gone, I am gone. 
 Weep not for me when you stand round 
 
 my grave, 
 
 Think who has died his beloved to save. 
 Think of the crown all the ransomed 
 
 shall have, 
 When I am gone, I am gone. 
 
 Plant ye a tree, which may wave over 
 
 me, 
 
 When I am gone, when I am gone; 
 461
 
 Other Winters of Derse. 
 
 Sing ye a song if my grave you should 
 
 see, 
 When I am gone, I am gone. 
 
 Come at the close of a bright summer's 
 day, 
 
 Come when the sun sheds its last linger 
 ing ray, 
 
 Come, and rejoice that I thus passed 
 
 away, 
 When I am gone, I am gone. 
 
 To return for a brief moment to 
 Kentucky, perhaps it may be justly 
 said that three of the high-water 
 mark poems of the South were pro 
 duced on the soil of that State. 
 Even a casual reader would place 
 in the list O'Hara's "Bivouac of the 
 Dead" and Prentice's "Closing 
 Year," but there are others who 
 think no stronger short poem has 
 been produced in the Southland 
 than Will Wallace Harney's 
 "Stab:" 
 
 On the road, the lonely road, 
 Under the cold white moon, 
 
 Under the ragged trees he strode; 
 
 He whistled and shifted his weary load, 
 Whistled a foolish tune. 
 462
 
 tbcr "Cdriters of IDersc* 
 
 There was a step timed with his own, 
 
 A figure that stooped and bowed; 
 A cold, white blade that gleamed and 
 
 shone, 
 Like a splinter of daylight downward 
 
 thrown 
 And the moon went behind a cloud. 
 
 But the moon came out so broad and 
 
 good, 
 
 The barn fowl woke and crowed; 
 Then roughed his feathers in drowsy 
 
 mood, 
 And the brown owl called to his mate in 
 
 the wood 
 
 That a dead man lay on the road. 
 463
 
 Soutbern Ibumoitets. 
 
 PHILOSOPHERS have not 
 agreed upon a definition for 
 that intangible something 
 called humor. It evades all de 
 scription. The burdens of life are 
 lightened by its presence. Unlike 
 wit, it never carries a sting, but 
 comes like a sunburst of song, 
 arousing lagging courage to re 
 newed effort, and bringing the gen 
 ial warmth of hope and gladness 
 to minds benumbed by the chill in 
 fluences of hardship and disappoint 
 ment. Hazlitt says : "Man is the 
 only animal that laughs and weeps, 
 for he is the only animal that is 
 struck with the difference between 
 what things are and what they 
 ought to be. . . . To explain the 
 nature of laughter and tears is to 
 account for the condition of human 
 life, for it is in a manner compound- 
 465
 
 Soutbern t>umorist0* 
 
 ed of these two. It is a tragedy or 
 a comedy sad or merry, as it hap 
 pens." 
 
 I shall conclude this imperfect 
 and desultory sketch of wit and hu 
 mor with Barrow's celebrated de 
 scription of the same subject. He 
 says : "But first it may be demand 
 ed what the thing we speak of is, 
 or what this facetiousness doth im 
 port ; to which question I might re 
 ply, as Democrilus did to him that 
 asked the definition of a man, ' Tis 
 that which we all see and know;' 
 and one better apprehends what is 
 meant by acquaintance than I can 
 inform him by description. It is, in 
 deed, a thing so versatile and multi 
 form, appearing in so many shapes, 
 so many postures, so many garbs, 
 so variously apprehended by sever 
 al eyes and judgments, that it seem- 
 eth no less hard to settle a clear and 
 certain notice thereof than to make 
 a portrait of Proteus or to define 
 the figure of fleeting air." 
 466
 
 Soutbcrn 
 
 C. C. Everett thus sets forth the 
 source of humor: "Among those 
 great elements of human nature 
 which have shown themselves to be 
 rooted in the deep, unconscious life 
 of man must be placed the source 
 of the ludicrous. Plenty, unless 
 gorged to dyspepsia and even 
 then it becomes ludicrous is the 
 very father of fun. Whether plen 
 ty has the ribless side or the thin 
 anatomy, laughter lives in its com 
 pany. Does not a man 'well to do' 
 feel good? Is he not more genial? 
 Can he riot laugh more heartily, in 
 vent merrier thoughts? And will 
 he not, if unconstrained by a ty 
 rannic government, let out more of 
 the native peculiarities of his dis 
 position? There is but one excep 
 tion to the rule, and that is the Irish. 
 Rich or poor, full or pinched, they 
 must have their jollity." 
 
 S. S. Cox, in "Why We Laugh," 
 thus puts the case : "But we have 
 in America specific objects of hu- 
 467
 
 Soutbern foumorists* 
 
 mor the scheming Yankee, the 
 big, bragging brave Kentuckian, 
 and the first-family Virginian. We 
 have lawyers on the circuit, as in 
 the "Georgia Scenes ;" loafers on a 
 spree, as in Neal's "Charcoal 
 Sketches;" politicians in caucus; 
 legislators in session ; travelers on 
 cars and steamers indeed, the his 
 tory of every American's life is hu 
 morous, moving as he does from 
 place to place, and even when he 
 sits down as restless as the stick 
 which a traveler saw out West that 
 was so crooked it would not be 
 still." 
 
 In his "Oddities of Southern 
 Life/ after speaking of English, 
 Scotch, and French wit and humor, 
 Col. Watterson gives us the follow 
 ing: "In the United States, partic 
 ularly in the Southern States, such 
 quiddities are early heard; the wit 
 is coarser, whilst, as a rule, the hu 
 mor turns upon character and in 
 cident. We body forth a person- 
 468
 
 Southern Ibumorists* 
 
 age out of the odds and ends of 
 comic thought and memory, the 
 heel-taps of current observance ; we 
 clothe this image appropriately, and 
 then we put it through a series of 
 amusing adventures. Thus it is 
 that our humor is anecdotal, pro 
 ducing such figures as Sut Luvin- 
 good ; Bill Arp ; Maj. Joseph Jones, 
 of Pinesville, Ga. ; the Rev. Heze- 
 kiah Bradley, who discoursed upon 
 the 'Harp of a Thousand Strings ;' 
 and last, but not least,. Capt. Simon 
 Suggs, of the Tallapoosa volun 
 teers. They flourished years ago, 
 in the good old time of muster days 
 and quarter racing, before the camp 
 meeting and the barbecue had lost 
 their power and their charm ; when 
 men led simple, homely lives, doing 
 their love-making and their law- 
 making as they did their fighting 
 and their plowing, in a straight fur 
 row." 
 
 The late Dr. Baskervill follows 
 in the same vein: "The middle 
 469
 
 Southern I>umotist04 
 
 Georgians are a simple, healthy, ho 
 mogeneous folk, resembling for the 
 most part other Southerners of 
 like rank and calling in their man 
 ners, customs, and general way of 
 living. But they have developed 
 a certain manly, vigorous, fearless 
 independence of thought and action, 
 and an ever-increasing propensity 
 to take a humorous view of life. In 
 their earlier writings it is a homely 
 wit, in which broad humor and loud 
 laughter predominate, but tears are 
 lurking in the corners of the eyes, 
 and genuine sentiment nestles in the 
 heart. In more recent times the 
 horizon has widened, and there has 
 been a gain in both breadth of view 
 and depth of insight. Genius and art 
 have combined to make this classic 
 soil." 
 
 470
 
 Hugustue B. Xongstreet. 
 
 JUDGE LONGSTREET easily stands 
 first among those who may be char 
 acterized as the humorists of the 
 ante bellum days. Like most oth 
 ers of that period, literature with 
 him was a pastime and not a pur 
 suit. In fact, he never took him 
 self seriously in this field, and in 
 his later years forbore to take any 
 interest in what he had done as be 
 ing too frivolous to comport with 
 his more serious views as to the 
 true purposes of life. A lawyer, 
 judge, Methodist minister, and col 
 lege President in turn, yet his 
 "Georgia Scenes" will outlive all 
 else which he planned and exe 
 cuted. These descriptions may be 
 coarse as portraying rude times, 
 but nevertheless they are accepted 
 as smacking of the soil and giving 
 471
 
 Southern ttumorista* 
 
 a true picture of a society enliv 
 ened by rare and original charac 
 ters, such as are seldom found in 
 older communities, where society 
 has become crystallized. 
 
 Augustus Baldwin Longstreet 
 was born in Edgefield District, S. 
 C, September 22, 1790. He was 
 carried to Georgia quite early, and 
 became as one of the stalwart sons 
 of his adopted commonwealth. 
 The "old field master" seems not 
 to have understood the boy, nor 
 did the youth whom the master 
 characterized as a "dunce" acquire 
 much except a knowledge of some 
 such scenes and characters as he 
 portrays in after years. With 
 brighter auspices the boy became 
 happier, having, as he says, an am 
 bition "to outrun, outjump, out- 
 shout, throw down any man in the 
 district." 
 
 In his delightful life sketch of 
 Judge Longstreet Bishop Fitzger 
 ald says : "This ingenuous confes- 
 472
 
 Bugustus 3Bal5\vln Xongstreet* 
 
 sion throws a flash of illumination 
 over those times, about the begin 
 ning of the present century, when 
 martial fame was the passport to 
 popular favor, and virile strength 
 and pluck made a hero of a country 
 bully or a crack shot in a squirrel 
 hunt or the winner in a wrestling 
 match." 
 
 After two years thus spent in 
 South Carolina, to which his father 
 had carried the lad temporarily, he 
 returned to the hated school, the 
 Richmond Academy, with the same 
 unfortunate result. A little later, 
 first chance, then choice, threw him 
 into the companionship of a young 
 man who read and appreciated good 
 books. By slow degrees at first, 
 their tastes were finally assimilated, 
 and young Longstreet became im 
 bued with a love for good books. 
 What a world of delights were thus 
 thrown open to him in ever-widen 
 ing vistas ! What possibilities lie 
 out before the boy who loves to 
 1 : 473
 
 Southern "fcumorfsts* 
 
 read! After two years at Rich 
 mond Academy Longstreet was 
 sent to the celebrated school of Dr. 
 Moses Waddell, of South Carolina. 
 The things which had been distaste 
 ful became rather his delight. 
 Three years in this school fitted him 
 for Yale, where he entered the Jun 
 ior class in 1811, graduating in two 
 years. His own testimony is that 
 he was happy and loved all the pro 
 fessors, which speaks volumes for 
 his deportment and study. From 
 Yale he entered law school in 
 Litchfield, Conn., where, among 
 other influences, he sat under the 
 ministry of Lyman Beecher. In 
 due course of time he returned to 
 Georgia and was admitted to the 
 bar, and, like most lawyers of that 
 day, took a fling at politics as well. 
 He began that course of observa 
 tion, experience, and travel around 
 judicial circuits and general ac 
 quaintance with those racy charac 
 ters which laid the foundation for 
 474
 
 Bugustus 3BaU>win Xongstreet. 
 
 "Georgia Scenes." His fame for 
 oratory so'on filled the State, at a 
 time when Georgia had many sons 
 gifted in that glowing field. Every 
 gifted man of that day of musters 
 must have a military title must 
 start as captain and reach the honor 
 of colonel, at least. Longstreet be 
 came captain, but was never a mili 
 tia colonel. The higher title of gen 
 eral was to be won by a kinsman 
 on many a bloody field. Judge 
 Longstreet was a zealous, success 
 ful attorney, and when placed upon 
 the judicial bench in 1822 brought 
 to his new duties learning, industry, 
 and honesty, and was an honor to 
 the ermine. Later he returned of 
 choice to the practice of law, and 
 to its duties added that of editor 
 of the Augusta Sentinel, of which 
 he became the founder. During 
 1838 he became a Methodist minis 
 ter, and was stationed at Augusta, 
 remaining at his post during a ter 
 rible visitation of yellow fever. The 
 475
 
 Southern 1bumorist04 
 
 following year he was elected Pres 
 ident of Emory College, at which 
 place he remained nine years. For 
 the following six years he was Pres 
 ident of the University of Mississip 
 pi, which position he resigned to 
 devote himself to agricultural pur 
 suits. In 1857 he was elected Pres 
 ident of South Carolina College, lo 
 cated at Columbia, where he re 
 mained until just before the civil 
 war, when he returned to the pres 
 idency of the University of Missis 
 sippi. After the war he returned to 
 Oxford, Ga., and devoted himself 
 to books, largely to a study of the 
 Bible, with a view to the further 
 elucidation of that Book. He died 
 July 10, 1870, his faithful wife hav 
 ing passed away a little earlier. 
 
 As a member of the General Con 
 ference of 1844, Judge Longstreet 
 took a decided part in the debates 
 which produced the division. He 
 was always a believer in State 
 rights, and a zealous defender of 
 476
 
 Augustus 3Bal&w(n Xongstreet. 
 
 his own section. It was said he 
 could never be scared up without 
 a speech, and was equally ready to 
 respond to a serenade, preach a fu 
 neral sermon, or deliver a com 
 mencement address. The Methodist 
 Quarterly, the Southern Literary 
 Messenger, the Southern Field and 
 Fireside, as well as many other pe 
 riodicals, were enriched by his con 
 tributions. Among such contribu 
 tions were "Letters to Clergymen 
 of the Northern Methodist 
 Church," "Letters from Georgia to 
 Massachusetts," and articles upon 
 many other topics. In 1864 he pub 
 lished a novel, "Master William 
 Mitten." As intimated at the out 
 set, by far his best work is a se 
 ries of newspaper articles called 
 "Georgia Scenes," "Characters," 
 "Incidents in the First Half Centu 
 ry of the Republic by a Native 
 Georgian." The humor is broad, 
 but the fun is irresistible. "Geor 
 gia Scenes" will doubtless remain 
 477
 
 Soutbern fcumottsts. 
 
 at the head of the list of works of 
 that kind produced in the South be 
 fore the war. Hardly need the word 
 "South" be used, since this is prac 
 tically the pioneer work in the di 
 rection taken later by such as Bret 
 Hart, Mark Twain, and many oth 
 ers who have given America a rep 
 utation for the humorous repre 
 sentation of characters incident to 
 certain localities and certain stages 
 of civilization. In fact Mr. Clemens 
 himself, though credited to -the West 
 and North, is a Southerner in every 
 true sense of the word in birth, 
 inspiration, and a certain apt sense 
 of the ludicrous found in the south. 
 The Southerner in his days of lei 
 sure found time to take in and, on 
 occasion, reproduce all the comical 
 ities of the situation. Not only 
 that, but Mr. Clemens has done 
 some of his best work when he came 
 south for his material. 
 
 Mr. Longstreet began what an 
 other "native Georgian" took up 
 478
 
 Bugu0tus 3BaIDvvm Xongstreet. 
 
 with, if possible, a gentler and more 
 loving touch, and put forth with a 
 higher refinement of art of course 
 reference is made to Richard Mal 
 colm Johnston. "Georgia Scenes" 
 was first issued in book form in 
 1840, and again in 1867. In the 
 meantime the distinguished preach 
 er and dignified college president 
 had adjudged this work of his ear 
 lier years unworthy, and not only 
 refused to revise but had endeav 
 ored to procure and destroy the 
 copies already extant. Notwith 
 standing, an edition has been issued 
 in recent years, while every extend 
 ed treatise on American literature 
 embraces one or more selections 
 from the work thus discredited by 
 its author. 
 
