University of California Berkeley 
 
 The Theodore H. Koundakjian 
 
 Collection 
 of American Humor 
 
WRITINGS 
 
 OP 
 
 DR. GEORGE W. BAGBYJ 
 
SELECTIONS 
 
 FKOM 
 
 THE MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS 
 
 OF 
 
 DR. GEORGE . BAGBY. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 RICHMOND, VA.: 
 
 -WHITTET & SHEPPERSON, COR. IOTH & MAIN STREETS, 
 1884. 
 
COPYRIGHT 
 
 BY 
 MRS. GEORGE W. BAGBY. 
 
 1884. 
 
 Printed by Bound by 
 
 WHITTET & SHEPPERSON, JEXKINS & WALTHAL, 
 
 Richmond, Ya. Richmond, Ta. 
 
TOI57 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 ~TTN presenting to the public the Selections front 
 -"*" the Writings of Dr. Bagby which appear in this 
 volume, the compilers desire to say that the purpose 
 they have had in view has been more to exhibit the 
 varied and widely diverse fields in which his mind 
 sought pasturage, and to illustrate the great versa- 
 tility of style in which his thoughts found utterance, 
 than to give place only to those productions of his 
 pen which, at their first appearance, were received 
 with the strongest evidences of general favor. They 
 are therefore prepared for many expressions of dis- 
 appointment that the selections do not include this 
 or that article which some particular reader desired 
 to see, in preference to any or all, perhaps, that the 
 book contains. The result, they are persuaded, would 
 not have been different, however much the contents 
 of the volume, restrained within its present compass, 
 
VI ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 had been varied. The disappointed, though not the 
 same in person, would probably not have been fewer 
 in number. But from the encouragement given in 
 advance to the present publication, by a subscription 
 which has taken up nearly the whole edition, they 
 feel warranted in believing that they may yet meet 
 the desires of all by the production of one or more 
 additional volumes, for which the material, some of 
 which has never been in print, is abundant. They 
 willingly put themselves at the service of the public 
 in the matter, and will be governed by such evi- 
 dences of the general wish as may reach them. Per- 
 haps it may not be considered out of place if they 
 use the present opportunity to suggest that all per- 
 sons w r ho may desire to be considered subscribers to 
 a second volume, uniform in size, style and price with 
 this, forward their orders at once. 
 
 In referring to the admirable biographical and 
 critical sketch of the author, for which they are 
 indebted to the graceful and scholarly pen of Rev. 
 Mr. Gregory, the compilers feel constrained to say 
 that the allusions which it contains personal to them- 
 selves appear under that gentleman's explicit injunc- 
 tion that they should not be omitted or changed. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. Vli 
 
 For the information of those who never saw the 
 author, it may be worth while to add that the like- 
 ness of him which accompanies the volume is as 
 nearly perfect as such things can ever be. 
 
 Communications may be addressed to 
 
 MBS. GEORGE W. BAGBY, 
 
 Richmond, Va. . 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, . . .... xiii 
 
 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN, 1 
 
 JOHN M. DANIEL'S LATCH-KEY, . . . . . 56 
 
 THE VIRGINIA EDITOR, ...... 109 
 
 CANAL REMINISCENCES, 122 
 
 THE SACRED FURNITURE WAREROOMS, . . . 142 
 
 MY VILE BEARD, 149 
 
 CORNFIELD PEAS, 173 
 
 MY UNCLE FLATBACK'S PLANTATION, .... 193 
 
 MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES, . . . 233 
 
 FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX, 247 
 
 A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS, 261 
 
 MEEKINS'S TWINSES, 273 
 
 IT is OMNIPOTENT, 284 
 
 SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA, 303 
 
 THE PAWNEE WAR, 322 
 
 FLIZE, 333 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 CHARGE TO THE KNIGHTS AT A PYTHIAN TOURNAMENT 
 
 AT KlCHMOND, ON THE 4TH OF JULY, . . . 336 
 
 THE EECOED OF VIRGINIA, 341 
 
 UvWiMMiN, 352 
 
 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR, 360 
 
 JUD. BROWNIN'S ACCOUNT OF RUBENSTEIN'S PLAYING, . 392 
 
 THE EMPTY SLEEVE, ....... 399 
 
 AFTER APPOMATTOX, 402 
 
* What would'st thou have the great good man obtain ? 
 
 Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends ! 
 Hath he not always riehes always friends 
 The great good man ? Three treasures, love, and light, 
 And calm thoughts, equable as an infant's breath ; 
 And three fast friends, more sure than day or night, 
 Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death ! " 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY, 
 
 BY EDWAKD S. GKEGOBT. 
 
 call of death has often proved an evangel to 
 the man of letters in more than one way. Out- 
 side the small circle of his personal tangency, such a 
 laborer is known to the public mainly through one 
 or the other of two ways, which are equally open to 
 the liability of unjust misunderstanding. One class 
 of people among those who read are led by their 
 ignorance to find in every production of the literary 
 artist the reflection of personal experience, or the 
 rehearsal of some theory or opinion called forth by 
 conditions of supposed individual application. To 
 these bad judges all literary composition is subject- 
 ive, and the historian of heroes must needs be a 
 hero, and the poet of sentiment must needs be a lover. 
 On the other hand, there is a school whose cynicism 
 conducts to an exactly opposite error. The writer 
 is an actor, say these ; he can argue any cause, he 
 can feign any emotion. And they believe, or affect 
 to believe, that his character is to be read from his 
 books, as Hebrew is translated from its text, by 
 reading backwards. 
 
XIV GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 Neither of these broad rules is true, as, indeed, 
 there is no broad rule that is true, unless with large 
 and liberal exceptions. Least of all can any strict 
 measure be applied to the moods and emanations of 
 genius, the range of whose vision is so much higher 
 and wider than that of the makers of any such rigid 
 canons. Yet from the infliction and endurance of 
 this injustice the man of genius may not wholly hope 
 to escape, till his soul ascends "to where, beyond 
 these voices, there is peace." 
 
 When death comes, there is added a new comfort 
 to that of relief and release from the throes of in- 
 tellectual labor and the inner spiritual conflict be- 
 tween the sea and the sun. The veil, as at the in- 
 auguration of some stately statue, falls suddenly away, 
 withdrawn by the hand of the angel; and to guess 
 and gossip, to report and misrepresentation, succeeds 
 the fair image of THE MAN, as life made and framed 
 him, and as death found and left him, in the true 
 lineaments and fast colors which Time himself shall 
 but render more clear and firm. 
 
 The subject of this sketch, though widely known 
 throughout the Republic, and for years a dear guest 
 in many homes of Virginia, though he loved and 
 sought society, shared the same fate of misconcep- 
 tion, or of inadequate conception, till death drew the 
 veil and revealed the true proportions of his mental 
 and moral manhood. The nominis umbra of fame 
 now gives way to a more sacred and more precious 
 personality, as through the hallowed tapers that light 
 the tomb, it is seen that even the powers of a great 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. XV 
 
 intellect, greatly enriched and greatly employed, are 
 eclipsed by the graces and private virtues that "smell 
 sweet and blossom in the dust." 
 
 The main facts that punctuate the life and literary 
 labors of GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY may be briefly re- 
 cited. The career of the man and the litterateur was 
 largely professional, and may be left to find popular 
 interpretation from the list and order of his works. 
 The present volume introduces these but imperfectly 
 and in part to the reading w^orld. But if it fulfil its 
 mission, and if the present generation prove able to 
 appreciate and admire the mingled idyl and epic in 
 which Dr. Bagby has embalmed the heroic and po- 
 etic Virginia of the past, some image may be formed, 
 some memory quickened of one to whom many sins, 
 if such there were, should be remitted "for he 
 loved much." It is a service whose benison will af- 
 fect all the future of Virginia, however little it may 
 be realized, to recall a high spirit which was faithful 
 to the purest ideals in the midst of wasting infirmi- 
 ties and distresses ; a spirit, not inferior to Milton's in 
 the intensity of its " unbought loyalty," whose passion 
 was lavished on home, on fatherland, and on free- 
 dom, on objects whose beauty wrought a changeless 
 spell on one of the chastest of imaginations, and 
 whose riches took, in the eyes of the patriot and de- 
 votee, the place which titles, power, and wealth exact 
 from the coarse and the common-hearted. 
 
 Such a lover of the past, for the mere sake of the 
 beautiful good buried with it ; such a patriot, in an 
 unselfish life-battle, as the champion and crusader in 
 
XVI GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 behalf of these lapsed and unvalued virtues ; such a 
 poet, in the divine power which lay in him of fol- 
 lowing the thread of gold through all the cloth of 
 frieze which so often obscures it, was the dead 
 Bagby. Cross and crown are graven together on the 
 column which keeps guard over his ashes ; and the 
 good sword is dust and rust. It remains to those 
 who mount watch over his name, his memory, and 
 his works, to tell the world the story of the sacrifices 
 and services through which he attained his victory 
 and Te Deum. 
 
 Dr. Bagby was born in the very heart of Virginia, 
 in the county of Buckingham, on August 13th, 1828. 
 The section in which he first saw the light was char- 
 acteristic of the man. It lies at the roots of the 
 Blue Ridge; its social traits and genealogies are of 
 the East, and its location, though south of the 
 James, is near the natural continuation of the great 
 Valley. In short, it stood and stands next the very 
 heart of the Old Dominion, and was the fit mother 
 of one whose Virginia had no solar nor polar points. 
 In one respect, especially, Buckingham was rich : in 
 the facilities it afforded for the study of the pecu- 
 liarities of negro dialect, fetich, and other and all 
 racial idiosyncrasies. Never was there an apter 
 pupil than the boy Bagby, since George Borrow 
 made himself master of the Romany Lil. There 
 have been quick and sympathetic geniuses, as Mr. 
 Joel Harris, Mrs. Stabler, Mrs. Champney, and oth- 
 ers, who reduced the negro patois very near to a 
 science both of accuracy and insight ; but it may be 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBT. XV11 
 
 doubted whether our dead friend did not know the- 
 Yirginia negroes more fully and deeply than even 
 these. They made to his eyes a large part of the 
 landscape of the Rome that waa; they gave it at 
 once a poetic and a pathetic element of interest; 
 they illustrated the principle of Emerson's theory of 
 -contrasts : 
 
 " Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, 
 Of thee from the hill top looking down." 
 
 But, beyond all, they tendered the claim of helpless- 
 ness, of ignorance, and of dependence ; and to that 
 appeal one of the most tender hearts among Chris- 
 tians never failed to respond with tears. 
 
 As Boeotia was the right home of Pindar and Tyr- 
 tseus, so was this central county, with its wealth of 
 black diamonds of every hue and form of originality 
 and individuality, the right school for one who was 
 destined to prove no less than the very Dickens and 
 Shakespeare of the Virginia negro. 
 
 Dr. Bagby's father was a merchant of Lynchburg ; 
 his mother's maiden name was Evans a patronymic 
 that reappears in the letters of Mozis Addums. 
 From his childhood George Bagby was a victim of 
 incurable dyspepsia, as may be read in the " Canal 
 Reminiscences" and he might any time have adopted 
 the language which John Randolph addressed to his 
 attendant as he lay dying in Philadelphia : " Doctor, 
 I have been sick all my life." He celebrates the 
 disease in the humorous verses entitled " Phil. 
 Jones's," and all his life was an unequal battle with 
 
XV111 GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 it, though doubtless, as in Carlyle's case, its very 
 misery may have acted as a mental stimulation. Dr. 
 Bagby was educated at Princeton, N". J., and at 
 Newark, Del., under the tuition of the late Dr. John 
 S. Hart, one of the best of men and of teachers, who 
 gave him an honored place in the Professor's Manual 
 of American Literature (pp. 452453). At the end 
 of his sophomore year in Delaware College, young 
 Bagby (now eighteen years old) began the study of 
 medicine, and in due time took his regular degree of 
 M. D. at the University of Pennsylvania, at Philadel- 
 phia. He then removed to Lynchburg, where his 
 father lived, to practice, and he hung out his sign in 
 front of a tenement that then stood on the site of the 
 now stately Opera House of that city. But it may 
 be doubted if really he ever attended half a dozen 
 cases. His was the experience of the poet Keats, in 
 more than one way repeated ; for both had the same 
 educational advantages, each abandoned the profes 
 sion of medicine for that of letters, and both, long 
 years after, would often astonish the regular adepts 
 in the art by the range and accuracy of their techni- 
 cal knowledge.* By a law, however, as sure as that 
 which rules the courses of gravitation, Bagby soon 
 found, without seeking, the career for which every 
 endowment of nature had copiously prepared and 
 deliberately dedicated him. The Virginian of Lynch- 
 burg, founded in 1808, was then edited by James 
 McDonald, Esq., since Secretary of the Common- 
 
 * Cowden Clarke is authority as to Keats ; my own observation 
 as to Dr. Bagby. E. S. G. 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. XIX 
 
 wealth and Adjutant- General of Virginia, to whom,, 
 ten years after, Dr. Bagby wrote the tribute in 
 ^Blue Eyes" that he " was essentially a gentleman." 
 To him, as to a kindred, even brother spirit, in cul- 
 ture and humanity, the young and eccentric stranger 
 was naturally magnetized. Those were the good old 
 days when people had plenty of elbow-room. When 
 the editor was absent, his friend took his place ; and 
 under this gate-way of locum tenens Dr. Bagby made 
 his way upon the stage which he afterwards so widely 
 and so luminously filled. It was a happy omen that,, 
 on the appearance of his very first contribution, an edi- 
 torial article on Christmas, the town was taken by 
 storm, and saw, as was said of Macaulay's Milton, that 
 a new star had risen above the horizon. But "the 
 Dean could write beautifully about a broom-stick ;" 
 and there followed a description of the snow-coasting 
 down St. Paul's Hill in Lynchburg, and an account 
 of a skating adventure, both humorously ascribed to 
 Alex. McDonald, Esq., and the former afterwards 
 embodied in the story of " Blue Eyes" that gave 
 token of a new and idiomatic phase of pictorial genius. 
 Sketch after sketch rapidly followed, some of which 
 are included in this volume, and all of which are as 
 well worthy to live as the earlier essays of Thackeray 
 or Lamb ; appearing in the poverty of literary appar- 
 atus in Virginia, for the most part as editorial articles 
 in the Virginian. Among such was the essay en- 
 titled " The Sacred Furniture Warerooms" which 
 neither Addison nor Irving would have disowned, 
 Dr. Bagby has said to the writer that his literary 
 
:XX GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 % 
 
 fertility at that time was prodigious. He must have 
 read ravenously also. Meanwhile, too, he was a man 
 about town, and was known for a genius, and for one 
 who would make, or had indeed already made, a 
 shining mark. 
 
 Labor and fame came crowding upon him suddenly? 
 as the fruit of this local distinction, and from the in- 
 spiration of this local success. Early in the fifties, 
 the Lynchburg Express, a paper founded, and for 
 some years conducted, by the late Hudson Garland, 
 came into the possession of Dr. Bagby and his life-long 
 friend, the late Capt. George Woodville Latham 
 .another rare and lit spirit, too soon involved in the 
 damps of disease and the arrest of death. I have 
 seen issues of this old-time journal; and both its ed- 
 itors were my heart's dear kin. It was worthy of 
 the twin-stars the Castor and Pollux at its head. 
 Bravely and brightly for two or three years the gal- 
 lant young friends discharged their public trust. 
 Other graceful pens diversified and relieved their la- 
 bors. But the business management was neglected 
 or ill-managed; and the Express fortunately for 
 Bagby became numbered among Lynchburg epi- 
 taphs and eclipses. 
 
 During this time, Dr. Bagby wrote several articles 
 that were published in Harper's Magazine. One of 
 these was entitled " My Wife, and My Theory about 
 Wives" a specimen of sentimental extravaganza 
 worthy of the hand which traced the shadowy and 
 sacred image of the lost love of Sir Roger de Cover- 
 ley. Another was entitled " The Virginia Editor" 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. XXI 
 
 and was a burlesque character-sketch of the swagger- 
 ing, duelling and drinking soi-disant "Colonel," who 
 then only too often represented the power of the 
 press in the sunny South. 
 
 It was professedly a caricature ; and it had been 
 shown, before its appearance, as a good joke, to nu- 
 merous journalistic friends. Yet, when it was pub- 
 lished, one of these was induced by other persons to 
 regard it as an assault upon himself. He sent there- 
 upon a challenge, which was promptly accepted;* 
 seconds were named ; Capt. Latham for Bagby, and 
 Roger A. Pry or for the party of the second part. 
 Bladensburg was reached ; the preliminaries were ad- 
 justed, and the principals took position. At this 
 critical moment, a hack arrived containing the Hon. 
 Thomas S. Bocock, then a member of Congress, and 
 a friend of all parties, through whose efforts the 
 quarrel was composed, and everybody sent about hi& 
 pacific business. 
 
 The collapse of the Express gave to each of its- 
 two editors more congenial employment, and an 
 ampler field. Through the influence of Mr. Wm. 
 M. Semple, lately before the associate editor of the 
 Lynchburg Virginian, and at that time correspon- 
 dent at Washington of the New Orleans Crescent, 
 Dr. Bagby was promoted to the latter position ; and, 
 through family influence, Woodville Latham was 
 employed as clerk of the Naval Committee of the 
 House of Representatives. 
 
 * "George had all sorts of good pluck, and plenty of it; he 
 was not afraid of any man's face on earth." Dr. H, G. L. 
 
XXLL GEOKGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 There must have been rare times when these two 
 favored children of the muses were re-united at the 
 capital city. They were worthy of one another, and 
 each celebrated the other in many a grotesque page. 
 Latham was the "X)ans" of the Addums letters, and 
 the Rocky Murdrum of the story of " Blue Eyes" 
 Long years after, ""Woody" gasped ^ Send for 
 George /" and so fell asleep in the arms of his tearful 
 comrade. It was the destiny of one to be a dreamer, 
 a poet ; and not much that he dreamed took a living 
 form; but Bagby must have been a dauntless and 
 indefatigable laborer, and the .mere list of the publi- 
 cations for which he wrote affords proof of his heroic 
 industry and of the fatal fertility of his genius. 
 Besides the Crescent, (in those days, remember, his 
 letters were quasi editorial and had even a greater 
 weight than that of mere local comment), he corres- 
 ponded regularly for the Charleston Mercury and 
 the Richmond Dispatch, and wTOte copiously for the 
 Southern Literary Messenger, and sometimes for the 
 Atlantic Monthly. It was through the medium of 
 the Messenger that he lodged his first deep and popu- 
 lar impression as an humorous writer. It may be 
 questioned whether anything of a racier flavor, free 
 from slang, yet fresh as dawn-dew with idioms of 
 the heart and hearth; whether anything of more 
 sylvan depth and of more natural oddity and sim- 
 plicity ever saw the light, than the " Letters of Mozis 
 Addums to Billy Evans of Kurdsville" in which the 
 society, the man-traps and the wonders of Washing- 
 ton city are described by a rustic writer to a rustic 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. XX111 
 
 friend. The correspondent is represented as visiting 
 the capital to procure a patent for a machine of his 
 invention, for executing his idea of perpetual mo- 
 tion. An amiable and virtuous Irish servant-girl 
 rescues him out of a number of scrapes, and A.ddums 
 ends by marrying her. 
 
 Soon after this performance, John R. Thompson, 
 one of the best beloved of the sons of song, resigned 
 the editorial chair of the Southern Literary Messen- 
 ger ', to become the editor of the Field and Farm, of 
 New York. He was given a complimentary and val- 
 edictory dinner at Zetelle's, by his friends, on May 
 15th, 1860, over which the Hon. William H. Macfar- 
 land presided ; and it was casually mentioned, in the 
 report of the banquet, in the Mewenger for June, that 
 '"among the invited guests were John Esten Cooke, 
 Esq., Dr. H. Grey Latham and Dr. Bagby." The very 
 terms of the announcement signified to- those who 
 were anyway behind the scenes, that Dr. Bagby him- 
 . self had written the account, and that himself had vir- 
 tually already succeeded to the tripod of the magazine 
 from which no less a seer than Edgar A. Poe had 
 -once spoken. And so he had, as the title-page of 
 the next issue announced. Whatever the prestige 
 with which he entered upon the discharge of his du- 
 ties, the pressure and perplexities of the situation 
 were all adverse. In other words, there could be at 
 the South, as at that time, no purely literary work, or 
 literary leisure, when the very air was saturated with 
 politics, and, no more than religion, could literature 
 ^resist its access. Yet the volume of the Messenger 
 
XXIV GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 for 1860 will be found to contain critical and creative 
 work in quite a notable degree, and of a high order 
 of merit. The romaunt of "Blue Eye and Battle- 
 wick" a Christmas story, to some extent, perhaps, an 
 unconscious imitation of Dickens, but altogether sui 
 generis, and like the echoes in Ireland and in Ossian. 
 which repeat what they hear with variations of their 
 own ran through this volume of the Messenger, in 
 five installments: January-May. Dr. Bagby pro- 
 nounced this story a "failure" in after years; but it 
 bears as unmistakable traces of his genius as any of 
 his writings, and is only weak in the too close fidelity 
 to individual specimens in the delineation of his 
 characters. Yet those descriptions were as vivid as 
 if photograph and phonograph had united to catch 
 and fix the minutest traits. Many minor sketches 
 accompanied the unfolding of the " Blue Eyes" story,, 
 and the editorial department was always kept full and. 
 fresh. In it Dr. Bagby defended the rights of the 
 South, till, high over the noises of the press and the 
 clamor of orators, rose suddenly and rudely the 
 sharp thunder from Sumter, and the war was flagrant. 
 Though wholly unfitted, physically, Bagby entered 
 the ranks as a private, and was found with the ear- 
 liest troops who were assembled at Manassas. There, 
 fortunately, he soon attracted the attention of General 
 Beauregard's chief of staff, and was, in part, relieved 
 of duties of which he was incapable, by being de- 
 tailed for clerical work at headquarters. It was not 
 long, however, before his health proved inadequate for 
 even this service, and he was given a final discharge. 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. XXV 
 
 Resuming his profession, he sang the songs of a 
 nation, while others fought its battles and made its 
 laws. 
 
 We write "sang" not unadvisedly, for at this 
 period appeared the one poem of Dr. Bagby's which, 
 marrying the spirit of the Revolution, can never die. 
 His was the mission by it, like the good Froissart, 
 " to encourage all valorous hearts, and to show them 
 honorable examples." If less high and heroic than 
 the ballads of Koerner, there was great quiet strength 
 and stimulation to sacrifice in the strain which lent 
 love and fame to 
 
 " Brave old Tom with the empty sleeve," 
 
 whose lost arm slept in unmarked honor under the 
 Malvern turf. As much as any other, this was the 
 poetic expression of the War of Independence, em- 
 bodying its sacrifice, and summing up many a record 
 of its Helden-'buch. Through every difficulty and 
 over every obstacle the scarcity of paper and 
 skilled labor, the absence of competent assistance of 
 every kind, and the ever dwindling Confederate ra- 
 tion, Dr. Bagby sustained the Messenger till its pro- 
 prietorship changed, in 1864, and then laid down the 
 burden, having fought the good fight with unfalter- 
 ing courage. 
 
 Besides the magazine, Dr. Bagby performed, dur- 
 ing the war, a vast amount of literary and journal- 
 istic work. He was the correspondent, at the Con- 
 federate Capital, of every Southern paper that could 
 secure the favor of being represented by him: the 
 
 3A 
 
XXVI GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 Mobile Register, the Memphis Appeal, the Colum- 
 bus, Ga., Sun, the Charleston Mercury, and others,, 
 besides his regular service for some years as editorial 
 contributor to the Richmond Whig, of which his 
 friend McDonald had become the editor. His bold- 
 ness of comment on the course of events within the 
 ill-starred Confederacy led him to write occasionally 
 for the Richmond Examiner, though he did not ap- 
 prove, in general, its reckless method. His inter- 
 course with the editor of the Examiner gave him ma- 
 terial for the sketch published shortly after the war,, 
 entitled, "John M. DanieUs Latch-Key" Besides 
 his work on the papers mentioned, Bagby wrote bril- 
 liant articles for the Southern Illustrated News, and 
 was every way useful. It would be impossible to 
 trace all the currents and varieties of his labors 
 during these years, from his solid logic for the cause 
 contributed to the London Index, after Thompson's 
 departure for Europe, to the news letters, bristling 
 with poignant paragraphs, which he sent to the 
 Selma Times, the Columbus Sun, and many other 
 Southern papers. 
 
 These labors, viewed through the calm vista of the 
 long after-time, afford two occasions of thought. 
 Despite all the heroism, and the wonder and the 
 magnitude of their contribution to the cause of Con- 
 federate independence, these letters, covering the 
 whole broad scope of history, principle, argument, 
 appeal, justice and persuasion, failed, just as the 
 sword of the great Lee failed in the field. Then, as 
 to the personal consequences, the collapse of the 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. XXVU 
 
 cause, in which he trusted as he did in the gospel of 
 God, broke his heart as it did that of the Commander. 
 Of these, and of many like deaths, the image of the 
 Irish poet is startling in the truth of its realization : 
 the crack of the chords, on the mute harp hanging 
 at midnight, on the tapestry of Tara : 
 
 "And freedom now so seldom wakes, 
 
 The only throb she gives, 
 Is when some heart indignant breaks, 
 To show that still she lives /" 
 
 AFTER THE WAR. 
 
 The success of Dr. Bagby before and during the 
 war well justified his seeking to pursue in New York 
 a journalistic and literary career. His disability in 
 this line, by reason of the loss in part of his eye- 
 sight, induced him to enter the lecturing field, in 
 which a rich reception and a bountiful harvest 
 awaited him. More than that, his choice of a new 
 profession involved his return to Virginia, now made 
 doubly dear to him in that, in 1863, he had espoused 
 Miss Parke Chamberlayne, of Richmond, daughter 
 of Dr. Lewis W. Chamberlayne, who represented in 
 her own person at least two of the noble lines of 
 Normans whose shields are suspended in Battle Ab- 
 bey the lines of Chamberlayne and of D'Aubigny 
 [Dabney] ; illustrious English and Yirginian lineages. 
 Let the laurel of honor to this lady of love and grace 
 be deferred to a later page, while we deal at present 
 with the fortunes of the lecturer, and the turn that 
 was given to the tide of his life by this new venture. 
 
