tKi)e Hibrarp 
 
 oCttie 
 
 ^nibergitpofi^ortf) Carolina 
 
 m 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
SOUTHBOOKE; 
 
 BY 
 
 SUTTON S. SCOTT. 
 
 Land of the South — imperial land! 
 
 Then here's a health to thee; 
 Long as their mountain barriers stand, 
 
 May'st thou be blest and free. 
 
 A. B. Meek. 
 
 COLUMBUS, GA.: 
 
 THOS. GILBERT, PRINTER AND BOOK-BIXDER. 
 
 1880. 
 
SOUTHBOOKE: 
 
 BY 
 
 SUTTON S. SCOTT. 
 
 Land of the South — imperial land I 
 
 Then here's a health to thee; 
 Long as their mountain barriers stand, 
 
 May'st thou be blest and free. 
 
 A. B. Meek. 
 
 COLUMBUS, GA.: 
 
 THOS. GILBERT, PRINTER AND BOOK-BIXDER. 
 
 1880. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1880, 
 
 By SUTTON S. SCOTT, 
 
 In tlie Office of tlie LiVrarian of Confess. 
 
TO 
 
 THE YOUNG MEN OF THE SOUTH, 
 
 BY ONE WHO APPRECIATES THEIK ENERGY IN BUILDING 
 UP ITS WASTE PEACES, AND THEIE VIETUE, IN BEARING UN- 
 COMPLAININGLY ITS AEFLICTIONS, WHILE STRUGGLING TO OVERCOME 
 THEM, THESE PAGES ARE RESPECTFULLY 
 
 DEDICATED. 
 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 There is not a passage in this little book, intended or 
 expected to wound the sensibilities of any honest and fair 
 minded reader in this country,— while it should be said the 
 greater part of it is addressed exclusively to the Southern 
 heart. Whether or not it shall be able to reach that heart is 
 another, and a very different question. Although it lays no 
 especial claim to originality, either in design or construction, 
 it does attempt that which is more important than mere 
 originality, — to impress upon its readers the truth, — often, 
 it may be always, — trite and commonplace, — but still the 
 trutli I If the reading of it, as is so touchingly said by Irving, 
 in one of the most charming of his sketches, shall " rub one 
 wrinkle from the brow of care, or beguile the heavy heart of 
 one moment of sorrow," — and alas 1 there are many sucli 
 brows and hearts at the South, — I will be content. 
 
 s. s. s. 
 
 UcHEE, Ala., 1879. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THE ROSE OF ALABAMA 1 
 
 CHRISTMAS 9 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER 18 
 
 AGRICULTURAL DEMOCRACY 27 
 
 THE REBEL DEAD , 89 
 
 THE SOUTHERN PLANTER 41 
 
 THE STRENGTH OF A STATE ir^ 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY r,7 
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS 07 
 
 THE BACK^VOODSMAN 107 
 
 THEODORIC BURNSIDE Ill 
 
 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA 151 
 
THE ROSE OF ALABAMA. 
 
THE ROSE OF ALABAMA. 
 
 I loved in boyhood's sunny time, 
 When life was like a minstrel's rhyme, 
 And cloudless as my native clime. 
 The Eose of Alabama. 
 Oh lovely Kuse ! 
 
 The sweetest flower earth knows 
 Is the Kose of Alabama. 
 
 A. B. Meek. 
 
 A perfect woman nobly planned, 
 To warn, to comfort and command ; 
 And yet a spirit still, and bright, 
 "NVith something of an angel's light. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 She lives something over a half dozen miles from 
 the beautiful little city of Huntsville. The house is 
 a long, rambling brick structure, with antiquated 
 chimneys, high pointed gables, and shaded by two 
 antediluvian elms. It was built many years ago, be- 
 fore Alabama was formed into a state, and has not, of 
 course, escaped the defacing fingers of busy old Time. 
 Their prints can be seen in the crumbling porches, 
 blackened walls, and moss-covered roof. It is situated 
 upon rather a rugged, but picturesque hill — three sides 
 of which slope gradually down into level woodland — 
 the fourth is somewhat precipitous, and overbrows a 
 piece of low meadow-land, dotted with clumps of oak 
 
2 THE EOSE OF ALABAMA. 
 
 trees, and divided near the centre by a streamlet of 
 clear running water, fringed with willows and wild 
 rose bushes. 
 
 In the wood spreading out in the rear of the house, 
 and at a considerable distance from it — probably a half 
 mile — is a spring. The path, leading from the house 
 to this spring, is full of wild beauty. At first it winds 
 around the feet of giant trees, or enormous piles of 
 rock ; next over ledges so disposed as to form in many 
 places a rude kind of stairway down the slope of the 
 hill ; and still farther along, it passes across a rustic 
 bridge, spanning a brawling little brook ; then through 
 a sort of narrow gorge or ravine, to a quiet shady 
 dell, which, from the spring, that smiles in crystal 
 purity near its upper end, is called Springdell. 
 
 It is just such a walk as a young and romantic 
 maiden would select for an evening's stroll with her 
 heart's choice, and the spring, — gushing from the base 
 of a gently swelling mound, embowered in trees, and 
 prattling joyoush^ as its waters trip along over their 
 bed of clear white pebbles, and brown sparkling 
 sand, — a spot for her to listen to the first silvery 
 w^hisperings of love. It was at this spring that I first 
 saw her whom I have styled the Eose of Alabama. 
 The time I shall never — never forget. One of those 
 balmy delicious evenings was it, so common beneath 
 the sunny skies of Andalusia, but rarely to be met 
 with in our rougher and colder chme — such an evening 
 as has power to call forth at once all the romance of 
 man's nature, to tinge with the magic hues of poetry 
 
 i^B^ 
 
THE ROSE OF ALABAMA. 6 
 
 every object of his sight, and fit hiia only to muse 
 upon the manifold pleasures of love and the beautiful. 
 There was a light breeze, fragrant as the breath of a 
 seraph, singing an anthem in the tree-tops. A solitary 
 oriole, that most gorgeous of all our birds, glanced 
 like a tinj^ rainbow amid the leaves, as he sprang from 
 spray to spray. 
 
 I was returning home, from a hunt in the wood, — 
 with my dog and gun, — and upon drawing near the 
 spring, was surprised to discover a young lady, Avhom 
 I had never before seen, seated, or rather reclining 
 upon a green mossy bank, clo.se by its marge, with a 
 book lying open beside her. Her position was the 
 perfection of grace and elegance. She was resting her 
 head upon her hand, with her dark, hazel eyes, beam- 
 ing with a light, placid and holy, fixed upon a spot in 
 the clear blue heavens, which appeared through a rift 
 in the tree-tops above her. Her raven tresses were 
 dishevelled, and fell in superb flakes about her sym- 
 metrical neck and shoulders, contrasting rarely with 
 their more than alabaster Avhiteness. And 
 
 "Her angel face, 
 As the great eye of heaven shined bright, 
 And made a sunshine in the shady place." 
 
 As by the powerful spell of a magician I stood 
 rooted to the ground. I dared not move. Her love- 
 liness and spirit-like appearance, her dress of spotless 
 white, the utter loneliness and matchless beauty of 
 the spot, joined with the soft witchery of the hour, 
 
4 THE ROSE OF ALABAMA. 
 
 unloosed every curb upon my fancy, and I almost 
 tliouglit lier some pure creature of air, — hapl}^ tlie 
 presiding divinity of the place, — and was more tlian 
 half afraid, that were I to awaken her suddenly to the 
 knowledge of my presence, she would, like the beau- 
 tiful Undine, when abused by the Knight Huldebrand, 
 change into mist, and mingling with the water gently 
 murmuring at her feet, disappear forever. Motionless, 
 and in silence, 1 watched her long. I watched her 
 until the sun sank behind a cloud-crag of violet and 
 purple resting upon the western horizon. As its last 
 parting beam slowly faded from the glade, she arose, 
 and noiselessly glided in the direction of the house. 
 I was then, for the first time, enabled to appreciate 
 fully the words written by James, the poet-prince, 
 when the lovely Lady Jaue Beaufort disappeared from 
 his admiring eyes : 
 
 "To see her part, and follow I na might, 
 Methought the day was turned into night." 
 
 When I next met her, it was in the midst of a gay 
 and happy throng of persons, all young like herself. 
 Her calm and serious face was, on that occasion, dim- 
 pled with joyous smiles; and her conversation, inces- 
 sant in its flow, was brimming with cheerfulness, and 
 fragrant with the purest and most delicate wit. Her 
 voice, in its every tone, even when she was alluding 
 to things the most ordinary and commonplace, had a 
 strangely fascinating — an enthralling power. It was 
 soft 
 
THE EOSE OF ALABAMA. 5 
 
 "And had a touch of gentleness^ as 'twere 
 A tender Hower grown musical." 
 
 And then her laugh ! It was so different from any 
 that I had ever heard before. Never boisterous was 
 it, although all its notes were distinct. Now it gushed 
 forth, as clear as the ring of a golden bell, anon as 
 gentle and subdued as the sound of an aeolian harp. 
 The intonation of the poet's singing fairy could not 
 have been more exquisite in its melody. It was the 
 soul bubbling from the lips in music. 
 
 Is there indeed in all nature any sound more 
 delightful than a genuine heart-laugh — especially 
 when it comes rippling through pearly teeth and ruby 
 lips ? No I — certainly none ! And yet how seldom is 
 it that we hear one, — at least outside of the country, — ■ 
 in this day of excessive refinement — this day when 
 fashion, tyrannous and indefensible, holds complete 
 sway over our minds — when all our words and actions 
 are made strictly to conform to its cold and unfeeling 
 decrees. Now to laugh, — and to laugh at all heartily, — • 
 is, to ears polite, shockingly undignified, — a piece of 
 unpardonable rudeness and most decided vulgarity. 
 We are taught, at present, to be supremely elegant 
 in manner ; we must be natural in nothing. To the 
 young ladies especially does this remark apply in its 
 fullest force. Studied attempts, it even seems, are 
 being made, through a vicious system of early train- 
 ing, to uproot woman's simplicity, that heart-jewel, 
 which, a few years ago, was acknowledged to be the 
 brightest and purest in her coronet. By the aid of 
 
6 THE ROSE OF ALABAMA. 
 
 French dancing masters, et id omne genus, many of 
 our young women are fast becoming the merest bun- 
 dles of affectations. 
 
 Since the time, last alluded to above, I have met 
 this Eose of Alabama often ; and the many brilliant 
 qualities, of which she, at first, appeared possessed, I 
 have since discovered are truly hers — besides others, 
 if possible, more brilliant. Her mind is pre-eminently 
 beautiful. It was cast by nature in a large mould, 
 and has been most excellently trained. A sturdy and 
 healthful growth has been therein cultivated, although 
 not altogether to the exclusion of those graceful, but 
 frail and delicate flowers, which, in the education of 
 our women, have generally obtained so disproportion- 
 atel}^ large a share of their attent'.on. Her reading, for 
 one so young, has been really immense. With many 
 of the ancient and modern languages she is conversant- 
 Several of the master-pieces of Greek, Latin, Italian and 
 Spanish literature have been read by her in the orig- 
 inals. With Euoiish literature, from the Canterbury 
 Tales of old Chaucer to the poems of Henry W. Long- 
 fellow, she is well acquainted. But with all her 
 learning she has lost none of the original delicacy and 
 softness of her character. She never makes a show 
 of what she knows. On the contrary, she keeps it 
 too nearly buried in the earth. But few of her friends 
 even are acquainted with the vast mass of information 
 that she has heaped together in the last few years. 
 She seems to be scarcely aware of it herself. It may 
 be said, in the language of Sir Thomas Overbury, 
 
THE EOSE OF ALABA^IA. 7 
 
 "that her excellences stand in her so silently, as if 
 they had stolen upon her without her knowledge." 
 Having passed the whole, or almost the whole, of her 
 young existence amid the freshness and serene beauty 
 of rural scenes, untouched by the varied frivolities 
 and frozen formalities of city life, she is as guileless 
 and innocent, as her face is lovely or her accomplish- 
 ments great. Hers is truly a pare heart — pure as 
 that of Eve, when first she opened her eyes upon the 
 myriad beauties of Paradise. Its every impulse orig- 
 inates in an earnest desire for the accomplishment of 
 good — the promotion of her own happiness, and the 
 happiness of others, both here and hereafter. The 
 severe studies, to which she has since her early girl- 
 hood, devoted herself, have not, in her case, as in that 
 of many others, tinged the spirit with a sombre hue. 
 It is true, that when the features of her face are 
 in repose, they wear an expression so serious and 
 thoughtful, that it even appears one of sadness. But 
 it is only an appearance. At the proper moments she 
 can be as gay as the gayest ; and otherwise than con- 
 tented I never saw her. Her heart has known no 
 care — no sorrow. Its tranquil waters have never 
 been ruffled by a single storm ; the gems of hope 
 brightly sparkling in their limpid depths have never 
 had their lustre dimmed ; and if upon their surface 
 there have ever brooded shadows, they were only the 
 shadows of passing May- clouds, or of May -nights, all 
 softened by the light of silver moonbeams. 
 
8 THE EOSE OF ALABAMA. 
 
 "In her is youth, beauty with humble port, 
 Bounty, richess, and womanly feature, 
 God better wot than my pen can report ; 
 "Wisdom, largess, estate and cunning sure 
 In every point so doth guide her measure. 
 In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance, 
 That nature might no more her child advance." 
 
 1853. 
 
CHRISTMAS. 
 
CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Christmas comes but once a year, 
 
 Festal uay to Chi-istiaus dear, — 
 
 Give all plenty of good cheer, — 
 
 Koast meats, mince-pies, lamb's wool, beer ; 
 
 Christmas comes but once a year. 
 
 Old Rhyjxe. 
 
 Let Piers, the plowman, dwell at home, and dight the corn. Look that Hobbe, 
 
 the robber, be well chastised. Staud manly together in the truth, and help the 
 
 truth, and the truth shall help you. 
 
 Pasqcinade 1382. 
 
 Anotlier Christmas is here. Time was when in 
 every Christian country this was the most joyous 
 period of the whole year. Among the English espe- 
 cially was this the case. From the days of Alfred, 
 the Great, who, by decree, made it the beginning of 
 the holidays, it has been regarded, through a range 
 of about ten centuries, as the most important of them 
 all. In reading accounts of the festivities in England 
 of this "gentle and joyeuse" day, when that country 
 was indeed " Merrie England," which so frequently 
 grace the writings of the older authors ; — the beauti- 
 ful and significant church decorations ; the reverence 
 of the congregation during service ; the devoutness of 
 their thanks, and the heartiness of their praises to 
 the Great Giver of all good ; the unrestrained joy and 
 
10 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 gladness that every where pervaded the country, 
 making bright the lowliest hovel, as well as the grand- 
 est hall ; the innocent and mirth-provoking romps 
 and pastimes upon the village common, and along the 
 sequestered lanes ; — one cannot, in this day of trouble 
 and sorrow and care, help feeling better and happier, 
 and wishing ardently to see one such Christmas. 
 
 George Withers, who lived more than tAvo hundred 
 years ago, in his Juvenilia gives a bright and graphic 
 history of how Christmas was kept in his day. Let 
 us quote a few verses. They are well worth reading, 
 and -especially so just as this time. 
 
 CHEISTMAS. 
 
 So now is come our joyful'st feast, 
 
 Let every man be jolly ; 
 Each room with ivy leaves is drest, 
 
 And every post with hollj'. 
 Though some «hurls at our mirth repine, 
 Eound your foreheads garlands twine, 
 Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, 
 
 And let us all be merry. 
 
 Now all our neighbors' chimneys smoke. 
 And Christmas blocks are burning ; 
 
 Their ovens they with baked-meat choke, 
 And all their spits are turning. 
 
 Without the door let sorrow he ; 
 
 And if for cold it hap to die, 
 
 "We'll bury't in Christmas pie. 
 And evermore be merry. 
 
CHRISTMAS. 11 
 
 Now every lad is wondrous trim, 
 
 And no m? n minds his labor ; 
 Onr lassies have provided them 
 
 A bagpipe and a tabor. 
 Young men rnd maids, and girls and boj's 
 Give life to cne another's joys ; 
 And you anon shall by their noise 
 
 Perceive that they are merry 
 
 Xow poor men to the justices 
 
 With capons make their errants ; 
 And if they hap to fail of these, 
 
 They pligue thjm with their warrants; 
 Bat now they f^ed them with good cheer, 
 And what they want thej' take in beer ; 
 For Christmas comes but once a year, 
 
 And then they shall be merry 
 
 The client now his suit forbears. 
 
 The prisoner's heart is eased. 
 The debtor drinks away his cares. 
 
 And for the time is pleased. 
 Thoiigh others' purses be more fat, 
 Why should we j^ine or grieve at that ? 
 Hang sorrow I cnre will kill a cat, 
 
 And therefore let's be merry 
 
 Then wherefore, in these merry days, 
 
 Should we, I pray, be duller? 
 No, Itt us sing some roundelays, 
 
 To make our mirth the fuller ; 
 And, while we thus inspired sing. 
 Let all the streets with echoes ring 
 Woods and hills and every thing 
 
 Bear witness we are merry. 
 
 In Yorkshire, Devon, and some of the other coun- 
 ties of England, much of the old style of celebrating 
 Christmas, as set forth in this poem, is still to be 
 
12 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 observed. Washington Irving saj^s that he unex- 
 pectedly found existing in the first-named district, 
 even all those antiquated customs, the description of 
 which forms his series of Christmas pictures at Brace- 
 bridoe Hall, and which, at the time of their 
 appearance, were pronounced, by some, so old- 
 fashioned as to be out of date. 
 
 Perhaps next to the English in their honest and 
 hearty enjoyment of this great festival occasion, came 
 the people of the South. With them Christmas used 
 to be emphatically a great day, — a happy day, — a 
 day when trouble was unhesitatingly driven from the 
 heart, and had the door thereof resolutely slammed in 
 its face. 
 
 Go back about a dozen years ! It is the Christmas 
 of eighteen hundred and sixty. See that white 
 house, — one-storied, — covering near a quarter of an 
 acre of ground with its multitude of rooms upon the 
 same floor, — numerous chimneys through its vari- 
 ously-sloping roofs, — low-eaved vei'andas all around, — 
 large windows protected by green blinds, — broad 
 passages intersecting each other at right angles, — all 
 the doors wide open, winter though it is, and a nip- 
 ping frost- wind blowing, — situated in a grove of 
 splendid old oaks, upon a gentle and beautifully 
 rounded eminence. Observe, too, the tasteful and 
 well-kept flower garden in front, — green house, sup- 
 plied with rare and choice plants, close by, — and 
 good and substantial out -houses in the rear, — stable 
 yard, full of sleek mules and horses, at the foot of the 
 
gHRISTMAS. 13 
 
 hill, ill tlie fence -corners of which, huge porkers, tot- 
 terina" and trruntino- under their loads of fat, are 
 leisurely rooting, — and barns, looking out of a clump 
 of trees just above, absolutely bursting with things 
 eatable for man and beast, from the fields. Note, at 
 the same time, the area under the gin-house shelter, 
 on the hill across the highway, packed with heavy 
 bales of the great staple, and the plantation all 
 around still white with its ungathered wealth. 
 
 Walk into this Southern country house ; — you are 
 a neighbor, — go in! The sun, in rising, is just gild- 
 ing the tree-tops about you, as your tap brings to the 
 door a tall and stately man, with an honest, genial 
 face, dark eyes, and long chestnut hair, well streaked 
 with gray, falling upon his shoulders. You are in- 
 vited to enter, with a smile, and a manner, and a 
 shake of the hand, to which your heart responds: "I 
 am welcome, — aye more, he is delighted to see me." 
 You are presented to the wife, a medium -sized, 
 h>rown-haired, brown-eyed, matronly lady, with gen- 
 tleness and love peeping out of every line of her 
 sweet face, and a laughing, blooming Hebe of a 
 daughter. Other neighbors are there. A huge fire 
 of hickory logs is leaping and roaring up the wide- 
 mouthed chimney, and upon a side table is spread 
 out all sorts of good things for the inner man, with a 
 large bowl of steaming apple toddy occupying the 
 post of honor in the centre. The very atmosphere of 
 the room is redolent of happiness and contentment. 
 A few minutes' stay convinces you that you are with 
 
14: CHRISTMAS. 
 
 a man, who is not only your friend, but a friend of 
 humanity, — who not only enjoys life himself, but con- 
 tributes all in his power to the enjoyment of others ; 
 and one too who is supremely grateful for all his 
 manifold wordly blessings. He feels, you know, in 
 his heart, deeply, strongly and entirely, the sentiment 
 embraced in the lines, which Irving says Mr. Brace- 
 bridge constructed on a poem from the wizard pen of 
 Old Herrick : 
 
 'Tis Thou tliat crown'st my glittering bcartli 
 
 Viiih. guiltless mirth, 
 And giv'st me wasstile bowls to di'ink, 
 
 Spiced to the brink ; 
 Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand, 
 
 That soiles my l-^nd, 
 And giv'st me, for my bushel sowne, 
 
 Twice ten for oue. 
 
 One by one, the negroes, — men and women, — come 
 np from the quarter, — their faces shining like pol- 
 ished ebony, and mouths, all in a broad grin, showing 
 the whitest of grinders, as each of them receives from 
 the hand of the master a glass of toddy, and a Christ- 
 mas present. With another and a broader grin, and 
 a still more liberal display of ivor}^ a tip of the hat, 
 and a bow, they each retire, — not, however, without 
 a kind and pleasant word from both mother and 
 daughter, and to the women something more substan- 
 tial. 
 
 Follow them to the quarter, which is healthfully 
 located not far from the mansion, if you wish to see 
 
CHEIST^klAS. 15 
 
 an exliibition of tlie purest enjoyment. There, a sort 
 of Lord of Misrnle, or, Abbot of Unreason, is the 
 master of ceremonies. In one place jou notice a 
 knot of jolly blacks, having a splendid time over a 
 table of substantials, profusely garnished with confec- 
 tions, sent down, in negro parlance, from the great 
 house ; — here, a party, every member of which is in 
 motion from his head to his heels, is circled about a 
 lusty fellow slapping his legs, breast and sides, with 
 all his might and main, to the tune of J aba, for two 
 others, who, face to face, are abundant and vigorous 
 in their attempts to shuffle one another down ; — 
 there, a group of about the same size, eagerly and in- 
 terestedly surround a boy with a cracked fiddle, the 
 hysterical shriekings of which would craze or kill a 
 nervous man in a minute ; — j^onder, to the monoto- 
 nous thrummings of an old gourd banjo, a kind of 
 general dance is going on, — men, women and children 
 being vigorously engaged, — each one hopping and 
 skipping independently, — with a most reckless disre- 
 gard of time and toes ; — while, from scores of throats^ 
 about a great fire in the dell below, comes floating 
 upward the wild, yet sweetly musical, notes of a 
 Southern corn-sh Licking song. 
 
 Look ! — there goes John and his spouse. John is 
 the coachman, and the aristocrat of the plantation. 
 He is dressed in a suit of unexceptionable black, — his 
 kinky hair is well oiled and carded, — upon a knot of 
 which, immediately above the ear, is daintily perched 
 his castor, just a size and a half too small for him, 
 
16 CHEISTMAS. 
 
 but which he woul^, on no account, have larger, — his 
 great black hands are encased in a pair of white cot- 
 ton gloves, — the right deftly resting in the crook of 
 his better-half's elbow, which is gracefully tucked 
 out for his accommodation, — and the left holding 
 aloft a wide-spread umbrella, to keep off the frosty 
 air, perchance, as it can possibly serve no other use- 
 ful purpose on such a day. 
 
 And finally, as you wend your way back to the 
 homestead, to bid adieu to your hospitable enter- 
 tainers, turn into that cabin close by the yard gate, 
 about the door of which you have seen their little 
 girls, — three bright-eyed fairies, — gambolling the 
 greater part of the morning. They are within now. 
 An old negress, about seventy years of age, whose 
 surroundings are, in every respect, cleanly and com- 
 fortable, is sitting by the fire. She is nearly loaded 
 down with sweetmeats, which the little witches have 
 been bringing her from the house since sunrise. 
 With one hand she is gently waving off two of the 
 children, who are pressing her to eat more of the del- 
 icacies of their providing, while, with the other, she 
 is lightly playing with the rich clustering ringlets of 
 the youngest, who is standing at her knee. An ex- 
 pression of ineffable fondness sits upon her withered 
 features, as her dim eyes rest upon their winsome 
 faces. That is Aunt Judy ; — to use the language of 
 these little girls, — that is "mammie." She was the 
 nurse of the father, and has for his children, — her 
 pets, as she calls them, — a love second only to that of 
 
CHRISTMAS. 17 
 
 the mother, — a love, which, in kind, is fully repaid 
 by them. 
 
 Such is an imperfect picture of what Christmas 
 used to be at the South, when planters were rich, and 
 the negroes happy. It is different now ; for wealth 
 has departed from the one, and care taken possession 
 of the other. The old Christmas pastimes upon plan- 
 tations are no more. The banjo is obsolete and the 
 fiddle laid aside. John, the coachman, has emigra- 
 ted, or taken to politics. Aunt Judy too has gone I 
 She died in 1865 ; and with her, or rather with that 
 3"ear, passed forever from the South the last of the 
 ^'mammies." 
 
 1* 
 
THE COXFEDERATE SOLDIER. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER* 
 
 Hushed is the roll of the rebel drum, 
 
 The sahres ai'e sheathed, aud the cannon are dumb; 
 
 And Fate, with pitiless hand, has furled 
 
 The flag that once challenged the gaze of the -world. 
 
 John R. Thompson. 
 
 Previous to the war, indeed to the very moment of 
 the great action, which brought it about, there was a 
 fervent and sincere love of the Union among all classes 
 of the American people, both Is'orth and South. This 
 love, however, although perhaps equal in degree on the 
 part of each of the two sections, was widely dissimilar 
 in character. With the North it was primarily a love 
 of the Union for itself; with the South it was prima- 
 ril}^ a love of the Union for its constitutional guaran- 
 tees. The different ideas, upon which the Northern 
 and Southern Union sentiment was founded, mani- 
 fested themselves at the organization of the govern- 
 ment. The North wanted the Union, but, in this 
 want, the rights and interests of the States were too 
 little regarded ; the South wanted the Union also, but, 
 in it these rights and interests were duly considered. 
 The one struggled mainly for the Union; the other 
 for the Union with those restrictions upon its powers 
 
 * speech made at the cemetery in Mobile, April 26th, 1875 — Memorial day. 
 
20 THE COXFEDEEATE SOLDIER. 
 
 judged essential to the life and health of its compo- 
 nent parts. The result was a compact, in which, 
 "while Southern ideas mainly predominated, these 
 powers were not in every instance so expressly and 
 exactly defined and guarded, as to preclude the possi- 
 bility of dispute and collision. Hence, the determined 
 maintenance, on the part of the South, of the right of 
 a State to secede, and the equally determined denial of 
 it on the part of the North. 
 
 These two opposing constructions of the Constitu- 
 tion, in the matter of secession, made up the great 
 issue upon wliich the war was fought. The millions 
 of men and vast riches at the command of the Xorth, 
 with her ports open for the incoming of eltectual 
 assistance, in the way of men, and all the munitions 
 of war, from the outside world, and her surface retic- 
 ulated by rivers and railroads, for the easy and speedy 
 transfer of her valorous and ponderous legions, with 
 their suppHes, from one point to another, gave her the 
 victory over the South, weak in numbers and avail- 
 able wealth, shut in by land, and sea — upon which no 
 friendly flag was seen to wave, and through which no 
 help could enter, scarcely even a word of encourage- 
 ment and sympath}^, from other nations. By this 
 victory the ISTorthern construction prevailed. Seces- 
 sion as a remedy for federal wrongs and usurpations, 
 in this countr}^, became a thing of the past. Upon it, 
 by the sword, was inflicted a bloody death, and, by the 
 same weapon, its grave was dug. For it there is no 
 resurrection, and none is desired. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER. 21 
 
 But for SO struggling and failing, were the Southern 
 people traitors? And, ah! — were their dead soldiers 
 traitors^those, whom we to-day mourn as the loved 
 and the lost ? The foul imputation has been more 
 than once cast upon them, by a few men of the 
 North, — not, be it said, by the gallant survivors of 
 the host that met them so manfully in arms, — and by 
 certain ones of the South, — I dare not call them men, 
 -^who blenched from helm and halliards, when the 
 storm blew hiuhest. 
 
 The Northern soldiers believed they were right. 
 They were told, — vea, it was the one theme of their 
 press, — it was thundered from their rostrums, — and 
 it was preached from their pulpits, — that the Union 
 constructed by the fathers of the republic, — to which 
 was due all the prosperity of the country, at home, 
 £ind its dignity abroad, — a Union, in the love and ven- 
 eration of which they were educated, from the mo- 
 ment they could lisp the magic word at their mothers' 
 knees, until they had been made to look iipon it, as 
 ^'the paramount jDolitical good, and the primary object 
 of patriotic desire," was being rudely menaced by hos- 
 tile and impious hands, — and they were stirringly 
 exhorted by congressional resolutions, and presidential 
 jDroclamations, to gird on their swords and strike for 
 its preservation. Their dead are consequently safe 
 from any such unhallowed charge, as that sought to 
 be fastened upon our dead. 
 
 Traitors ! — The slanderous word, it seems, ouaht to 
 blister the tongue and shrivel the lips of the man, who 
 
22 THE COXFEI-'^RATE SOLDIEE. 
 
 "^oiild dare apph^ it to the soldier-dead of the Confed- 
 erate States. Traitors ! — The potent voice of impartial 
 history will never permit so great a wrong. It will 
 never permit the memories of the dead heroes of the 
 South to be so outraged — will never permit such a 
 stigma to cleave to their names, and such a shadow to 
 rest upon their graves — will never permit all their 
 noble and unselfish exertions, all their siorious 
 achievements, all their unexampled sufferings, all their 
 unmeasured and immeasurable sacrifices, — to be so 
 dishonored. In their minds rested no doubt, as to the 
 rightfulness of the cause, for which they strove; — and 
 that, they were correct in their convictions is, and 
 will be, the decision of just expounders of the 
 Constitution, and the Hallams of this country, and 
 of the war. 
 
 They were patriots! They were unrevengeful^ 
 dauntless, faithful patriots ! — never failing — never 
 waverino- — even under circunir tances, which mio-ht 
 well excuse both on the part of the truest, boldest 
 and purest ! 
 
 They were unrevengeful I The whole Southern 
 country, like a mighty volcano in the moment of 
 irruption, was girdled and seamed Avith the fires of 
 destruction and death, — fertile plains and valleys were 
 bereft of all brightness and beautv, — humble farm- 
 houses and princely mansions Avere levelled Avith the 
 ground, — lovely and thriving tOAA'ns and cities AA^ere 
 heaps of ruins; — but all these horrors AA'ere regarded 
 by them as incidents of iuA'ading Avar, — not ahA^ays 
 
THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER. 23 
 
 necessary, but frequently unavoidable, — with no 
 thought of retaliation, or, if such thought ever arose, 
 it was resolutely uprooted when opportunities of 
 retaliation were presented. Indeed, when south of 
 the Potomac, 
 
 "The war that for a space did fail, 
 Now trebly thundering, swelled the gala," 
 
 on the other side, — when they, in the bright meridian 
 of their martial glory, became invaders in their turn, 
 but few, or no, acts of unnecessary violence or wanton 
 destruction of private property, could be laid to their 
 charge. The hearts of women and children in Penn- 
 sylvania were desolated by the loss in battle of fathers, 
 brothers, husbands and sons, but they did not have 
 superadded the desolation of homes and firesides. 
 Poesy never wove a wreath holding more of the 
 bloom and perfume of truth, than that made up of 
 the words, — "The bravest are the tenderest, — the 
 loving are the daring," — and the world never showed 
 brows more Avorthy of it, than those of our dead 
 heroes. 
 
 They were dauntless ! Let it be recollected that they 
 were hundreds, while their opponents were thousands ; 
 they were poor, while their opponents were rich; 
 they were badly fed, clothed, armed and equipped, 
 while their opponents were supplied with everything 
 needed by the soldier ; they had to rely upon the scant 
 and rapidly decreasing resources of an invaded and 
 blockaded country, while their opponents had free 
 
24 THE COXFEDERATE SOLDIER. 
 
 access to tlie markets of the world; — and while tlius 
 lamentably deficient in all those advantages, with 
 which their opponents were so lavishly furnished, 
 they knew them to be, by birth, education and habits, 
 foemen not unworthy of their steel. They spoke the 
 same language, worshiped the same God, were reared 
 under the same institutions, and descended from the 
 same heroic ancestors. And yet, with all these disas- 
 ter- broodino- facts staring^ these Southern soldiers in 
 the face, never were their hearts known to despair, in 
 the lonely night-watch, upon the toilsome march, in 
 the full roar and glare of battle, or in calamitous 
 retreat, — never was their prowess found wanting on 
 the most dif&cult and trying enterprise or, in the most 
 desperate charge, — of a four years war. 
 
 And they were faithful ! The nature and extent of 
 their sulferings no mortal pen can portray. It may 
 possibly convey a faint idea of those of the body, — 
 in picturing them shivering before the icy blasts of 
 winter, — "pierced by the arrowy rain," — marking the 
 frozen ground with lacerated and blood-stained feet, — 
 eating wild berries, and, at times, grass itself, to satisfy 
 the cravinp^s of hnno'er; — but these were nothins^, — 
 were unheeded by them in the presence of the mental 
 agony, which they, for months, aye many of them, 
 for years, were forced to endure. They knew that 
 behind the hostile invasions of the Southern country, 
 their mothers, wives, sisters and little children were 
 left homeless, and, if not friendless, without friends 
 capable of assistance, — crying for bread and receiving 
 
THE COXFEDERATE SOLDIER. 25 
 
 none; — and messages not iinfrequently readied them, 
 from those dear ones far away, the burden of which 
 was "Help, help, or we perish!" — and yet they sternly 
 brushed away the tear that could not be ke23t back, 
 half stifled the sob and groan which accompanied it, 
 left family to the care of God, and manfully, faithfully, 
 stood at their posts. 
 
 And to conclude; — the last act at Appomattox 
 showed that the martial virtues of our dead soldiers 
 were, by no means, wanting in the storm-worn and 
 battle-scarred warriors, who survived them and the 
 cause. About the end of the twelfth century, Jeru- 
 salem, then in the possession of the Crusaders, was 
 threatened by an army of seven thousand men under 
 Saladin. The Templars and Hospitallers assumed 
 the whole danger and responsibility of its defence. 
 Their band, although scarcely numbering more than 
 one hundred knights, and about three hundred men- 
 at-arms, met the host of the renowned soldan, at 
 Kazareth, and boldly charged its centre. Fighting 
 desperately, they piled the ground with a mountain of 
 dead Arabs, but overborne by the multitude of their 
 foes, every man of them perished except the Grand 
 Master of the Temple, and two of his immediate fol- 
 lowers. Than this, no grander exhibition of heroism 
 is furnished by those romantic and chivalrous crusad- 
 ino' wars ; but as o-rand as it is, when all the circum- 
 stances attending each are considered, it pales, as does 
 the moon before the sun, in the face of that displayed 
 by the little remnant of Lee's grand army, in their 
 
26 THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER. 
 
 preparations for a final charge upon tlie closing field 
 of the great struggle. Clothed in rags, — every face 
 wearing the sunken, pinched and ghastly look pro- 
 duced by starvation, overwork and anxiety, but with 
 lips compressed and eyes blazing, indicative of a 
 determination to dare all and do all, or die, their grasp 
 tightened upon their muskets, and they sprang into 
 line. A few minutes they stood, amid a gleaming 
 forest of opposing bayonets, calmly and grimly await- 
 ing the command for the last death-grapple of the 
 war; but thank God, it never came! It was with- 
 held by their great leader, — the loving man, the true 
 gentleman, the humble christian, the peerless chief- 
 tain, — who saw that all was lost. All was lost! To 
 him what a moment of agony ! Within it was com- 
 pressed an age of suffering; and his noble heart 
 broke. Not long after, he, too, was of those, whose 
 graves are annually garlanded with Southern flowers, 
 typical of the bloom and fragrance of their Southern 
 virtues, and the unending remembrance of them in 
 Southern hearts. 
 
AGRICL'LTURAL DEMOCRACY. 
 
AGRICULTURAL DEMOCRACY* 
 
 Wliat constitutes a State ? 
 
 Nut higli-raiseil battlement and labored mound, 
 Tliick wall, or moated gate ; 
 
 Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned ; 
 Not bays and broad-armed ports. 
 
 Where, laugliing at the storm, proud navies ride ; 
 Not starred and spangleii courts, 
 
 Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride; — 
 No, men — high minded men ! 
 
 With pow'rs as far above dull brutes endued, 
 In forest, brake or glen. 
 
 As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude ; 
 Men, who their duties know. 
 
 But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain; — 
 
 These constitute a State ! 
 
 Sir William Joxes. 
 
 In this centennial year of American independence, 
 it is especially appropriate to consider the causes of a 
 nation's prosperity or decline. Upon a calm and full 
 investigation of this subject, it will be found, that all 
 of them spring, either directly or remotely, from the 
 condition of its agriculture. This is a broad asser- 
 tion, but it is fact, and is susceptible of satisfactory 
 proof. 
 
 A thoucrhtful Enolishman, in certain nervous and 
 vigorous lines, has substantially said that, it is "not 
 high-raised battlement, thick wall, moated gate, rich. 
 
 * Speech made at White Church, Barbour county, Ala., November 1st, 1876. 
 
28 AGRICULTURAL DEMOCRACY. 
 
 navies, or cities proud, which constitute a State — but 
 men I" The thought, embodied in these words, is in- 
 disputable. Men do indeed make the State. If these 
 are intelligent and virtuous, — if these are industrious 
 and brave, — if these are fall of love of country, — if 
 these are thoroughly imbued with the spirit of free- 
 dom, — then will the State be prosperous and powerful 
 and happy. While on the other hand, if its people 
 are wanting in these qualities, — no matter what archi- 
 tectural splendors may grace its cities ; no matter 
 what heaps of wealth may be poured into its coffers ; 
 no matter what poets, philosophers, historians, paint- 
 ers and sculptors, it may have produced, and by 
 whom its cultivated mind may have been fixed upon 
 the written page, the glowing canvas or the shapely 
 marble, — rottenness is at its heart, and decay and 
 death will inevitably be its doom. 
 
 Every State, which has risen since the beginning 
 of time, has been marked by one of two civilizations, 
 or a combination of them, which, in a broad and gen- 
 eral classification, may be set down as a couutry and 
 a city civilization. The civilization, therefore, which 
 has the greatest tendency to develop and strengthen 
 the virtues suggested as being so essential to the life 
 and health of a State is the one to be preferred, — the 
 one to be fostered ; — and I say here to-day that this 
 is a country civilization ! And, although it ought 
 not, of course, to be preferred and fostered to the ex- 
 clusion of the other, — the beneficent work of which, as 
 an auxiliarj^, is by no means small, — yet it should in all 
 
AGRICULTURAL DEMOCRACY. 29 
 
 cases of combination, be made vastly and heavily to 
 preponderate. But why do I say that a country civ- 
 ilization is best adapted to the germination and 
 growth of these essential virtues ? Because, while in 
 a city civilization, the mind, through the grinding 
 influences of trade, and the polishing influences of 
 cultivated society, is made sharp and keen and 
 bright, frequently at the expense of its more solid 
 and robust parts, and still more frequently at the 
 expense of physical and moral soundness and com- 
 pleteness, — in a country civilization, there are no 
 influences, which must, of necessity, be followed by 
 such, or similar, disastrous results. In other words, 
 while in a city civilization, only a part, in a country 
 civilization, the whole, of the man can, as a general 
 thing, be developed. Agriculture furnishes to those 
 eno-ao-ed in it, the most abundant facilities for the 
 thorough exercise of every phj^sical, mental and 
 moral qualification; — in the ever-moving, and ever- 
 varying labors of the field ; in the multifarious, and, 
 at times, intricate and refined improvements, essential 
 to legitimate and successful farming; in the appli- 
 cation of science to the art of husbandry ; in 
 opportunities for close and systematic study, and for 
 the acquisition of popular and general information ; 
 and in interposing no bar, by its other labors, to all 
 necessary self-communings, and to daily communings 
 with God, through the medium of the Bible, amid 
 the quiet comforts of a home out of reach of most of 
 the snares and temptations of the world, and, to 
 
30 AGRICULTURAL DEMOCRACY. 
 
 almost constant communinojs witli Him, throuoii tliat 
 of nature, upon all of whose visible forms, His good- 
 ness and mercy, wisdom and truth, majesty and 
 glory, are scarely less plainly portrayed, than upon 
 the pages of His written word ; — and if properly im- 
 proved, the result are men full of physical, mental 
 and moral soundness and vitality. Yes, the breath- 
 ing of country air, the exercise of country labors, the 
 inspiration of country scenery, are, I had almost said, 
 essential to the make-up of the stalwart nobility of 
 mankind, — the champions of freedom, — the support- 
 ers of society, — the saviors of states, — men, indeed, 
 whose characteristics are such as the present of this 
 countrj^, so greatly 
 
 "Demands, — 
 Strong minds, great hearts, pure faith and ready hands, — 
 
 Men, whom the hist of office does not kill, — 
 Men, whom the spoils of office cannot buy, — 
 
 Men, who possess opinions and a will,^ 
 Men, who have honor, — men, who v>-ill not lie, — 
 
 Men, who can stand before a demagogue. 
 And damn his treacherous flatteries without shrinking, — 
 
 TaU men — sun-crowned — who live above the fog, 
 In pubhc duty, and in private thinking. " 
 
 The annals of the world are a standing monument 
 of the great fact, which I have here sought to im- 
 press. Some writer has called history the Cheops of 
 Kations. I acknowledge the appropriateness and 
 force of the poetic idea, — and afl&rni that there is not 
 a hieroglyph upon the walls of this vast pyramid, in 
 which nations lie entombed, that is not ablaze with 
 
AGEICULTURAL DEMOCRACY. 31 
 
 this all important truth. Where are now the States 
 of the old world, the superstructure of whose pros- 
 perity was reared upon a city civilization ? Where 
 is Tyre ? — Tyre, in which, at one time, it seemed, the 
 merchandise of the whole earth was piled, — whose 
 people were almost as countless as the sands of its 
 beautiful sea-shore, — and to which " all other nations 
 appeared less as allies, than tributaries," — Tyre, 
 which the prophet, Ezekiel, — symbolizing the vast 
 extent and richness of its trade, — likened unto a su- 
 perb vessel, — whose ship-boards were made of the 
 firs of Senir, — whose masts were made of the cedars 
 of Lebanon, — whose oars were made of the oaks of 
 Bashan, — whose benches of ivory were made by the 
 company of Asherites, and brought out of the isles of 
 Chittim, — whose sails were made of fine linen, with 
 embroidered work from Egypt, — whose decks and 
 sides were covered with blue and purple from the 
 isles of Elishah, — whose mariners were taken from 
 Arvad and Sidon, — and whose pilots were the wise of 
 its own citizens, — Tyre, pronounced by the Prophet 
 Isaiah, the crowned city, — whose merchants were 
 princes, and whose traffickers were the honorable of 
 earth ? Go ask the few squalid and beggarly fisher- 
 men, whose nets are spread to dry upon the broken 
 columns of its proudest palaces and temples ! Where 
 is Carthage? — Carthage, w^hich traffic originated, — 
 traffic enriched, — traffic enlarged, — Carthage, which 
 disputed for years the empire of the world with 
 Eome, — Carthage with its seven hundred thousand 
 
82 AGRICULTUEAL DEMOCRACY. 
 
 inhabitants, and its three hundred dependent cities 
 upon the coast of Africa ? Go ask the mindless and 
 nerveless slave, whose chains are clanking upon its 
 blighted and desolate site, or the wild beast, which 
 finds a home in the few visible fragments of its 
 ruined walls ! Where is Venice and Genoa ? — 
 "Venice, the imperial, and Genoa, the superb ! — Venice 
 throned upon an hundred islands and Genoa throned 
 upon an hundred hills, — the two States, which were 
 to the modern, w^hat Tyre and Carthage were to the 
 ancient, world, — whose commerce whitened every 
 sea, — whose influence was felt to the uttermost parts 
 of the earth, — whose people dressed in purple and 
 fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day. Al- 
 though a desolation so complete has not overtaken 
 them, as that which has befallen their two great pre- 
 decessors, — their power and glory have departed, — 
 their people are little better than timid slaves, — the 
 representatives of their princes are hawkers of trink- 
 ets, — and many of their marble palaces are tenantless 
 save to the " crannying wind." Their 
 
 'Statues of glass — all shivered; — the long files 
 
 Of their dead Doges are declined to dust ; 
 But where they dwelt — the vast and sumptuous piles 
 
 Bespeak the pageant of their splendid trust. 
 
 Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust, 
 Have yielded to the stranger ; empty halls, 
 
 Thin streets, foreign aspects ; such as must 
 Too oft remind them, who and what enthralls. 
 Have flung a desolate cloud o'er these States' marble walls." 
 
AGRICULTURAL DEMOCRACY. 33 
 
 But not only does liistory teach by examples, 
 which are indisputable, that a nation, founded exclu- 
 sively upon a city civilization, is always sure to fall ; 
 but it teaches that a nation founded upon a country 
 civilization is generally sure to prosper. Take up 
 the history of Rome. And I point to this history, 
 not only because it is strongly illustrative of the idea 
 indicated, but because it is strikingly suggestive and 
 sisfnificant, when considered in connection with that 
 of the United States, as far as the latter extends. 
 Take up the history of Eome ! The world has never 
 seen a braver and nobler people, than were the men 
 of that State, in the earlier days of the republic, or a 
 people more ardently attached to liberty ; and during 
 that period they were emphatically an agricultural 
 people. The leading and best citizens did not live in 
 the city, but in the country ; and senators, consuls 
 and dictators worked as ordinary laborers in the 
 fields. One of the most distinguished of Roman au- 
 thors, in alluding to this fact, with a burst of 
 enthusiasm, exclaims, that "the earth, glorious in 
 seeing herself cultivated by the hands of triumphant 
 victors, seemed to make new efforts and to produce 
 fruits in greater abundance ;" which, by the way, was 
 but an elegant and poetic method of saying that the 
 cultivation was intelligent and thorough. The love 
 of ancient Roman leaders for country life, country 
 labors and country simplicity, is finely illustrated in 
 the rebuke administered by an old senator to Appius 
 Claudius. " Here," said he, comparing the farm, 
 
84 AGRICULTURAL DEMOCRACY. 
 
 where they chanced to be, with the magnificent coun- 
 try house of the other, — "Here we see neither 
 painting, statues, carving nor mosaic work, but to 
 make us amends we have all that is necessary to the 
 •cultivation of lands, the dressing of vines, and the 
 feeding of cattle. In j'our house every thing shines 
 with gold, silver and marble, but there is no sign of 
 arable lands or vineyards. We find there neither ox, 
 nor cow, nor sheep. There is neither bay in cocks, 
 vintage in cellars, nor harvest in barn. Can that be 
 called a farm ? In what does it resemble that of 
 3^our grandfather and great grandfather ?" Manius 
 Curius, who repeatedly triumphed over the Sabines 
 and Samnites, and finally drove the great king of 
 Epirus, witb his eighty thousand veterans, from Italy, 
 worked and fared as did the slaves upon his little 
 farm. Cato, the censor, who, when not engaged in 
 ^Dublic service, labored indefatigably, day after day, 
 in his fields, was called the best farmer of his age. 
 There is a volume of meaning, which ought to be 
 pondered, in one of his favorite expressions with re- 
 gard to agriculture. "Those," said he, "who exercise 
 that art are of all others least addicted to evil 
 thoughts," Regulus, in the midst of his African 
 campaign, asked permission of the Roman senate, to 
 return and cultivate his farm, which had been neg- 
 lected during his absence, — wisely preferring the 
 simple wreath of a successful agriculturist, to the 
 ornate crown of a successful general. Ah! — those 
 were the iron days of Rome, and the golden days as 
 
AGRICULTURAL DEMOCRACY. 35 
 
 -well, — when its power and independence were su- 
 preme, — those days of agricultural encouragement 
 and elevation ! And as long as that encouragement 
 and elevation continued, so long did that power and 
 independence continue, but no longer. With the de- 
 cline of its agriculture, declined all of the virtues, 
 which made Eome the pride of its people, and the 
 terror of its enemies. Turn to the time of Tiberius, 
 the third Caesar, w^hen the sun of that great power, 
 having been above the horizon nearly eight hundred 
 years, had passed its meridian splendor, and w^as has- 
 tening to its setting, in a sea of blood, and a cloud of 
 shame. Hear what a true and wise Roman, living at 
 that time, has to say about the abuse of its agricul- 
 ture, in connection with the profligacy of its people. 
 "I see at Rome," said he, "schools of philosophers, 
 rhetoricians, and, what is more astonishing, of people 
 solely employed, some in preparing dishes proper to 
 whet the appetite and excite gluttony, and others to 
 adorn the head with artificial curls, but not one for 
 agriculture. However the rest might be well spared; 
 and the republic flourished long without any of these 
 frivolous arts ; but it is not possible to want that of 
 husbandry, because life depends upon it. Besides, is 
 there a more honest or legal means of preserving or 
 increasing a patrimony ? Is the profession of arms 
 of this kind, and the acquisition of spoils always dyed 
 with human blood, and amassed by the ruin of mul- 
 titude of persons ? Or is commerce so, which, tearing 
 citizens away from their native country, exposes 
 
36 AGRICULTURAL DEMOCRACY. 
 
 tliem to the farj of the wind and the sea, and drags 
 them into unknown worlds in pursuit of riches ? Or 
 is the trade of money and usury more laudable, 
 odious and fatal as they are, even to those they seem 
 to relieve? Can any one compare either of these 
 methods with wise and innocent aoTiculture, which 
 only the depravity of our manners can render con- 
 temptible, and, by a necessary consequence, almost 
 barren and useless?" Yes, — truly was it the deprav- 
 ity of their manners, which rendered their agriculture 
 contemptible and barren and useless ; and it may be 
 added, on the other hand, as their agriculture was 
 rendered more and more contemptible, the depravity 
 of their manners went on increasins:, until Rome fell, 
 and great, utter, overwhelming was the fall of it. 
 
 And now what does history say of the United 
 States, and its civilization? It says that, to the cul- 
 mination of the unfortunate events resulting in the 
 late war, agriculture in these States was the leading 
 interest — the interest, in which their best men were 
 chiefly engaged, and their wealth chiefly embarked. 
 It says that the war of the revolution was, in a great 
 measure, fought and won bv farmers. It savs that 
 the government was, in a great measure, administered 
 by farmers. It says that Washington's highest 
 earthlv ambition was to be considered one of the best 
 of farmers. In a word, it says that the fields, which 
 God made, controlled the town, which man made. 
 And what a country was the result! What a people 1 
 What a government! A country, in which every 
 
AGRICULTURAL DEMOCRACY. 37 
 
 day added to the appliances and effects of prosperitv 
 and power — a people brave, sturdy, honest, industri- 
 ous, and with a love of freedom, which, it seemed, 
 could never be impaired or shaken, — and a govern- 
 ment faithful to all its high trusts, — running in the 
 interest of no cliques or factions, but keeping step 
 constantly to the grand old march of union, frater- 
 nity, and the " greatest good to the greatest number 
 of the people." 
 
 Bat histor}^ tells a different story of this country 
 and its civilization to-day. It tells that agriculture, 
 although still, in many respects, the leading interest, 
 has lost prestige, position and power. It tells that 
 agriculture has been shorn of its wealth. It tells that 
 agriculture has been fettered by unwise and oppres- 
 sive legislation. It tells that, by these means, assisted 
 by the aggregation of capital in the cities, and power- 
 ful rings and monopolies, the civilization of the 
 United States is rapidly changing from a country to 
 a city civilization, — from a country civilization, 
 under, and by the aid of which, their liberties and 
 greatness, like those of Eome, were achieved and 
 maintained, — to a city civilization, under and by the 
 aid of which, should the transition become complete, 
 they will, like those of Rome, be assuredly and for- 
 ever destroyed. Already evidences of the decline of 
 republican virtues are everywhere visible, — in the 
 greed, and wild hunt after office and money, — in the 
 corruption, which stalketh abroad, even at noon-day, 
 unshamed in the presence of the world, — in the 
 
38 AGRICULTURAL DEMOCRACY. 
 
 lascivious riot of city wealth and luxury, — in rulers 
 being what the greatest of the prophets has so heavily 
 denounced, — "companions of thieves, lovers of gifts 
 and followers after rewards," — and above all, in the 
 apathy and indifference, with which the highest gov- 
 ernmental, as well as individual, crimes, are regarded 
 by the masses of the people. 
 
 Oh ! — while struggling in all other ways to uproot 
 these alarming evils, the good men of this country, — 
 the good men of the cities, as well as the good men of 
 the rural districts, — should not fail to take those steps, 
 by which such evils in a state can alone be effectually 
 and finally removed. They must build up agricul- 
 ture ! They can build up commerce, — build up 
 manufiictures ; — but let them build up agriculture at 
 the same time, — build it np all the time, — repair 
 every damage it has sustained, — restore every ram- 
 part it has lost, — enlarge its boundaries, — lay its 
 foundations broader and deeper, — and raise its super- 
 structure higher and grander, — that those of other 
 interests may be, as God intended them, merely its 
 appendages — giving to it indeed, while deriving from 
 it, beauty and strength, — but never its superiors, — 
 never its equals. 
 
THE REBEL DEAD. 
 
THE REBEL DEAD, 
 
 Home-pictnres make those of war seem darker ; 
 War-pictures make those of home seem sweeter. 
 
 Eastern Proverbs. 
 
 True ; rebels they were, firm and strong, — 
 
 Bnt not as a pitiless foe 
 Portrays them in hist'ry and song, — 
 
 Portrays them, and smiles at the woe 
 Their death, in its train brought along. 
 
 Not rebels to honor, not rebels to truth, — 
 
 Not rebels to faith, and not rebels to ruth. 
 But oh I they were rebels to wrong. 
 
 They clung to their State with a love, 
 
 That in beauty and power was one, 
 As pure as her blue sky above, — 
 
 As bright and as warm as her sun, 
 Which not a disaster could move. 
 
 Her action to them was the law and the right, — 
 
 When called she for aid they were ready to fight, 
 And die, too, her honor to prove. 
 
 And husbands they were. — Ev'ry part 
 
 Of home-life was sacredly sweet, 
 With flowers, that bloom in the heart, — ■ 
 
 With flowers, that bloom under feet, — 
 Which wife-tilled such fragrance impart. 
 
 Their zeal for the South only ending with life, — 
 
 Devotion unselfish, — like that of the wife, — 
 Made painless grim death's bloody dart. 
 
40 THE REBEL DEAD. 
 
 Aud brothers I — As fresh as a morn, 
 
 The soft'^st and sweetest in May, 
 The faith of the sister e'er shone, 
 
 But never with steadier ray. 
 Than when with white hands she jout on 
 
 The armor of brother. The sister's great trust, 
 
 And firmness were his 'neath the sabre's red thrust, 
 As, breathing a prayer, he was gone. 
 
 And fathers ! — whose children did rove, 
 
 With laughter and shout by the rill, 
 That sang near the cot in the grove, — 
 
 That smiled 'neath the hall on the hill, — 
 Those sweet little prattlers of love, — 
 
 Not dull grains of earth, but sparkles of heaven I — 
 
 As child-pure, the hopes of fathers were given 
 The cause for whose triumph they strove. 
 
 And sons they of great mothers, too, 
 
 Who bade them in battle be bold, 
 To strike Uke stern Martel, who slew 
 
 The Paynim-invaders of old. 
 And thus gained his name — it was due.* 
 
 A courage 'twas enough — these rebels e'er showed. 
 
 In life, aud in death, like the courage that glowed 
 In mothers' hearts noble and true. 
 
 They were men — the grandest of men I 
 
 Their faith, love, hope, valor shone bright, 
 
 As radiant in sj^irit as when 
 
 Kosciusko dared all for the right. 
 
 And failing, showed worthier then. 
 
 Oh South, to thy dutj' 1 — let blossoms of fame, 
 In beauty supernal, enwreathe ev'ry name, — 
 
 To wither ! — no, never again I 
 
 * It is said, that at the battle of Poiters, where the power of the Arabs U'nth of 
 the Pyrenees was broken, and their career of western conquest terminated, the 
 ringing sound of the blows dealt by the iron-hand of Charles upon the heads of the 
 Saracens, plainly heard above the roar of the conflict, obtained for him the surname 
 of Martel, or the Hammer. 
 
THE SOUTHERN PLANTER. 
 
THE SOUTHERN PLANTER. 
 
 He was a man fit for whatever is greatest and bravest among men, and withal 
 such a lover of mankind, that whatsoever had any real parts in him found comfort, 
 participation, and protection, to the uttermost of his power,— like Zeplierus, he gave 
 life wherever he blew. Lokd Brooke. 
 
 No finer type of the gentleman lias this world ever 
 produced than the Southern planter. Look at him 
 before the late war ! * Brought up to feel, when he 
 stood upon his paternal acres, that he was the mon- 
 arch of what he surveyed, and that watchfulness and 
 tenderness, with regard to all confided to his care, 
 was a great duty, — a paramount obligation, — he was 
 independent without haughtiness, and determined 
 without obstinacy. Surrounded by an ample supply 
 of the world's goods, which his early training taught 
 him were to be enjoyed, not hoarded, — were to be 
 used as the means of beautifying life, not as the end 
 of it, — he was generous without calculation, and char- 
 itable without display. With all the health-giving 
 influences and freedom of the country about him, and 
 with the purity and beauty, which God had so legibly 
 written upon earth and sky, entering into and en- 
 nobling his spirit, — he was strong without arrogance, 
 honest without censoriousness, genial without levity, 
 2* 
 
42 THE SOUTHERX PLA^'TER. 
 
 and candid without rudeness. Passing, in short, the 
 larger portion of his time upon his plantation, — his 
 mind engaged in superintending, and providing for, 
 its varied interests, — his frame developed bv every 
 manly exercise, — and his heart invigorated and bright- 
 ened b}^ close and almost constant communion with 
 nature in all her visible forms, — there was in him 
 no part of the man wanting, — he stood forth, in 
 mental, moral and physical proportions, complete and 
 finished ; — as nearly so, at any rate, as was possible to 
 mere mortality with its manifold weaknesses and 
 imperfections. 
 
 When the war ended he was the last in the field, as 
 he was the first when it began. Feeling that all was 
 lost save honor, he accepted the settlement of the 
 great issue by the sword, — honestly renewed his alle- 
 giance to the government, — and quietly turned his 
 attention to his private affairs. He found his planta- 
 tion in ruins, his supplies scattered, his stock gone, 
 and the character of his labor changed. The accom- 
 plishment of the task before him, with money, was 
 not easy, — without money, it was most difiicult ; — 
 with habits of systematic and undeviating thrift, and 
 a thorough appreciation of the situation, it was her- 
 culean, — without them, it was simply impossible. 
 Accustomed to pay off' large debts every year by the 
 proceeds of his crops, so that he was never embar- 
 rassed, and had consequently no fear of such obliga- 
 tions, — princely in his style of living, — in his hospi- 
 tality, — in his charity ; — careless in the management 
 
THE SOUTHERX PLANTER. 43 
 
 of his property, — in his expenditures, — in his collec- 
 tions, — he soon found himself inextricably involved, 
 and was speedily crushed beneath the accumulated 
 weight of financial burdens. Yet a few years, and 
 the last trace of him will have disappeared ; and de- 
 spite his faults, — indeed because of his faults, for they 
 all sprang from that noblest attribute of humanity, — ■ 
 a generous, and unsuspecting nature, — it may truly be 
 said, that the world will then have forever lost the 
 man, whom 
 
 "Take him for all in all, 
 We ne'er shall look upon his like again." 
 
 These lines can never become stale, because Shaks- 
 peare wrote them. They have been often quoted, — 
 and yet it may well be doubted if they have ever 
 heretofore been applied so fitly and truthfully, as they 
 are now applied to the Southerx Planter. 
 
THE STRENGTH OF A STATE. 
 
THE STRENGTH OF A STATE IS IN ITS 
 INDUSTRIES.* 
 
 Ill fares the land to hast'ning ills a prey, 
 WTiere wealth accumulates, and men decay. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 It is not my purpose to submit to this Convention 
 an elaborately prepared paper, or to make to it what 
 is ordinarily termed a regular built speech. Indeed, 
 I occupy to-day, in connection with its proceedings, 
 rather an humble position. The distinguished gen- 
 tlemen, who are to follow me, according to the fixed 
 order of exercises, have each some special industry of 
 a state to discuss. It is made my business to speak 
 of these industries generally. My remarks, therefore, 
 will bear about the same relation to the solid and 
 useful body of its work, that a porch does to a house, 
 or rather that a preface does to the remaining contents 
 of a book. They will be simply introductory, and, as 
 all such remarks ought to be, short. 
 
 The strength of a state is in its industries. The 
 question of greatest practical importance, which pre- 
 
 * Si'eech made before the Industrial Convention held at Blount Springs, Alabama, 
 Sept. 4th, 1877. 
 
46 THE STKEXGTH OF A STATE. 
 
 sents itself for investigation and solution, in connec- 
 tion with this interesting subject, is, how may these 
 industries be vitalized and enlarged? And herein, it 
 is found that both government and society often sadly 
 neglect one of their chief duties, and consequently 
 often misapply their energies. The duty of each, with 
 regard to this matter, will be made to appear, — very 
 imperfectly, however, it is apprehended, — in the 
 answer to the great question proposed : How may the 
 industries of a State be vitalized and enlarged ? In 
 order to determine this question satisfactorily, it is 
 necessary to ascertain upon what these industries 
 mainly depend for activity and strength. There is no 
 need of turning to any treatise on political economy 
 for this information. Common sense stands ready to 
 give it fully and at once ; and it is embraced in the 
 single word — consumption ! The more extended the 
 reach of consumption among the people, — the stronger 
 and more numerous are the markets established, — the 
 more active and rapid the various kinds of industrial 
 exchanges, — the larger and finer the products, and the 
 greater, consequently, and more powerful the stimulus 
 given to industry. I have seen it frequently stated 
 in leading journals of the country, that there are per- 
 haps ten millions of laboring families in the United 
 States. Let the earnings of each of these families be 
 increased onlj^ one dollar per day ; and it will be found 
 that nearly four thousand millions of dollars are added 
 to their aljility to purchase annually the products of 
 industry, or the necessaries of life ; and, in proportion 
 
THE STREXGTH OF A STATE. 47 
 
 to this vast sum per annum, is consumption enlarged, 
 and labor vitalized and invigorated. The need, too, 
 of a broader and deeper reach of consumption, among 
 the great mass of the people, is daily growing stronger 
 and more urgent, and is made to do so, by the rapid 
 multiplication and improvement of all sorts of labor- 
 saving machinery. With a few men, by the aid of 
 such appliances, doing the work of thousands, and 
 their power and ability in this respect, being con- 
 stantly augmented, — without a steady increase of 
 consumption, there will be — there must be — period- 
 ical returns frequently of overflowing markets, unem- 
 ployed labor, with general depression, bankruptcy and 
 starvation. 
 
 What is needed to increase this purchasing ability 
 on the part of the masses of the people, and thereby 
 enlarge consumption, and invigorate the industries of 
 a state, is, that the interest upon money be rated low 
 enough to make it correspond, as closely as may be, 
 with the profits upon labor, — or, the value of the one 
 be brought and kept, as nearly as possible, upon a 
 level with the value of the other; — in other words, 
 that unlaboring capital be not allowed to realize prof- 
 its so much heavier, than those of laboring brain and 
 muscle, or, of laboring brain and muscle conjoined 
 with laboring capital. The correspondence of these 
 values or profits can be approximated, — at any rate 
 usurious interest can, to a great extent, be pre- 
 vented, — by the currency of a State being made fully 
 adequate to the industrial necessities of its people — 
 
48 THE STREXGTH OF A STATE. 
 
 by the volume of currency being maintained at tlie 
 point required to supply easily all the demands of 
 labor for its multifarious exchanges. The rightful- 
 ness of such an adjustment, — to say nothing of its 
 advantages, — in the incentive to industry, and in the 
 advancement of general prosperity, — is plain, when 
 it is remembered that labor, or labor combined with 
 laboring capital, often fails in the accumulation of 
 material wealth, and, at best, it is said, only accumu- 
 lates at the rate of three or four per cent., while 
 unlaboring capital does so at double, and not unfre- 
 quently at quadruple this rate. 
 
 The rapid increase of money by interest is rarely 
 thought of, and consequently rarely appreciated. 
 Amounts even at six per cent., compounded, are dou- 
 bled every dozen years. At this rate, how long 
 would it take a few of the immense fortunes at the 
 North, — one of the wretched outgrowths of govern- 
 mental frauds and popular corruption, — to grasp and 
 selfishly appropriate the bulk of unfixed American 
 capital ? Several of these fall but little short of one 
 hundred millions of dollars. One hundred millions 
 of dollars ! Such an amount at six per cent, interest, 
 compounded, in the course of one hundred years, 
 would reach the stupendous sum of nearly forty 
 thousand millions of dollars. And by way of addi- 
 tional illustration, let us glance briefly at the accu- 
 mulations of the Rothschilds family. According to 
 certain scraps at present going the rounds of the 
 newspapers, it appears that the public history of that 
 
THE STRENGTH OF A STATE. 49 
 
 family, financially, commenced with Moses Eoths- 
 childs, who, during the last century, was a poor man, 
 — a small and obscure banker at Frankfort-on-the- 
 Main. His honesty,— especially as displayed in the 
 preservation of jewels and money to a large amount 
 belonging to one of the German princes, who was 
 compelled, by revolutionary troubles, to fly from his 
 country, and, in the subsequent restoration of the 
 whole property, which the worthy Moses could read- 
 ily have appropriated, upon the plea of its having 
 
 been discovered by the enemy and taken from him, 
 
 so lifted his reputation, that business, Hke "great- 
 ness," with some of the men known to Malvolio, was 
 "thrust upon him." From this small and humble 
 beginning, that business, under the management of 
 his associated descendants, has increased, until to- 
 day, — in but little more than a single century, — the 
 wealth aggregated by it and invested in it, is repre- 
 sented to be not less than live thousand millions of 
 dollars. And it may be further said, — should no dis- 
 aster befall the Rothschilds, — in an incredibly short 
 space of time, at the rates of money increase in 
 Europe, which are much smaller than they are in the 
 United States, the larger portion of the floating 
 wealth of that vast continent will be in the hands of 
 this one family. 
 
 The government of the United States, instead of 
 being guided by the sound principle of political econ- 
 omy just suggested, is pursuing a course diametrically 
 opposed to its teachings. In the place of enlaro-ino- a 
 
 3 loo 
 
50 THE STKE^'GTH OF A STATE. 
 
 monied circulation notoriously inadequate to the 
 wants of business and trade, it is zealously engaged 
 in the work of contraction, indirectly, if not direct- 
 ly^ — perhaps both. The value of money is being 
 greatly enhanced, and the value of labor proportion- 
 ately lowered. The gains of the money-kings are 
 being added to with startling rapidity ; and by the 
 consequent depression of industries, these gains, it is 
 no exaggeration to say, are being coined out of the 
 tears, groans and lives of the masses of the people. 
 While other governments have found thirty or forty 
 dollars J9er capita, as a circalating medium, none too 
 much ; in the United States it has been brought to 
 scarcely more than fifteen dollars per capita ; and it is 
 daily being made smaller. While the English gov- 
 ernment has found that three or four per cent., upon 
 its bonded indebtedness, is as much as the labor of 
 that great kingdom can well carry, the United States 
 government, although paying nearly, if not quite, 
 double the rate being paid by the other, upon a 
 bonded-indebtedness but little inferior in amount, and 
 with much less than half of the taxable wealth, — is 
 steadily adding to this enormous and destructive 
 burden upon the industrial energies of the people, by 
 the demonetization of silver, and the contraction of 
 the legal tender currency. 
 
 One of the terrible results of this poUcy on the part 
 of the government, as you know, — and a very painful 
 knowledge it is to all of you, — has been a labor-strike, 
 which recently swept with tornado-like force, over a 
 
THE STRENGTH OF A STATE. 51 
 
 large part of the country, not only wrecking millions 
 of dollars' worth of property, and producing untold 
 suffering in many quarters, but inaugurating, for a 
 time, in several of the larger cities, a saturnalia of 
 vice and crime, — a disregard of the rights of individ- 
 uals, — and a contempt for all law, both divine and 
 human, — the evil influences of which will be felt for 
 many — many long years to come. These strikes, it 
 may be well to remark, even did they reach the evil 
 sought to be remedied, being destructive of all law, 
 order and good government, can hardly be too much 
 feared, and too promptly checked ; — but they do not 
 remedy the evil. On the contrary they aggravate 
 it ; — a simple sore upon the body-politic, deeply seated 
 it may be, but controllable with skillful treatment, 
 becomes, under such rough and violent management, 
 a cancer, far-reaching in the multiplied ramification of 
 its roots, and often wholly incurable. Employers and 
 employes make up the two wings of the great army 
 of industry, and a struggle between them is, in truth, 
 a heavy blow given to the very vitals of labor. The 
 evil largely, in fact, almost exclusively, exists in the 
 scarcity of money, which, through high interest, eats 
 up the proceeds of labor, and starves and paralyzes it. 
 And it ought to be added here, that, while it is the 
 bounden duty of government to put down all lawless- 
 ness with a strong and ready hand, it is equally the 
 duty of government to give no occasion for lawless- 
 ness by its own wrongful actions ; for where such 
 occasion- is given, all right-thinking men and nations 
 
52 THE STRENGTH OF A STATE. 
 
 will visit it with as grave censure, as the misguided 
 and miserable creatures, provoked into outbreaks, bj 
 its follj and injustice. 
 
 And society has assisted government in this unjust 
 and disastrous discrimination against the industries of 
 a state! Under the influence of certain prejudices, 
 which it has dignified Avith the name of laws, it has 
 been accustomed to place a higher social estimate 
 upon those who do nothing — upon those who lazdy 
 enjoy the profits of labor, — than npon those who hon- 
 estly and vigorously toil for them. Thank heaven, 
 in the southern country, where the lines of this 
 discrimination were, at one time, strongly marked and 
 widely drawn, they have been almost entirely oblit- 
 erated! Thank heaven, that here, at least, through 
 innate nobleness of character, called into active play 
 by the nature of the times, and the stern teachings of 
 adversity, social usages have been so modified, that 
 the horny palms of manual, as well as the furrowed 
 brows of intellectual, labor, clothed in homespun, are 
 regarded and treated as infinitely higher badges of 
 honor than the blanched hands and sleek fronts of the 
 "do-nothings," clad in silken sheen and purfled laces! 
 And why should not all labor be so regarded — so 
 treated — so exalted? Xot only is it the source of all 
 wealth, but it is the foundation of every other ele- 
 ment which gives health and stability to a state. 
 
 Labor is chivalrous. It is character! The hard- 
 workers are the true nobility of earth. To the blood, 
 which courses in such red splendor through their 
 
THE STRENGTH OF A STATE. 53 
 
 veins, the best that ever warmed the heart of the 
 princehest Plantagenet, is as the stagnant pool to the 
 mountain-rivulet. There is no bar-sinister upon their 
 escutcheon — no, — none through the long array of 
 their glorious ancestry, reaching back, as it does, to 
 the very dawn of creation itself 
 
 Labor is purifying. Turn to the black catalogue 
 of crime, and it will be seen how almost unvaryingly 
 idleness and vice are associated. The prince of dark- 
 ness seldom finds an entrance into busy hearts to 
 incite basy hands to the doing of his foul behests. 
 He is repelled generally not only by the want of 
 room, but by the atmosphere of purity, which per- 
 vades all their secret chambers. 
 
 Labor is elevatino-. Where would one look for 
 manly energy, firm resolve, unerring judgment, and 
 unbending virtue? A\"here would he seek for a 
 friend to take to his bosom, as a companion and a 
 guide, a sympathizer and a counsellor? Where 
 Avould he search for a leader in some great and 
 chivalrous enterprise? Where, in short, would he 
 find a "oiant's streng^th, a hero's coura^'e, a child's 
 simplicity, an apostle's love and a martyr's will?" In 
 the seats of pampered ease and indulgence, or in the 
 seats of honest toil, — in the haunts of fashion, or in 
 the haunts of industry, — in the former reeking with 
 the pestilential fumes of dissipation and trifling, or in 
 the latter fresh and buoyant with the perfumed air, 
 and all ablaze with the pure light of native and labor- 
 acquired strength? Need an answer be given? 
 
54 THE STEEXGTH OF A STATE. 
 
 Labor is the stalwart and fearless guardian of lib- 
 erty. Slavery can hardly be fastened upon a nation 
 over Avhich this great spirit presides. The inhabit- 
 ants of little Switzerland have ever been a laboring- 
 people ; — and the battles of Mortgarten and Sempach, 
 by which the vast military power of Austria was par- 
 alyzed, — and those of Granson, Murten and Nanci, 
 in which the ponderous and well- drilled legions of 
 Charles the Bold of Burgundy were overwhelmed, — 
 show how they could fight for freedom. The inhab- 
 itants of little Holland have ever been a laboring 
 people ; — and their free spirit and resolution, all the 
 exertions of Spanish brutality and French ambition, 
 backed by vast armies wanting nothing in discipline 
 and appointments, led by such captains as the Duke 
 of Parma, on the one hand, and Turenne and Luxem- 
 buro[, on the other, were unable to subdue or tame. 
 When every hope of successful resistance, at one 
 time, seemed over, they broke down their dykes, and 
 buried their country, with its vast heaps of wealth 
 and rich treasures of art, beneath the waves of the 
 German ocean, with the deathless feeling in their 
 hearts, which found utterance upon the tongue of 
 their noble leader, — "better a drowned country than 
 a lost country!" And in final attestation of this fact, 
 it is only necessary to point to the handful of labor- 
 ing American colonists, in their struggle with the 
 foremost power of the world, and the character and 
 results of the battles of Bunker Hill and Lexington, 
 King's Mountain and Cowpens, Monmouth and York- 
 town. 
 
THE STRENGTH OF A STATE. 55 
 
 And above all, labor is the offspring of Deity ! It 
 was performed bj God in the creation, — and to over- 
 come the curse of the ground, it was graciously 
 bestowed by Him upon man. It is divine ! — divine 
 in its original performance! — divine in its original ap- 
 pointment! And everywhere, its honest exertions, 
 from the highest to the lowest, are living songs of 
 praise to Him! It is, as the poet has well said — 
 worship! — and none should neglect it — none should 
 seek to evade it: 
 
 "Labor is worship, the robin is singing! 
 Labor is worship, the wild bee is ringing! 
 Listen! — that eloquent whisper, upspringing, 
 
 Speaks to thy spirit from Nature's great heart : 
 From the dark cloud comes the life-giving shower, — ■ 
 From the rough sod springs the soft breathing flower, — 
 From the small insect, the rich coral bower, — 
 
 Man, in the plan, should not shrink from his part." 
 
 Ah! — with what health and strength, then, would 
 a state be invested by universal labor; — with what 
 virtue and purity would it be filled; — with what 
 honor and glory would it be crowned! Under the 
 benign influences of such labor, the fleeting dream of 
 the philosopher, gorgeous as the sun-dyed clouds of a 
 summer's evening, would be caught and imprisoned; 
 — and the model republic would be no longer a myth, 
 but a reality. 
 
MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
MEMORIAL DAY* 
 
 Their shivered gwords are red with rust, 
 
 Their phiiued heads are bowed; 
 Their haughty banner, trailed in dust, 
 
 Is now their martial shroud. 
 And plenteous funeral tears have washed 
 
 The red stains from each brow. 
 And these proud forms, by battle gashed, 
 
 Are free from anguish now. 
 
 Theodore O'JIara. 
 
 This is a solemn day! It is solemn in its institu- 
 tion, solemn in its ceremonials, solemn in its associa- 
 tions, solemn in every thought and duty which it 
 suggests and teaches. Is it too much to say that we, 
 the Confederate living, seem now to stand in the 
 presence of the Confederate soldier-dead? Is it even 
 too much to say that, to-day, appears slowly to defile 
 before us the long hue of heroes, who fought so 
 grandly upon every blood-stained field from Manassas 
 to Appomattox, clad in the ashen gray of the evening 
 sky, into which they have passed, every face aglow 
 with the resolute expression of the same high faith 
 which warmed their hearts at each step of their 
 soldier-life, but darkened at times by an anxious 
 shadow, as if they mutely asked: "Have you who 
 
 * Speech made at the Selma city cemetery, on Memorial day — April 26th, 1877. 
 
6S MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 have survived us, been also faithful? Have you vin- 
 dicated our memories, in the only \,'aj that they 
 could be properly and effectually vindicated, by a like 
 unshaken confidence in the truth and ultimate tri- 
 umph of the principles for which we fought, and 
 suffered, and bled and died?" Grave question! Who 
 among us, with hand upon heart, can reply that, 
 through all these latter years of desolation and sor- 
 row, }'ears of right fettered and powerless, and wrong 
 enthroned and triumphant ; Avho among us, I say, can 
 reply: "I have never faltered; I have kept the faith, 
 and, by the blessing of God, will keep it unto the 
 end?" The Avomen can indeed do so — those glorious 
 Southern women — whose souls shine not only with 
 the sweet springs of all gentle and modest virtues, but 
 the stronger currents of will and resolution, in the 
 cause of truth and justice, which disasters are unable 
 to lessen or obstacles to check. Pointing to this day 
 — this memorial day — which originated in their pure 
 minds, and to Confederate- soldier graves, which are 
 decorated by their pure hands, each ceremony con- 
 nected with which bespeaks admiration of the deeds 
 of those for whose sake it was conceived and exe- 
 cuted, as well as sympathy for their sufferings, grief 
 at their loss, and faith in their principles, and in 
 their final success, they can proudly say: "The 
 memories of our dead soldiers are dear to us, and we 
 have done, and will continue to do, our duty by 
 them." Ah! the women of the South! — the women 
 of the South! How richly do they deserve to be 
 
MEMOEIAL DAY. 59 
 
 loved for their beauty and gentleness and purity, to 
 be admired for their heroism and strength of purpose, 
 to be revered for their self-sacrificing devotion to 
 principle ! AVhile the war was going on, they forgot 
 self, — they buried every thought of self; — they gave 
 up property, ease, and all the pleasures and delights 
 of home, around which clustered the tenderest and 
 fondest associations, and without which life was a 
 burden to them ; cheerfully and without a murmur ; 
 and more, they gave up father, brother, husband and 
 son — ave, even o'arlanded them for the sacrifice — 
 words of encouragement only passing the lips — faces 
 serene in patriotic resolve; or if, perchance, the 
 serenity was ever broken by a tear that would come, 
 it was brightened by the smiling eye from which it 
 dropped, at a moment when pangs more terrible than 
 those of death itself were tearing their bosoms. And 
 when the long struggle was over, and the South a 
 ruin and a desolation, dismay on its face and horror 
 at its heart, — they, tenderly and delicately nurtured, 
 — they, whom the winds of heaven had not been per- 
 mitted to visit too roughly, — they bared their 
 dimpled arms, took the jewels from their rosy fingers, 
 to do singly and alone what scores of servants had 
 done for them before, with a courage and a determi- 
 nation which put to shame, and, in most instances, to 
 flight too, the despondency and gloom which clouded 
 the brows, darkened the hopes, and paralyzed the 
 energies of those upon whose brave spirits they had 
 hitherto been accustomed almost wholly to rely for 
 
60 MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 guidance and direction. " Look not mournfully into 
 the past," — and they felt and spoke and acted the 
 sentiment embraced in this beautiful and truthful 
 passage from Hyperion: — "Look not mournfully into 
 the past; it comes not back again. Wisely improve 
 the present; it is thine. Go forth to meet the 
 shadowy future without fear, and with a manly 
 heart." 
 
 Have we, Southern men, been equally as honest 
 and faithful in our labors to preserve untarnished the 
 memories of our fallen braves? Not bv dwelling:, in 
 loving terms, upon their valor ; their patient en- 
 durance of suffering; their fidelit}^ to duty; their 
 moderation in victory, and their firmness in defeat. 
 No! For these are known and acknowledged from 
 Maine to California — from Iceland to Australia. 
 The remembrance of them, even were their history 
 unwritten, could never be lost. It is as imperishable 
 as the patriotic principle from which they emanated, 
 and over which thev exercise a controllino- power. 
 But have we been true to, and outspoken in, the 
 maintenance of the justice and rightfulness of the 
 "Lost Cause?" Alas I under the influence of selfish 
 considerations — considerations of mere personal pro- 
 motion and profit — have not some of us fallen away 
 from the faith in which we were born and raised, and 
 admitted, either expressly or impliedly, that one of 
 the great objects of that faith — the right of secession 
 — the assertion of which on our part brought on the 
 war — never existed, and that the fruits of its exercise 
 
MEMORIAL DAY. 61 
 
 were wholly pernicious and disastrous — in short that 
 the idea originated in wrong, and that the blood 
 poured out so freely to maintain it, was not only 
 needle^^sly but criminally shed? The doctrine of se- 
 cession is dead ! Submitted to the arbitrament of the 
 sword, the decision against it was direct, utter and 
 final. But the fact of its being dead to-day does not 
 aroue that it was dead before such decision was made. 
 On the contrary, that it was alive — that it was a right 
 of the states reserved by them as a remedy for federal 
 wrongs and usurpations, is plain from the very na- 
 ture and tiieory of our government, the history of its 
 origin, and the contemporaneous testimony of many 
 of its founders, as well as the opinions of some of the 
 ablest jurists this country has produced: — and such 
 will be the verdict of impartial history! For us, 
 therefore, to acknowledge now that the idea which 
 formed so prominent a part of our political education, 
 and upon which we so confidently and courageously 
 acted, was wrong and the prolific mother of wrongs, 
 or to tacitly acquiesce in the enunciation of such a 
 doo'ma, would be to sin ao-ainst light and knowledo-e, 
 and, at the same time, write rebel and traitor across 
 our foreheads, and upon the headstone of every Con- 
 federate soklier's grave. 
 
 And have the results of the war, which followed 
 our attempt at the exercise of this right, been wholly 
 ruinous? Have its fruits been altogether bitter and 
 poisonous? Has it indeed ended in a mere waste of 
 patriotic blood and hardly-earned treasure? It is to 
 
62 MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 be hoped not. And are there not grounds for such 
 hope? The right of the states to local self-govern- 
 ment, — to preserve which right secession Avas resorted 
 to — may have been lost with the war, which, how- 
 ever, in the light of recent events, hardly seems 
 probable; it certainly would have been lost, and for- 
 ever lost, without the war. For one moment, if it be 
 possible, let us forget that terrible struggle, and all 
 the terrible occurrences since, and go back to a period 
 immediately preceding them, while we briefly con- 
 sider this point. The election in this country of a 
 chief magistrate upon a basis purely sectional, with 
 the other branches of the government filled upon the 
 same basis, a result which, had there been no war, 
 must have surely followed, would have placed the 
 rights of the minority section of the states at the 
 mercy of the dominant or majority section; and one 
 has read the history of the world to little purpose, 
 and has but a superficial knowledge of human charac- 
 acter, who does not know that this power would have 
 been exercised in the interest of the latter, or major- 
 ity section, to the detriment of the former, or minority 
 section. But, as this could not have been done with- 
 out the rights of all the states, those of the majority 
 section, as well as the others, being injuriously 
 affected by it in the end, through the establishment 
 of precedents, each step of the government would 
 have been most cautiously taken and guarded, and 
 every requisite preparation made for the security of 
 the next step, until the march to absolute power on 
 
MEMORIAL DAY. 63 
 
 the part of the government would have been accom- 
 plished; and that too, so naturally, quietly and 
 gradually, the people of the states could not have 
 been aroused to the nature and scope of the move- 
 ment, before their rights were gone and they helpless 
 and in chains. But the war came and passed away! 
 And presuming upon the passions engendered by it 
 among the people of the controlling or majority sec- 
 tion, the government, by a long and desperate leap, 
 attained what it would otherwise have reached, by 
 soft and easy gradations — surrounded the ballot-box 
 with its soldiery — destroyed and built up state gov- 
 ernments at will — thereby not only shocking the 
 moral sense of patriots throughout the entire Union, 
 but opening their eyes at once and widely to the 
 perils of the centralized despotism with which they 
 were threatened. That matchless form of govern- 
 ment bequeathed to us by our fathers, in which the 
 rights of the whole are made consistent with those of 
 the several parts, and founded upon the great system 
 of popular suffrage, is no failure in this country yet! 
 Already have the people fearlessly, and in no meas- 
 ured terms, proclaimed that the right of local self- 
 government not simply "may be,'' but shall be, 
 secured to the states. Truly, truly is the guiding 
 hand of a beneficent and all- wise Providence mani- 
 fested in each one of the bold and desperate moves of 
 political gamblers and conspirators to prevent being 
 made to work out, directly and surely, the re-estab- 
 lishment of sound constitutional government over 
 
64 MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 every portion of our common country. Thank God 
 for it I Thank God, the night is at last passing away 
 — a night which has taken up no small part of the 
 existence of this country; and light is beginning once 
 more to paint her colors of purple and gold upon the 
 eastern horizon. A dreary night, especially to the 
 South, has it been — a night unrelieved by light of 
 moon or star, and horrid with thunders and tempests. 
 AYearily, wearily have patriots, all over the land, 
 been looking for the darkness to end; wearily — 
 wearily — with a constantly recurring, and a deeper 
 and yet deeper disappointment. Despair had well- 
 nigh seized upon their anxious souls, when the 
 powerful declaration was made at the ballot-box, by 
 which was announced " the coming of the day." The 
 unmerited sufferings of the Southern people, during 
 this long and disastrous night, and the heroic and un- 
 complaioing fortitude with which they have been 
 supported, no tongue can tell — no mind conceive; but, 
 in the joy of the approaching deliverance, while they 
 m.ay not be able to forget these trials (nor indeed 
 should they do so, for by means of them have sprung 
 into light their noblest and grandest virtues), and 
 with hearts filled with love for a constitutional union, 
 which even oppressions in its name could not crush, 
 and with confidence in the early purification of every 
 part of their "Father's House," they, joining hands 
 with their conservative brethren of the North, East 
 and West, can and do, fervently and sincerely, unite, 
 on this, the first memorial day of the country's second 
 
MEMOEIAL DAY. 65 
 
 century, in the glad song of "Glory to God in the 
 highest— peace on earth and good will toward men," 
 closing with the triumphant and jubilant refrain, of 
 *' Happy is the nation whose God is the Lord." 
 