 The barbecue is said to be a 
 Southern institution ; the same was 
 originally true of the camp meet 
 ing. "Stump speaking" by rival 
 candidates, or the representatives 
 of these candidates, has flourished 
 479
 
 Soutbern "fcumoriste* 
 
 in the South, perhaps, more than in 
 any other part of the world. The 
 "muster" was the occasion of im 
 mense crowds and much drinking, 
 "fist and skull" fighting, "horse 
 swapping," and public speaking. 
 Likewise the circuit and county 
 courts drew great crowds in which 
 similar pastimes were rife, while the 
 widespread custom of "swopping 
 work" by neighbors gave rise to 
 "corn-shuckings," "log-rollings," 
 "house -raisings," "wheat- thresh 
 ings," and similar workings with 
 some of which was associated the 
 quilting party, with its bevy of 
 girls. At all of these athletics 
 were much in evidence, and coarse 
 badinage with riotous jokes abound 
 ing in strokes of real humor, were 
 the order of the day or night. This 
 free and easy rollicking life of the 
 earlier days, with its grotesque char 
 acters, broad hilarity, and freedom 
 from restraint and care is repro 
 duced in these sketches by Judge 
 480
 
 Augustus JBalDwin Xongstreet, 
 
 Longstreet as nowhere else. The 
 work is more than historical, since 
 the people live again as it were be 
 fore our eyes. We do not read of, 
 but see the gander-pulling, the 
 fight, the "horse swap," or the 
 dance. Perhaps Johnston could 
 never have so faithfully portrayed 
 the "Georgia Crackers" had he not 
 taken up his abode in Baltimore, 
 and hence been impressed by the 
 contrasts. Judge Longstreet spent 
 part of his boyhood in the districts 
 of South Carolina, where society 
 was more conventional. Likewise 
 his stay in the East brought to him 
 more forcibly the fact that in the 
 newer settlements of Georgia he 
 was witness to facts and conditions 
 highly unique and destined to prove 
 transient. The desire to write no 
 philosophy can explain, but, having 
 that desire, he became par excel 
 lence the historian of a period which 
 would otherwise to a large extent 
 have been forgotten. Of the work 
 481
 
 Soutbern Tbumorlstg* 
 
 he writes in the preface to the first 
 edition : "They consist of nothing 
 more than fanciful combinations of 
 real incidents and characters ; and 
 throwing into those scenes, which 
 would be otherwise dull and insipid, 
 some personal incident or adven 
 ture of my own, real or imaginary, 
 as it would best suit my purpose; 
 usually real, but happening at dif 
 ferent times and under different cir 
 cumstances from those in which 
 they are here represented. I have 
 not always, however, taken this lib 
 erty. Some of the scenes are as lit 
 erally true as the frailties of mem 
 ory would allow them to be." The 
 table of contents enumerates eight 
 een of these sketches, but the "Lin 
 coln County Rehearsal," so often 
 copied into other books, introduces 
 the work without being included in 
 the index. This tells how the au 
 thor, in passing through a lonely 
 district, heard sounds as if of dead 
 ly conflict, and turned aside only to 
 482
 
 Su0ustus 3BalJ>wfn Xongstreet, 
 
 find a plowboy impersonating all 
 the characters of a courthouse fight. 
 Following this is "The Dance," a 
 truly characteristic affair; then 
 comes ''The Horse Swap/' in which 
 each jockey gets the best of the oth 
 er, to the great amusement of the 
 bystanders one horse having a 
 sore of unusual dimensions hidden 
 by the saddle, and the other being 
 both blind and, as the boy express 
 es it, "deef." 
 
 Judge Longstreet's sketches are 
 designated as humorous, but the 
 humor grows rather out of the sit 
 uation and characters than of an ob 
 vious purpose on the author's part 
 to portray these in a humorous 
 manner, yet the effect is such that 
 no doubt Ned Brace voices the 
 Judge's feelings in later years when, 
 after devoting his life to making 
 "game" of folks, he utters his con 
 victions : "Humor has been my be 
 setting sin from my youth up. It 
 has sunk me far below the station 
 483
 
 Soutbern Ibumorteto. 
 
 to which my native gifts entitled 
 me. It has robbed me of the re 
 spect of all my acquaintances, and, 
 what is much more to be regretted, 
 the esteem of some of my best and 
 most indulgent friends. All this I 
 have long known; and I have a 
 thousand times deplored, and as 
 often resolved to conquer, my self- 
 destroying propensity. But so 
 deeply is it wrought into my very 
 nature, so completely and indissol- 
 ubly interwoven is it with every 
 fiber and filament of my being, that 
 I have found it impossible for me 
 to subdue it." In sooth, Ned Brace, 
 "a native Georgian," is a rara avis. 
 "The Fights" between the bullies of 
 the upper and the lower battalions 
 was a necessary part of every well- 
 regulated muster. In this the busy 
 body, Ransy Sniffle, is broadly but 
 truly sketched. The old field school 
 would not have been complete with 
 out "The Turnout," in which the 
 teacher was to be made to "treat." 
 484
 
 Bugustus SSal&win Xongetreet. 
 
 "The Charming Creature as a Wife" 
 is truly pathetic as a history of 
 mismating, while the "Gander-Pul 
 ling," "The Ball," "The Debating 
 Society," "The Military Drill," "The 
 Turf," "The Fox Hunt," "The 
 Shooting Match," and other narra 
 tions are all that their names im 
 ply. Every one interested in the 
 true relation of backwoods scenes 
 will read the entire series of sketch 
 es. However, many of the best are 
 found in "Judge Longstreet : A Life 
 Sketch," by Bishop Fitzgerald. 
 485
 
 3osepb (5. 
 
 No man will get all out of life 
 there is for him until he has read 
 "Flush Times of Alabama and Mis 
 sissippi." As if to facilitate such in 
 tent, the book has recently been re- 
 published. The evident intention 
 of the author was to manufacture 
 fun, but he faithfully portrays a 
 passing phase of life as well. In 
 traveling around the judicial cir 
 cuits and staying together at vil 
 lage taverns and even country 
 houses lawyers learned to tell an 
 ecdotes and narrate racy incidents 
 with rare skill in fact, such verita 
 ble narratives were part of an at 
 torney's or politician's stock in 
 trade. Moreover, what was raciest 
 became widely diffused, and men 
 were put on their mettle to outdo 
 each other in "telling yarns," many 
 of which were enlargements upon 
 486
 
 . 3BaU>wfn. 
 
 actual occurrences. Little thought 
 of turning such material into litera 
 ture entered the minds of most of 
 those who between lawsuits regaled 
 their fellows with these veracious 
 narratives. An exception to this 
 was found in the case of Judge Jo 
 seph G. Baldwin, who was born in 
 Southern Alabama in 181 1, and died 
 at San Francisco, Cal., 1864. This 
 is the account given by Appleton, 
 though Miss Manly credits his 
 birthplace to Virginia, which is 
 probably correct. He was eminent 
 as a jurist and author while in Ala 
 bama, but became a judge of the 
 Supreme Court of California in 
 1857, and held the office until 1863, 
 when he became Chief Justice of 
 California, which position he held 
 for one year. 
 
 His published works were "Flush 
 Times in Alabama and Mississip 
 pi," 1853; "Party Leaders," 1854; 
 and a volume of "Humorous Legal 
 Sketches," published at San Fran- 
 487
 
 Soutbern "fcumorists* 
 
 Cisco in 1879. His "Party Leaders" 
 are papers on Jefferson, Hamilton, 
 Jackson, Clay, and John Randolph. 
 The "Flush Times" in part was first 
 contributed to the Southern Liter 
 ary Messenger. 
 
 In those flush times, when credit 
 was princely, and debts were paid 
 by making new promises, the reign 
 of such characters as Ovid Bolus, 
 Esq. was supreme. Baldwin's de 
 scription deserves reproduction : 
 
 "And what history of that halcyon 
 period ranging from the year of 
 grace 1835 to 1877 that golden 
 era when shinplasters were the sole 
 currency, when bank bills were 'as 
 thick as autumn leaves in Vallam- 
 brosa,' and credit was a franchise 
 what history of those times would 
 be complete that left out the name 
 of Ovid Bolus? As well write the 
 biography of Prince Hal and for 
 bear all mention of Falstaff. In 
 law phrase the thing would be a 
 'deed without a name,' and void, 
 488
 
 . 3BaU>wfn. 
 
 a most unpardonable casus omis- 
 sus. I cannot trace, for reasons the 
 sequel suggests, the early history, 
 much less the birthplace, pedigree, 
 and juvenile associations of this 
 worthy. Whence he or his for 
 bears got his name or how, I don't 
 know ; but for the fact that it is to 
 be inferred he got it in infancy, I 
 s'hould have thought he borrowed 
 it; he borrowed everything else he 
 ever had, such things as he got un 
 der the credit system only excepted. 
 In deference, however, to the ax 
 iom that there is some exception to 
 all general rules, I am willing to be 
 lieve that he got this much honest 
 ly, by bona fide gift or inheritance, 
 and without false pretense. I have 
 had a hard time of it in endeavor 
 ing to assign to Bolus his leading 
 vice. I have given up the task in 
 despair ; but I 'have essayed to des 
 ignate that one which gave him, in 
 the end, most celebrity. I am aware 
 that it is invidious to make com- 
 14 489
 
 Southern t)umori0t04 
 
 parisons, and to give preeminence 
 to one over other rival qualities and 
 gifts, where all have high claims to 
 distinction ; but then the stern jus 
 tice of criticism in this case requires 
 a discrimination which, to be intelli 
 gible and definite, must be relative 
 and comparative. I therefore take 
 the responsibility of saying, after 
 due reflection, that in my opinion 
 Bolus's reputation stood higher for 
 lying than for anything else, and 
 in thus assigning preeminence to 
 this poetic property I do it with 
 out any desire to derogate from oth 
 er brilliant characteristics belong 
 ing to the same general category 
 which have drawn the wondering 
 notice of the world. 
 
 "Some men are liars from inter 
 est ; not because they have no regard 
 for truth, but because they have less 
 regard for it than for gain. Some 
 are liars from vanity, because they 
 would rather be well thought of by 
 others than have reason for think- 
 490
 
 Josepb <5. 3BaK>win. 
 
 ing well of themselves. Some are 
 liars from a sort of necessity which 
 overbears, by the weight of tempta 
 tion, the sense of virtue. Some are 
 enticed away by the allurements of 
 pleasure or seduced by evil exam 
 ple and education. Bolus was none 
 of these : he belong to a higher de 
 partment of the fine arts, and to a 
 higher class of professors of this 
 sort of belles-lettres. Bolus was a 
 natural liar, just as some horses are 
 natural pacers and some dogs nat 
 ural setters. What he did in that 
 walk was from the irresistible 
 promptings of instinct and a disin 
 terested love of art. His genius and 
 his performances were free from the 
 vulgar alloy of interest or tempta 
 tion. Accordingly, he did not la 
 bor a lie : he lied with a relish ; he 
 lied with a coming appetite, grow 
 ing with what it fed on ; he lied from 
 the delight of invention and the 
 charm of fictitious narrative. It is 
 true he applied his art to the prac- 
 491
 
 Soutbern tmmorfsta* 
 
 tical purposes of life, but in so far 
 did he glory the more in it, just as 
 an ingenious machinist rejoices that 
 his invention, while it has honored 
 science, has also supplied a com 
 mon want. Bolus's lying came 
 from his greatness of soul and his 
 comprehensiveness of mind. His 
 genius for lying was encycloped 
 ical : it was what German criticism 
 calls many-sided. It embraced all 
 subjects without distinction or par 
 tiality. It was equally good upon 
 all, 'from grave to gay, from lively 
 to severe/ The truth was too small 
 for him. Fact was too dry and 
 commonplace for the fervor of his 
 genius. Besides, great was his 
 memory for he even remembered 
 the outlines of his chief lies his 
 invention was still larger. He had 
 a great contempt for history and 
 historians. He thought them tame 
 and timid cobblers, mere tinkers on 
 other people's wares simple par 
 rots and magpies of other men's 
 492
 
 Josepb <3. 33alJ)win. 
 
 sayings or doings ; borrowers of and 
 acknowledged debtors for others' 
 chattels, got without skill ; they had 
 no separate estate in their ideas. 
 They were bailies of goods, which 
 they did not pretend to hold by ad 
 verse title ; buriers of talents in nap 
 kins, making no usury ; barren and 
 unprofitable nonproducers in the 
 intellectual vineyard nail con 
 sumers fruges. He adopted a fact 
 occasionally to start with ; but, like 
 a Sheffield razor and the crude ore, 
 the workmanship, polish, and value 
 were all his own. A Thibet shawl 
 could as well be credited to the in 
 sensate goat that grew the wool as 
 the author of a fact Bolus honored 
 with his artistical skill could claim 
 to be the inventor of the story. His 
 experiments upon credulity, like 
 charity, began at home. He had 
 long torn down the partition wall 
 between his imagination and his 
 memory. He had long ceased to 
 distinguish between the impressions 
 493
 
 Southern Ibumoristgi 
 
 made upon his mind by what came 
 from it and what came to it. All 
 ideas were facts to him. . . . 
 Bolus's manner was, like every truly 
 great man's, his own. It was ex 
 cellent. He did not come blushing 
 up to a lie, as some otherwise very 
 passable liars do, as if he were mak 
 ing a mean compromise between 
 his guilty passion or morbid van 
 ity, and a struggling conscience. 
 Bolus had long since settled all dis 
 putes with his conscience. He and 
 it were on very good terms at 
 least, if there was no affection be 
 tween the couple, there was no fuss 
 in the family, or if there were any 
 scenes or angry passages they were 
 reserved for strict privacy, and nev 
 er got out. My own opinion is that 
 he was as destitute of the article as 
 an ostrich. Thus he came to his 
 work bravely, cheerfully, and com 
 posedly. The delights of composi 
 tion, invention, and narration did 
 not fluster his style or agitate his 
 494
 
 Sosepb G. 
 
 delivery. He knew how, in the tu 
 mult of passion, to assume the 'tem 
 perance to give it smoothness.' A 
 lie never ran away with him, as it 
 is apt to do with young performers. 
 He could always manage and guide 
 it ; and to have seen him fairly 
 mounted would have given you 
 some idea of the polished elegance 
 of D'Orsay and the superb menage 
 of Murat." 
 
 Judge Baldwin's descriptions are 
 often much to the point, as witness : 
 
 "The Major was a gentleman of 
 about fifty-five, of ruddy complex 
 ion, which he had got out of a jug 
 he kept under his bed of cold 
 nights, without acknowledging his 
 obligations for the loan ; about five 
 feet eight inches high and nearly 
 that much broad. Nature or acci 
 dent had shortened one leg, so that 
 he limped when he walked. His 
 eyes stood out and were streaked 
 like a boy's white alley, and he wore 
 a ruffled shirt the same, perhaps, 
 495
 
 Soutbcrn Ibumonste* 
 
 which he had worn on training days 
 in Georgia, but which did not 
 match very well with a yellow lin- 
 sey vest, and a pair of copperas- 
 colored jeans pantaloons he had 
 squeezed in the form of a crescent 
 over his protuberant paunch. On 
 the whole, he was a pretty good live 
 parody on an enormous goggle- 
 eyed sun perch." 
 