 The profession was not wholly fresh to him, a* 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 himself relates. ''Previous to the war he had been 
 fairly successful with his lecture entitled, ' An Apol- 
 ogy for Fools,' but in the winter of 18 65-' 6, his lec- 
 ture on i Bacon and Greens, or the Native Virginian,' 
 fairly took the city of Richmond by storm, and was 
 as great a success throughout Virginia and Maryland." 
 His next essay, "The Disease Called Love," is 
 perhaps the most popular of all his lectures, with old 
 and young. In addition to these was another lecture, 
 entitled " Women-Folks," and one on the " Virginia 
 Negro," which was only faulty in its depth of truth. 
 Its delivery in New York at once drew the partisan 
 line, which renders fair judgment not only impos- 
 sible, but undesirable. Nobody really wanted to 
 know the actual state of the case, and the preacher of 
 truth allowed himself to be discouraged and repulsed 
 by the first chill reception which he suffered. It is 
 stated that Mr. Moses P. Handy, then employed on 
 the Tribune, left word with Mr. Winter, the Tribune 
 critic, to give the lecturer a good notice; but the 
 message went astray, and Winter was very wintry, 
 even disparaging in a flippant way the lecturer's air 
 and bearing. This was not very refreshing to a spe- 
 cialist who had given twenty years to the mastery of 
 his theme; but more than the particular miscarriage 
 was the conviction, for which it gave occasion, that the 
 North did not really desire to know the status of the 
 South or the condition of the negro, but preferred to 
 keep him as an unsolved factor, to be made use of, 
 pro or con., as the necessities of a sectional party 
 might seem to require. 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. XXIX 
 
 So from North back to South, in obedience to the 
 law of nature, the strayed son of Virginia drifted. 
 Virginia was his natural and magnetic home, and 
 here lay the line and here sat the spring of his duty 
 during the period of reconstruction, in whose pro- 
 cesses, so far as relates to the factors of real historic 
 greatness, he had no sort of faith, while as to the 
 progress and speedy realization of material wealth 
 and power he was ready to approve himself an ear- 
 nest worker and a firm believer. 
 
 During 1868 Dr. Bagby had an experience of 
 strictly independent journalism. He established him- 
 self at Orange Courthouse as the editor of the Na- 
 tive Virginian, and not only wrote copiously for it, 
 but in the same style and spirit as well for many 
 other Virginia journals. He was not idle either in 
 the lecture business, and even when not engaged in 
 delivery and composition was always active in col- 
 lecting, sorting, and recording material, in a system 
 of scrap-books like that of the late Charles Reade. 
 In the laboratory of an ever-active and thought-tor- 
 mented brain these natural ores were painfully and 
 gradually fused and formed into proportions of 
 grace, and brave flights of speculation and imagi- 
 nation which many, even among educated men, 
 lacked the width of wing to follow. But a new 
 change was at hand a change that afforded a fresh 
 illustration of the fidelity of early friendship, which 
 is, as the love of the Douglas, " tendir and treu." 
 
 In 1869, G. C. Walker was elected governor of 
 Virginia as a liberal Republican ; and under his ad- 
 
XXX GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 ministration, and that of his successors, Gen. James 
 L. Kemper and Col. F. W. M. Holliday, Hon. James 
 McDonald served as Secretary of State. Faith- 
 ful to the tartan blood which he bore, and true to 
 the obligations of old times; secure too in the sense 
 of the eminent fitness of his friend, Gen. McDonald 
 appointed Dr. Bagby assistant secretary, and as such 
 custodian of the State Library. The duties of the 
 position, although in a measure confining and irksome, 
 he discharged with rare fidelity, till he was removed 
 by the change of State administration. As before, 
 he had always cultivated letters for their love, so 
 now again he wooed and sued the muses, for the sake 
 of the fruit which he hoped they would yield, and for 
 the redress of public wrongs which he and other Vir- 
 ginians now felt to be growing grievous. And yet, 
 I have always thought this political course was only 
 a minor consequence and incident of his theory of 
 philosophy and of social statics. Never was there 
 loyalty to a dead cause such as his since the days of 
 the Scotch Jacobites; his heart was ever with the 
 " Charlie over the water," when indeed there was no 
 king except in his thought. And the aching know- 
 ledge that he loved a dead dream weighed on him 
 always, and then broke his heart; and he left other 
 less consecrated men to face the new world of un- 
 tried and 'raw conditions, while to himself, as when 
 the " whole round table was dissolved," was given of 
 God the freedom of the black-stoled barge, and the 
 weeping queens, and the comfort of green valleys 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. XXXI 
 
 and deep peace in the isle of Avillion, beyond the 
 seas. 
 
 Little remains to be said of his life. The fact of 
 its incessant activity is told in the mere catalogue of 
 the papers to which he contributed and the lectures 
 lie delivered. One of the very best and brightest of 
 his creations, about this time, was his satire entitled 
 " What I Did with my Fifty Millions" an evolu- 
 tion, wholly original withal, from the lamp of 
 Alnaschar and the milk-maid of ^Esop, or of Noah 
 "Webster. I say satire, not ignorant that the word 
 is not adequate nor accurate, for it was part of the 
 genius of our friend that he created a school of style 
 .and theme in letters all his own, with which the 
 terminology of rhetoric has not much to do. 
 
 Another very happy idyl was his " Reminiscences 
 of Canal Life" in which his loyal love of nature 
 finds an expression as strong and yet simple as the 
 mother-longing of a lost child. In Goethe's Renun- 
 ciants, the highest culture was imaged by the figure 
 which gazed with folded palms upon the ground. 
 Such was Bagby's reverence, and such his rapt con- 
 templation of the garment of God, which shows, 
 through the drapery of rock and rill, and cloud and 
 storm and mountain, the august proportions of the 
 Eternal. Happy was he, after all experience of 
 doubt and darkness, to find at last in these vast folds 
 of form the evidence and expression of a Father of 
 love and light, who comforts and helps the weak- 
 hearted, and raises up those who fall. In the peace 
 of this faith he fell asleep, like Stephen, while "all 
 
XXX11 GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 that sat in the council, looking steadfastly at hira r 
 saw his face as it had been the face of an angel." 
 
 During this period he composed and delivered 
 several of his best lectures, " The Old Virginia 
 Gentleman" and " The Virginia Negro" The latter 
 was intended for delivery North ; but he found, after 
 a brief but sufficient experience, that the North 
 thought they knew more of the negro than he did. 
 Returning, he wrote the most merry and exquisite 
 of all his creations, "MeekinaeJ Twinses" a fic- 
 tion founded upon fact. Mr. Meekins acquired in a 
 week as wide an acquaintance as Mr. Addums in a 
 dozen years; and the feed sto' in Rocketts had as 
 good a title to a place in the limbus of genius as 
 the "Old Curiosity Shop," or the City Mildendo. 
 Hereabouts also belongs the sketch which has given 
 him his widest and most graven fame, the sketch of 
 "JBubenstein at the Piano" which Mr. Watterson 
 has admitted into his compilation of Southern humor,, 
 and which is found already in many " Readers." I 
 am told it has been translated into a German musical 
 magazine. It has always reminded me, in structure,, 
 though the themes are wide enough apart, of the 
 "Dream Fugue" attached to De Quincey's " Vision 
 of Sudden Death." 
 
 After these writings, Dr. Bagby made for the 
 State newspaper, then edited by Capt. John Hamp- 
 den Chamberlayne, (brother of his wife, and one of 
 the brightest and best of the knights whose accolade 
 was given on the two fields of battle and labor), a 
 trip through Virginia, describing each stage in letters,. 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. XXX111 
 
 whose power of paint and of thought surpassed any 
 production of the kind in the history of Virginian, 
 journalism. 
 
 A like series of letters,, entitled, " New England 
 Through the Back Door" written for the Baltimore 
 Sun, gave us a Yankee-land more gracious, fresh and 
 genial even than the " Hills of the Shatemuc." Then 
 came desultory writing for many papers. Mr. A. 
 McDonald, editor of the Lynchburg News, was again, 
 one of his generous friends to the last ; the Philadel- 
 phia Weekly Times published one of his.papers; and 
 his last composition appeared in Harper's Magazine. 
 
 After that, death ; not all at once, but by gradual 
 stages, as of a siege. A sore in the tongue, the re- 
 sult of his life-long dyspepsia, became a cancer, and 
 brought on a long and dreadful ordeal of suffering. 
 He sought the relief of the Healing Springs in vain, 
 and then, in August of '83, desolate but not despair- 
 ing, he turned home to die. God is good ; and good 
 and great not only in His own direct dealings, but in 
 the means and agents through which He works. 
 The dying man, the sinking scholar and philosopher,, 
 the champion, broken and baffled in the work and. 
 dream of his life, unconscious how that this labor had 
 been accomplished, not by any great coup, but by 
 silent and tardy and gradual stages non vi sed scepe 
 cadendo this warrior, who came home borne on his 
 shield, found a wife there whose ministrations, de- 
 vout and profound, chased every form of fear and evil 
 from his pillow and path of slow and tortured decline- 
 In Hans Andersen's story, it is the white wings of 
 
XXXIV GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 the swans that bear their sister across the sea. Here 
 it was love, clear faith, strong courage, worthy of the 
 two shields in Battle Abbey, an utter avTo-xgvwfft$, and 
 above all "the peace of God that passeth all under- 
 standing," which God blessed and rewarded with that 
 perfect submission to His will that shall "bring a 
 man peace at the last," through the direst trial. 
 
 The foregoing pages have been written in vain if 
 they have not conveyed some sense of the writer's 
 appreciation of Dr. Bagby's genius and moral great- 
 ness. " There is no man left in Virginia fit to lift 
 the lid of his inkstand," wrote Dr. Lafferty of him 
 a true saying. " Never in Virginia letters shall we 
 see his like again," wrote John Esten Cooke. All 
 pens, great and small, sought, with the piety of " Old 
 Mortality," to deepen the inscription of love and 
 praise on his tomb, and to clear off the grass and 
 weeds. The most faithful and beautiful of the 
 tributes paid to his memory was woven from the 
 heart through the pen of his life-time friend, Gen- 
 eral James McDonald, who, true fo the habit of his 
 Highland blood, was the well-trusted comrade of 
 thirty-odd years, and one of the executors of his lit- 
 erary remains.* 
 
 *Tbe following extracts from the article referred to give the 
 -writer's ideas of some of the mental and social characteristics of 
 Dr. Bagby: 
 
 "Dr. Bagby was a peculiar man. He was peculiar in the tone 
 and temper of his unclassified order of genius ; he was peculiar in 
 ihe ways in which he often looked at things with his mind's eye ; 
 he was peculiar in his reflections, in his reasonings, in his specula- 
 tions as to those sublime and mystical matters that come within the 
 
GEOKGE WILLIAM BAGBY. XXXV 
 
 Long time as death was known to be approaching, 
 its final access was a surprise at last. " Death will 
 aiot be fooled," he had written in "Blue Eyes:' " He 
 
 spheres of both physics and metaphysics. His intellect was 
 bright and sympathetic and subtle ; and it was strong, and broad, 
 and deep on occasion too. He was admirable as an analyst in 
 psychologic science and speculative philosophy. His mind was 
 not symmetrically disciplined, perhaps, but in certain directions it 
 was remarkably clear, strong and penetrating. . . . His thoughts 
 were big and often bold upon broad fields where reason paused 
 and beckoned backward for genius to bring her lamp and light 
 the way a little. 
 
 u Dr. Bagby was a close and thoughtful observer; a student of 
 humanity ; a somewhat curious, but philosophic and charitable 
 searcher into the motives by which men are governed and the 
 secret springs that actuate them. He was fond of grave and in- 
 tellectual conversation, and took pleasure in the society of elderly 
 persons, whom he was much given to questioning with the view 
 of drawing out their experiences of life and their conclusions on 
 its puzzles and problems. But while of a naturally serious and 
 somewhat melancholy temperament, which tendency was 
 strengthened by habitual ill-health, he often entered heartily into 
 social diversions and convivialities, and played his full part in 
 conversational drolleries and interchanges of wit and repartee. 
 
 "He had a fine appreciation of all that was excellent in music 
 .and art, in acting and oratory, and he delighted in the advance- 
 ments of science, invention and discovery. He was very ob- 
 servant of social duties and courtesies, punctual in correspondence, 
 and regular in visits to friends, and calls on those who had any 
 claim to such civility. He treasured and was careful to keep 
 alive old friendships, and was assiduous in little acts of compli- 
 ment and kindness in which children often shared. He was with- 
 out vanity or affectation, and without jealousy, as man or author. 
 He was a genuine lover of nature, and of the repose, simplicity 
 and ingenuousness of country-life. He was most widely known, 
 as a humorist and dialect writer ; but his efforts in this way, irre- 
 sistibly amusing as many of them were, were only the unbend- 
 ings and diversions of a mind that found its brightest pleasures 
 
XXXVI GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. 
 
 will have his dues. Preparation avails nothing, 
 Item tetigit acu. Aye, he does touch sharply, a& 
 with a poisoned thorn, piercing to the core. When 
 no answer, be it ever so faint and feeble, comes from 
 the lips that have thanked us ; when no turning of 
 the eye repays in grateful light the hands that 
 smooth the sunken pillow ; when all is still there, and 
 no sound shall be there forever, forever! how 
 burst the fountains, how the waters are unsealed, as 
 though never a thought of that hour of anguish had 
 warned us of its coming."* 
 
 His end was great peace; his last word "Rest;" 
 his death-pillow, that brave and tender breast where 
 ten babes had nestled, and where his own woes had 
 been softly touched into mental health, and his sigh- 
 ing soothed into sleep or song. Blessed are the dead 
 who die in the Lord ; to whom is given the double 
 promise that they rest while their labor survives to 
 bless and decorate the world. To our dear dead, the 
 man of God, Eev. Dr. Peterkin, of St. James's church, 
 gave all the final consolations and ministrations of 
 
 and its normal and most congenial habitat in the upper realms of 
 thought. 
 
 .... "It was his great ambition to write a book that would be 
 an enduring record of all that was distinctive, and, as he be- 
 lieved, without parallel elsewhere, in the Virginia civilization, 
 character and life which he had known in his earlier days, and 
 which culminated in the war and perished with its close. He did 
 not live to accomplish the desire in the form that he thought, but 
 he was, unconsciously to himself, accomplishing it all the time, 
 and in the body of his literary remains, could they be collected,, 
 the purpose would be found fully executed. '' 
 * Blue Eyes and Battlewick, Chapter IV. 
 
GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY. XXXV11 
 
 the faith of Christ ; and his works shall vindicate the 
 -conservative aspect of justice and truth while the 
 world turns. The Virginia of the future may be 
 grander, richer, and stronger than the Virginia, " im- 
 maculate and immortal," which his love and imagina- 
 tion touched into all the lines and colors of ideal 
 perfection ; but it cannot ever and for ever be the 
 same Virginia, the mother and nurse in classic and 
 Christian greatness of Washingtons and Lees, of Stu- 
 arts and Rodeses, and of children humbler in birth 
 and state, but all as dutiful and dauntless. What- 
 ever there was that was brightest and sweetest in the 
 older civilization, in what he queerly called the Vir- 
 ginia of the "spring and gourd" period, whose seedy 
 relics are even as an offence in the eyes of the new 
 generation ; whatever is truest and best and bravest 
 that survives among the most potent factors and 
 kindliest influences of the Virginia that is yet to be, 
 will owe its survival and its vitality to the labor and 
 love of one to whom more fitly than to most we 
 may apply the sad consolation, " After life's fitful 
 fever he sleeps well." 
 
 Returning from the funeral of her father, Decem- 
 ber 1st, 1883, his daughter wrote the following lines, 
 than which no fitter language could serve for his 
 ^epitaph : 
 
 " Ah 1 pitying Saviour, guard and guide, 
 
 Receive into thy arms again 
 His longing spirit, purified 
 
 From mortal sin by mortal painl" 
 
WRITINGS 
 
 OF 
 
 DR. GEORGE w. BAGBY.' 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THIS lecture was written in the interest of the Virginia Histori- 
 cal Society. My hope was that its delivery throughout the State 
 might awaken in our people a just pride in their Past, which, with 
 all its faults, has had no equal since Greece gave to the world that 
 splendor which will live when the sun dies. That pride aroused, 
 I hoped they would, by small individual contributions, revivify 
 a society representing the history of the oldest and greatest of 
 American States. 
 
 Doubtless the picture here drawn of Virginia as she was is 
 idealized. Purposely so. Not for a moment could any Virginian 
 say that there was nothing amiss in the old order. Alas ! there 
 is much amiss in every structure, old or new. Educated at the 
 North, I was perhaps more keenly alive to the defects of our sys- 
 tem than almost any Virginian of my time. And so long as the 
 good Commonwealth lived I did not fail to mix in every panegyric 
 I wrote and there were several a full proportion of good-na- 
 tured satire. If I have praised Virginia without stint, I have, in 
 times past, ridiculed her unsparingly. But our Mother is dead, 
 and much may be pardoned in a eulogy which would be inex- 
 cusable were the subject living. I ask no man's pardon for what 
 must seem to a stranger a most exaggerated estimate of my State 
 and its people. In simple truth and beyond question there was 
 in our Virginia country life a beauty, a simplicitj 7 , a purity, an 
 uprightness, a cordial and lavish hospitality, warmth and grace 
 which shine in the lens of memory with a charm that passes all 
 language at my command. It is gone with the social structure 
 that gave it birth, and were I great, I would embalm it in the 
 ainber of such prose and verse as has not been written since John 
 Milton laid down his pen. Only greatness jjan fitly do it. 
 I 
 
33 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 The lecture is in fact two lectures. With the words, " As were 
 the sons, so was the mother," the second lecture begins. For 
 this lecture, which I intended to call simply " Old Virginia,'' there 
 was in my mind, years ago, ample material, but the thread some- 
 how became lost, and fearing that I might not live to recover it, 
 and desiring, too, to say before I died what I have said in the 
 closing pages, I tacked it on to the first lecture, without much re- 
 gard to the unities. So let it pass. 
 
 MARCH 19, 1877. 
 
 HIS house was not jammed down within two 
 inches and a half of " the main, plain road." 
 Why ! He held, as his father did before him, that 
 it was immodest to expose even his house to the pub- 
 lic gaze. Perhaps he had that lack of curiosity, which, 
 the newspaper men tell us, is characteristic of the 
 savage most of us, you know, are descended from 
 Pocahontas and, at all events, it would never do to 
 have his headquarters on the very edge of a planta- 
 tion of 1,000 or 2,000 acres. 
 
 What was there to see on the main, plain road ? 
 Nothing. Morning and evening the boys dashed by 
 on their colts, hurrying to or from the Academy, so- 
 called. On Sundays, carryalls, buggies, and wagons, 
 filled with women-folk and children, in split-bottom 
 chairs, wended their way to Mt. Zion, a mile or two 
 further on in the woods. Twice a week the stage 
 rattled along, nobody inside, a negro in the boot, the 
 driver and the negro-trader, both drunk, on top. 
 Once a month the lawyers, in their stick-gigs or 
 " single-chairs," and the farmers on their plantation 
 mares, chatting and spitting amicably, with switches 
 poised in up-and-downy elbows, jogged on to court. 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 3 
 
 And that was all that was to be seen on the main, 
 plain road, except the Doctor and the Deputy-sheriff, 
 with their leggings and saddle-bags. 
 
 Tramps there were none, unless you call the county 
 idiot, who stalked barefoot through the winter snow, 
 fanning himself industriously the while with a turkey- 
 wing fan, a tramp. Once a year the peddler, with 
 his pack, or the plausible oil-cloth table-cloth man, 
 put in an appearance ; and that was literally all. 
 Why, even the hares played in the middle of the 
 lonesome road ! And yet there was a life and ani- 
 mation along the county roads, especially about the 
 country taverns, in the good old days (they were 
 good) which we who remember them sadly miss in 
 these times of rapid railroad transit. 
 
 A stranger would never dream that the narrow 
 turning out of the main road, scarcely marked by a 
 rut, led to a habitation better than a charcoal-burner's 
 shed. But the drivers of the high-swung, bug-back 
 family carriages of the period knew that turning 
 "mighty well." So did many gentlemen, old and 
 young, in all parts of the Commonwealth. " Oak- 
 lands," " Belleh'eld," " Mt. Airy," whatever it might 
 be named, was the half-way house to "Cousin Tom's," 
 " Uncle Randolph's," or " Grandpa's," twenty or 
 thirty miles further on. Also it was a convenient 
 place to spend the night and mend the high-swung 
 bug-back from Alpha to Omega when on your way 
 to the White Sulphur, Richmond, or anywhere. 
 Truth to tell, there was no getting around it; it 
 drew you like a magnet. 
 
4 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 And whenever the road was adorned by a white- 
 haired, florid-faced gentleman astride a blooded horse, 
 with his body-servant in charge of his portmanteau 
 following at respectful distance behind, that party, 
 you may be very sure, turned off the main plain road 
 and disappeared in the depths of the forest. Col. 
 Tidewater had come half the length of the State to 
 try a little more of Judge Piedmont's Madeira, to 
 know what on earth induced Piedmont to influence 
 the Governor in making that appointment, and to in- 
 quire if it were possible that Piedmont intended to 
 bring out Jimson of all human beings, Jim son ! 
 for Congress ? 
 
 " Disappeared in the depths of the forest ?" Yes. 
 And why ? Because there must be plenty of wood 
 where there is no end of negroes, and fifteen or 
 twenty miles of worm-fencing to keep in repair. So 
 there was a forest on this side ancl on that of the Old 
 Virginia gentleman's home ; sometimes on all sides ; 
 and the more woodland the better. How is a man 
 to get along without clearing new ground every year ? 
 The boys must have some place to hunt squirrels. 
 Everybody is obliged to have wild indigo to keep 
 flies off his horse's head in summer. If you have no 
 timber, what becomes of your hogs when you turn 
 them out ? How about fuel ? "Where is your plank 
 to come from, and your logs for new cabins and to- 
 bacco barns ? Are you going to buy poles for this, 
 that and the other? There's no use 'talking ne- 
 groes can't be healthy without wood, nor enjoy life 
 without pine-knots when they go fishing at night. 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 5 
 
 Pleasant it was to trot through these forests on a 
 hot summer day, or any other day, knowing what 
 was to come at your journey's end. Pleasant, too, 
 to bowl along under the arching boughs, albeit the 
 ruts were terrible in places, and there were two or 
 three immemorial holes, made by the butts of saw- 
 logs (you could swear that the great mark in the 
 centre of the road was the tail-trace of an Iguanodon, 
 or some other Greek beast of prehistoric times) 
 two or three old holes, that made every vehicle, but 
 chiefly the bug-back carriage, lurch and careen worse 
 than a ship in a heavy sea. 
 
 But these were useful holes. They educated the 
 young negro driver, and compelled the old one to 
 keep his wrinkled, mealy hand in. They toned, or 
 rather tuned up, the nerves of the young ladies, and 
 gave them excuse for uttering the prettiest shrieks ; 
 whereat the long-legged cousin, leaning to the left 
 at an angle of ninety degrees, with his abominable 
 red head for ever inside the carriage window, would 
 display his horsemanship in the most nimble, over- 
 affectionate, and unpleasing manner unpleasiug to 
 the young gentleman from the city, who was not a 
 cousin, did not want to be a cousin, wasn't a bit proud 
 of riding, but had " some sense of decency, and really 
 a very high regard for the sensibilities of the most 
 refined ladies in the whole State of Virginia, sir !" 
 Many were the short but fervent prayers ejaculated 
 by the old ladies in consequence of these same holes, 
 which came to be provocatives of late piety, and on 
 that account were never molested ; and they were 
 
6 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 prized beyond measure by the freckle-face ten-year 
 old brother, who, standing up behind and hanging- 
 back by the carriage-straps, yelled with delight every 
 time the bug-back went " way down," and wished 
 from the very bottom of his horrid boy's heart that 
 " the blamed old thing would bust all to flinders and 
 plump the whole caboodle smack into the middle of 
 the mud puddle." 
 
 Col. Tidewater declared that Piedmont's forest 
 road was the worst in the world, and enough to bring 
 in jeopardy soul as well as body ; to which Piedmont 
 hotly replied that a five mile stretch in August 
 through the sand in Tidewater's county was eternity 
 in Hades itself. 
 
 The forest once passed, a scene not of enchant- 
 ment, though contrast often made it seem so, but of 
 exceeding beauty, met the eye. Wide, very wide 
 fields of waving grain, billowy seas of green or gold, 
 as the season chanced to be, over which the scudding 
 shadows chased and played, gladdened the heart with 
 wealth far spread. Upon lowlands level as a floor, 
 the plumed and tasseled corn stood tall and dense, 
 rank behind rank in military alignment a serried 
 army, lush and strong. The rich, dark soil of the 
 gently swelling knolls could scarcely be seen under 
 the broad, lapping leaves of the mottled tobacco. 
 The hills were carpeted with clover. Beneath the 
 tree-clumps, fat cattle chewed the cud or peaceful 
 sheep reposed, grateful for the shade. In the midst 
 of this plenty, half-hidden in foliage over which the 
 graceful shafts of the Lombard poplar towered, with 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 7 
 
 its bounteous garden and its orchards heavy with 
 fruit near at hand, peered the old mansion, white or 
 dusky-red or mellow-gray by the storm and shine of 
 years. 
 
 Seen by the tired horseman, halting at the wood- 
 land's edge, this picture, steeped in the intense, quiv- 
 ering summer noonlight, filled the soul with un- 
 speakable emotions of beauty, tenderness, peace, 
 home. 
 
 " How calm could we rest 
 In that bosom of shade, with the friends we love best !" 
 