 And when this much longed for and good time 
 shall come to this country, 
 
 "Who can place 
 A limit to the giant's unchained strength, 
 Or curb his swiftness in the forward race ?" 
 
 or, to change the figure, who or what will have power 
 to check the sturdy youth of American liberty upon 
 his upward path, bearing in his hands, 
 
 '"Mid snow and ice, 
 The banner with the strange device 
 
 EXCELSIOB." 
 
 Learning a lesson from his late experience in being 
 so nearly lost in the storm, and baried beneath the 
 falling avalanche, — w^ith a more watchful eye, a 
 stronger heart and a firmer step, — he will slowly but 
 surely mount " higher and higher" the steeps before 
 him. Along the path darkened by grim Alpine 
 woods, and roughened by sharp Alpine rocks, higher 
 and higher! — across yawning chasms and black 
 ravines and frosted glaziers, higher and higher! — 
 over ice-clad slopes and towering precipices, and 
 frowning snow drifts, higher and higher ! — in spite of 
 howling blast, and rushing avalanche, and roaring 
 flood, and thickening cloud, and blinding lightning 
 3^ 
 
66 MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 and crashing tliunder, higher and higher! — until the 
 very crest of power is attained, bathed in the glad 
 sunlight, and fanned bj the glad breezes of a substan- 
 tial and abiding prosperity. Then, — oh! then shall 
 this prosperity, based as it will be — based as it must 
 be — upon the rights of the states, unmutilated and 
 unimpaired — rights, for which Confederate soldiers 
 struggled and died, — make the memories of these 
 heroes shine with a brightness and beauty scarcely 
 less than supernal. 
 
RAxA'DOM RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF THE 
 ALABAMA LEGISLATURE, 
 
 1857-8, and 1859-60. 
 
 Methinks I hear the que^^tion asked by my grarer readers, " To what purpose is 
 all this — how is the world to be made wiser by this talk?" Alas! is there not wis- 
 dom enough extant for the instruction of the world? And if not, are there not 
 thousands of able pens laboring for its improvement? It is so much jJleasanter to 
 please than to instruct — to play the companion rather than the preceptor. 
 
 What after all is the mite of wisdom that I could throw into the mass of knowl- 
 edge; or how am I sure that my sagest deductions may be safe giiides for the 
 opinions of others? But in writing to amuse, if I fail, the only evil is in my own 
 disappointment. If, however, I can by any luckj'^ chance, in these daj's of evil, rub 
 one wrinkle from the brow of care, or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of 
 sorrow; if I can now and then penetrate through the gathering film of misan- 
 thropy, prompt a benevulent view of human nature, and make my reader more in 
 good humor with his fellow beings and himself, surely, surely, I shall not have 
 
 written entirely in vain. 
 
 Washington Irving. 
 
 The object of the present writing is, in the main, 
 to call fresh attention to certain of the 3'oung and 
 gifted dead of the State, who figured somewhat prom- 
 inently in her councils in the few years just preceding 
 the war, the memory of whose services, virtues and 
 sacrifices she should not willingly let die. 
 
 It may be well to say here that in these sketches, 
 where portions of speeches of members are given, the 
 exact W' ords in every instance, of course, are not used 
 
68 EAXDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 — tliat being impossible from mere recollection. No 
 injustice in tins respect, liowever, lias been done any 
 one — words having never been attributed to a party 
 with any other view than to set forth stronglv some 
 peculiar characteristic, that all might be able to judge 
 truly of him — and this has only been done when ab- 
 solutely necessary for such purpose. 
 
 MOXTGOMERY. 
 
 Ab! those days of 1857-8 and 1859-60! They 
 were golden days! During a large portion of the 
 time Montgomery was filled A\dth visitors. Much of 
 the intellect and chivalr}^ of the State was there con- 
 gregated; and the fair daughters of the capital, joined 
 Avith those from Mobile and other points, formed 
 together a combination of sweetness, grace and love- 
 liness rarely to be met with even in this "Land of the 
 beautiful." Always pleasant and gay and bright, 
 Montgomery never had before displayed these charm- 
 ing characteristics so strongly — so fully. The 
 residences of its enterprising citizens, gemming, amid 
 rich clusters of encircling greenery, its sunny slopes 
 and the margins of its level thoroughfares, and crown- 
 ing its picturesque eminences, were seats of a noble 
 hospitality — a hospitality so refined, so elegant, and 
 withal so extensive, that the recollection of it will 
 ever be a brightness to the thousand and one of its 
 partakers in every quarter of the State. 
 
 The first matter of much interest brouoht before the 
 
RANDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 69 
 
 Legislature of '57-8 bad reference to the election of 
 United States Senator. Hon. C. C. Clay's term of 
 office had not expired, but would do so before the 
 next session; as, however, between such expiration 
 and such subsequent session there would not be a 
 reofular meetins; of ConoTess, it was urged that no 
 necessity existed for holding the election at that time. 
 On the other hand, it was argued that the times Avere 
 stormy; that clouds, threatening destruction to the 
 best interests of the South, were visible in the politi- 
 cal heavens; that there might be a called session of 
 the federal legislature, when, should the election be 
 postponed, the State could have but one Senator; and 
 that sound policy consequently dictated that Mr. 
 Clay's successor should be chosen at once. A good 
 deal of feeling, none, however, of an acrimonious 
 character, was engendered. It may be remarked also 
 — par parenthese — it was tolerably evident that the 
 election, if held then, would result in the choice of 
 Mr. Clay for another term. When the question came 
 up in the Senate, the friends of election put forward 
 
 EDWARD C. BULLOCK 
 
 as their champion speaker. It was his first appear- 
 ance in such a role before the Legislature. As a 
 brilliant and fearless writer and publicist, he was 
 known all over the State; and vague rumors of his 
 being gifted with great powders of oratory, which he 
 had hitherto made but little use of, were also afloat. 
 
70 RAXDOM EECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 The Senate chamber was crowded. The question 
 was not one of sufficient scope to bring out the full 
 strength of a speaker; jet his efforts fully met the 
 high-raised expectations of his intelligent auditory, 
 who hstened with delighted and breathless attention 
 to arguments decidedly and pointedly put, enforced 
 by rare aptness and beaut}^ of illustration, and the 
 whole rendered doubly effective by great earnestness 
 of manner, and a singularly musical voice. 
 
 Bullock was a remarkable man. Manj^ persons, 
 upon meeting him for the first time, say at the festive 
 board, and listening to his conversation, incessant in 
 its limpid flow and flashing and sparkling all over as 
 it rippled along, no doubt thought him superficial. 
 A greater mistake could not well have been made. 
 He was exactly the reverse. In truth he was the 
 Halifax of Alabama, without that distinguished 
 statesman's disposition to doubt and trim. He was a 
 many-sided man ; and all the sides had breadth and 
 strength as well as brightness. He would have ac- 
 quitted himself with credit and honor in any position 
 in which he might have been placed. It is no exag- 
 geration to say that he would have made a good 
 judge, a good governor, a good United States Senator 
 — when to have been such was an honor — and a good 
 diplomatist. As either of these he would have been 
 great — aye, more — he would have been excellent. 
 
 In the House the proceedin9:s with reo-ard to the 
 propriety of holding the election were somewhat dif- 
 ferent from those had in the Senate. Two young 
 
RANDOM EECOLLECTIOXS. 71 
 
 members, one from each extreme of the State, perhaps 
 others, who favored the measure, were desirous of 
 speaking; but upon a consuhation among them, it 
 was decided that, as they were certainly in the ma- 
 jority, no talking on their part was necessary ; that 
 the fires of the opposition, lacking the fuel which 
 could only be supplied by discussion, would speedily 
 be extinguished, and the desired vote upon the ques- 
 tion obtained. The result proved the wisdom of the 
 pohcy adopted. Two or three opposition speeches 
 were made, after each of which there was a "pause 
 for a reply." One of these speeches was made by 
 
 THOMAS H. HOBBS. 
 
 "None knew him but to love him" was essentially 
 true of Hobbs. As mildly mannered and as gentle 
 hearted as a Avoman, yet decided in his views, and 
 firm in their maintenance — an elegant gentleman, a 
 scholar and a Christian — he had, although young in 
 years, already made for himself, throughout the State, 
 an enviable reputation which was daily brightening. 
 
 His speech was elaborate, and presented the argu- 
 ments of the opposition fully and forcibly. He sat 
 down. No response! He arose again, and after 
 briefly running over the arguments embraced in his 
 previous remarks, called most urgently u.pon the 
 friends of the measure to say something in its behalf. 
 No answer! The question was about to be put, 
 when he sprang to his feet, and, glancing quickly 
 
72 EAXDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 around the hall, he somewhat excitedly, albeit no man 
 had better control of himself, desired to know if gen- 
 tlemen were going to sit quietly and tamely in their 
 seats, while the impolicy of their proposed action was 
 being shown, without some attempt to defend them- 
 selves. His remarks were ingenious, and well calcu- 
 lated to bring about the object he had in view ; but 
 they failed. At their conclusion, although it could 
 be perceived that several of those to whom they were 
 directed, burned to take the floor, an ominous silence 
 prevailed ! Hobbs then gave up in despair. 
 
 There were many able men in the Legislature, 
 during the times here treated of. A few — only a 
 few, however — alhed themselves with the Eadicals 
 since the war, and having given that party all of its 
 brains in Alabama, have done the poor old State an 
 immense deal of injury. There were also some who 
 fell within the interesting class popularly termed 
 characters. 
 
 THE PARLIAMENTARIAN 
 
 was one of these. At times he offered much amuse- 
 ment to his confreres. He was looked upon as one 
 of the clever boys of the House. Everybody liked 
 him and enjoyed his youthful eccentricities. With a 
 face and manner expressive, in a high degree, of a 
 frolicsome disposition, it was no easy matter, in some 
 
EANDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 73 
 
 of liis legislative manoeuvres, to decide when lie was 
 in earnest. Some of these performances had very 
 strongly the poetic merit of "abruptness." Now and 
 then he startled the House by suddenly jumping to 
 his feet, and taking issue with the chair upon some 
 point of its rulings so clearly correct as not to admit 
 of a doubt, and proceed to give it — the House, I mean 
 — the benefit of about a page and a half of Jefierson's 
 Manual, which, he contended, bore directly upon the 
 point at issue, and made good his objection. No one, 
 however, could see it, as he did, for, despite the in- 
 genuity of his reasoning, backed by the authority of 
 Mr. Jefterson, the Speaker always stupidly insisted 
 upon his decision; and, upon the appeal, which in- 
 stantly followed, the House as stupidly always sus- 
 tained him — invariably with but a single "not 
 content." Mazeppa says: 
 
 "One refusal's uo rebuff." 
 
 This parliamentary 'dissenter" went beyond the old 
 Hetman of the Cossacks. He did not think a man 
 ought to be cast down bv many refusals. Althouoh 
 never successful in these attempts upon the chair, he 
 was never discomfitted, but came back again to the 
 charge, when the spirit moved him, with the same 
 liveliness and vigor that he manifested in the be^im- 
 
 nmg. 
 
 THE POOR MAX S FRIEND 
 
 was another. He was a tall, angular gentleman, from 
 one of the lower counties — kind hearted and sensible. 
 
 4: 
 
7-i EAXDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 He was an efficient member, being always at liis post, 
 and esjDeciallj attentive to tlie wants of his immediate 
 constituents. He had his hobby, which was a good 
 one, when not pushed to an extreme : Economy in the 
 management of State affairs. He rode it rather 
 heavily at times, but not quite so much so as one or 
 two others upon the floor, who were similarly 
 mounted. 
 
 He claimed also to be, par excellence^ the represen- 
 tative of the bone and sinew of Alabama. And he 
 showed, by all his actions, that the claim was well 
 founded. It was evidently not made for effect, but 
 was expressive of his true and honest feelings » 
 "When he took any decidedly active part in the advo- 
 cacy of a bill, it was because it was beneficial to the 
 interests of the poor of Alabama; and vice-versa. 
 Those interests were his main subject of comment in 
 making any speech — so much so, that sometimes^ 
 when taken in connection with the character of the 
 measure under consideration, his remarks appeared 
 rather ludicrous. This propensity of the honest old 
 member gave rise to the foUoAving hon mot. It 
 should be premised that he had but one eye. In- 
 mock session one day at the capitol, the annexed res- 
 olution was introduced: 
 
 ^^Hesolved, That the gentleman from C. has an eye single to the 
 interests of the poor of Alabama." 
 
 He readily forgave the one-half of the double en- 
 
EAXDOM RECOLLECTIONS. /O 
 
 tendre^ referring as it did to a bodily infirmity, for tlie 
 compliment embraced in the other. 
 
 THE FANCY TALKING MEMBER 
 
 was still another. He was one of the members of the 
 House from L., and was dubbed the "Fancy Talker" by 
 a newspaper correspondent. And not a few speeches 
 did he make ; but justice requires it to be added, they 
 were generally short, and sometimes sprightly and 
 pointed. The great drawback, however, to the good 
 ones was, that like the best of G. P. R. James' novels, 
 they were provided by the author with too much 
 indifferent company. He was not wanting in intelli- 
 gence, and his parts were good ; but a man has to be 
 something remarkable to talk much and not talk 
 much nonsense. 
 
 A bill was introduced by Hobbs to establish, at 
 some eligible point in the State, an asj^lum for the 
 blind. He supported it by a few characteristic re- 
 marks, which were followed by something more elab- 
 orate from the talking member. The body of the 
 speech was rather seemly ; but it was finished off — 
 that magnificent humbug of Doesticks, Niagara Falls, 
 supplying the material — with a flourishing tail in the 
 wav of peroration, like unto the following : 
 
 "Look, Mr. Speaker, at Niagara Falls! See the 
 castellated rocks piled so majestically on either hand 
 — the stately motion of the heav}^ current above — its 
 arrowy swiftness in making the terrible leap — the 
 waving, sparkling lines of light shooting from the vast 
 
76 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 abyss far upward upon the surface of the tumbling 
 waters — the seething and surging vortex below, from 
 which issue, like the multitudinous bowlings of a host 
 of imprisoned demons, a mighty and thunderous roar, 
 and above which roll, in ever shifting folds, clouds of 
 spray, sullen and sombre in shadow, but gleaming in 
 the light with a 'soft, filmy transparency resembling 
 the finest veil of silver gauze' ; and j^ou are ready to 
 exclaim, sir, with every other beholder, a grand pic- 
 ture ! But, sir, that picture in the physical world of 
 America is not grander than are, among men, the out- 
 croppings of public sympathy and charity evidenced 
 by the building and endowment, by government, of 
 such institutions as the one under consideration." 
 
 At a dining given the same day, at the residence of 
 one of the first citizens of Montgomery — the son of a 
 gentleman who had most worthily filled almost every 
 office within the gift of the State — while the guests 
 were seated around the table, laughing, talking, and 
 sipping their wine, one of them suddenly arose, not, 
 as he said — replying to the enquiring and expectant 
 looks with which his action was greeted — to make a 
 speech, for, as all were aware, he held postprandial 
 speeches a bore, but simply to propound a weighty 
 interrogatory to his friend, the junior member from 
 M. He desired to ask how the gentleman from L. 
 managed to get all that big talk about Xiagara Falls in 
 with remarks upon a Blind School bill ? " The answer 
 is easy," was the reply. " It was in the highest de- 
 gree appropriate. There is an intimate connection, 
 you know, between a cataract and blindness." 
 
KAXDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 77 
 
 Several other so-called characters were to be found 
 in the Legislatui-e, two or three of whom will be 
 noticed hereafter. 
 
 The bill of Jones, of Mobile, "More effectually to 
 prevent the banks of other States from carrying on 
 the business of banking in this State," was the special 
 order for a certain hour in the House, and 
 
 THOMAS E. IRBY, 
 
 of Dallas, was entitled to the floor. Slowly, and dis- 
 tinctly, and with much gravity, he opened his speech. 
 "Mr. Speaker : This measure is one of the most inter- 
 esting and weighty, that has engaged the attention of 
 the people of this State for the last half century ; and 
 I trust, sir, that I, to-day, shall be able to treat it in a 
 manner befitting its importance, and the dignity of 
 this body." Here he stopped. He made an efibrt to 
 proceed ; but he hesitated, blundered, and finally broke 
 down. With a broad smile mantling his jovial face, 
 he said: "This is my first attempt, Mr. Speaker, to 
 make a prepared speech — one cut and dried — and I 
 reckon it ought to be my last." He then took his 
 seat, unabashed, and in great good humor. 
 
 No ! Irby could not make a set speech ; but he 
 was quick and ready in debate, and, in an oiF-hand 
 effort, he always made good and decided " hits." When 
 addressing the House, his round, rosy face, shining~ 
 like the sun, around which waved masses of fiery red 
 hair, joined with his laughter-loving voice, diffused a 
 geniality and warmth through tbe minds and hearts 
 
78 EAXDOM EECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 of all about liim, and tlius prepared them to give a 
 kind consideration to his generally well digested views, 
 and to regard with favor his many sound and practical 
 suo^o-estions. 
 
 When the question is asked now in Alabama — 
 where is the man, who started upon his career for 
 State honors, under such flattering auspices, some fif- 
 teen or eighteen years ago ? — the reply commonly is, 
 — He died upon the field. Such was the fate of Irby. 
 He fell at the head of his regiment in Virginia, where 
 fiell so many of Alabama's best and bravest ; and 
 "tears, big tears" bedewed many a manly face at his 
 death. He was one of "Freedom's champions," and 
 
 —"He had kept 
 The whiteness of his soul, aud thus men o'er hiui wept." 
 
 When Irby sat down in the discussion upon the bill 
 referred to, 
 
 STEPHEX F. HALE, 
 
 of Greene, arose. He was rather young-faced, but 
 gray-headed. A broad, sort of Scotch accent, made 
 his voice somewhat disagreeable. His remarks, how- 
 ever, were generally so much to the point, and so 
 lucid and close in argument, that one did not long no- 
 tice this defect of utterance. He was a model legis- 
 lator, and attended to the business of the .State co7i 
 amore. He was a vigorous-minded man, and a fine 
 lawyer. A member of the Judiciary Committee, he 
 studied every bill referred to that committee with all 
 the care and strictness that he did his briefs. It was 
 
RANDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 79 
 
 the common talk among the younger members asso- 
 ciated with him, that it was unnecessary for them to 
 look into and investigate such measures, as Hale would 
 do it thoroughly ; and being conversant with the con- 
 stitution, statutes and supreme court decisions of the 
 State, he would come to the committee room prepared 
 to explain every point that might arise. 
 
 He was a man of generous nature ; but he never 
 allowed his warm-heartedness, either in committee or 
 the House, to warp his judgment; he ever came 
 to his work coolly, dispassionately, and with an eye 
 directed solely to the good of the people. 
 
 Like his neighbor and friend, Irby, Hale lost his 
 life upon one of the bloody battle-fields of Virginia, 
 while gallantly leading his regiment. He is missed 
 in the JState. 
 
 JAMES S. WILLIAMSOX, 
 
 of Lowndes, also took part in this discussion, as he 
 did in almost all discussions of any length or impor- 
 tance during the session. He was a plain farmer, with 
 an education somewhat limited, a vigorous mind, and 
 a high and fearless spirit. He informed himself well 
 with regard to every matter presented to the legisla- 
 ture for consideration. His voice, though shrill, w^as 
 not unpleasing,— his utterance rapid,— and his action 
 energetic. The power and effectiveness of his speeches, 
 too, were considerably increased by a striking person,— 
 tall and well-proportioned, and a ruddy face, showing 
 a "nose hke the beak of an eagle, and an eye rivaUing 
 
80 EAXDOXI RECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 that of an eagle in brightness." He was always ready 
 to meet, and shiver a lance with any knight of debate ; 
 and however dexterous his antagonist might be in the 
 use of his weapon, Williamson either victoriously held 
 the field, or left it with honor. He was killed, with 
 his sword flashing above his head, and his clarion-like 
 cheer encouraging his men, as he led them in a furious 
 charge upon the enemy's breastworks at Frazier's 
 Farm. 
 
 ROBERT D. HUCKABEE 
 
 was one of the cleverest men in the House. Althouo^h 
 chronically afflicted, — with but "poor health" for years 
 — from the sufterings of which he has been at last 
 forever released — he never seemed to fail in spirits or 
 good temper. His disposition was naturally sweet, 
 and although sorely tried, it ever remained so. In all 
 his acts as legislator, he displayed modesty, right feel- 
 ing and sense ; and his work was unobtrusively, yet 
 effectually done. 
 
 An incident, in which he figured as one of the prin- 
 cipal actors, while a member, ought not to be forgot- 
 ten. He brought with him to Montgomery, a body 
 servant, named Nathan — an African with all the lines 
 of a genuine full-blood — retreating forehead, flat nose, 
 thick, protruding lips that really "blossomed as the 
 rose," long heels, and hair that kinked so closely that 
 both ends appeared attached to his head. Nathan 
 loved whiskey ; and now and then he imbibed rather 
 extensively. On these occasions he was as loathsome 
 
RAI>iDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 81 
 
 as useless ; and lie was both to perfection. After try- 
 ing various means ineffectually to break him of the 
 vice, Huckabee, as a sort of dernier resort^ threatened 
 him with freedom, on its next occurrence. Nathan, 
 like Ritchie Moniplies, "kenning when he had a gude 
 master," if the other "did not ken when he had a 
 gude servant," determined that "the deil should be in 
 his feet gin he left him," and proceeded to keep him- 
 self right side up with care, making no false step for 
 several weeks. But alas ! one evening^ he was found 
 by his master, upon returning to the hotel from the 
 Capitol, drunker than ever. When he recovered from 
 the effects of his spree, he was called up, not for trial 
 — that was unnecessary — but for sentence and execu- 
 tion. By Huckabee a great parade was made ; friends 
 to act as witnesses were sent for — pen, ink and paper 
 were provided, and duly set out on the table — while 
 he, taking a position behind it, sat rigidly mute, with 
 an expression grave, severe, even funereal. The de- 
 linquent was heavily impressed ; he stood upon one 
 leg, then upon the other, and swallowed as if there 
 was a huge hill in his throat, which, like Banquo's 
 ghost, "would not down." When all was prepared, 
 the apparently inexorable judge slowly arose, w^ith a 
 sheet of paper and pen in his hands, and said : "I told 
 you, Nathan, some time ago, if you ever got drunk 
 again, I should turn you loose. Well, you have done 
 so ; and now I have called in these gentlemen to wit- 
 ness the free paper here prepared for you. You can 
 take it ; go and shift for yourself." 
 
82 RAXDO:S[ RECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 Here Nathan's tongue was untied. He begged, 
 prayed, and besought his master not to set him free — 
 not to drive him off — not to ruin him ! He implored 
 him, in an ecstacj of fear, just to try him once more, 
 and he promised, with an earnestness indicative of the 
 fixedness of his purpose, to let whiskey alone forever. 
 His manner and words brought to mind vividly the 
 energetic, frantic, agonizing appeal of Morris to Helen 
 McGregor for life. 
 
 Some important measure was before the House, the 
 object of which met the approbation of the members 
 generally. There was opposition, however, to some 
 of the details of the bill, — and a motion was made to 
 refer it to the proper committee, that these defects 
 might be remedied. The friends of the measure un- 
 dertook to suspend the rules, and pass it at once, and 
 just as it was. When the effort was made, a new 
 member suddenly arose, — the silver tones of whose 
 voice immediately riveted attention, — and said: "I 
 approve of the object sought to be attained by this 
 bill ; but I do think certain of its provisions ought to 
 be modified. The usual reference to a committee, that 
 this end may be accomplished, is asked by the few 
 who agree with me. The majority are disposed to 
 deny us this right, and are striving to put this meas- 
 ure through with a haste which smacks of indecency. 
 Now, sir," exclaimed he in a voice as clear and as 
 ringing as a trumpet-call, "we demand this reference; 
 
RAXDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 83 
 
 and we hereby warn the majority that if they attempt 
 thus to 'dragoon' us into measures, to ride over us 
 'booted and spurred,' we will exhaust every constitu- 
 tional right, and every parliamentary manoeuvre, to 
 defeat the bill." He thereupon proceeded to make a 
 speech against certain features of the bill, which for 
 eloquence and power was seldom surpassed in a legis- 
 lative assembly. This was the first speech made by 
 
 JAMES B. MARTIX, 
 
 of Talladega, before the Alabama Legislature. 
 
 Col. Martin was killed at Dranesville, Virginia, in 
 the thirty-sixth year of his age. He Avas an humble 
 christian, an affectionate friend, an honest man, an able 
 lawyer, and a true soldier. With him, as A\dth his 
 great commander, duty was a guiding star — one that 
 was never lost sight of ; — and in the shining but rug- 
 ged path marked out by it, he was never known 
 to falter or waver. The truth of this statement was 
 made conspicuously manifest in the last act of his life. 
 He had been elected Judge of the District in which he 
 resided, and had obtained leave of absence from the 
 army to hold his courts. He postponed his departure 
 to take part with his regiment in the expected engage- 
 ment. It is said tliat the shadows of coming^ death 
 rested upon his spirit, and that to a comrade, who 
 found him upon his knees before the battle began, he 
 expressed the settled conviction that the last day of 
 his life had dawned ; and he was prepared for it. The 
 
84 RAXDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 death that he looked for found him where duty placed 
 him. 
 
 "Yon path of greensTvard 
 Winds ronnd by sparrj" grot and gay pavilion ; 
 There is no flint to gaU thy tender foot, 
 There's ready shelter from each breeze or shower. 
 But Duty guides not that way— see her stand. 
 With wand entwined with amaranth, near yon cliff ; 
 Oft, where she leads, thy blood must mark thy footsteps ; 
 Oft, where she leads, thy head must bear the storm, 
 And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and hunger ; 
 But she will guide thee up to noble heights. 
 Which he who gains seems native of the sky, 
 While earthly things lie stretehed beneath his feet, 
 Diminished, shrunk, and valueless." 
 
 These are noble lines. AYould that the truths gar- 
 nered in them could find the same lodgment in the 
 breasts of all young men that they found in that of 
 the subject of this sketch. The tender and graceful 
 stanza so often quoted, is so singularly appropriate 
 when applied to Colonel Martin, that I cannot refrain 
 from using it here in the way of a farewell : 
 
 "Ah! soldier, to your honored rest, 
 Your truth and valor bearing ; 
 The bravest are the tenderest, 
 The loving are the daring." 
 
 THE XICE MEMBER. 
 
 One of the members of the House, a tall and slender 
 gentleman, always clad in habiliments scrupulously 
 exact and elegant, and guiltless of wrinkles, had, in 
 
RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 85 
 
 -svalking — unconsciously, perhaps — a sort of Arling- 
 tonian strut. The Colonel — let him have that title for 
 the nonce — was a fine make-up for a joker ; and, of 
 course, Avhen this is the case, the joker is always close 
 by. In this instance he appeared in the person of a 
 certain candidate for office before the Lesislature. His 
 complexion was adust, his features saturnine, his voice 
 dry, and his deportment, when not engaged in a frolic, 
 grave. With nothing of the appearance, he was "a 
 fellow of infinite jest." To trump up a story on some 
 friend, so arranged as to give it the requisite vraisem- 
 blance^ and made out of all that ridiculous stuff, which, 
 as Macaulay has somewhere said, if founded in fact, 
 the man to whom it refers would desire forever buried 
 out of sight, and the publicity of which would tend 
 to make him hang himself, was his daily business, and 
 to retail it to a choice knot of congenial and apprecia- 
 tive spirits, with the party to be victimized present, 
 the acme of his earthly felicity. 
 
 But to the tale upon the Colonel : Seizing his op- 
 portunity, when the crowd, and "all things else were 
 conforming," the joker remarked that he "chanced to 
 be a witness of a somewhat extraordinary incident, 
 which he wished then and there to give all the benefit 
 of. A bkift' old countryman, a sort of rougher look- 
 ing Dandie Dinrnont, clothed in kersey, and booted 
 in cowhide to his knees, with a ' huge leather-bound 
 wagon whip under his arm, was standing the day be- 
 fore at one of the corners of Main street, when the 
 Colonel passed by on his way to the Capitol. The old 
 
86 EANDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 fellow watched him closely, and with great apparent 
 interest, as he (the Colonel I mean) paced deliberately 
 and majestically along. Stronger and stronger became 
 this gaze — deeper and deeper became this seeming 
 interest, as the elegant and high-headed figure slowly 
 receded ; when, all at once, Dandie drew himself up 
 quickly, lashed out wdth his wdiip so vigorously that 
 it sounded like a pistol shot, — evincive of some sud- 
 den and desperate resolution, — and set oft' with rapid 
 and lengthy strides up the street. He soon over- 
 hauled the gentleman, and brought him to a stand by 
 touching him smartly on the shoulder." 
 
 •'What can I do for you, sir?" said the Colonel, 
 turning around, and slightly unstiffening. 
 
 "Can I stay all night in Montgomery?" was the 
 questioning reply. 
 
 "Certainly, if you wish," said the astonished Col- 
 onel, rather blandly ; but immediately after, as the 
 impudence of the question flashed across his mind, he 
 energetically blurted out, "what in the deuce do you 
 mean, sir ?" 
 
 "No harm, stranger — no harm intended, I assure 
 you," answered Dandie, mildly and simply. " I have 
 never been here before, and — and — I thought from 
 the way you walked, the place belonged to you !" 
 
 Among the talking members of the House, 
 
 HENRY T. DRUMMOXD, 
 
 of Mobile, occupied a prominent place. He talked 
 
RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 87 
 
 vastly too much, and now and then certain members 
 grew restive under the infliction. On one occasion, 
 during about Drummond's third speech upon some 
 matter of no especial moment, the member from P. 
 shot a paper pellet at his nose, which was a very pro- 
 minent one. Swiftly and surely across the entire hall 
 flew the little missile, and fairly and truly it drove the 
 very centre of the object at which it was aimed. D., 
 highly indignant, called the sportsman to order. The 
 proper explanation was at once made, and all was 
 quiet again, — doubly quiet, for the pellet efl:ectually 
 demolished D.'s speech." 
 
 The member from M., who was talking to P. when 
 he fired the shot, repeated in an under tone, as D. took 
 his seat : 
 
 "The first bird of spring 
 
 Attempted to sing, 
 But before he had rounded his note, 
 
 He fell from the tree, 
 
 A dead bird was he, 
 The music had froze in his throat." 
 
 Poor, gallant, generous, high-hearted and unpopular 
 Drummond ! It has seldom happened that a man so 
 deserving has been blessed with fewer friends. Inde- 
 pendent, chivalrous, talented, liberal and truly honor- 
 able, as he was, it would appear to most persons that 
 he ought to have counted his friends by scores and 
 hundreds ; but he was unfortunately afflicted with a 
 temper quick and fiery, and with a manner indifferent 
 and unattractive. Those who understood him thor- 
 
88 KANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 oughly, and those only, liked him, and, in spite of his 
 (call them not faults, but misfortunes), admired him. 
 He served through the Avar, but unfortunately was 
 made to fill a bloody grave after its close. Had he 
 lived, his too ardent spirit would no doubt have been 
 softened down by age, and his many noble qualities 
 would thereby have been allowed ampler scope to 
 achieve that greatness which is never thrust upon the 
 unpopular. 
 
 THE ROUGH DIAMOND. 
 
 No ! it would be a mistake, but little short of a 
 crime, to pass him by without some notice here. To 
 do so, would involve a course not less radically defec- 
 tive, than the representation of the play of Hamlet 
 with the Prince of Denmark left out. He was a pro- 
 minent figure among these legislative characters. The 
 Lord of the Highlands "eke was he" — the proud bird 
 of the mountain, whose plume was never torn ! 
 
 He was about forty-five years of age, rather rotund 
 in person, with dark hair and eyes, and a face ruddy 
 and good humored. With but little information and 
 less education, he was always listened to with pleasure 
 by the House, because of the impudence, superlatively 
 sublime, with which he was abundantly gifted, and 
 which never failed to show itself in every portion of 
 his remarks upon any subject. His character was a 
 perfect jumble of inconsistencies and conti^arieties. 
 He was simple-minded and vain, genial and shrewd, 
 honest and demagogical. 
 
RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 89 
 
 His speeches upon a measure were sometimes, — in- 
 deed generally, — made in supreme disregard of "time, 
 place and circumstance." Anything that was sugges- 
 ted to him came out, whether in point or out of point. 
 In remarks upon a railroad bill, for instance, no one 
 was surprised when he left the subject and launched 
 out in this way: 
 
 "My county, sir, is a great county. It is a land of 
 rugged rocks and sturdy trees, and equally rugged 
 and sturdy men. There is nothing within its limits 
 to produce luxurious desires, or beget eifeminate tastes. 
 All live by the sweat of their brows. Like them, I 
 have been a hard worker since my boyhood. I am 
 almost without education — what little I know has 
 been accidentally picked up here and there. What I 
 am, I owe to no man. Upward, slowly but steadily, I 
 have worked my own way. Solitary and alone, sir, I 
 set this ball in motion. Thanks to strong hands and 
 legs and back, and — although I say it myself, who 
 perhaps ought not to do so — a cool head, I am now 
 liere among the magnates of Alabama." 
 
 He was interrupted here by some one rising and 
 suggesting to the chair the irrelevancy of such re- 
 marks to the matter under consideration. 
 
 " Well, sir, I am opposed to this railroad scheme. 
 Its friends are making a great noise over it, and show 
 no consideration whatever to the feelings of those 
 who do not agree with them. They are like the Phar- 
 isee of old, who thanked God he was not as other 
 
 men. This vaunting, domineering spirit won't serve 
 4* 
 
90 EANDOM EECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 their turn. They will accomplish nothing by it. ' Pride 
 goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before 
 a fall.' It is the great root of all vices. It hurled 
 Lucifer from Heaven. It drove Adam from Paradise. 
 It set to work the Babel builders, and brought about 
 the confusion of tonoues — an evidence of the oreat 
 misfortune of which, is to be seen in the remarks of 
 some of the gentlemen upon this floor, whose scraps 
 of Latin, French and other outlandish gibberish, ren- 
 der them at times wholly unintelligible to plain, un- 
 lettered men like myself." 
 
 He was again interrupted by a member submitting 
 that pride had nothing to do Avith railroads. 
 
 "Yes, the gentleman's proud stomach can't stand 
 the wholesome bitter of the physic. He is one of 
 those fancy members, to whom I have just alluded — 
 one, who so words his remarks as to make them dark to- 
 me, and to such as I am. And he does the same 
 with some of his bills. Their sense is lost in words — 
 words. These are the grasses concealing, perhaps, 
 dangerous things; but I look closely and sharply; 
 and whenever I see a snake there, I knock it on the 
 head, sir — I knock it on the head. But I will return 
 to the subject as the gentleman desires. I should 
 oppose this bill solely for the reasons given (he had 
 forgotten to give any) ; but, sir, my principal ground 
 of objection to it, is, that the proposed railroad is not 
 to run throuo^h mv countv." 
 
 If he opposed a tax bill, it was because he objected 
 not only to certain features of the measure, but be- 
 
RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 91 
 
 cause his people did not like to pay taxes— no more 
 
 did he. 
 
 Unfortunately these imperfect specimens furnish 
 but faint traces of that simplicity, geniality and harm- 
 less vanity, which gave point to all he did, and per- 
 haps still more feebly display that singular— that 
 unique trait, which, while it made him, like the dem- 
 agogue, do certain things for popularity with his con- 
 stltuents, would not allow him, hke the demagogue, 
 to conceal the motive. 
 
 If hving, his county has in him a most valuable 
 and trustworthy citizen ; if dead, it has lost one— and 
 so has the State. 
 
 Everybody loves praise. It is not often one is 
 disposed to object, even when the commendatory plas- 
 tering is done rather thickly and heavily. Singular 
 as it may appear, but not the less true for all that, an 
 indifterence was exhibited, and much of it felt, by a 
 member of the Legislature, to newspaper panegyric ; 
 except, indeed, when he thought it was too strongly 
 seasoned, and then he noticed and objected 1 That 
 man was 
 
 STEPHEN W. HARRIS, 
 
 of Madison. With a portly and commanding person, 
 an erect and dignified bearing, and a fine face, he 
 never failed to attract attention ; and his genial and 
 sprightly conversational powers, his purity and eleva- 
 tion of thought, his consistent piety, and his broad 
 
92 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 loving kindness, gave him an unending hold upon the 
 hearts of those who knew him well. To come upon 
 him suddenly amid a crowd, was like meeting a clear 
 blink of sunshine breaking through a cloud-rack. 
 
 There was an anonymous writer engaged in making 
 pen and ink sketches of certain of the members fur 
 one of the ^Montgomery dailies. A sketch of Colonel 
 Harris appeared. There was nothing remarkable in 
 that ; but there was something remarkable in the way 
 he received the compliment. He was horrified — the 
 word is used deliberately ; no other will adequately 
 express the state in which he was placed by the pub- 
 lication. The eulogy, he said, was unmerited ; and 
 parts of it, in its application to himself, were simply 
 ridiculous; as, in his few weeks of public life, he never 
 had made the least show of the traits of either ''ora- 
 tor" or "statesman," even if he had them; which 
 Heaven knew there was no ground for believing. 
 The sketcher, however, although some of his epithets, 
 under the circumstances, may not have been in the 
 finest taste, was much nearer right in his estimate, 
 than was the object of it. Colonel H. was possessed 
 of the material, out of which distinguished men are 
 made ; and with Hfe, inclination and less modesty, he 
 would have been one. 
 
 The icy fingers of the great Destroyer were never 
 laid upon a purer and nobler man. 
 
 THE GROWLER. 
 
 People may sometimes disguise it, but they have 
 
RANDOM EECOLLECTIOXS. 93 
 
 respect for a Growler — a respect considerably height- 
 ened, when he is honest and conscientious. Generally 
 such an one, instead of making himself disagreeable 
 to those about him, renders himself vastly entertain- 
 ing. There was one of these excellent "Grimwigs" in 
 the Legislature. Pie was past the middle age, and 
 strongly built, and his every facial line and look, and 
 every motion, were most expressive of his disposition 
 and character. With him, as a legislator, the trans- 
 action of the business of the State with the greatest 
 speed consistent with thoroughness, was everything. 
 He believed in trudging, with ceaseless energy, along 
 that dusty highway, until the journey was accom- 
 plished — no loitering by the wayside to enjoy a cool- 
 ing shade, or cull a fragrant flower. Speeches of any 
 sort he regarded with little favor ; he murmured at 
 short ones — he grumbled at long ones — and when 
 they were not only long, but unsolid, his growlings 
 were deep and wrathful. Disgust inefiable attended 
 his detection of the faintest shadow of demagoguism, 
 or trickery on the part of any of his colleagues — a 
 disgust which was never concealed. His mutterings 
 and gruntings were addressed to no one — indeed, he 
 seemed to be unconscious of them himself, — and 
 although in suppressed tones, were ordinarily loud 
 enough to be heard by those immediately around him. 
 With him a member makinsj a hio-h-soundinsc 
 speech was "a peacock spreading his plumes to at- 
 tract the admiration of bystanders, except for show, 
 of little worth;" and one engaged in explaining a 
 
94 EAXDOM EECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 measure, wliich he, Grimwig, thouglit too plain to re- 
 quire explanation, was "trying to get liis name in 
 the papers, and thus befool his constituents into the 
 notion that he was strict in his attention to their in- 
 terests; on the contrary, he was lengthening the 
 session unnecessarily, thereby taking money out of 
 their pockets, as well as boring those so stupid as to 
 listen to him." 
 
 He interrupted a gentleman talking to him on busi- 
 ness, one day at his seat, by the abrupt remark : 
 "Ladies in the hall." 
 "How do you know? I see none." • 
 
 He pointed to one of the members — very handsome 
 — who had just taken the floor. 
 
 "That's my indicator," said he. "He's the ther- 
 mometer, by whose motion alone I am always 
 informed of the presence of beautj^'s fervent blaze. 
 
 "The warmth fi-om lovely woman's eyes 
 Doth make that man mci'curial rise, 
 
 "That's some of my poetry, how do you like it?" 
 Reference has been had to his wrathful impatience 
 of any course that savored of trickery — anything, in 
 short, done for mere popular effect. This was most 
 frequently and ludicrously called out by any opposi- 
 tion to bills appropriating money for necessary pur- 
 poses. His sotto voce comments then were as bitter, 
 and often as sharp as those of Sir Mungo Malagrow- 
 ther. They sprang, however, from a nol)le spirit,, 
 
RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 95 
 
 whicli could never be affirmed of the sayings of tlie 
 old Scotch courtier. 
 
 A bill was introduced asking for a small appropria- 
 tion to repair certain public property which was 
 going to waste. It was opposed, and a speech made 
 against it. Said the opposer : 
 
 "The wall, Mr. Speaker, should not"— "Ah," mut- 
 tered old growler, "you don't want the wall; you 
 prefer the catterwaul." 
 