 Since he was a Virginian he could 
 appreciate the feelings of a son of 
 the Old Dominion in exile : 
 
 "The disposition to be proud and 
 vain of one's country, and to boast 
 of it, is a natural feeling, indulged 
 or not in respect to the pride, van 
 ity, and boasting, according to the 
 character of the native ; but with a 
 Virginian it is a passion. It inheres 
 in him even as the flavor of a York 
 River oyster in that bivalve, and no 
 distance of deportation, and no 
 trimmings of a gracious prosperity, 
 and no pickling in the sharp acids 
 of adversity, can destroy it. It is a 
 496
 
 6. JBalDwin. 
 
 part of the Virginia character just 
 as the flavor is a distinctive part 
 of the oyster 'which cannot, save 
 by annihilating, die.' It is no use 
 talking about it the thing may be 
 right or wrong : like FalstafFs vic 
 tims at Gadshill, it is past praying 
 for ; it is a sort of cocoa grass that 
 has got into the soil, and has so mat 
 ted over it and so fibered through 
 it as to have become a part of it 
 at least, there is no telling which is 
 the grass and which is the soil, and 
 certainly it is useless labor to try 
 to root it out. You may destroy 
 the soil, but you cannot root out the 
 grass. Patriotism with a Virginian 
 is a noun personal. It is the Vir 
 ginian himself and something over. 
 He loves Virginia per se and propter 
 se; he loves her for herself and for 
 himself because she is Virginia, 
 and everything else beside. He 
 loves to talk about her : out of the 
 abundance of the heart the mouth 
 speaketh. It makes no odds where 
 497
 
 Southern Ibumortets* 
 
 he goes, he carries Virginia with 
 him not in the entirety always; 
 but the little spot he came from is 
 Virginia, as Swedenborg says the 
 smallest part of the brain is an 
 abridgment of all of it. 'Caelum non 
 animum mutant qui trans mare cur- 
 runt' was made for a Virginian. He 
 never gets acclimated elsewhere; 
 he never loses citizenship to the old 
 home. The right of expatriation is 
 a pure abstraction to him. He may 
 breathe in Alabama, but he lives in 
 Virginia. His treasure is there, and 
 his heart also. If he looks at the 
 delta of the Mississippi, it reminds 
 him of James River 'low grounds ;' 
 if he sees the vast prairies of Tex 
 as, it is a memorial of the meadows 
 of the valley. Richmond is the cen 
 ter of attraction, the depot of all 
 that is grand, great, good, and glo 
 rious. 'It is the Kentucky of a 
 place/ which the preacher described 
 heaven to be to the Kentucky con 
 gregation." 
 
 498
 
 Joeepb 0. 3BaIJ>\v{n. 
 
 Of the state of the country, as a 
 resolution in Congress would say, 
 the following is Baldwin's graphic 
 account : 
 
 "The new country seemed to be 
 a reservoir, and every road leading 
 to it a vagrant stream of enterprise 
 and adventure. Money, or what 
 passed for money, was the only 
 cheap thing to be had. Every 
 cross-road and every avocation pre 
 sented an opening through which a 
 fortune was seen by the adventurer 
 in near perspective. Credit was a 
 thing of course. To refuse it, if the 
 thing was ever done, were an in 
 sult for which a Bowie knife was 
 not a too summary or exemplary 
 means of redress. The State 
 banks were issuing their bills by 
 the sheet, like a patent steam print 
 ing press its issues, and no other 
 showing was asked of the applicant 
 for the loan than an authentication 
 of his great distress for money. Fi 
 nance, even in its most exdusive 
 499
 
 Soutbern tmmortets* 
 
 quarter, had thus already got, in 
 this wonderful revolution, to work 
 upon the principles of the charity 
 hospital. If an overseer grew tired 
 of supervising a plantation and felt 
 a call to the mercantile life, even if 
 he omitted the compendious meth 
 od of buying out a merchant whole 
 sale, stock, house, and good will, 
 and laying down at once his bull 
 whip for the yardstick, all he had to 
 do was to go on to New York and 
 present himself in Pearl Street with 
 a letter avouching his citizenship 
 and a clean shirt, and he was regu 
 larly given a through ticket to 
 speedy bankruptcy. Under this 
 stimulating process prices rose like 
 smoke. Lots in obscure villages 
 were held at city prices ; lands 
 bought at the minimum cost of 
 government were sold at from thir 
 ty to forty dollars per acre, and 
 considered dirt cheap at that. In 
 short, the country had got to be a 
 full antetype of California, in all ex- 
 500
 
 cept the gold. Society was wholly 
 unorganized ; there was no restrain 
 ing public opinion; the law was 
 well-nigh powerless, and religion 
 scarcely was heard of except as fur 
 nishing the oaths and technics of 
 profanity. The world saw a fair ex 
 periment of what it would have been 
 if the fiat had never been pro 
 nounced which decreed subsistence 
 as the price of labor. Money, got 
 without work, by those unaccus 
 tomed to it turned the heads of its 
 possessors, and they spent it with 
 a recklessness like that with which 
 they gained it. The pursuits of in 
 dustry neglected, riot and coarse 
 debauchery filled up the vacant 
 hours." 
 
 Simon Suggs figures with both 
 Judge Baldwin and Mr. Hooper, 
 but it is the son in the case of Judge 
 Baldwin. Suggs, Jr., was a lawyer, 
 and we get a glimpse of his meth 
 ods: 
 
 "The fault of lawyers in prepar- 
 501
 
 Southern tmmorteta* 
 
 ing their cases was too generally a 
 dilatoriness of movement which 
 sometimes deferred until it was too 
 late the creating of the proper im 
 pression upon the minds of the jury. 
 This was not the fault of Col. 
 Suggs. He always took time by 
 the forelock. Instead of waiting to 
 create prejudices in the minds of 
 the jury until they were in the box, 
 or deferring until then the arts of 
 persuasion, he waited upon them 
 before they were empaneled, and 
 he always succeeded better at that 
 time, as they had not then received 
 an improper bias from the testi 
 mony. In a case of any importance, 
 he always managed to have his 
 friends in the court room, so that 
 when any of the jurors were chal 
 lenged he might have their places 
 filled by good men and true; and, 
 although this increased his expenses 
 considerably by a large annual bill 
 at the grocery, he never regretted 
 any expense either of time, labor, 
 502
 
 Josepb <5. 
 
 or money necessary to success in 
 his business. Such was his zeal for 
 his clients." 
 
 As to how Col. Suggs handled a 
 case, we see by noting a certain in 
 stance of his skill : 
 
 "The most difficult case Col. 
 Suggs ever had to manage was to 
 extricate a client from jail after 
 sentence of death had been passed 
 upon him. But difficulties, so far 
 from discouraging him, only had 
 the effect of stimulating his ener 
 gies. He procured the aid of a 
 young physician in the premises, 
 the prisoner was suddenly taken 
 ill, and the physician pronounced 
 the disease smallpox. The wife of 
 the prisoner, with true womanly 
 devotion, attended on him. The 
 prisoner after a few days was re 
 ported dead, and the doctor gave 
 out that it would be dangerous to 
 approach the corpse. A coffin was 
 brought into the jail, and the wife 
 was put into it by the physician, 
 503
 
 Soutbern f>umoriatd 
 
 she being enveloped in her hus 
 band's clothes. The coffin was put 
 in a cart and driven off, the hus 
 band, habited in the woman's ap 
 parel, following after, mourning 
 piteously until, getting out of the 
 village, he disappeared in the thick 
 et, where he found a horse pre 
 pared for him. The wife obstinate 
 ly refused to be buried in the hus 
 band's place when she got to the 
 grave, but the mistake was discov 
 ered too late for the recapture of 
 the prisoner." 
 
 504
 
 3obn0on 3one0 Iboopcr. 
 
 IN "Oddities in Southern Life 
 and Character," Col. Watterson 
 writes : 
 
 "Mr. Hooper was a most genial 
 and entertaining person, and the 
 central figure of a brilliant coterie 
 of writers and speakers. Of these, 
 S. S. Prentiss and George D. Pren 
 tice were the most conspicuous, 
 and they always regarded him and 
 spoke of him as their peer. He was 
 not, in public life, so aggressive as 
 they, and therefore he failed to leave 
 so deep a personal impress upon 
 his time. But he had both sense 
 and wit, and was very effective in 
 the party campaigns of the period. 
 His 'History of the Life and Ad 
 ventures of Capt. Simon Suggs, of 
 the Tallapoosa Volunteers/ may 
 be and, indeed, it is but a char 
 coal sketch. Yet in its way it is a 
 15 505
 
 Southern Dumorfst0 
 
 masterpiece. No one who is at all 
 familiar with the provincial life of 
 the South can fail to recognize the 
 'points' of this sharp and vulgar, 
 sunny and venal swashbuckler. 
 . . . It has often been stated 
 that Simon was taken from a real 
 personage by the name of Bird, and 
 the story goes that this individual 
 did on a certain occasion call Mr. 
 Hooper to account for making too 
 free with his lineaments and prac 
 tices. It may be so ; but the like 
 lihood is that the author in this 
 instance followed the example of 
 other writers of fiction, and drew 
 his hero from many scraps and odd 
 ends of individual character to be 
 encountered at the time in the 
 county towns and upon the rural 
 highways of the South. At all 
 events, Simon has survived the 
 ephemeral creations of contempo 
 rary humor, and is as fresh and 
 lively to-day as he was five and thir 
 ty years ago." 
 
 506
 
 Jobnson Jones Tbooper. 
 
 Mr. Hooper was born in North 
 Carolina in 1815, and grew up in 
 that State. When a young man he 
 moved to Alabama for the purpose 
 of practicing law. Notice how often 
 it has been the fact that those in the 
 South who attempted feats of lit 
 erature were also disciples of Black- 
 stone. In 1849 Mr. Hooper was 
 elected Solicitor of the Ninth Cir 
 cuit of Alabama, but at the end of 
 four years was defeated for the same 
 office, when he went to Montgom 
 ery and established the Mail, which 
 soon became the leading Whig 
 journal of the State. The Mail, 
 however, supported Breckinridge 
 in 1860, together with ultra-South 
 ern views. When the Provisional 
 Congress for the Southern States 
 met in Montgomery, in February, 
 1861, Mr. Hooper was elected Sec 
 retary of that body, and continued 
 to hold the office until the organi 
 zation of the two houses of Con 
 gress at Richmond, after the Con- 
 507
 
 Southern f>umorf8t04 
 
 federate government was formed 
 under the Constitution, when he was 
 defeated for Secretary of the Senate. 
 He never returned to Alabama, but 
 died at Richmond, in 1863, in the 
 prime of life. The following is 
 taken from Garrett's "Public Men 
 in Alabama :" 
 
 "The character of Mr. Hooper 
 was peculiarly marked. He first 
 edited the Whig, or some paper of 
 like politics, in East Alabama. His 
 articles giving the experience of a 
 census taker in 1840, when the old 
 women flourished their broomsticks 
 on being interrogated in regard to 
 their poultry, dairies, and 'garden 
 truck' were so humorous and nat 
 ural that they were copied into near 
 ly all the papers of the South, and 
 afforded general amusement. Then 
 followed 'Simon Suggs,' which was 
 a delineation of a character, bad 
 enough, no doubt, in the original, 
 but highly embellished and aggra 
 vated in the romance, with scenes, 
 508
 
 Jobnson 3one0 Iboopet. 
 
 occurrences, sentiments, and other 
 details of a cunning, unprincipled 
 man, whose art, in the perpetration 
 of fraud, was greatly assisted by the 
 cant and hypocrisy of a pretended 
 piety and Church membership. 
 This work was published by Messrs. 
 D. Appleton & Co., of New York, 
 and the volume had a very exten 
 sive circulation. Thousands and 
 tens of thousands of readers have 
 laughed over it and the grotesque 
 situations and characters intro 
 duced : but probably not one of 
 them all has had his reverence for 
 virtue increased by the perusal." 
 
 While Mr. Hooper gained celeb 
 rity as a humorist, he lost some 
 thing of a higher value in public 
 estimation. His own authority will 
 be here given for the effect : 
 
 In December, 1856, a Southern 
 commercial convention was held in 
 Savannah, to which Mr. Hooper 
 and other gentlemen from Alabama 
 were delegates. His arrival was 
 509
 
 Soutbern fmmortets* 
 
 announced in the city papers in 
 terms quite complimentary, as the 
 author of "Simon Suggs," that in 
 imitable production so popular 
 throughout the country. When the 
 convention met in the Athenaeum, 
 and while the mayor was in the 
 chair waiting for the committee to 
 report officers for permanent or 
 ganization, Judge John A. Jones, 
 of Georgia, himself a wag and hu 
 morist, formally moved, in the pres 
 ence of the six or eight hundred 
 delegates, that "Simon Suggs" be 
 called upon to give an account of 
 himself for the last two years. The 
 mayor, with great politeness, put 
 the question, and, on its being car 
 ried in the affirmative by a unan 
 imous vote, he requested "Mr. 
 Suggs," if present, to comply with 
 the expressed desire of the conven 
 tion. There sat Mr. Hooper in the 
 pit, wrapped in a green blanket 
 coat, near Albert Pike, of Arkansas, 
 as if overwhelmed by the pressure. 
 510
 
 Jobnson Jones Ibooper. 
 
 From the character which his writ 
 ings inspired, he was supposed by 
 everybody to be always ripe for a 
 frolic and for a roar of merriment, 
 and that he was good at telling sto 
 ries as in writing his droll descrip 
 tions, and thankful for the privi 
 lege. He stirred not an inch. More 
 than a thousand persons, in the gal 
 leries and elsewhere, were on the 
 tiptoe of expectation at hearing "Si 
 mon Suggs" deliver his convulsive 
 jokes. But the feast came not, 
 when the entrance of the committee 
 put an end to the embarrass memt of 
 Mr. Hooper. This call by Judge 
 Jones was referred to at the hotel, 
 in the presence of Mr. Hooper, as 
 an evidence of the popularity of the 
 latter, even out of his own State. 
 He replied that a liberty had been 
 taken with his name which was re 
 ally offensive, as showing that oth 
 ers looked upon him as a mere 
 story-teller, with nothing solid in 
 his composition. He confessed and 
 511
 
 Southern 
 
 regretted that his writings had es 
 tablished that character in public es 
 timation, and that he felt its de 
 pressing influence whenever he de 
 sired or aimed to soar above it to 
 a higher rank before the public. 
 His ambition had been to move in 
 quite a different channel, to enjoy 
 the respect of men, but he had un 
 fortunately obtained a reputation 
 which cut off all such hopes. It 
 was an evil day to his fortunes and 
 to his happiness when he embarked 
 in that class of literature, or other 
 wise became a chronic story-teller 
 for the diversion of his companions. 
 He said it was probably too late to 
 rectify the blunder, and that he must 
 continue to suffer the conse 
 quences. 
 