 Sorrows and cares were there where do they not 
 penetrate ? but oh ! dear God, one day in these sweet 
 tranquil homes outweighed a fevered lifetime in the 
 gayest cities of the globe. Tell me nothing; I under- 
 value naught that man's heart delights in; I dearly 
 love operas and great pageants; but I do know as 
 I know nothing else that the first years of human 
 life, and the last, yea, if it be possible, all the 
 years, should be passed in the country. The towns 
 may do for a day, a week, a month at most ; but na- 
 ture, mother nature, pure and clean, is for all time ; 
 yes, for eternity itself. What think you of heaven? 
 Is it a narrow street, packed full of houses, with a 
 theatre at one end and a beer saloon at the other? 
 Nay ! the city of God is under the trees and beside 
 the living waters. 
 
 These homes of Virginia are ruins now; not like 
 the ivied walls and towers of European lands, but 
 ruins none the less. The houses, indeed, are still 
 
8 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 there, little changed, it may be, as to the outside ; but 
 the light, the life, the charm are gone for ever. 
 "The soul is fled." 
 
 About these Virginia homes there was much that 
 was unlike the houses I have seen in the more popu- 
 lous States of the North and in Canada. A South- 
 erner traveling through central Pennsylvania and 
 western New York to the falls of Niagara, and 
 thence down the St. Lawrence, is painfully impressed 
 by the scarcity the absence, one might say of hu- 
 man beings around the houses and in the fields. 
 There are no children playing in the cramped-up 
 yards. The few laborers in the narrow fields make 
 but a pitiful show, even at harvest time. The farms 
 have a deserted look, that is most depressing to one 
 accustomed to the sights and sounds of Virginia 
 country life. For thirty miles below Quebec I 
 watched the houses that thickly line the verdant 
 river banks, but saw no human being not one. The 
 men were at work in the villages, the women were 
 at the wash-tubs or in the kitchens; and as for the 
 children, I know not where they were. 
 
 How unlike Virginia of the olden time ! There, 
 people were astir, and something was always going 
 on. The young master, with his troop of little dar- 
 kies, was everywhere in the yard, playing horses; 
 in the fields, hunting larks or partridges; in the or- 
 chards, hunting for bird's nests; at the barn, sliding 
 down the straw stacks; in the woods, twisting or 
 smoking hares out of hollow trees ; in the " branch," 
 fishing or bathing (we call it " washing " in Virginia); 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 9 
 
 in the patch, plugging half-ripe watermelons ; or else- 
 where, in some fun or mischief. " Young Mistiss," 
 in her sun-bonnet, had her retinue of sable attend- 
 ants, who, bare-armed and bare-footed, accompanied 
 her in her rambles through the garden, the open 
 woodland near the house, and sometimes as far as the 
 big gate. By the way, whenever you heard the big 
 gate slam, you might know that "comp'ny" was 
 coining. And comp'ny was always coming beaux to 
 see the grown-up girls, neighbors, friends, strangers, 
 kinfolks no end of them. Then some comely negro 
 woman, with bright kerchief on her head, was ever 
 passing to and fro, on business with her mistress; 
 and few days passed that did not witness the "drop- 
 shot gang " of small Ethiops sweeping up the fallen 
 leaves that disfigured the broad yard. 
 
 Some one was always coming or going. The gig, 
 the double buggy, the carryall, the carriage, were in 
 constant use. Horses, two to a dozen, were seldom 
 wanting at the rack, and the boy of the family was 
 sure to be on the horse-block, begging permission to 
 "ride behind," or to carry the horse to the stable. 
 Bringing in breakfast, dinner and supper, and carry- 
 ing the things back to the kitchen, kept three or four 
 servants busy from dawn till long after dark. The 
 mistress had a large provision store at the smoke- 
 house, where there was much to do every day except 
 Sunday. So, too, with the dairy. From the rooms 
 set apart for weaving and spinning came the tireless 
 droning of wheels and the clatter of looms wonder- 
 ful machines, that delighted the knots of white and 
 
10 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 black children gathered at the open doorways. How 
 gracefully Aunt Sooky stepped back and forth with 
 her thread, as it kept growing and lengthening on 
 the spindle ! Why, I can smell the wool-rools now, 
 and see the brooches, and the shucks on which they 
 were wound! 
 
 These were the scenes and occupations that gave 
 life to the house. In the fields, from the time that 
 the gangs of ploughers (we never called them plough- 
 men), moving steadily en echelon, turned up the rich 
 sod, until the wheat was shocked, the corn laid by, 
 the tobacco planted, suckered, primed, topped, cut, 
 and hung in the golden sunshine to cure, there was 
 something perpetually afoot to enliven the planta- 
 tion. But who shall tell of harvest- time, when the 
 field fairly swarmed with cutters, the binders, the 
 shockers, the gleaners, all agog with excitement and 
 joy? A murrain on your modern reapers and mow- 
 ers ! What care I if Cyrus McCormick was born in 
 E-ockbridge county ? These new-fangled " contrap- 
 tions" are to the old system what the little, dirty, 
 black steam-tug is to the three-decker, with its cloud 
 of snowy canvass towering to the skies the grand- 
 est and most beaiutiful sight in the world. I wouldn't 
 give Uncle Isham's picked man, " long Billy Carter," 
 leading the field, with one good drink of whiskey in 
 him I wouldn't give one swing of his cradle and 
 one "ketch" of his straw for all the mowers and 
 reapers in creation. 
 
 But what was the harvest-field compared to thresh- 
 ing-time at the barn ? Great goodness alive ! Do 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 11 
 
 you all remember that huge cog-wheel aloft, and the 
 little cog-wheels, that big post that turned 'round,, 
 the thick shafts, two horses to a shaft; eight or ten 
 horses to a machine (none of your one-horse, out- 
 o'-door concerns this was under a large shed, close 
 to the barn), and how we sat on those shafts, and how 
 we drove those horses, and hollered at 'em, and how 
 the dust flew, and what a glorious, glorious racket,, 
 hubbub and confusion there was ? Surely you do. 
 
 Then came beating-cider time. Bless me! how 
 sick "us boys" used to get from drinking sweet ci- 
 der and eating apple " pommels !" You recollect the 
 cider press? None of your fish-traps, cut in two,, 
 and set on end, with an iron crank, but a good, hon- 
 est beam, a foot and a half thick, and fifteen to 
 twenty feet long, jobbed into a hole cut clean through 
 a stout oak tree, with a wooden trough holding half 
 a ton of rocks, and an affair with holes and pegs, to 
 regulate the prizing. Now that was a press, a real 
 press not a gimcrack. Don't ask me about corn- 
 shuckings. It would take a separate lecture to de- 
 scribe them; besides, you already know more about 
 them than I can tell you. 
 
 If the house, the barn, the fields were alive, so 
 also were the woods. There the ax was ever plying. 
 Timber to cut for cabins (the negroes increased so 
 fast), for tobacco houses and for fuel, new ground to- 
 clear, etc , etc. The crack of the gun was heard con- 
 tinually the boys were shooting squirrels for Bruns- 
 wick stew and when the wild pigeons came, there 
 was an endless f usilade. As for sports, besides squir- 
 
12 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 rels, 'coons and 'possums, there were partridges, rob- 
 ins, larks, and even kildees and bull-bats for shooting ; 
 but far above all these, was the fox-hunt. Ah! who 
 can ever forget it ? When the chase swept through 
 the forest and across the hills, the hounds and the 
 beagles in full, eager, piercing, passionate cry, mak- 
 ing music for the very gods and driving the hunts- 
 men stark mad. What were staked and ridered 
 fences, tangled underwood, gullies, ditches, banks that 
 were almost precipices, what was life, what was death 
 to the young fellow just out of college, that glorious 
 music ringing in his ears, his horse, a thing all fire 
 and steel, going under him like a thunderbolt, and 
 the fox not five hundred yards away? Tell me 
 Southern country life was monotonous ! Bah ! 
 
 Why, something or somebody was forever stirring. 
 In the dead of night, hours before day-break, some 
 old negro was eternally getting up to chunk his fire, 
 or to cut another stick or two. In the dead of win- 
 ter, the wagons were busy hauling wood, to keep up 
 the grand old fires in the big old fire-places. And 
 at the worst, the boys could always jump a hare out 
 of a briar-patch, and then such "hollering," such 
 whistling, such whooping, such calling of dogs: 
 "here, here, here! who-eet! whoop! here!" as if 
 Bedlam had broke loose. 
 
 Of church-going on Sunday, when the girls kept 
 the carriage waiting; of warraiit-tryings, vendues, 
 election and general muster days, of parties of all 
 kinds, from candy-stews and "infairs" up to the reg- 
 ular country balls at the county seat, of fun at negro 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 weddings, of fish-fries, barbecues, sailing-parties, sora 
 and duck-shooting, rides and drives the delights of 
 Tidewater life of dinings in and dinings out, of the 
 Bishop's visit, of company come for all day in addi- 
 tion to the company regularly domiciled for the week, 
 month or half-year, I need not speak at length. 
 Country life in Yirginia tiresome'! You are 
 crazy ! 
 
 The habitation of the old Yirginia gentleman 
 house is too short a word to express it always large 
 enough, however small it might be, was sometimes 
 stately, like the great, square house of " Rosewell," 
 and others I might name. As a rule, to which, in- 
 deed, there were many exceptions, it was neither 
 planned nor built it grew : and that was its great 
 charm. To be sure, the main structure or body of 
 it had been put up with an eye not to convenience 
 but to elbow-room and breathing space without 
 which no Yirginian can live. But in course of time, 
 as the children came along, as the family connexions 
 increased, and as the desire, the necessity in fact, of 
 keeping a free hotel grew upon him, the old gentle- 
 man kept adding a wing here and tacking a shed room 
 there until the original building became mixed up, 
 and, as it were, lost in the crowd of additions. In 
 cold weather the old house was often miserably un- 
 comfortable, but at all other times it was simply glo- 
 rious. There was, of course, a large hall or passage, 
 a parlor and dining-room, " the chamber " proper for 
 the old lady and for everybody, and a fine old-time 
 staircase leading to the guest-chambers, but the rest 
 
14 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 of the house ran mostly into nondescript apartments, 
 access to which was not always easy. For the floors 
 were on different levels, as they ought to be in an 
 old country-house. Fail to step up or down at the 
 proper time, and you were sure to bump your head 
 or bruise your shins. Then there were dark closets, 
 cuddies, and big old chests that came mayhap from 
 England, say nothing of the garret, full of mystery, 
 that stretched the whole length of the house. Here 
 was romance for childhood plenty of it. These ir- 
 regular rooms, two steps up and three down before 
 you got fairly into them, teemed with poetry ; but 
 your modern houses, with square rooms all on a dead 
 level, are prosaic as dry-goods boxes. 
 
 A fine old house it was to play hide-and-seek in, to 
 romp with the girls, to cut all sorts of capers with- 
 out disturbing the old folks. Then these dark pas- 
 sages, these cuddies and closets, that big garret, never 
 failed to harbor some good-natured old hip-shot fool 
 of a family ghost, who was everlastingly " projicking " 
 around at night, after the girls had quit their talk, 
 making the floors crack, the doors creak, and whisper- 
 ing his nonsense through the keyhole, as if he could 
 scare you or anybody else ! To modernize the old 
 Virginian's house would kill .that ghost, and if it be 
 a crime to kill a live man, what an enormity it must 
 be to kill one who has been dead a hundred years, 
 who never harmed a living soul, and who, I suspect, 
 w r as more fretted than sorry when the young ones 
 would persist in hiding their heads under the bed- 
 clothes for fear of him? "You little geese! its no- 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 15 
 
 body but me," and " whisk, whish, whish," he would 
 go on with his idiotic whispering. 
 
 The heavy, dark furniture ; the huge sideboard ; 
 the quaint solid chairs; the more common article, 
 with spraddled legs, scooped seats and stick backs; 
 the diamond-paned book-case ; the long horse-hair 
 ;sofas, with round tasseled pillows, hard as logs of 
 ebony, with nooks to hide them in; the graceful 
 -candle-stand ; the gilt mirror, with its three compart- 
 ments; the carved mantle, so high you could hardly 
 reach the silver candlesticks on its narrow top; the 
 bureaux, with swinging brass handles; the dressing 
 tables; the high-post bedstead, with valence and 
 teaster; the 
 
 But stay ! it suddenly and painfully occurs to me 
 there are grown-up men and women in this room, 
 actually here, immortal beings, who never laid eyes 
 on a bed-wrench and pin, and who do not so much 
 as know the meaning of cording a bed ! Think of 
 it ! Yet these people live on. Ah me ! the fashion 
 of this world passeth away ! 
 
 The massive dinner table, never big enough to hold 
 all the dishes, some of which had to go on the hearth 
 to be kept warm; the old time silver, the heavy cut 
 glassware, the glass pitcher for the thick, rich milk 
 how it foamed, when they "poured it high!" the 
 Canton >ehina, thin as thin biscuit; the plainer blue 
 dinner set, for every day use, with the big apples on 
 the little trees, the blue islands in a white sea, the 
 man or woman that was always going over that short 
 bridge, but stopped and stood provokingly in the 
 
16 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 middle how they all come back to you! But I 
 " lay " you have forgotten the band-boxes. Think of 
 that again ! Band-boxes have fled away from the 
 face of this earth, but not to heaven ; for they were 
 much uglier than any sin I'm acquainted with. I 
 recall the very pattern of them the red brick houses,, 
 with many windows, the clumsy trees, and that odd 
 something, more like a pile of rocks than an elephant, 
 but spouting clods of water, like an elephant who had 
 got drunk on mud. 
 
 When you were a boy, did you sleep in a low- 
 pitched, dormer-windowed room, with two little 
 gable windows that looked out upon a narrow-necked 
 chimney, just where the neck ended and the shoulder 
 began? You did'nt? Then I pity you; you must 
 have had a mighty poor sort of boyhood. Why, I 
 can see the moss growing on that chimney, can see 
 how very thick the old thing is at the bottom, and, 
 by George ! there is the identical old toad (frog, we 
 call him) that pops out every night from the slit in 
 the wall at the side of the chimney. How well he 
 looks ! hasn't changed a hair in forty years ! Come ! 
 let's "ketch" some lightning-bugs and feed him, 
 right now. 
 
 Surely, you hav'nt forgotten the rainy days at the 
 old country house ? How the drops kept dropping, 
 dropping from the eaves, and popping, popping up 
 from the little trough worn into the earth below the 
 eaves ; how draggled and miserable the rooster looked, 
 as you watched him from your seat in the deep win- 
 dow-sill; and how (tired of playing in-doors) you 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 17 
 
 wondered if it would never, never stop raining. 
 How you wandered from room to room, all over the 
 bouse, up stairs and down stairs, eating cakes and 
 apples, or buttered bread and raspberry jam ; bow at 
 last you settled down in the old lady's chamber and 
 held a hank till your arms ached, and you longed for 
 bed-time to corne. If you have never known such 
 days, never seen the reel the hanks were placed on, 
 nor the flax-wheels that clacked when the time came 
 to stop winding, then you have neither seen nor 
 known anything. You don't know how to "skin 
 the cat," or to play " Ant'ny over ;" you don't know 
 how to drop a live 'coal in a little puddle of water, 
 and explode it with an axe ; you " don't know no- 
 thiii'," you have never been a Virginia boy. 
 
 Yes, your arms ached, poor little fellow, pining for 
 out-door fun ; they were sure to ache if you held the 
 hank for Miss Mehaly Sidebottom, the poor lady 
 who had lived in the family time out o' mind ; but 
 if you held it for a pretty girl and what Virginia 
 gentleman's house was without one two three 
 half a dozen of them ? then your arms didn't give 
 out half so soon, and you didn't know what it was to 
 get hungry or sleepy. When you grew older, a 
 rainy day in the country was worth untold money, for 
 then you had the pretty girl all to yourself the live- 
 long day in the drawing room. What music the 
 rain made on the roof at night, and how you wished 
 the long season in May would set in, raise all the 
 creeks past fording, wash away all the bridges, and 
 keep you there for ever. 
 2 
 
18 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 And such girls ! They were of a piece with the dear 
 old house ; they belonged to it of right, and it would 
 not, and it could not have been what it was without 
 them. Finer women, physically, I may have seen, 
 with much more bone, a deal more of muscle and 
 redder cheeks ; but more grace, more elegance, more 
 refinement, more guileless purity, were never found 
 the whole world over, in any age, not even that of 
 the halcyon. There was about these country girls 
 I mean no disparagement of their city sisters, for 
 all Virginia girls were city girls in winter and coun- 
 try girls in summer, so happy was our peculiar social 
 .system there was about these country girls I know 
 not what of sauce the word is a little too strong 
 of mischief, of spirit, of fire, of archness, coquetry, 
 and bright winsomeness tendrils these of a stock 
 that was strong and true as heart could wish or 
 nature frame ; for in essentials their character was 
 based upon a confiding, trusting, loving unselfish de- 
 votion a complete, immaculate world of womanly 
 virtue and home piety was theirs, the like of which, 
 I boldly claim, was seldom approached, and never ex- 
 celled, since the Almighty made man in his own image. 
 
 What matter if it rained or shone, so you spent 
 your time with girls like these ? And if one of them 
 chanced to be a cousin everybody has cousins 
 then there was no help for you ; literally none, 
 
 " Did you ever have a cousin, Tom ? 
 
 And did that cousin sing ? 
 Sisters we've had by the dozen, Tom, 
 But a cousin's a different thing ! " 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 19 
 
 I believe you. A cousin, a real female cousin, I 
 take to be the invention of the De'il himself his 
 pet bit of ingenuity. She makes you all but crazy 
 to marry her, then she won't marry you, never had 
 the remotest idea of marrying you (says so anyhow), 
 and you know you oughtn't to marry her even if she 
 were willing; and where are you? There's not a 
 man of us who has not been robbed of his senses by 
 one or more of these beautiful witches, not one of 
 us who does not recall the time when 
 
 "Half dying with love, 
 We ate up her glove 
 And drank our champagne from her shoe!" 
 
 And a little " teenchy " bit of a shoe it was, too 
 white kid. She never knew who stole it, and you 
 have had it hid away these twenty years, although 
 you are married. I know you, sir. 
 
 Are there any such girls now-a-days, I wonder ? I 
 trust so, indeed. The archness and coquetry in the 
 girls of whom I have been speaking were but charm- 
 ing arabesques upon Damascus steel, metal of proof, 
 whose mortal sharpness, bitter and keen, he was sure 
 to feel, and quickly too, who dared to come too near. 
 But since the war, I am told, a change has come to 
 pass, and approaches, impossible in 1 purer days, are 
 allowed. Is it so? Then are we lost indeed! It 
 cannot be so ; but if it be so in part only, who is to 
 blame ? Are not you, young gentleman ? Hold off, 
 sir ; stand back, I say ; lay not so much as a finger- 
 tip lightly upon her, for she is sacred. If she be not 
 yours, she is your brother's ; and if your own, will 
 
20 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 you harm ever so little her whom yon intend to make 
 your wife ? Oh ! wait, do but wait. In the hallowed 
 stillness of your bridal eve, ere the guests have all 
 assembled, lift up to yours the fair pale face, love's 
 perfect image, and you shall see that vision to which 
 God our Father vouchsafes no equal this side the 
 jasper throne you shall see the ineffable eyes of in- 
 nocence entrusting to you, unworthy, oh ! so un- 
 worthy, her destiny through time and eternity. In- 
 hale the perfume of her breath and hair, that puts 
 the violets of the wood to shame; press your first 
 kiss (for now she is all your own), your first kiss 
 upon the trembling petals of her lips, and you shall 
 hear, with ears you knew not that you had, the silver 
 chiming of your wedding bells far, far up in heaven. 
 
 As were the girls, so was their mother; only of a 
 type, if possible, still higher; for I can but think 
 that, since the Colonial and Revolutionary days, each 
 generation has shown a slight falling away from 
 those grand models of men and women who really 
 existed in Virginia, but whom we have come to look 
 upon almost as myths. That the mother was lovelier 
 or more lovable than her daughters, I will not say. 
 That she was purer, tenderer, truer, sweeter, I will 
 not say ; but certainly there was about her a dignity, 
 a repose, an impressiveness, at all events, a some- 
 thing that one missed in the beautiful maidens who 
 grew up around her. Perhaps it was the effect of 
 age. I know not; but I do know that, in some re- 
 spects, her daughters were not quite equal to her. 
 
 Words fail to tell what the Virginia lady of the 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 21 
 
 best type was. During the first decade of her mar- 
 ried life, a part of each recurring winter was passed 
 at the State capital or in Washington, and a part of 
 each summer at the springs; she was at that time no 
 stranger to the great cities and seasides of the North ; 
 and, in some instances (though these, to speak the 
 truth, were very rare), she had travelled abroad, and 
 knew the delights of European capitals. But now, 
 for many years, her whole life had been spent at 
 home. She was much too busy to leave it. The 
 bodily and spiritual welfare of too many human 
 beings depended upon her gentle presence, her bene- 
 ficent guidance, to permit more than the briefest 
 visit, once a year, to her aged parents. Retaining 
 the grace, and, to some extent, the ease of mariner, 
 characteristic of her class and peculiarly her own in 
 early womanhood, whilst moving in the brilliant 
 throngs of cities and watering places, and accustomed, 
 as she had ever been, to receive and entertain the 
 best people of her own and other States, there had 
 nevertheless crept over her, in consequence, no doubt, 
 of her long seclusion, an almost girlish shyness, a 
 maidenly timidity, a little uncertainty as to herself, 
 an absence of readiness and aplomb^ which were in- 
 expressibly beautiful. The ways of the great world 
 had ceased, long ago, to be her ways. She lived in 
 a little world of her own. She cared not to keep 
 pace with the fast-changing fashions, which, to her 
 pure mind, were not always for the better. Her 
 manner was not, in the usual sense, high-bred ; for 
 her's was the highest breeding, and she had no man- 
 
22 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 C^C cttTi 
 
 ner. But her welcome as you entered her door, and 
 her greeting, meet her when you might, on the end- 
 less round of her duties, in-doors or out, was as sim- 
 ple and genial as sunshine, and as sweet as spring 
 water. Full well she knew the seriousness of life. 
 Over and over the cares and responsibilities of her 
 station, as the mother of so many children, the mis- 
 tress of so many servants, and the hostess of so many 
 guests, had utterly overwhelmed her. Again and 
 again, had she been willing, nay glad were it God's 
 pleasure to lay down the burthen that was too 
 heavy for poor human nature to bear. To her own 
 sorrows she added the sorrows of her friends, her 
 neighbors, her dependents. Into how many negro 
 cabins had she not gone, when the night was far 
 spent and the lamp of life nickered low in the 
 breast of the dying slave ! How often she minis- 
 .tered to him with her own hands! Thin hands, 
 wasted with over-work for she disdained no labor, 
 manual or mental I can see them now ! Nay, had 
 she not knelt by his lowly bed and poured out her 
 heart to God as. his soul winged its flight, and closed 
 his glazed and staring eyes as the day was dawning ? 
 yet the morning meal found her at her accustomed 
 seat, tranquil and helpful, and no one but her hus- 
 band the wiser for her night's ministrations. What 
 poor woman for miles around knew not the bright- 
 ness of her coming ? Some of her own children had 
 been taken from her that deep anguish ! she knew 
 it all and the children of her neighbors, even the 
 humblest, had died in her lap ; herself had washed 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 23 
 
 and shrouded them. To feed, to clothe, to teaph, to 
 guide, to comfort, to nurse, to provide for and to 
 watch over a great household and keep its complex 
 machinery in noiseless order these were the wo- 
 man's rights which she asserted, and there was no 
 one to dispute; this was her mission, and none ever 
 dared to question it. Mother, mistress, instructor > 
 counsellor, benefactress, friend, angel of the sick- 
 room ! if ever I am tempted to call down the fire of 
 divine wrath, it is upon the head of those (there 
 have been such, incredible as it may seem,) who 
 have wilfully and persistently misrepresented thi& 
 best and purest of God's creatures as the luxurious,, 
 idle, cruel and tyrannical favorite of some Eastern 
 harem. The arch-fiend himself could not have 
 originated a slander more gross, more infinitely and 
 detestably foul. 
 
 My rambles before the war made me the guest of 
 Virginians of all grades. Brightest by far of the 
 memories of those days, that seem to have been 
 passed in some other planet, is that of the Virginia 
 mother, as I have so often seen her, in the midst of 
 her tall sons and blooming daughters. Her delicacy, 
 tenderness, freshness, gentleness ; the absolute purity 
 of her life and thought, typified in the spotless neat- 
 ness of her apparel and her every surrounding, it is 
 quite impossible to convey. Withal, there was about 
 her a naivete mingled with sadness, that gave her a 
 surpassing charm. Her light blush, easily called up 
 when her children rallied her, as they habitually 
 would, about her old-fashioned ways and her igno- 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 ranee of the world, was something never to be for- 
 gotten. Sunlight, flushing with faint rose-tints the 
 driven snow, could scarcely more excite the rapture 
 of admiration. Her pride in her sons, her delight 
 in her daughters, her lowliness and her humility 
 for she was least among them all, and they were as 
 yet too young and full of bounding life to revere and 
 worship her as she deserved who shall, who can 
 fitly tell of these things ? 
 
 When I think of the days that will come no more, 
 I sometimes pass my hand quickly across my eyes, 
 as one who wishes to brush away a vision, not be- 
 cause it is unpleasing, but simply because it is un- 
 real. And in the solitude of my room I sometimes 
 ask myself aloud, u Was this actually so ? Did I 
 live in those days ? Isn't it a dream ? Did I ever 
 know such women ? Is there not some mirage, some 
 rosy but false light thrown upon the picture as it 
 appears in memory ? It is very, very beautiful ; but 
 is it not of the fancy merely ?" 
 
 No ! blessed be the Giver of every good and per- 
 fect gift, the picture is not imaginary. It is real. 
 These women lived. The most of us who are bearded 
 men have seen them and talked with them; and 
 some of you (alas ! I am not of your number) re- 
 member with trembling and with tears, that, long, 
 long years ago, by the embers and low-flames flutter- 
 ing in the nursery fire-place, you knelt at the feet 
 of such a woman, and while her soft hand rested on 
 your head, said the little prayer her pure lips had 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 25 
 
 taught you to pray. You called her mother. She 
 was your mother. 
 