 "I have set on my seat"— "Yes, you have sat, and 
 have hatched opposition to a necessity, and now you 
 are clucking to your followers. Do let us have your 
 concluding cackle, and be — zounds to you." 
 
 Every legislative body has, of course, some mem- 
 bers possessed of more assurance than brains — not 
 that their supply of the latter important article is 
 especially small in every instance, but that their sup- 
 ply of the former is most bountiful. There Avere two 
 or three of these in the House. Of one, who took 
 the floor, during what might be termed a "hush" in 
 legislative proceedings, erected his crest, and delib- 
 erately turning, looked, for about three minutes, upon 
 the upturned and expectant faces around, with won- 
 derful self-complacency, and with a sort of gaze-upon- 
 one-and-die air, and whose words, after so august a 
 
96 EAXDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 blaze of silence, were few, and rather "stale, flat and 
 unprofitable." 
 
 A. B. MEEK, 
 
 of Mobile, said: "On the whole, Puff made a splendid 
 speech; whatever might be thought of the talking 
 part, all must admit that the looking part was most 
 profound, and, in the highest degree, eloquent and 
 impressive." 
 
 Meek was Speaker of the House. He was a man 
 of commanding presence, near six and a half feet 
 high, well formed, and graceful in his movements, 
 with a fine head, and a mild face. He was an 
 excellent presiding officer. It is true that he was not 
 at all times as decided in his rulings as he might have 
 been perhaps ; but there was, on his part, such an evi- 
 dent disposition to deal fairly and honestly, attended 
 and brightened by so much suavity and kindness, that 
 his mistakes were generally overlooked, or unnoticed. 
 To the younger members he was especially considerate 
 and indulgent; and nothing pleased him better than 
 to draw a speech from one, who chanced to be modest 
 and backward — his pleasure from the operation being 
 increased in proportion to the happiness of the effort. 
 
 He died about the close of the war. Meek was 
 Alabama's finest, if not her only true, poet. His poe- 
 try, too, is peculiarly Southern. It is as highly 
 colored and richly flavored as the fruits and flowers 
 of the South, as genial as its breezes, and as pure and 
 brilliant as its sunshine and skies. His "Charge at 
 
RAXDOM RECOLLECTIO:sS. 97 
 
 Balaklava" was attributed by the English press to 
 Alexander Smith, the author of the Life Drama, and 
 was pronounced by it superior to the ''Charge of the 
 Light Brigade," by Tennyson. 
 
 ROBERT T. LOWE, 
 
 of Madison, was the youngest member of the House, 
 and was endowed with much sprightliness and versa- 
 tility of mind. He was a high-toned, cultivated gen- 
 tleman. Although fully able to make his mark, he 
 never took a very active part in discussions. Some 
 remarks, made by him against time, once created con- 
 siderable amusement. It was near the close of the 
 session. A bill was being considered making some 
 woman a free dealer. The opposition to it had grad- 
 ually weakened, as the matter was one that the 
 members cared but little for ; and it was about to pass, 
 when Lowe took the floor against it. He saw that in 
 some thirty minutes, the hour for the special order 
 would be reached; and he determined, if possible, to 
 hold the floor for that time. It was no easv matter, 
 as all that could be said against the bill had been said 
 over and over again. He commenced a speech, 
 which, as he proceeded, though out of order from be- 
 ginning to end, trimmed the edges of it so closelv, 
 and was withal so sprightly and full of anecdote, wilh 
 occasional touches of so much beauty, tliat the friends 
 of the measure forgot themselves, and suffered him 
 unchallenged to carry his point. 
 
 Lowe resided in Huntsville — a city quick to recog- 
 5 
 
98 EAXDOM EECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 nize merit in her sons, and quick to lionor it. Her 
 yonng men were not forced to await the coming of 
 wrinkles and gray hairs, for opportunity to achieve 
 success in their respective calhngs, but when found 
 worthy, she ever took them up, and assisted them 
 with a heartiness which left no room for failure. 
 She thus became the mother, or foster mother, of 
 many of the most distinguished men, who have 
 adorned the annals of Alabama, Truly may Hunts- 
 ville be proud of her children, — and they have every 
 reason to be proud of her, — proud of her imperial 
 beauty, — her broad and well paved avenues fringed 
 with stately trees, — her clear running streams, — her 
 closely-drawn girdle of mountains, — her splendid pub- 
 lic buildings, — her elegant private residences, — her 
 fine, workino- schools and churches, — and above all 
 her well earned reputation for generosity, refinement 
 and public spirit. The Eev. F. A. Eoss most aptly 
 described this gem of a city, when he characterized 
 her as being made up of "streets of roses and houses 
 of intellio^ence." Ah ! Huntsville ! beautiful Hunts^ 
 ville! My home once, — my home in that good old 
 time forever lost in "clouds of blood and flame," — I 
 can say of thee what Paul Fleming said of Interlaken,. 
 — the sun of a rich autumn evening was setting, wheu 
 I saw thee for the last time; but the sun of life shall 
 set ere I forget thee ! 
 
 Lowe's, indeed, was a "little life rounded by a 
 sleep." He had scarcely more than entered upon the 
 years of vigorous manhood, when he was cut off. He. 
 
RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 99 
 
 died witli the Confederacy, — fortunately, however, it 
 was not anions^ strangfers, unfriended and alone, as 
 was the fate of so many of our gallant soldier-boys, 
 that he breathed out his life; but in a peaceful home, 
 blessed with every care and attention that could be 
 bestowed by wife and sisters and brothers and friends. 
 
 The House Committee on Federal Eelations, in the 
 session of '59-60, reported a series of resolutions, 
 which excited an animated discussion. The resolu- 
 tions strongly condemned Douglas's popular sov- 
 ereignty dogma. The report was made through 
 
 DAVID HUBBARD, 
 
 the chairman of the committee, who advocated their 
 adoption, in a speech marked with the simplicity of 
 style and strength of argument, for which he was noted. 
 "The old Major," or "Uncle Davy," as he was desig- 
 nated by his friends — for he had reached his three 
 score and ten — was a man of great vitality. He was 
 richly endowed, too, with mind — mind wanting in 
 polish, but by no means wanting in vigor. It was 
 like a piece of sculpture by Michael Angelo — rough, 
 but full of power. One of the speakers in the debate, 
 not inaptly, likened the whole man — using the lan- 
 guage of Carlyle — to "some castle of a feudal age, 
 time-worn and battle-scarred, but ^rand in its mas- 
 siveness and black-frowning strength." 
 
100 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 Smith, Kice, and others, sustained the action of the 
 committee; Forsyth, Chtheral, etc., etc., opposed it. 
 The speeches of all were able. Forsyth did his best, 
 and those who know him do not require to be told 
 what that best was. A friend and admirer of the 
 "Little Giant," he defended him valiantly against all 
 charges; and, after exhausting argument in an effort 
 to prove the soundness of Douglas's political opin- 
 ions, he reached out to show the necessity of a firm 
 alliance between the South and West — the first and 
 surest step toward which would be accomplished by 
 the former taking up this great representative man 
 of the latter; a firm alliance, to stay the East in its 
 persistent attempts, by cunning thievery, to live upon 
 the results of their toil and labor, and, by deeply laid 
 schemes, to destroy the principles upon which the 
 government was founded. 
 
 During the debate upon these resolutions a member, 
 after replying to the arguments tending to show that 
 there was no substantial difference between the squat- 
 ter sovereignty position of Douglas and that of the 
 black Republican party, attended with the statement 
 that between him and a candidate of that party, a 
 Southern man could have no choice, jocosely re- 
 marked : 
 
 "Not have a choice! Not have a choice, sir, be- 
 tween the two? This is all stuff". Sir, were his 
 Satanic Majesty to die, and were I allowed to vote 
 for his successor, provided one had to be elected, I 
 should have a choice between the several aspirants." 
 
RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 101 
 
 lie was interrupted here by some one asking him 
 what office in pandemonium he would expect in the 
 event of the success of his candidate. 
 
 "That of door-keeper," was the immediate response, 
 "that of doorkeeper, to admit the gentleman prompt- 
 ly, when he presents himself and knocks." 
 
 I have said that a prominent part was taken in 
 this debate by 
 
 ALEXANDER B. CLITHERAL, 
 
 or the "versatile Aleck," as Jonse Hooper was accus- 
 tomed to call him in the " Mail." With his name 
 comes up a multitude of associations pleasant and sad. 
 He, in his prime, was taken from the earth, after 
 long and painful disease and suffering. He was my 
 friend— for many years, and during dark, dark days, 
 my intimate friend ; and 
 
 "I never knew a better, 
 I never loved a dearer." 
 
 I can scarcely write of him as he really was. The 
 fear — a natural one under the circumstances — that 
 others, who knew him but as men are ordinarily 
 known to one another, might regard my estimate of 
 his worth as overstrained, ices my pen ; and I am 
 likely, indeed certain, to fall into the opposite error 
 of doing less than justice to his excellences of head 
 and heart. 
 
 His intellect was bright and quick. Almost with- 
 out an effort it seemed to seize hold of and illumine 
 
102 RANDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 every part of a complicated question, enabling liini at 
 once to present to others liis conclusions with great 
 clearness. And he was as witty, and as happy at 
 repartee, as Sydney Smith. No "quip modest," nor 
 in fact, any other sort of quip, was ever directed at 
 him, which did not meet with an immediate "retort 
 courteous;'' and the retort was generally the more 
 effective of the two. His witticisms were sometimes 
 characterized by all the keenness of edge and deftness 
 of management of the cimeter of Saladin in dividing 
 the cushion — sometimes all the downright sheer force 
 of the sword of Coeur de Lion in cleaving the iron 
 bar. And yet such hearty good humor accompanied 
 the strokes — emphatically "strokes of pleasantry" — 
 that they never left a wound behind them. If one 
 was at any time inflicted, like that received by Piercie 
 Shafton in the alen of Cora nan Sliian, it was in- 
 stantly healed by this ""White Lady" of the heart. 
 
 Although before Clitheral's death years had sil- 
 vered his hair, he retained in a singular degree his 
 youthful freshness of feeling. 
 
 "A mirtbfn.l man lie was — the snows of age 
 Fell, but they did not chill him. Gayety, 
 Even in life's closing, touched his teeming brain 
 With such wild visions as the setting sun 
 Eaises in front of some hoar glacier, 
 Painting the bleak ice with a thousand hues." 
 
 He was full of merriment, indeed some thought he 
 had rather too much; but it shoulcl be said that be- 
 neath all this glittering effervescence was the purest 
 
RAXDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 103 
 
 wine of generosity, courage and integrity, joined with, 
 a love for bis friends as strong and lasting as life. 
 Many were benefited by bis virtues — none, save bim- 
 self, were injured by bis faults. Let tbe latter sleep 
 and tbe former be cberisbed. 
 
 It was during this session of tbe Legislature tbat I 
 first met 
 
 GEX. JAMES H. CLAXTOX, 
 
 and I cannot refrain from turning aside to say a few 
 words witb regard to bim — one of tbe best men tbat 
 Alabama ever produced. He was not a member, but 
 was at tbe time engaged in tbe practice of tbe law, 
 and resided at Montgomery. 
 
 All men are fearfully and wonderfully made. Men 
 of true greatness, bowever, are also fearfully and 
 wonderfully gifted, and fearfully and wonderfully 
 trained. Tbey are indeed men, wlio 
 
 "Think 
 What others onlj'^ dream about, and do 
 What others oul}^ thiuk, and glory in 
 What others dare but do." 
 
 And tbey are, by no means, plentiful. Occasionally 
 in our journey tbrougb life we meet face to face witb 
 one. Soutbern civilization bas developed a few of 
 tbe grandest specimens tbat bave ever blessed tbe 
 world and ennobled bumanity. Not tbe least of tbese 
 was tbe subject of tbis sbort and burried sketcb. Al- 
 thougb many years bave elapsed since I last met bim, 
 
lOtL RANDOM RECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 — it was long before his unfortunate death in the city 
 of Knoxville, — I can see him almost as plainly now, 
 as if he were bodilj^ before me, — his form splendidly 
 developed by vigorous and manly exercise, — his bear- 
 ing erect, dignified, bold and free, — no disposition 
 being indicated there to "bend the pregnant hinges 
 of the knee that thrift might follow fawning," — and 
 his fine old Saxon face lighted up Avith a pair of blue 
 eyes, the common expression of which was frank, 
 open and confiding, but which could blaze like stars, 
 when the spirit behind them was aroused to the per- 
 formance of some deed of ^Ulerring do'^ in the cause of 
 right. 
 
 He was the Ivanhoe of Alabama. Like that re- 
 nowned knight, he was generous, manly, brave, wise 
 in council and in the field, — in a word, he exhibited 
 in his every utterance and action, " high thoughts 
 seated in a heart of courtesy," — like him, he showed 
 upon his shield the motto desdichado^ — the one being- 
 disinherited by the fother, the other by the father- 
 land, and that, too, in the face of all reason and 
 justice, — like him, who strove to raise up and protect 
 the lowly of England, he struggled to have educated 
 and made useful the lowly of the South, — and like 
 him, in response to the urgent and tearful appeals of 
 his afflicted State, heroically and valiantly, with his 
 whole soul, mind and strength, he gave himself to the 
 great work of ridding it of its robbers and oppressors, 
 — its Bois Gilberts and its Front de Boeufs, with their 
 
 grisly train of hungry and wolfish carpet-bag fol- 
 lowers. 
 
EANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 105 
 
 These imperfect sketches are now ended. And, in 
 conclusion, I wonld simply say, — peace be with the 
 young and gallant dead of the State, — and with Ala- 
 bamians a lastino^ remembrance of their worth. 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN* 
 
 Beauty ami music ma'le a new man of him, — 
 Changed all his thoughts and feelings 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
 Au old man sat in a grange at eve, 
 
 His suit of homespun was rough but neat ; 
 
 His hair tin-own back from a high-arch'd brow, 
 
 In snowy waves on his shoulders fell, — 
 
 There lay in curls. And broad-chested, strong, — 
 
 His face embrowned, and ingrained with red 
 
 Of health's fine painting, with full-orb'd eyes, 
 
 Whose steadfast raj^s showed a heart at ease, 
 
 And all at one with itself and life ; — 
 
 A patriarch! — such a man he seemed 
 
 As Abram was, after conq'ring kings. 
 
 To city-life he was fresh and new : 
 
 For years before to the backwoods he 
 
 Had gone ; and out in the wilds, remote 
 
 From jars of turbulent trade, and wars, — 
 
 Without a wife, or a child, or friend 
 
 Aroixnd hi:s hearth, he had passed his days ; 
 
 But while his life-work had not been cheered. 
 
 Or brightened, yet it had well been done ; 
 
 And p ace had hovered o'er his lowly home. 
 
 Not htrmit lone in a mountdn-cave. 
 
 Was hc'.lf so simple and plain as he, — 
 
 So free from every art and guile. 
 
 * Addressed to 3Iiss B., one of tlie sweetest song-birds of East Alabama, and sent 
 to her on the evening uf her marriage — December 20th, 1876. 
 
103 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 A silent group, with the list'ning ear 
 Of youthful vigor, were crowded round, 
 While th' old man talked of the many joys. 
 And pure delights, of the farmer's home ; 
 And on this theme, to his heart so dear, 
 He warm became, and abruptly said: 
 
 " In all the world, the most graceful things 
 Are bright green stalks of the taper corn. 
 With curving blades, and feathering crests, 
 In thickened ranks of their lusty life. 
 Upright and fixed. And the loveliest," he 
 Went on to say, "is a iield of grain, 
 Full-headed, ripe ; its fair golden sheen 
 Made darker — brighter — as o'er it sweeps, 
 In gentle billows, the evening wind." 
 And then, with glistening look, he asked: 
 
 " What music can ^-ith the sounds compare, 
 Which daily 'round ev'ry farm arise. — - 
 The song of birds, and the hound's deep bay. 
 The cattle's low. and the lab'rer's c<ill 
 From distant hill, which is answered back 
 In multitudinous laughs and shouts?" 
 
 Just then the door, with a noiseless hand, 
 Was pushed ajar, and there glided in 
 A being wondrously sweet and fair, — 
 As lovely she as the blush of morn, 
 With ejen as soft as the dew of eve, 
 And form as flexile as willow wand ; 
 Across the hall with a dainty step, 
 She made her way to the organ, whence 
 Ere long was heard, in the sweetest strains, — 
 Now soft as notes of a harp of j^ines, — 
 Now weird as tones of a mountain-sprite, — 
 A song, which thrilled the old man. He sat 
 Like one entranced till the music ceased ; 
 And all about, with bewildered air, 
 He gazed, and smiled, and, then pond'ring, said; 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAX. 109 
 
 *' There's grace, and beauty, and music too, 
 Far — far ahead of the ones, which I 
 Hhve talked so warmly about to yoii ; — 
 To make the farm then complete throughout, 
 You should have these in the house, my boys I" 
 
THEODORIC BURNSIDE, 
 
THEODORIC BURNSIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 One woman is fair ; yet I am well ; another is wise ; j^et I am well ; another vir- 
 tuous; yet I am well; but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not 
 come in my grace. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Tlieocloric Burnside, at the time lie is here intro> 
 duced to the reader, — 187 , — was about forty years 
 of age, and a bachelor. It is not known that he was 
 ever the hero of a song; though he has often been 
 heard to say that as "The Brookside" had been made 
 such, he could see no reason why The. Burnside 
 should not have received a like honor. This much, 
 at any rate, can be said of him wdth certainty, in this 
 regard, — if he never was the hero of a song, he ought 
 to have been of a dozen. He was small, and com- 
 pactly built, with a good-looking, spirited and pleasant 
 face, and was gifted with the buoyant feelings and 
 active person of a much younger man. An old bach- 
 elor, he attributed his sleek appearance to the free- 
 
112 THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 dom, contentment and unchecked flow of animal 
 spirits growing out of that fact. He had traveled 
 some, seen much and heard more; and what was bet- 
 ter still, had profited bj all. A man of abundant 
 resources, — "full of gibes, gambols, music and flashes 
 of merriment that were wont to set the table on a 
 roar," — when he did not have a story on hand, regu- 
 larly fixed up, to meet a request, he could easily 
 manufacture one for any party of friends, whom he 
 was desirous of entertaining. With all his simplicity 
 and geniality, however, — being a man of fine business 
 capacity, business tendencies and business habits, — 
 he was generally successful in his financial operations, 
 at a time when most of his neighbors and friends 
 were the reverse. 
 
 He resided, as every Southern planter ought to do, 
 upon his plantation, — which, in compliment, it is sup- 
 posed, to his state of single-blessedness, and his 
 determination to remain therein, he had named "Sin- 
 gleton." The plantation was one of considerable size 
 and excellent quality, lying along the eastern bank of 
 the Alabama river, between the cities of Mobile and 
 Selma. The dwelling was small, — unornamented, 
 except by the flowers and vines that surrounded it, — 
 was built of brick, and stood upon a high, wooded 
 knoll, overlooking all his broad and cultivated acres, 
 on one side, and the placidly moving current of the 
 beautiful river, on the other. It was tlie frequent 
 resort of all the boys and girls of the neighborhood ; 
 and these were by no means scant in number, for the 
 
THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 113 
 
 residences of several other planters, with large fami- 
 lies, were within easy reach of it. His house and 
 grounds were always open to his friends, as he called 
 the young folks, and he was ever ready to entertain 
 them ; — they came, however, — at any rate, this was 
 true of the boys, — not so much to enjoy his unforced 
 and unstinted hospitality, and the wisdom seasoned 
 with anecdote, which formed the staple of his coDver- 
 sation, — as to exchange glances and words with a 
 lively, singing, tripping and laughing fairy, who was 
 his niece and Httle housekeeper. May Burnside had 
 been received, — an orphan of but a few days, — upon 
 his plantation, soon after he took possession of it at 
 the close of the war. She had been, in her earlier 
 days, a regular hoyden, and was still accustomed to 
 do, under the favoring eyes of her affectionate and 
 easy-tempered uncle, pretty much as she pleased. 
 Her favorite amusements, in the; beginning of her 
 plantation life, were romping about the woods, climb- 
 ing trees, jumping fences, riding wild horses and 
 breaking the hearts of the boys, — all of which was 
 perfectly natural to her, and, of course, could not be 
 helped. She was eighteen now; and the last two or 
 three years had subdued her manners to the deco- 
 Tousness befitting young womanhood, although they 
 were powerless to weaken the exhuberant spirit of 
 fun and frolic that lurked in her heart, as was evi- 
 denced by the ever-dancing brilliancy of her large 
 gray eyes, and the ever-playing dimples upon her 
 
 well-rounded cheek, and about her gentlj^-swelhng 
 5* 
 
11-i THEO DORIC BURNSIDE. 
 
 lips. The boys, however, were wasting their time in 
 worshiping at the shrine of her beauty and virtue, as 
 she had given her heart and promised her hand to 
 Harry Welborne, the only son of a widow, whose 
 phmtation, farther up the river, adjoined Singleton. 
 Harry was a handsome young fiellow, passably well 
 educated, of good principles, though somewhat head- 
 strong from the easy training of a fond and indulgent 
 mother, and was as full of mischief as May, with no 
 disposition, like her, to curb its exercise. The widow 
 Welborne, — Harry's mother, — lost her husband by 
 the fall of his horse in a fox-chase, before the days of 
 their honeymoon were ended. In spite of the number 
 of suitors for her favor and hand since her sad be- 
 reavement, — and there had been scores of them, — fc^r 
 she was possessed of every attraction, — 3'outh, beauty, 
 virtue, intelligence and wealth, — she had remained a 
 widow now for more than twenty years. Her 
 mourning weeds had never been laid aside; and she 
 always said, when she alluded to the subject at all, 
 that no one should ever supply the place in her heart 
 made vacant by the death of her young husband, and 
 that it was wdiolly consecrated to his memory. The 
 onl}^ unmarried man, whom she was accustomed to 
 see upon the footing of a familiar acquaintance, — he 
 indeed Avas a valued and trusted friend, — w^as The- 
 odoric Burnside. Of late they had been drawn much 
 more closely and intimately together by the engage- 
 ment of Harry and May. 
 
 Burnside and Harry were congenial spirits and 
 
THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 115 
 
 devoted friends. The former was never so happy, as 
 when he had the other by his side, either at home, 
 upon a fishing excursion, or in the fields, listening to 
 his glowing descriptions of the pleasures of old bach- 
 elordom, and his good-humored railings at woman 
 and marriage, — the young dog generally chiming in 
 with them enthusiastically, telhng anecdotes illustra- 
 tive of their correctness, and laughing ap^DTOvingly, — 
 and always winding up with the statement: "If there 
 never had been a May Barnside, I am sure, uncle 
 The., I would feel and act exactly as you do." 
 
116 THEODOPJC BUEXSIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Now the wtisterl bran^ls rlo glow, 
 
 Wliile tlie screech-owl souudiug loud, 
 Puts the wretch that lies in woe, 
 
 In reiuemlirance of a shroud. 
 Kow it is the time of night, 
 
 Tliat the graves all gaping wide. 
 Every one lets out its sprite 
 
 In the church-way paths to gli<le. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 On one occasion, when Burnside bad been ratber 
 more pleasantly and bnmorouslj noisy than usual in 
 his anti-nu])tial railings, Harry asked : 
 "Uncle The.! — were you never in love ?" 
 "Yes," replied the old bachelor; — ''twice, and des- 
 perately. Let me tell you how it was, Harry," con- 
 tinned he with a sly twinkle of the eye. "If yon will 
 remind me, I will make you acquainted with mv 
 second, and last love-adventure, at some future day." 
 
 burxside's first love. 
 
 It was a little nameless watering-place among the 
 monntains — never visited by, indeed scarcely known 
 to, the fashionable part of the world closest to it. 
 Quiet, sequestered, and picturesque in itself and in all 
 of its surroundings, it was certainly the most delight- 
 
THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 117 
 
 fill spot I have ever seen. Tlie post-road, from a city 
 about a day's journey below, to a vdlage a short dis- 
 tance al)ove, ran within six or eight miles of The 
 Spring. It was reached by a way that assumed an 
 appearance of wildness and utter seclusion almost as 
 soon as it branched oir from the broader thoroughfare, 
 — leading, as it did, up a narrow valley made by a 
 range of mountains on one side, and a succession of 
 high, rocky hills on the other, through which a trans- 
 parent brook brawled over pebbles, fretted around 
 huge boulders, or peacefully glided, in a smooth and 
 glassy current over ledges as level as a floor, edged 
 with miniature water-falls. The road curved with the 
 meanderings of the stream, — was sometimes on one of 
 its banks, — sometimes on the other, — and not nnfre- 
 Cjuently it wound along its shallow bed. At the point, 
 where the valley opened, and included within its 
 sweep a few hundred acres of arable land, in a high 
 state of cultivation, a spring of line chalybeate water, 
 cool enough to need no ice, and copious enough to 
 supply an ordinary mill, gushed from the rocks at the 
 base of a lofty peak, isolated, and shaped like a cone. 
 The homestead of an opulent farmer, which was suffi- 
 ciently capacious to accommodate all who were led to 
 visit this out-of-the-way place, fronted the peak and 
 spring, and was divided from them by a small plat of 
 level land, green with grass, which was kept so well 
 cropped by the herds of fat cattle that roamed through 
 the valley, as to resemble a thick carpet of velvet 
 moss. The building was of brick and sat in a cluster 
 of oak trees. 
 
118 THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 It was in the year 1845, that a party of wild and 
 frolicsome students from the university located near 
 the city before mentioned, spent here their summer 
 vacation. The oldest of them was not far from twen- 
 ty-five, and the youngest, which was myself, . scarcely 
 fifteen. To say that they enjoyed their holiday, — 
 their unforced rustication in this lovely place, — gives 
 but a faint idea of the exhilaration of feeling, with 
 which each day was hailed, and its hours passed. To 
 youth there was food for pleasure scattered all around. 
 In the deep and whirling eddies of the stream, and 
 under the roots, which, descending from the shelving 
 banks, were knotted and twisted upon the surface of 
 the water, lurked hundreds of mountain trout, that 
 could only be taken by such care and caution, as gave 
 ten-fold zest to the sport, and additional flavor to the 
 fish, when served up for the evening meal. Now and 
 then deer could be seen down the little valley, drink- 
 ing from the stream, or leaping away between the 
 trees; and hardly a week passed without one or more 
 falling before the rifles of some of the party, and 
 scarcely a day without a haunch of venison gracing 
 our table. Pheasants, too, which could be heard about 
 sunset, in every direction, drumming upon the logs, 
 with their sinewy wings, were occasionally added to 
 our rich country bill of fare. 
 
 At the time, there were no railroads throush the 
 section, of which I speak, — and consequently no silks 
 and broad-cloths, but plenty of genuine substantial 
 homespun, — no highly-spiced dishes, but plenty of 
 
THEODOEIC BURXSIDE. 119 
 
 home-raised ham, fowls, eggs and fruits, — no starva- 
 tion, with board at three dollars a day, but abundance 
 with board at one dollar and a half per week, — in 
 short, nothing suggestive of Paris, but much sugges- 
 tive of Eden. 
 
 The company at The Spring, in addition to the 
 students, was made up of a militia General, — a tall, 
 white-haired old gentleman, whose solemn counte- 
 nance seemed never to have been brightened by a 
 smile ; a burly, well-to-do farmer, who was a kind of 
 protege of the old General ; and two or three lively 
 young ladies. Eomantic, verdant and impressible, it 
 did not take me long to conclude that one of these 
 damsels was the very queen of loveliness. She was 
 above the medium height, slender in shape, graceful 
 in movement, with a pale face, blue eyes, flaxen hair, 
 delicate features, and, — I say it with hesitation, — not 
 more than twenty-five jesLVS old. Although her age 
 scarcely doubled mine, — and I consequently thought 
 her, at the time, a shade too young, — I, pretty soon 
 after my arrival, let go every hold upon prudence and 
 safety, and tumbled into love. Boy-like my affection 
 soon became a species of worship. To me her every 
 smile was light, — her every motion beauty, — her every 
 tone music — from heaven. I loved the very grass 
 over which she so daintily walked ; and the flowers 
 that she plucked and carelessly threw aside, I treas- 
 ured as something better than diamonds. I looked 
 through the poets for beautiful descriptions of female 
 charms to quote and apply to her. I recollect now 
 
120 THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 some of the passages, which were my favorites for the 
 purpose. 
 
 One was from Wordsworth : 
 
 "A violet by a mossy stone, 
 Half hidden from the eye, 
 Fair as a star, when only one 
 Is shining in the sky." 
 
 Another, I think, was from old Herbert : 
 
 "Ask me no more whither doth haste 
 The nightingale, when May is past, 
 For in your sweet dividing throat 
 She winters, and keeps warm her note." 
 
 And still another was from Prentice. This last 
 suited me exactly. It was as gushing, as I, or any 
 3'outhful lover, could desire : 
 
 "I love thee I — oh, I love thee I 
 
 There's nanght in the bright blue sky — 
 Ko lovely thing of earth but brings 
 
 Thy sweet foi-m to my eye. 
 I love thee I — and there's not a sound, — 
 
 A note to my spirit dear, — 
 A breath from nature's lip but gives 
 
 Thy voice to my ravished ear." 
 
 I soon saw that the well-to-do farmer was in love 
 with her too, — but he was much too old for her, — 
 having seen full thirty years, if a day. Despite his 
 age, however, he was by no means bad looking ; — even 
 in my depreciating eyes, he appeared a robust, manly, 
 bright-faced fellow. She showed very unmistakably 
 
THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 121 
 
 tliat she did not fancy liim. She avoided him — 
 especially in company, — slighted him, — would often 
 refuse to dance or walk with him, and then would 
 dance two or three sets with me in quick succession, 
 or take a stroll with me along some of the beautiful 
 and retired paths radiating from The Spring. She 
 would let me take her soft hand, too, and press it ; and 
 once she permitted me, in assisting her over a branch, 
 which she could easily have stepped across, to put my 
 adventurous arm about her taper waist. 
 
 The General and his protege, the well-to-do farmer, 
 I saw, were in much trouble, as they frequently held 
 long and anxious conferences together. The old officer 
 about this time sought opportunities of talking with 
 me. He had in his hand one daj^ when we met, Bul- 
 wer's Strange Story, and asked me if 1 had ever read 
 it. I replied, yes, — and that I thought it a wonderful 
 book. The conversation very naturally passed from 
 the novel to spiritualism. He expressed himself as 
 being a firm believer in ghosts, and desired to know 
 what were my views on the subject. Now, I had 
 unfortunately, when a small boy, been a ready and 
 greedy listener to the talk of negroes around their 
 cabin fires at night, on my father's place. Their mar- 
 vellous stories on such occasions had developed in me 
 a broad vein of superstition. While, therefore, I 
 answered that I did not believe in ghosts at all, I, no 
 doubt, did it in such way as led him to conjecture that 
 I had no wish to meet with anything tliat looked like 
 
 one. An evening or two subsequent to this conver- 
 6 
 
122 THEODOEIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 sation, we were all sitting around a fire in the large 
 hall of our boarding-house, when the General gravely 
 remarked that about twelve o'clock the night before, 
 he had seen, from the window of his room, a woman 
 in white cross the green in front of the mansion, and 
 disappear among the trees on the opposite side. Many- 
 questions were asked by the party, but nothing fur- 
 ther could be elicited from the taciturn old gentleman. 
 The following evening he repeated the story to the 
 company, with the additional circumstance, that the 
 woman in white, when she was under his window had 
 looked up, and the moon which was at its full, shone 
 upon the face of one, who had formerly resided in the 
 immediate vicinity, but had long been in her grave. 
 His story, so solemnly and deliberately told, produced 
 among the ladies visible marks of trepidation, and 
 even caused grave and serious expressions to rest 
 upon the faces of the men. Just before sunset, on an 
 evening perhaps ten days after this occurrence, one of 
 the oldest of the students — a full grown man — asked 
 me to take a walk with him. We selected a pathway, 
 — thickly hned, on either side, with undergrowth, — 
 and which, generally level and sandy, now and then, 
 passed through deep, shady glens, watered by little 
 streams, that flowed from the surrounding hills. The 
 shadows of a clear but moonless night were beginning 
 to settle upon the landscape, when we commenced to 
 retrace our steps. We had proceeded but a short dis- 
 tance in the direction of The Spring, when there rung 
 out upon the air, just ahead of us, and a little to the 
 
THEODORIC BUENSIDE. 123 
 
 left of the way, a piercing shriek, ending in a sort of 
 quavering groan — something between the scream of a 
 panther and the cry of a screech-owl. My companion, 
 whom I, at the time, had by the arm, seemed to be in 
 an ecstacy of fear ; — he was shivering in every fibre 
 of his stalwart frame, as he exclaimed : " What on 
 earth can it be?" Not being able to answ^er, I said 
 nothing, but strode resolutely forward. Descending 
 into one of those shadowy glens before alluded to, 
 which was now extremely dark, and reaching the little 
 stream, he jerked out, in a horrified voice: "Look 
 there ! " — and with a yell, like the scream of a loco- 
 motive, sprang away in the darkness, shouting at every 
 jump — " murder — thieves — fire — ghosts — save me — • 
 save me — oh Lord — oh Lord !" Looking down the open 
 way made by the stream, I saw something white, waving 
 its arms, and standing apparently on the ground, while 
 its head w^as at least two or three feet above the bushes 
 in its neighborhood. It occurred to me, even then, 
 that this undergrowth was not less than tw^o yards in 
 height, and consequently that the altitude of the fright- 
 ful figure could scarcely be short of eight or nine feet. 
 I now waited no further question, or no further cal- 
 culation rather, but dashed after my comrade, who was 
 so far in advance of me, that the sound of his rapid 
 foot-strokes, and his energetic cries, could but faintly 
 be heard. Being young, vigorous, fleet, and impelled 
 by the fear of what was behind, I fairly devoured the 
 ground, and in a marvellously short time, reached The 
 
 Spring out of breath, but full of the spirit wdiich I 
 had seen. 
 
124: THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 When morning came I songht the spot from whicli 
 I had hurried so recklessly the previous evening, and 
 found, exactly where the supposed apparition had 
 stood, a large stump, just three feet and a half high. 
 Upon this, as a pedestal, I knew that the person who 
 frightened me, had perched himself. At once it 
 dawned upon my mind that I had been the victim of 
 a conspiracy, — the parties to which, I felt sure, were 
 the General, the well-to-do farmer, and my companion 
 in the evening's walk. I returned to The Spring 
 a sadder and a wiser boy. As I crossed the hall, I 
 passed mj lady-love, talking with one of her female 
 friends, and heard her say, as she meaningly looked to- 
 ward me : " Poor child I — he ought to go home to his 
 mother." I knew then she was lost to me ! She mar- 
 ried, I subsequently learned, the well-to-do farmer, 
 whom, of course, she was in love with, and, no doubt, 
 engaged to, all the time she was receiving my fool- 
 ishly fond attentions, and became the joyful mother of 
 many children. 
 
THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 125 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 If it prove so then loving goes by liaps, 
 
 Some Cupid kill^ with arrows — some with traps. 
 
 Shakspeaee. 
 
 "May," said Harrj, as they were standing under a 
 wide-spreading oak, upon the bank of the river at 
 Singleton, "I have an idea." 
 
 "Wonderful," replied May. "Let us have it bj all 
 means. That commodity over your way," glancing 
 at him with her bright eyes, "is too scarce to be neg- 
 lected." 
 
 "I have been thinking seriously of bringing about 
 a marriage between Uncle The. and mother; and I 
 want you to help me." 
 
 "Well, that is an idea, — one that could only have 
 arisen in your mad brain. Help you indeed! I shall 
 be gailty of no such folly." 
 
 "But, May, I am in earnest. Mother and Uncle 
 The., I am sure, have a sneaking kindness for each 
 other. They don't know it, though. Only a little 
 management on our part is necessary to induce them 
 to acknowledge it first to themselves, and then to one 
 another." 
 
 "Xow, Harry," said May, "you have jumped to 
 
126 THEODOEIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 tliat conclusion. It is perfectly absurd. I have not 
 seen the least trace of a marrying humor about uncle, 
 and certainly none about your mother. If I had been 
 called upon to point out two persons in all the world, 
 to whom the thought, in connection with themselves, 
 of matrimony, never occurred, I should have directed 
 my finger at them. It will not do for you to attempt 
 what you suggest. The result will be a failure, and 
 might be a very painful one to others beside your- 
 self." 
 
 "Nonsense!" observed Harry. "Uncle The., in the 
 face of all his big talk about the independence of 
 and delights of bachelor-life, is tired of it. He loves 
 mother; I am sure of that; and I am equally sure 
 that she more than esteems him. They just don't 
 know it — that's all. But with your assistance," added 
 he coaxingly, "I will enlighten them, and do it very 
 soon too." 
 
 "But, Harry! — " remonstrated the more prudent 
 May. 
 
 "Hush," — said Harry, with a formidable frown, 
 and an imperious Avave of the hand, — "hush! — my 
 mind is made up ; and it is your duty to obey me, — at 
 any rate," continued he, with mock-gravit}^, "j'ou 
 ought to do so now, that the good and peace-begetting 
 habit may be formed, and obedience come naturally 
 and easily to you after awhile — you know! I will 
 give mother a talk on the subject at once. Never 
 fear! — it will come out all rioht." And the head- 
 
THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 127 
 
 strong boj, shutting out from his mind all scruples, 
 prudential and otherwise, took his leave. 
 
 That afternoon, seated with his mother at home, he 
 commenced his approaches. He did so cautiously 
 and scientifically, but, at the same time, mercilessly. 
 
 "Mother," said the hypocritical scamp, "it will not 
 be long before May and I will be married, and you 
 will have a daughter, — two children to minister to 
 your comfort and happiness instead of one." 
 
 "Yes, Harry; — the presence of May in the house, 
 of itself, would be pleasant, but the knowledge of 
 your joy in connection with it, will make it infinitely 
 more so." 
 
 "Don't you think, mother. Uncle The. will be very 
 lonely after May leaves him? She has been so long 
 the light of his dreary old bachelor-hearth. Like 
 you, he will, it is true, have two children, where he 
 now has but one, for he shall be to me a father, as he 
 has ever been to May; but, unlike you, he will have 
 neither of them at his home." 
 
 "Yes," responded the widow sadly, "he will greatly 
 miss May — and, no doubt, he will be very lonely. 
 But we cannot always have those we wish around us. 
 We must learn to enjoy the comforts Ave have, with- 
 out repining for those that are withheld." 
 
 "Mother," said Harry, softly and insidiouly, "what 
 do you think of Uncle The. ? I know you hke him 
 — I don't mean for you to tell me that; but what sort 
 of a man is he, in your opinion ?" 
 
 "If it will be any consolation to you," said the un- 
 
128 THEODORIC BUEXSIDE. 
 
 suspecting widow, gently, "in marrying his niece, I 
 will say that I regard him as being one of the noblest 
 and purest men I have ever met." 
 
 "It's a consolation to me in another respect. I am 
 rejoiced that you esteem him so highly, — for, mother, 
 let me whisper it in your ear," said Harry, leaning 
 toward her, — "Uncle The. loves you!" 
 
 "Loves me! Oh, Harry! — you are dreaming; — 
 and — and, you ought not to say so, — and — and, it 
 ought not to be so, — and — and, it must not — cannot 
 be so," — answered the widow, sobbing, and finally 
 bursting into fears. 
 
 Harry was aghast at the effects of his disclosure* 
 but he had gone too far to recede; — so though some- 
 what frightened, and considerably moved, he pressed 
 resolutely ahead. 
 
 "It is the truth, mother; — and," said he, earnestly, 
 "he is the onlj^ man living that I would be willing to 
 see your husband, — to see occupy my father's place. 
 I would say that, even if I w^ere not going to marry 
 May." And the perfidious boy arose, and put his 
 arm affectionately around his mother's neck. 
 
 Harry said nothing more then. He saw before 
 many hours had passed that his words had made a 
 deep impression upon his mother, and he ever imag- 
 ined that she frequently turned the thoughts, sug- 
 gested by them over in her mind, and sometimes with 
 no unpleasant feelings. 
 
 In the prosecution of this nefarious conspiracy 
 
 against the expressed predilections for blessed-single- 
 
THEODORIC BURNSIDE. 129 
 
 ness, on the part of two sucIl near and dear relatives^ 
 Harry called to see his betrothed a few days subse- 
 quent to the foregoing conversation. 
 
 "It is all right, May," exclaimed he, exultingly, as 
 soon as he kissed her, and thereupon he proceeded 
 immediately to kiss her again. " Mother does love 
 Uncle The. a little. Now you can tell him so, with- 
 out any misgivings upon the score of truthfulness, — 
 and we will have him all right too." 
 
 Before a week had elapsed the talk of these 
 
 two young madcaps had led the uncle and mother to 
 believe that each was almost, if not quite, dying of 
 love for the other. 
 
130 THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 What men dare, I dare : 
 Approach then like the rugged Russian bear, 
 The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hj'rcau tiger, 
 Take any shape but this, and my firm nerves 
 Shall never ti'emble. *. Hence horrible shadow, 
 
 SHAK.SPEABE. 
 
 "Uncle The.," said Harrj, "jou promised me, sev- 
 •eral days ago, an account of your second love-scrape. 
 Let me hear it now — please." 
 
 "Yery well," replied Burnside, "provided you and 
 May will keep your galloping tongues still while I 
 am talking." 
 
 burxside's secoxd love. 
 
 In the year 1858, I was a leading merchant of a 
 small village in the lower part of Alabama; perhaps if 
 1 were to say that I was the only merchant the 
 meaning of the former epithet would not be mis- 
 understood. It was one of those lazy little places, 
 which are frequently seen to spring suddenly up at 
 the crossing of public thoroughfares, but which never 
 become sufficiently important to secure a place on the 
 map. One or two intermediate roads, however, 
 centred here, which added somewhat to the life and 
 
THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 131 
 
 business of the place. Along these highways and 
 byways, at greater or shorter intervals, — principally 
 the former ! — were built the dwellings of the humble 
 villagers, — so that to one standing at the public 
 23ump, in the centre of the crossing, these houses 
 appeared to have straggled off into the country. 
 