 As more than intimated, Mr. 
 Hooper has created, or perhaps dis 
 covered, in Capt. Suggs a charac 
 ter that will live at least in tradi 
 tion, if not in literature. The book 
 is out of print, but the exploits of 
 512
 
 5obnson Jones hooper. 
 
 the genial but shrewd and unprin 
 cipled Captain are still narrated. 
 Simon's father was a "hard-shell" 
 Baptist preacher, very severe in 
 his family government of son or 
 slave ; yet when the old man found 
 his son Simon and the black boy 
 Bill in a game of cards, Bill got the 
 beating, while under plea of dis 
 closing points of the game Simon 
 enticed his father and won from him 
 a certain pony, Bunch, and at the 
 same time obtained his freedom. 
 From that time as a gambler and 
 fraud of the first water his adven 
 turous career began. Often he was 
 flush, but oftener in hard luck. Ar- 
 temus Ward said of his kangaroo : 
 "He is an 'amoosin' cuss." Suggs 
 was always in a good humor, and 
 won the admiration in a way of 
 those he fleeced. Whether "fight 
 ing the tiger" and losing, or posing 
 as a free-handed, easy-going Ken 
 tucky gentleman borrowing money 
 and getting large credit, he ever 
 513
 
 Soutbern I>umorist0 
 
 beams with sunshine, and is the cen 
 tral figure of every crowd. In one 
 of his protracted seasons of hard 
 Juck he goes to a backwoods camp 
 meeting, and the outcome is true to 
 the characteristics of Capt. Suggs, 
 as witness the following account : 
 
 "The attention of many having 
 been directed to the Captain by the 
 preacher's remarks, he was soon 
 surrounded by numerous well- 
 meaning and doubtless very pious 
 persons, each one of whom seemed 
 bent on the application of his own 
 particular recipe for the salvation of 
 souls. For a long time the Captain 
 stood silent, or answered the inces 
 sant stream of exhortation only 
 with a sneer, but at length his coun 
 tenance began to give token of in 
 ward emotion. First, his eyelids 
 twitched ; then his upper lip quiv 
 ered ; next a transparent drop 
 formed on one of his eyelashes, and 
 a similar one on the tip of his nose ; 
 and at last a sudden bursting of air 
 514
 
 Sobnson Jones Ibooper. 
 
 from nose and mouth told that 
 Capt. Suggs was overpowered by 
 his emotion. At the moment of the 
 explosion he made a feint as if to 
 rush from the crowd ; but he was in 
 experienced hands, who well knew 
 that the battle was more than half 
 won. 'Hold to him/ said one. 'It's 
 a workin' in him as strong as a 
 Dick horse.' 'Pour it into him,' 
 said another; 'it'll all come right 
 directly.' 'That's the way I love to 
 see 'em do,' observed a third ; 'when 
 you begin to draw the water from 
 their eyes 'tain't gwine to be long 
 afore you'll have 'em on their 
 knees.' And so they clung to the 
 Captain manfully, and half 
 dragged, half led him to the mourn 
 er's bench, by which he threw him 
 self down, altogether unmanned and 
 bathed in tears. Great was the re 
 joicing of the brethren as they sang, 
 shouted, and prayed around him, 
 for by this time it had come to be 
 generally known that the 'oonvict- 
 515
 
 Soutbern t>umortet0* 
 
 ed' old man was Capt. Simon 
 Suggs, the very 'chief of sinners' 
 in all that region. The Captain re 
 mained groveling in the dust dur 
 ing the usual time, and gave vent 
 to even more than the requisite 
 number of sobs and groans and 
 heart-piercing cries. At length, 
 when the proper time had arrived, 
 he bounced up, and with a face ra 
 diant with joy commenced a series 
 of vaultings and tumblings which 
 'laid in the shade' all previous per 
 formances of the sort at that camp 
 meeting. The brethren were in ec 
 stasies at this demonstrative evi 
 dence of completion of the work; 
 and whenever Suggs shouted 'Glo- 
 ree !' at the top of his lungs, every 
 one of them shouted it back, until 
 the woods rang wi'th echoes. The 
 effervescent having partially sub 
 sided, Suggs was put upon his pins 
 to relate his experience, which he 
 did somewhat in this style, first 
 brushing the tear drops from his 
 516
 
 $obn0on Jones Ibooper. 
 
 eyes, and giving the end of his nose 
 a preparatory wring with his fin 
 gers to free it of the superabundant 
 moisture : 
 
 " 'Friends,' he said, 'it don't take 
 long to curry a short horse/ ac- 
 cordin' to the old sayin', and I'll 
 give you the perticklers of the 
 way I was "brought to a knowl 
 edge" ' here the Captain wiped his 
 eyes, brushed the tip of his nose, 
 and snuffled a little 'in less 'n no 
 time. ["Praise the Lord!" ejac 
 ulated a bystander.] You see I 
 come here full o' romancin' and 
 devilment, and jist to make game 
 of all the purceedin's. Well, sure 
 enough, I done so for some time, 
 and was a thinkin' how I should 
 play some trick ["Dear soul 
 alive, don't he talk sweet?" cried an 
 old lady in black silk. "Whar's John 
 Dobbs? You Sukey!" screaming 
 at a negro woman on the other side 
 of the square, "ef you don't hunt 
 up your Mas' John in a minute, and 
 517
 
 Soutbern tmmorists* 
 
 have him here to listen to his 'speri- 
 ence, I'll tuck you up when I git 
 home and give you a hundred and 
 fifty lashes, madam see ef I don't ! 
 Blessed Lord!" referring again to 
 the Captain's relation, "ain't it a 
 precious 'scourse?"] I was jist a- 
 thinkin' how I should play some 
 trick to turn it all into redecule 
 when they begun to come round me 
 and talk. 'Long at fust I didn't 
 mind it, but arter a little that broth 
 er [pointing to the reverend gentle 
 man who had so successfully car 
 ried the unbeliever through the Old 
 and New Testaments, and who, Si 
 mon was convinced, was the "big 
 dog of the tanyard"] that brother 
 spoke a word that struck me clean 
 to the heart and run all over me, 
 like fire in dry grass. ["I I I can 
 bring 'em!" cried the preacher al 
 luded to, in a tone of exultation. 
 "Lord, thou knows ef thy servant 
 can't stir 'em up nobody else need 
 not try; but the glory ain't mine. 
 518
 
 Jobnson Jones Ibooper. 
 
 I'm a poor wurrum of the dust," he 
 added with ill-managed affecta 
 tion.] And so from that I felt 
 somethin' a-pullin' me inside. 
 ["Grace ! grace ! nothin' but grace !" 
 exclaimed one, meaning that 
 "grace" had been operating in the 
 Captain's gastric region.] And 
 then/ continued Suggs, 'I wanted to 
 git off, but they hilt me, and bime- 
 by I felt so missuble I had to go 
 yonder [pointing to the mourner's 
 seat], 'and when I lay down thar 
 it got wuss and wuss, and 'peared 
 like somethin' was a mashin' down 
 on my back. ["That was his load 
 o' sin," said one of the brethren. 
 "Never mind ; it'll tumble off pres 
 ently; see ef it don't."]' And he 
 shook his head professionally and 
 knowingly." 
 
 According to the Captain's ac 
 count of the affair, it did tumble off. 
 He was the lion of the day could 
 pray longer and sing louder than 
 the oldest saint. Finally he wishes 
 519
 
 Southern fmmorists* 
 
 to turn missionary. The following 
 . is the account of the "collection" for 
 that purpose : 
 
 "Yes, breethring," said the Cap 
 tain, rising ito his feet, "I want to 
 start a little 'sociation close to me, 
 and I want you all to help. I'm 
 mighty poor myself, as poor as any 
 of you. Don't leave, breethring" 
 [observing that several of the well 
 to do were about to go off] , "don't 
 leave; ef you ain't able to afford 
 anything, jist give us your blessin', 
 an' it'll be all the same." This in 
 sinuation did the business, and the 
 sensitive individuals reseated them 
 selves. "It's mighty little of this 
 world's goods I've got," resumed 
 Suggs, pulling off his hat, and hold 
 ing it before him, "but I'll bury 
 that in the cause, anyhow," and he 
 deposited his last five-dollar bill in 
 the hat. There was a murmur of 
 approbation at the Captain's liber 
 ality throughout the assembly. 
 Suggs now commenced collecting, 
 520
 
 5obnson Jones l&oopet. 
 
 and very prudently attacked first 
 the gentlemen who had shown a 
 disposition to escape. These, to ex 
 culpate themselves from anything 
 like poverty, contributed hand 
 somely. "Look here, breethring," 
 said the Captain, displaying the 
 bank notes thus received, "Broth 
 er Snooks has drapt a five wi' me, 
 and Brother Snodgrass a ten. In 
 course 't ain't expected that you 
 that ain't so well off as them will 
 give as much ; let every one give ac- 
 cordin' to the'r means." This was 
 another chain-shot that raked as it 
 went. "Who so low" as not to be 
 able to contribute as much as 
 Snooks and Snodgrass? "Here's 
 all the small money I've got about 
 me," said a burly old fellow, osten 
 tatiously handing to Suggs, over 
 the heads of a half dozen, a ten 
 dollar bill. "That's what I call 
 magnanimous !" exclaimed the Cap 
 tain ; "that's the way every rich man 
 ought to do!" These examples 
 16 521
 
 Southern twmorists* 
 
 were followed more or less closely 
 by almost all present, for Simon had 
 excited the pride of purse of the 
 congregation, and a very handsome 
 sum was collected in a very short 
 time. The Rev. Mr. Bugg, as soon 
 as he observed that our hero had 
 obtained all that was to be had at 
 that time, went to him and inquired 
 what amount had been collected. 
 The Captain replied that it was still 
 uncounted, but that it couldn't be 
 much under a hundred. "Well, 
 Brother Suggs, you'd better count 
 it and turn it over to me now ; I'm 
 goin' to leave presently." "No," 
 said Suggs ; "can't do it." "Why? 
 what's the matter?" inquired Bugg. 
 "It's got to be prayed over fust," 
 said Simon, a heavenly smile illu 
 minating his whole face. "Well," 
 replied Bugg, "less go one side and 
 do it." "No," said Simon, solemn 
 ly. Mr. Bugg gave a look of in 
 quiry. "You see that krick 
 swamp?" asked Suggs. "I'm 
 522
 
 5obnson Jones ibooper. 
 
 gwine down in thar, and I'm gwine 
 to lay this money down so" (show 
 ing how he would place it on the 
 ground), "and I'm gwine to git on 
 these here knees" (slapping the 
 right one), "and I'm n-e-v-e-r 
 gwine to quit the grit ontwell I feel 
 it's got the blessin'. And nobody 
 ain't got to be thar but me !" 
 
 Mr. Bugg greatly admired the 
 Captain's fervent piety, and, bid 
 ding him godspeed, turned off. 
 Capt. Suggs "struck" for the 
 swamp sure enough, where his 
 horse was already hitched. "Ef 
 them fellers ain't done to a crack- 
 lin'/' he muttered to himself as he 
 mounted, "I'll never bet on two pair 
 ag'in. They're peart at the snap 
 game theyselves, but they're badly 
 lewed this hitch. Well, 'live and let 
 live' is a good old motter,and it's my 
 sentiments adzactly!" And giving 
 the spur to his horse, off he can 
 tered. 
 
 Mr. Hooper's book is at present 
 523
 
 Soutbern f>umortet0 
 
 inaccessible to the general reader, 
 hence larger selections have been 
 made than will be done in other 
 cases. Judge Longstreet was a 
 Democrat in politics, but it is 'to 
 be noted that Baldwin and Hooper 
 were both Whigs, but, unlike Col. 
 Crockett, their humor was not em 
 ployed to promote their political 
 views. 
 
 524
 
 TOilliam Gappan bomp- 
 son. 
 
 WHO has not heard of Maj. Jones 
 and his courtship of Miss Mary 
 Stallins? Who has not laughed 
 over the Christmas present which 
 he gave Miss Mary? In fact, Maj. 
 Jones is much better known than 
 his creator, Mr. Thompson. In this 
 justly famous courtship from the 
 very beginning "Barkis is willin'," 
 so far as both young people are con 
 cerned, and the old folks as well, and 
 the final result is assured. Yet the 
 advances made are so grotesque 
 and withal so natural and country 
 folks like that interest is maintained 
 until the consummation of shrewd 
 plans and joyous hopes in the happy 
 marriage which all saw was bound 
 to follow. Nor does interest lag 
 when the Major starts on his trav- 
 525
 
 Soutbern 
 
 els and visits the great cities, leav 
 ing the wife at home, however 
 much against his will, for Maj. 
 Jones and his Mary, contrary to the 
 custom of some, continued to be 
 sweethearts after marriage. 
 
 William Tappan Thompson was 
 born in Ravenna, Ohio, August 31. 
 1812. His father was a Virginian, 
 and his mother Irish. He lost his 
 mother at the age of eleven, when 
 his father removed to Philadelphia, 
 and soon after died. Young Thomp 
 son then entered the office of the 
 Philadelphia Chronicle, which place 
 he left to become Secretary to 
 James D. Westcott, Territorial Gov 
 ernor of Florida. He studied law, 
 but in 1835 became associated with 
 Judge Longstreet in editing the 
 State Rights Sentinel, published at 
 Augusta, Ga. He served in the 
 Seminole war, and in the autumn 
 of 1836 established at Augusta the 
 Mirror, 'the first purely literary pa 
 per attempted in the State. This, 
 526
 
 TOitllfam aappan Cbompson. 
 
 like most Southern ventures of the 
 kind, was merged in the Family 
 Companion, at Macon, whither Mr. 
 Thompson betook himself. 
 
 As editor of the Miscellany, at 
 Madison, he won his first reputa 
 tion by the "Major Jones Letters," 
 contributed to the paper. In 1845 
 he was at first associate, then sole 
 editor of the Western Continent, at 
 Baltimore, but afterwards went to 
 Savannah, Ga., and founded the 
 Morning News, with which he was 
 connected until his death, March 24, 
 1882. 
 
 In the civil war Mr. Thompson 
 was aid to Gov. Joseph Brown. He 
 was a delegate to the National 
 Democratic Convention in 1868, 
 and a member of the constitution 
 al convention in 1877. Some of his 
 editorials were bitter, but his life 
 was simple and genial. His liter 
 ary efforts are pure and of the kind 
 liest spirit. 
 