 How did these Virginia mothers and housekeepers 
 manage to put things in order and keep them so ex- 
 quisitely clean? That was always a mystery to me. 
 "Servants," you say. Oh ! yes ! servants of course ; 
 but when servants have so many things to do, how 
 is it that you never see them doing any one of them ? 
 If you laid awake all night long, you would, in some 
 vague daybreak hour, hear a peculiar humping, 
 rumbling noise, never heard north of the Susque- 
 hanna, which was occasioned, I am told, by a per- 
 formance called " dry-rubbing." A grey-beard Vir- 
 ginia boy told me only yesterday that riding on the 
 scrubbing-brush, by squatting astraddle the brush 
 and holding on to the long handle, was the best sort 
 of fun. But by the time you got down stairs, nobody 
 was to be seen, the floors were so slick that your 
 neck was in danger, the silver candlestick, snuffers 
 and tray were spotless, so were the big brass and- 
 irons, so was the brass fender, and as for the door- 
 knobs, why, you could see your face in them any- 
 time; and a comical, big-mouthed, narrow-fore- 
 headed face it was, as every Virginia boy knows. 
 Who did it ? When ? how ? what for ? I don't 
 like things so terrifically clean do you ? One 
 morning I did catch a girl coming out of the parlor 
 with a bucket in her hand. She trembled like a 
 guilty thing surprised, turned a little yellow, then 
 blushed a reddish black, " curche'd," and said: 
 
 "I jes' bin clayin' de h'ath, sir." 
 
26 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 What pleasure, what joy indeed, it was to visit 
 a house over which one of these dear Virginia ladies- 
 presided ! But what time of year was the best for 
 your visit? Mortal man could never tell. There 
 was the summer time, when you died daily of a 
 surfeit of peaches and cream, and watermelons, 
 tingling cold from the ice-house, all on top of your 
 regular dinner; and somehow you never felt well 
 enough to go bat-shooting with the boys about sun- 
 down, but did gather up strength enough to walk 
 out with one of the girls, "it didn't matter which 
 one," you said, and told a whopper when you said so. 
 When night came, and the girls with their beaux 
 were in the parlor, and the old gentleman was talk- 
 ing politics with his friends in the front porch, your 
 energy increased. Without a thought of fatigue, 
 you strolled under the manorial oaks alone? no, 
 not altogether alone. The incessant chatter of the 
 katydids, and the active vocal correspondence of the 
 frogs in the mill-pond and the creeks, made it certain 
 that whatever you had to say would be heard only 
 by yourself ? Yes, oh ! yes. The drowsy tinkle; 
 of the cow-bells in the " cup-pen" smote softly on 
 your ear. The switching of the whipperwill mingled 
 with the ululations of the half-scared negro, trudg- 
 ing homeward through the distant woods. Music- 
 from the open windows of the parlor, dipped in the 
 perfume of flowers freshened by the night dews,, 
 lifted your soul into Elysium. But the voice of the 
 lady in white, whose little hand rested on your arm, 
 was sweeter than music and flowers combined. 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 2T 
 
 (If, in the beautiful vista of life that opened then 
 before you, a panorama not seen distinctly, but ap- 
 prehended by some fine lover-sense, unknown to 
 ordinary mortals if in that entrancing vista, a 
 panorama of a possible "plantation and negroes," 
 superadded to the young lady in the simple lawn 
 dress, presented itself to you, ah ! how could you 
 help it ? and what poor, but handsome and aspiring, 
 young man in this audience will blame you ? I cer- 
 tainly will not.) 
 
 But it was too sweet to last. You didn't want to- 
 go in, not you, if it was midnight; but she made 
 you go. Then came the unrepose in the lavendered 
 bed, with the night- wind murmuring through the 
 locusts and aspens, and the starlight spilling down 
 from heaven where you cared not to go, yet awhile. 
 !N"o rest for brain and heart were on fire with hopes- 
 and fears. No rest. The mocking-bird in the thorn 
 bush, for all his melody, was a nuisance ; and that 
 screech owl in the old catalpa, how you would have 
 liked to cut his throat, slowly, ever so slowly, with a, 
 dull case-knife ! At last, consciousness melted away 
 into the paradise of dreams, and you awoke in the 
 morning to find your sweetheart fairer than the 
 fleecy clouds and sweeter than the dew-washed roses. 
 
 On some accounts, the winter was even better than 
 the summer for a visit to the old Virginia gentle- 
 man's home. There were more sports, Christmas 
 parties, sleigh-rides, etc., and a different order of 
 eatables and drinkables. But you devoured your 
 lady-love, opposite whom the cunning waiter was. 
 
28 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 sure to seat you. She was fatter, plumper, rosier, 
 arm-fuller, warmer, impudenter, more mischievous, 
 harder to catch, marriageable!*, exceedingly much 
 more to be desired in marriage, and everything more 
 delicious than before. After breakfast, and such a 
 breakfast, a ride on horseback was demanded by all 
 the laws of digestion. Coming back at a flying 
 gallop, she was apt to look something very like "yes," 
 and put whip to her steed. Then came a race. 
 Fox-hunting was a fool to it ! Rather than fail in 
 finding out the full meaning of that look, you would 
 have killed the last one of her father's blooded 
 horses. And when you caught up, oh ! misery the 
 slippery minx had no affirmative for you, and you 
 were "Mr. Impudence" for your pains. During 
 the dance at night, she would give you, once an 
 hour, a glance that was worth a king's ransom, and 
 for the ensuing fifty-nine minutes and fifty -nine 
 seconds was anybody's, everybody else's but yours. 
 "When the dancing was all over, and you hail lingered 
 at the foot of the staircase until you had well-nigh 
 disgraced yourself, she would bid you good-night in 
 tones that melted the very soul within you, dazzle 
 you with her parting smile, and with the least little 
 bit of a pressure of her tiny hand "just enough to 
 last you till morning," dart up stairs like a meteor. 
 The house was so full of company that you were 
 sent out to the "office" in the yard, to stay with the 
 boys. Time was when you asked nothing better; 
 now, it was pure torture. The gabble of brothers 
 and cousins about horses, dogs, guns, duels, " old 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 29 
 
 Soc," "old Gess," "Schele," "Math," getting 
 "pitched," and the deuce knows what, disgusted and 
 maddened you. You wanted to be alone with your 
 celestial thoughts, and they wanted you to play 
 euchre and drink whiskey-punch or apple-toddy. 
 Idiots ! You consigned them all, without scruple, 
 to the bottom of the pit that has no bottom. 
 
 Ah me ! those were days of the gods. Ask any 
 man here of five and forty or fifty if they were not. 
 Are there any such country homes left in Virginia ? 
 Is there even one such home ? And do they have 
 such delights in them now ? I know not I know 
 not. I have outlived my time. 
 
 Carried away by recollections of the sweethearts 
 of other days, the most of whom are grandmothers 
 now, I seem to have forgotten the old Virginia 
 gentleman himself. But I have not. It was neces- 
 sary to give his surroundings. The large estate, the 
 commodious house, the gentle wife, the sons and 
 daughters, are but accessories of the principal figure. 
 How shall I draw that true to nature ? The popular 
 idea of the old Virginia gentleman, even in our own 
 minds, is about as correct as that of the typical 
 Yankee, in bell-crown hat, swallow-tail coat, striped 
 breeches and short waistcoat. " Porte Crayon" has 
 a picture of the old gentleman in " Virginia Illus- 
 trated;" Kennedy, in the "Swallow Barn," gives 
 us another ; and Elder, in an admirable unfin- 
 ished sketch of a country court-day in Virginia, 
 furnishes a third. All agree in representing him as 
 
30 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 .a stout, bluff, hearty, jovial old fellow, fond of juleps, 
 horse races, and " a little game of draw." This, to 
 be sure, is one kind of Virginian, but not the typical 
 kind, and by no means my ideal of an old Virginia 
 gentleman. The truth is, there are several types, 
 of which I distinguish five as more clearly marked 
 than any others, viz : 
 
 I. The one above given by Elder, Strother and 
 Kennedy. 
 
 II. A small, thin, sharp featured, black-eyed, 
 swarthy man; passionate, fiery indeed in temper; 
 keen for any sort of discussion ; profane, but swear- 
 ing naturally and at times delightfully ; hot, quick, 
 bitter as death; magnanimous, but utterly implac- 
 able a red Indian imprisoned in the fragile body 
 of a consumptive old Roman. 
 
 III. A broad, solid, large-headed, large-faced, 
 heavy, actually fat, deeply-pious old gentleman 
 beaming with benevolence, the soul (and body, too !) 
 of hospitality and kindness, simple as a child, absent- 
 minded, unpractical to the last degree, and yet pros- 
 perous, because God just loves him a dear, big, old 
 father to everybody. 
 
 IV. A refined, scrupulously-neat, carefully-dressed, 
 high-toned, proud, exclusive man ; courteous, but 
 somewhat cold ; a judge of rare old wines and a 
 lover of them ; a scholarly but dry and ungenial in- 
 tellect; regardful of manners, a stickler for forms 
 and social distinctions; fond of ancient customs, 
 observances and fashions, even to the cut of his 
 clothes, which he would fain have made colonial; 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 31 
 
 an aristocrat, born and bred, and never quite un- 
 conscious of the fact; a high type, one that com- 
 manded more of respect than love, but not, I think, 
 the highest type. 
 
 Y. Last and best comes the Virginian, less fiery 
 than the old Roman-Indian, but of spirit quite as 
 high ; as courteous every whit as the aristocrat just 
 named, but not so mannered ; in culture not inferior 
 to either, and adding thereto a gentleness almost 
 feminine, and a humility born only, as my experience 
 teaches, of a devout Christian spirit; a lover of 
 children with his whole heart, and idolized by them 
 in turn; knightly in his regard for womankind, in 
 the lowest fully as much as in the highest sphere ; 
 in a word, as nearly perfect as human infirmity 
 permits man to be. An old gentleman of Maryland, 
 himself a fine specimen of an admirable class, told 
 me that what impressed him most in the Virginia 
 gentlemen whom he met at the Springs and else- 
 where, but more especially those who lived nearest 
 him in the Northern Neck, was a humility amount- 
 ing almost to forgetfulness of self, and yet joined to 
 so perfect a knowledge of human worth that they 
 could not and would not for an instant brook in 
 others any disregard of those claims of simple man- 
 hood which instinct alone, and quite apart from 
 education or social advantage, suffices thoroughly to 
 teach. 
 
 In our college presidents and professors, our judges, 
 senators, and other dignitaries, this lack of all pre- 
 tence, and even of self-assertion, amounted, I have 
 
32 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 sometimes thought, to a fault. But better this, far 
 better, when back of it lay all proper pride and per- 
 sonal courage, than the starchy vanity and conceit 
 of priggish Dons in other quarters of the globe. 
 
 It cannot be said that the last of the five classes 
 just given is the typical Virginian. He, indeed, 
 must be found by combining the separate types ; but 
 we have all seen specimens of this 'best class, few 
 counties but contained one or more of them, and 
 we do know that higher, nobler men never lived on 
 earth. 
 
 "No ; to me the strangest possible of mistakes is to 
 reckon the broad-waisted, jovial, rollicking English 
 squire as the true Virginia type. The richest and 
 most varied growths do not come out of cold white 
 clay, but out of dark warm mould ; and in the depths 
 of the A r irginia character there was ever a stratum 
 of grave thought and feeling that not seldom sank 
 into sadness and even gloom. 
 
 How could it be otherwise ? Whether he lived 
 on the banks of the great tidal rivers, and from his 
 porches and windows was wont to watch the trees, 
 faint and spectral, standing on the distant points far 
 across the waves, with here and there a tired sail 
 wandering away into the underworld, as if nevermore 
 to return ; or from his quiet home upon the hills of 
 Piedmont saw, day after day from childhood, the 
 mighty Ridge, a rampart of Cyclopean steel, thrown 
 all athwart the sky and fading in misty fire at the 
 portals of the setting sun ; or in the great Valley be- 
 held himself in an earthlv Paradise, shut in between 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 33 
 
 battlements built by the gods ; or in the heart of the 
 Alleghanies felt his young soul awed by the huge 
 mountain forms, sphynxes as silent and much more 
 vast than that of Egypt ; live wherever he might in 
 Virginia, the breadth and grandeur of these aspects 
 of nature imparted their solemnity to him. His 
 spirit was attuned from infancy to the moaning of 
 the pines and the sea-like murmur of the wind in 
 the forests around him ; the desolation and barren- 
 ness of some of his neighbors' fields, wasted by bad 
 tillage, left their impress upon him ; insensibly his 
 mind took the sombre coloring of these surround- 
 ings, and, however gay he might be at times, the 
 warp of his life was always grave. 
 
 The profound sense of responsibility to his Maker 
 added to this gravity. As husband, father, master, 
 he felt to the full the weight of human duty. But 
 high above them all rose his Roman sense of civic 
 obligation. Civis Americanus sum had in his day 
 a meaning which seems lost in these later times. 
 That meaning never left him. He could not forget 
 it, and what is more, he did not want to. Often the 
 presiding magistrate of his county ; often, too, its 
 representative in the legislature or in congress, he 
 continued to direct its politics long after he ceased 
 to take active part in them. His interest in public 
 affairs abated only with his breath. In addition to 
 the many cares that grew out of this interest were 
 the scarcely less heavy anxieties that pressed upon 
 him as the friend, the counsellor, the fiduciary, the 
 referee and the arbitrator in the troubles and differ- 
 3 
 
34 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 ences of opinion among his neighbors. His old 
 escritoir or secretary was full of wills, deeds, notes 
 of hand, and settlements of every kind. The widow 
 and the orphan turned at once to him in all their 
 trials. He never failed them never. 
 
 His reading helped largely to increase the gravity 
 due to all the trusts just named. The Federalist 
 and other writings of Madison, the works of George 
 Mason, Jefferson and Calhoun, Elliott's Debates, the 
 Greek and especially the Roman historians, the 
 Letters of Junius and the speeches of Burke, made 
 up the bulk of his library, and fed his mind with 
 thoughts of that deepest and saddest of all problems 
 human government. If his neglect of scientific 
 studies was, as I once held, simply shameful, it was, 
 1 am now willing and glad to believe, because science 
 had not done in his day what indeed it has even now 
 but imperfectly done found its true objective in 
 questions of government the one paramount, under- 
 lying and absorbing interest of the Virginian's life. 
 His place on the border, in immediate sight of the 
 national capital, the centre of power, would not per- 
 mit him to forget the boding prophecies of Henry 
 anterior to the adoption of the Constitution. In his 
 ears rang ever the hollow murmur of that " fire-bell 
 in the night" that affrighted the philosopher of 
 Monticello. If jealously guarding the only charter 
 of rights left to him as a part of an ever-weakening 
 minority, he insisted upon strict constructions, not 
 of the letter only, but of the spirit of the organic 
 law, and that were a fault, it was a fault from which 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 35 
 
 there was no escape short of absolute surrender of 
 his own liberty and that of the American people. 
 His nice distinctions were drawn in defence of truth, 
 of justice, of the good of the whole Union, nay, of 
 all mankind ; and he did well to split hairs when but 
 a hair stood between him and degradation. 
 
 Could he for a moment fail to remember that the 
 moral of the American Revolution, its sole value 
 and excuse, was the right (supposed to have been 
 achieved after ages of strife) of self-government, the 
 remembrance was forced back upon him by con- 
 tinued assaults upon his character, his property, and 
 all he held dear, by a horde of enemies ever increas- 
 ing in numbers and bitterness. Yet it is contended 
 by those who, pandering to the evil spirit of the 
 hour, are more unwilling than unable to take in the 
 full scope of this still important argument, that in 
 grasping at shadows the Virginian lost the substance 
 of power, and gave up for metaphysics a prosperity 
 he might easily have retained. I deny it utterly. 
 
 Conceding for the moment that there can be last- 
 ing prosperity without good government, I point to 
 the map. The configuration of the American con- 
 tinent, the northeastward trend of the Atlantic coast, 
 and the course of the gulf stream, which still carries 
 the steamship in the very path of the sailing vessel, 
 were not of the Virginian's making. Climate and 
 soil, which made manufactures a necessity in New 
 England, made agriculture a luxury to the Virginian. 
 Yet he tried manufactures. How exceeding wise 
 are the sons of to-day who twit their fathers with 
 
36 t THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 not having done this! Over and again the Vir- 
 ginian tried them, and over again was he crushed by 
 associated capital. Immigration, determined in part 
 by latitude and isotherms, but rigorously by prox- 
 imity, ease and rapidity of access, the Virginian 
 could no more control than he could control the 
 motions of the heavenly bodies, yet despite immigra- 
 tion, dense population and concentrated wealth, de- 
 spite tariffs and protective laws devised for his ruin, 
 he and his brethren of the South at the outbreaking 
 of the late war were richer far, man for man, than 
 their fellows of the North. Property was more 
 evenly distributed, crime and pauperism were almost 
 unknown, jails were empty, poor-houses empty, beg- 
 gars were wonders, and social elevation, large areas 
 considered, was incomparably superior. An old 
 song, this. Yes, but it needs repeating when a Vir- 
 ginian declares that the Virginians of his own day 
 lack "public spirit." Masterly as the oration at 
 Randolph Macon undoubtedly was, and much needed 
 as was the rebuke then administered to our over- 
 weening self-esteem, something may be said on the 
 other side. Indeed, the very highest proof ever 
 given of the large and generous spirit of Virginians 
 was the burst of applause that everywhere greeted 
 an accusation which, coming from a son less tried 
 and proven by fire of battle, might well have been 
 accounted abuse and almost slander. 
 
 Virginians wanting in public spirit? 'Tis a new 
 accusation indeed. Why, the cuckoo cry of the 
 North for half a century has been that the Virginian 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 37 
 
 devoted his. time to politics, to the utter neglect of 
 his private afiairs. Well I know, and so does he, 
 what manner of spirit it was that fired Virginia in 
 1860, but 'tis not of that he speaks. Perhaps he 
 means that, engrossed in self-admiration, our nar- 
 row sympathies would not permit us to love, I will 
 not say the Yankees, but the American people. In 
 my soul, I think the Virginian loved them better 
 than they loved themselves; for he who truly loves 
 liberty loves truly and to purpose all mankind. Is 
 it public improvements that he means ? Possibly, 
 for public spirit and running in debt hastening a 
 premature and unstable civilization seem to be 
 synonymous now-a-days. Well, then, I will take the 
 forty millions, spent much against the old Virginia 
 gentleman's will, in railroads and canals, that have 
 brought the State to the verge of bankruptcy and 
 repudiation, when a tithe of that sum expended, in 
 maintenance of his faith, upon a well-devised system 
 of county roads would have made ours the happiest 
 and most solvent Commonwealth in the South, if not 
 in all the land. What call you that ? Fealty to the 
 first great principle of our American form of govern- 
 ment the minimum of State interference and assis- 
 tance in order to attain the maximum of individual 
 development and endeavor that was the Virginian's 
 conception of public spirit, and, if our system be 
 right, it is the right conception. 
 
 Aye ! but the Virginian made, slavery the touch- 
 stone and the test in all things whatsoever, State or 
 Federal. Truly he did, and why ? 
 
38 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 This button here upon my cuff is valueless, whether 
 for use or for ornament, but you shall not tear it 
 from me and spit in my face besides; no, not if it 
 cost me my life. And if your time be passed in the 
 attempt to so take it, then my time and my every 
 thought shall be spent in preventing such outrage. 
 Let alone, the Virginian would gladly have made an 
 end of slavery, but, strange hap ! malevolence and 
 meddling bound it up with every interest that was 
 dear to his heart wife, home, honor and by a sad 
 providence it became the midmost boss, the very 
 centre of that buckler of State rights which he held 
 up against the worst of tyrants a sectional ma- 
 jority. 
 
 But a darker accusation yet remains. This also is 
 a discovery made since the war. It is charged that 
 our fathers threw away a great estate, an empire in 
 truth, and surrendered constitutional rights of in- 
 estimable value, not for love of our common country, 
 for peace and brotherhood, but for what, think you? 
 Mark it well for the sake of Federal office, and 
 that alone ! Yes ! this is the accusation brought by 
 Yirginians against their fathers. No Yankee brings 
 it. I never heard it 'till a Virginian of 1876 brought 
 it. Though I may be excused for calling in ques- 
 tion the motive of him who imputes such motives to 
 others of his own flesh and blood, I will not do so. 
 I will summon history to bar, and ask her whether 
 the Virginians who espoused New England's cause 
 and perished amid the snows of Canada were office- 
 seeking when they died ? And I will file in answer 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 39 
 
 to this charge a single act of our Legislature in 1867, 
 when Virginia, impoverished and dissevered, as- 
 sumed the entire indebtedness, principal and in- 
 terest, of two States. Was that office-seeking ? "Was 
 that the prompting of self-interest ? 
 
 Noble folly! Magnanimous stupidity? Nay, I 
 reckon it rather the dying murmur, the last true 
 beat of that great Virginia heart, whose generous 
 and unselfish pulse kept time to an exalted sense of 
 duty. 
 
 This doubtless was the weakness of the Virginia 
 gentleman of the olden time. It was not the weak- 
 ness of a mean or grovelling spirit, or one in imita- 
 tion of which the world will soon destroy itself. He 
 was not wiser, he was not more learned, he was not 
 more successful than other men. Wherein, then, 
 lay his strength, and what was the secret of his in- 
 fluence over all this land ? I answer in one word 
 character. And what is meant by character ? 
 Courage ? Yes ; the courage of his opinions, and 
 physical courage as well, for he had a Briton's faith 
 in pluck. Pride of race ? In a limited sense, yes. 
 Honesty ? The question is almost an insult. 
 " Madam," said Judge John Robertson, when in 
 Congress, to his wife, who asked him to frank a letter 
 for her, " Madam, I am not a thief !" Love of truth ? 
 Yes; undying love of it. And more what more? 
 A certain inherited something in the blood and 
 bodily fibre that fused all these qualities and lifted 
 them as a steady concentrated light in a Pharos, so 
 that the simple look of the man, the poise of his 
 
40 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 head, his very gait, betrayed the elevation of his 
 nature. Therein lay his strength, before which 
 wiser men, as the world runs, and far wealthier men 
 bowed almost in homage. Character character, 
 fixed upon the immutable basis of honor, and a love 
 of liberty unquenchable that was the source of his 
 power, and the whole of it. 
 
 From the pale, defeated lips of Virginians, weak- 
 ened by poverty, comes the sneer (we hear it too 
 often now-a-days), " Can honor set a leg ?" No, 
 truly ; but dishonor can damn to everlasting infamy 
 a human soul. 
 
 But whatever its source, character, or what you 
 will, the greatness of the Yirginian in times past 
 cannot be gainsaid ; it is everywhere conceded. And 
 yet this mediocre age, which sneers at honor, natu- 
 rally enough decries greatness. Decries ? yea, denies 
 its very existence. " The individual withers, and the 
 world is more and more." So much the worse for 
 the world, were it true. They who looked Lee and 
 Jackson in the face, and fought under them ; they 
 who have seen Bismarck and King William make 
 Germany in the very teeth of its hostile Reichstag, 
 believe it. How passing strange ! String cyphers 
 till the crack of doom, they count nothing. Cut out 
 of the world's book the pages made lustrous by the 
 words and deeds of great men, and the rest is blank. 
 Myriads living in Africa for unnumbered centuries 
 have left no sign. But look at Greece ; at only one 
 of its States. Galton, in his able work on Hereditary 
 Genius, calls attention to the " magnificent breed of 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 41 
 
 human animals " reared in a single century in Attica, 
 ^enumerates fourteen of the greatest of them, and says, 
 <l We have no men to put by the side of Socrates and 
 Phidias. The millions of all Europe, breeding for 
 two thousand years, have never produced their equals. 
 The population which produced these men amounted 
 to 135,000 free males, born in the century named, 
 530-430 B. C." 
 
 On the first day of December, 1763, Patrick 
 Henry made his speech in the Parsons' cause, and 
 after the Convention of '29-'30 the giants no longer 
 assembled in Virginia. I will put the breed of human 
 animals reared in this interval, less than a century, out 
 of a free male population not exceeding that of Attica, 
 against any other ever produced in this world. I doubt 
 if the Roman senate or the Athenian Areopagus ever 
 at one time contained quite such a body of men as 
 were gathered in our famous Convention, and I will 
 say, with Galton, that we have not now, nor are we 
 likely ever again to have, two such men as Washing- 
 ton and Jefferson. 
 
 But, would you believe it, Jefferson is a plagiarist ! 
 a thief not only of words, but of ideas ! He has no 
 claim to originality his thoughts, his very language, 
 everything borrowed or stolen outright ! That has 
 been deliberately and publicly charged, not by men 
 of the North, but by a Virginian. Well, let us see. 
 
 " This new principle of so constituting a Federal 
 Republic as to make it { one nation as to foreign con- 
 cerns, and to keep us distinct as to domestic ones,' 
 was indicated as early as December, 1786, by Mr. 
 
42 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Jefferson in a letter to Mr. Madison." That is an^ 
 historical fact, testified to by Alex. H. Stephens. 
 
 " It is the very greatest refinement in social policy 
 to which any state of circumstances has ever given 
 rise, or to which any age has ever given birth." 
 That is the testimony of Lord Brougham. " It is a 
 wholly novel thing, which may be considered a great 
 discovery in modern political science, and for which 
 there is even yet no specific name." That is the 
 testimony of De Tocqueville. This will suffice. Jef- 
 ferson's fame is firm-based as the pyramids ; it can- 
 not be shaken ; and they who decry him do but be- 
 little themselves. 
 