 The principal citizen of the neighborhood, — a most 
 unlovable old character, — was named Wirt Hurlson. 
 His tall, meager person was generally clad in a suit of 
 rusty black, while a weather-beaten, broad-brimmed 
 hat flapped above grizzled locks, that were always 
 unkempt, a hooked nose, that was constantly be- 
 smeared with snuff, and a pair of thin lips that were 
 seldom without a sneer. He was an infidel, out- 
 spoken and defiant, and a miser, close and grasping. 
 He would fasten upon a penny with the unyielding, 
 death-like clutch of a Trapbois, and scoff at religion 
 with the venom and boldness of a Voltaire, — his face, 
 at the same time, wearing the sardonic grin of a 
 Mephistopheles. A devout worshiper of Tom Paine, 
 — he read the Age of Eeason as regularly, and re- 
 garded its teachings as reverentially, as a Mahomme- 
 dan do3s those of the Koran. He had the largest and 
 best farm; the finest and fattest horses and cattle; the 
 roughest and dingiest old house, and the brightest 
 and prettiest daughter of any one within ten miles 
 around. Kate Hurlson was indeed a little beauty; 
 and she had the reputation of being as lovely in mind 
 and heart as she was in person. She idolized her 
 hard-hearted, hard-headed and hard-featured old 
 
132 THEODORIC BURXSTDE. 
 
 father; and lie trusted and loved lier, if lie trusted 
 and loved nothing- else. 
 
 I have said that he lived in an unsightl}" old house. 
 It was a large, rambling, crazy-looking structure, 
 crowning a hill, which overlooked the village. Al- 
 though a spot, bj no means, inviting in appearance 
 to the ordinary observer, yet such were its attractions 
 to me, that every Sunday afternoon, and many an 
 evening between, found me seated in its scantily fur- 
 nished parlor. The cheerlessness of the room was 
 always relieved by a bright fire when the weather 
 was cool, by flowers tastefully arranged and placed 
 upon shelves and tables, and, more than all, by the 
 presence of the genial and winsome Kate. 
 
 I had begun to think my chances to get her in pos- 
 session, at once, with a round fortune, in futuro, 
 pretty good, — when the prospect of obtaining both, 
 at the same time, was unexpectedly presented to me. 
 A paralytic stroke prostrated Wirt Hurlson, and in a 
 few days, he was no more. He died, as he had lived, 
 — in short, as far as the future was concerned, he 
 died, like Bothwell in Old Mortality, — "hoping noth- 
 ing, believing nothing and fearing nothing!" 
 
 The night before the burial, I sat up with the 
 corpse, — a young physician, and my assistant in the 
 store,^were with me. The body was laid out in the 
 chamber, which had been occupied by the old man 
 during life, and which was, if possible, more dilapi- 
 dated and ill-furnished than any other part of the old 
 mansion. Placed upon a board between two chairs, 
 
THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 133 
 
 Avitli a sheet thrown over them, which was dimly 
 white and gently waving in the dark corner, — for the 
 light of a single tallow candle upon the mantel, left 
 the larger part of the room in deep shadow, — it pre- 
 sented to the eye a picture by no means suggestive of 
 pleasant reflections. The weather was wild and 
 stormy; and the wind sighed and moaned and howled 
 around the corners, through the cracks and crannies 
 and along the deserted passages of the old mansion, 
 in a manner somewhat trying to nerves not made of 
 steel. We were shivering about midnight over a 
 ghost of a fire, when my clerk suggested, that, if I 
 wished, he would go down to the store for cigars, 
 brandy and other refreshments, to enable us to pass 
 the night less uncomfortably. I assented; — and the 
 young physician offered to accompany him. Al- 
 though I did not like to be left alone, under the 
 circumstances, — for, as I have elsewhere said, I was 
 not above the control of superstitious feelings, — I had 
 too much pride to object; — and they started off. 
 Hardly had they left the house, — indeed the echo of 
 their footsteps was still ringing in the long passages, 
 — when I was startled by a shrill scream behind me. 
 I sprang from my chair, and beheld, as I turned 
 around, two eyes, gleaming like balls of fire in the 
 blackness of an open window. They were roiling 
 and snapping ; — and at every motion, they seemed to 
 scintillate and emit streams of lurid light. The first 
 thought, — the only thought,— that flashed across my 
 bram, was, that the Evil One, having obtained the 
 
134 THEODOEIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 soul of old Hurlson, had come for his body. I stood 
 motionless, with my hands grasping the back of the 
 chair, from which I had arisen, — as incapable of 
 moving, for the time, as a statue of marble, and with 
 scarcely more feeling in my body. There was 
 another fearful scream at the window, and a black 
 body bounded, with the elasticity of an india-rubber 
 ball, across the room, and alighted with a tearing, 
 rasping sound upon the sheet. The blood, like liquid 
 fire, at once surged through my veins, and raising the 
 chair, I hurled it, with all my force, at the struggling 
 mass in the corner, Avhich brouo-ht the whole with a 
 crash to the floor; — whereupon I tumbled headlong 
 down the stairs, and headlong from the house. Be- 
 fore getting out of the yard, I met the two young 
 men. They had heard the uproar, and were hurry- 
 ing back to ascertain the cause. I told them hastily 
 that Satan had come in person and flown away with 
 the body of the deceased, and continued on my way 
 home, — having not the slightest wish to revisit the 
 scene of his diabolical work. 
 
 I heard the next day, that an immense black cat 
 was found, with its head crushed, lying by the side 
 of the corpse, under a fragment of my broken chair. 
 Mortified, as well as shocked, I remained closely at 
 the store for some time, attending to my business, — 
 and I told the boys to say nothing to me whatever on 
 the subject. Having a regard for the soundness of 
 their bones, they strictly heeded me. A week or 
 two afterwards I met Kate Hurlson upon the street: 
 
THEODOEIC BURNSIDE. 135 
 
 the blood of her father, whom I had so stigmatized, 
 swelled up within her, I suppose, — as she turned her 
 head away indignantly, and refused to speak to me. 
 And so I lost my last love ! 
 
136 THEODOEIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 Aye, the place may be innocent, 
 But to me it looks murderous. 
 
 The Captive. 
 
 The season had arrived for Burnside's annual feast 
 to his freedmen. The day before that grand event in 
 plantation life, he called with May, upon the widow 
 to request her attendance. Harry was at home w^ith 
 his mother. They Avere sitting on the veranda enjoy- 
 ing the delightful breeze from the river, when some 
 remark was made about a shocking murder and rob- 
 bery, which had recently occurred in one of the lower 
 counties. Burnside said that it suggested to him a 
 most perilous adventure of his j^ounger days. Upon 
 the urgent request of the widow, with a quizzical look 
 at Harry, he recounted the story of 
 
 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE RIVER. 
 
 It w^as a sunny evening in June, about the year 
 1850. I had just graduated, and was waiting for the 
 departure of the steamer, — which, after a trip of about 
 five hundred miles down the river, would, barring ac- 
 cidents, land me within a few miles of my home. In 
 rambling about the streets of the city, enjoying my 
 
THEODOEIC BURXSIDE. 137 
 
 newly-acquired freedom, and my newly-discovered 
 manhood, — I fancied I had found the latter, just as I 
 secured the former, — with the diploma handed me by 
 the president of the college, — I chanced to meet a 
 gentleman, named Williams, from my native town, 
 who was an agent of the government, and who ex- 
 pected to return by the same boat, upon which I had 
 •engaged passage. He was forced, however, as he told 
 me, to take a stage-coach running to a small village, 
 about twenty-five miles below ; — and from thence he 
 •expected to make his way, about fifteen miles farther 
 •across the country, to a landing on the river, where 
 the captain of the steamer had promised to stop and 
 take him up. As the distance by water to the land- 
 ing was two or three times as great as that by land, 
 and as the steamer would not leave until the followino* 
 
 o 
 
 afternoon, he had plenty of time, to go by way of the 
 village, attend to his business, which was to get from 
 a state-bank, located in that secluded place, gold or 
 silver to the amount of several thousand dollars, upon 
 drafts belonging to the government. He requested 
 me to accompany him. Eeady for anything that 
 promised adventure, I at once consented ; — and, in a 
 "few hours, — -just as the sun was setting behind the 
 mountains, which environed this rugged, but most 
 picturesque of southern cities, — we were in the coach, 
 and away. 
 
 The next morning, Williams, after having had the 
 m.oney put up in six boxes, each containing one thou- 
 sand silver dollars, — gold being more portable would 
 6* 
 
138 THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 have been preferred under the circumstances — but it 
 could not be had, — undertook to provide a conveyance 
 to the river. Whether it was because of a camp- 
 meeting, or some other popular gathering of the 
 people, in the vicinity, is not now recollected, — but no 
 sort of vehicle could be hired at a public stable, or 
 obtained from anj- of the citizens of the place. At 
 last the negro, whom Ave had employed as a driver, 
 and who had been recommended to us by the pres- 
 ident of the bank, as a person perfectly trustworthy, 
 told Williams of an old carriase, which had been 
 standing unused under a shelter in the suburbs of the 
 village for years, which perhaps might do, and could 
 certainly be had. It was an awful-looking aifair — one 
 of those old-fashioned carriages, w^ith wheels large and 
 body high-swung, in which our grand-mothers were 
 accustomed to ride. The paint upon its well-rounded 
 and plethoric sides had become the color of ashes, and 
 the shreds of its trimminsfs and curtains fluttered in 
 the breeze like the dirty rags of the lowest beggar 
 in the streets. Williams saw he had to take it, or 
 nothing, — and, after many misgivings, he determined, 
 in the crazy vehicle, loaded with three full-grown men 
 and six thousand dollars in silver, — to risk a journey 
 of fifteen miles over a road, rough and broken, and 
 what was worse, in the event of an accident, solitary 
 and unfrequented. But the old carriage was not so- 
 bad, as it looked ; — it had been built when good work 
 was done, and good material used — and, during its latter 
 years, having been kept well-housed, it w^as sound and 
 
THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 139 
 
 Strong. At any rate, by the aid of two mules, witli 
 improvised harness, largely made np of rope, — it 
 carried us safely, over the roughness of a dreary road, 
 and through the gloom of a wet and cloudy evening, 
 after a comfortless ride of about five hours, to our 
 journey's end. We reached the Landing just before 
 night-fall. It was a long and broad reach of sand, 
 washed on one side by the river, and shut in on the 
 other by high mountains. We drove up to a solitary 
 house not far from the water's edge, where we ex- 
 pected to get accommodations, for the night. It was 
 an old frame building— long-bodied, and two-storied— 
 which had never been painted, and had that dull and 
 sullen color, which such houses always wear, and 
 which never fails to produce a sensation of utter des- 
 olation in the mind of the beholder, especially, when 
 it is joined with other marks of decay. The chimney- 
 tops at either end were rough and ragged from the 
 loss of brick,— and the roof had sunk in the centre, 
 until it seemed that the weight of any bird, which 
 might have the hardihood to settle there, would be 
 suflacient to bring it down in ruins upon the heads of 
 its inmates. There were no shutters to the doors, and 
 all of its numerous windows, without bhnds or sash, 
 glared down, hollow-eyed and ghastly, upon the few 
 dwarfed" and sickly trees, which were pretending to 
 grow in the desert-like yard beneath them. 
 
 A man showed himself in response to our call, and 
 informed us we could stay all night if we wished, but 
 that he could give us nothing to eat. While we were 
 
1-iO THEODORTC BURXSIDE. 
 
 talking with "him, a young fellow rushe'l out, and, 
 catching from the hands of the negro, one of the 
 boxes, which he was removing from the carrijige, he 
 exclaimed, as he dashed it to the ground, making 
 it jingle with that music peculiar to coin, — "Mighty 
 heavy — what is it?" Williams, taken aback by the 
 abruptness of the action and the question, hesitated 
 and stammered, but immediately recovering himself, 
 he said impressively, and with an air of considerable 
 importance, — that the boxes contained a new sort of 
 nail, which had just been patented — a statement that 
 would hardly have been received as truth by any but 
 very ignorant and simple-minded persons. Ilie two 
 men returned to the house ; and the driver carried, 
 and piled the money under the bed, which was pointed 
 out as our sleeping-place for the night. Before mount- 
 ing again to his seat upon the carriage,— for he said 
 he was going immediately back home, — he whispered 
 to us, that we had better keep a sharp look-out. Wil- 
 liams tried to get a light, but found that lamps or 
 candles, like bread and meat, were luxuries, which that 
 house did not afford. So we had to throw ourselves, 
 lightless and supperless, across the hard bed, — the 
 man, who had so impudently interfered with our load, 
 occupying a pallet on the opposite side of the same 
 room. This man was evidentlj^ very much excited — 
 perhaps, thought I, by the weight and ringing contents 
 of the boxes. He attempted to talk to us upon gen- 
 eral topics, — but like one whose mind is engrossed 
 with some great and overwhelming idea, he frequently 
 
THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 1-il 
 
 made remarks foreign to the subject of conversa- 
 tion, and gave irrelevant answers to plain questions. 
 Notliino- had been said bv any of us for more than an 
 hour, when he slipped noiseiesslj^ from the room, and 
 was absent for several minutes. Upon his return he 
 remained but a little while, when he again went out, 
 and was gone for a still longer time. Williams asked 
 me if 1 had a weapon. I told him only a pocket-knife, 
 lie said that he iiad brought in from the yard a heavy 
 bludgeon, which, from the indications, he supposed we 
 would need before morning. About this time, I fell 
 into a deep sleep. How long I continued in it, I am 
 unable to say — perhaps four or five hours. I w^as 
 awakened bj^ Williams. "They are coming!" said 
 he hurriedly and excitedly. I looked out into the 
 darkness. My eyes lor the time being w^ere perfectly 
 useless — as in the room there w^as not the faintest trace 
 of light. A rain was being gently sifted from the 
 clouds, while a stiff breeze was humming ghostly songs 
 all through the old house. " Who are coming ?" asked 
 I. "The thieves — we are in a den of robbers" — he 
 whispered breathlesslj^ : — " Listen ! " I did so, and 
 heard an indistinct muttering just outside of where I 
 supposed the back-door to be — as of men whispering 
 together. Immediately after I could hear cat-like 
 steps over the floor. I held my knife open in my 
 hand, as I raised myself from the bed. Just at this 
 critical moment was heard the deep-toned scream of 
 the steamer, as it rounded a bend in the river, a short 
 distance above the landing. To me no music could 
 
l-i2 THEODOEIC BURNSIDE. 
 
 have sounded more deliciouslj ; and the furnace-fires, 
 as they glared from the deep blackness behind, and 
 shot a broad stream of red light far down the dark 
 waters, made up, under the circumstances, the most 
 beautiful picture upon which my eyes had ever rested. 
 In a few minutes the agent, with his treasure, and 
 myself had left the old house, and were standing at the 
 river's edge. The clouds were drifting slowly away, 
 and day was beginning to dawn, clear and bright, 
 when we found ourselves safely aboard the boat, and 
 gliding swiftly upon the smooth current of the stream 
 in the direction of home. 
 
 Seated on the deck, soon after breakfast, Williams 
 was detailing to a small knot of interested and atten- 
 tive listeners, the events of the night, — having pre- 
 faced the statement with the remark, that, by the 
 opportune arrival of the boat, he had certainly escaped 
 the clutches of a desperate band of robbers. An old 
 gentleman, with a bright eye and a quizzical expres- 
 sion of countenance, was one of the party. Before 
 Williams had reached the exciting portion of his nar- 
 rative, the old man interrupted him by observing : — 
 " The person who occupied the room with you, talked 
 rather wildly — didn't he?" "Yes," replied Williams 
 looking up in some astonishment. "He got up, and 
 went out of the room several times during the night — 
 didn't he?" "Yes," — responded the still more sur- 
 prised Williams. " While he was out you heard much 
 strange whispering — didn't you?" "Yes," answered 
 now the astounded Williams. "Well," said the old 
 
THEODORIC BURNSIDE. 143 
 
 man, "I spent a night there last week myself, and that 
 was what occurred to me. I had no money, and con- 
 sequently felt no great uneasiness. Upon enquiry the 
 next morning I discovered that my singular, restless 
 and whispering room-mate was — insane ! " A laugh 
 greeted the explanation of the bright-eyed old gentle- 
 raan, — from which explanation it appeared, that a 
 poor fellow, half starved and less than half witted, 
 made np the vast crowd of thieves and assassin, who 
 had been supposed to skulk at midnight about the 
 doorways of the Old House by the Kiver." 
 
114: THEODOEIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 The homes of Alabama, 
 
 How beautiful thej' rise, 
 Throughout her queenly forest realm, 
 
 Beneath her smiling skies! 
 The richest odors fill the breeze, 
 
 Her valleys teem with wealth, 
 And the homes of Alabama 
 
 Are the rosy homes of health. 
 
 A. B. Meek. 
 
 Ilarrj and liis mother, with a party of the neigh- 
 bors, among whom was a large sprinkling of young 
 men and young ladies, boys and girls, had assembled 
 at Singleton, on the morning of the important occa- 
 sion, to which reference was had in the last chapter. 
 The day was fine, and the crops on the place all 
 having been laid by clean, the negroes, in their holi- 
 day attire, were bustling about the grounds, or 
 collected in groups around the pit-fires in the grove, 
 where the cooking was going on, and the tables 
 spread. Among them smiles were universal, laughs 
 plentiful, and dancing by no means wanting. Burn- 
 side, Harry, a Bostonian, who had come over at the 
 request of a neighbor, and two or three other gentle- 
 men, were seated, under the trees in front of the 
 house, regaling themselves with pipes and tobacco. 
 
THEODORIC BURXSIDE. 145 
 
 "Uncle The.," said Harry, "I understood that you 
 at first thought of giving this jollification last week. 
 "What made you postpone it?" 
 
 "Old Cc^sar, my leader, told me, when I consulted 
 him on the subject, that the funeral of a still-born 
 child would take place at Wilson's, some six miles up 
 the river, on the same day that I had selected for the 
 barbecue, and consequently that it wouldn't do. He 
 said that as much as the negro loved barbecue, he 
 loved funeral more, — and that the greater part of my 
 people, dinner or no dinner, would be off to Wilson's 
 that morning by break of day. They would do so, 
 Ca?sar went on to say, without conferring wdth me, as 
 I had made the occasion a holiday by previous ap- 
 pointment. It is a singular fact that the negro takes 
 as deep an interest in the funeral of one of his color, 
 no matter whether he has ever seen the deceased or 
 not, as that with which, the most violent partisan re- 
 gards a gathering of his party -friends in a heated 
 political contest. They will neglect one of their 
 brethren w^hen sick, and yet pay him the most elab- 
 orate honors when dead." 
 
 "Your freedmen," remarked the Bostonian, ad- 
 dressing Burn«ide, "seem to be the happiest and most 
 prosperous lot of negroes in this vicinity. How 
 happens it?" 
 
 "You ought not to judge of them from their ap- 
 pearance and conduct now. Of course you see the 
 best side of them to-day. I must say, however, that 
 
 they are generally in good spirits and good condition. 
 
 •^ 7 
 
14:6 THEODOEIC BURXSIDE. 
 
 I suppose it is because I work tliem in such way, as 
 to show them that the plantation belongs to me, and 
 all that is made on it." 
 
 "I should think," responded the other, courteously, 
 "that you could take no step more likely to make 
 them dissatisfied." 
 
 "Oh, no! In doing this, — I feed them mj^self, and 
 they have plenty to eat, — I clothe them myself, and 
 they have plenty to wear, — I pay them standing 
 was'es, and. at the end of the vear, all of them have 
 money. The planters hereabouts generally work 
 upon a different plan: — they allow their freedmen, 
 who feed and clothe themselves, parts of the crops, or 
 rent to them ; — in such cases, the negro almost always 
 fares hard, and seldom has any money at Christmas, 
 and his employer, it may also be said, has but little 
 more. The great overshadowing vice of the negro is 
 thriftlessness. He never looks beyond the enjoyment 
 of the present moment. Every step of his remove 
 from the white planter gives additional room for the 
 exercise of this vice. When working for standing 
 wages he is immediately under the eye and control of 
 his employer, and generally does well, — working for 
 parts of the crop, he is farther off, — and renting, yet 
 more so, — and here, especially in the last instance, 
 his thriftlessness is fulty exemplified in the wreck of 
 improvements, carelessness of cultivation, and the 
 utter want of every provision for future contin- 
 gencies. Why, — I have seen many a negro, who did 
 not own five bushels of corn, with which to feed his 
 
THEODOEIC BUENSIDE. 147 
 
 family, and unable to obtain provisions, except upon 
 the surety of his employer, and then only at ruinous 
 prices, barter the last grain to a merchant for beads, 
 ribbons and candy. And such instances are by no 
 means rare. They are sufficiently frequent to enable 
 one to pronounce them the rule. Of course there are 
 exceptions. Should the time come," continued Burn- 
 side, after a pause, — "and it now seems probable, 
 when Southern planters shall be forced to divide 
 their places, and rent out to freedmen, then the time 
 has arrived for a change of labor at the South." 
 
 Just then came floating through the green branches 
 of the trees — gently — softl}^ — the opening notes of a 
 song from the crowd of negroes circled about the fires 
 and tables of the barbecue. Now, a single voice 
 strong and shrill — higher and higher it rose until 
 wild and spiritdike it seemed lost in the clouds, — and 
 then followed the deep diaphason swell, as scores of 
 voices joined in the chorus, making the woods 
 resound with a melody unequalled by that of the 
 grandest organ in the grandest cathedral of conti- 
 nental Europe. 
 
 It was a signal, and announced that the feast was 
 ready. The party of whites at the house, headed by 
 Biirnside and the widow, proceeded at once to the 
 spot. The negroes were ranged around the tables, 
 vigorously singing, led by old Cassar, who had placed 
 himself at the head of the principal one, about one- 
 third of which at the other end was kept vacant for 
 the accommodation of the whites. The tables were 
 
148 THEODOEIC BUEXSIDE. 
 
 covered all over with barbecued pigs and lambs, 
 chicken-pies and other substantial and tempting 
 viands. When Burnside had taken his position, im- 
 mediately fronting old Caesar, with his company 
 around him, the latter, pouring into a glass whiskey 
 enough to make an ordinary head buz, from a huge 
 iug at his rig:ht hand, said: "Every nigorer will find 
 his dram in de cup by his plate." Then raising his 
 voice and his glass, he continued: "Here's to Mars. 
 The. Burnside — de boss ob dis plantation. He 
 always burns wid truth, and sides wid de right. As 
 General Lee once "jaculated, 'Long may he wade' — 
 yes, long may he wade through de muddy troubles of 
 dis world — wid his head high 'bove water." 
 
 "Wade! — it's wave. Uncle Caesar," shouted one of 
 the negroes, who had been in the war. "General Jeb. 
 Stuart said dat, in s'luting his battle-flag, when he 
 could have taken Washington, but wouldn't, 'cause 
 he was 'fraid de rascality ob de place would swamp 
 de Southern Confederacy." 
 
 "Yes," exclaimed little Billy, at the side of the 
 table, — his black face shining and his eyes rolling, — 
 "dat's it — I heard Mars. Bob say it many time when 
 he got back from de army, — Long ma}^ he wabe! 
 General Stuart, I guess, learn it from him." 
 
 Old C^sar treated the two adventurous darkies 
 with a supercilious stare and a contemptuous smile, — 
 under the effects of which little Billy went headlong 
 under the table, — and, without deigning any further 
 reply to what he considered impertinent suggestions. 
 
THEODOPJC BURXSIDE. 14:9 
 
 said: "De boss will proceed wid liis part ob de pro- 
 gram." Thereupon Burnside responded in a few 
 words to the toast, — complimenting the negroes upon 
 their industry and general good behaviour during the 
 year, — and concluded by telling them to fall to, and 
 enjoy themselves. 
 
 The wliites remained a few minutes at the table, 
 and then separating into small parties, wandered 
 about the grounds. Burnside and the widow, after 
 sauntering for some time under the trees, turned their 
 steps toward an arbor, in a cluster of undergrowth 
 not far from the house. Harry and May were watch- 
 ing them, and set out for the same place as soon as 
 their victims had disappeared among the bushes. 
 Moving slowly, and turning now slightly to the right, 
 and then to the left, as if they were purposeless in the 
 direction of their walk, they reached the arbor, with- 
 out being detected by its inmates, or attracting the 
 attention of smj of the wandering parties in the 
 Avood. They stood, for several minutes, motionless 
 by the side of the leafy screen, and listened with 
 bated breath. They heard distinctly every word that 
 was uttered after they had reached their hiding-place. 
 Finally they could bear it no longer, and burst into 
 the arbor, to find the head of the widow gently pil- 
 lowed upon Burnside's shoulder, with the exclamation 
 from Harry, — " Mother — mother ! — how could you do 
 it! — is this the end of all your promises to me?" — fol- 
 lowed by the exclamation from May, — "Oh, you 
 deceitful old uncle ! — only last week you said that you 
 
150 THEODORIC BURNSIDE. 
 
 would miss me Avhen I married, and now j^ou'll not 
 miss me at all. I will never fors^ive you — never!" 
 
 The mother and uncle parried the badinage of their 
 favorites as well as they were able; and when the 
 four left the arbor there was not a happier party in 
 the State. The next month witnessed a double in- 
 stead of a single wedding, at the residence of the 
 widow ; and that home and Singleton simply made an 
 amicable and peaceful exchange of mistresses. 
 
UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 ril See You in Jericho First. 
 
 A SOUTHERN STORY. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Look on this picture and on that ; 
 
 The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 For him are brought into the world two daughters, so beyond measure excellent 
 in all the gifts allotted to reasonable creatures, that we may think they were boru 
 to show that Nature is no step-mother to that sex, how much soever some men, 
 sharp-witted only in evil-speaking, have sought to disgrace them. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney. 
 
 " Where is that graceless nephew of jours?" 
 
 "I don't know exactly; when I last heard from 
 him he was in Montgomery." 
 
 "When do you expect him here?" 
 
 "Next week." 
 
 The foregoing was part of a conversation between 
 two men, long past the meridian of life, yet apparently 
 
152 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 stout and vigorous, — one with an empty sleeve, — wlio 
 were sitting upon a rustic bencli, in tlie shade of a 
 wide-spreading magnolia. The tree was close to the 
 porch of a small, but tastefully coustructed cottage^ 
 which stood not far from the Gulf of Mexico, in one 
 of the most beautiful parts of the Florida coast, about 
 midway between the cities of Mobile and Apalachi- 
 cola. This cottage was an appendage, and was within 
 a stone's throw of a stately mansion, which, cresting 
 the slight eminence, upon the slope of which the 
 former was situated, looked far and wide over the 
 blue waters of that finest of American seas. A path- 
 way, broad and sinuous, dividing to the west, the 
 smoothly descending carpet of greensward, wound, in 
 graceful curves, around the edges of the clumps of 
 trees, thickly covered and interlaced by flowering 
 vines, Avith which the lawn was plentifully sprinkled. 
 The mansion, which was two storied, and built in 
 w^hat may well be termed, at least in this country, the 
 Southern style of architecture, consisted of white 
 walls; high, airy rooms; large doors and windows, 
 protected by green blinds; broad, flattened roofs; and 
 two ample halls, above and below, crossing each other 
 at right angles in the centre, and opening at either 
 end upon deep verandas. The building, with its out- 
 houses, appropriate in color and construction, was of 
 a piece, with the thousands of countr}^ homes, scat- 
 tered over the Gulf-States, of the old Southern plan- 
 ters, — a grand old race of men now rapidly and finally 
 disappearing, — except, it should be remarked, in one 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 153 
 
 singular and striking respect. Immediately over the 
 intersection of the halls, and forming the roof of that 
 part of the edifice, arose a dome,— enriched, within 
 and without, wath carved work and mouldings, and 
 having around it, at regular intervals, 'circular open- 
 ings filled with heavy stained glass, — upon the top of 
 which was placed an octagonal tower of considerable 
 height, surmounted by a weather-cock, fashioned like 
 a ship, Avith spars, masts and rigging. The tower 
 was reached by narrow cast iron steps springing from 
 a platform, surrounded by a balustrade, at the foot of 
 the dome, and bending over its outer surface. 
 
 The two men, thus talking under the magnolia, 
 Avere Charles Munson and Hubert Brentworth. They 
 were native Alabamians, and had been reared upon 
 adjoining plantations. Old school-fellows, playmates, 
 classmates, and roommates, with dispositions and 
 tastes, which singularly harmonized, although no two 
 persons could have been more unlike, they had been 
 staunch friends from the time of their first recollec- 
 tion. After they were grown up, however, they 
 became Avidely separated, and remained so during the 
 whole of their early manhood. The former — Charles 
 Munson, — daring and adventurous, — had run away 
 from home before his education was completed; and, 
 from a cabin-boy on a merchant vessel, had risen to 
 the dignity of a mate and part owner. He continued 
 on the sea, until by the death of his father, and 
 another near relative, he inherited a large fortune, 
 when he returned to Alabama, married, increased his 
 
154: UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 property, by wise and vigorous management, removed 
 to Florida, lost his wife in giving birth, to her sixth 
 child; — only two, however, survived her — the oldest 
 and youngest — both of whom were now living with 
 him — the one' as the housekeeper, and the other as 
 the ornament of the large mansion just described. 
 During the period of his wanderings about the world, 
 he became attached, by some means, and in some sub- 
 ordinate capacity, to the Dead Sea Expedition of 
 Lieutenant Lynch. While discharging his duties in 
 connection with that undertaking, upon the myste- 
 rious waters covering the wicked cities of the plain, 
 he was seized with violent sickness, and was removed 
 to Eihah, or modern Jericho. Occupying a hovel in 
 that wretched home of squalid and fikhy Arabs, he 
 lingered upon the confines of life, for several weeks; 
 but, after suffering terrible agonies, his naturally 
 strong constitution overcame the disease, which had 
 fastened upon his system, and he slowly recovered. 
 Like the messengers of King David, he had always 
 afterward a lively horror of the circumstances, under 
 which he was forced to "tarry awhile in Jericho," as 
 well as of the town itself. An old salt, — in spite of 
 his early education, and his later surroundings, — his 
 manner was occasionally rough, and his language 
 sometimes more pointed than elegant. He had also 
 acquired upon ship-board the habit of using certain 
 set phrases, which, while not exactly vulgar, were 
 certainly not like the pearls and diamonds that fell 
 from the lips of the good little girl in the fairy tale. 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 155 
 
 One of these was the oath, — originating, no doubt, in 
 the spell of sickness referred to, and which, by the 
 way, occasioned the writing of this veracious history, 
 — ril see you in Jericho first! This oath, if it can 
 be called an oath, — at any rate it was his nearest 
 approach to swearing, — when once uttered was final 
 as to his action — he could not be moved from the 
 position he had taken. Ordinarily, however, both in 
 bearing and conversation, he showed himself to be 
 not only an intelligent and sensible, but a cultivated 
 and generous man. 
 
 The latter, — Hubert Brentworth, — became a small 
 farmer in one of the northern counties of Alabama. 
 A genial-hearted, mild-tempered and strong-minded 
 old bachelor, with no one especiallj^ to care for, except 
 a nephew, who, already motherless, had been be- 
 queathed to his guardianship and affection, by a 
 dying brother, — save himself the last surviving mem- 
 ber of his family, — he remained closely at home, 
 attended strictly to his business, taught his nephew, 
 by precept and example, to be a gentleman, sent him 
 to the University, and upon his graduation, much 
 against the wishes and tastes of the young man, in- 
 duced him to read law, which, for some months now 
 he had been pretending to practice in the courts of 
 that gem of a city, Montgomery. Hubert Brent- 
 worth lost his left arm at Manassas. Upon the close 
 of the war, having met his friend Charles Munson in 
 Mobile, he was persuaded by him to become his com- 
 panion, and assistant in the management of his 
 
156 UNDEE THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 extensive business. Hence liis domestication in the 
 small cottage at Fairslope, by the side of which he 
 and Charles Munson Avere seen talkino- on that bright 
 day in the spring of 187 — . 
 
 "Your nephew is a lazy dog, I have heard," good- 
 hnmoredly said the old sailor, resuming the conversa- 
 tion. " He reads more poetry than he does law, it 
 appears ; and practices at the graces more than at his 
 profession." 
 
 "He'll get over all that," cheerfully replied Hubert 
 Brentworth. "He is simply sowing his wild-oats;, 
 and I don't think he has many of them to sow, and I 
 know none of them are bad." 
 
 "It is reported that he is extremely handsome — 
 vanity may have something to do with his want of 
 serious application," observed Charles Munson. 
 
 "He is certainly handsome, as his father was before 
 him," rejoined Hubert Brentworth. "Straight as an 
 Indian, tall, fall-chested, — his head — a fine one — set 
 upon broad shoulders with the grace of the Apollo- 
 Belvedere, — he is a striking looking man in any 
 crowd. But I hope, in disposition, he is not what 
 you suggest ; and I do not believe he is : if I am mis- 
 taken, however, and he be somewhat vain and idle,, 
 he is yet very young, — only twenty-three, — and, I 
 am sure, that a few years, with opportunities, will 
 correct these failmgs in one, whose judgment, as a 
 general thing, is so sound, and Avhose principles so 
 good." 
 
 " Well," said the other, after a pause, knocking the 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 157 
 
 jislies out of his pipe, "handsome is as handsome 
 does, 3^011 know. I think you handsome; and yet," 
 continued he, with a humorous twinkle of the eye, 
 "one, Avho did not know you, woukl be surprised at 
 hearing such a remark from me, when he looked 
 upon that rugged and weather-beaten countenance. 
 But," as the door of his residence on the opposite side 
 of the way opened, "here comes Mary and Grace 
 equipped for an evening's walk." 
 
 The young ladies crossed over to where the old 
 gentlemen were sitting. The elder, Mary, though 
 young, was old enough to merit and obtain from Mrs. 
 Grundy, the unpopular and unpoetic name of old 
 maid; it needed, however, but a look at her round, 
 graceful and well- developed figure,— and especially 
 but a single look into her sweet face, on Avhich sat 
 the evidences of a pure mind and heart, to satisfy any 
 one that she was an old maid from choice, not neces- 
 sity; and the marks of quiet, subdued, but genuine 
 happiness, which serenely beamed in her soft blue 
 eyes, and lurked in the dimples playing around her 
 smihng mouth, said, almost as plainly as words, that 
 there had been much less of sorrow, and perhaps 
 more of joy, in her hfe, than were generally found in 
 the hves of those, who, in the world's view, were 
 more blessed— those, in short, who had become 
 mothers in Israel. But the younger sister I— what of 
 her? As she stood there by her old father, one fair 
 hand resting upon his shoulder, and the other play- 
 ing with his gray hair, every outline a beauty, and 
 
158 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 ever}^ motion a grace, she appeared exactl}^ the girl 
 to run a young man mad. Grace Munson was 
 scarcely eighteen; and she impressed every one, who 
 approached her, as being indeed marvellous^ beauti- 
 ful. And this impression was not so much the result 
 of a rare combination of perfect form and faultless 
 feature, although, in her, was found this combination, 
 to its full extent, heightened too in effect b}^ a wealth 
 of golden hair, which some one had very aptly 
 termed "rippling sunshine," and which, in its curling 
 abundance, no art could control and therefore mar in 
 its wild and exuberant loveliness; — as it was the 
 result of the truth displayed in the broad, open brow, 
 the gentle firmness visible in the delicately chiselled 
 lips, and the intelligence and goodness shining in the 
 clear, lambent light of two dark brown eyes, which 
 had the faculty, in the unshrinking purity and cour- 
 age of the nature behind them, to look straightly and 
 steadily into the ej^es of those with whom she was 
 talking — seeming to read the most hidden secrets of 
 their souls. 
 
 Saying a good-bye to Hubert Brentworth, the old 
 sailor and his daughters moved slowly down the path- 
 way in the direction of the Gulf. The former 
 watched them, with a look of affection, which seemed 
 to belong to his pleasant and amiable face, until they 
 passed behind a cluster of trees at the foot of the 
 lawn. He saw them again when they reached the 
 sands of the beach, with the red light of the setting 
 sun falhng upon them. As they turned their steps 
 homcAvard, he arose and entered his cottage. 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 159 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 I begin shrewdly to suspect the young man of a terrible taint— poetry ; with 
 which idle disease if he be infected, there is no hope of him in a state course. Actum 
 est of him for a commonwealth's man, if he go to it in rhyme once. 
 
 Bex Jonson. 
 
 Under the magnolia again ! Hubert Brentwortli 
 and his nephew occupied the favorite seat (»f the old 
 man under the favorite tree. Guy had bnt recently 
 reached Fairslope. It was a splendid morning, a few 
 days after the conversation detailed in the preceding 
 chapter. A rain had fallen during the night, impart- 
 ing life and beauty to the leaves and flowers, and 
 coolness and balminess to the atmosphere. Hundreds 
 of light feathery clouds were drifting slowly across 
 the sky, while a gentle breeze made the glossy leaves 
 of the princely tree flash like a coronal of diamonds 
 in the sunshine. Far out in the Gulf could be plainly 
 seen a gallant ship, with all canvas spread, — a pyramid 
 of snow, — speeding over the glittering waters. An- 
 other, still more distant, appeared a mere speck upon 
 the western horizon. 
 
 "How have you been getting along in your profes- 
 sion, Guy ? " at length enquired Hubert Brentworth. 
 
160 UXDER THE :irAGXOLIA. 
 
 ^'Yon know my heart is fixed upon your becoming a 
 great lawyer ; but I fear you have been sadly wasting 
 time, and neglecting opportunities." 
 
 " Well, uncle," responded Guy, "to speak upon the 
 square, I haven't been getting along at all. While I 
 have steadily refrained from taking any part of the 
 principal of the small property left me by my father, 
 and invested for me by you, when I was a boy, — 
 making; the interest, some five or six hundred dollars, 
 meet all my expenses, — I have added nothing to it. 
 During the few months that I have waited upon the 
 courts, I have not had a single case. And, however 
 humiliating the confession, I can't say I regret it. As 
 we are talking now upon the subject, I want to make 
 a clean breast of the whole matter before we leave it. 
 I love reading ; but it is a desultorj^, miscellaneous, 
 good-for-nothing sort of reading, that I am fond of. 
 I have no taste Avhatever for the law, and have only 
 continued at it hitherto, through deference to your 
 wishes, desiring, though scarce hoping, that something 
 might turn up to alter my fancies and feelings with 
 regard to it. Its dry details are repulsive to me. The 
 subjects discussed are not only uninteresting, but the 
 way, in which they are treated, is more so. My dis- 
 inclination to read what is so unattractive, in matter 
 and manner, is increased by an impatience arising from 
 a conviction that the latter is unnecessary. Facts, not 
 especially fascinating in themselves, may be made, at 
 least, endurable to the general reader by a felicitous 
 grouping or presentation. It is hard to find any sub- 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 161 
 
 ject, in a law-book, more unpromising of interest tlian 
 those of certain of Macaulay's Essays — The Utilitarian 
 Theory of Government or Bentham's Defence of Mill, 
 for instance, — and yet his style is such, as to render 
 these articles scarcely less attractive than the finest 
 scenes in Scott's or Bulwer's novels. But it does not 
 need to go out of the law, to show what can and ought 
 to be done for the law by its writers. It is sufficient 
 to point to Blackstone. It seems to me, with the 
 single exception just mentioned, that law-writers are 
 guilty of these literary sins, — these crimes against 
 good taste, in the preparation of their works, — pre- 
 meditatedly, and with malice aforethought, — simply 
 with the view of driving off the general reader, and 
 thereby keeping among themselves a knowledge of 
 the mysteries of that great science, as they compla- 
 cently call it, by which they have been enabled so long 
 and so effectually to humbug the people." 
 
 Guy stopped, out of breath. As his uncle did not 
 immediatel}^ ^eply, but continued vigorously to smoke, 
 he, following with his eyes the wreaths of vapor, pro- 
 pelled sharply upward from the pipe, by a succession 
 of testy whiffs, said softly, by way of finale : 
 
 " Oh the twi stings and turnings, 
 And wiles not a few, 
 Of legal profoundness ; 
 I'll bid ye adieu." 
 
 ''You seem, Guy," mildly rejoined the old man after 
 a silence of some minutes, — " you seem to have taken 
 
162 rXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 a spite against the law, because its writers have failed 
 to make their works as pleasant to readers, as, in your 
 judgment, they might have done. But while I shall 
 not dispute, that what vou sav of these writers is true, 
 I will suggest that the Macaulian illustration, with 
 which you attempt to enforce it, is not altogether 
 appropriate. A theory of government is a theme de- 
 cidedly more dignified, and presents a field much more 
 capable of being worked up into the picturesque, than 
 any branch of common or statutory law, — than, say, 
 contracts, remainders or executory devises. Nothing, 
 however, that vou have said has anvthins^ to do 
 with the main question. Stripped of all unnecessary 
 verbiage, my dear boy, that question is simpl}^ this : 
 whether Guy Brent worth has energy and force of 
 mind sufficient to master these writers, just as they 
 are, — whether he has the patience and self-denial to 
 forego, in youth, what is pleasant for what is useful, 
 — whether, in a word, he has the manhood to prefer, 
 to the mess of pottage of to-day, however temptingly 
 dished up, a legacy difficult of attainment, and remote 
 in benefit, but solid and valuable when secured. I 
 speak earnestly, Guy, because I feel deeply. You have 
 the ability and soundness of moral principle to be all 
 I wish you ; — what is needed is application. You 
 understand the reasons of my urgency on this subject : 
 they have been given you time and again. I will add 
 but a word or two further. Leaving: out of view the 
 fact that the law opens a sure road to riches, as well 
 as almost the onh' road to high preferment in the 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 163 
 
 State, it deserves the regard of the one, who has chosen 
 it for his profession, because it is one of the great 
 nurseries of the spirit of freedom. Did you ever read 
 what Burke said upon this point in one of his speeches 
 on the American war ? " He went into the cottage 
 and returned ahnost instantly with a volume in his 
 hand. Seating himself, he read Guy the following 
 fine passage : 
 
 '"Permit me, sir, to add another circumstance in 
 our Colonies, which contributes no mean part towards 
 the growth and effect of this untractable spirit. I 
 mean their education. In no country perhaps in the 
 world is the law so general a study. The profession 
 itself is numerous and powerful, and in most provinces 
 it takes the lead. The greater number of the deputies 
 sent to the Congress were lawyers. But all who read, 
 and most do read, endeavor to obtain some smattering 
 in that science. I have been told by an eminent book- 
 seller, that in no branch of his business, after tracts of 
 devotion, were so manv books as those on the law 
 imported to the plantations. The colonists have now 
 fallen into the way of printing them for their own use. 
 I heard that nearly as many of Blackstone's Commen- 
 taries had been sold in America as in England. * ^ * 
 Aheunt studia mores. This study renders men acute, 
 inquisitive, dexterous, prompt in attack, ready in de- 
 fence, full of resources. In other countries, the people 
 more simple, and of a less mercurial cast, judge of an 
 ill principle in government only by an actual griev- 
 ance ; here they anticipate the evil, and judge of the 
 
16-i UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 pressure of the grievance by the badness of the 
 principle. They augur misgoveriiment at a distance, 
 and snuff the approach of tyranny in every tainted 
 breeze.' " 
 
 Guy was strongly impressed with the soundness of 
 his uncle's views, as well as the parental affection 
 manifested in the earnestness, with which they were 
 expressed. He could not refrain, however, from as- 
 suming that air of affected indifference, which had 
 become habitual to him, while he negligently hummed : 
 
 "Thronghout its musty, d isty store. 
 The law's a bore — the law's a bore ; 
 The wrong to guard, the right defeat. 
 The law's a cheat — the law's a cheat." 
 