 "Major Jones's Courtship" was 
 527
 
 Southern Ibumortetg* 
 
 published in Philadelphia in 1840; 
 "Major Jones's Chronicles of Pine- 
 ville," in 1843; "Major Jones's 
 Sketches of Travel," in 1848 ; "The 
 Live Indian," a farce, and a dram 
 atization of the "Vicar of Wake- 
 field" were produced in this coun 
 try and abroad with success. He 
 also edited one of the State codes, 
 and after his death a daughter, Mrs. 
 Wade, published another collection 
 of his sketches under the title, 
 "John's Alive; or, The Bride of a 
 Ghost, and Other Sketches." Mr. 
 Thompson will live as Maj. Jones 
 and in his courting character rath 
 er than as a traveler. There is space 
 only for a few brief snatches as set 
 ting forth his style : 
 
 "You know the Stallinses lives on 
 the plantation in the summer, and 
 goes to town in the winter. Well, 
 Miss Mary Stallins, who, you know, 
 is the darlinest gal in the county, 
 come home tother day to see her 
 folks. You know, she's been to the 
 528
 
 TWWlfam ftappan abompson. 
 
 female college down to Macon for 
 most a year now. Before she went 
 she used to be jest as plain as a old 
 shoe, and used to go fishin' and 
 huckleberryin' with us, with noth- 
 in' but a calico sunbonnet on, and 
 was the wildest thing you ever seed. 
 Well I always used 'to have a sort 
 of a sneakin' notion after Mary 
 Stallins, and so when she come I 
 brushed up, and was 'termined to 
 have a right serious talk with her 
 about old matters, not knowing but 
 she mought be captivated by some 
 of them Macon fellers. Miss Mary 
 looked mighty sort o' reddish when 
 I shuck her hand and told her how 
 dy, and she made a sort of stoop 
 over and a dodge back, like the 
 little gals does to the schoolmarm, 
 and said : 'Good evening, Mr. 
 Jones.' (She used to always call me 
 jest Joe.) Well, we sot thar and 
 talked, and the way I spit was 'larm- 
 in' to the crickets. I axed Miss 
 Mary if she had any bows down 
 529
 
 Soutbern tmmoriste* 
 
 to Macon. 'O yes,' she said; and 
 then she went on and named over 
 Matthew Matix, Nat. Filosofy, Al. 
 Geber, Retric Stronomy, and a 
 whole heap of fellers, that she'd 
 been keepin' company with most 
 all her time. 'Wei/ ses I, 'I s'pose 
 they're mazin' pop'lar with you, 
 ain't they, Miss Mary?' for I felt 
 mighty oneasy, and begun to spit 
 a good deal worse. 'Yes,' ses she, 
 'they're the most interestin' com 
 panions I ever had, and I am anx 
 ious to resume their pleasant so 
 ciety.' I tell you what, that sort o' 
 stumped me, and I spit right slap 
 on the chunk, and made it 'flicker 
 and flare' like the mischief. It was 
 a good thing it did, for I blushed as 
 blue as a Ginny squash." 
 
 With various amusing and some 
 times embarrassing situations the 
 courtship progressed, the usual rival 
 appeared, and the corresponding ha 
 tred for such rival was felt, but the 
 case is always entertaining. Timid- 
 530
 
 William ftappan Cbompson, 
 
 ity thwarts his various efforts to 
 venture; upon the subject nearest his 
 heart, until fortune favors. This is 
 best told in his own language : 
 
 " 'Never mind/ ses Miss Mary, 
 'Majer's got to give me a C'ris'mus 
 gift won't you, Majer?' 'O. yes/ 
 ses I, 'you know I promised you 
 one/ 'But I didn't mean that/ ses 
 she. 'I've got one for you, what I 
 want you to keep all your life, but 
 it would take a two-bushel bag to 
 hold it/ ses I. 'O, that's the kind/ 
 ses she. 'But will you promise to 
 keep it as long as you live ?' ses I." 
 
 She promised, and sure enough 
 something was found to be in the 
 bag as it hung swayed by the bitter 
 ly cold wind. 
 
 "Bimeby they all come running 
 out on the porch. 'My goodness! 
 what is it?' ses Miss Mary. 'O, it's 
 alive !' ses Miss Kesiah. 'I seed it 
 move/ 'Call Cato, and make him 
 cut the rope/ ses Miss Carline, 'and 
 let's see what it is. Come here, 
 531
 
 Soutbern twmoristg* 
 
 Cato, and git this bag down.' 'Don't 
 hurt it for the world/ ses Miss 
 Mary. Cato untied the rope that 
 was round the jice and let the bag 
 down easy on the floor, and I 'turned 
 out, all covered with corn meal from 
 head to foot. 'Goodness gracious !' 
 ses Miss Mary, 'if it ain't the Majer 
 himself !' 'Yes,' ses I, 'an' you know 
 you promised to keep my C'ris'mus 
 present as long as you lived.' The 
 gals laughed themselves almost to 
 death, and went to brushin' off the 
 meal as fast as they could, sayin' 
 they was gwine to hang that bag 
 up every C'ris'mus till they got hus 
 bands too. Miss Mary (bless her 
 eyes !) she blushed as beautiful as 
 a morning-glory, and ses she'd 
 stick to her word. She was right 
 out of bed, and her hair wasn't 
 komed. and her dress wasn't fixed 
 at all, but the way she looked pretty 
 was real distractin'. I do believe if 
 I was froze stiff one look at her 
 sweet face, as she stood thar' look- 
 532
 
 William TTappan ITbompson. ;, 
 
 in' down to the floor with her 
 roguish eyes, and her bright curls 
 fallin' all over her snowy neck 
 would have fotched gae to. I tell 
 you what, it was worth hangin' in 
 a meal bag from one C'ris'mus to 
 another to feel as I have ever 
 sence." 
 
 533
 
 Col. Bavs Crockett. 
 
 "TRUTH is stranger than fiction," 
 says the adage, and it is verified 
 in the case of Col. Davy Crockett, 
 who fell among the last of the im 
 mortal band struck down at the 
 Alamo. No character in all Amer 
 ican fiction stands out in such life 
 like proportions as Col. Crockett, 
 and yet his adventures were real. 
 If courage and patriotism had not 
 made him famous, his unswerving 
 integrity, shrewd common sense, 
 and quaint humor would have per 
 petuated his name. Davy Crockett 
 was born in Greene County, Tenn., 
 August 17, 1786. Being brought 
 up as he was in a log cabin, he re 
 ceived little education, but early 
 became noted as an expert marks 
 man, trained in the lore of the for 
 est. He commanded a battalion of 
 rifles in the Creek campaign. He 
 534
 
 Colonel 2>ax>B Grocfcett. 
 
 lived for a time in Middle Tennes 
 see, but finally settled near the 
 Obion River, in West Tennessee. 
 
 Col. Crockett, after having served 
 in the Legislature, was elected to 
 Congress in 1827, and served two 
 terms. He was defeated for the 
 third term, but reflected later on. 
 He was a Jackson man at first, but, 
 like John Bell and many others, 
 disagreed with the national policy 
 of Old Hickory. So firm a stand 
 did he take that in a tour through 
 Northern cities great crowds turned 
 out to hear him arraign the admin 
 istration of Jackson. Crockett 
 picked up information rapidly, so 
 that if caught unawares upon any 
 point he sought information, and 
 was soon in position to speak ad 
 visedly upon the subject. His mot 
 to was "Go ahead," and he never 
 fell below his motto. In 1835 the 
 entire power of the administration 
 was put forth against him, and 
 Crockett was defeated for Congress 
 535
 
 Soutbem Tbumorists* 
 
 by a small majority. As he had 
 previously announced in case of 
 such event, he immediately set out 
 for Texas. His dauntless courage 
 at the Alamo is known to all the 
 world. Crockett gave out his 
 "Reminiscences" for publication 
 because others had invented adven 
 tures for him. Even now it is next 
 to impossible to determine the ve 
 racious from 'the fictitious, as al 
 most anything of a comical nature 
 which has happened to any one is 
 credited to Crockett. Eccentric 
 and unique he may have been, nev 
 ertheless his racy humor lifted him 
 out of the ordinary, and his cour 
 age and straightforward honesty 
 made him an honor to the State 
 which seemed to drive him into the 
 wilderness. 
 
 When his "Reminiscences" were 
 published he gave the following ac 
 count of the affair : 
 
 "I don't know of anything in my 
 book to be criticised on by honora- 
 536
 
 Colonel 2>avis Crockett. 
 
 Lie men. Is it on my spelling? 
 That's not my trade. Is it on my 
 grammar? I hadn't time to learn 
 it, and make no pretensions to it. 
 Is it on the order and arrangement 
 of my book? I never wrote one 
 before, and never read very many, 
 and of course know mighty little 
 about that. Will it be on the au 
 thorship of the book ? This I claim, 
 and I'll hang on to it like a wax 
 plaster. The whole book is my 
 own, and every sentiment and sen 
 tence in it. I would not be such 
 a fool, or knave either, as to deny 
 that I have had it hastily run over 
 by a friend or so, and that some 
 little alterations have been made in*, 
 the spelling and grammar; and I 
 am not so sure that it is not the 
 worse of even that, for I despise the 
 way of spelling contrary to nature. 
 And as for grammar, it's pretty 
 much a thing of nothing at last, 
 after all the fuss that's made aboil": 
 it. In some places I wouldn't suf- 
 17 537
 
 Soutbern 
 
 fer either the spelling, or grammar, 
 or anything else to be touched, and 
 therefore it will be found in my own 
 way." 
 
 A glimpse of Col. Crockett in 
 Philadelphia throws into bold re 
 lief the man as he was : 
 
 "Early after breakfast I was taken 
 to the waterworks, where I saw 
 several of the gentlemen managers. 
 This is a grand sight, and no won 
 der the Philadelphians ask every 
 one that comes : 'Have you seen the 
 waterworks?' Just think of a few 
 wheels throwing up more water 
 than five hundred thousand people 
 can use yes, and waste, too, for 
 such scrubbing of steps, and even 
 the very pavements under your feet, 
 I never saw. Indeed, I looked close 
 to see if the housemaids had not 
 web feet, they walked so well in 
 water; and as for a fire, it has no 
 chance at all. They just screw on 
 a long hollow leather with a brass 
 nose on it, dash upstairs, and seem 
 538
 
 Colonel BavE Crockett. 
 
 to draw on Noah's flood. The next 
 place I visited was the mint. Here 
 I saw them coining gold and silver 
 in abundance, and they were the 
 rale e pluribus unum; not this elec 
 tioneering trash, that they send out 
 to cheat the poor people, telling 
 them they would all be paid in gold 
 and silver, when the poor deceived 
 creatures had nothing coming to 
 them. A chip with a spit on the 
 back of it is as good currency as 
 an eagle, provided you can get the 
 image of the bird. It's all non 
 sense. The President, both Cabi 
 nets, and Congress to boot, can't 
 enact poor men into rich. Hard 
 knocks, and plenty of them, can 
 only build up a fellow's self." 
 
 The backwoods philosopher was 
 equally at home in New York : 
 
 "From thence I went to the City 
 Hall, and was introduced to the 
 mayor of the city and several of the 
 aldermen. The mayor is a plain, 
 common-sense looking man. I was 
 539
 
 Soutbern 1bumori0t04 
 
 told that he had been a tanner. 
 That pleased me, for I thought both 
 him and me had dumb up a long 
 way from where we started, and 
 it is truly as 'Honor and fame from 
 no condition rise,' that 'It's the grit 
 of a fellow that makes the man.' " 
 
 No one can read the life and au 
 tobiography of Crockett without 
 having a higher appreciation of one 
 of nature's noblemen. 
 540
 
 , (Beorae OTtiltam 
 
 IT is a. far cry from Davy Crock 
 ett to the genial and scholarly ed 
 itor of the Southern Literary Mes 
 senger, Dr. George William Bag- 
 by, who was par excellence the 
 Virginian humorist. In fact, his 
 humorous productions have a finer 
 literary quality than those of any 
 other Southerner. 
 
 Few of those who have recited, 
 or heard others recite, "How Ruby 
 Played," realize that the selection 
 in question was written south of 
 Mason and Dixon's line. 
 
 Dr. Bagby was born in the coun 
 ty of Buckingham, Va., August 13, 
 1828. He fought a battle with dys 
 pepsia all his life. His education 
 was attained partly at Princeton, N. 
 J., and partly at Newark, Del., un 
 der the tuition of Dr. John S. Hart, 
 541
 
 Soutbern fjumorista* 
 
 whose ''Manual of American Liter 
 ature" was the first to take anything 
 like adequate note of what the 
 South had attempted in literature. 
 At the close of the Sophomore year 
 young Bagby left college to study 
 medicine, taking his degree of M.D. 
 at the University of Pennsylvania. 
 His sign appeared at Lynchburg, 
 his father's home, though, like 
 Keats, he cared for literature more. 
 Local fame soon came to the new 
 contributor to local papers, and 
 early in the fifties we find him own 
 er and editor of the Express at 
 Lynchburg. This was a bright 
 journal, but closed its career in two 
 or three years. In the meantime 
 Dr. Bagby had written for Harper's 
 Magazine seveal articles which at 
 tracted attention. Soon after he be 
 came Washington correspondent of 
 the New Orleans Crescent, while at 
 the same time he contributed to a 
 variety of publications, including 
 the Atlantic Monthly and SoutJiern 
 542
 
 2Jr. George IIBUUiam 
 
 Literary Messenger. In the latter 
 periodical he first made a popular 
 and lasting impression as a humor 
 ist of fresh and rare powers. Slangy 
 but fresh as morning dew in May 
 were "Letters of MJozis Addums to 
 Billy Evans, of Kurdsville," in 
 which the sights and wonders of a 
 large city are described by a rustic 
 writer to a rustic reader. The suc 
 cess of these efforts naturally point 
 ed to him as the successor of John 
 R. Thompson, whose failing health 
 demanded a change. 
 
 Dr. Bagby took editorial charge 
 of the Messenger in 1860, when ev 
 ery wind blew war and not litera 
 ture. During the war he was Rich 
 mond correspondent of a large 
 number of Southern papers, and at 
 the close, in consequence of a partial 
 failure of eyesight, he took the lec 
 ture field. In 1863 he was married 
 to Miss Park Ohamberlayne, of 
 Richmond, hence must have a pro 
 fession. New York became the 
 543
 
 Soutbern Tbumorista* 
 
 center of his operations in 1865. 
 Some of his lectures, such as "Ba 
 con and Greens," "The Disease 
 Called Love," and "Womenfolks," 
 attained great success, but when he 
 essayed "The Virginian Negro" the 
 Nofth was not then ready to learn 
 the truth. He returned South and 
 became editor of the Native Vir 
 ginian, published at Orange Court 
 house. In 1869 he became State 
 Librarian of Virginia for a time. 
 About this time he wrote "Meek- 
 inses' Twinses," which equaled 
 "Mozis Addums" in popularity, and 
 "Rubenstein at the Piano," which 
 has gone into almost every collec 
 tion of recitations. His articles and 
 sketches continued until he passed 
 away, in 1883. In 1^84 his wife pub 
 lished "Selections from His Writ 
 ings" in two volumes, written in 
 high literary art, though Dr. Bagby 
 is said to have created a style pe 
 culiarly his own. Genuine humor, 
 as well as sound philosophy, 
 544
 
 Dr. CSeorge William 
 
 abounds. Brief selections would 
 be rank injustice. The ''Old Vir 
 ginia Gentleman" is characteristic 
 both of subject and writer, since he 
 himself was one of the truest ex 
 emplars of that type. "There is no 
 man left in Virginia fit to lift the lid 
 of his inkstand," wrote Dr. Lafferty. 
 "Never in Virginia letters shall we 
 see his like again," wrote John Es- 
 ten Cooke. 
 
 545
 
 ABOUT the close of the civil war, 
 while Southern people were faint 
 under the weight of grief and woe, 
 a voice began to chirp a cheerier 
 note, even when treating of war 
 and reconstructive topics, and 
 smiles returned here and there in 
 stead of tears. The "Country Phi 
 losopher" was known as Bill Arp. 
 His war articles were collected later 
 on under the title, "A Side View of 
 the Other Side of the Question." 
 This collection, brimful of humor 
 and good cheer, as well as philos 
 ophy, was very distinctly Southern, 
 but did not preach that all was lost. 
 In time Bill Arp was identified as 
 Col. C. H. Smith, of Georgia, who 
 continues to dispense fun and good 
 advice to his fellow-countrymen. 
 
 Soon after the war the pseudonym 
 546
 
 Gbarles f>enn> Smitb an& tbers. 
 