 A soil is known by its crops, a tree by its fruit.. 
 Materials are tested by the strain they will bear; 
 flowers give forth their sweets under compression, 
 but yield their inmost virtues only to the torture of 
 the crucible. The flowers and the fruitage of a land 
 are its men. The test of men is the strain of war ; 
 the supreme test the torture of defeat. Virginians 
 were tested in the war of the Revolution, again in 
 1812, again in Mexico, again in the great rebellion, 
 so-called, and yet again in the long torture of recon- 
 struction. Where, I ask in the candor of a triumph 
 so amazing that it almost humiliates, where are all 
 the honors ? Were these successive honors the re- 
 sult of chance ? Are the great names and the heroic 
 deeds associated with these wars of no value ? There 
 can be but one answer, and it is so complete it sad- 
 dens me ; for well I know I think I know the 
 end has come. It has certainly come if, for the sake 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 4r& 
 
 of present comfort, the Virginians of to-day are 
 willing to forfeit these honors and to despise these 
 names. What neither war nor defeat could effect* 
 poverty, long continued, has accomplished it has 
 broken them down at last. I fear so, indeed. 
 
 My friends, it is not I who say it ; it is nature, it 
 is God who says it man, like all other organisms, 
 is subject to his environment. Change the environ- 
 ment, he changes with it ; destroy it, and he is de- 
 stroyed. But 'tis not the earth he treads nor the 
 air he breathes that constitutes man's true environ- 
 ment ; it is the social atmosphere that makes the 
 man or mars him. Great minds, great hearts, noble 
 spirits, are not fed on base thoughts and low ambi- 
 tions ; and if the glory of Virginia in the past has 
 been incontestably greater than that of all her sister 
 States combined, it must be because her sons inhaled 
 at home a finer, purer air. Ask yourselves whether 
 that atmosphere has changed or is changing, and 
 frankly own all of good or ill that slavery involves. 
 If it accompanied here, as in Greece, the develop- 
 ment of a splendid breed of animals, say so ; if it 
 helped that development, say so f earlessly. For one,. 
 I say with confidence, that the abolition of slavery 
 has so changed the environment of the Virginian that 
 another and wholly different man must take his place. 
 Will he be a better man ? I do not know ; I hope 
 he may. Will he be worse ? Time will tell. 
 
 But whatever the Virginian may have been, the 
 coldest envy and the meanest jealousy may look upon 
 him now with complacency. If he were vain, his- 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 vanity stands him now in little stead. If he were 
 proud, his pride need wound you no longer. " No 
 farther seek his virtues to disclose, or draw his frail- 
 ties from their dread abode ;" but come 
 
 I. 
 
 Come listen to another song, 
 
 Should make your heart beat high, 
 Bring crimson to your forehead, 
 And lustre to your eye. 
 
 It is a tale of olden time, 
 
 Of days long since gone by, 
 And of a baron stout and bold 
 As e'er wore sword on thigh, 
 Like a brave Virginia gentleman 
 All of the olden time. 
 
 II. 
 
 His castle was his country home 
 
 Hard by the river James, 
 Full two hundred servants dwelt around 
 He called them by their names ; 
 
 And life to them no hardship was, 
 
 'Twas all things else I ween ; 
 They were the happiest peasantry 
 
 This world has ever seen, 
 Despite the Abolition chevaliers 
 All of the Northern clime ! 
 
 III. 
 
 His father drew his trusty sword 
 In Freedom's righteous cause, 
 Among the gallant gentlemen 
 Who made nor stop nor pause 
 
 Till they had broken wide apart 
 The British bolts and bars, 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 45 
 
 And lifted up to Freedom's sky 
 
 The standard of the stars, 
 Like true rebellious gentlemen 
 All of that manly time. 
 
 IV. 
 He never owned a foreign rule, 
 
 A master he would scorn ; 
 Trained in the Revolution's school, 
 To Liberty was born ! 
 
 And when they asked him for his oath, 
 
 He touched his war-worn blade, 
 Aud^pointed to his lapel grey, 
 That bore the blue cockade ! 
 Like a straight-out States' Rights gentleman, 
 All of that trying time. 
 
 V. 
 
 And then the words rang through the land, 
 " Coercion is to be 1" 
 " Coercion of the free?" 
 That night the dreadful news was spread 
 From mountains to the sea ; 
 
 And our old Baron rose in might 
 
 Like a lion from his den, 
 And rode in haste across the hills 
 
 To join the fighting men, 
 Like a staunch Virginia gentleman, 
 All of the olden time. 
 
 VI. 
 
 He was the first to fire the gun 
 
 When Sumter was assailed, 
 He it was who life disdained 
 
 When our Great Cause had failed, 
 And ever in the van of fight 
 The, foremost still he trod, 
 
46 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Until on Appomattox' height 
 
 He gave his soul to God, 
 Like a good Virginia gentleman, 
 All of the olden time. 
 
 VII. 
 Ah! never shall we know again 
 
 A heart so stout and true ; 
 The olden times have passed away, 
 And weary are the new. 
 
 The fair white rose has faded 
 
 From the garden where it grew, 
 And no fond tears save those of heaven 
 
 The glorious bed bedew 
 Of the last Virginia gentleman, 
 All of the olden time ! 
 
 Oh ! good grey head of Arlington ! when thy great 
 sore heart, that ever took unto itself all blame, burst 
 behind the mute lips, and Rockbridge earth received 
 the stateliest man of all our time, then indeed the 
 last Virginia gentleman was laid to sleep in his mo- 
 ther's lap, and the heroic age of Virginia ended. 
 "The spacious times of great Elizabeth" come not 
 again ; there is no second age of Pericles. 
 
 As were the sons, so was their mother. She gave 
 them life ; they repaid her with immortality. Many 
 sons have brought honor to many lands, but it is the 
 crowning glory of Virginia that her children sought 
 honor in noble deeds performed more for others than 
 for herself, and that her fame, like her own Lee's, 
 is the fame of self-abnegation. The quarrel of 1776 
 was less her own than that of the North ; the quar- 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 47 
 
 xel of 18 60-' 61 was that of the South more than 
 Virginia's ; her career has been a continuous giving, 
 not a taking ; she owes nothing to conquest, but all 
 to successive benefactions ; in dwindling from an 
 empire to a span she obtained glory at every parti- 
 tion ; and as her body was wasted her soul found im- 
 mortal expansion. Martyr of States, her baptism 
 and exaltation have been the evils requited unto her 
 in return for the good she did for others. She gave 
 George Washington, and received Canby! As a 
 recompense for John Marshall, she received Under- 
 wood ! 
 
 But why call the bead-roll of her mighty names in 
 contrast with the pigmies sent to annoy and the ver- 
 min to defile her ? She gave the five States of the 
 Northwest, and was rent in twain for it ; and they 
 who would not allow her to secede tore her in pieces. 
 Nor was this all. The last possible of indignities, 
 the cruelest of all thorns in the crown of her martyr- 
 dom was yet to come. With long and bitter travail 
 of war and of thought, with lavish flow of blood, and 
 of money to repair the broken credit of the Union, 
 .she achieved liberty for herself and her sisters of the 
 North ; and they, not content with her Poland-like 
 partition, gave her over to the mercies, anything but 
 tender, of her former slaves and of adventurers in- 
 finitely worse than slaves. Well might Barbour of 
 Orange exclaim, this is " the crime of the*nineteenth 
 century ! " This was indeed " subj ugation of the soul." 
 True, it did not succeed, but that was not the fault of 
 the projectors of the plan compared with which, 
 
48 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 had it been successful, the atrocities of Timour and 
 Genghis were but momentary and trivial evils. 
 
 Shame, shame, eternal shame on them who would 
 inflict such outrage upon her, who never opened her 
 lips but to bless, nor lifted her hand but in bound- 
 less generosity. 
 
 Cursed! nay, though 'tis not of a people, nor 
 yet of a party, but of a motive that I speak I will 
 not curse. " Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and 
 I will repay." 
 
 "Thy will be done." 
 
 It is being done. - Mangled as she is, Virginia is 
 yet too magnanimous to ask or even desire to avenge 
 her wrongs. "E'en in her ashes live her wonted 
 fires," and, were she in power, she would heap coal& 
 of kindness upon the head of her enemies. Just and 
 impartial laws, an honest government, untainted by 
 fraud or sectional malice that, and only that, is the 
 vengeance Virginia seeks, or ever sought. 
 
 You may say it may have been often said or 
 thought, though I have not heard it you may say 
 that in giving away the Northwest, Virginia gave 
 what was scarcely her own, or, if it were, gave it at 
 a time when earth was as cheap almost as air. Be 
 it so ; count it then as dirt, though that dirt came to 
 be armed men in 1861; have your will. You may 
 say, too, that in giving her sons to the North first,, 
 and afterwards to the South, she gave them to a fame 
 which they could in no other way have won. I will 
 admit it. But see you here : 
 
 When the long debate on slavery and the rights of 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 49 
 
 the States was drawing to a close, Virginia called her 
 sons, her best and wisest, in council. The Conven- 
 tion of February 13th, 1861, second in dignity and 
 ability only to that of 1 S29-'30, was overwhelmingly 
 Union in sentiment. Virginia's heart and her head 
 were there. She loved the Union. Not for what 
 she could make out of it, or for the benefits it could 
 bestow on her, but for what it had made out of her, 
 for what she had bestowed on it. Her's was a mo- 
 ther's love; for the body of the Union had been hex- 
 own body, its soul her soul. And so, not con- 
 tent with her home convention, she call in Wash- 
 ington City another convention, a peace convention. 
 It was all her own her thought, her suggestion en- 
 tirely. She abhorred strife, she yearned to avert 
 bloodshed. But her Peace Congress, received with 
 contempt, was sent back in derision. Still her home 
 convention sought peace and ensued it, and urged, 
 as a dying and unresentful man might urge, the 
 maintenance of the Union. And then it was that a 
 third convention sat down at the very doors of the 
 first, clamoring for secession; a fact of which the 
 world seems ignorant and indifferent. But with the 
 din of imminent civil war in her ears, Virginia, em- 
 bodied in her Union convention, calmly pursued her 
 way, resolute, undaunted, not to be shaken by con- 
 tempt abroad or by threats of violence at home. 
 "What say you to that ? What sordid interest ac- 
 
 t/ V 
 
 tuated Virginia then ? Was she self-seeking at that 
 time, or moved even by that ambition which the 
 world counts noble the love of glory ? God in 
 4 
 
50 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 heaven doth know that, could Yirginia have had her 
 way, the only glory she would have sought, the only 
 fame she coveted, would have been the glory of peace, 
 the fame of union and a common prosperity. 
 
 But it was not so to be. Her will was not the will 
 of the gods ; fate decreed it far otherwise. 
 
 At Lincoln's call to arms all was changed in an 
 instant. She whose heel was wont to rest on the 
 tyrant's neck, but who late had been a suppliant at 
 his knees, heard once more in the gale that swept 
 from the North the clash of arms and the clank 
 of chains as her own Henry had heard them fourscore 
 years before. Springing to her feet, Virginia stepped 
 in front of her daughters, threw up her mighty 
 shield, and 
 
 " shook aloft her Eoman blade, 
 Which, like a falcon towering in the skies, 
 Couched the fowl below with his wing's shade." 
 
 It was a sublime picture. No wonder a shout of 
 new-born hope and joyous exultation rang along the 
 yellow Mississippi to the blue-waved Gulf when that 
 picture, standing out in bold relief against the 
 Northern heavens, fascinated every eye. No won- 
 der the tyrant paused in awe. No wonder he doubled 
 and quadrupled his call for troops. Such sight 
 as that no man had ever seen. Such spectacle of a 
 mother nation's protecting wrath mortal vision had 
 not beheld. It was as if Liberty herself, incarnate 
 and aflame with righteous ire, stood up to bar the 
 tyrant's way. 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 51 
 
 That figure, outlined dark, terrible and beautiful 
 against the horizon there, still stands, and in memory 
 will for ever stand, while beats the human heart re- 
 sponsive to the thrilling touch of noble deeds. Of 
 this imperial print there is but one copy. Its fel- 
 low we shall seek for in vain. Upon the long can- 
 vass of the ages, all crimson with wars and lustrous 
 with great and daring achievements, we shall find no 
 picture like unto this. It is the apotheosis of a na- 
 tion's self-immola'tion. The obelisk of the Matter- 
 horn rises sheer 9,000 feet in the air. What knows 
 the ant, burrowing in the sand at its foot, of its ele- 
 vation? Virginians, we must step back two cen- 
 turies ere we can take in the full measure of our 
 mother's unparalelled self-sacrifice. 
 
 For Virginia was a nation, though a small one a 
 distinct and a peculiar people. And well she knew 
 that, end how this quarrel (not of her seeking, but of 
 her deploring) might, she must bear the brunt of it. 
 And when the tempest came, and the war burst in 
 thunder on her head, when her sword was broken and 
 her shield shattered, Virginia, firm as her hills, kept 
 her place in the fore-front of battle still. Nay, 
 more. Grasping all the shafts of war, like fabled 
 Winkelried of old, she drove them into her breast, 
 and gave her body, her life, her soul, her all, to the 
 cause. Pardon me, I pray you pardon me, if I use 
 the only fitting words when I say, " she saved others ; 
 herself she could not, she would not, save." And yet, 
 ploughed, torn, harried, swept by fire and sword, 
 vanquished, dismembered, destroyed, she won and 
 
52 THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 wears, wears now, such honor and glory as beggar 
 the North, though it were piled with California in- 
 gots till the gold dislodged the polar star. 
 
 Think tenderly of Yirginia, O North, for she is 
 the sepulchre of your brave. Think tenderly of Yir- 
 ginia, O South, for her soil is saturated with the 
 blood of your sons. Speak tenderly, Historic Muse, 
 of Yirginia, for in her chaste breast is built the- 
 mausoleum of American liberty. And thou, O Time, 
 seal up the book of the record of the deeds of her 
 sons, place it high and safe upon the shelf of the 
 eternities, that in after ages, when men shall come 
 again to know God and his best earthly image 
 Honor they may take down the volume and read 
 with kindling eyes and emulous, heaving breast the 
 lesson of duty, devotion to principle and self-sur- 
 render the lesson of that alone which ennobles man 
 and lifts him almost level with his Maker. 
 
 But some one will say, " Yirginia is not dead ; she 
 only sleepeth." Nay, not so. Of a truth, she is 
 dead. Let no false hope or dream mislead you. 
 Baronial Yirginia is dead. Ilium, nor Carthage, nor 
 Thebes is more so. Go over the land as I have 
 gone, and you will see what I have seen. There is 
 no mistaking, no possible mistaking. 
 
 When I remember all Yirginia was, what she is,, 
 and what she is to be, I see passing down, down deep 
 into the vale of shadows, Love and Despair, bathed 
 both in tears, locked in embrace never to be broken, 
 and Death, with trailing scythe, following humbly 
 after. And faint as any whisper or sigh of soul for- 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 53 
 
 lorn there comes from the valley of shadows that 
 truest Psalm of Lost Life, the song of " HOME, SWEET 
 HOME," a breath and it is gone. And still from 
 the lower deeps, where love and despair and death 
 have all vanished, there is borne back, so faint that 
 only thought can hear it, the old, old refrain 
 
 " Be it ever so humble, there is no place like home." 
 
 And yet again there cornes, no longer a cry or a 
 sigh, but the dumb murmur of lips that shall make 
 appeal nevermore 
 
 " An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain, 
 OhTgiv&me back my lowly thatched cottage again." 
 
 It may not be ; it may not ever be. Omnipotence 
 itself brings not back the past. A land mighty, 
 populous, and rich, fabulously rich, is to come, other 
 and beautiful homes there will be, but not the Vir- 
 ginia homes we have known. The contrasts are 
 gone no deep shades to the high lights no accom- 
 paniment to the air no black keys to the piano- 
 forte all, all a dead death-pale dirty level. Let the 
 night wind sigh through the thin leaves of the dying 
 locusts, let the many-voiced bird make mockery in 
 the bush of thorns, the owl hoot from the dark woods, 
 the wan moon look down on the deserted garden, and 
 the lack-lustre sun glare through the sick and trem- 
 bling aspens on the old house rotting to its fall for 
 the homes that we have known and loved the dear, 
 dear homes, we shall not know again. No more ! 
 no more ! no more ! " Lochaber no more !" 
 
54: THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 
 
 In the realm of mind, and in a temple fashioned 
 not by human hands a temple more durable than 
 adamant as that outlasts the mists of dawn in that 
 palace of the past, that citadel of light that o'ertops 
 all time there dwell two bright and glorious spirits. 
 Twice ten hundred years they have dwelt there. 
 Tall and faultless in every feature, perfect from 
 golden helm to ivory sandal, Pallas Athene beholds 
 the matchless work of her children in art, in verse, 
 in history, in philosophy. Near her, darker of hue, 
 stronger in limb and feature, and of lower stature, 
 but majestic still and mighty beyond the might of all 
 who have come after, great Roma, mother of the 
 Caesars, looks forth upon the imperishable walls of 
 her builders and the mightier masonary of her law- 
 givers in every civilized land. And see, oh ! see, 
 even while I speak, beside these two rise a third, 
 more beautiful than either, for the light of Bethle- 
 hem's star is on her brow, more than one thorn from 
 the crown of thorns has pierced her temples fair, no 
 shame of Phryne or of Sappho is on her pallid cheek, 
 no blood of Colosseum or Circus Maximus stains her 
 palms', but only the unexampled purity of her tran- 
 sient life and the loveliness of her faith sanctify her 
 martyred beauty. She, too, beholds, in prophetic 
 vision, the work of her hands in time in cities and 
 in States that are and are to come ; in freedom, full, 
 complete, enduring, yet to be achieved beholds, and 
 is content. 
 
 And she is dead. Dead f Thank God she is 
 dead ! Lifted high above all hap of chance or 
 
THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN. 55 
 
 change ; safe, for ever safe from soil, or taint, or 
 blight, or blame throned in uncontaminable ether, 
 the virgin mother of peoples, immaculate, immortal. 
 Virginia ! our mother, our own mother, if we for- 
 get thee if we ever forget thee may our souls be 
 forgotten of their God. 
 
JOHN M. DANIEL'S LATCH-KEY. 
 
 A MEMOIR OF THE LATE EDITOE OF THE KICHMOND EXAMINEE. 
 
 PKEFACE. 
 
 In December, 1867, soon after the publication of the " Latch - 
 Key" in the Native Virginian, I visited the city of Richmond, 
 and, while there, was convinced that I had made, unwittingly, two 
 decided errors: First, John M. Daniel did not write "The Par- 
 liament of Beasts." The real author is known, but his name is 
 withheld for sufficient reasons. Second, the walk to Petersburg 
 was made, not for the purpose of lending, but of paying money 
 which the Editor of the Examiner had collected for his friend, 
 the then artist Peticolas. This I learned from the diary which 
 Daniel kept at that time, and which Mr. T. H. Wynne has now in 
 his possession. In respect of other matters of fact, I believe the 
 Memoir is substantially correct. 
 
 February 18, 1868. 
 
 SOME days ago I found, in an old drawer, the 
 latch-key which the editor of the Richmond Ex- 
 aminer gave me in 1863. It fitted the door of the 
 house on Broad street, opposite the African church 
 the house in which he died. A bit of brass, differing 
 in nothing from others of its kind, this key, never- 
 theless, has its charm. It is* the only souvenir I have 
 of one of the most remarkable men Virginia ever pro- 
 duced. Coming upon it unexpectedly, after I had 
 given it up as lost, the bare sight of it crowded my 
 
57 
 
 mind, in an instant, with pictures of its former owner. 
 I saw him in Washington, just after his return from 
 Europe, conversing with Seddon and Garnett ; in his 
 own room over the Examiner office, as he sat lord- 
 like, in a high arm-chair, in August, 1861, question- 
 ing me about the battle of Manassas and exhibiting 
 ;the major's uniform which he intended to wear as 
 aid to General Floyd ; in the editorial room, cutting 
 and slashing leaders which had been written for him, 
 or denouncing fiercely the Administration; at his 
 dinner-table, pledging Wigfall and Hughes in a glass 
 of old Madeira ; in the bed, where he lay wounded, 
 after the duel with Elmore ; and last of all, I saw his 
 marble face how changed ! as he lay in his metallic 
 coffin, March the 31st, 1865. 
 
 All these likenesses of this strange man came viv- 
 idly before me as I looked at the key of his door, 
 and with them came a host of recollections, some of 
 which I am now about to set down. Not that I have 
 anything to tell which others could not tell as well, 
 or better than myself. For it must not be inferred, 
 because he gave me the privilege of entering his 
 house at any hour of the day or night that pleased 
 me, that I was the intimate personal friend of John 
 M. Daniel. No ; he took a short-lived fancy to me, 
 and gave me his latch-key ; that is all. While the 
 fancy lasted I used the key but seldom, and after it 
 died out, not at all. Doubtless he soon forgot that he 
 had ever given it to me. My aim is simply to put 
 down, in chronological order, a number of incidents 
 ,and sayings illustrative of the character of one who. 
 
58 
 
 in some respects, resembled John Randolph, of 
 Roanoke, and who, like Randolph, was of a nature 
 so peculiar that the most trivial reminiscences can 
 hardly fail to prove interesting to hundreds of 
 thousands in the South, and to not a few in the 
 North. 
 
 My acquaintance with him began in Washington,, 
 after his return from Turin. He registered his name 
 at Brown's Hotel, in a small hand, simply as "Mr. 
 Daniel, Liverpool." Although I had never seen a 
 scrap of his writing, I knew, the moment I saw his 
 name on the register, that the man for whom so 
 many were anxiously looking, had arrived. The next 
 evening I was introduced to him. I had long been, 
 curious to see " the great editor," and availing myself 
 of his animated conversation with other visitors, eyed 
 him intently, seeking in the outward man some indi- 
 cation of the extraordinary being within. My search 
 was not in vain. The poorest physiognomist could 
 not have seen Daniel's face, even for a moment, with- 
 out being attracted I am tempted to say fascinated 
 by it. True, we always find what we are taught 
 to expect in a face, and often discover what does not 
 exist ; but here was a countenance singularly marked 
 a dark, refined, decidedly Jewish face. The nose 
 was not very large, and but slightly aquiline; the- 
 mouth thin-lipped, wide, unpleasing, and overhung 
 by a heavy black moustache ; the chin square, but not 
 prominent; the cheeks thin; and both cheeks and 
 chin covered by a dense, coarse, jet-black, closely- 
 trimmed beard; eye-brows very thick and black, 
 
JOHN M. DANIEL'S LATCH-KEY. 5 
 
 shading deep-set, rather small hazel eyes; head as 
 small as Byron's or Brougham's, beautifully shaped 
 and surmounted by masses of hair, which in youth 
 hung long and lank and black to his coat-collar, but 
 in later life was worn close-cut. Such was John M. 
 Daniel, as he sat before me in a room at Brown's 
 Hotel, in the memorable winter of 1861. 
 
 He was richly but plainly dressed. He talked 
 freely upon the topics then uppermost in every 
 Southern mind, but there was a hesitation, or rather 
 a tripping, amounting almost to a stammer, in his 
 speech the result, probably, of his long residence 
 abroad and the constant use, in conversation, of 
 French or Italian instead of the English language. 
 This tripping had entirely disappeared when I met 
 him, a few months later, in Richmond. It was not 
 an affectation, as I had at first supposed. 
 
 During a number of interviews which I had with 
 him in Washington, he was always courteous, good 
 natured and talkative. His moroseness, his bitter- 
 ness, of which I had heard so much, seemed to 
 have been dissipated by the genial climate of Italy 
 and the polite atmosphere of courts. One night, 
 however, Floyd's name being mentioned in con- 
 nection with the affair of the Indian Trust Bonds, 
 some reckless person took it upon himself to say that 
 in the public opinion the then Secretary of War was 
 " no better than a thief." Daniel flamed instantly. 
 He rose from his chair with a white face and with 
 trembling lips, and denounced the charge against 
 Gov. Floyd as an accursed slander. In proof that 
 
Floyd had not appropriated to his own use one cent 
 of the public funds, he stated a fact, not to be men- 
 tioned here, which seemed to carry conviction to all 
 who heard it. He was very much agitated ; his pas- 
 .sionate nature so overmastered him that he could not, 
 although he tried to resume his calmness, and the 
 party soon dispersed from the room. 
 
 During his .stay in Washington, which lasted two or 
 three weeks, I met him but once after this exciting 
 scene. He was then in Mr. Seddon's room, convers- 
 ing with that distinguished member of the Peace 
 Congress, and with the Hon. M. R. H. Garnett. 
 Late English publications, relating to Continental 
 and British politics, were under discussion, and 
 Daniel showed himself perfectly familiar with every 
 book or pamphlet which the other gentleman had 
 read. Little was said so long as I was present about 
 Federal politics. It cannot, however, be doubted 
 that the Yirginia editor was in the intimate counsels 
 of the leaders of the southern movement, and that, 
 while he gave them the benefit of his eminently clear 
 intellect, he in turn was enabled by their information 
 and opinions to post himself thoroughly on all those 
 points which were shortly to be brought before the 
 public in the columns of the improved and, for the 
 first time, Daily Examiner. 
 
 The potent influence of this paper, from the mo- 
 ment that Daniel resumed the helm, was felt not only 
 in Yirginia, but throughout the entire South. To 
 this day, the effect of a single article, which appeared 
 & few weeks after the Examiner began to be issued 
 
61 
 
 daily, is remembered by almost every man, woman 
 and child in Virginia. I allude, of course, to " The 
 Parliament of Beasts/' in which the members of the 
 Virginia Convention, then in session, were likened 
 to dogs, cats, owls, opossums, and other members of 
 the animal kingdom. The likenesses were so hap- 
 pily and so trenchantly drawn that it was impossible 
 to mistake them, and many hundreds, if not thou- 
 sands, of copies of the issue containing the article 
 were sold in a few hours. Some offence was given, 
 but so much humor, and wit so genuine were min- 
 gled with the satire, that the Union men, who were 
 most offended, were obliged to join in the laugh at 
 their own caricatures. " Who is the author ?" was 
 in everybody's mouth. This question was never sat- 
 isfactorily answered. The article appeared as a con- 
 tribution, but in editorial type, and the great major- 
 ity of people suspected that Daniel himself was the 
 author. This, however, was denied, and many con- 
 jectures were made as to the man, in or out of Vir- 
 ginia, who was capable of doing so clever a thing. 
 Two years or more after its appearance, while sitting 
 alone with Daniel, I asked him to tell me in confi- 
 dence who the real author was. He was pacing the 
 floor of his sanctum, as was his wont. He stopped 
 abruptly, put his hands in his pockets, turned his 
 face towards me and said, with the utmost gravity : 
 
 " No one knows better than yourself who wrote 
 that article." 
 