 "But, uncle," continued he feelingly, when he ob- 
 served the troubled expression upon the old man's 
 face, — "don't take the matter to heart — it will all come 
 right in the end, I dare say : and to give you some 
 little comfort in the meantime, I will tell you, what I 
 have never told 3"0u before, that, as much as T dislike 
 the law, I have studied hard, and am passingly well 
 grounded in all of its elementary principles. There 
 now — take heart, and look up, and be yourself again." 
 
 " Guy," at length said Hubert BrentAvorth anxiously, 
 "I am deeply grieved at your course. I am sure 3^ou 
 are not cold-hearted and selfish, yet one hearing j^ou 
 talk, who did not know you, would think so. Passing 
 over for the present the dissatisfaction on my part 
 arising from your antipathy to professional duties and 
 
UXDER THE MAGNOLIA. 165 
 
 obligations, I must say to you seriously, that I don't 
 fancy the easy and indolent indiflterence, with which 
 you greet grave argument, when it chances not to 
 please you, and the scraps of bad verse, with which 
 you attempt to turn it aside. And you have pained 
 me, Guy, in another respect, to which I will call your 
 attention," continued he faintly smiling, "as your 
 faults, at this time are under consideration. The tenor 
 of your late letters leads me to believe that you have 
 turned woman-hater." 
 
 "No, not woman-hater," observed Guy. "My feel- 
 ing toward the sex is one of perfect indifference. I 
 am simph^ a woman-shunner." 
 
 "It amounts to pretty much the same thing in 
 effect," said Hubert Brentworth. "A want of regard 
 or respect for female character, in a young man, ar- 
 gues something radically wrong at his heart. I do 
 not think this of you. I am inclined to suppose that 
 this talk forms one of jonv numerous affectations. 
 Be 'this as it may, it is likely to produce consequences, 
 of which I cannot think without great sorrow. I am 
 an old bachelor, — the reason why I will perhaps tell 
 you before I get through, — it was not, however, I will 
 say now, through indifference to woman, or objection 
 to marriage. I have felt the want of a wife to com- 
 fort and cheer me in my weary pilgrimage upon earth, 
 and have seen how much more profitable my little 
 span of existence would have been, had I been blessed 
 with one, and with children 'like olive branches about 
 mj table.' I have been a lonely — lonely old man, and 
 
166 UNDEE THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 I fear almost a wortliless one ; and this sense of lone- 
 liness, and of being an '"unprofitable servant,' will be 
 immeasnrablj increased, if von, my son, tlie centre of 
 all my hopes and wishes, fail in the future which I 
 have pictured for you." 
 
 B}^ a poAverful effort, the incorrigible young man 
 prevented any display of feeling at these affectionate 
 and touching words, and rollickingly said : 
 
 "Tell me at once, uncle, to whom you wish to marry 
 me. Is it to one of the fancy beauties of the city — 
 all stays and laces — whose heart, like a dry mustard 
 seed, will bear with serenity all my peccadilloes — or, 
 to some round and buxom country girl, down here in 
 Florida, who, after instructing me in the bucolic mys- 
 teries of plowing and hoeing, will introduce me to 
 those of domestic economy, — house-warming, house- 
 cleaning and house-keeping, — to the spirited music of 
 a rattling tongue and a ringing poker, — or, to a sort 
 of Countess of Drogheda, who will kindly permit me 
 to meet a select circle of my friends, for purposes of 
 relaxation and amusement, provided the place of meet- 
 ing, like that accorded to poor Wycherly, be within 
 full and eas}^ view of the windows of her ladyship's 
 chamber, — or, to a Jezebel, who will teach me the 
 lawyer-like trick of getting another man's homestead, 
 against his will, and without the paltry inconvenience 
 of paying for it, — or ? "' 
 
 "Such talk, Guy," said the old man, patiently, and 
 mildly, interrupting him, "is only nonsense. I have 
 no wish to marry you to any one ; but I do wish you 
 
^. UXDEK THE MAGNOLIA. 167 
 
 to marry yourself to some true woman, — they are to 
 be found all around you, — under the sunny influence 
 of whose loving presence, the crust of apathetic aftec- 
 tation, which has formed over your better nature, will 
 be broken up, and the imprisoned waters stimulated 
 into a warm and healthy flow. Ah ! Guy, trust me, 
 
 such a wife, whose faith and confidence " 
 
 "Faith and confidence!" recklessly interposed Guy : 
 
 " '"Woman's faith and woman's trust, — 
 Write the characters in dust, 
 Print them in the running stream, 
 Stamj) them on the moon's pale beam, 
 And each eyanescent letter 
 Shall be firmer, fairer, better, 
 And more durable, I ween, 
 Than the thing those letters mean.' 
 
 The only objection I have to these lines," added Guy, 
 " is, that they are not sufficiently comprehensive." 
 
 "You ought to have a much graver objection, my 
 boy," said his uncle ; — " they are put in the mouth of 
 one, who was half a savage, and wholly a murderer." 
 
 That last remark took all the impudence out of 
 Guy. For some time he had evinced much restive- 
 ness ; now abashed and confused, he said : 
 
 "Do, uncle, let us talk about something else." 
 Looking over at Charles Munson's fine residence, he 
 continued: "That is certainly a beautiful home ; and 
 yet it is a very singular house ; — all the most common 
 and plainest architectural rules are violated, too, in its 
 construction. The incongruities, however, about it, — 
 
163 UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 a dome rising upon avails completely surrounded bj 
 ornamented verandas, and the tower with its ship for 
 a weather-vane, — add to the picturesqueness of the 
 whole. But the name of the ship," said Guy, looking 
 at the gilt letters upon its side, "is rather the strangest 
 thing of all. Jericho I — ^what in the world induced 
 your friend so to christen it ? He could have found 
 a name equally as fit, and decidedly more musical." 
 
 "I am responsible for the name," replied his uncle. 
 "The dome, tower and ship were improvements made 
 bv order of Munson to the house, after it came into 
 his possession. The putting up of the ship was a kind 
 of pet undertaking — a labor of love — with him, for 
 which, indeed, I believe the dome and tower were 
 mainly, if not entirely, erected. Owing to the dis- 
 tance from the ground the vane appears small ; but it 
 is really about eight feet in length, and is made of 
 copper throughout. It was the work of a jeweler in 
 Mobile, and is a beautiful piece of mechanism. Just 
 before it was finished, he asked me to furnish him a 
 suitable name for it. For reasons which jou will un- 
 derstand, before you are here many days, I gave him 
 Jericho, without any thought of his adopting the sug- 
 gestion. The idea, however, seemed to strike him; 
 and the maker had immediate instructions so to letter 
 it. The ship up there, as you say, looks well ; but 
 even if it did not, I would still regard this piece of 
 old-sailor-like eccentricity with respect." 
 
UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 169 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Olar.d! Oland! 
 
 For all the hroken-liearted ; 
 
 The mildest herald by uur fate allotted, — 
 Beckons, and, with inverted torcdi, duth stand, 
 To lead lis with a gentle hand, 
 
 Into the laud of the great departed, — 
 
 Into the Silent Land! 
 
 Uhland. 
 
 Ker lips though they kept close with modest silence, yet with a pretty kind of 
 
 swelling, seemed to invite the guests that looked on them; her cheeks Idushing 
 
 when she was spoken unto, a Utile smiling, were like roses, when their leaves are 
 
 with a little breath stirred. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidxey. 
 
 "But, Guy," said Hubert Brentwortli, "let us re- 
 turn for a few moments, to the subject, which 
 troubles me so much, — your feeling" and conduct to- 
 wards woman. I have said that I would perhaps tell 
 you the reason why I am an old bachelor. I do not 
 like to recur to the past incidents of my rather profit- 
 less life; and it is especially painful for me to recall 
 this one. The slory, however, may assist in bringing 
 about the change in you, which I so much desire 
 to see ; and you shall have it. 
 
 " Ahce Wayneley, — ^you have heard the name Guy, 
 — lived with a widowed mother upon a small farm 
 8 
 
170 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 near that of my father. The house was a neat, vine- 
 clad cottage, standing some distance back from the 
 public road, and was surrounded by apple trees. It 
 seems to me now that those trees were always bright 
 and fragrant with blossoms. Alice was one of the 
 SAveetest and loveliest of G-od's creatures. She was 
 as fair as a lity, and as dependent and delicate as the 
 clasping tendril of the most fragile vine. I am sure 
 she never had a thought that was not pure, — never 
 uttered a word that was not kind, — and never per- 
 formed an act that was not unselfish. The very 
 atmosphere about her seemed redolent of peace and 
 gentleness. I cannot now recall the moment when I 
 was not in love with her. Eaised as children to- 
 gether, between us there was no formality, — to her I 
 was always Hugh, — to me she Avas always Alice. As 
 we grcAv up, until I Avent aAvay to school, I Avalked 
 with her, rode AA^th her, was her chosen knight upon 
 all fishing frolics, at all pic-nics, and in all nutting 
 expeditions. I gathered up good books for her, — 
 she Avas particularly fond of poetry, Avorks of travel 
 and history, — and we read them together, and, what 
 Avas equally as well, talked about them afterAvards. 
 Much of my loA^e for English literature, and Avhat 
 little proficiency I have made in it, I attribute to 
 those early studies, the memory of Avhich CA^en noAV 
 lends an additional charm to every volume of a sim- 
 ilar character, Avhich I chance to read. When I 
 returned from school, — called home before I had com- 
 pleted the collegiate course of study, by my father's 
 
UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 171 
 
 death, — she had not 'improved out of my knowledge,' 
 — she was just the fair, delicate and trusting young 
 woman, that was promised by her girlhood. I knew 
 she loved me, — but I knew, at the same time, that 
 her love for me was rather that of a sister, than that 
 of a woman for the man, whom she was willino- to 
 marry. I had no fears, however, for the result. I 
 was sure that this love would end in the other, and 
 that she would become the blessing of my life. This 
 merging of what is called sisterly aifection into wifely 
 love oftener happens in this world than poets and 
 novelists would have us believe. And, no doubt, it 
 would have occurred in this case, — had she not met 
 Eobert Kingsley. 
 
 "He came to our neio'hborhood on a visit to a 
 
 a 
 
 college-mate. He was five or six je'dvs older than I 
 was, — about your age now, Gruy, — much such a look- 
 ing man as you are, — thought, as you do, about 
 Avoman, though he did not shun the sex, — but had a 
 heart — well — a heart, which I trust yours does not at 
 all resemble. A party was given soon after, and in 
 honor of, his arrival, at his friend's home; and there 
 he saw Alice Waynelcy. He devoted himself to her. 
 Candid and open in her nature, it required no great 
 penetration on my part to see, before the crovv'd of 
 young people dispersed, that she, whom I had loved 
 all my life, and for whose sake I would willingly have 
 sacrificed it, w^as lost to me forever. After this, 
 during his stay he was a frequent visitor at the Par- 
 sonage, as Alice's home was called by the neighbors, 
 
172 UNDEE THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 in complimeut to her father, who had been a minister 
 of the gospeL Boy though I was, w^orcls can never 
 tell the agony I endured. To me then the desolation 
 of mj life seemed complete. ]\[y sufterings, however, 
 were never obtruded upon Alice. I staid away from 
 her. Under the circumstances, perhaps she hardly 
 missed me. When we met, which was but seldom, I 
 acted towards her as I had always been accustomed 
 to act from my boyhood. 
 
 "I had been out hunting, and in returning home, 
 one bright evening, I had to pass close to the Par- 
 sonage. Ah ! — how well do I remember that evenmg, 
 and all that I then felt and saw. When I clambered 
 upon the fence, which separated me from the high- 
 way, I observed Alice and Kingsley, some distance 
 away, w^alking slowly in the direction of the house. 
 The birds were singing joyously in the green trees, 
 which thickly lined and overshadowed the smooth 
 sandy road. Clusters of wild-roses, in the fence 
 corners, added a spiciness to the fragrance, which ^^-as 
 wafted to me from the sea of apple blossoms across 
 the way. In a few minutes they reached the gate. 
 I saw him put his arm about her waist, and press his 
 lips to her forehead, as he bade her adieu. That was 
 the last time they were ever seen together. He went 
 back, the next day, to the gay w^orld, and returned no 
 more. He forgot the fair young country flower that 
 bloomed for him, — forgot the flower that withered 
 for him, — forgot the flower that died for him! In 
 less than tw^elve short months from that evening, the 
 
UNDEK THE MAGNOLIA. 173 
 
 violets were making green witli tlieir leaves, and 
 making fragrant witli their flowers, the sod that 
 covered all that was mortal of Alice ■Waynele3^ 
 And in that grave," concluded Hubert Brentworth, 
 sjiellv, — '' was forever buried the best part of my life. 
 Guv, my son, take to your heart the moral of this 
 story." 
 
174 UXDEE THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 Her air, lier manuers, all who saw admired, 
 Courteous, tiiuugh coy, aud geutle, though retired. 
 The joy of youth and health her eyes displayed; 
 Aud ease of heart her every look conveyed. 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 ' Twas but slightingly they looked at him, — 
 And they knew him uot — she saw deeper. 
 
 The Heiress. 
 
 Giij has been about two weeks at Fairslope. He 
 has passed his time generally in hunting, fishing, 
 riding about the estate with his uncle, and in reading, 
 — the old sailor having a library of choice books, — 
 many of them rai^e and valuable. At first, his 
 engagements, keeping him from the house, he saw but 
 little of its two young mistresses, — this was indeed 
 what he desired, and was the great cause of his appa- 
 rent devotion to field sports, — latterly, however, they 
 had frequently been thrown together, and, he, contrary 
 to his custom heretofore with reoard to the sex, had 
 on more than one occasion sought their society. The 
 usual evening's walk of Grace, often accompanied by 
 her elder sister, in spring and summer, was along the 
 smooth sand of the beach, to a spring, at no great dis- 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 175 
 
 tance from the bank of a narrow, but deep river, 
 marked by a line of hnge forest trees, in plain view 
 of the house. The undergrowth about the spring had 
 been cleared away, making an open grove of about an 
 acre in extent, that reached from the sands to within 
 a few yards of the little river, the bank of which, at 
 the point, was left clad in its rich native growth of 
 vine, and shrub, and tree heavily draped with Spanish 
 moss. Here the atmosphere freely circulated, while 
 coolness nestled under the broad arms of the giant 
 beeches, magnolias and live oaks, with which the spot 
 abounded ; and, on bright days, the sunshine "greenly 
 sifted through the trees," and sleeping in large, irreg- 
 ular patches upon the grass, where it made its way 
 between them, effectually banished dampness. The 
 spring flowed from the roots of a tree, and forming a 
 clear, crystal runlet, margined with lines of soft green 
 moss, glided placidlj^, and without a murmur, to the 
 turbid waters of the larger stream. Near the lower 
 corner of the opening the river turned abruptly to the 
 left, and flowing darkly and sluggishly in a southernly 
 direction, almost parallel with the coast-line of the 
 Gulf, from whose waters it was only separated by a 
 somewhat elevated and narrow tongue of land, emp- 
 tied into them about two miles below, nearly opposite 
 a small, and partially wooded island. At the mouth 
 of the river the water was very deep ; and there, by 
 the aid of the island, was secure anchorage-ground, 
 even in tempestuous weather, for the small schooner, 
 which ran between Fairslope and Pensacola, and some- 
 
176 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 times Fairslope and Mobile, carrying oiF the produce 
 of Charles Munson's farms, lumber from his mill and 
 settlement a few miles up the river, and bringing in 
 all needed supplies. The road from the house along 
 the beach continued, after the path to the spring left 
 it, to a small jetty at the point of the tongae of land 
 before alluded to. The schooner was principally 
 owned by Cliarles Munson — a small interest in it 
 having been presented by him to the skipper, William 
 Crossland, and his cousin, Tom Myers, the mate. 
 
 It has been said that Guy, who, in the beginning of 
 his visit to Fairslope, had rather shunned the company 
 of Mary and Grace, had, of late, seemed to seek it. 
 The character of his intercourse with them, and espe- 
 cially his manner of talking to them, can be inferred 
 from a laughing remark, which Mary — who, by the 
 way, was at least two years his senior — made to his 
 uncle about this time. "His wav of addressino- me," 
 said she laughingly, "leads me sometimes to fear at 
 his hands a parental-like pat on the head or chuck 
 under the chin." Grace met his patronizing airs with 
 a modest dignity, which was known to be a part of 
 her nature, and with a quiet lirmness and spirit, which 
 was as unexpected as it was becoming. Before the 
 pure and steady look of her wondrous eyes, and her 
 words conveying the gentlest shade of rebuke, Guy 
 frequently stopped short in his career of affectation, 
 and turned away with an embarrassment, which would 
 have astonished him a few weeks earlier, and which, 
 his inability at the time to conceal, made doubly pain- 
 
UNDEE THE mag:solia. 177 
 
 fill. Throiigli the surface of tlie outward man, slie 
 was sure that she saw, — perhaps she was mistaken, — 
 the outcroppings of an independent and chivalrous 
 spirit, the existence of whicli even his uncle did not 
 always fully credit, and Charles Munson not at all. 
 In fact, to the plain, honest and direct-minded old 
 sailor, Guy appeared to be something of a puppy — 
 though he kept the opinion to himself, of course. 
 
 About the time indicated at the commencement of 
 this chapter, Mary, Grace and Guy were at the spring. 
 The young man, during his walk from the house, and 
 since, had conducted himself well — had been guilty 
 of none of his customary conversational improprieties. 
 They had been there but a short time, when a mock- 
 ing-bird, settled upon the dead branch of a tree close 
 by, and began to smg. As its song rose higher and 
 higher, it Avould spread out its wings, hop from place 
 to place on the limb, and now and then circle grace- 
 fully around it. " ' AYhat linked sweetness long drawn 
 out' — he seems to 'untie and set free the hidden soul 
 of harmony,' " exclaimed Guy, as the mocking-bird, 
 describing a rapid spiral, poured from his throat a 
 mazy-flowing stream of melody, closing with a trill, 
 as he darted straight up into the air, which filled 
 every avenue of the woods with song. "Was any- 
 thing richer ever heard by mortal man ? " 
 
 "No, — nothing could be finer," murmured Grace, 
 almost unconsciously, in her low and silvery tones. 
 
 "Well," said Guy, — "it is splendid certainly, — but 
 I think I've heard a bird in these woods, and that, 
 
178 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 too, very recently, whose music Avas far sweeter ; " and 
 he looked Grace fall in the face. 
 
 There was a faint blush upon the young girl's 
 cheek, as he continued, — "But what a wonderful bird 
 it is, and how little appreciated ! In this respect it is 
 somewhat like the magnolia there. Did it ever occur 
 to either of you, that while the oak, poplar, maple, 
 et csstera^ have been very fi^equently embalmed in verse, 
 this, the queen of beauty among American forest trees, 
 has never had paid to it the sHghtest poetic tribute? 
 The mocking-bird, the queen of song among American 
 forest birds, has indeed had many, and yet it is little 
 better off with them, than the magnolia without, — 
 not one, as far as I know, being afloat upon the cur- 
 rent literature of the day. The greater part of them 
 perhaps deserved this fate : one certainly did not. It 
 Avas written by a man, who, though of Northern birth, 
 has long resided at the South, and all of whose 
 tastes, feelings and sympathies are essentially South- 
 ern. Though a production of rare merit, I have 
 never seen it, but once or twice oatside of the volume, 
 in which it was first published about forty years ago." 
 
 While they were listening to the song of the bird, 
 he recited, as an accompaniment, the following lines 
 from a song in its praise, which was almost as full of 
 music : 
 
 "Thou glorious mocker of the world! I hear 
 Thy many voices ringing through the glooms 
 Of these green solitudes— and ail the clear 
 Bright joyance of their song enthralls the ear, 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 179 
 
 And floods the heart. Over the sphered tombs 
 Of vanished nations rolls thy masic tide. 
 No light from history's star-like page illumes 
 The memory of those nations^they have died. 
 None cares for them but thou— and thou may'st sing 
 Perhaps o'er me— as now thy song doth ring 
 Over their bones by whom thou once wast deified. 
 
 " Thou scorner of all cities. Thou dost leave 
 The world's turmoil, and never ceasing din, 
 Where one from others no existence weaves — 
 Where the old sighs, the young turns gray and grieves— 
 Where misery gnaws the maiden's heart within : 
 And thou dost flee into the broad green woods, 
 And with thy soul of music thou dost win 
 Their hearts to harmony — no jar intrudes 
 Upon thy sounding melody. Oh where, 
 Amid the sweet musicians of the air. 
 Is one so dear as thou to these old solitudes ! 
 
 " Ha ! what a burst was that ! the peolian strain 
 Goes floating through the tangled passages 
 Of the lone woods, — and now it comes again — 
 A multitudinous melody — like a rain 
 Of glossy music under echoing trees, 
 Over a ringing lake ; it wraps the soul 
 With a bright harmony of happiness — 
 Even as a gom is wrapped, when round it roll 
 The waves of brilhant flame— till we become. 
 Even with the exce.is of our deep pleasura, dumb. 
 And pant like some swift runner clinging to the goal." 
 
 " We are mucli obliged to you," said Grace when he 
 had finished the lines. 
 
180 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 "I appreciate that," said Guy, — "it is the first time 
 I believe you have ever thanked me." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Grace smihu.tr, "it is the only time 
 you have ever deserved our thanks." 
 
 "You spoke very dolefully just now," observed 
 Mary, "about the magnolia never having been an ob- 
 ject of the poets' care and attention — why don't you 
 remedy this neglect on their part, and give the world 
 a poem on the subject, j^ourself ? Grace and I will 
 promise to read it with interest." 
 
 "I thank you for the suggestion," said Guy, — "I 
 will do it. Be quiet now," continued he, taking out 
 his pencil, and commencing to scribble upon the blank 
 leaf of an old letter, — "and you shall have the lines 
 in a feAV minutes." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mary laughing, "you would have us 
 think your lines an impromptu — would you? What 
 transparent cheats some of you men are ! I have no 
 doubt now that you have agonized for hours in the 
 solitude of your room, over what you are at present 
 writing off so glibly." 
 
 Guy did not reply — but with eyes fixed, brows knit 
 and lips closed as if in deepest thought, and oblivious 
 to all that was passing around him, made his pencil 
 dash rapidly across the paper. When he had finished, 
 he told Mary that she should not see what he had 
 written, for doubtinsf the readiness of his muse. He 
 then handed the paper to Grace, — Avho after reading, 
 
UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 181 
 
 turned it, — in spite of his argent objections, — over to 
 lier sistei\ The lines were as follows : 
 
 TO THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 Written for Grace Mun^on. 
 
 It is a qiieeuly ti'ee, and rare. — 
 
 It charms the lo\vlie->t place. 
 And in its stem and branches fair, 
 
 "What do I fc>ee but grace I 
 
 Its shining leaves, like glossy tongues, 
 
 In ev'ry breeze do race, 
 And in their sweetly whisp'i'ing songs, 
 
 What do I hear but grace I 
 
 Its blossoms spotless, pure and white. 
 
 Unequalled in all space, 
 Shows sound -St heart, and one that's bright. 
 
 And true, — a heart of grace I 
 
 "I take back what I said," remarked Marj smiling 
 mischievously, as she folded the paper and returned 
 it to Grace — "I am sure now that the lines are im- 
 promptu." 
 
 Gruy pulled out his cigar-case and match-box — • 
 remarking, as he struck a light, "You. won't object to 
 my smoking out here ? " 
 
 "No," said Mary, "avc are smoked so much at home 
 b}^ papa, that we now scarcely notice it even in the 
 house. But what a stranoe habit it is, to be sure ! 
 Men talk of our little weaknesses and failings, and 
 
182 UXDEE THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 ridicule tliem unsparingly. If they could be made to 
 think and ponder upon their large ones, how great 
 ought to be their shame ! " 
 
 " Why, you don't certainly think the use of tobacco 
 a weakness — a failing ? Hear what the poet says — 
 writing under the genuine inspiration of the weed ; '^ 
 and he rattled off rather maliciously the well known 
 lines : 
 
 "Yes, social friend, I love thee well, 
 
 In learned doctors' spite : 
 Th}' clouds all other cloiids dispel, 
 
 And lap me in delight. 
 What though they tell, with phizes long, 
 
 My years are sooner past, 
 I would reply, with reason strong, 
 
 They're sweeter while they last." 
 
 "You need not have told us" — said Mary — "those 
 lines were written under the inspiration of the weed. 
 The evidences of the narcotic are all about them. Of 
 course I am not so ridiculous as to argue against such 
 a habit at this late day. The subject has long since 
 been exhausted: and besides, as Cowper says: 
 
 ' Habits are soon assumed ; but when we strive 
 To strip them 'tis like being flayed ahve.' 
 
 I simply alluded to it to illustrate the uncharitableness 
 of your sex toward ours. You see plainly the mote 
 in our eye, but are wholl}" unconscious of the beam 
 in your own." 
 
 "You are mistaken," said Guy impudently, "as far 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 183 
 
 as I am concerned, at least, with regard to an impor- 
 tant part of your charge. Having a lively recollec- 
 tion of the attempt made by the Widow Wadman to 
 entrap the unsuspecting Uncle Toby, I never search 
 for motes in a woman's eves." 
 
 "I will not affect ignorance of your ungallant allu- 
 sion," said Mary, laughing and blushing. "However 
 don't pride 3'ourself upon the smartness of your reply. 
 I am sure Sterne told an untruth. There v:as a mote 
 in the Widow's eye — Uncle Toby was only too blind 
 to see it. The' history of the author of Tristram 
 Shandy proves that he was not too good to slander a 
 woman." Guy winced, and made no reply. 
 
 The next evening the three were standing together 
 upon the sands just below the house. The water of 
 the Gulf, in its restless ebb and flow, at times almost 
 reached their feet. -Something had been said with 
 regard to the loss of Hubert Brentworth's arm. 
 
 "It happeaed," said Guy, "at the first battle of 
 Manassas. He occupied a position in the ranks not 
 far from the head of his regiment, — the Fourth Ala- 
 bama, — where as coolly and collectedly, as upon dress 
 parade, Egbert J. Jones, its commander, sat upon his 
 horse, while his gallant Alabamians, in common with 
 the rest of our small force upon the left, were being, 
 not defeated, but crushed, by the overwhelming weight 
 of the enemy, — a conspicuous mark by his splendid 
 person, — full six feet four inches in height, and finely 
 proportioned, — for the thickly flying bullets. I have 
 often heard uncle say that Colonel Jones and his steed 
 
18-i UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 in that figlit, — tlie one facing death with a proncl and 
 defiant front, and the other shivering under him at 
 each explosion of the heav}^ guns, — was the grandest 
 sight lie ever witnessed. About the time that Colonel 
 Jones was borne mortally wounded from the field, un- 
 cle's left arm was shattered just below the elbow by a 
 musket ball. Our left won imperishable laurels that 
 day, and deserved Ticknor's noble tribute." And with 
 a spirit, which showed that he had much of the power 
 of an orator, while the ladies listened with rapt atten- 
 tion to the words of the lyric, as, in the rich and 
 mellow tones of his voice, they floated away over the 
 waters of the Gulf, he save them 
 
 "OUE LEFT." 
 
 "From dawn to dark they stood, 
 That long midsummer day, 
 "WTiile fierce and fast 
 The battle blast 
 SwejDt rank on rank away. 
 
 "From dawn to dark they fought. 
 With legions torn and cluft, 
 While still the wide 
 Black battle-tide 
 Poured deadlier on our 'Left' 
 
 *' Thej^ closed each ghastly gap — 
 
 They dressed each shattered rank — 
 They knew (how well !) 
 That freedom fell 
 "With that exhausted flank. 
 
UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 185 
 
 *'01il for a thousand men, 
 Like those that melt away ; 
 And down they come, 
 With steel and plume, 
 Four thousand to the fray. 
 
 "Eight thro' the blackest cloud 
 
 Their lightning path they cleft — 
 And triumph came, 
 With deathless fame, 
 To our unconquered ' Left.' 
 
 "Ye, of your sons secure, 
 Ye, of your sons bereft, 
 Honor the brave 
 Who died to save 
 I'our all upon our 'Left.'" 
 
 "Tliat ballad," said Guy, "is as compact and vigor- 
 ous as Holienlinden, or, Brnce's Address. It lias all 
 the clear, ringing, inspiriting sound of the bugle-blast, 
 that burled the Six Hundred upon the Eussian army. 
 Perhaps, however," continued he, in a lower tone, "in 
 a few years, it too will be almost forgotten at the 
 South. Perhaps," and now he spoke somewhat bit- 
 terly, — "perhaps, in books made up of selections from 
 American prose and poetry, issuing from Southern 
 publishing bouses, and edited by Southern men, and, 
 in some instances, prepared for the use of Southern 
 schools, prominent places, as now, will be allowed 
 Marco Bozarris, The Psalm of Life, and The Ode to 
 a Water-Fowl, while no room can be found for this 
 fine ballad, and other kindred creations of the Soutli- 
 
 ern muse." 
 
 8^ 
 
186 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 Twiliglit had almost deepened into night, as they 
 commenced their walk homeward. The atmosphere 
 was perfectly still. 
 
 "Listen to the murmur of the Avater," said Mary 
 pausing, — "how mournful and desolate it sounds!'^ 
 "And," added Grace, "it seems to have, ever and 
 anon, amid its drear notes, one still more drear — 
 something between a moan and a sob." 
 
 "Yes," said Guy, relapsing into his usual light and 
 jeering vein, for he thought they had been serious long 
 enough, and were becoming much too sentimental, — 
 
 'The bride-groom sea 
 Is toying with the shore, his wedded bride, 
 And in the fullness of his niai'riage joy, 
 He decorates her tawny brow vrith shells, 
 Retires a space to see how fair she looks, 
 Then j)roud runs up to kiss her.'" 
 
 Waiting a moment or two for them to enjoy the 
 beauty of the lines, he continued: "No doubt his 
 wailing is produced by the heavy slaps Avhich his 
 bride gives him upon the face, for his presumption in 
 daring to kiss her, after placing no rarer or richer 
 ornaments upon her brow than shells." 
 
 Guy did not realize the height, to which the enthu- 
 siasm of Grace had been wrought by the occurrences 
 of the evening, and consequently did not anticipate 
 the jar, which was given to her sensibilities by his 
 homely comment. He was not prepared then for the 
 quiver in her voice, as she said: "You have done 
 
UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 187 
 
 what you ought to be very sorr j for — associated with 
 the beautiful that which is false and ignoble." 
 
 These few and simple Avords sank deeply into his 
 heart. The fault, — a frequent one with him, — had 
 never appeared so plain to him ; and he never forgot 
 the lesson. 
 
188 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Destruction hovers over them realy with its pinions to stoop, and its talons to 
 clutch. 
 
 Waverly Novels. 
 
 Knifian, let go that rude uncivil touch ! 
 
 Shakspeaee. 
 
 It was a few days before the one, which Guy had 
 set for his return to Montgomery. His visit had 
 already been protracted much beyond what lie ex- 
 pected upon his arrival at P^'airslope. 
 
 "I have seen but little of you, uncle for the last 
 three or four days," said he, as they sat late in the 
 afternoon by the cottage door in the shadow of tlie 
 old tree. 
 
 "No," replied Hubert Brentworth, — "I have been 
 quite busy of late at the wharf in superintend! og the 
 loading and unloading of the schooner. It left for 
 Pensacola yesterday evening." 
 
 "What was it freighted with?" — asked Guy. 
 
 "Principally lumber. I am glad it has gone, as it 
 leaves me with nothing especially to do for the re- 
 maining hours of your stay here." After awhile he 
 continued, "I am tired of sitting — let us have a stroll 
 
UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 189 
 
 together." Guy at once assented. He would have 
 done so any way — but his readiness in the matter, it 
 should be observed, was not at all lessened by his 
 having seen Grace, a few minutes before, moving 
 alone, under the trees, in the direction of the spring. 
 After o-ettino- his rifle, Hubert Brentworth, accom- 
 panied by his nephew, passed slowly down the slope, 
 and out upon the sands. His heart, during the short 
 walk, was gladdened, by hearing Guy remark 
 abruptlv, after they had been for some moments 
 silent, that upon his return to Montgomery, he in- 
 tended to go honestly to work. Though surprised at 
 the suddenness with which the avowal was made, 
 Hubert Brentworth supposed it was induced by the 
 talk he had oiven him, soon after their first meetins: 
 at the cottage, joined with reflection upon the subject 
 in the frequent hours allowed him for self-communion 
 in so quiet a spot as Fairslope. Guy had not even 
 acknowledged to himself what was the main-spring 
 of it. Bat the reader knows what the uncle does not 
 suspect, and what the nephew has not admitted to his 
 own heart, that, underlying the motives suggested to 
 the former, Avas one, with the origin of which, Grace 
 Munson had unconsciously much to do. The enthu- 
 siastic love of truth and elevated purity of the young 
 and beautiful girl had made not only a deep and 
 lasting impression upon him, but had awakened him 
 to, at least, a dim conception of the frivolousness of 
 his previous life, with a desire of amending it. 
 Whether this wish will, as is too often the case with 
 
190 rXDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 those of a similar nature thus excited in the breasts 
 of young men, end in smoke, or become a genuine 
 refining fire — in other words, whether it is with Guy 
 firmly bottomed upon real manliness of character, — 
 remains to be seen. 
 
 Before the path leading to the spring was reached, 
 a negro bearing a message from the "Mill" to Hubert 
 BrentAVorth, came up with them. Stopping to write 
 upon his knee a hurried note in reply, he told his 
 nephew to go on — that he would soon overtake him. 
 As Guy was turjiing from the beach into the wooded 
 path, he looked back — saw his uncle dismiss the 
 freedman, and resume his walk. Just then he heard 
 a female-scream in the woods ahead of him. It was 
 instantly and more piercinglj^ repeated. Terribly 
 startled, and feeling sure that the scream proceeded 
 from Grace, he dashed forward with the speed of a 
 greyhound. As he ran, he grasped, and opened his 
 pocket-knife — the only weapon about him — which 
 fortunately had a long, dirk-shaped blade. When he 
 sprang into the more open area, immediately sur- 
 rounding the spring, his eye caught the flutter of a 
 Avhite dress, as it disappeared through the thick 
 undergrowth, which lined the bank of the river. 
 Continuing with accelerated speed his headlong pace, 
 he tore throush the vines and bushes, as a white 
 man, bending over the side, vigorously pushed a boat 
 from the shore. Seeing, at the same time, Grace sup- 
 ported in the arms of another standing near the centre 
 of the boat, while a hiio-e neofro beside him was work- 
 
UXDER THE MAGNOLIA. 191 
 
 ing at the oars, he bounded across the intervening 
 space, just as the boat shot out into the stream under 
 a kisty pull from the African, and, alighting upon the 
 stooping back of the first man, who was thus over- 
 turned and prostrated, he dashed forward and buried 
 his knife in the neck of the other. Guy caught 
 Grace, as the ruffian, in fallins:, released her, and 
 detaching an oar from the boat, threw it into the 
 river. Without a moment's hesitation he followed, 
 and using it as a partial support for himself, and as 
 an aid in keeping her head above the water, he 
 struck out boldly for the shore, which was not many 
 yards distant. Being an expert swimmer, Guy, 
 thouo-h heavilv loaded, had but little fear of being: 
 able to place his precious charge in safety upon the 
 bank. He saw that the boat was slowly drifting 
 down the stream, while the man, whom he had over- 
 turned, and the negro, had raised up the wounded 
 villain, and were endeavoring to stop the flow of 
 blood from his throat. He was close to the shore, 
 when he heard a singular, gurgling sound in the 
 water behind him. He oianced over his shoulder, 
 and saw, — that which was sufficient to freeze with 
 dismay and horror the stoutest heart. Moving in his 
 wake, and scarcely four yards distant, appeared the 
 hungry eye and distended jaws of an enormous 
 alligator. Guy knew that it was a struggle for life 
 and death, with all the chances in favor of the latter, 
 and that too of the most terrible character; and yet 
 he did not yield to despair, or lose his presence of 
 
192 UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 mind. He pulled manfully and desperately for the 
 bank. The controlling thought and hope with him 
 was at least to save Grace. The few seconds that 
 intervened between the time, wiien he first saw the 
 monster, and the time when he could not only hear its 
 labored breathing, but absolutely feel it upon his 
 cheek, seemed to him an age. And, when he was 
 sure that the next moment would be his last — when 
 he knew that the savage reptile was preparing to 
 seize him, and, in his agony could almost feel its 
 teeth in his body, the sharp crack of a rifle was 
 heard, a bullet whistled by his ear, and he and Grace 
 were drawn safely to land by Hubert Brentworth. 
 
 The first act of Guy was to offer thanks to a divine 
 and merciful providence for his unlooked-for rescue 
 from the very jaws of death: the next was to grasp 
 tio-htlv his uncle's hand with feelino-s of affectionate 
 gratitude too deep for utterance. Grace, who had 
 shown no signs of life, since Guy had received her 
 fiainting form from the arms of her abductor, was 
 immediately removed by them to the spring, where 
 she Avas gently laid upon a grassy mound — Hubert 
 Brentworth taking off' his coat, and placing it folded 
 under her head. In the meantime the boat had 
 passed around the abrupt bend in the river before 
 described, and disappeared from sight. Observing 
 that Guy was very pale, and appeared still to be 
 laboring under strong and painful emotion, his uncle 
 said to him, with an assumption of gaiety: 
 
 "The creature was very close to you, Guy. Ordi- 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 193 
 
 narily I could Lave sent a ball, tbrouoh his eye, 
 crashing into his brain; bnt the circumstances would 
 not admit of any risk — so I sent it, through his 
 mouth, hissing down his throat. But explanations 
 later. One of us must go immediately after help. I, 
 as the drier and fresher of the two, will do so. Eub 
 Grace's hands and temples while I am gone, and now 
 and then sprinkle some of this cool water in her face. 
 I doubt not you will have her up by my return." 
 
 As Guy, left alone with Grace, looked down upon 
 her marble features, which had never appeared to 
 him so exquisitely delicate and lovely in their out- 
 lines, and commenced to chafe her slender hands 
 between his broad palms, he could not refrain from 
 calling upon her, in words of endearment, to look up, 
 and to pour into her unheeding ears vows of unalter- 
 able atfection. He continued his rhapsodies some time 
 after a tinge of color, Avhich he was too busy with his 
 thoughts to notice, had returned to her cheek. At 
 hrst it was as faint as the hghtest trace of pink in the 
 sea-shell, but gradually deepening to the rosy blush 
 of fully restored animation, she opened her eyes, just 
 as he concluded a round of most loving protestations, 
 and looked at him fixedly. The next moment, a spasm 
 of pain crossed her fair face, as full recollection of the 
 horrors of her forcible seizure, came back to her ; and, 
 woman-like, she quietly fainted again. Guy was nearlv 
 beside himself. The swoon, however, lasted but a 
 short time. Before his frenzy took on the form of 
 absolute insanitv, consciousness returned to her. In 
 
 y 
 
194 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 a few minutes she was able to sit up, and even laugb 
 a little at lier companion, whose exuberant joy at 
 her recovery made him commit all manner of boyish 
 absurdities. 
 
 When Hubert Brentworth arrived with the carriage 
 from Fairslope, accompanied by the anxious father 
 and sister of Grace, they found her half sitting, half 
 reclining upon the grass, with several green branches 
 of the magnolia, starred with flowers, lying around 
 her and in her lap, — her arms and shoulders covered 
 with the coat, Avhich had served for her pillow, and 
 Guy's slouched hat sitting jauntily upon her sunny 
 tresses. The young man was seated upon a log at a 
 respectful distance. To him the old sailor and Mary, 
 after embracing Grace, with many tears on the part of 
 the sisters, were profuse in thanks, interrupted by 
 some exclamations of wonder at the affair. Who Avere 
 the parties, and what was the object, were to Charles 
 Munson oppressive mj^steries. The attention of Hu- 
 bert Brentworth had been so completely engrossed by 
 Grace and Guy that the boat passed out of sight, with- 
 out his having noticed it at all. Guy had never seen 
 either of the men before, and he, of course, could give 
 no satisfactory information with regard to them. It 
 is true he had his suspicions, but these he commu- 
 nicated to his uncle in private. 
 
 All was quiet at Fairslope, the second night after 
 the exciting events just narrated. The moon was 
 dimly shining, and Grace, completely restored, was 
 sitting, after tea, with Guy, upon the steps of the front 
 
UXDEE THE MAGNOLIA. 195 
 
 veranda. A cluster of evergreens, in the yard, con- 
 cealed them from Charles Munson and Hubert Brent- 
 worth, who were smoking their pipes before the door 
 of the cottage, across the way. 
 
 "That first swoon of yours was a very long odc; — 
 were you unconscious," anxiously enquired Guy, "all 
 the time your ej^es were closed ? " 
 
 "No," said Grace, — "not all the time." 
 
 "Did you hear anything I said?" asked Guy rather 
 dubiously. 
 
 "A little." 
 
 "Are YOU anoTv?" 
 
 " No," she rephed, very gently ; "are you satisfied ? " 
 
 "Yes;" and half kneeling at her side, while he 
 clasped her white hand, and looked in her sweet eyes, 
 to which not even the softened light of the moon could 
 lend additional attraction, he said : But no mat- 
 ter what he said. He Avas very young ; and the reader 
 might suppose, if his words were given, that he talked 
 foolishly. He, however, did not think so ; and, what 
 is more to the purpose, neither did Grace. 
 
196 UXDEE THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 I'll warrant that fellow from drowning tlKingh the sliip were no stronger than 
 a nut-shell. * * * He hath no diowuing mark upon him; his mmilexion is 
 perfect gallows. • The Tempkst. 
 