 Sut Lovingood became quite famil 
 iar in newspaper circles, particularly 
 in the latitude of Tennessee. His 
 sketches, coarse as they were, came 
 to be much sought after. Some of 
 his situations are comical, but the 
 book in which they were finally col 
 lected will hardly prove immortal. 
 The author was GEORGE W. HAR 
 RIS, an East Tennesseean, said to 
 have been very somber and quiet. 
 
 In Col. Watterson's admirable 
 collection he names among news 
 paper wits GEORGE D. PRENTICE as 
 chief, of course, then follows JOHN 
 E. HATCHER, who wrote under the 
 name of G. Washington Bricks. 
 Mr. Hatcher was a brilliant para- 
 grapher, and became more neces 
 sary to the paper as Mr. Prentice 
 grew older. John Happy was Mr. 
 ALBERT ROBERTS, of Nashville. 
 His utterances during the war were 
 bright flashes to illumine the dreary 
 hours of camp life. There is a ten 
 dency to burlesque in the Southern 
 547
 
 Soutbccn 1>umorlst0 
 
 character, to make the most of a 
 disagreeable situation in fact, to 
 treat misfortune as a joke unless the 
 tragedy be too real. Many pages 
 have been filled with the comical 
 sayings of "Johnny Reb," uttered 
 some of them in the darkest days of 
 the Confederacy, when "unmerci 
 ful disaster followed fast and fol 
 lowed faster." 
 
 The complaint was made against 
 Poe that he lacked humor, but no 
 such charge can be sustained 
 against Southern writers of recent 
 date. The most delicate touches of 
 humor, as well as the fun of the 
 "laugh and grow fat" kind, abound 
 in the pages of Uncle Remus, 
 Thomas Nelson Page, Mrs. Ruth 
 McEnery Stuart, Miss Frances 
 Courtney Baylor in fact, in larger 
 or smaller degree in all the post 
 helium writers who have succeeded 
 in large manner in turning in their 
 direction the eyes of the English- 
 speaking world. 
 
 548
 
 political TOriters anb 
 Ibistorians. 
 
 O great crises produce great 
 men, or do men of inherent 
 
 greatness coming in groups 
 lift their age out of the ordinary limit 
 and range of events ? This is an old 
 question. There are manifold good 
 men whose prayer is for unity of be 
 lief and uniformity of civil institu 
 tions as being the state most condu 
 cive to the development of the race ; 
 there are others who believe that 
 amid the lashings of mental and 
 moral conflict, and the howlings of 
 political storms yea, amid the thun 
 dering guns of revolution the hu 
 man mind awakes from its lassitude, 
 breaks from its fetters, and soars to 
 the lofty realms of genius. Be this 
 as it may, great occasions and great 
 549
 
 political "Udriters an& IMstorians. 
 
 men join hands and together walk 
 over the earth. There have been 
 great commanders in all great wars. 
 When a Philip has sought to over 
 throw liberty, a Demosthenes has 
 appeared, when a Catiline would 
 destroy his country, a Cicero has 
 thundered from the forum ; when a 
 tyrant would oppress a struggling 
 people, a Patrick Henry has not 
 been wanting. Political eloquence 
 has often been the thunder which 
 has frightened oppressors, but the 
 lightnings which these thunders 
 have voiced have been the silent 
 products from the pens of political 
 philosophers the Miltons and 
 Rousseaus recluses who have di 
 rected the trend of human opinion 
 and molded systems of political 
 principles working alone far from 
 the storm-torn whirl of strife and 
 passion. The letters of James Otis 
 and Samuel Adams immediately 
 prior to the American Revolution 
 550
 
 political Writers anD Distorians. 
 
 prepared the way in New England 
 for the eloquence of John Adams, 
 the string of resolutions from the 
 pen of Patrick Henry meant more 
 to the excited but hesitating colo 
 nies than the fiery speech which per 
 haps in its exact verbiage has nev 
 er been correctly reported. There 
 were no shorthand reporters to 
 take down the naming orations of 
 patriot orators, but reports were 
 made from memory often long after 
 the occasion which called forth the 
 effort. During the exciting period 
 preceding the Revolution political 
 letters, newspaper articles, and po 
 litical pamphlets were abundant. 
 Many of these were anonymous, de 
 pending alone on arguments to 
 give them force, but others were 
 signed by their authors, often men 
 of the greatest prominence. 
 
 An official document of highest 
 importance which has excited much 
 comment on account of its resem- 
 551
 
 political "Gdriters anfc tMstorians. 
 
 blance to the Declaration of Inde 
 pendence was the Mecklenburg 
 Declaration adopted by Mecklen 
 burg County, N. C, May 20, 1775, 
 more than a year before Richard 
 Henry Lee, of Virginia, moved in 
 Congress to declare the colonies 
 free. The Mecklenburg document 
 was not widely published at the 
 time, hence there have been histo 
 rians who denied its existence, but 
 hardly any such are found after the 
 investigation of the last few dec 
 ades. 
 
 A little earlier than Jefferson's 
 immortal paper was George Ma 
 son's Bill of Rights. From an ar 
 ticle in the Southern Bivouac of Au 
 gust, 1885, the following is taken : 
 "May 15, 1776, a committee, in 
 cluding Mr. Mason, having been 
 appointed to draw up a bill of rights 
 and a constitution for the State of 
 Virginia, George Mason, Mr. Mad 
 ison declares, as if by tacit consent 
 552
 
 political Writers an> Ibistorians. 
 
 of the men who formed that com 
 mittee, at once took the lead and 
 drew up the Bill of Rights, which, 
 with immaterial alterations, was 
 adopted. He wa's also, continues 
 Mr. Madison, the author and mas 
 ter builder of the Constitution, be 
 ing thus the main architect of the 
 first form of government perfected 
 in America." 
 
 George Mason is less known than 
 other leaders of his time, but then 
 he shunned rather than courted po 
 litical office. Again quoting from 
 the Bivouac: "The Bill of Rights, 
 and original Constitution of the 
 State of Virginia constitute the first 
 written form of government ever 
 adopted by a free people. A model 
 was thus presented, more or less 
 closely followed by the other States, 
 and largely used in the construc 
 tion of the original form of the 
 Constitution of the United States. 
 George Mason, of Gunston Hall, 
 18 553
 
 political tCirlters and tbistorians. 
 
 commonly known to his contempo 
 raries as Colonel Mason, was the 
 author of those remarkable papers 
 which were long attributed, even in 
 Virginia, to the pen of Mr. Jeffer 
 son. The name and fame of George 
 Mason are well known to students 
 and scholars, but to the people they 
 are almost unknown. 
 George Mason, the statesman, was 
 born in Stafford County, Va., in the 
 year 1725. He was married on the 
 4th day of April, 1750, to Ann Eil- 
 beck, daughter of William Eilbeck, 
 of Charles County, Md. In the 
 year 1755 he built the mansion of 
 Gunston Hall, and there estab 
 lished his home ; there, in the year 
 1790, he died and was buried be 
 side his wife, who had preceded him 
 to the final rest." 
 
 It is perhaps too much to say 
 
 this was the first written form of 
 
 government ever adopted by a free 
 
 people, as attention has been called 
 
 554
 
 political TuHritcrs and Historians. 
 
 to the fact that New Hampshire 
 adopted a written constitution six 
 months earlier and that South Car 
 olina adopted a written constitution 
 March 26, 1776, while two days aft 
 er the adjournment of the Virginia 
 Convention New Jersey adopted 
 the Constitution which continued in 
 vogue until 1844. This does not 
 detract from the merits of the Bill 
 of Rights and Virginia Constitu 
 tion, but shows that a common im 
 pulse moved people widely scat 
 tered that the Constitution idea 
 was rife in the air, as it were. Much 
 of this impulse is to be traced in 
 origin to the English revolution of 
 1688 and the attendant resolutions 
 in Parliament. But of the Virgin 
 ian preeminence in these times there 
 can be no doubt. Henry Adams, 
 the New England historian, ranks 
 "the severe beauty of George Ma 
 son's Virginia Bill of Rights" with 
 Jefferson's Declaration of Inde- 
 555
 
 political TRUtitetd an& Historians. 
 
 pendence and the unrivaled legal 
 opinions of Chief Justice John Mar 
 shall. 
 
 Prior to writing the Bill of Rights 
 Mr. Mason had drawn up what is 
 known as the Fairfax Resolutions. 
 These were a dignified but earnest 
 protest against the aggressions of 
 the crown adopted July 17, 1774, by 
 the freeholders of Fairfax Coun 
 ty assembled at the courthouse, 
 George Washington in the chair. 
 These resolutions, according to 
 Mr. Madison, became the nucleus of 
 the Declaration, however, Mr. Pen- 
 dleton was chairman of the com 
 mittee which brought forward the 
 resolutions and may have taken 
 part in their authorship. Mr. Ma 
 son's home was near that of Wash 
 ington and was a sort of political 
 headquarters to which many public 
 men came, Washington among the 
 number, until such time as he and 
 Mason became estranged. At a 
 556
 
 political Writers an& fbistorians. 
 
 later period Washington was sup 
 posed to lean to the federalistic view 
 of government ; while Mr. M'ason, 
 aided by his friend and coadjutor, 
 Patrick Henry, prepared the way 
 for the triumph of State rights 
 ideas in the elevation of Thomas 
 Jefferson to the presidency. Mr. 
 Mason was a member of the Con 
 stitutional Convention of 1787, and 
 became the author, expounder, and 
 defender of the doctrine of State 
 rights within the Union. When 
 he came to believe these in danger 
 of absorption by the Federal Gov 
 ernment under the new Constitu 
 tion, he withdrew from the Conven 
 tion and joined with Mr. Henry in 
 opposing its adoption by the State 
 of Virginia. Prior to this time other 
 public service of far-reaching conse 
 quence had been accomplished by 
 this patriot. Virginia originally 
 owned most of the Northwestern 
 Territory, from which several im- 
 557
 
 political Writers ano historians. 
 
 portant States have been carved. In 
 1781 a storm arose which threat 
 ened to ingulf the new nation in 
 civil war. Col. Mason came for 
 ward pleading the cause of harmony, 
 and outlined the plan by which this 
 territory was finally ceded to the 
 general government and harmony 
 restored. Though Mr. Mason re 
 fused to sign the Federal Consti 
 tution, nevertheless he was effective 
 in shaping certain portions of the 
 instrument, as for instance the 
 power to coerce and punish a State 
 opposing its will, so freely exercised 
 by the Federal Government in the 
 sixties, was expressly left out of the 
 Constitution by the influence of Col. 
 Mason. In another matter he failed. 
 He foresaw the danger froni pres 
 idential patronage, and wished to 
 limit that official to a single term of 
 seven years with limited patronage. 
 558
 
 Gbomas Jefferson. 
 
 SOME one has said : ''All the tru 
 ly great thinkers of the world can 
 be counted on the fingers of one 
 hand, but Thomas Jefferson is one 
 of the number." The Lives of Jef 
 ferson are manifold and of easy ac 
 cess, hence this sketch will be brief, 
 but mention must be made of the 
 fact that his political writings bet 
 ter his political philosophy occupy 
 several volumes. As to Jefferson 
 and the early influences which 
 wrought upon him, no better ac 
 count can be given than that of 
 Judge J. G. Baldwin : 
 
 "Thomas Jefferson was born on 
 the 2d day of April, 1703 (O. S.), at 
 Shadwell, in the county of Alber- 
 marle, in the State of Virginia. If, 
 as some suppose, the characters of 
 men are modified by the physical 
 559
 
 political Writers anD t>iatorian0. 
 
 scenery around them as they grow 
 up to manhood, Jefferson was for 
 tunate in the home of his youth ; for 
 it is difficult to conceive of a land 
 scape more beautiful and romantic 
 than that which greeted his youth 
 ful vision. ... In his seven 
 teenth year Jefferson was sent to 
 William and Mary College, at that 
 time, and for many years subse 
 quently, the most approved institu 
 tion of letters in the State ; in whose 
 venerable halls so many of the most 
 eminent sons of that honored com 
 monwealth were furnished forth 
 with the first preparation for the 
 distinguished parts they played in 
 later life. 
 
 "It was in his twenty-third year, 
 while a student of law at Williams- 
 burg, under the pure and learned 
 Wythe, that Jefferson heard Pat 
 rick Henry, in the House of Bur 
 gesses, declaiming against the 
 Stamp Act. For a young man to 
 560
 
 Cbomas Jefferson. 
 
 hear Henry and to adopt his cause, 
 were the same thing; for the great 
 orator spoke under the double in 
 spiration of eloquence and liberty. 
 Henry was in the prime of his pow 
 ers, and this speech was one of the 
 greatest of his life. The scene then 
 enacted was worthy of the historic 
 pencil ; the orator, kindling with the 
 fire of Ezekiel, and pouring forth 
 from his impassioned soul, aflame 
 with liberty, the thoughts so long 
 imprisoned and burning for utter 
 ance in the solitude of the forest; 
 quelling opposition ; cowing the 
 bold by greater boldness ; inspirit 
 ing the timid; and pleading the 
 cause of his countrymen with a 
 rapt enthusiasm akin to inspiration ; 
 his voice swelling out its thunder 
 tones, his form dilated, and his 
 countenance transfigured. And 
 then the young auditor in the lobby, 
 strangely thrilling and carried away 
 captive by the new influence throb- 
 561
 
 political Writers an& historians. 
 
 bing in his heart and firing his 
 brain ; that stranger, a rude, unfash- 
 ioned youth then, but predestinated 
 to be, and receiving then the im 
 pulse which was to make him one 
 of the most effective of all the 
 champions of freedom in the world. 
 It is barely too extravagant a figure 
 to say that the neophyte votary was 
 thus baptized to liberty in the fire 
 and the flood of Henry's eloquence. 
 We pass rapidly over other pas 
 sages in the life of Jefferson ; his 
 election, in 1769, by the people of 
 his county to a seat in the Legisla 
 ture, which he held to the time of 
 the revolution, and signalized by 
 his unsuccessful proposition for the 
 emancipation of the slaves of the 
 State ; his appointment as member 
 of the Correspondence Committee 
 established by the colonial Legis 
 lature; his address to the king, in 
 1774, so commended by Burke, vin- 
 562
 
 ttbomas 3effet0on. 
 
 dicating the claims of the colonies ; 
 and his election, in 1775, as one of 
 the delegates of Virginia to the Con 
 tinental Congress. And now dis 
 content had grown into agitation, 
 and agitation had passed to the 
 verge of revolution. The colonies 
 were ripe for open revolt; indeed, 
 the field had been taken in Massa 
 chusetts, and the first blood of the 
 war shed. Mighty events were on 
 the wing. The country stood still 
 and silent, as men stand on the eve 
 of a great explosion. The crisis had 
 come when the work of a moment 
 controls the events of centuries, and 
 tells the destiny of millions. The 
 crisis was boldly met, and the ven 
 ture boldly taken. It fell to the task 
 of Jefferson to announce the deci 
 sion to the world, and to appeal to 
 that world in vindication of its jus 
 tice. No hope was left of concilia 
 tion, and no chance of retreat ; and 
 the Declaration rang out its burn- 
 563
 
 political Writers anfc fMstorians. 
 
 ing word of defiance and resolute 
 resistance. The country answered 
 back with shouts and huzzas." 
 