 "Nonsense," I replied; " I really want to know. 
 Tell me. I pledge you my word that I will never 
 
62 
 
 reveal the secret until you give me permission to do 
 
 .60." 
 
 lie looked keenly at me, as if to ascertain whether 
 I could be trusted, and for a moment I felt sure that 
 lie was going to tell me ; but turning suddenly on his 
 heel, he began again to pace the floor in silence. He 
 refused to tell me even the author of the paraphrase 
 in verse, which appeared some time after the original. 
 I have scarcely a doubt but that he himself wrote the 
 original in prose, and I think I can make a very good 
 guess as to the authorship of the poetic version. The 
 latter I attribute to the same hand which penned 
 "Fie! Memminger," and similar articles in rhyme, 
 which were printed in the Examiner during the years 
 1864-'65. 
 
 In May, 1861, I went to Manassas with the first 
 battalion sent thither from Richmond. No sooner 
 was I upon the ground than I felt, as by prescience, 
 rather than by any comprehension of the strategic 
 value of the position, that the place was to be the 
 scene of a great battle ; and shortly afterwards, with 
 
 the aid of my friend, Lieut. L , embodied my 
 
 views and apprehensions in an article of considerable 
 length, which I sent to the Examiner no order to 
 the contrary having then been issued. Daniel 
 thought it imprudent to publish the article, but was 
 so pleased with it that he continued to send me, as 
 long as I remained at Manassas, five copies of his 
 daily paper. He also offered me my own price for 
 any letters I might choose to write him. Even had 
 it been lawful, I could not have accepted his propo- 
 
63 
 
 -sition, for the reason that the fatigues of incessant 
 drilling left me little inclination and less ability to 
 write even to my own father. But the prompt 
 recognition of the little service I had rendered him 
 a promptness which, as I afterwards discovered, 
 was characteristic of Daniel and doubtless a good 
 deal of gratified vanity at the estimate he had placed 
 on my contribution, impelled me to call on him as 
 soon as I reached Richmond, in August, after the 
 great battle. 
 
 He was then living in two rooms, handsomely 
 fitted up, in the second story of the Examiner build- 
 ing. The front room he used as a bed chamber, the 
 back room as a sanctum and a hall of audience for 
 his many visitors. In the latter were a number of 
 easy chairs; and one in particular, which he pre- 
 ferred above all the rest. It was a sort of barber's 
 chair, covered with horse hair, and elevated much 
 more than ordinary chairs above the floor. From 
 this seat, as from a throne, he looked down upon 
 and conversed with his visitors; and to me at least, 
 (I know not how it was with others,) his words de- 
 scended from their elevation with a certain authority, 
 as from a true cathedra. 
 
 The day was warm, and the editorial Pontiff was 
 by no means in his robes of office. He wore neither 
 coat nor vest, only a pair of white duck pantaloons. 
 He looked spotlessly clean, cool and comfortable. 
 His reception was kind, almost to cordiality. He 
 talked freely about the war, about the generals, and 
 the plans of campaign, but was very guarded in his 
 
64: 
 
 comments upon the Administration, which, up to 
 this time, he had heartily supported. Indeed, the 
 Examiner was, for many months after the war began, 
 regarded as the organ of the Administration. Full 
 of his expected campaign with Floyd, he told me, 
 with an air of satisfaction, how he intended to be 
 comfortable and to escape the tilth and misery of 
 camp life. He was going en grand tenue with a 
 chest stored with the good things of this life, a tent 
 of his own fashioning, a complete cooking apparatus, 
 his own cook and his own valet. 
 
 I asked him if he had no fear of being killed or 
 wounded. He replied that he did not think he 
 would be killed, and that the chances were that he 
 would not be wounded. "I hate pain," said he; "I. 
 cannot bear it, and yet I should like to be able to 
 show an honorable scar in this cause." His cam- 
 paign in southwestern Virginia was not of long 
 duration. I am satisfied, from what he afterwards 
 told me, that he joined Gen. Floyd, not for a holiday, 
 but with the purpose of winning military glory. He 
 was ambitious in everything he undertook, and on: 
 more than one occasion he expressed to me a great 
 regret at having left the army. "By this time," 
 (the winter of 1864,) said he, "I might have been a 
 brigadier perhaps a major-general." 
 
 "But," said I, "as the editor of the Examiner, ' 
 you are exerting an influence far greater than any 
 brigadier greater perhaps than any major-general." 
 
 " True," he answered ; " but what good is the Ex- 
 aminer, or any other paper, or all the papers in the 
 
65 
 
 Confederacy combined, doing? Besides, I like to 
 command men. I love power." 
 
 After the interview in August, 1861, I saw very 
 little of him for two years. I met him occasionally 
 on the street, but his manner was so repelling that I 
 was deterred from gratifying the desire, which I often 
 felt, of going to see him. With his old habits had 
 come back his old ways he was as cold, self-con- 
 tained and gloomy as he had been before he went to 
 Europe. Affairs were not going in the fashion that 
 suited him. Grave doubts were beginning to arise 
 in his mind. He still had hopes, and often high 
 hopes, of the success of the cause, but the course of 
 the Administration excited continually the bitterness 
 of his nature. Then, again, the whole weight of the 
 Examiner, which, he frequently described to me " as 
 a mill-stone about his neck,' 1 was upon him. Con- 
 vinced that his editorial labors were well nigh use- 
 less, in so far as they influenced the conduct of the 
 war, the finances, or anything else pertaining to the 
 policy of Mr. Davis, it was but natural that his 
 mental energies should flag and his wonderful powers 
 of composition should be abated. He was anxious 
 to get an assistant, but could find no one to suit him. 
 He had fallen out with one whose brilliant and 
 humorous pen had served him so well in former 
 years. Edward A. Pollard was in ill health, and 
 had started, or was about to start, for Europe, and 
 he had not succeeded in getting the two or three 
 writers, whose contributions, a few months later,, 
 5 
 
66 
 
 added so greatly to the value and the interest of the 
 Examiner. 
 
 It was at this time, in the summer of 1863, while 
 on a visit to the country, that I amused myself one 
 evening by writing a satirical article on the then 
 exciting subject of the removal of the Quartermaster 
 General. This I sent to Daniel. What was my sur- 
 prise by return mail, to receive from B. F. Walker, 
 the manager of the Examiner, a flattering letter, 
 telling me of Daniel's high appreciation of my article, 
 and his desire to secure my services as assistant edi- 
 tor. An engagement on another paper prevented 
 me from accepting the proffered situation ; moreover 
 I knew well that Daniel was a " hard master." Never- 
 theless, I was anxious to see in print an article which 
 had received the approval of such a critic as John M. 
 Daniel. I looked each day, but never saw it. I 
 own that I felt chagrined. My only conclusion was 
 that Daniel, at a first reading, had overestimated the 
 merits of the article, and that a subsequent perusal, 
 revealing faults which he had not before detected, 
 had determined him not to publish it. 
 
 On my return to Richmond, I felt little desire to 
 meet any of the Examiner people ; but passing Walker 
 one day on the street, he hailed me and told me to 
 come to the office; he had some money for me. 
 
 "Money for what?" I inquired. 
 
 " For that article you sent down. Don't you re- 
 member it?" 
 
 "I remember it distinctly, but I also remember 
 that you never printed it." 
 
JOHN M. DANIEL'S LATCH-KEY. 67 
 
 Walker was positive that the article had been 
 printed, and I no less positive that it had not. Finally 
 he referred me to Mr. Daniel, and to him, accord- 
 ingly, I went. He received me kindly, compli- 
 mented my article extravagantly, as I thought, and 
 asked me if Walker had paid me for it. I was a 
 good deal nettled, supposing that he was making fun 
 of me. I told him in reply, that Walker had offered 
 to pay me much more than the article was worth, ac- 
 cording to the established rates of the Examiner 
 (which I knew), but that I had refused payment on 
 the ground that the article had never appeared. His 
 eye twinkled mischievously, as he said : 
 
 " You didn't see it, because you didn't read the 
 Examiner. The Examiner contains the best thoughts 
 of the best minds in the Confederacy, expressed in 
 the best manner it is the organ of the thinking 
 gentlemen of the country. You ought by all means 
 to read it. There is the file ; look at the number for 
 , and you will find your article." 
 
 I looked, and sure enough, there was an article 
 twice as long and twice as good as the one I had 
 written my own ideas, but so enveloped in Daniel's 
 fine English, and so amplified that it was hard to re- 
 cognize them. 
 
 I have purposely related this incident at some 
 length, because it illustrates Daniel's character and 
 unfolds one of the secrets of his great success as an 
 editor. He begrudged no labor in elaborating and 
 improving an article which pleased r him. I remem- 
 ber his telling me that he had written a certain 
 
68 
 
 article over four or five times. The original draft 
 was sent to him by a lady distinguished for her at- 
 tainments and performances in literature. It was a 
 defence of his favorite general. He was gallant to 
 a degree and the warmest of partisans ; and both his 
 gallantry and his friendship being aroused, he exerted 
 himself to the utmost to make the article as printed 
 a telling one. If I am not mistaken, I have this 
 identical article now in my possession. It is headed,, 
 O he! jam. satis. 
 
 Although I would not accept the place of assis- 
 tant, and could by no means have filled it to his 
 satisfaction if I had, I was glad enough, in order to 
 eke out my narrow living, to enter into an engage- 
 ment to furnish him with two or three editorials a 
 week an engagement which lasted for several 
 months. It was at this time that he gave me his 
 latch-key and I became somewhat intimate with him. 
 I made many visits to him at his house on Broad 
 street ; and had many talks with him on all sorts of 
 subjects. He was not a secretive man ; on the con- 
 trary, he conversed with the utmost freedom about 
 himself, his early life, his residence abroad, his re- 
 latives and friends, his political associates and op- 
 ponents, indeed almost everything. Unless he hap- 
 pened to be out of humor (which was not often the 
 case at his private residence), he loved to talk; and 
 though a recluse, he was delighted with the visits of 
 gentlemen who came without solicitation on his part 
 and who called in a friendly and social way. He 
 urged me to visit him at night, and in order to tempt 
 
69 
 
 me to repeat my visits would give me each time 
 what was then a great and costly treat, a bottle of 
 English ale. This he repeated several times, but 
 finding that I did not play chess and was a much 
 better listener than talker, in fact, that I could not 
 talk well enough to provoke him to talk, he soon be- 
 came tired of my visits a fact of which he gave me 
 convincing proof by yawning in my face ! 
 
 This house on Broad street and his mode of living 
 deserve notice. The house was of brick, three stories 
 high, commodious and comfortable. It was one of 
 a number of investments in real estate which he 
 made during the war. Although no human being 
 but himself inhabited this house the servants being 
 restricted to the kitchen of four rooms in the back- 
 yard he lived, literally, all over it. The front room 
 on the first floor was his parlor. In it were two 
 large oil paintings, works of decided merit, a mosaic 
 chess table and a few mahogany chairs. Sometimes 
 he received his visitors in the parlor, but more often 
 in the dining-room adjoining, where he kept a table 
 for writing and his iron safe. A handsome side- 
 board and a set of solid dining tables of antique 
 pattern graced this apartment. He was fond of telling 
 that these tables once belonged to " old Memminger," 
 and were bought when the worthy Secretary of the 
 Treasury broke up house-keeping on Church Hill. 
 The front room in the second-story was his chamber, 
 and the passage-room adjoining, his dressing closet. 
 A tall miror, which reached from the floor almost to 
 the ceiling, was fastened to the wall between the two 
 
70 JOHN M. DANIEL'S LATCH-KEY. 
 
 front windows. Hard by was a large cheval glass, by 
 means of which he w^as enabled to see his whole figure, 
 front and rear, from head to foot. He was not a 
 fop, but he was fond of dress, and had an eye to ap- 
 pearance, not only in person, but in print. He had 
 a horror of slovenliness. A carelessly written edi- 
 torial was his abomination. He used to say that a 
 man who goes into print ought to remember that he 
 is making his appearance before the very best society, 
 and that he owes it both to himself and to that society 
 not to appear in undress. When an acquaintance of 
 the writer of this article was married in church, one 
 February afternoon in 1863, John M. Daniel was- 
 there in a long-tail coat and white waistcoat. He 
 believed in white waistcoats. He told his manager, 
 Walker, that he ought never to go to a part}' with- 
 out wearing a white vest. 
 
 " But, Mr. Daniel," objected Walker, " suppose a 
 man hasn't got a white vest and is too poor, these 
 war times, to buy one?" 
 
 " D n it ! sir, let him stay at home." 
 Besides the mirror, the cheval glass and a few 
 chairs, there was no other furniture in his chamber, 
 except an old-fashioned high-post bedstead, which, 
 together with most of his furniture, he had bought 
 at the sales of the effects of refugees once wealthy. 
 He believed in blood, in families of ancient and 
 honorable descent, in gentlemen, and preferred the 
 workmanship and antiquated style of things which 
 had descended as heirlooms in the houses of gentle- 
 men to the costliest and most tasteful productions of 
 
71- 
 
 modern cabinet-makers. There was no carpet on the 
 floor of his chamber, and he slept without a fire. In 
 the morning a fire was built in the room next to his 
 chamber, and there his breakfast was generally served 
 between 11 and 12 o'oclock. He seldom went to 
 bed before 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning. This 
 back room in the second-story had a bed in it and 
 was used as a guest chamber, but I do not remember 
 to have known or heard of but one occupant R. W. 
 Hughes. He made Daniel's house his home when- 
 ever he came to town. 
 
 Adjoining the dressing-room, in the passage of the 
 second floor, was the bath-room. Leaning against 
 the door of this bath-room I used to see a bag of 
 Java coffee, which made my mouth water every time 
 I looked at it, for coffee, in those days, was twenty 
 to thirty dollars a pound. 
 
 The first room in the third story was used as a sort 
 of lumber room. A barrel or two of white sugar, a 
 few boxes of manufactured tobacco, and some large 
 empty boxes, which had contained books, were there 
 the last time I looked in. The little room, cut off from 
 the passage, was the library. The number of books 
 was not what one would have expected. A complete 
 set of Voltaire's works ; the Delphin edition of the 
 classics, complete; Swift's Works, Clarendon's Re- 
 bellion, and a few miscellaneous books are all that I 
 can now recall. Most, if not all, of these editions 
 were old and rare ; and strange to tell, most of them 
 were bought at private sale or at auction during the 
 war. Daniel was an omnivorous reader, but had a 
 
72 
 
 sovereign contempt for the so-called "literature of 
 the day." The first Xapoleon, riding post in his car- 
 riage to the theatre of war, amused himself by dip- 
 ping into books just published and pitching one after 
 another out of the window. This was much the way 
 with John M. Daniel, before he went abroad, when, 
 in his capacity as editor of the Examiner, all the 
 new publications were sent to him. He never cared 
 to keep them either gave or threw them away, and 
 if he had occasion to make an extract from one of 
 them, used his scissors remorselessly. 
 
 The back room, in the third story, was a favorite 
 one with him. Like all the other rooms, it was taste- 
 fully and cheerfully papered. It commanded a view 
 of James river, the hills of Henrico, and the wide 
 lowlands and woods of Chesterfield. Having a 
 southern exposure, there was always plenty of light 
 in the afternoon, and the room was easily made warm 
 and comfortable. Here he loved to sit in a leather- 
 bottomed chair, with a little table near him, reading 
 Voltaire, the Latin poets, or contributions and com- 
 munications to the Examiner. In this room he kept 
 his collection of medals and seals ; a violin lay in its 
 wooden case on the floor, stringless and unused. A 
 moody man, he sometimes deserted this pleasant 
 room and confined himself for weeks to the rooms 
 on the lower floors. 
 
 He lived well, but not luxuriously. He detested 
 hotels and boarding-houses. When he lived in rooms 
 over his office, he had his meals sent to him by Tom 
 Griffin or Zetelle. After he went to house-keeping, 
 
73 
 
 his negro cook was his caterer. The day I dined at 
 his house with Wigfall and Hughes, he had but one 
 course, a single joint of meat, a few vegetables, no 
 dessert, coffee and wine Madeira from Gov. Floyd's 
 cellar, which Hughes had brought with him. That 
 evening he called for " another bottle," after the rest 
 were satisfied ; but I never saw him intoxicated, and 
 on one occasion only under the influence of wine 
 even in a slight degree. Then his eyes were a little 
 glassy, his manner dogmatic, and he rocked a little 
 as he stood up in front of me and laid down the law 
 in regard to things political. Whiskey he hated with 
 his whole heart. I have heard him curse it and its 
 effects most bitterly, and once wrote, at his special 
 request, an article beginning, ''Whiskey, not the 
 Yankee, is to be the master of the Confederacy." 
 The feebleness of his digestion compelled him to be 
 temperate both in eating and drinking. I have heard 
 him say that a single glass of whiskey and water 
 taken at night, by prescription of his physician, 
 would give him headache the next day. 
 
 Coffee was his favorite stimulant, but. I do not 
 think he used it to excess. He was so fond of it 
 that he would not rest until he had taught his pet ter- 
 riers to drink it. These dogs " Frank" and " Fan- 
 ny" were their names, I believe he loved, but in 
 his own fashion. He delighted in teasing and wor- 
 rying them ; would pinch and pull their ears until 
 they yelped with pain, and was never more pleased 
 than when he succeeded in getting up a mild fight 
 between them. This was not easy to do, because 
 
74 JOHN M. DANIEL'S LATCH-KEY. 
 
 "Fanny" was "Frank's" mother; and, when he was 
 set upon her, went to work with rather a bad grace, 
 while she bore his attacks with exemplary patience. 
 When Daniel got tired of playing with his pets, who 
 were devoted to him, he would drive them away 
 with his horsewhip. Yet he never laid on with the 
 full weight of his hand. He was cruel to them at 
 times, but never brutal. 
 
 I asked him one day if his solitary mode of life 
 did not make him suffer from ennui. "Yes," said 
 he, wearily, "but I am used to it." 
 
 " Don't you find solitary feeding injurious to your 
 health? I tried it once at college, and, within a 
 week, I was made positively sick by it." 
 
 "You are right," he replied. "It literally de- 
 stroys the appetite. In Turin, I employed an Italian 
 count as my chef de cusine. He was really an artist 
 in his profession, and exerted all his powers to please 
 me. He had carte 'blanche as to expense, and sent 
 me up every day the most tempting dishes. I could 
 taste them that was all. I never enjoyed a meal 
 at home. Whereas, when invited to dine in the 
 country with a pleasant party of ladies and gentle- 
 men would you believe it? I would sometimes be 
 helped three times to meat." 
 
 I asked him then, as I had often done before, why 
 he did not marry. He wa& always pleased when the 
 subject was broached, and I am sure we must have 
 had, first and last, a dozen conversations on this topic 
 alone. After discussing the pros and cons, he 
 generally wound up by declaring that, if he ever 
 
married, it must be with the explicit understanding 
 that himself and his wife should occupy separate 
 houses. To this end, he often threatened to buy the 
 house next to his own and have a door cut in the 
 partition wall, the key of which he would keep in 
 his own pocket. "The noise of children and the 
 gabble of a woman with her lady friends was some- 
 thing which he could not and would not stand." 
 
 He was a warm admirer of the female sex, but 
 his opinion of them was not the most exalted. Social 
 life on the Continent did not tend to weaken his 
 natural prejudice against mankind, and probably 
 lessened his esteem for the fairer portion of human- 
 ity. Over the mantle-shelf in his chamber hung an 
 exquisite miniature on ivory. The face was, beyond 
 question, the most beautiful I have ever seen, and 
 the execution was worthy of the subject. This pic- 
 ture was presented to him by the lady who painted 
 it, and it was her own likeness. According to his 
 account, she was titled, rich, marvellously accom- 
 plished in music, painting and poetry, eccentric, reck- 
 less alike of herself and of others. Her name he 
 would never tell me. He confessed to other fancies 
 while in Europe, but did not acknowledge, and I be- 
 lieve did not have, a serious affair during the whole 
 seven years of his residence abroad. It is said that 
 his heart was never touched but once, and then by 
 a beautiful Yirginian. This was before he left 
 America. He told me frequently that it was im- 
 possible for him to love a girl who was not pretty, 
 and yet he would shudder at the thought of uniting. 
 
76 
 
 himself to " a pretty fool." It was to no purpose 
 that I insisted that true beauty was of the soul alone. 
 He hooted at this doctrine as " a stale lie." Beauty 
 of face he might possibly dispense with, but beauty 
 of form beauty of some sort a graceful figure and 
 high-bred manner were absolutely essential. Hap- 
 pening, one evening, to express in his hearing my 
 regret that I was not acquainted with some young- 
 lady in Richmond who played well on the piano, 
 he started almost as if I had stabbed him, and gave 
 vent to an exclamation of the most intense disgust 
 as if the bare idea of a piano-playing young lady 
 nauseated him. His theory about the management 
 of women was simple and original. " There are," 
 he would say, " but two ways to manage a woman 
 to club her or to freeze her." 
 
 His menage in 1863 '4 consisted of three servants, 
 all males a cook, an ostler and a valet, who also 
 acted as his dining-room servant. His manner 
 towards the boy who waited in the house was rough 
 even to harshness. He liked his ostler, and spoke 
 kindly to him, whenever I happened to see them 
 together. I do not wonder that his house-servants 
 ran away from him. He lost two within as many 
 years. One was caught, punished and immediately 
 sold. The other, for whom he offered a reward of 
 2,000, made good his escape. After that, he bought 
 a very likely woman, nearly white, who remained 
 with him until his death. 
 
 Such was John M. Daniel at home. What he 
 at his office, I will now proceed to tell. Whilst 
 
7T 
 
 I was contributing to his paper, my habit was to 
 hand my article to the manager in the morning, and 
 at night I would go around to read the proof. 
 Daniel himself always read the proofs, though not 
 with as much pains as I liked. He reached the 
 office generally between 8 and 9 o'clock, and I was 
 almost always there before him. In those days 
 garroters were abundant, and the first thing he did,, 
 after entering the room, was to lay a Derringer pistol,, 
 which he carried in his hand ready for any emergency,, 
 on the large table which sat in the middle of the 
 floor. This done, he would offer me a cigar he- 
 could never be persuaded to smoke a pipe, and his 
 cigars were of the weakest and then begin the 
 work of examining proofs. First, the proofs of the 
 news columns, then of legislative or congressional 
 proceedings, next the local news, and lastly the 
 editorials. All these he examined with care, alter- 
 ing, erasing, abridging and adding as he thought fit. 
 Even the advertisements were submitted to him, and 
 I have known him to become furious over an adver- 
 tisement which he thought ought not to have been. 
 admitted. 
 
 He was the only newspaper proprietor I ever heard 
 of who would throw out, without hesitation, paying 
 advertisements, sometimes of much importance to 
 advertisers, in order to make room for editorials, or 
 for contributions which particularly pleased him. 
 Oftentimes his news column was reduced to the last 
 point of compression to make room for editorial mat- 
 ter. The make-up of his paper engaged his serious- 
 
'78 JOHN M. DANIEL'S LATCH-KEY. 
 
 .attention, and I have known him to devote nearly 
 half an hour to the discussion of the question where 
 ;such and such an article should go, and whether it 
 should be printed in "bourgeois," "brevier," or 
 "leaded minion." He loved to have two or three 
 really good editorials in each issue of his paper. 
 Short, pointed articles he had little faith in, believing 
 that the length of a column, or a column-and-a-half, 
 was essential to the effect of an article. The London 
 Times was his model, and he promised himself, in 
 case the Confederate cause succeeded, to make the 
 Examiner fully equal to its English model. A pun- 
 gent paragraph was relished by him as much as by 
 any human being indeed, he was quick to detect 
 excellence in anything, long or short but the sub- 
 editorial, or " leaded minion " column, was left apart 
 for just such paragraphs, and the dignity of the edi- 
 torial column was but once, within my recollection, 
 trenched upon. Even then the article was a short 
 editorial rather than a paragraph. It was near the 
 close of the war, when, despairing of the cause, he 
 urged, in a few strong sentences, the duty of Vir- 
 ginia to hold herself in readiness to resume her sov- 
 ereignty, and to act for herself alone in the great 
 emergency which he felt was approaching. I am in- 
 clined to think this was the last article he ever 
 penned. 
 
 Laying so much stress upon editorials, it was but 
 natural that he should pay particular attention to cor- 
 recting them. This, in fact, was his main business 
 in coming to his office at night. At times he pre- 
 
79 
 
 ferred to do his own writing, but in general, and 
 certainly in the last year or two of his life, he much 
 preferred to have his ideas put into words by others. 
 Then he would alter and amend to suit his fastidious 
 taste. Any fault of grammar or construction, any 
 inelegance, he detected immediately. He improved 
 lay erasure as much, or more, than by addition ; but 
 -when a thought in the contributed article was at all 
 suggestive, he seldom failed to add two or three, and 
 sometimes ten, and even twenty lines to it. This 
 was a labor of love to him, and did not fatigue him 
 .as it does most people. On the other hand, he dis- 
 liked extremely to read manuscript. This sometimes 
 brought trouble upon him. Coming in one night he 
 found on the table the proof of an article on finance 
 which I had written. He read it over carefully, and, 
 to my surprise, did not put his pencil through a sin- 
 _gle line of it. Whilst I was pluming myself on this 
 unusual circumstance, he looked up at me and 
 laughed. 
 
 " Very well written," said he, " but diametrically 
 opposed to the view's of the Examiner" 
 
 " Too old a hand at the bellows to be disgruntled 
 by this," I replied quietly. 
 
 " Pitch it in the fire." 
 
 " What ! and fill two columns myself between this 
 :and midnight ? This is every line of editorial on hand." 
 
 " I am really very sorry. But what is to be done ? 
 It is impossible for me to write any more. I never 
 can write after dinner ; besides, I am broken down." 
 
 " Let me see. Let me see." 
 
80 
 
 He took up the unlucky editorial, read it over 
 more carefully than before, and then said, in a tone 
 of great satisfaction : " I can fix it." 
 