 Reference has been had to the schooner which plied 
 rather irregularly between Fairslope and Pensacola. 
 William Crossland, the skipper, and Thomas Myers, 
 his cousin, and assistant in the manao-ement of the 
 little craft, were men of some nautical skill, having 
 run for years, upon different ships and in different 
 capacities, between Pensacola and Havana. Their 
 home, if men leading such a life, and without families, 
 can be said to have a home, was in the first named 
 city — at any rate it was there that they passed the 
 greater part of their time, when not engaged upon 
 ship-board ; and out of regular Avork, it was there they 
 were met and employed by Charles Munson. It should 
 be observed, in justification of this act on the part of 
 the old sailor, that, while they had earned, in that 
 place, no reputation for habits strict!}- moral, they 
 were generally regarded as industrious, as well as 
 attentive and reliable in the discharge of business 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 197 
 
 duties. Both were intelligent — perhaps Myers the 
 more so of the two — though Orossland, having received 
 somethino- of an education, — of which the other was 
 totally deficient, — made the better impression upon 
 others. For one in his calhng, indeed, his address 
 was remarkably good. All that had ever been said 
 asrainst them, — and this had never been borne to the 
 ears of their present emploj^er, — was a whisper among 
 some of the older citizens that nobody knew from 
 what place in the States they originally came, — and 
 among some of the younger, that equal ignorance 
 prevailed as to their course during the war, and that 
 they seemed to be in sjmipathy with the dominant 
 political party of the country, in its rule of ignorance 
 and force at the South. This last charge, hoAvever, 
 originated in mere suspicion, as the nature of their 
 business, of course, prevented, on their part, any acts 
 of decided partisanship. The only known relative of 
 the two men in Florida, and he had come to the state 
 with them, was Ben, a brother of Tom Myers, who 
 was married, and lived somewhere on the coast below 
 Pensacola. 
 
 The schooner had received its load, and left the 
 month of the river, it will be recollected, the evening 
 before the attempted seizure of Grace. It was, how- 
 ever, a few nights earlier, while the vessel was lying 
 at the little Avliarf of Fairslope, that the reader is 
 requested to look into the diminntive cabin occupied 
 by Crossland, the skipper, and listen to part of a con- 
 versation between himself, and his right hand man, 
 
198 UXDEE THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 !^[Jers. They were seated, facing each, other, at a 
 small table, upon which were placed a pitcher of water, 
 a bowl of sugar and a bottle of whiskey. They had 
 been drinking, but, not in sufficient quantities, to show 
 signs of it, except in the heightened color of their 
 rongh unshaven faces. Indeed, although the free use 
 of spirits was habitual with both, they were never 
 seen drunk by their associates even in their most con- 
 vivial moments ; — their well seasoned carcasses being 
 able to receive all the liquid fire poured down their 
 throats, without avowing it to mount to the brains 
 Avith potency enough to overwhelm them. 
 
 "What do you think of the plan, Tom?" asked 
 Crossland balancing the pewter spoon upon the edge 
 of his glass. 
 
 "Can't say raley — mebbe it'll work — but it 'pears 
 mighty full of diffikilties," replied Myers. 
 
 "It's your faint heart that speaks," said Crossland. 
 "Of course there'll be difficulties ; but to me now they 
 seem few and small — and Vv^e'll get over them as easy 
 as water runs oft' a greasy gourd." 
 
 "Tell me over again plainly and slowly how you 
 think it can be manidged," remarked the other cau- 
 tiously — "give me all the pertikilers." 
 
 "That's soon done," rejoined the skipper. "We'll 
 get our load by day-after-to-morrow evening — early, — 
 and start at once for Pensacola. By dark, or a little 
 after, we'll get to the mouth of the big creek about 
 ten miles from here. The creek you know is almost, 
 if not quite as large as this stream. I have sounded 
 
UXDEK THE MAGXOLIA. 199 
 
 all about the mouth, and know that the schooner can 
 enter it easily ; — the banks are a perfect jungle on 
 each side for more than a mile ; and when the 
 schooner once gets in between 'em, it's as fairlv hid 
 as — this grog is," said he draining his glass. "You, 
 me and black N'ed, who'll do what I say anytime, and 
 never peach, will drop back here in the boat under 
 cover of the darkness ; and the girl, who, I hear, 
 walks to the spring every day, — sometimes twice, — 
 in the morning before breakfast, and in the evening 
 about sundown, can be easily picked up, brought to 
 the schooner, without a soul on board, except us three, 
 knowing anything about it — kept concealed in this 
 cabin during the few hours' run to Beggar's Point, 
 where your brother Ben lives — and there put ashore. 
 He and his wife will keep a look-out upon her move- 
 ments until Munson can be brouoht to terms. Rich 
 as he is — worth a cool half million — and loving the 
 girl as the apple of his eye — he'll give twenty thou- 
 sand dollars down to get her safe back, and ask no 
 questions. Just think of it, Tom," and he seemed to 
 roll a delicious morsel over in his mouth, "twenty 
 thousand dollars in a week — for the whole thino- can 
 be fixed up in a week — and then ho ! for California, 
 where we can flourish, and live as high as sharks 
 around a wreck." 
 
 " Hold up," exclaimed Myers, "yer runnin' like a 
 ship before a gale with all canvas spread, — just a bit 
 too fast. Won't we be suspicioned of doin' the job ? 
 It 'pears to me they'd settle down on us right away — 
 
200 UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 and if so. in the place of Munson's gold, we'd be 
 accomy dated Avith a pair of iron bracelits apiece, and 
 instid of fiourishin' in Californy we'd find ourselves 
 in a dungin." 
 
 "What a tub of a craft that head-piece of yours is 
 to-night, Tom ! " said Crossland. " Munson has perfect 
 confidence in us — I can see that in all his actions — • 
 and old Brentworth intimated as much to me the other 
 day. And besides, don't ye see that the3^'d think the 
 schooner half way to Pensacola, when they'd missed 
 the girl? lN"o," continued he confidently, "they'd 
 never suspect us." 
 
 "But what would Barton and the nigo-ers here in 
 the schooner think of our runnin' it into the creek, 
 and leaving it there, while we go off with the boat ? 
 Too many cooks spile the broth, joii know, — 
 'twouldn't do for them to know about it, — we couldn't 
 keep the thing from leakin' oat 'fore we'd pockited 
 the swag." 
 
 "You are right," answered the skipper, "when yon 
 say it would be best to hide the thing from Barton 
 and the niggers, though I think it could be carried 
 safely through, even were any of 'em to find it out. 
 I've prepared Barton for stopping the schooner at the 
 place. He's very fond of fishing, and I told him not 
 long since that the mouth of the creek was the finest 
 fishing place upon the coast, and that some day when 
 we were not pressed for time we'd lay by there, and 
 have a day or two's sport. When the schooner is all 
 snug in the creek, we could tell him we were going 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 201 
 
 to see an old friend, who lived close by, — tliat Ave 
 wouldn't be gone long, and that he must keep a sharp 
 look-out, and take care of everything Avhile we were 
 aw^ay. A dull leather-headed fellow, like Barton, 
 wouldn't suspect anything, and would remain here 
 stupidly satisfied were we absent a week." 
 
 "But s'pose," observed Myers, evidently, however, 
 falhng into the views of the other, — "s'pose there's 
 allers somebody with the gal when she comes down 
 to the spring — what then ? 'Twouldn't do to stay hid 
 here long waitin' for a chance for her to be by herself 
 — 'twould be too risky." 
 
 "I tell you," rephed Crossland, "she almost always 
 w^alks to the spring in the morning alone — her sister 
 then being employed about the house. I got that 
 from the servants. And we'd have to take her in the 
 mo ruins:, if w^e failed to oet a chance at her in the 
 evening. Seizing her in the morning would force us 
 to lie all day on the other side of the island there. 
 It's a marsh and a jungle and affords a secure hiding- 
 hole for the boat. We'd get back to the schooner at 
 night, smuggle her into this cabin, where I could keep 
 her quiet very easy, until some time during the next 
 night, you and me and Ned could land her, from the 
 boat, at Ben's, and the heavy work would be done." 
 
 "I know," said Myers, "sheVl be safe at Ben's. 
 There aint a house in several miles of him. He don't 
 like company, and allers used to say that he was 
 gwine to git him a home, w^here nobody'd come, and 
 he's done it. But," remarked he, after a pause, in 
 
202 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 which he was occupied in mixing and drinking a 
 toddj, "it 'pears to me the big trouble's to come after 
 the gal's got to Ben's shanty. Who's to see Munson, 
 and wind up the business ? — and how'll he keep from 
 being cribbed ? — I'd like for jer to tell me that." 
 
 "Ben is the man to manage that part of the affair. 
 He's quick and sharp, and what's more, Munson has 
 never seen him; so, if he goes, no clew will be fur- 
 nished, as to the whereabouts of the girl or the par- 
 ties who carried her away. There would not be a 
 particle of danger in going to old Munson with the 
 proposition, if the matter is shrewdly managed. So 
 anxious would he be about her, that he would run no 
 risk of her speedy recovery by any attempt forcibly 
 to arrest Ben. And if he should give a check for the 
 money, and say, that there .should be no trouble about 
 it — the dollars would come sure. He's a man that 
 stands right square up to his word when it's once 
 passed. I wouldn't be afraid to trust to his honor, 
 and even yield up the girl before presenting the paper 
 at the bank to be cashed. But let us first get her in 
 possession, and I have no fears of our being able to 
 make such arrangements for concluding the business, 
 as will set at rest all your doubts and suspicions." 
 
 That an accomplished scoundrel, like Crossland, 
 should have such implicit faith in the honor and 
 truthfulness of the old sailor, ought not to be at all 
 surprising. It more frequently happens, than is gen- 
 erally believed, that men acknowledge, Avhile they fail 
 to appreciate, those virtues in others, of which they 
 are themselves utterly destitute. 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 203 
 
 "Crosslancl," continued Myers, "a thing, like this, 
 should be looked at all round. S'pose now we make 
 a mess of it, and get ourselves nabbed by the land 
 sharks ? " 
 
 "There's no danger of it, I tell you." 
 
 "But s'pose we should?" persisted the other. 
 
 "Well," said Crossland, significantly, "with the 
 State ruled by our folks, and with our folks on the 
 judge's bench, in the jury-bos, and on the witness- 
 stand too, for that matter, we'd be certain to come out 
 
 all right." 
 
 Nothing further was said by the two ruffians. It 
 was unnecessary. That they Avere fully agreed was 
 plain. After a ringing touch of the glasses in taking 
 a parting drink they separated for the night. The 
 villainy, which they meditated, when considered in 
 connection with all its accessories, was the very re- 
 finement of diabohsm. The systematic deliberation 
 with which it was planned ; the treachery and ingrat- 
 itude directing and upholding it ; the artful and thor- 
 ough preparation made for its success ; the proposed 
 use of the old man's own vessel in the accomplishment 
 of it ; the coolness with which it was discussed, and 
 the nicety with which every point was weighed, — 
 stamped it with an atrocity almost unparalleled. But 
 it has been shown how the design, in its attempted 
 execution, was happily foiled by the gallantry and 
 resolution of Guy Brent worth. 
 
204: UXDEE THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 Ah me ! foi- aught tliat ever I could read, 
 
 Could ever hear by tale or hl.-<tor\-, 
 
 The course of true love uever did run smooth. 
 
 Shakspeake. 
 
 It was ttie morning that Guy had fixed for his de- 
 parture from Fairslope. He had, however, determined 
 to put it off' for one more day. Grace and he at last 
 fully understood each other ; and she had referred him 
 to her father. He felt it his duty to explain the sit- 
 uation to the old sailor before leaving-, — hence the 
 postponement. He found Charles Munson in the 
 room, which he called his cabin, busily engaged in the 
 examination of a large package of papers. They were 
 immediately laid aside, with a smile of pleasure, and 
 the cordial remark: 
 
 '' I am glad to see that violent excitement and ex- 
 ertion have done you no harm. Grace has surprised 
 me, — I mean, in the way she has borne up. I was 
 afraid the shock to her nervous system Avould have 
 prostrated her. A little w'earied in appearance yes- 
 terday, this morniog she seems fresh and buoyant : — 
 Thank God for his goodness and mercy !" 
 
UXDER THE MAG>.OLIA. 205 
 
 Guy indeed was looking remarkably well. The 
 object of his visit had given a much stronger flush to 
 liis cheek and brightness to his eye than was usual to 
 either. As soon as he took the chair offered him, 
 Avhich was immediately in front of his host, he boldly 
 and at once entered upon the subject, with which his 
 mind was filled; and in a firm and deliberate tone, 
 and in clear, concise language, went through with it, — 
 without hesitation, and apparentlj' without embarrass- 
 ment, 3^et with evident marks of deep and sincere 
 feeling. When Gay concladed, Charles Munson — the 
 upper part of Avhose face had, for some time, been 
 shaded by his hand, — his elbow resting upon the table 
 at his side, — looked up, and spoke mildly. But his 
 words, in spite of the gentleness of his tone, cut 
 throuc>;h Guv like a knife. 
 
 "Plain dealino;'' said he, "is, under all circum- 
 stances, best. I am a plain man, and accustomed to 
 act, and speak plainly. I shall certainly do so in this 
 'instance. You have astonished me, Guy, greatly by 
 this communication. I never expected it. From 
 what I had heard of you, and from what I have seen 
 of you, since you came here, I had no thought of your 
 marrying, or wishing to marry soon — if at all. Why, 
 my son, it was only three or foiir days ago that I heard 
 you say to my daughters, that everything about 
 woman was beautiful and tasteful and little, — and 
 that, by the power she had of drawing the minds of 
 man into the same narrow circle in which her own 
 revolved, the history of many a noble life had been 
 
206 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 lost to the world. This Avas spoken laughingly, of 
 conrse ; but earnestness of feeling and opinion are 
 frequently covered by a laugh ; and I doubted not it 
 was so in this case." 
 
 Had delicacy permitted, Guy could, with truth, 
 have replied that this was the raere idle talk of an 
 idle boy ; and that, although but a few days had 
 elapsed, since their utterance, they were to him days 
 full of mighty events, — producing in him a change 
 equally as mighty, — in a word, like many others, he 
 had, by one sudden leap, passed forever from the stage 
 of boyhood, to that of manhood. He felt all this, but 
 remained silent. Charles Munson continued : 
 
 " You know hoAV great is my attachment to your 
 uncle : and I will say there is no man living that I 
 Avould be so happy to have as an uncle for my girl as 
 Hubert Brentworth. My debt of gratitude to you 
 also is so o-reat that, " 
 
 " Don't speak of it, I implore you," broke in Guy 
 impetuously, — " don't speak of that — I deserve no 
 gratitude — no thanks. What I did for her, I should 
 have done for any other girl under similar circum- 
 stances ; — and as much as I love her, I should be 
 strongly tempted to go away from her forever, were 
 you to ofler me her hand, influenced in any degree 
 to do so, by that little accidental act of service to 
 her." 
 
 " I am bound to speak of gratitude — I am bound to 
 feel it," answered the old man. " To jon, your mere 
 exertions in the matter may seem small. To me, 
 
UNDEK THE MAGNOLIA. 207 
 
 they do not appear so, — and, Avhen considered in con- 
 nection with their results, — the}^ are valuable beyond 
 all reach of calculation. You have said, though, you 
 would not have me give you my daughter through 
 gratitude. The sentiment is just. You ought not to 
 wish it ; and I ought not do it. And yet, — I must 
 say it, however painful the words, — that were I to 
 give her to you this morning, the only reasons I could 
 offer, to satisfy my judgment, for the action, would be 
 gratitude to you and affection for your uncle. You 
 have in you many of the elements of a man. The 
 events of that terrible evening have convinced me 
 that you have some, which I had not hitherto attrib- 
 uted to you — boldness and unselfishness. But these, 
 joined with high moral principle, which I feel sure is 
 part of your nature, are not enough in the man, who 
 may hope to win Grace from me. He must have 
 energy and fixedness of purpose: and these, — you must 
 forgive the harshness of expression, — I fear, indeed I 
 believe, you do not possess. A man may be excellent 
 in morals, and brilliant in talents, but without oneness 
 of purpose to direct, and energy to execute, he can 
 never rise to the dignity of full and complete man- 
 hood. But," continued Charles Munson, with some- 
 thing hke a tear in his eye, — there certainly were 
 tears in his voice, — " I have wounded you with my 
 plain speaking ; you must bear in mind, however, 
 that I have wounded myself too. This talk has really 
 been one of the greatest afflictions of my life. While 
 there is no reason for me to say more on this subject^ 
 
208 UXDEE THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 justice to GJ-race, to you and to mj^self, required I 
 should say no less." 
 
 Charles Munson stopped. A few moments of • un- 
 broken silence ensued. Guy arose, with conflicting 
 emotions in his heart, that of wounded self-love evi- 
 dently predominating, as they manifested themselves 
 in his i)ale face, working^ features and olitterino' eves. 
 He would not trust himself to speak, but muttering a 
 hasty good morning, he hurried from the house, and 
 down the eminence on the side leading to the open 
 countrv. The controlling idea with him was to sepa- 
 rate himself from everybody, and, at the same time, 
 get away from any of his usual haunts, which, he felt, 
 AYOuld add to the pain of his heart and the distraction 
 of his mind. He came to a small clump of trees in a 
 little glen, lying between two inconsiderable hills, out 
 of sight of Fairslope and out of sight of the Gulf. 
 He threw himself upon the grass. The struggle 
 within him was long and violent, — passion for some 
 minutes, had the mastery, — but finally better feelings 
 prevailed. His good sense told him, as soon as he 
 became cool enough to enquire of it, that Charles 
 Munson's course was founded in love for his daughter 
 and anxiety for her welfare ; and that whether all he 
 had said with regard to himself, was true, or not, he 
 had reason to believe it so. " Have I not," asked he 
 musingly, " been led heretofore by the seductions of 
 fancy, rather than the dictates of sober reason ? Have 
 I not acted in such way as to appear frivolous, unsta- 
 ble, vain and effeminate?" The direction here taken 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 209 
 
 by Gay's mind was bound to bring about a healthy 
 reaction, if backed by will, and, — it had as well be said 
 now, for it is true, — he had about him all the stufi" of 
 which heroes and martyrs were made. The expres- 
 sion upon his face, as he turned his steps toward his 
 uncle's cottage, was sad, but it was ennobled by high 
 resolve. " Grace can never be mine," he said mourn- 
 fully, as he walked slowly along ; — " her father's im- 
 pressions — prejudices — against me are too strong to 
 be easily removed — it will require the work of years, 
 and then — too late — too late !" he exclaimed broken- 
 ly ; " but," continued he firmly, " I will show him I 
 am not the worthless thing he esteems me." Then 
 risino- above the narrowness of sentiment which 
 marked his last words, he said : " I will let the world 
 know that I am at least worthy to live in it, — ' I will,' 
 concluded he, unconsciously quoting the fine words of 
 Longfellow, ' be no longer a dreamer among shadows, 
 but a man among men.' " 
 
 Upon reaching the cottage, Hubert Brentworth saw 
 that something unusual had happened, and asked his 
 nephew what was 'the matter. 
 
 Guy told him all — all that shame did not force him 
 to keep back. His uncle, equable in temperament 
 and placid in manner, though much suprised and 
 shocked, gave no signs of either feeling, — not wishing 
 to add to the young man's excitement and trouble. 
 He therefore began to talk to him calmly, and not 
 unhopefully, — the more so, as Guy had not fully com- 
 9^ 
 
210 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 municated to him tlie reasons upon which, the old 
 sailor had based his refusal. 
 
 " I have never mentioned Grace's name to vou, he- 
 fore this moment,'' said Hubert Brent worth — " I have 
 never spoken of you to her. I did not believe it right 
 to do either. Is'ow, however, I can speak freely. 
 While Grace was spending the last winter in Mobile — 
 her first after leaving school, — hearing of the gaiety 
 of the city, and the number of her admirers, — I feared 
 she would hardly return to Fairslope heart-whole. 
 But she did so, and, — what I was also much gratified 
 at, — she came back, caring nothing for that which is 
 ordinarily so alluring to the young and beautiful, the 
 show and sparkle of fashionable life. I have often 
 told you I wanted you to marry. I now tell you that 
 it has been one of the prime hopes of my latter years 
 to see you the husband of the woman upon whom 
 your choice has fallen. It is a misfortune that the 
 circumstances, attending her rescue, forced from each 
 of vou, at this time, a betraval of vour feelingrs, as 
 that necessarily required that the matter should at 
 once be laid before her father. It would have been 
 better for you, before addressing Grace on the subject, 
 to have Avaited until you had taken that stand in the 
 world, which would have justified her father in giving 
 his consent to your union. The mischief, however, 
 has been done, Guy ; and all that remains for you, 
 under the circumstances, is, to return home — go to 
 work — show, by your energy, capacity and upright- 
 ness, that you are not unworthy of Grace. She is the 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 211 
 
 finest girl T ever knew — is worth waiting for — labor- 
 ing for and struggling for. I will have a talk with. 
 Charles Munson during the day, and ." 
 
 " Don't mention this matter to him," said Guy ve- * 
 hemently. " I would not have you do it for the 
 world." 
 
 " Of course I will not suggest it. He will be sure 
 to seize the first opportunity of talking it over with 
 
 me." 
 
 It will never be known exactly what passed be- 
 tween the old sailor and Hubert Brentworth, when 
 they next met. The nature of the conversation can, 
 however, be inferred, from the last words, which were 
 heard, when the door of the " cabin" opened, and they 
 together walked out into the hall. Both of them 
 seemed greatly disturbed. " For the reasons men- 
 tioned, Hubert, I cannot consent," said Charles Mun- 
 son, — " I will ncA^er consent, — no," continued he im- 
 patiently, ^Tll see her in Jericho first! But my old 
 friend," immediately added he, putting his hand upon 
 Hubert Brentworth's shoulder, " don't think that the 
 impatience I have manifested, was directed at you — 
 it was rather directed at myself, because I could not 
 do Avhat you desire, and what, were it not impossible, 
 I should desire mvself." 
 
212 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 I've seen the last look of lier lieavenly eye.*, — 
 I've heard the last soiind of her blessed voice, — 
 I've seen her fair form from my .sight dei>a t. 
 
 Basil. 
 
 I must from this land begone 
 Because I cannot love but one. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Guy was ready to set out for Mon^^^gomery earlj- the 
 next morning. It was his purpose to go by way of 
 Pensacola. His uncle was greatly troubled wlien he 
 came to bid him adieu. He would have parted from 
 him, under any circumstances, with pain, — but on the 
 present occasion, appreciating, in fact, over-estimating 
 the dangers of his situation, from an experience of 
 liis youthful wilfulness, impulsiveness, and distaste of 
 labor, he took his hand, when it was offered, with 
 many anxious forebodings. This would not have 
 been the case, — at any rate, he would have been less 
 solicitous, — had he understood, at the moment, the 
 great burden of the young man's thoughts, feelings 
 and aspirations. 
 
 "Guy," said he, with that patient and gentle firm- 
 
UXDER THE MAGNOLIA. 213 
 
 ness of manner characteristic of him, " jou must not 
 give A\-aj to despondency, — you must not forget what 
 is due to j^ourself, to your father's memory, and to 
 your father's house. You must meet this misfortune 
 stoutly ; — and I cannot urge upon you too strongly 
 the necessit}^ of your entering, at once, honestly and 
 bravely, upon your life-work. Do this, my boy, and, 
 although nothing ought to be held out to one, as a 
 reward for such exertion, except the smiles of an ap- 
 proving conscience, in duties well and faithfully dis- 
 charged, disappointment will soon lose its power to 
 afflict you, success will crown you, and, I hope, Grace 
 will yet be your wife." 
 
 Guy had written a few lines to Grace, which he had 
 left upon the table in his uncle's chamber. In the 
 note he simply told her that he did not have the cour- 
 age to meet her again — it would but add to the grief 
 of their separation, — she must forget him — that was 
 her best and wisest course. "I would," he concluded, 
 "forget you if I could." The last words were almost 
 ground through the paper by the nervous hand that 
 dashed them olF. Telling his uncle to see that the 
 note was delivered, he drove rapidly away, and was 
 soon out of sight. In less than an hour Grace had his 
 few hurried words of farewell in her hands. Their 
 abruptness, bordering on fierceness, greatly moved her. 
 She knew it arose from the strength and intensity of 
 his affection, rebelling at the fate which had separated 
 them. As has before been intimated, she understood 
 Guy better than any one, — therefore she loved him ; 
 
21-i UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 and this knowledge enabled her to bear what appeared 
 to be their final separation, — for her father had told 
 her, that, with his consent, they could never marry, — 
 silently, uncomplainingly, untearfully. 
 
 Guy heard in Pensacola that the schooner from 
 Fairslope had arrived a few days before, — that Cross- 
 land had, in some way, been badly hurt during its 
 passage, — and that both he and Myers had suddenly 
 decamped with several hundred dollars entrusted to 
 them for delivery to Charles Munson. He immedi- 
 ately wrote the facts to his uncle, as they corroborated 
 the suspicions, Avhich he had entertained and ex- 
 pressed, with regard to the principal in the violence 
 ouered to Grace. 
 
 When he reached Montgomery, he learned that two 
 of his friends in that city had made up a party to visit 
 Nevada. They expected to engage in mining. He 
 regarded the movement with but little attention or 
 interest, except in the prospective loss by it of two old 
 companions, whom he greatly esteemed. For several 
 days he wandered about from place to place, goaded 
 by a spirit of unrest, which defied all his eft'orts at 
 control. The transition in his life had been so sudden 
 and thorough. — and so full of difficulties and darkness 
 were his surroundings, — that he was bewildered, like 
 one lost in the trackless mazes of a vast forest. He 
 felt that labor, as was urged so persistently upon him 
 by his uncle — vigorous, unremitting labor, — was not 
 only what duty, but what (contentment pointed out as 
 the price of her favors. Many a stroug man had been 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 215 
 
 prostrated by such a blow, as be had lately received ; 
 it was, however, only the weak and feeble, he knew, 
 who failed to recover, — and among these he was de- 
 termined not to be classed. The resolution he had 
 formed in the self- struggle, that succeeded his last talk 
 with the old sailor, was as strong as ever, and he was 
 sure, it would be as lasting as life. He had made up 
 his mind to continue at his profession of the law, and 
 in it, if possible, win wealth and honors ; but to him 
 then, destitute of a single brief, it presented no field 
 for active exertion ; and active exertion was what he 
 required at once. Sensible of this, and believing that 
 a change of scene, and the excitement incident to it, 
 were necessary to enable him to enter upon the path 
 marked out in that resolution, with the force and ardor 
 requisite to success, he took advantage of the oppor- 
 tunity, in this behalf, afforded him by the expedition 
 to Nevada, and became one of the party. The night 
 before the morning agreed on by the company for its 
 departure, while sitting in his room, looking over and 
 destroying unimportant papers, he, by chance, placed 
 his hand upon the tin case containing his college 
 diploma, and law license. "I will hardly need these," 
 thoug-ht he, "in the mountains of Nevada, but I like 
 always to have them about me ; " and he dropped the 
 case in his small leather traveling sachel. Pie then 
 wrote to his uncle of his intended journey, and its 
 object, closing with the statement that he would not 
 be long absent. The next sim, in setting, shone upon 
 him and his young companions, far to the westward. 
 
216 UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Being skilless in these parts, wliich to a stranger, 
 Uuguided and unfriended, often prove 
 Eough and inliospitable. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 He drew himself uj), bent his brows, assumed a look of professional ferocity, 
 and continued : "Look j-e, a man must be neighborly and companionable. Zounds, 
 sir, we would slit any nose that was turned up at us honest fellows. * * * 
 
 Are you seeking a quarrel, sir ? — said Nigel, calmly, having, in truth, no desire 
 to engage himself in a discreditaVde brawl with such a character. 
 
 Quarrel, sir ? — I am not seeking a quarrel, but I care not how soon I find one. 
 
 FoKTUNKS OF NlUEL. 
 
 Nearly two years had gone by since tlie commence- 
 ment of Guy's western wanderings. During that time 
 his career had been marked by many strange and 
 trying vicissitudes. He had entered regularly into 
 the business of mining, and had really worked like a 
 dray-horse. He had, however, met with but indiffer- 
 ent success, outside of the strength imparted to mind 
 and body, by labor well performed, perils and disas- 
 ters bravely met, and hardships cheerfully borne. It 
 was a delicious evening in the early part of the fall, 
 that he was seen upon one of the principal roads, 
 leading from the interior of the country to Virginia 
 City, from which he was distant but little more than 
 
UXDER THE MAGNOLIA. 217 
 
 a mile. lie had left the stage-coach, as it slowly and 
 laboriously mounted one of the series of long, rocky 
 acclivities, over which the road winds in its ascent to 
 that elevated place, and having attained the few hund- 
 red yards of level plain upon its immediate summit, 
 was walking forward with a firm and rapid step. The 
 atmosphere was cool and bracing, and, by its great 
 height above sea-level, was so rare and pure, that it 
 had upon him an effect somewhat similar to that which 
 would have been produced by inhaling a quantity of 
 protoxide of nitrogen. He was humming one of the 
 old songs of his boyhood, which he would now and 
 then interrupt, by stopping to look, with a kindling 
 eye, upon the broad scene of closely commingled vale, 
 hill and mountain, — glen, peak and crag, — spread out 
 far below and around him, — where the earth seemed 
 to have been fashioned by nature in one of her most 
 capricious moods, — where, indeed, was displayed every 
 conceivable form of beauty, from outlines, the softest 
 and gentlest, to those of the wildest and most rugged 
 grandeur, — the whole, at one view, presenting a pic- 
 ture, which, Guy thought not to see was a misfortune, 
 and once to see was a joy forever. 
 
 Guy had changed considerably since the reader had 
 last seen him in Montgomerj^ His face was bronzed, 
 and its lines were harder and firmer, — his body showed 
 sharper angles, and a greater breadth of shoulder and 
 depth of chest, — and the sinews looked like whip-cord 
 upon the back of his broad hands, as they ran down 
 and lost themselves in his lono- supple finerers. On 
 10 
 
218 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 tlie wliole, if not so smoothly handsome, he was de- 
 cidedly a nobler looking man. In appearance, too, he 
 had aged rapidly. He did not look a day under thirty. 
 The road, in entering the city, opened npon rather 
 a broad thoroughfare, which, turning slightly to the 
 left, formed an acute angle with the one, that leading 
 straight forward, seemed to Guy most likely to con- 
 duct him into the heart of the place, where he sup- 
 posed the principal hotel would be found. Continu- 
 ing in this street, for a few minutes, he came to a 
 commodious brick store-house, in front of which in 
 the shade of a large tree were one or two empty chairs 
 and a wooden bench. Feeling somewhat wearied by 
 his walk, he sat down in one of the chairs, and began 
 to look carelessly over a newspaper, Avhich he found 
 lying upon the bench. He had been there but a short 
 time, when a hoarse voice from a crowd of men seated 
 around the door of a small and gaily painted structure 
 adjoining the store-house, attracted his attention, as 
 some one vociferated, "I'll kick you into the d — I's 
 pit, you dog ! " and he looked up Id time, to see a man 
 and a chair rolling over together in the gutter. The 
 party, who had been thus unceremoniously treated, 
 gathered himself up at once, and slunk away, greeted 
 with a loud, mocking laugh, evidently from the one, 
 who did the kicking. This man now arose from his 
 chair, and showed to Guy, the person of a tall and 
 brawny man, almost a giant in stature, the lower por- 
 tion of whose face was concealed by a long, shaggy 
 beard, and the upper, or the part of it, which could 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 219 
 
 be seen under the broad-brimmed felt bat pulled down 
 over bis brows, was covered with red blotches pro- 
 duced by hard and constant whiskey-drinking. He 
 was clad in a suit of heavy boating cloth, which ended 
 below in a pair of rough boots reaching to his knees. 
 Striding excitedly up and down the sidewalk, between 
 the door of the store- house and that of the saloon, 
 before which he had been sitting, he exclaimed, as he 
 paused close by his party, who were evidently his 
 admirers: "I'm spiling for a fight!" His friends 
 followed his warlike exclamation with something 
 between a laugh and a cheer, and then followed him 
 into the saloon for a drink. 
 
 Guy had observed, when he came up, three or four 
 men, smoking and talking together, at the lower end 
 of one of the counters in the back part of the store. 
 About this time one of them came out, and seated 
 himself in one of the chairs near him. Guy marked, 
 from a hasty glance over the top of his paper, that 
 the new comer was a thin, wiry man, apparently about 
 forty years of age, slightly above the medium height, 
 with a pale face, an intelligent eye, and a pleasing 
 expression. He was neatl}^ dressed in a business-suit 
 of gray cloth. 
 
 "You appear to be a stranger and a traveler," said 
 the thin man, in a thin, sharp voice, bringing out each 
 word with a sort of quick, nervous jerk. 
 
 "Yes," replied Guy, "I have but this moment 
 arrived here for the first time in my life." 
 
 "Been long in the West — eh?" asked the other. 
 
220 U^^DEE THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 "Not very long," answered Guv. "I came to this 
 country last spring from Alabama." 
 
 "From Alabama ! — why, I'm from Alabama, myself 
 ■ — lived here so long, tliougli, — have no right to claim 
 it as my state. Came out from Huntsville when a 
 small boy, with my father — he was among the first 
 that the gold-fever started from the Gulf-States in this 
 direction. AVhat might be your name ? " 
 
 "Gny Brentworth." 
 
 " Well, — my name's Phil. Melton, — that's a Western 
 introduction. I'm glad to meet you over here, — 
 almost as much so, as if I'd known you on the other 
 side of the Mississippi. Majdiap j^ou'li be pleased to 
 learn there's several old Alabamians in this city. You 
 won't feel so lonely while you sta}^." 
 
 Guy was amused at the free and easy manners of 
 the stranger, as well as pleased with his appearance. 
 There was something about the man, — force is the best 
 word to express it, — which was exhibited in tlie strong 
 lines of his colorless face, — in the workings of his 
 lithe, wiry frame, — and in the nervous and rapid 
 utterance, — which interested Guy greatly. They were 
 in the midst of a conversation with regard to Virginia 
 City and its people, when the man, who was "spihng 
 for a fight," came out of the saloon. 
 
 " Who is that fellow ? " asked Guy. There was a 
 hard and fierce light in ^lelton's eyes, as he rej)lied : 
 "Bill Brown— he's called the Wild Bull of the Pacific 
 Coast." 
 
UNDER THE MAG^^OLIA. 221 
 
 "He says he is anxious for a fight," observed Guy. 
 "I hope he won't take a notion to fight us." 
 
 '*No," answered Melton — "you are a stranger, he'll 
 hardly interrupt you, and me he wouldn't dare fight." 
 Then suddenly springing up, he continued : " Wait for 
 me a moment — want to speak to that man yonder," 
 and he crossed the street, and locking his arm in that 
 of a gentleman who was passing by, he turned the 
 corner of the block of buildings opposite, and was 
 soon out of sight. Guy, not liking the neighborhood, 
 was in the act of rising to continue his walk, when 
 Brown called upon all to take another drink with him. 
 Looking at Guy, he said: "You, too, stranger — come 
 and likker with us." Guy thanked him, but declined. 
 " Come along, I say," shouted the fellow. Guy excused 
 himself, by stating that he never touched spirits. The 
 beast, maddened by whiskey, and by the evil passions 
 aroused in the recent struggle, walked up to Guy, who 
 was still seated, and crushing his hat down upon his 
 eves with one hand, and seizinp^ his left arm with the 
 other, exclaimed, with a terrible oath : " But you shall 
 drink." As quick as thought, — but not as one of 
 Guy's thoughts at the time, — unfortunately he did not 
 think, — had he done so perhaps his action might have 
 been difi:erent, — Guy's right arm was propelled from 
 his body with the force of a catapult, which, catching 
 the rufiian in the pit of the stomach, stretched him 
 senseless on the o-round. Guy was standing with his 
 hands lightly resting upon the back of his chair, when 
 he felt something heavy fall into the right hand pocket 
 
222 UXDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 of his sacque coat. Putting his hand into it, he felt 
 a large five-shooter, and, looking around, in some as- 
 tonishment, saw at his side, — Phil. Melton. He at 
 once experienced that rising of the heart, which a man 
 always feels, when alone and beset b\' difficulties and 
 dangers in a strange country, he unexpectedly finds 
 that he is not without the support and countenance 
 of a friend. Dazed and in pain. Brown, after a few 
 moments, sloAvly straightened up his huge form, and 
 giving himself one or two vigorous shakes to make 
 sure that no bones were broken, he dashed the hair 
 from his eyes, and drawing an immense knife, rushed 
 upon Guy. The latter, quickly stepping upon the 
 bench, that he might have room for a full swing of 
 the heavy chair, brought it down with crushing force 
 upon the head of the desperado, just as he made a 
 furious but ineft'ectual blow with his fearful weapon. 
 Brown fell, as falls the ox before the axe of the sham- 
 bles ; — and many a day passed before he was able to 
 engage in his usual pastime of provoking difficulties 
 with peaceable and unofiiending men. 
 
 Melton went with Guy to the hotel, where they 
 found the coach, which had preceded them but a few 
 minutes. TVith a delicacy, which Guy did not expect, 
 and highly appreciated, the disagreeable brawl into 
 which he had been unwillingly hurried, and which 
 he felt was a degradation, was not alluded to at all, 
 during the walk, by his new-found friend. 
 
UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 223 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 And what is friendship but a name, — 
 
 A charm that hills to sleep ; 
 A shade that follows wealth or fame, 
 
 And leaves the wretch to weep. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 During the course of a conversation between Guj 
 and Melton the next morning, the latter said : " By 
 the way I forgot to tell you that one of our Ala- 
 bamians out here is in great distress. Court will sit 
 in this place next week ; and he's to be tried for mur- 
 der. The circumstances against him are very strong 
 — so is the feeling among the people. I'm afraid he'll 
 hang. But I don't believe him guilty. If anybody 
 believes with me though, I don't know it. He's an 
 old man — poor and without friends, — but Paul Win- 
 not " 
 
 " Paul Winnot !" — exclaimed Guy — " Paul Winnot 
 did I understand you to say ?" 
 
 "Yes, that's his name," rejoined his companion, 
 looking up with some surprise. 
 
 " My father had an old friend in Alabama by that 
 name. When I was a little boy, I often heard him 
 
224 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 say that he was once saved from absolute beggary by 
 the generous confidence and kindness of a Paul Win- 
 not. I have heard the story, too, more than once 
 from my uncle. The name is a very singular one, 
 and he is old, you say," observed Guy musingly, " yet 
 he certainly can't be my father's noble-hearted friend. 
 Paul Winnot of Alabama, wealthy and popular, might 
 have become Paul Winnot of Nevada, poor and 
 friendless ; but he could hardly have become a suspect- 
 ed murderer, with the evidence all tending to prove 
 him a real one. However I should like to see him 
 and satisfy myself." 
 
 " It's, by no means, certain he's not your man. I 
 know he was once rich. After losing his fortune, he 
 came out here, years ago, hoping to make another. 
 But he didn't do it, though. Bad luck seemed to dog 
 his footsteps. Everything went wrong with him. 
 No work that he did prospered. But his last work 
 w^as the worst of all. He worked himself into a jail, 
 with a fair prospect of working himself out by the 
 gallows. You want to see him ! — all right — the 
 sheriff is a friend of mine — I'll be your voucher. 
 When do you wish to go ?" 
 
 " Now ; if you will accompany me." 
 
 " Of course, I will — gladly." 
 
 Under the pilotage of Melton, Guy had no difficulty 
 in obtaining admission to Paul Winnot's dungeon. 
 They found its occupant lying upon a heap of straw 
 in one of the angles of the massive walls. But few 
 words were necessary to inform the young man that 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 225 
 
 he had, in truth, discovered his father's benefactor, 
 in the wretched being before him. Although the 
 knowledge was not altogether unexpected, it never- 
 theless affected him deeply. With many expressions 
 of sympathy, arid offers of such assistance as he could 
 render, — placing at the same time his purse at Win- 
 not's disposal, which unfortunately was by no means 
 full, — he requested him to relate all the facts in his 
 distressing case. This was done by the old man 
 plainly, simply, and without hesitation. Guy was 
 concerned to find that all of them pointed directly to 
 the narrator as the party guilty of the murder ; and 
 yet he did not, for an instant, doubt his asseveration 
 of innocence. 
 
 "To place before you," concluded the unhappy 
 man, " the whole peril of my situation, it is only nec- 
 essary for me to add that these circumstances against 
 me will all be fully and clearly proved, while I will 
 not be able, as far as I know, to bring forward a sin- 
 gle fact in my favor, except previous good character. 
 In addition to this the family of the deceased is 
 wealthy and pow^erful, and have secured the ablest 
 law^yers in this section to assist the attorney for the 
 state. I, however, am too poor to employ counsel, 
 and will have to depend upon the one assigned me by 
 the court. He may be without ability or legal infor- 
 mation, — will certainly be young, without much ex- 
 perience, — and will perhaps take but little interest in 
 my case. The people too hereabouts have generally 
 prejudged and condemned me. The prospect before 
 
226 UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 me is gloomy — gloomy. I should not so greatly mind 
 what seems to be in store for me, if it were not for 
 the thought of the deep and damning stain, which 
 such a judgment will leave upon my character, never 
 perhaps to be wiped away in this world." 
 
 Guy scarcely knew what repl}^ to make to these 
 words so full of the pathos of utter wretchedness and 
 hopelessness. The circumstances appeared to demand 
 imperatively a tender of his professional assistance to 
 AYinnot ; but, in his modesty, he rated that assistance 
 so slightly, and the responsibility likely to attend such 
 action on his part was so grave and hazardous, that 
 he- very naturallv hesitated. But after manv miso-iv- 
 ings and much anxious pondering, he mustered up the 
 *'do or die" determination, and said : 
 
 " I am something of a lawyer, myself — not as good 
 one as I should be o'lad to be for vour sake ; and if 
 you desire it, I will undertake to defend you. The 
 objections you urge to the one, who would probably 
 be selected to act for you by the court, apply to me, 
 with the exception of a Avant of interest in you, and 
 in your case. There, indeed, I am sure I would have 
 greatly the advantage of any lawyer in this country. 
 I can't engage to do much for you, — but I will engage 
 to do all in my poAver." 
 
 " Yes — yes," said Winnot rising, and catching him 
 by the hand, — " I'll take you ; I want you. Indeed 
 you are the very man for me. You came to me just 
 when I was in need of such a friend, and when there 
 seemed no likelihood of that need being supplied. I 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 227 
 
 will take it as a happy omen. Surely a good and mer- 
 ciful Providence has directed you to me in my sore 
 trouble and affliction." 
 
 With the promise of seeing him, as often as possi- 
 ble, before the day of trial, Guy and Melton took their 
 departure. The former entered at once upon the im- 
 portant work, he had so hastily and generously as- 
 sumed. He had several days for preparation. A 
 stranger in the city, he found in Melton, not only a 
 willing, but an invaluable coadjutor. This singular 
 man seemed to be greatly attached to Winnot ; and 
 being apparently on easy and familiar terms with all 
 the leading men of the city, he introduced Guy to sev- 
 eral of the lawyers, as a brother attorney from Ala- 
 bama, in search of a home, and thus gained for him 
 access to such books as he required in the preparation 
 of his case. He also engaged to hunt up testimony for 
 Winnot — to see and talk with the leading witnesses 
 for the state — and to bring the result of his investiga- 
 tion to Guy in a few days. By the next evening the 
 adventurous young attorney was in possession of one 
 or two fticts, which caused him to regard his case a 
 little more hopefully. 
 