 While Jefferson was at antipodes 
 totheFederalistic ideas of Hamilton, 
 and more than any other was father 
 to the political system of the rule 
 of the people by the people them 
 selves, and gave his pen untiringly 
 to its promulgation and his influ 
 ence to its enforcement, yet the 
 great master piece of his production 
 was the Declaration of Independ 
 ence. While it breathes forth the 
 aroma of liberty astir in the air at 
 the time, it nevertheless is instinct 
 with the personality of Jefferson. 
 More than this, its portents, like the 
 messages of the old prophets, were 
 for the ages beyond the dreams of 
 him who gave it utterance. Many 
 things led to the state of public feel 
 ing which gave birth to the Dec 
 laration, Tom Paine's "Common 
 Sense" having been one of the agents 
 564
 
 Cbomas Jefferson. 
 
 in stirring the minds of the. people. 
 But among the most cogent reasons 
 for taking the step was the fact that, 
 for many of the colonies, Henry's 
 alternative liberty or death was in 
 evitable. Morse, in his "Thomas 
 Jefferson," says : 
 
 "It was time to transmute him 
 from a rebel into a foreigner. 
 Nor had the members of Con 
 gress any chance of escaping the 
 hangman's rope unless this al 
 teration could be accomplished for 
 all the colonists. For all prominent 
 men, alike in military and in civil 
 life, it was now independence o^ de 
 struction. 
 
 "Virginia instructed her delegates 
 to move that Congress should de 
 clare 'the United Colonies free and 
 independent States,' and on June 7 
 Richard Henry Lee offered resolu 
 tions accordingly. In debate upon 
 these on June 8 and 10, it appeared, 
 says Jefferson, that certain of the 
 B 565
 
 political Writers anO t>istorfans. 
 
 colonies 'were not yet matured for 
 falling from the parent stem, but 
 that they were fast advancing to 
 that state.' To give the laggards 
 time to catch up with the vanguard, 
 further discussion was postponed 
 until July i. But to prevent loss of 
 time when debate should be re 
 sumed, Congress, on June n, ap 
 pointed a committee charged to pre 
 pare a Declaration of Independence, 
 so that it might be ready at once 
 when it should be wanted. The 
 members, in the order of choice by 
 ballot, were : Thomas Jefferson, 
 John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, 
 Roger Sherman, and Robert R. 
 Livingstone. For the last hundred 
 years one of the first facts taught to 
 any child of American birth is, that 
 Jefferson wrote the Declaration of 
 Independence. The original draft 
 shows two or three trifling altera 
 tions, interlined in the handwritings 
 of Franklin and Adams. Otherwise 
 566
 
 Cbomas Jefferson. 
 
 it came before Congress precisely 
 as Jefferson wrote it. Many years 
 afterwards John Adams gave an ac 
 count of the way in which Jefferson 
 came to be the composer of this 
 momentous document, differing 
 slightly from the story told by Jef 
 ferson. But the variance is imma 
 terial, hardly greater than any expe 
 rienced lawyer would expect to find 
 between the testimony of two hon 
 est witnesses to any transaction, 
 especially when given after the lapse 
 of many years, and when one at 
 least had no memoranda for refresh 
 ing his memory. Jefferson's state 
 ment seems the better entitled to 
 credit, and what little corroboration 
 is to be obtained for either narrator 
 is wholly in his favor. He says sim 
 ply that when the committee came 
 together he was pressed by his col 
 leagues unanimously to undertake 
 the draft ; that he did so ; that, when 
 he had prepared it, he submitted it 
 567
 
 political Writers an> Distcrians. 
 
 to Dr. Franklin and Mr. A darns, 
 separately, requesting their correc 
 tions, 'which were two or three 
 only, and merely verbal/ 'interlined 
 in their own handwritings;' that 
 the report in this shape was adopted 
 by the committee, and a 'fair copy/ 
 written out by Mr. Jefferson, was 
 then laid before Congress." 
 
 As to how Jefferson came to write 
 the Declaration there has been 
 much discussion. He had previ 
 ously drawn up two papers in com 
 mittee, one of which was accepted 
 without change, the other being re 
 written by another hand. In re 
 gard to the choice of Jefferson for 
 the honor, Morse says : "A some 
 what more interesting discussion 
 concerns the question, how Jeffer 
 son came to be named first on the 
 committee, to the entire exclusion 
 of Lee, to whom, as mover of the 
 resolution, parliamentary etiquette 
 would have assigned the chairman- 
 568
 
 ftbomas Jefferson, 
 
 ship. Many explanations have been 
 given, of which some at least appear 
 the outgrowth of personal likings 
 and dislikings. It is certain that 
 Jefferson was not only preeminently 
 fitted for the very difficult task of 
 this peculiar composition, but also 
 that he was a man without an ene 
 my. His abstinence from any ac 
 tive share in debate had saved him 
 from giving irritation ; and it is a 
 truth not to be concealed, that there 
 were cabals, bickerings, heart 
 burnings, perhaps actual enmities,, 
 among the members of that famous 
 body, which, grandly as it looms up, 
 and rightly too, in the mind's eye, 
 was after all composed of jarring 
 human ingredients. It was well be 
 lieved that there was a faction op 
 posed to Washington, and it was 
 generally suspected that irascible, 
 vain, and jealous John Adams, then 
 just rising from the ranks of the 
 people, made in this matter com- 
 19 569
 
 political Writers an& tbistorians. 
 
 mon cause with the aristocratic Vir 
 ginian Lees against their fellow- 
 countryman. Adams frankly says 
 that he himself was very unpopu 
 lar; and therefore it did not help 
 Lee to be his friend. Furthermore, 
 the anti-Washingtonians were rath 
 er a clique or faction than a party, 
 and were greatly outnumbered. 
 Jay, too, had his little private pique 
 against Lee. So it is likely enough 
 that a timely illness of Lee's wife 
 was a fortunate excuse for passing 
 him by, and that partly by reason of 
 admitted aptitude, partly because 
 no risk could be run of any inter 
 ference of personal feelings in so 
 weighty a matter, Jefferson was 
 placed first on the committee, with 
 the natural result of doing the bulk 
 of its labor." 
 
 This Declaration was not meant, 
 
 as Mr. Jefferson says, "to invent 
 
 new ideas altogether, and to offer 
 
 no sentiment which had ever been 
 
 570
 
 {Ebomas Jefferson. 
 
 expressed before." It was merely 
 to clothe in befitting language the 
 principles which had been agreed 
 upon, and for which patriots were 
 willing to offer their lives, hence 
 any discussion as to originality is 
 puerile. After all it was a thrilling 
 message to mankind expressed in 
 lofty utterance, and ought to be 
 read in public assembly in every 
 community each succeeding Fourth 
 of July. Jefferson's "Notes on Vir 
 ginia" showed his eagerness to have 
 his commonwealth properly pre 
 sented to mankind. His letters fill 
 several volumes, and his polit 
 ical documents have long formed 
 a groundwork of principles for the 
 great party first called Republican, 
 later Democratic. 
 571
 
 3ame0 
 
 MR. MADISON is called "the fa 
 ther of the Constitution." The 
 Convention which met in May, 
 1787, was called together rather to 
 repair the Articles of Confederation 
 than to adopt a new instrument. 
 This was soon found to be impos 
 sible, and discord arose, which, for 
 a time, threatened to rend the body 
 and even the nation asunder. 
 
 A paper had been written by 
 James Madison prior to the meet 
 ing of the Constitutional Conven 
 tion, and laid before his colleagues 
 from Virginia. This was made the 
 basis of the Virginia plan, and out 
 of this was evolved the Consti 
 tution. In addition to being the 
 architect of the plan, he was the au 
 thor of the larger part of its details. 
 Then no man did more to prepare 
 572
 
 James 
 
 the public mind to receive the in 
 strument. Madison as a joint con 
 tributor with Hamilton and Jay to 
 the collection of papers called the 
 Federalist, was designated the fa 
 ther of the Federalist party, how 
 ever much he may have differed 
 from some of their opinions at a 
 later period. In fact, so well did 
 he and Jefferson agree, during 
 the Presidency of Madison, that a 
 friendly correspondence was con 
 strued by enemies into an attempt 
 on the part of the ex-President to 
 influence his successor in office. 
 573
 
 <5eor0e TCHasbington. 
 
 WHILE the letters, messages, and 
 various documents written by the 
 father of his country occupy sev 
 eral volumes, his theories, hopes, 
 and fears as to the conduct and 
 safety of his country are embodied 
 in his Farewell Address. Its ad 
 monitions come to us with peculiar 
 force in these days when there is a 
 tendency on the part of many of the 
 people to break away from the well- 
 established policy of the nation as 
 pursued by the fathers, and enter 
 upon a political arena hitherto un- 
 trod by the republic. Many ques 
 tions have arisen as to how much of 
 this address was based on Wash 
 ington's notes, how much came 
 from the hand of Hamilton, and 
 what is due to the finishing touches 
 of Madison, but the Farewell Ad- 
 574
 
 <3eor0e Wasbington. 
 
 dress is truly Washington's, as it 
 speaks his sentiments and breathes 
 his spirit. 
 
 The messages and other state 
 papers of Washington are of vast 
 importance, as showing many of the 
 steps taken in giving the infant gov 
 ernment its present shape. Many 
 of these papers dealt with questions 
 new in the science of government. 
 
 More than any other, Chief Jus 
 tice John Marshall, of Virginia, 
 served to fix the meaning of the 
 new Constitution. He was appoint 
 ed by President Adams in 1800, and 
 during the succeeding thirty-five 
 years rendered decisions sufficient 
 to fill thirty volumes. Many of 
 these were upon constitutional 
 questions, and continue to be cited 
 as the highest authority. Judge 
 Marshall had served in the army 
 and in many of the most important 
 civil offices, including that of joint 
 envoy to France with Mr. Pinck- 
 575
 
 political mrttera anD "fctetodans. 
 
 ney and Mr. Gerry. He was a 
 member of the Virginia State Con 
 vention, which ratified the Consti 
 tution by a vote of eighty-nine to 
 seventy-nine. Mr. Marshall took 
 prominent part in the proceedings, 
 generally answering Patrick Hen 
 ry's objections. Among the master 
 pieces of American biography will 
 ever remain Marshall's "Life of 
 Washington," which is also en 
 riched by the author's view on 
 questions of public importance. He 
 is reported to have said that if he 
 were worthy of a monument, it 
 would be found in his judicial de 
 cisions. 
 
 576
 
 3obn Calfcwell Calboun. 
 
 JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN was 
 born March 18, 1782, in Abbeville 
 District, South Carolina. He grad 
 uated at Yale in 1804, having raised 
 great expectations by his brilliancy 
 in College. He read law and be 
 gan the practice, but in the stirring 
 political times a man of Calhoun's 
 talents could hardly have escaped 
 the call of his country. In his ear 
 lier political views he agreed with 
 Clay, both being strong advocates 
 and promoters of the war of 1812. 
 Midway between the extreme fed 
 eralism of Hamilton and the ex 
 treme State rights views of George 
 Mason and of Thomas Jefferson, as 
 expressed in his draft of the cele 
 brated Kentucky resolutions, stood 
 Clay and Webster with the ad 
 herents of the great Whig party. 
 577
 
 political Writers anO Tbistocians. 
 
 This, as led by Mr. Clay, aimed to 
 preserve the Union by mutual con 
 cession and compromise rather than 
 coercion. 
 
 As the abolition party of the East 
 grew in numbers and power, ap 
 pealing to higher law as superior 
 to the Constitution, the Southern 
 States came more and more to see 
 the need of a strict construction 
 of the Constitution. Chief Justice 
 Marshall had fixed the status of 
 that instrument as being beyond 
 the reach of legislative enactment. 
 Gradually Mr. Calhoun became the 
 leader of those who held that the 
 Constitution is a full and final chart 
 in matters of government. Great as 
 was the variance between Jackson 
 and Clay, they agreed on one vital 
 point : the Union must be preserved. 
 This was shown in Jackson's at 
 titude toward the Nullification Act 
 of South Carolina, and in the 
 speeches of Clay, which proved po- 
 578
 
 Jobn CalDwell Calboun. 
 
 tent enough to hold the Northern 
 States of the Confederacy of 1861, 
 so long trembling in a state of in 
 decision. 
 
 Those who held that the union 
 of States was a partnership from 
 which any and all members of the 
 partnership might voluntarily and 
 peaceably withdraw were not those 
 who were least concerned about the 
 perpetuity of the Union. On the 
 contrary, the power supposed to be 
 inherent in the State to nullify or 
 declare void, in the case of that 
 State, unjust or unconstitutional 
 acts of the general government was 
 supposed to be necessary to the con 
 tinuance of that government. A 
 member of the firm might refuse to 
 be bound by the act of the other 
 members without dissolving the 
 firm such nullification act merely 
 meant that there must be a tempo 
 rary arrest of proceeding a pause 
 to settle the difference, nothing 
 579
 
 political Writers and 1>tstortans, 
 
 more. John C. Calhoun was an ar 
 dent Unionist, but greatly feared 
 the result of Northern agitation, 
 hence with his ability of leadership 
 and knowledge of constitutional 
 law he became the leading expos 
 itor of the Constitution from the 
 standpoint of his school, which held 
 that nullification might be necessa 
 ry in some cases in order to pre 
 vent revolution. The Kentucky 
 resolutions of 1798 was a declara 
 tion as expressive as anything Cal 
 houn ever taught, but the touch 
 stone came when Calhoun's native 
 State attempted to act upon the the 
 ory so long held by some of the 
 master spirits of the republic. 
 
 The determined attitude of Pres 
 ident Jackson toward South Caro 
 lina on the passage of the Nullifi 
 cation Act was not unexpected by 
 those who knew that the Union sen 
 timents inculcated by Clay and 
 Jackson through all their public ca- 
 580
 
 Cal&well Calboun. 
 
 reer had made it impossible for the 
 schemes of a Burr to find counte 
 nance west of the Allegehanies, yet 
 that attitude more than all things 
 else led to the spread of sentiments 
 favorable to secession as the final 
 remedy for evils which seemed in 
 evitably connected with the rapid 
 settlement of the great Northwest 
 and the rapid growth of Northern 
 cities, with the consequent certain 
 ty of the loss of prestige and power 
 of self-protection on the part of the 
 South. The Constitution guaran 
 teed slavery. More and more did 
 the idea prevail in the North that 
 slavery must be abolished, Consti 
 tution or no Constitution. In the 
 South the feeling rapidly grew that 
 if there was not security under the 
 Constitution at one point there 
 could hardly be at any, hence overt 
 acts on the part of those who dis 
 regarded the Constitution and held 
 to the "higher law" might make it 
 C 581
 
 political Writers and tbtstorians. 
 
 necessary to withdraw from a Union 
 in which their rights were no longer 
 secure. 
 
 Many doubted the expediency, 
 but few the right of withdrawing 
 from the national compact. A be 
 lief in this right was as old as the 
 government, but the discussions fill 
 many volumes of the political liter 
 ature from the days of the Hartford 
 Convention until the close of the 
 reconstruction period. Calhoun 
 was in no sense the awthor of seces 
 sion or even nullification, but his 
 voluminous exposition of the rela 
 tion of the States to the federal Un 
 ion as expressed in the Constitu 
 tion became, as it were, a text-book 
 of Southern statesmen for quite a 
 period prior to 1861, even such 
 conservatives as Alexander H. 
 Stephens holding tenaciously to 
 the partnership theory of govern 
 ment, in which the States were free 
 to continue or to withdraw. 
 582
 
 Historical IHHrtters. 
 