 And so he did. Sitting down at the table, he went 
 to work, and within twenty minutes transformed it 
 completely. It appeared the next morning. There 
 were certain awkwardnesses, which we two, who were 
 in the secret, could detect, but which to the bulk of 
 the readers of the paper were doubtless quite imper- 
 ceptible. 
 
 AVhen he had to write an article himself, his first 
 question, after the usual salutation, was, not "What 
 is the news ?" but " What are people talking about ?" 
 and he upbraided me continually for not doing what 
 he himself never did, " circulating among the people." 
 He aimed always to make his paper interesting by 
 the discussion of subjects which were uppermost in 
 the popular mind ; nor did it concern him much 
 what the subject might be. His only concern was 
 that it should be treated in the Examiner with dig- 
 nity and ability, if it admitted of such treatment ; if 
 not to dispose of it humorously or wittily. But the 
 humor or wit must be done cleverly and with due 
 attention to style. He began to write about ten 
 o'clock ; wrote rapidly, in a crumpled, ugly hand, 
 and completed his work, revision of proofs, and every- 
 thing by midnight, or a little thereafter. He then 
 returned to his house, and either sat up or laid awake 
 in bed, reading, until two or three o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 His assistants in 1863-'4, besides reporters, were 
 
81 
 
 the local editor, J. Marshall Hanna ; the news editor, 
 H. Rives Pollard; and the editor of the "leaded 
 minion " or war column, P. H. Gibson. He had a 
 high opinion of them all. Pollard he declared was 
 " the best news editor in the whole South." Hanna 
 he pronounced " a genius in his way," and took great 
 credit to himself for having discovered, developed, 
 and fostered him. Gibson's ability he acknowledged 
 and complimented frequently in my hearing. 
 
 The business of the office gave him very little trouble. 
 He had, of course, an eye to everything ; but the 
 printing floor, the press-room, the sale and distribu- 
 tion of papers, mailing, the payment of employees, 
 the settlement of bills, in a word, the finance, out- 
 door transactions, and banking business, were all at- 
 tended to by R. F. Walker, the manager. He had 
 but a single book-keeper, a gentleman of the name 
 of Gary, who was also his cashier. Walker was his 
 faithful assistant in everything, from the purchasing 
 of type, and glue for rollers, to correspondence with 
 men of business, and oftentimes with politicians and 
 contributors. At the end of every week Walker 
 brought to the house, on Broad street, the bank book, 
 posted up to date. I was permitted several times to 
 look at this book. The nett receipts per week, in 
 1863-4, were from $1,000, to $1,200, or $1,500 
 After deducting personal expenses of every kind 
 (and Daniel never stinted himself in anything), it may 
 be safely assumed that in the third year of the war 
 the paper cleared at least $50,000, perhaps double 
 that amount. The owner was often on the lookout 
 
82 JOHN M. DANIEL'S LATCH-KEY. 
 
 for investments, and made a number of purchases of 
 real estate. He may have speculated, but if he did, 
 the speculations must have been on a small scale. 
 During my visits to his house I never saw there 
 any one of the men who were known in Richmond 
 to be largely engaged in speculation. Moreover, his 
 paper, in common with others, contained denuncia- 
 tion after denunciation of speculators of all sorts, and 
 was particularly severe upon brokers, gamblers, and 
 whiskey sellers. Towards the close of the war, when 
 investments of all sorts were doubtful, I suggested to 
 him that he had better buy gold. His reply was, 
 " I have more gold now than I know what to do 
 with." I am persuaded, however, that this gold was 
 part of the $30,000 in coin, or its equivalent, which 
 he brought over with him from Sardinia. 
 
 I have said that he never stinted himself, and this 
 is true. His table, indeed, w T as never loaded with 
 luxuries and delicacies which might have been 
 bought at almost any period of the war, if one chose 
 to pay the enormous prices asked for them for the 
 reason that his digestion would not tolerate anything 
 but the simplest food ; but his self-indulgence was 
 notably shown in articles of dress, in coal, and in 
 gas. He brought with him from Europe clothes 
 enough to have lasted him for years, but he never 
 scrupled to buy a $1,000 suit whenever he fancied 
 he needed it. When coal was very high, and one 
 fire would have sufficed him, he kept two or three 
 burning. Gas was costly in the extreme ; two burn- 
 ers of his chandelier would have afforded him ample 
 
83 
 
 light for he had excellent eyes but he was not 
 content until he had all six of the burners at their 
 full height. In reply to rny remonstrance against 
 this extravagance, he would say curtly : 
 
 " I like plenty of light." 
 
 If at his house Daniel was affable and almost 
 genial, in his office he was, too frequently, on the 
 other extreme. He loved to show his authority, and, 
 as the saying is, " to make things stand around." His 
 scowl at being interrupted, while in the act of com- 
 posing, or when otherwise busily engaged, will 
 never be forgotten by any one who ever encountered 
 it. Holding drunken men in special detestation, he 
 was, as by a fatality, subjected continually to their 
 risits, both at his office and at his house. More than 
 once I have been sufficiently diverted by intoxicated 
 officers, just from the army, who called in to pay, in 
 person, their maudlin tribute of admiration to the 
 editor of the Examiner. Sometimes he bore these 
 visitations with a patience that surprised me; but he 
 never failed to remunerate himself by awful impre- 
 cations upon the intruder as soon as he was out of 
 hearing. "While his tone to his employees was, as a 
 general rule, cold, and often intolerably dictatorial, I 
 have seen him, very frequently, as affable and fa- 
 miliar as heart could wish. Indeed, I have known 
 him to go so far as to come out of his sanctum, into 
 the small room occupied by his sub-editors with the 
 proof of a contribution in his hand, in order that they 
 might enjoy it with him. Occurrences of this sort, 
 however, were rare. 
 
84 
 
 Belonging essentially to the genus irritabile, his 
 anger was easily provoked. He could not bear to be 
 crossed in anything. Whoever said aught in print 
 against " the Examiner newspaper," was sure to 
 bring down upon himself a torrent of abuse. Pos- 
 sessing in an eminent degree, and, indeed, priding 
 himself upon his sense of the becoming and the de- 
 corous, he was no sooner engaged in a newspaper 
 controversy than he forgot, or at least threw behind 
 him, the sense even of decency, and heaped upon his 
 adversary epithets which ought never to have defiled 
 the columns of a respectable journal. This was kept, 
 up, sometimes, long after the original heat of the 
 controversy had abated his purpose being, as I sup- 
 pose, to give the opposing paper, and others, a lesson 
 which would never be forgotten, and thus to ensure 
 himself against similar annoyances in the future. To 
 avoid trouble and to maintain the Times-like char- ' 
 acter of the Examiner ', his rule was never to notice 
 the opinions of other papers, and not even to quote 
 from them. He waited to be attacked ; but when at- 
 tacked, he followed the advice of Polonius to the 
 very letter. But his hottest anger and his bitterest 
 maledictions were reserved for his political enemies. 
 His rage against the administration of Mr. Davis, and 
 particularly certain members of his Cabinet, was, at 
 times, terrible. In like manner, the journalistic par- 
 tizans of the Administration came in for a full share 
 of his fury. I shall never forget his excitement, one 
 night, on hearing that a certain article in the En- 
 quirer had been written by a person formerly in his 
 
85 
 
 employ. I can see him now, striding up and down 
 the room, exclaiming, "I'll put a ball through him !" 
 "I'll put a ball through him !" This sentence he re- 
 peated fully twenty times, and in a tone which gave 
 assurance of a purpose quite as deadly as his words 
 imported. Yet nothing came of it. He was a hearty 
 .and persistent hater, but he was not implacable. 
 During his stormy life he had many fallings out and 
 many makings up. It is not unsafe to assert that 
 he never had a friend with whom, at some time, he 
 did not have a misunderstanding ; yet it is certain 
 that he died in perfect peace, and on good terms with 
 all, or nearly all, of his old friends. One of the last 
 and most pleasing acts of his life was the glad ac- 
 ceptance with which he met the advance of his friend, 
 Mr. Thomas H. Wynne, from whom he had been es- 
 tranged during nearly the whole war. 
 
 His enmity to Mr. Davis, amounting to something 
 like a frenzy, will be ascribed, by those who differed 
 from him in opinion, to a bad heart, pique at not be- 
 ing made the confidential friend of the President, or 
 at not having been sent abroad in a diplomatic ca- 
 pacity. But by those, on the other hand, who agreed 
 with him in thinking that the cause suffered more 
 from mal-administration than from anything or all 
 things else, his course will not be so harshly judged; 
 and their chief regret will be that arguments so for- 
 cible as Daniel's were not left to produce their effect, 
 unaided, or rather unimpeded, by diatribe and invec- 
 tive. To reconcile these conflicting opinions is im- 
 possible, and if it were not, is beyond the intent and 
 
86 
 
 aim of this sketch. I remember asking him once 
 whether Mr. Davis ever saw his animadversions upon 
 him. 
 
 " They tell me down stairs," he replied, " that the 
 first person here in the morning is Jeff. Davis's body 
 servant. He comes before day-light, and says that 
 his master can't get out of bed or eat his breakfast 
 until his appetite is stimulated by reading every 
 word in the Examiner" 
 
 "Do you think he profits by its perusal?" 
 
 "Unquestionably. The few sound ideas he ever 
 had came from the Examiner" 
 
 This he said with perfect sincerity, for he contend- 
 ed, both in the paper and out of it, that every wise 
 and useful measure which had been promulgated by 
 the administration or by Congress, was borrowed or 
 stolen from the Examiner. 
 
 He was proud of his paper. If he sometimes re- 
 garded it as "a mill-stone about his neck," he never- 
 theless devoted his life to it, and found in it his chief 
 happiness. He looked to it as a source of power and 
 wealth in the future. Of that future, he was more 
 sanguine than any man I ever knew. How well I 
 remember the night he said to me, without provoca- 
 tion, if I recollect aright : 
 
 " I shall live to eat the goose that eats the grass 
 over your grave." 
 
 Perhaps there was something in my appearance 
 which called forth the remark, for I must have been 
 worn by the enormous amount of work I was then 
 doing. 
 
87 
 
 I looked up from the table, where I sat writing, 
 and said quietly : 
 
 " I don't doubt it ; but what makes you say so ?" 
 
 " Two reasons ; I come of a long-lived race, and I 
 have an infallible sign of longevity." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "I never dream my sleep is always sound and 
 refreshing." 
 
 Little did I then think that before two years were 
 ended, I should see him in his coffin. He was mis- 
 taken, however, in saying that he came of a long- 
 lived race. His father was not old when he died y 
 and his mother was comparatively young when she 
 came to her death of consumption, if I mistake not, 
 He was thinking, probably, of his uncle, Judge 
 Daniel, more than his parents. His own health was- 
 never robust; his constitution was delicate, as a 
 glance at his figure showed. His chest was narrow 
 and rather shallow, though not sunken, and his hips 
 were broad. The organs of digestion and respiration 
 were alike feeble. He had had an attack of pneu- 
 monia before going to Europe, and during his whole 
 life he was a victim of dyspepsia, from which he had 
 suffered greatly in youth and early manhood. I often 
 warned him against the injudicious and frequent use 
 of blue mass, his favorite medicine. Great virile 
 strength he had, as was shown by his dense beard 
 and the coarse hair on his feminine hands, but in 
 muscle, sinew and bone he was deficient. He took 
 great care of himself. I was told that when he re- 
 turned to Richmond his person was protected by a 
 
88 
 
 triple suit of underclothing. Next to his skin he 
 wore flannel; over that, buckskin, and over that 
 again, silk. This load of clothing he contended was 
 indispensable to health in Turin, where the atmos- 
 pheric changes were very violent and sudden. In 
 Richmond he dispensed with some of this undergear, 
 but probably gave up only the buckskin. Among 
 other items which he gave a Maryland blockade run- 
 ner, who waited on him one day while I was present, 
 was an order for " one dozen silk shirts of the largest 
 size." This size he particularly insisted on, and the 
 inference was that he intended to wear them over 
 flannel. What availed all these precautions when 
 the final summons came ? 
 
 Long as this article is, I cannot close it without 
 some allusion to John M. Daniel as an editor and as 
 a man. He was born an editor. Whatever may 
 have been his abilities as a diplomatist and a politi- 
 cian, whatever distinction he might have attained in 
 the forum or in the field, his forte lay decidedly in 
 the department of letters, and more especially in the 
 conduct of a newspaper. lie was not a poet, not a 
 historian, a novelist, an essayist, or even, if I may 
 coin the word, a magazinist. He had talent enough 
 to have excelled in any or all of these, but his taste 
 led him in another direction. It was hoped by every- 
 body that he would on his return home write a 
 volume about his residence in Europe. Such a book 
 would have been exceedingly interesting and valu- 
 able. Bat he was not a book-maker. Moreover, it 
 is not improbable that he expected to return to diplo- 
 
89 
 
 made life, and did not wish to embarrass himself by 
 reflections upon the manners and customs of the 
 people among whom he expected to reside. He 
 could not have written about the Italians or any 
 other people without dipping his pen in vitriol. The 
 publication of a part of one of his letters to his friend, 
 Dr. Peticolas, had brought him into trouble with the 
 Italians, and made him furious with his associate, 
 Hughes, who took charge of the Examiner in his ab- 
 sence. This occurred early in his career as a diplomat, 
 and made him cautious. He preserved his dispatches 
 with utmost care, in large handsomely bound vol- 
 umes; but whether with a view to publication or for 
 his own use in after years, I am unable to say. 
 
 I remember his telling me one night that he in- 
 tended to make a book. 
 
 " I wish you would," said I. 
 
 " Mark you, I did not say write a book, but make 
 a book." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 "I mean to make a book with the scissors," he 
 replied. 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "Why, by taking the files of the Examiner from 
 its foundation to the present time, and clipping the 
 best things from them. I am sure that I could in 
 this way make a book, consisting of a number of 
 volumes, which would contain more sense, more wit 
 and more humor than anything that has been pub- 
 lished in this country for the last twenty years. 
 Similar publications have been made in England in 
 
90 
 
 modern times, and long since the days of the Spec- 
 tator and the Rambler, and they have succeeded. I 
 believe that the best things which have appeared in 
 the Examiner, if put into book form, would com- 
 pare favorably with any English publication of the 
 kind, and that the book would command a ready 
 Bale." 
 
 So far as my personal knowledge goes, this is the 
 only book which John M. Daniel ever thought seri- 
 ously of making. I agreed with him then, and I can 
 but think now, that the present owners of the Ex- 
 aminer would do well to carry out his views. In the 
 impoverished condition of the South, at this precise , 
 time, it is idle to expect a very large sale of any 
 publication whatsoever; but the day will come, I 
 trust, when the bound volume of selections from the 
 Examiner will have a place in every Southern gen- 
 tleman's library. 
 
 John M. Daniel was emphatically an editor not 
 a newspaper contributor, but an editor and a politi- 
 cian. He was enough of the latter to have made a 
 name in the Cabinet. He was no orator, although he 
 had an orator's mouth. I never heard of his making a 
 public speech. He must have had a great natural 
 repugnance to speaking. Could he have overcome 
 this repugnance, he had command enough of lan- 
 guage to have ensured him considerable distinction 
 in forensic display ; but his temper was far too hot 
 and quick to admit of success in debate. He knew 
 men, in the light in which a politician views them, 
 thoroughly well. His natural faculty of weighing 
 
91 
 
 measures and of foreseeing their effects, was much 
 above the common. He had in him the elements of 
 a statesman. His historical studies and his know- 
 ledge of mankind were not in vain. Before the first 
 blow was struck, and when both Mr. Benjamin and 
 Mr. Seward, speaking the sentiments of their re- 
 spective peoples, were issuing their "ninety days 
 notes," he prophesied not only the magnitude, but 
 the inhuman and unchristian ferocity of the late war. 
 And who, in this sad hour, can forget how, as the 
 struggle drew near its close, lie strove day after day 
 and week after week to revive the flagging spirits,, 
 and to kindle anew the energy and courage of the 
 Southern people, by terrible pictures of the fate 
 which has ever attended ki oppressed nationalities?" 
 It is true that these articles were written by John 
 Mitchell; but they were inspired by Daniel. Alas! 
 those prophecies, like all others, have been inter- 
 preted fully only in their completion. 
 
 As a politician, eminence was not his. Had he 
 lived, it is as certain as anything human can be, that 
 he would have filled an honored niche in the temple 
 of political fame ; but his celebrity was destined to be 
 confined to the domain of journalism. Therein l\& 
 obtained a distinction which has been surpassed by 
 none and equalled but by few American journalists. 
 His place is by the side of Thomas Ritchie, Hampden 
 Pleasants and Joseph Gales. As an editor, he was- 
 to politicians what the Earl of Warwick was to 
 kings. 
 
 " It is said," he remarked to me one day, " that my 
 
92 
 
 admiration for Floyd is due to the fact that Floyd 
 made me. The truth is, I made Floyd." 
 
 He was accustomed to magnify his office of editor, 
 and his exalted opinion of Gen. Floyd was based, not 
 upon gratitude, but upon his estimate of the man 
 himself. It has been said that the quality which 
 .women most admire in men is " strength." The as- 
 sertion holds equally good of man's admiration for 
 man, and is particularly true in regard to John M. 
 Daniel. He worshipped strength, and nothing but 
 strength of mind and of body. He despised fools 
 and weaklings of all sorts. Goodness the moral 
 qualities he threw entirely out of the account. He 
 did not much believe in the existence of these quali- 
 ties, and when they did exist, he regarded them as 
 but evidences of weakness. Floyd was his " man of 
 bronze " therefore he liked him. Of another and 
 more distinguished politician he would speak in 
 terms of extreme contempt. " He snivels he weeps," 
 he would say, in tones of indescribable disgust. 
 Often have I heard him expatiate upon Wigfall's 
 magnificent physique and his unmistakable natural 
 courage. "It is the genuine thing," he would say. 
 " There is no put on there. He has got native pluck 
 the actual article ; it is no strain on him to exhibit 
 it. The grit is in him, and you can't shake him." 
 
 Of Daniel's own courage, I think I can speak 
 .safely and correctly ; and I may as well do so here, 
 although I had intended to defer mention of it until 
 I carne to the discussion of his character as a man. 
 
 He did not have the hard animal bravery of Wig- 
 
JOHN M. DANIEL'S LATCH-KEY. 93 
 
 fall; it was not in his constitution. His highly 
 wrought nervous system was not sufficiently pano- 
 plied with brawn to ensure it against the agitation 
 arising: from a sudden shock or the violence of an 
 
 O 
 
 unexpected attack with the fist or club. Nor was he 
 of that tough and wiry make which enables some 
 fragile men to meet the rudest physical assaults with- 
 out an outward tremor. But he had courage of 
 another sort, and had it in a high degree. What is 
 generally called moral courage, but is more properly 
 intellectual courage that is, bravery which is founded 
 not upon combativeness, the consciousness of muscular 
 strength, or upon great excitability unrestrained by 
 caution, but upon the clear perception of the nature 
 and extent of danger, together with the hardihood of 
 great self-esteem and pride of character he pos- 
 sessed to an extent which is rarely seen. To make 
 a reputation, he commenced his editorial career by 
 attacking personally nearly every man of note in 
 Virginia, thereby incurring a responsibility in the 
 field and out of it for it rested with the parties as- 
 sailed to demand satisfaction according to the code 
 or to take it at the pistol's mouth in the street, as 
 seemed best in their eyes which few men of the 
 strongest nerve would have dared to assume. 
 
 He lived in a land where duels were common ; in 
 a city where the editor of the 'Whig had been slain 
 but a few years before, and among a people 'who 
 never entertained the first thought of accepting 
 damages at law as reparation for a personal affront ; 
 hence the course of the Examiner during its earlier 
 
-94 
 
 years was attended with a degree of danger which 
 none but a truly daring or a fool-hardy man would 
 ever have encountered. But Daniel was no fool ; 
 and although he lacked caution and allowed the 
 bitterness of his feelings to carry him too far, he 
 was anything but reckless. Appreciating fully his 
 danger, he willingly risked his life and his reputa- 
 tion in order to secure the advantages which lay be- 
 yond the point he so coolly braved. To carry his 
 point, he accepted cheerfully the odium of the com- 
 munity, and, indeed, of the whole State in which he 
 lived. For the sake of power and a competency, he 
 became an outcast from society. At one time he 
 was literally hated or feared by everybody. In the 
 whole world there was scarcely a human being who 
 really liked him for himself. All this he brought 
 upon himself, deliberately and for a purpose. He 
 marked out an arduous course, and he followed that 
 course resolutely to the last day of his life, accept- 
 ing all the consequences. Surely, neither a weak nor 
 -a timid man could have done this. Assaulted sud- 
 denly in the streets by a powerful rnan, of known 
 courage, who threatened then and there to cut his 
 ears off, it is not to be wondered that the fragile 
 man showed some agitation; but his intrepid "you 
 shall have your duel" in the admirable correspon- 
 dence with Elmore, and his calm bearing on the 
 field in the very presence of death (for his adversary 
 was no trifler), proved beyond question that John M. 
 Daniel had that within him which men in every age 
 have recognized as genuine courage. 
 
95 
 
 To return from this digression : He was an editor 
 in the best and fullest meaning of the word. He 
 xiould not only w T rite himself, and write well, but he 
 could make others write well. The crudest articles, 
 as I have shown, if they had but the germ of some- 
 thing good in them, could be transformed by him 
 in a few moments, with an ease and an art peculiarly 
 his own, into powerful leaders. A touch or two of 
 his pen gave a new coloring to a contribution and 
 made it his own. He had the power of infusing his 
 spirit into every part of .his paper, and of giving it 
 thereby an individuality which made it as attractive 
 as it was unique. He had innumerable editorial con- 
 tributors, but they all caught, insensibly and quietly, 
 his spirit, his very tone ; and there was about the Ex- 
 aminer, whenever he was at the head of it, a homo- 
 geneity which under other managers it never at- 
 tained. It was easy to tell when he left the paper 
 and when he came back to it. His precise arti- 
 cles could not always be told, but there was a name- 
 less something about the paper, as a whole, which 
 gave indubitable evidence of his presence. The very 
 arrangement of the printed matter and the allocation 
 of articles betrayed him behind the scenes. He 
 brought with him. as often as he resumed the helm, 
 a magnetic charm which drew to the paper the clev- 
 erest things which were written by anybody. Who- 
 ever chanced to do a good thing with the pen was 
 anxious for it to appear in the Examiner. There 
 it would be read by more people and be better ap- 
 preciated than in any other paper. The credit would 
 
96 
 
 be Daniel's, but what of that? The intellectual 
 bantling would be sure not to die still-born. It 
 would make a noise and be talked about; its un- 
 known parent would hear its praises and be secretly 
 proud. 
 
 Many men have written for the Examiner, and 
 some have conducted it with ability ; but it has never 
 been, and it may be fairly reckoned that it never will 
 be, edited as it was by John M. Daniel. He had not 
 the humor, and he may not have had the wit of some 
 of the contributors ; nor did he have the financial 
 knowledge or the scientific attainments of others who 
 wrote for him ; but he made a better editor than any 
 or all of those combined could have made. The 
 truth of this assertion will be understood fully when 
 I call the names of some of his contributors. They 
 are as follows : Robert W. Hughes, Patrick Henry 
 Aylett, William Old, Dr. A. E. Peticolas, Edward 
 A. Pollard, L. Q. Washington, Prof. Basil Gilder- 
 sleeve, John R. Thompson and John Mitchell. Some 
 of these gentlemen have had the paper entirely in 
 their charge for months at a time, but it is no dis- 
 paragement to them to say that the paper in their 
 hands was never what it was in the hands of John 
 M. Daniel. He had in him an intensity of bitterness 
 which they did not possess, and would not have dis- 
 played if they had possessed. He had a strength of 
 originality, an art of attracting contributions and of 
 shaping them into his own similitude, and what is 
 most to the point, a pains-taking attention to the mi- 
 nutiae of the paper, which, combined, made him an 
 
97 
 
 editor whose equal, in all respects, has never been 
 seen in this country. 
 
 He had little, and if his own opinion were taken, 
 not a particle of humor. He was too bitter for that. 
 But he had the quickest and keenest appreciation of 
 the humorous. Dickens was a favorite with him, 
 Nay, he had, he must have had, humor of his own, 
 Wit he had in a high degree, and of every sort ; but 
 he was particularly happy in nicknaming and in per- 
 sonalities of all kinds. Some of those names showed 
 both wit and humor; as when he called the cadets of 
 the Virginia Military Institute, on the occasion of 
 their first visit to Richmond, " kildees," a title which, 
 as it seemed to belittle them, made the cadets very an- 
 gry, but which was, nevertheless, so appropriate and 
 so harmless that everybody laughed good-naturedly 
 at it. The appellation of "leaden gimlet," which he 
 applied to a certain lawyer in Richmond, is an ex- 
 ample of galling satire, without the least admixture 
 of the milk of human kindness. The office of Mr. Ben- 
 jamin, the Secretary of State, contained files of the 
 leading newspapers of the Confederacy ; and hence it 
 was called by Daniel "the Confederate Reading 
 
 J O- 
 
 Room" a name intended to convey his contempt 
 at once for the office and the official who occupied it.. 
 He had a lively fancy, but little or no imagination 
 in the higher sense of the term. Certainly he had 
 not the creative faculty. I do not know that he ever 
 attempted rhyme, much less poetry or dramatic char- 
 acterization. His mind was logical, but dry and 
 elaborate argumentation was not to his liking.. He 
 7 
 
98 
 
 caught readily the salient points of a question, and 
 aimed, in writing, to present them forcibly, but not 
 with too much brevity. I saw him return to the au- 
 thor a number of editorials which I thought excellent, 
 and asked him why he did so. "They are well 
 written," said he, " in fact, they are elegantly writ- 
 ten ; but there is no incision in them." 
 