228 UXDEK THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 His face was rough, but love refineil it, 
 His manuer iinle, but love subdued it, 
 His spirit fierce, but love o'ercajue it. 
 
 The PiOBEEE. 
 
 When Guy called to see Paul Winnot the morning 
 before the opening of the court, he found a lady with 
 him. She was young, scarcely more than twenty, 
 with a full, round face, dark eyes and hair. She was 
 rather low in stature, but lithe and graceful, and 
 dressed very becomingly in black. Winnot presented 
 her to him, as Mrs. Brown, his daughter, and only 
 child. Modest and pleasing in manner and sprightly 
 in conversation, Guy left the prison, with the idea 
 uppermost in his mind, that she was not merely intel- 
 ligent and refined, but altogether a very charming 
 young woman. That Paul Winnot, overAvhelmed 
 with his afflictions, should not have thought to speak 
 of this daughter, at any of their hurried meetings, did 
 not at all surprise him; but he was astonished not to 
 have heard a word with regard to her from Melton. 
 When he next met him he casually remarked that he 
 had that day met Winnot's daughter at the prison. 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 229 
 
 Melton, who orclinarilj appeared so careless and in- 
 different, and seemed really to regard the world as 
 his oyster, was not only much embarrassed, but even 
 displayed some sjanptoms of agitation. He, however, 
 did not reply. Having no thought of allowing the 
 subject to drop there, Guy said : " I should like to 
 know something about this Mrs. Brown. You can 
 give me, of course, all the information I desire." 
 
 Melton with some show of reluctance answered: 
 *'She is Paul Winnot's daughter — that you know. 
 She is the widow of Fred. Brown, — -the brother of the 
 man you knocked down — that you didn't know. 
 Married last June, she lost her husband the latter part 
 of the following month. He was killed at Gold Hill, 
 in a difficulty with a party of miners." 
 
 " She seems to be a fine Avoman ; and I am sur- 
 prised at her marrjdng such a fellow as I suppose 
 this Brown to have been, from what I have seen of 
 his brother." 
 
 " Yes, she is a fine woman," said Melton. " As 
 long as the matter has been broached, I reckon I had 
 better make a clean breast of it. I want to talk it 
 over with somebody any way. You perhaps will 
 take more interest in it, than any one else hereabouts. 
 Well, — Jenny Winnot was the girl I had picked out 
 for my wife. I had been a wild sort of buck until I 
 fell in with Winnot a few years ago. By trading — ■ 
 sometimes in one thing — sometimes in another — prin- 
 cipally in cattle and horses,— I generally had monev 
 enough for mj^ purposes. Most of my time, when I 
 
230 UNDEK THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 was not in this place, was passed in San Francisco. 
 Often latterly a visitor at Paul Winnot's house, it 
 was some time before I knew exactly what carried me 
 there. Finally I made up my mind it was the black 
 eyes and winning ways of Jenny. It was not long 
 afterwards before I became dissatisfied with my rov- 
 ing habits. I began to long for a settled home ; and 
 to long a great deal more to have Jenny at the head 
 of it. In fact, in my mind, she and home went to- 
 gether. During this time, too, Fred. Brown often 
 dropped in at Winnot's. He was a different looking 
 man from his brother. He was a dilFerent acting 
 man also. I can't say he was any better though. 
 Handsome, dressy, free of talk, — he was a man well 
 calculated to tickle a woman's fancy. Jenny liked 
 his company — I could see that. But I didn't fear 
 him there. To tell the truth, I felt safe in that quar- 
 ter. Eather too safe, as I found out to my cost. I 
 hadn't told Jenny that I loved her, — thought it best 
 to wait until I had a home for her. She knew it, I 
 thought, perfectly well though. I couldn't have hid 
 it, if I had tried ; and I didn't try. She showed me, 
 I was sure, — maybe I was mistaken, — that she under- 
 stood me, and that it was all right. I have said that 
 before having an explanation with Jenny, I wanted to 
 have a home to offer her. I wanted it to be a good 
 home, — one worthy of her acceptance. Some time 
 last May, I heard that a man, who had a small, but 
 well-arranged stock-farm in one of the lower counties, 
 less than a hundred miles from here, desired to sell 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 231 
 
 out. He had come to tlie West from Kentucky, and 
 was forced by domestic engagements to return. The 
 business suited me ; and the property, I was told, 
 could be bought at low figures. I knew the place 
 and liked it. A narrow valley — commencing with a 
 mountain gorge — cliffs almost meeting overhead — 
 widening as it gradually descends, — it opens to the 
 south-west upon a level jDlateau as far as the eye can 
 reach ; — a large stream runs through the centre of the 
 valley, fed by hundreds of springs from the moun- 
 tains ; — and in a clump of trees upon its bank, just 
 before it enters the plain, stands the house, commo- 
 dious and well-constructed. Having some money on 
 hand, I set out at once, and found, upon arrival at 
 the place, no diflQculty in making the trade. Eepairs, 
 however, and other preliminary business kept me 
 upon the farm several weeks. I was about prepared 
 for my return to this city, when a small party of ma- 
 rauding Indians stole and carried off some of my 
 horses. I pursued them with three or four men, and 
 overtook them the second day out. They showed 
 fight at first, but were soon scattered, and the prop- 
 erty recovered. In the skirmish, however, I received 
 quite a severe flesh wound. The fever, into which it 
 threw me, was much aggravated by the journey back. 
 It Avas two or three weeks before I was able to bear 
 the fatigue of a lengthy trip. When I reached this 
 city, I found Paul Winnot in jail; and Jenny the wife 
 of Brown. It was awful," said he, grinding his teeth, 
 " but I bore it. There is something about that mar- 
 
232 UXDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 riage that I don't understand. It took place a few 
 days after the arrest of Winnot. I suppose the des- 
 titute and friendless condition, in which Jenny was 
 left, had a great deal to do with it. But there was 
 somethino; else at tlie bottom. She was made to turn 
 against me — turn away from me by some tale. And 
 that story came from the Browns. I am sure of it. 
 The action of Bill Brown towards me makes it plain. 
 He shuns me; and when we happen together, he is 
 afraid of me. He fears a difficulty. He knows I sus- 
 pect him ; and that if we run together, both of us 
 will never leave the ground alive. And I know," 
 continued Melton in the deep, concentrated tones of 
 intense passion, while the fiery and deadly gleam, to 
 which allusion has heretofore been made, again came 
 into his eves. — " and I know that the one, who mav 
 leave, will never be Bill Brown. I told you, before 
 you had your difficulty with him, that he would not 
 dare fight me ; and now you know the reason." 
 
 Guy, seeing how strongly Melton was stirred up by 
 his recital, although thinking that he had jumped 
 rather hastily to some of his conclusions, thought it 
 best to make no reply. He simply asked if he had 
 seen or spoken to Jenny since her marriage. 
 
 "No," said Melton, "she lives at Gold Hill; and 
 although she comes here now and then to visit her 
 father, I have never met her." 
 
UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 233 
 
 CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 Oh no ! — you're not the first man who has driven the centre when the bow was 
 drawn at a venture — not the first man who has made his fortune by a single, lucky 
 unexpected hit. 
 
 The Merchant. 
 
 The day of trial arrived. The court-lionse was 
 filled to overflowing. Both sides announced them- 
 selves ready. After much difiiculty a jury was se- 
 cured. Guy in this important work was materially 
 assisted by Melton, who had placed himself just 
 behind him. The first witnesses examined were four 
 men, headed by one William Smith, whose testimony 
 showed that they were cutting wheat for Eufus 
 "Wolfe, the deceased, on the 12th day of the preceding 
 June — the day of the killing. They were at work 
 upon the top of a hill in the field not far from a piece 
 of woods, some four or five acres in extent, through 
 about the centre of which ran the road between the 
 houses of deceased and the prisoner. From the point 
 occupied by them the road for some distance on each 
 side of this piece of woods, as well as the two houses, 
 could be plainly seen. On the day referred to, rather 
 
 late in the afternoon, they saw deceased and prisoner 
 10* 
 
23i UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 upon this road, at tlie same moment, approacliing the 
 woods from the direction of their respective homes — 
 the latter had a gun on his shoulder. They heard a 
 rifle-shot in the woods at or about the time they sup- 
 posed deceased and prisoner might have met in the 
 midst of it. They observed the latter soon afterwards 
 issue from the woods, and walk rapidly back towards 
 his house. Suspecting something wrong, as William 
 Smith, one of the witnesses, had heai'd prisoner say a 
 few days previously, that if deceased troubled him 
 much more, he would take his life, they hastened 
 into the woods, and found Rufus "Wolfe dead in the 
 road, lying in a pool of blood, wliich had flowed from 
 a bullet-hole in his breast. When, in a few minutes 
 afterwards, — for they went in pursuit immediately, — 
 the prisoner was arrested by them at his house, it 
 was discovered that his rifle had been recently dis- 
 charged, and ascertained subsequently that the bullet 
 taken by the physician from the body of the deceased 
 fitted it exactly. The cross-examination elicited; 
 first, that when the party reached prisoner's house he 
 showed them a squirrel, alleging he had just killed it 
 in the lower part of the piece of woods — the point 
 farthest from the wheat-cutters ; secondly, that foot- 
 marks about the body of deceased showed tliere had 
 been something of a struggle between him and the 
 assassin; and thirdly, that the prisoner had always 
 borne the reputation of a good and worthy citizen, as 
 well as a peaceable man; and that his threat against 
 deceased was made in the heat of passion. 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 235 
 
 Dr. Oldham stated that he saw the body after it 
 was conveyed to the house. The ball had entered 
 immediately below the breast-bone on the right side, 
 missing the ribs, — and ranging upward, and slightly 
 to the left, — had buried itself in the heart, where he 
 found it. 
 
 Guy : " Doctor, did you find any bruises or scratches 
 on the body ?" 
 
 Doctor : "Kone except the hole made by the rifle- 
 ball." 
 
 Guy: "Did you examine closely?" 
 
 Doctor: "Yes, very closely." 
 
 Guy: "You are satisfied that if there had been a 
 scratch or bruise, you would have seen it?" 
 
 Doctor: "Perfectly." 
 
 Guy: "If you know the previous reputation of the 
 prisoner in this neighborhood, you will please state 
 it." 
 
 Doctor: "He has generally been regarded as an 
 honest, reliable, and quiet man." 
 
 Guy: "You can stand aside, Doctor." 
 
 The State is through, sir, said the District attorney, 
 addressing the court. The judge turned to Guy, and 
 told him to proceed with his testimony. The latter 
 stated that he would introduce no witnesses, but he 
 desired to ask one or two questions of Eufus Wolfe, 
 the brother of the deceased. Mr. Wolfe took the 
 stand. 
 
 Guy: "What is j^our age, Mr. Wolfe?" 
 
 Wolfe: "I Avas twenty last March." 
 
236 UXDEK THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 Guy: "How long did you live witli yo\ir deceased 
 brother, Eafus Wolfe?" 
 
 "Wolfe: "For the three years iiornediatelj^ preced- 
 ing his death. I am still at the house attending to 
 business for his widow." 
 
 Guy: " State whether or not your brother was paid 
 any money on the day of the killing — if so, how much 
 ■ — and what became of it." 
 
 Wolfe: "He was paid two hundred and fifty dol- 
 lars that evening, by John Smith, — it was the last 
 payment on a piece of land that Smith had bought of 
 him. When his desk was examined several hundred 
 dollars were found in one of the secret drawers, and it 
 was supposed, that the two hundred and fifty dollars 
 paid by Smith was part of it. The amount found, 
 however, was somewhat smaller, than was expected." 
 
 Guv: "You don't know then whether or not he bad 
 the two hundred and fiftj^ dollars upon his person, 
 when he was killed?" 
 
 Wolfe: "No, — that is a matter I have never 
 thought of — I supposed, of course, he put the monev 
 in his desk — he mioht, though, have had it with 
 him." 
 
 Guy: "Were you present when the money was 
 paid by Smith?" 
 
 Wolfe : " Yes, — but I went out of the room imme- 
 diately after it was done, and did not return." 
 
 Guy : " State whether or not Smith was with your 
 brother, when he left the house." 
 
 Wolfe: "I think so; althouoh I am not sure: — if 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 237 
 
 he was, tliey must Lave- separated near the door, for 
 1 saw my brother later walking down the road alone." 
 
 Guy : " Who is this John Smith ?" 
 
 Wolfe : "I hardly know how to answer you. He 
 has been a miner, but is now a small farmer about 
 twenty miles from here, and is the brother of the 
 Avitness, William Smith. He is looked upon as being 
 a o'ood and clever man." 
 
 Guy: "State, if you know, what was the reputa- 
 tion of prisoner in this vicinity before the killing." 
 
 Wolfe: " He stood well I believe with everybody 
 except my brother, who, for some reason, did not 
 like him." 
 
 Guy : " I am through with you, Mr. Wolfe." 
 After a pause, he said: "If the court please I shall 
 rest the defence in this case upon the testimonj^ now 
 before it — which is really the testimony of the state." 
 
 The leading counsel for the prosecution commenced 
 the argument. The facts in the case, — especially 
 those- given in the evidence of the wheat-cutters, — 
 the going into the woods of the prisoner and the de- 
 ceased at the same time ; the former with his gun ; 
 the shot; the dead man; the hurrying away of the 
 prisoner; the recently discharged rifle; the ball fit- 
 ting it ; the previous threat, et csetera ; were all laid 
 before the jury so clearly and commented upon so in- 
 geniously, that it seemed but one conclusion in the 
 matter could possibly be reached, and that was, — to 
 adopt the language of the counsel, — "Rufus Wolfe 
 was killed with a ball!fired from a rifle-gun in the hands 
 
238 UXDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 of, and by, Paul Winnot." When he concluded, 
 the case, to the bystanders, at least, appeared a des- 
 perate one for the prisoner. There was not a man of 
 them, who did not have his former convictions as to 
 his guilt strengthened. They could see no ground 
 upon which his attorney could rear even the most 
 shadowy structure of defence. 
 
 Guy opened his speech, slowly and deliberately, 
 upon the nature and eiFects of circumstantial evidence. 
 "While acknowledging its general strength and reHa- 
 bility, he said, it should be watched and weighed with 
 the greatest caution : and even then, he urged, such 
 was the imperfection and fallibility of human judg- 
 ment, the greatest wrong was not unlikely to be done 
 and suffered under its guidance. He cited many in- 
 stances, given in the law books, in which the chain 
 of circumstances, attaching guilt to an individual 
 afterwards ascertained to be perfectly innocent, seemed 
 complete — not a link wanting. He then said : 
 
 "It is proclaimed that circumstances cannot lie. 
 No ; they cannot lie ; but, as far as the eiiect is con- 
 cerned, they had just as well do so, as be misunder- 
 stood, which unfortunately often happens, inadver- 
 tently through ignorance, and wilfully through 
 prejudice. The evidence, gentlemen of the jury, in 
 this case, is purely circumstantial. Let us see now 
 whether it is strong enough to exclude every other 
 reasonable hj^pothesis, except that based upon the idea 
 of the prisoner's guilt. As his honor will tell you, 
 unless that is done, jou are bound to render a verdict 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 239 
 
 of acquittal. Granted, then, that, with his rifle on his 
 shoulder, the prisoner was seen to enter the piece of 
 woods, on the side next to his home, at the time the 
 deceased was observed to enter it on the other ; — that, 
 in a few minutes, a shot was heard about the spot 
 where it was supposed they had met, and soon after- 
 wards the prisoner was seen hurrying from the woods 
 in the direction of his house ; — granted that Rufus 
 Wolfe was found dead at the place indicated bj the 
 report of the gun, or some such weapon — his heart 
 pierced by a ball exactly fitting the prisoner's rifle^ 
 which was found to have been recently discharged ; — 
 granted, too, that the prisoner, in a sudden ebullition 
 of passion, because of some supposed wrong inflicted 
 upon him by deceased, had threatened to take his life ; 
 — I would ask, with the squirrel just killed at the 
 house, and the fact, as stated by the prisoner to the 
 witnesses, that he had shot it at the point of the woods 
 most distant from them, — too far for the report of his 
 rifle to have been marked, unless they had been listen- 
 ing especially for it, — I would ask, I say, if a reason- 
 able doubt, as to the perpetration of the deed by him, 
 is not created? If the answer should be, that, the 
 facts, tending to fasten the crime upon the prisoner^ 
 are too strong and well connected, to be weakened by 
 these circumstances ; then I would ask, if such reason- 
 able doubt is not created by them, when considered in 
 connection with the evidence given by all, of the 
 prisoner's uniformly good and peaceable previous 
 character ? 
 
240 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 "And just here you will please pardon a few remarks 
 bj way of illustration. I once knew in Alabama a 
 man of large wealth, w^ho, by unfortunate speculation, 
 and a financial crisis, lost the whole of his property, 
 with the exception of his homestead and a few acres 
 around it. This homestead was morteasfed ; and it 
 w^as mortgaged to a hard man; who, — hopiug, through 
 the stringency in the money market, and the pressure 
 upon the mortgagor, to obtain the valuable property 
 for the inconsiderable sum due upon it, — foreclosed. 
 The unfortunate debtor, after struggling desperately 
 to raisg the necessary funds, without success, had given 
 up in despair, and expected, in a few days, to see his 
 sick and dying wife turned into the street, when one 
 came forward, paid the debt, saved the 23roperty, glad- 
 dened the last hours upon earth of a helpless woman, 
 w^hile he enabled the husband by this, and other assist- 
 ance, once more to rise in business ; and he did these 
 things voluntarily, without asking security for his ad- 
 vances, and perhaps even without expecting a return. 
 Gentlemen of the jurj-, the generous, unselfish and 
 noble man, whom I have described, — and I speak 
 simply what I know^ to be true, — was the, prisoner, 
 whom you are now trying for his life upon the charge 
 of murder, and the one whom he saved from bank- 
 ruptcy was my father. 
 
 "But should you sav that the facts hitherto uro-ed 
 in defence, joined with previous good character, on 
 the part of the prisoner, insufficient to raise the rea- 
 sonable doubt contended for, — then I wdll call your 
 
UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 24:1 
 
 attention to some facts, tliat will not indeed create tliis 
 doubt ; — no, they will create no doubt whatever about 
 it, — but an absolute certainty that Paul Winnot did not 
 perpetrate the foul deed. It is in evidence that there 
 were signs of a struggle about the body of the de- 
 ceased, — that the ball entered just below the breast- 
 bone, and ranging upward, pierced his heart, — that 
 there Avas no other mark or bruise upon his person. 
 In my hand here," said he, receiving a rifle from the 
 sherifi* "is the gun, by which the shooting is alleged 
 to have been done. You can see for yourselves, that 
 it is one of those old-fashioned rifles full five feet in 
 length. Look at it well ; — and you A\dll at once per- 
 ceive that there is no possible position, in which a 
 man could be placed, except upon his hack, that a ball 
 from this rifle, in the hands of one confrontino- him, 
 could enter below the breast- bone, and ramjiny u^j- 
 icard^ lodye in the- heart. If Winnot shot Wolfe with 
 this rifle, the latter either laid down, before he received 
 the death -wound, or was knocked down. He certainlv 
 was not knocked down, — for there was not a bruise 
 or scratch anywhere upon his body, showing that he 
 had received a blow; — and I will leave it for you, as 
 sensible men, to say whether or not he complacently 
 and politely, placed himself at full length upon the 
 ground, in order that \Yinnot might stand at his feet, 
 and shoot him through the heart. 
 
 "Gentlemen of the jury : tlie ball that killed Eufus 
 Wolfe was fired from a pistol, and it was fired while 
 he was engaged in a struggle with the assassin. The 
 
242 UNDEE THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 foot-marks around the body, and tlie direction of the 
 ball after entering it, establish the correctness of this 
 idea beyond all question ; — and consequently I have 
 no hesitation in assertins: — althouo-h I failed to o-et 
 conclusive evidence upon this point, — that he was 
 killed for the money he had upon liis person, b}^ some 
 one, who knew it was there. And, in conclusion," 
 exclaimed Guy, with a not unpardonable piece of clap- 
 trap, as he raised his voice until its clear and ring- 
 ing tones "filled every part of the large and densely 
 crowded room, "if this court, contrary to my belief 
 and expectation, should allow the State, backed by 
 wealth and power, in the face of all justice and right, 
 to crush, this unfortunate and friendless old man, I 
 shall regard it as a court organized, under such cir- 
 cumstances, simply to convict, — and this hall, which, 
 ought to be the refuge of the innocent, when poor and 
 weak, not less than when rich, and strong, as — at least 
 for the former class — but little more than a vestibule 
 to the penitentiary and a trap-door to the gibbet." 
 
 The District attorney closed the argument for the 
 state. After laying the facts before the jury, as was 
 done in the opening speech of his associate, proving, 
 as he urged, that the prisoner, and no one else, could 
 have done the killing, he took up those, upon which. 
 Guy had founded bis defence. In commenting on 
 them, he had the manliness to say, that his mind had 
 never been especially directed to them before, — that 
 he desired the jury to weigh them well in considering 
 their verdict, — and that while he did not want the 
 
UNDER THE MAGXOLIA. 243 
 
 guilty to escape, he was as far as the counsel on the 
 other side, or the jury, or any oth.er man, from de- 
 siring the punishment of an innocent person. The 
 charge of the judge was short, but apparentlj^ satis- 
 factory all round, as no objection Avas made to it, and 
 no additional charge asked. The jury was out but a 
 few minutes: they returned with a verdict of "not 
 guilty." And so happily and successfully ended Guy 
 Brentworth's first assay at the bar. 
 
244 UXDEK THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 So I to her; and so she yields to me: 
 For I am rough, and W(jo not like a balie. 
 And to couelnde — we 'greed so well together, 
 That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Guy opened a law office in Yirginia City. Pie de- 
 termined to make tliat place his home, and so wrote 
 to his uncle. The bread he had cast upon the w^aters 
 returned to him before many days had passed, and 
 returned too, vastly and unexpectedly enlarged. Busi- 
 ness in his profession flowed to him almost as easily 
 and naturally as rivers do to the sea. To him it 
 seemed almost like a work of magic ; and yet there 
 was nothing whatever remarkable about his success. 
 It was onl}^ such as had frequently followed just such 
 single-minded and single-hearted exertions on the part 
 of other men, — and especially other men of his pecu- 
 liar profession. A single volunteer-speech has made 
 many a young lawyer famous, and been tlie means of 
 loading him with business, and filling his purse with 
 guineas. 
 
 Paul Winnot, who was not only once more a free 
 
UNDER THE MAG^OLIA. 245 
 
 mail, but a Happy man, — for those, who, through ig- 
 norance and prejudice, had so relentlessly persecuted 
 him, were now emulous in assisting and befriending 
 him, — had written to his old friend, Hubert Brent- 
 worth, a full account of the trial, and its results. It 
 may readily be imagined that Guj^, in the letter, ob- 
 tained all the praise to which he was entitled, and 
 perhaps a few grains more than a strictly conscien- 
 tious outside man would have esteemed just and hon- 
 est AveJoht. 
 
 Guy w^as sitting in his office one morning, a few 
 days after the trial, wdien Melton came in. The lat- 
 ter had evidently paid scrupulous attention to his 
 dress, and was looking unusually well. 
 
 " I haven't been to see Wiiinot since his acquittal," 
 he observed upon his entrance, — "I am going out to- 
 day." 
 
 "Going to see Winnot! " — said Guy, looking him all 
 over; — "I rather think you are going to see Winnot's 
 daughter." 
 
 "Yes," — answered Melton, — "I intend to have the 
 explanation now that I ought to have had some time 
 ago. I want to take her down to the ranche next 
 week." 
 
 " You speak pretty confidently," remarked Guy, — 
 " but you had better look out. There is no calcula- 
 ting upon the action of a woman, jow know." 
 
 "There is npon the action of snch a woman as 
 Jenny Winnot," replied Melton; — "1 can't call her 
 by that other name." 
 
"246 UXDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 " Well, it seems you were unable to do so with 
 certainty even there, or, she never would have borne 
 that other name, which you so much dislike/' 
 
 "Certain figures that ought to have been considered 
 in that calculation," answered Melton, — "the arrest of 
 Winnot, for instance, and the destitution and friend- 
 lessness of Jenny afterwards, — were unavoidably left 
 out. Hence the failure. It will be all right now. 
 Mind what I tell you — Jenny will go with me down 
 the country next week, as Mrs. Philip Melton." 
 
 " I hope so," responded Guy. 
 
 Melton left. Three hours later he might have been 
 seen seated by the fire, — for the day was cold, — in Paul' 
 Winnot's kitchen. The old man was not at home ; 
 and Jenny being engaged upon some household du- 
 ties, and the kitchen, where she was employed, being 
 the most comfortable part of the house at the time, 
 he had followed her to it. Melton observed how well 
 arranged and neat everything was around him, — the 
 floor, tables, chairs and shelves, — and that the few 
 articles of tin-ware upon the board above the fire- 
 place, shone like burnished silver. Jenny was stand- 
 ing at a table ironing a piece of lace ; and her two 
 black eyes now and then brightly glanced from it to 
 him, as he spoke, or she replied. There is but little 
 work that some ladies can do about a house, which 
 shows them off to such advantage, as that in which 
 Jenny was engaged. If they have grace of person 
 and of action, — both are here displayed in their ut- 
 most perfection. At any rate, so thought Phil. Mel- 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 247 
 
 ton, as lie looked at the trim figure of Jenny, who 
 leaning easily over the table, made the iron glide 
 swiftly and noiselessly, to and fro, over the delicate 
 and beautiful feminine stuff spread out before her. 
 
 "Jenny!" — abruptly spoke he at length, as she 
 bent over her work, — " did you know when you and 
 I were last together in this room, that I loved you, 
 and that I had loved you almost from the moment 
 of our first meeting ? No womanly hesitation or eva- 
 sions now, Jenny! — speak right out!" 
 
 Her back was to him ; and she was stooping over 
 the table. She did not look up, as she replied : " no, 
 Phil, — I did not. How should I? — You never told 
 me." 
 
 "Well, — I thought you knew all about it. Of 
 course then you didn't know that, at that very time, I 
 was preparing to go down the country, to fix up 
 a home, which I hoped you might be induced to 
 accept." 
 
 "No, I knew nothing of that. You were gone a 
 long time. I heard nothing from you for nearly two 
 months. I even thought you had gone off to stay." 
 "For two months!" said Melton; — "then you did 
 hear something of me, during my absence. What 
 was it ? " 
 
 "Yes, — after the great trouble came upon us, — and 
 father was taken to prison, — leaving me all alone here, 
 and miserable, — I heard that in a fight with some 
 Indians you had been killed." 
 
 "I thought so; — and the Browns told you?" 
 
248 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 "No," answered Jemij qiiickly — "not the Browns. 
 AYilliam Brown did, but not Fred. I will explain it 
 all to you. Fred, had talked to me of marriage before 
 you went away. I, however, gave him no encourage- 
 ment. A few days after father's arrest, he and Wil- 
 liam called at the house here. William told me he 
 had just seen one of the men, who were with you, 
 when you were wounded, and that joii Avere certainly 
 dead. I looked at Fred., who said you had been badly 
 hurt, — that was all he had heard, — he had not seen 
 the man, avIio had given the information to his 
 brother. Oh ! those miserable — miserable days ! — and 
 those still more miserable and fearful nights ! You 
 know there are no persons, except the Wolfes, living 
 within two or three miles of this place. Not a soul 
 came near me. I believed I should q;o mad. I knew 
 I liked Fred. ; but I never thought of love, — in my 
 distraction I could not think of but one thing, and 
 that was the necessity of getting away from this hor- 
 rible place. And when Fred, asked me again to marry 
 him, which he did at this visit, I consented." After 
 a pause, during which she regained her composure, 
 she said: "For the few weeks that I was his wife, he 
 was most attentive and kind to me : and he would 
 have assisted father with all the money he could have 
 raised, had he lived. No, Fred, did not tell me you 
 were dead. You must not do him that injustice." 
 
 "I knew you had heard something about me, — and 
 I was sure you had heard it from the Browns. I have 
 seen the man, who told Bill Brown I was wounded. 
 
UXDEE THE MAGNOLIA. 24:9 
 
 and he says lie informed liim, at the same time, that 
 the wound was not at all dangerous, and that I would 
 be up and about in a few days. So that when Bill 
 spoke to you on the subject, he knew he was telling 
 a falsehood, and I fear Fred. Brown knew it too. 
 Well, — it can't be helped now. Let it pass, and be 
 
 forgotten . But that home, Jenny ! — it's beautiful 
 
 — mountains — woods — streams — prairies — fine cattle 
 and horses — cosy house in a cluster of splendid old 
 trees near the water's edge, — it will just suit you ! A 
 loving heart, of which you have long been the mis- 
 tress, wishes to make you the mistress of this home, 
 — will you come ? " He arose, and stood looking at 
 her eagerly, with his hand extended. 
 
 "I will come, Phil.," replied Jenny, almost in a 
 whisper, turning her face from him, and looking out 
 of the window. 
 
 "Xext week? — I am going to have your father 
 break up here, where he and you have had so much 
 trouble, and go with me." 
 
 "Yes," answered Jenny, leaving the window, and 
 placing her hand in his, which he still held out to 
 her, — "next week if you wish." 
 
 That autumn saw the wanderer, Phil. Melton, set- 
 tled — and happily settled for life, — and the sorrows 
 of the frank and true-hearted Jenny Winnot and her 
 good old father at an end. 
 
250 UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIY. 
 
 To satisfy a father's vow, she feared not death, 
 Though, like a monster, grim and fierce, 
 In cavern black, he glared at her. 
 
 The Maid of Devox. 
 
 Under the magnolia once more. It was a cloudless 
 night of the same autumn, though later in the season, 
 that had witnessed the entrance of Guj into Virginia 
 Citj. The full-orbed moon, high in the eastern heav- 
 ens, was flooding every object about Fairslope with 
 pearly splendor. The leaves, which had not yet lost 
 their bright green tints, were rustling in the steady 
 night-breeze from the Gulf, with that indescribable 
 sound that seems to herald the approach of winter. 
 Far away — rising and falling — now full and distinct, 
 then subsiding into something like the faintest echo, 
 — could be heard the chorus of a negro melody — notes 
 so deliciously musical when mellowed by distance, — 
 as they were sung with unconscious iteration by some 
 freedman, who was winding his way homeward from 
 the field. 
 
 A storm had recently passed over Fairslope, by 
 which some damage had been done to the houses and 
 
UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 251 
 
 grounds. A few trees had been uprooted, that had 
 not yet been removed. They could be seen lying 
 along the slope next to the Gulf. The tower had been 
 stripped of part of its metallic roofing ; and the masts 
 and rio^Q^ino^ of the old sailor's favorite weather-vane 
 had been twisted and broken. Workmen had been 
 brought from Pensacola to make the necessary re- 
 pairs. The rope ladder used by them in scaling the 
 tower, and the shorter one, reaching from its summit 
 into the vane, could be plainly seen in the bright 
 moonlight. 
 
 Charles Munson and Hubert Brent worth, as they 
 sat on the bench under the tree, were looking toward 
 the house across the way, and were talking of Grace. 
 The young girl had taken the departure of Guy, under 
 the iron-decree of her father, and his subsequent self- 
 banishment to the wilds of the West, very quietly. 
 She bore it indeed too uncomplainingly ; — that which 
 allayed apprehension in the beginning, ought to have 
 awakened it. A shade less of color, of brightness, of 
 elasticity, was discernible in cheek and eye and step — 
 that was all ! But as months wore on, her fair young 
 face grew thin and pale — the change adding to the 
 delicacy and transparency of its beauty, — while the 
 expression became so elevated and refined, in its gen- 
 tleness and purity, under the influence of suffering and 
 resignation, that it appeared almost seraphic. . Her 
 strength, too, gradually failed, until she manifested a 
 listlessness, — a weariness, — succeeding the slightest 
 exertion, that aroused the most painful fears on the 
 
252 UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 part of her devoted old father. He took her and 
 Mary on a business trip with him to Havana and 
 Mobile, — followed by an extended tour through the 
 larger cities of the South. The last summer had been 
 passed by them in the mountains of Virginia. They 
 had but lately returned to Fairslope ; — and Grace was 
 now really ill. 
 
 Hubert Brent worth had never spoken of Guy to 
 the old sailor, since the latter's impatient and denun- 
 ciatory exclamation to him, upon the subject of the 
 proposed marriage, heretofore recorded. As they sat 
 there, looking at the lights flashing from the windows 
 of his mansion — in one room of which laj^ Grace — 
 Charles Munson, under the overwhelming influence of 
 his apprehensions with regard to her, was desirous of 
 directing the conversation in such a channel as would 
 compel Hubert Brentworth to allude to his nephew 
 and his prospects. While thinking, in a pause of the 
 conversation, how this could most easily and naturally 
 be done, he was startled by hearing his companion 
 exclaim : 
 
 "My God, what is that?" and looking in the direc- 
 tion indicated by the outstretched arm and quivering 
 finger, he saw rising from the roof of his house, some- 
 thing so white and airy, that, to his astonished eyes, 
 it seemed at first to be nothino; more than a wreath 
 of mist or vapor. The shadowy appearance having 
 evidently emerged from the trap-door, stood for a 
 moment motionless upon the balustraded platform on 
 the crest of the roof, — it then glided along this, passed 
 
UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 253 
 
 swiftly over the steps of the dome, up the ladder 
 swinging from the top of the tower, and immediately 
 afterward was seen to raise itself into the ship. The 
 whole was the work of only a few seconds ; and be- 
 fore either of the astounded spectators thought of 
 moving or speaking, the object upon which their eyes 
 were fastened, commenced its ]'apid descent. The old 
 sailor now hastened over to his house, and meeting 
 Mary in the hall, asked for Grace. 
 
 "She is in her room asleep," answered Marj^ alarmed 
 at his manner. 
 
 "Go and see," ejaculated he, — and seizing a lamp, 
 he hurried up the stairway, followed closely by Hubert 
 Brentworth. They had nearly reached the foot of the 
 steps leading to the trap-door, when they perceived a 
 mass of white draperj^ coming down. Brentworth, 
 seeing it was Grace, pressed the father's arm, and whis- 
 pering him to be quiet, drew him slightly to one side, 
 that she might pass without interruption. She moved 
 with a noiseless step, — her eyes being wide open, and 
 apparently looking directly and intently ahead. When 
 the old sailor, following her receding figure, entered 
 her room, she was lying in bed sleeping as easily and 
 placidly as an infant. 
 
 Hubert Brentworth remained in the hall. He 
 
 seated himself at a table, and drawing a lamp to him, 
 
 began to look over a letter, which he had taken from 
 
 his pocket. He expressed no surprise to Charles Mun- 
 
 son, upon his return from Grace's chamber, at her 
 
 remarkable and dangerous feat of somnambulism, — 
 but simply said : 
 
2o4: UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 
 
 "You will recollect, Charlie, that about eighteen 
 months ago, in this hall, you told me that Guy should 
 not have Grace — that you would see her in Jericho 
 first. To-night," continued he slowly, almost solemn- 
 ly, ^^you have seen her there! — now read that," and he 
 placed in Charles Munson's hands the open letter, 
 which was the one that Winnot had written him about 
 the trial in Virginia City. There was a moisture 
 about the old sailor's ej^e, when he received it, whicK 
 was formed into a tear that rolled down his cheek as 
 he read it. He folded it up and handed it back, as 
 Hubert Brentworth rose from the chair. 
 
 "Hubert," said he, "write to Guy, and tell him 
 that Grace — that all of us want to see him. Good 
 night ! " 
 
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 255 
 
 CHAPTEK XY. 
 
 Tlie treasni-es of the deep are not so precious 
 As are the concealed comforts of a man 
 Locked np in woman's love. I scent the air 
 Of Idessings, when I come but near the house. 
 Wliat a delicious breath marriage sends forth — 
 The violet bed's not sweeter. 
 
 MiDDLETON 
 
 Under the magnolia for the last time ! Guy was 
 there ; and Grace, blooming like one, who had never 
 known sorrow ; and Mary, Charles Munson and Hu- 
 bert Brentworth. It was spring again — the spring 
 succeeding Grace's airy exploit — near the close of the 
 season. They were all happy, and all well, except 
 Hubert Brentworth. He had been feeble for several 
 weeks — not exactly sick — but failing. He was half- 
 sitting — half-reclining in a large, easy chair, propped 
 up by pillows. Guy and Grace had been married 
 about three months. 
 
 "Guy," asked Hubert Brentworth, "what do you 
 think of a wife now ? You can't have forgotten what 
 you said to me, when I first spoke to you of marriage 
 under this very tree. How about the Jezebel — eh ? " 
 queried the old man, faintly smiling. 
 
256 UXDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 "Ah!" replied Giw, "I didn't know what I was 
 talking about then. I have learned many things since 
 that time. What do I think of a wife?" added he, 
 looking lip from his chair into the tine eyes of Grace, 
 who was standing rather behind him, and leaning 
 upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Do your best, Guy, — give us your impressions 
 upon that important subject," said Mary archly, "in 
 your happiest vein." 
 
 "What do I think of a wife?" and he was now 
 looking dreamily far away over the waters of the Gulf. 
 "Let me look at woman, then, in the relation of wife, 
 disconnected from the others, which she may, and 
 generally does, fill in this life. It is a common saying 
 that there is nothins; on earth so beautiful as the love 
 of a mother for the tender nurselino- restins; like a 
 sweet bad upon her bosom — it is so absorbing — self- 
 denying — self-forgetting. But, indeed, in its pure 
 unselfishness, — and herein consists the beauty of all 
 love, — that of the wife far transcends it. In the for- 
 mer case the woman receives what she conceives to be 
 full compensation for all the affection, which she so 
 lavishly bestows upon her child — in the winning ways 
 and artless prattle of the infant-cherub — in watching 
 the bud expand into the flower, under the gentle dews 
 of her fostering care, and the genial sunshine of her 
 smiling ministrations, and in the bright hopes of a 
 happy future for her darling ever present to her mind. 
 Herein, I repeat, she feels herself amply repaid for all 
 her great love. But how often does the wife 'love 
 
UXDER THE MAGXOLIA. 257 
 
 fondl}^ on to the close,' witli no return of affection, or, 
 at best, but a faint and imperfect return to her sad- 
 dened and yearning heart. Her love, Avith her hand, 
 is given to one most unworthy of such treasure ; and 
 it is maintained through long years of suffering and 
 neglect, without change, or shadow of change, — or, if 
 changed at all, it is only in growing deeper, intenser, 
 and stronger, the more thickly misfortunes come to 
 her desolate hearth. And even when, according to 
 
 the world's thought, her love is worthily bestowed 
 
 alas !— frequently— frequently, her wifely devotion is 
 met by indifference— an indifference, which, if it does 
 not always spring from a heart destitute of feeling, 
 springs from one so engrossed by worldly cares and 
 desires, that to her it has all the appearance of utter 
 callousness, — and yet she is ever found acting the part 
 of the Patient Griselda, whose story is so touchingly 
 told by the Gierke of Oxenforde. Washington Irvino- 
 — m one of the most charming of his sketches — has 
 described most beautifully and truthfully a woman's 
 love for the one to whom she has trustingly confided 
 her all at the altar — comparing her to the vine 
 twining its graceful foliage about the thunder-riven 
 oak, and binding up its shattered boughs with caress- 
 ing tendrils; but, in the picture painted by that 
 masterly artist, although there was calamity upon the 
 head of the man, there was love in his heart — a love 
 for his wife, that disaster could neither crush nor hide. 
 If Ave Avould, however, fully appreciate a Avife's love, 
 let us vpw her, clinging, as she not unfrequently does, 
 
258 UNDER THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 to the man, like ttie vine clasping the tree rotten to 
 the core, and tottering to its fall, while she endeavors 
 to conceal from prying eyes, by the leaves and flowers 
 of a fond and watchful assiduity, the unsoundness of 
 her support ; and, let us look at that love, resting, as, 
 alas ! — it is often seen to rest, in this world, upon a 
 heart of ice, — and yet blooming in beauty, like the 
 'flowers of loveliest blue' that 'skirt the eternal frosts' 
 of Alpine solitudes. Ah ! — a wife's love — a wife's 
 love ! Its depths are unfathomable, — its beauty in- 
 describable. Words can never do justice to it, though 
 linked together like pearls by the brightest poetic 
 fancy, and directed by the purest human insight into 
 the great human heart." Then turning to Grace, he 
 said fondly : 
 
 "Close — closer to me still, my wife, — 
 My hope, my joy, my strength, my life, — 
 Oh ! — in this world of evil rife, 
 
 Without thee I should be, 
 Like a ship without a spar, — 
 Like a night without a star, — 
 And with leaves and branches bare, 
 
 Like a blasted tree." 
 
 Turning now to Mary, he remarked laughingly, but 
 at the same time somewhat sadly: "That is my final 
 farewell to the profitless trade of verse-making. It is 
 right that a rhymester, in all the lines composed by 
 him, should S]:e.ik truth, if not poetry. This I have 
 always attempted. I am sure I have done so here." 
 
 Guy said no more. A smile of satisfaction was upon 
 
UNDEK THE MAGNOLIA. 259 
 
 his uncle's face ; and his eyes were peacefully closed, 
 as his head, with its thin covering of shining gray 
 hair, leaning a little on one side, rested lightly on the 
 pillow. He did not speak ; — and a magnolia-bloom 
 fell from the tree-top, and fluttering in snowy white- 
 ness at his feet; exhaled all around him its richest 
 perfume. Guy arose and laid his hand upon the old 
 man's forehead. The touch told him that he stood 
 in the presence of death. The awe-stricken group 
 gathered the sad tidings from his white face raised, 
 and his trembling hand pointing, to heaven. Hnbert 
 Brentworth was indeed dead ; he must have breathed 
 his last, about the time Guy ceased speaking, as he 
 was noticed with his eyes tenderly fixed upon Grace 
 only a moment before. He died happy, — happy in 
 the consciousness of earthly labors well performed, 
 and in the knowledge of Guy's present joy and pros- 
 pective usefulness. In life he had discharged all of a 
 christian's duty, — and in death he was blessed with 
 all of a christian's hope. With his pure spirit let the 
 reader bid adieu to Fairslope forever. 
 
 THE EXD. 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wilmer 
 960