 TTME must give the perspective 
 which is necessary to produce the 
 historian, hence there were few his 
 torical writers in America prior to 
 the civil war. Since that period 
 the absence of great libraries con 
 taining original sources of informa 
 tion would have hampered South 
 ern effort in this direction even in 
 the absence of other hindrances. 
 However, as gatherers of material 
 for the historian who shall arise 
 when the mists of prejudice and the 
 clouds of passion shall have been 
 blown away by the wind of time, 
 some have done important work. 
 In almost every Southern State is 
 to be found the work of patient and 
 patriotic investigators. Many of 
 these have preserved material which 
 583
 
 political Tiddlers an& 'Ibistorians. 
 
 would otherwise have been lost for 
 ever. 
 
 Historians have not yet given full 
 credit to the work of CAPT. JOHN 
 SMITH, a maker as well as a writer 
 of history. This work has been no 
 ticed, however inadequately, in the 
 earlier part of this series. On the 
 writings of Smith is based the ear 
 lier history of Virginia as set forth 
 by Stith and others in the histories 
 of Virginia. Other writers a little 
 later than Capt. Smith continued 
 the accounts of the early settlers. 
 Robert Beverly, Col. William Byrd, 
 and many others have given lively 
 accounts of various periods of Vir 
 ginia history. South Carolina had 
 as historians David Ramsey, of 
 more than local fame, as well as 
 William Gilmore Simms, in his "His 
 tory of South Carolina." Louisiana 
 had Judge Gayarre, as well as a 
 number of less known chroniclers. 
 However, Charles Campbell is not 
 584
 
 Ibistottcal tdtitcrs. 
 
 to be included in these last, as his 
 is perhaps the most satisfactory 
 presentation of early Virginia his 
 tory extant. Few men have done 
 for a State what has been accom 
 plished for Georgia by Charles Col- 
 cock Jones, Jr. 
 
 Ramsey's "Annals of Tennes 
 see," French's "L o u i s i a n a," 
 Hawk's "North Carolina," and 
 some others are rather collections 
 of historical material and docu 
 ments than attempts to weave facts 
 into entertaining narrative. Among 
 local works rising to the dignity of 
 histories of more than local merit 
 may be mentioned Humphrey Mar 
 shall's "History of Kentucky" in 
 two volumes; Albert James Picl- 
 ett's "History of Alabama," and in 
 cidentally of Georgia and Missis 
 sippi, from the "Earliest Period," 
 which is a spirited narrative in two 
 volumes concerning what is includ 
 ed in the title. William Bacon Ste- 
 20 585
 
 political Writers anD iJistorians. 
 
 vens's "History of Georgia" is rated 
 one of the best of State histories. 
 The same meed of praise may safe 
 ly be given Robert R. Howison's 
 "History of Virginia ;" while 
 Simms's "History of South Caroli 
 na," with its beautiful literary style, 
 has one fault : brevity. One of the 
 most important historical works of 
 the South is David Ramsey's "His 
 tory of the American Revolution" 
 in three volumes. Add to this "The 
 War in the South," by Light-Horse 
 Harry Lee, and the revolutionary 
 period of American history is well 
 set forth. Of the names which will 
 continue to live as historians, per 
 haps more particular notice may be 
 given David Ramsey, C. C. Jones, 
 and Charles E. Gayerre. 
 
 DAVID RAMSEY was born in 
 Pennsylvania in 1799, was educated 
 at Princeton, studied medicine at 
 the University of Pennsylvania, and 
 removed to Charleston, S. C., to 
 586
 
 fctetortcal UCHtftets. 
 
 practice medicine. He was cele 
 brated as a patriot as well as a writ 
 er of more than ordinary ability. 
 In addition to the two historical 
 works already mentioned, he wrote 
 a Life of Washington, Universal 
 History, as well as a number of mis 
 cellaneous works. 
 
 CHARLES COLCOCK JONES, JR., 
 was born at Savannah in 1831, and 
 gave a large part of his life to the 
 study of the history of Georgia and 
 the Indian tribes of the South. His 
 history of Georgia in two octavo vol 
 umes is the most exhaustive of any 
 Southern colonial history. Several 
 volumes devoted to Indian topics 
 came from his pen, as well as sev 
 eral biographies of great impor 
 tance. In addition he was one of 
 the writers selected by Justin Wind 
 sor to make contributions to his 
 great work, "Narrative and Critical 
 History of the United States." 
 Col. Jones was a Confederate sol- 
 587
 
 political TKHriters and IMstorfans. 
 
 dier, and has left a number of pa 
 pers and addresses devoted to that 
 subject. He died in 1893, at a time 
 when greater things seemed pos 
 sible to one so thoroughly well 
 equipped for the work which lay 
 near his heart. 
 
 For all time the one who would 
 learn of the French and Spanish oc 
 cupation of the Mississippi Valley 
 must study the historical works of 
 CHARLES E. GAYARRE. C. K. 
 Adams, in his "Manual of Histor 
 ical Literature," gives high praise 
 to the "History of Louisiana," at 
 first in five volumes, afterwards in 
 four, by Judge Gayarre. Charles 
 Gayarre, as he usually signed him 
 self, was born in New Orleans Jan 
 uary 9, 1805. He had passed his 
 ninetieth birthday when he passed 
 away. His was purest strain of 
 Creole blood, hence he was much 
 aggrieved by Mr. Cable and those 
 who, as he thought, aspersed his 
 588
 
 historical 
 
 people. He was educated in New 
 Orleans, but studied law and was 
 admitted to the bar in Phila 
 delphia. In 1820 he was admitted 
 to the bar in Louisiana, of which 
 he was probably the oldest member 
 at the time of his death. Literature 
 began from the first to decoy him 
 from the sterner mistress. An es 
 say on the history of Louisiana 
 written in French soon attracted at 
 tention. From the first his native 
 State heaped honors upon him. 
 Repeatedly was he a member of the 
 Legislature, then Attorney-Gen 
 eral, Judge, Secretary o'f State, and 
 finally, in 1835, he was elected to 
 the Senate of the United States. 
 His health having become impaired, 
 he resigned, and went abroad for 
 eight years. In 1867 he came with 
 in a few votes of being reflected to 
 the same office. In 1873 he was ap 
 pointed Reporter of Decisions of 
 the Supreme Court, and published 
 589
 
 political "earners anD Historians. 
 
 four volumes of the reports. His 
 functions ceased with a change of 
 administration. This was his last 
 public office. As a member of the 
 Legislature his services were in 
 many ways of lasting benefit to the 
 State. Such offices as he held came 
 mainly without his seeking. At one 
 time he might have had the nomi 
 nation for Governor by asking for 
 it. Through all these years he was 
 preeminently a literary man. Prof. 
 Fortier speaks of Judge Gayarre as 
 one "whose name is to be seen on 
 every page of the history of literature 
 in Louisiana. Paul H. Hayne tells 
 us that he was the author of up 
 ward of twoscore volumes, count 
 ing some addresses and unbound 
 brochures. We can hardly under 
 stand how there could have been a 
 world within a world, how in New 
 Orleans there could have been a 
 people distinct in language, culture, 
 and literature. But such was the 
 590
 
 fcisterical TEdtitere. 
 
 case, and we realize it if we look 
 through a bookstore in the French 
 portion of the city. French is yet 
 spoken by many, and the laws are 
 published in both French and Eng 
 lish, but before the war papers and 
 periodicals published in French 
 were very numerous. Gayarre was 
 master of both languages, and be 
 gan his literary career in French, 
 but felt the conquering force of 
 English, and did his best work for 
 an increasing instead of a diminish 
 ing audience. His most notable 
 work was the "History of Louis 
 iana," in four handsome volumes. 
 Of this work George Bancroft 
 wrote to him : "I have for many 
 years been making manuscript and 
 other collections, and all the best 
 that I have found appears in your 
 volumes." As early as 1846 Gay 
 arre published a "History of Louis 
 iana in French." He continued his 
 researches until 1885, when his 
 591
 
 political Writers an> HMstorians. 
 
 four volumes in English appeared. 
 During his eight years' stay in 
 France and Europe, he had gath 
 ered much original material. He 
 was in position to have access 
 to all possible sources of infor 
 mation at home. In his public 
 administration he was practically 
 the father of the Louisiana State 
 library. From various records the 
 historian wove a wondrous story. 
 De Soto, LaSalle, Bienville, John 
 Law, Gen. Jackson, Lafitte, live 
 again. As next in rank of his works-, 
 comes "Phillip II. of Spain." This 
 has an introduction by Bancroft, in 
 which America's greatest historian 
 commends in strong terms the pro 
 duction of his brother historian. 
 The list of Gayarre's writings is far 
 too long to mention all. In addi 
 tion to the publication of several 
 volumes of history, biography, and 
 romance, he published in various 
 magazines numbers of historical 
 592
 
 fcistorical imrfters. 
 
 and literary papers. One of the 
 most notable efforts, and one 
 among his last, is "The Creoles of 
 History" and "The Creoles of Ro 
 mance." This is a review of Mr. 
 Cable's presentation of the Cre 
 oles, especially in "The Grandis- 
 sirnes" and the Encyclopedia Bri- 
 tannica. At the close of that ad 
 dress he says that he "washes his 
 hands of Mr. Cable." 
 
 "Thirty years in the United 
 States Senate," by Thomas H. 
 Benton, of Tennessee and Mis 
 souri, will ever remain a valuable 
 compendium of political informa 
 tion. The scope of this work for 
 bids a review of writings pertaining 
 to the civil war, but to those inter 
 ested in the political questions per- 
 tajining to that war the authorities 
 upon the subject from the Southern 
 point of view will no doubt continue 
 to be the writings and speeches of 
 Jefferson Davis, Alexander H. 
 593
 
 political Writers anD Historians. 
 
 Stephens, Albert T. Bledsoe. All 
 these are too well known to require 
 further mention in a work of this 
 scope. Many of those connected 
 with the war have set forth their 
 personal experiences, and it is to be 
 hoped this will continue, for in no 
 other way can material be collected 
 for that fuller and fairer history 
 which is inevitable. No South 
 erner has attempted a history of the 
 United States in extenso. However, 
 the earlier period has been covered 
 by Mr. George Tucker, of Virginia, 
 in a work of four meritorious vol 
 umes. Biography seldom rises to 
 the dignity of literature; if so, the 
 South would abound in literature, 
 if the number of volumes produced 
 should be the criterion. However, 
 most of these have been written in 
 a slipshod way by too partial admir 
 ers, with little regard to literary 
 style, and often less regard for such 
 facts as require painstaking and re- 
 594
 
 fcistoricat TKHtiters. 
 
 search. As to literary style, notable 
 exceptions are found in the "Life 
 of Washington," by "Parson 
 Weems," and the "Life of Patrick 
 Henry/' by William Wirt. In both 
 cases the line between the assuredly 
 veritable and the apocryphal is dif 
 ficult to locate it is not absolutely 
 certain that the man "first in war, 
 first in peace, first in the hearts of 
 his countrymen," ever owned a 
 hatchet, nor can it now be ascer 
 tained how much of the great "lib 
 erty or death" speech fell from the 
 lips of Patrick Henry, and how 
 much from the facile and eloquent 
 pen of Mr. Wirt. Nevertheless 
 both are true pictures of the great 
 characters represented, and only an 
 iconoclast could wish to see a line 
 of either work erased. Thousands 
 have read both with profit and de 
 light. Both are gems of literature. 
 
 MASON LOCKE WEEMS was born 
 at Dumfries, Va., 1760, and was ed- 
 595
 
 political Writers anD f)istorfans, 
 
 ucated in London as a clergyman. 
 He was for some years rector of 
 Pohick Church, Mt. Vernon Par 
 ish, of which Washington was an 
 attendant. It is said that he was 
 equally ready to speak, preach, or 
 play the violin, and was humorous 
 and interesting in conversation. 
 His "Life of Washington" has been 
 extremely popular. To him alone 
 we are indebted for the hatchet 
 story. He was author of the "Life 
 of Marion" and other works. 
 
 Hardly any work in America has 
 equaled in grace and beauty of style 
 Wirt's "Life of Patrick Henry." 
 Of Wirt, Hart, in "American Liter 
 ature," says : "WILLIAM WIRT was 
 born at Bladenburg, Md., and lost 
 both his parents (one Swiss and the 
 other German) before he was eight 
 years old. Through the kindness 
 of friends and his own exertions, 
 however, he managed to get an ed 
 ucation, and was admitted to the 
 596
 
 Bbistorfcal TJQrfters. 
 
 bar in 1792. He practiced in vari 
 ous parts of Virginia, chiefly at 
 Richmond, but won his first real 
 distinction in the famous trial of 
 Aaron Burr for high treason, at 
 Richmond, in 1807. His forensic 
 ability and his eloquence on that 
 occasion gave him at once a national 
 reputation. He was Attorney-Gen 
 eral of the United States during 
 three successive Presidential terms, 
 1817-1828. After retiring from the 
 office of Attorney-General, in 1828, 
 he removed to Baltimore, where he 
 resided for the remainder of his life, 
 practicing in the courts of that city 
 and in the Supreme Court at Wash 
 ington. Few American statesmen 
 of equal standing have shown such 
 decided marks of refined and ele 
 gant culture as Mr. Wirt; and had 
 he given himself to a life of letters, 
 he would have won great distinc 
 tion as a writer. His publications 
 were, "Letters of the British Spy." 
 D 597
 
 political 'SQriters anD Ibtetorians. 
 
 published originally in a Richmond 
 paper, and purporting to be written 
 by an Englishman traveling 
 through Virginia and describing 
 what he saw; "The Rainbow," a 
 series of essays published originally 
 in the Richmond Inquirer; "The 
 Arguments in the Trial of Burr;" 
 "The Old Bachelor," a collection of 
 essays; "The Life of Patrick Hen 
 ry." Mr. Wirt published also nu 
 merous addresses on pu'blic occa 
 sions. One of these, delivered be 
 fore Rutgers College, New Bruns 
 wick. N. J., was celebrated for its 
 eloquence. 
 
 If scientific writers were includ 
 ed in these sketches, Maury and 
 Audubon would take prominent 
 place, but these, with number 
 less specialists who have shown 
 marked ability in particular fields 
 of research, must find adequate 
 consideration elsewhere. 
 
 In concluding these too imper- 
 598
 
 1bi0torical Writers. 
 
 feet sketches the writer is painfully 
 aware of many omissions, and in 
 some cases of having made too lit 
 tle research. The writing has been 
 done in "brief snatches of time" 
 taken from more serious employ 
 ment, and cannot claim to be in any 
 sense complete. Nevertheless a 
 love for the subject and the interest 
 of a few friends have been incen 
 tives to continue the pleasant task 
 until the work has in a measure 
 fulfilled the limits originally set for 
 the undertaking. If a few shall be 
 encouraged to take more interest in 
 their own Southland and her ear 
 lier intellectual struggles, and shall 
 aspire to larger efforts not only in 
 these but in all true and noble lines, 
 as true Southerners as true and 
 patriotic Americans then the ef 
 forts of this writer shall not have 
 been in vain the sequel need not 
 be written : "Love's labor's lost." 
 599