 His reading was various and extensive, his memory 
 first-rate. He told me that, during his residence 
 abroad, he not only made himself familiar with 
 Italian and French literature, but read, in addition, 
 every Latin author of celebrity, and many whose 
 names were almost wholly unknown. Greek he neg- 
 lected, and he paid little attention to German. His- 
 tory, biography, memoirs, political treatises, novels, 
 poetry and essays of the better class, he literally de- 
 voured, and retained with wonderful fidelity every- 
 thing of importance that he had ever read. He 
 cared little, I think, for metaphysics, or for the 
 exact sciences, and discovered less information in re- 
 gard to anatomy and physiology than many men of 
 ordinary capacity and education. He was not, strictly 
 speaking, a learned man. His taste was pure and cor- 
 rect ; his love of " English undefiled " very great. Yet 
 he was not a slavish purist. His peculiar spelling 
 was but a mark of his infinite detestation of Web- 
 ster as a New England Yankee. His favorite au- 
 thors were Yoltaire and Swift. The latter was his 
 model. He often urged me to study Swift diligently, 
 in preference to Addison, Dry den, Milton, or any 
 other English author, ancient or modern. 
 
99 
 
 It remains for me to speak of him in his personal 
 character, and this I shall do as briefly as I can. He 
 who has ever looked unflinchingly into his own heart 
 will be slow to bring against another the accusation 
 which so many were fond of bringing against John 
 M. Daniel that he was " a bad man." That he was 
 essentially and thoroughly "bad," no one who knew 
 him intimately will charge. De mortals nil nisi 
 bomtm. Upon that principle alone I should exoner- 
 .ate him from the charge. But more than that, I 
 .saw and heard too much to allow me, for an in- 
 stant, to yield assent to every sweeping indictment 
 against the character of the dead Virginian. Whilst 
 he was yet extremely poor, he went twenty miles to 
 lend a still poorer friend some money ; and, at the 
 same time, to save himself an expense which he could 
 ill afford, walked the whole distance between Rich- 
 mond and Petersburg and back again. This does not 
 argue a bad heart. He bore his poverty manfully, 
 denied himself and " owed no man anything." Such 
 is not the wont of bad men. I know it gave him sin- 
 cere pleasure to compose a quarrel, and, when called 
 upon, he exerted himself energetically to accomplish 
 that end. But bad men prefer to stir up strife, rather 
 than to allay it., I know that he made a trip to 
 Charlottesville for the purpose of buying a house ad- 
 vertised for sale at auction, which house he intended 
 to rent cheaply to me, in order that I might escape 
 the grinding exactions of city landlords. And this 
 he did at my request. Is it the habit of bad men to 
 undertake such journeys in the interest of those who 
 
100 
 
 have no special claim on them ? I know that at a 
 time when nearly every property owner in Richmond 
 seemed almost conscienceless in their extortions, the 
 houses purchased by John M. Daniel, and fitted up 
 by him at no trifling expense, were rented to his as- 
 sistant editors on terms most reasonable. Is this the 
 practice of bad men ? That Daniel was not liberal 
 and open-hearted I will admit. But he was not a 
 screw. He was just, upright in his dealings, prompt 
 to the minute in all his payments. His printers, his 
 writers, all in his employ, were better paid than those 
 in any other newspaper office in the city. If this be 
 the habit of bad men, what pity it is that the world 
 is not full of them ! 
 
 That he treated his relatives with unkindness, and 
 that the hardships he endured in the days of his pov- 
 erty were no sufficient excuse for this unkindness, no 
 one who has heard both sides of the question will 
 deny. But the man was morbid, both in body and in 
 mind. One of the evidences of insanity laid down 
 in the books is a causeless hatred of the nearest and 
 best relatives and friends. I do not say or believe 
 that John M. Daniel was insane. Nevertheless, his 
 bitterness towards people in general, and towards 
 certain kindred in particular, betokened anything 
 but mental soundness. His body, perhaps, was 
 never entirely free from disease. The tubercular 
 disposition, with a tendency to development in that 
 part of the system (the digestive organs) the dis- 
 orders of which are known to affect the mind 
 more powerfully than any others, may account for 
 
JOHN M. DANIEL'S LATCH-KEY. 101 
 
 many of those unfortunate peculiarities which con- 
 tradistinguished him from healthier and happier men. 
 Had lie possessed a florid complexion and a robust 
 organism, who believes that his faults would have 
 been the same? Temperament is not an adequate 
 excuse for every failing, but due allowance should 
 ever be made for its influence. 
 
 Added to his bodily infirmities, there was a want 
 of faith in human nature and its Great Author. Yet 
 he was by no means an atheist, but rather a deist. I 
 questioned him very gravely one day concerning his 
 belief in God. He paused for some time, and then 
 answered very cautiously and vaguely. The impres- 
 sion left on my mind was that he believed in a Great 
 First Cause, but wished for more light. Touching 
 the revelation of the New Testament, he gave no 
 opinion. He seemed, however, to think that really 
 nothing was known in regard to the " bourne 
 whence no traveller returns."* When this subject 
 
 * The following incident, recently communicated to me, may 
 be relied on as strictly true, and serves still further to illustrate 
 Daniel's character : 
 
 Dr. Kawlings said to Walkei some weeks before Daniel's death : 
 "Walker, Daniel must die. You seem to be able to talk to him 
 at all times without offending him, and, if you think proper, the 
 next time you find him in a calm frame of mind, you may ask him 
 if he would like to converse with a minister of the Gospel." 
 Knowing Daniel's dislike to most preachers, Walker thought over 
 the matter several days before he could muster courage to bring 
 up the subject. One morning when he seemed stronger and per- 
 fectly free from pain, Walker sat some moments, very nervous 
 and almost afraid to allude to the matter ; but at length he said : 
 " Mr. Daniel, you have always thought a great deal of Dr. Hoge ; 
 you believe he is a sincere, good man." He replied, very 
 
102 
 
 was broached, neither of us dreamed that he was so 
 soon to explore that unknown world, which lay dark 
 and unfathomable before him. But a few evenings 
 before he had congratulated himself upon the posi- 
 tion he had gained in the world. 
 
 "I am still young," said he; "not very young, 
 either, for I will soon be forty. But I know no 
 young man who has better prospects than myself, 
 and few who have done so well. I suppose I am 
 worth now nearly $100,000 in good money. The 
 Examiner is very valuable property, and destined to 
 be much more so. I expect to live long, and, if I do, 
 I shall be rich. When I am rich I shall buy the old 
 family estate in Stafford county, and shall add to it 
 all the land for miles around. I shall build a house 
 to my fancy, and, with my possessions walled in, I 
 shall teach these people what they never knew how 
 to live like a gentleman." 
 
 Such, in effect, and almost in words, was the pic- 
 ture he drew of his future. It was the first and only 
 time I ever knew him to indulge his fancy in build- 
 ing air castles. 
 
 I may add, as one additional proof that he was not 
 an atheist, the fact that he made it. a rule to publish 
 
 promptly, " Well, what of it ?" Walker answered, " You are very 
 ill, anc I thought perhaps you would like to have him call on you 
 and talk with you." He looked up, smilingly, and said, " Walker, 
 / am no woman ! I don't want any one but yourself to come 
 into this room except the doctor." He never alluded to his being 
 dangerously ill save once, when he said to Walker, "Send word 
 to your wife that you will sleep in my house to-nigbt. Something 
 may happen before morning, and I want you with me." 
 
103 
 
 in the Examiner, on each succeeding New Year's day, 
 a poem in honor of the Deity. He did this, not 
 merely because he thought it a becoming and good 
 old custom, but because it was a real gratification 
 to him to do so. He bestowed much thought on the 
 selection of this New Year's poem, singled it out 
 months beforehand, and sometimes consulted his 
 friends to ascertain whether there was not some poem 
 of the kind with which he was not acquainted. He 
 certainly asked me to aid him in making such a selec- 
 tion, and I have no reason to believe that he did not 
 consult others also. 
 
 He hated men, but not mankind. To the latter he 
 was indifferent. But he despised men more than he 
 hated them. It had been his misfortune to view 
 men from two inauspicious standpoints from pov- 
 erty on the one hand, and from power on the other 
 and in 'each case the picture was distorted by the 
 medium of a morbid physical and mental nature. 
 Proud, with the pride of an acute and bold intellect, 
 he fancied, in his days of penury, that he was g 
 contemned and neglected, when he knew he had that 
 within him which was to be neither neglected nor 
 contemned. After he had proved this, after he had 
 become famous, prosperous and powerful, he despised 
 men, because he fancied they envied him his pros- 
 perity, feared his power and hated himself. " Man 
 pleased him not ; no, nor woman either," because his 
 sad experience had taught him to suspect the purity 
 of all motives. A little genuine humility, a mod- 
 erate degree of success, achieved in some other way 
 
104 
 
 than by attacking and overpowering antagonists, 
 would have made him a happier, wiser and better 
 man. He dreaded power in others, because, as he 
 confessed to me, he knew its baneful effects upon 
 himself. He had no faith in men, because he knew 
 how terrible would be the consequences if no obstacle 
 stood between men and the accomplishment of their 
 secret desires. He startled me one day by saying: 
 " How long do you think you would live, if your 
 enemies had their way with you? Perhaps you 
 think you have no enemies who hate you enough 
 to kill you. You are greatly mistaken. Every man 
 has his enemies. I have them by the thousand, 
 and you have them too, though not so numerous as 
 mine. Neither your enemies nor mine would run the 
 risk of murdering us in open day. But suppose they 
 could kill us by simply wishing it ? I should drop 
 dead in my tracks before your eyes, and you, quiet 
 and unknown as you are, would fall a corpse in Main 
 street before you reached home." 
 
 He owned that this horrible thought had been put 
 into his mind by some writer whom he had that day 
 been reading. But it was precisely such ideas that 
 fastened themselves in his memory. He brooded 
 over them until they became a part of his very 
 being. No wonder he was morbid ! 
 
 Here I must stop, for I have told all, or nearly all 
 I know about this remarkable man. The narrative 
 has spun out under my hand to a length very much 
 greater than I intended when I began to write. But 
 I have willingly allowed myself to go on, knowing 
 
105 
 
 -.as I do that every word about John M. Daniel will 
 be read with interest in every Southern State. It is 
 to be hoped that at some day those who were his 
 intimate friends will do perfectly what I have done 
 most imperfectly, for lack of knowledge on the one 
 hand, and because of countless interruptions on the 
 other. Written piecemeal, this sketch claims no 
 other merit than a faithful account of my acquaint- 
 ance with its subject, and an estimate, which I deem 
 to be just, of his character. I trust it will be viewed 
 in this light, and that it may not provoke one harsh 
 criticism. If Messrs. P. H. Aylett and T. H. Wynne, 
 or Doctors Rawlings and Petticolas, could be induced 
 to attempt what I have undertaken, then the South- 
 ern public would have what so many desire to. see, a 
 full length portraiture of one of the most gifted and 
 brilliant men ever born on Southern soil. 
 
 A few words about his death, and I have done. 
 Late in January, 1865, he was attacked the second 
 time with pneumonia. Treated promptly by skilful 
 physicians, his disease abated; he rallied, and was 
 able to sit up and attend somewhat to his duties. 
 His recovery was deemed certain. But, as the event 
 proved, tubercles were developed both in the lungs 
 and in the mesenteric glands. The patient gradually 
 grew worse, and was at length compelled to return 
 to his bed. The slow weeks of winter wore them- 
 selves away. How they passed, I cannot tell, for, 
 although I made frequent calls at the house on Broad 
 street, I was always refused admittance. The latch- 
 iey remained unused in my pocket. Only his phy- 
 
106 
 
 sicians and most intimate friends were admitted to 
 the sick man's chamber. On one occasion, as I was 
 told by a Kentucky member of the Confederate 
 Congress, he sent for the Hon. R. M. T. Hunter, and 
 one or two other prominent politicians, and told them 
 his candid opinion that the Cause was hopeless,, 
 and that the only course left to us was " reconstruc- 
 tion on the best terms we could make." 
 
 So long as his strength permitted him to take an 
 interest in any earthly thing, he had the welfare of 
 the Southern people at heart, and his latest effort 
 seems to have been to secure by negotiation what he 
 was persuaded arms could not achieve. Those who 
 outlived him can decide for themselves whether the 
 conqueror would have kept the faith which might 
 have been plighted at Fortress Monroe better than 
 that which was so solemnly pledged at Appomattox 
 Court House. 
 
 As spring approached, his symptoms became alarm- 
 ing. Ere long, it was whispered on the streets that 
 his situation was critical. Relatives and friends 
 proffered every assistance. They were politely but 
 firmly told that assistance was not needed. He was 
 not a man to be " sat up with." His only attendant 
 was a female servant. Once or twice, perhaps oftener, 
 he requested his faithful manager, Walker, to sleep 
 in an adjoining room ; but Walker was hardly warm 
 in his bed before he was aroused by a message to the 
 effect that Mr. Daniel wished to see him. Hurrying 
 on his clothes, he would go at once to the dying 
 
10T 
 
 man's bed, where, in a feeble voice, this strange an- 
 nouncement would be made to him : 
 
 " Walker, you must really pardon rne, but the truth 
 is, that the very fact of your being in the house 
 makes me so nervous that I cannot rest. Please ga 
 home." 
 
 Home the manager of the Examiner would go, 
 sometimes long after midnight, leaving the sufferer 
 to his own thoughts. What those were, no man will 
 ever tell, for none ever knew. He must have known 
 that his days were numbered, for when he received 
 a bouquet of the earliest spring flowers sent him by 
 the daughter of his friend, Mr. Wynne, he took it in 
 his wasted hand, returned his thanks for the gift, and 
 then laid it aside, murmuring "too late now; too 
 late!" 
 
 The editorial conduct of the Examiner had 
 been in the exclusive charge of John Mitchell for 
 many weeks. Daniel no longer concerned himself 
 about it. His will was made ; he was ready to de- 
 part. His physicians knew he could not live, but 
 they expected him to linger ten days or a fortnight 
 longer. Plied with stimulants, he might bear up 
 yet a good while. But the last hour was at hand. 
 The exact circumstances of his death, as told to me, 
 are these. On making his usual morning call, Dr. 
 Rawlings found his friend's pulse sinking rapidly, 
 No stimulant being at hand, the supply in the house 
 having been exhausted, he dispatched a servant in 
 all haste to get a bottle of French brandy. It was 
 quickly brought. When it came, he proceeded forth- 
 
108 JOHN M. DANIEL'S LATCH-KEY. 
 
 with to make a strong toddy. The patient was then 
 lying close to the outer edge of the bed. Dr. Haw- 
 lings stood some distance off, near the window, stir- 
 ring the toddy. Suddenly his attention was aroused 
 by a noise behind him. Looking quickly in that 
 direction, he saw that the patient had, by a strong 
 effort, turned himself over and lay on his back in the 
 middle of the bed, with his eyes closed and his arms 
 folded on his breast. Thinking that he was praying, 
 he would not disturb him, but continued to stir the 
 toddy a few minutes longer, so as to give him time 
 to finish his prayer. A sufficient time having elapsed 
 .and the need of a stimulant being urgent, the Doctor 
 went to the bed side and leaned over. 
 John M. Daniel was not in this world ! 
 
THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 
 
 [The following sketch was written and published some time iu 
 the fifties, when there may have been more to excuse its extrava- 
 gancies than now. The satire amused the public, and no portion 
 of it more than the gentlemen who were the object of it.] 
 
 THE Yirginia Editor is a young, unmarried, in- 
 temperate, pugnacious, gambling gentleman. 
 Between drink and dueling-pistols lie is generally es- 
 corted to a premature grave. If he so far withstands 
 the ravages of brandy and gunpowder as to reach the 
 period of gray hairs and cautiousness, he is deposed 
 to make room for a youth who hates his life with an 
 utter hatred, and who can't keep drunk more than a 
 week at a time. 
 
 Deposed, he becomes a literary ostrich, and may 
 be seen, with swollen red nose and diminished, calf- 
 less shanks, migrating from court-house to court- 
 house, laying a newspaper egg, which he leaves to 
 be hatched into life and permanence by the pecu- 
 niary warmth of the party to whom he sells out at a 
 small advance. Or he gets the lofty position of clerk 
 in Washington. Should he, by rare good luck and 
 the miraculous interposition of Providence, have 
 saved any money, he buys a property in the country, 
 retires to it, debauches himself with miscellaneous 
 literature, lounges much and does a great deal of 
 
110 THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 
 
 nothing at all. Should he get married, he sinks into 
 an obscure and decent citizen, and looks back upon 
 Ms early career as a horrid dream. 
 
 Previous to his death, the Virginia editor makes 
 the most of the short time allotted to him on earth 
 by living at a suicidal velocity. To test the strength 
 of his constitution, by subjecting it to the influence 
 of the most destructive habits and agencies, appears 
 to be his sole pleasure and aim. He is determined 
 not to live longer than he can possibly help. A quiet 
 death at a ripe old age he regards as a disgrace. 
 
 His first waking moments in the morning are sat- 
 urated with a number of powerful cocktails, to cure 
 a headache, " brought over," as an accountant would 
 say, from the previous midnight. Cocktailed past 
 the point of nervousness and remorse, he dresses 
 himself and wends his way to a barber shop to get 
 .shaved, if he shaves at all. Not unfrequently he has 
 himself shaved in bed. Breakfast succeeds, and then, 
 with a cigar in his mouth, he enters his sanctum and 
 goes to work : which work consists in hunting for in- 
 sults in his exchanges, and in laying the foundation, 
 by means of a scathing article, of a future duel. 
 'While employed upon his leading article he suffers 
 no interruption, except from the gentleman who 
 brings a note from another gentleman, whom he (the 
 editor) grossly insulted at an oyster supper the night 
 before. Having no earthly recollection of any such 
 occurrence, the editor feels no hesitation (unless he 
 happens to be unusually bilious, or has no " affair " 
 upon his hands), in saying that he " fully and frankly 
 
THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. Ill 
 
 withdraws any and every expression reflecting upon 
 the character of the gentleman, as a gentleman and a 
 man of honor." 
 
 His editorial labors vary from five minutes to two 
 hours and a half in duration. If he feels very badly 
 he won't write at all, but goes armed with a stick to 
 a neighboring law ofiice, and threatens the occupant 
 with a caning unless he has a spicy article in the com- 
 positor's hands by such an hour. The unhappy bar- 
 rister complies, and spices the editor into a scrape, for 
 which the editor is unaffectedly thankful, swearing he 
 would die without excitement. 
 
 Before leaving his sanctum he answers a couple of 
 letters which arrived by the last mail. He engages 
 to meet " the gallant Democracy of - - district," 
 and to address them on " August court-day." He as- 
 sures a "constant reader" that "the glorious cause is 
 prospering, the skies brightening;" and suggests, as 
 the best means of putting the issue of the canvass 
 "the most momentous canvass that ever occurred in 
 the history of the Republic " beyond a doubt, that 
 the " constant reader" shall send in ten new subscrib- 
 ers to the Keepa P'dchinin . He then huddles a shirt, a 
 case of dueling pistols, and a bottle of "Otard" into 
 a small trunk, and goes to the telegraph office to no- 
 tify a brother editor that he will be in Washington 
 to-morrow night, waiting for him at the National 
 Hotel. His mind being thus relieved of business, he 
 has nothing to do but to wander off to his hotel, to 
 look at the register and see if anybody has come. 
 Meets there with another editor a red-headed pro- 
 
112 THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 
 
 vincial fresh from the mountains, and already heavily 
 laden with " rifle whisky " with whom he proceeds, 
 without delay, to drink juleps and talk politics until 
 dinner-time. 
 
 After dinner he borrows twice as much money as 
 will take him to Washington and back, reserving the 
 surplus to bet that night at the faro-bank. 
 
 In his personal appearance, the Virginia editor vi- 
 brates between positive gentility and absolute shab- 
 biness, and this irrespective of his condition as to 
 "funds." At times he is smooth and clean of face, 
 immaculate in shirt, perfect of boot and hat ; at 
 others he is great in beard and dirt, resembling an 
 uncleansed pressman, or a pirate who has cruised for 
 years upon an ocean of ink. He rarely buys clothes 
 until he is in immediate need of them ; and, inasmuch 
 as he lives all over the State, is quite as apt to have 
 on somebody else's clothes as his own. He despises 
 a fashionable, dandified man as he does a man who 
 drinks weak drinks. He vindicates his Democracy, 
 even in his liquor ; believes in good old brandy or 
 whisky, calls them "strict construction drinks," while 
 malt liquors he stigmatizes as " compromise drinks," 
 and will have nothing to do with them, except to 
 "taper off" on. 
 
 There is nothing in his form or features to distin- 
 guish him from other men. A physiognomist might, 
 perhaps, detect in his face a bloody good-nature an 
 amiability easily kindled into anger as if the fierce 
 animal instincts of the man were but imperfectly sub- 
 dued by the pressure of social refinements.. 
 
THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 113 
 
 His negligence in dress is not greater than his 
 carelessness with regard to another comfort which 
 the majorit} 7 of mankind deem essential to happiness. 
 He will live upon the best of food, will drink the 
 best liquors, and smoke the finest cigars, but is ut- 
 terly indifferent as to where or how he sleeps, pro- 
 vided he has a bed-fellow ; for he is greatly social, 
 and cannot bear ever to be alone. E~o respectable 
 young man living in the same city is secure against 
 an invasion of the editor at the most inopportune 
 hours of the night. How many sweet dreams have 
 been rudely broken by his assaults upon the front- 
 door, or his noisy escalade of the back-window, it 
 would be impossible to tell. 
 
 He has a room of his own, originally furnished 
 with some taste and care, but has a mortal antipathy 
 to sleeping in it. Nor is this aversion to be won- 
 dered at. Through a puddle of newspapers, con- 
 gressional speeches, tobacco juice, cigar stumps, 
 broken spit-boxes, and pipesterns, he wades to a bed 
 whose sheets bade adieu to the washerwoman at a 
 period too remote to be recalled, and whose counter- 
 pane secretes its primitive tints under a sweet and 
 greasy scum of spermaceti and spilled brandy toddies. 
 A candle-stand is drawn conveniently near the yel- 
 low pillow, and on it lie, disorderly, a candle burned 
 to the socket, a fragmentary volume of Byron, a plug 
 of tobacco, a cork (fellow to others on the floor), an 
 inkstand without any ink in it, and a foolscap scrap 
 of unfinished editorial. Upon the window-sill, near 
 the foot of the bed, stands marshaled a platoon of 
 8 
 
114: THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 
 
 various-sized bottles, from the grenadier champagne 
 to the squatty porter and the slab-sided tickler. In 
 the little wardrobe are no clothes, except a skeleton 
 waistcoat gibbeted upon a broken hook, but a num- 
 ber of empty cigar-boxes, a bowie-knife and a revol- 
 ver. In the waistcoat pocket may be found a free 
 railroad ticket, which ticket he never presents, for the 
 conductors are much better acquainted with him than 
 with the schedule. The odor of this apartment is not 
 inviting. The door is always open, night and day, 
 and it is the common dormitory of all belated roy- 
 sterers. Any one may sleep here who chooses. 
 
 Notwithstanding his habits, the editor obtains a 
 popularity wholly disproportioned, one would say, to 
 his merits. That he should achieve notoriety is no 
 matter for surprise, when every number of every pa- 
 per issued in the State contains the name of Derringer 
 Thundergust, or William Jeems Rawhead, as princi- 
 pal, second, or adjustant of some personal difficulty ; 
 but notoriety is one thing and popularity another 
 and very different thing. 
 
 Habits which would outlaw any other man enable 
 him to ride rough-shod over the inviolable law of 
 custom. Conduct which would damn a man in busi- 
 ness endears him to men in whose creed " strict 
 business habits " rank next to, if they do not take 
 precedence of, godliness. Grave men the slaves of 
 routine and propriety appear to take the same de- 
 light in witnessing his unbridled eccentricities that 
 inspired the poet Job when contemplating the gam- 
 bols of the wild ass. There is an airy bravado in his 
 
THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 115 
 
 outrages, a gay candor and naturalness in his excesses, 
 which extract all their sting. As soon quarrel with 
 the habits of a strange bird as with those of a being 
 who is not a man, but an editor, and to whom no 
 gauge of human morals is in any particular appli- 
 cable. 
 
 His abhorrence of the vice of solitary drinking has 
 a good deal to do with this popularity. Scarcely a 
 respectable citizen can be found in the commonwealth 
 with whom he has not, at some time or other, hob- 
 nobbed in a friendly manner. Rather than drink 
 alone he will drink with a negro, provided the negro 
 is at all genteel, and has a gentleman for his master. 
 His Ethiopian popularity is immense. It could 
 hardly be otherwise when, from the White Sulphur 
 Springs to the city of Norfolk, he has repeatedly 
 and extravagantly feed everything answering to the 
 name of " waiter." 
 
 The Virginia editor is not a pious, nor, strictly 
 speaking, a gallant man. Women, children, and 
 preachers he classes under the common head of 
 " non-combatants," and views them pretty much in 
 the light in which he regards flies as species of not 
 very harmful, somewhat abundant insects, perhaps 
 useful, but whose uses are not yet well understood. 
 Still, he makes it a point of honor to place implicit 
 faith in the truth of the Christian religion and the 
 virtue of women ; and while he regards the softer 
 sex as, at best, beautiful toys, they are glass toys, 
 and he treads respectfully and gingerly among the 
 frail vessels. He clings with sectarian tenacity to 
 
116 THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 
 
 the belief in future rewards and punishments ; he is- 
 too brave and resentful a man to think otherwise. 
 A disbelief in hell he denounces as the "poltroon- 
 ery of infidelity," nor can any casuistry convince him 
 that a man is not as responsible for his faith as he i& 
 for his actions. 
 
 He loves to talk, and his great theme, after poli- 
 tics, is himself. In himself he has the most un- 
 bounded confidence a confidence which, in the most 
 trying emergencies, scarcely ever deserts him. 
 Through difficulties that would appall and crush or- 
 dinary men, he moves with the smiling abandon of 
 a knight-errant pricking onward to meet a dragon, 
 gorgon, or chimera dire. Only in moments of ex- 
 treme nervous depression will he admit himself not 
 competent to the discharge of the most arduous and 
 varied duties of life, and especially of those duties 
 for which he is evidently unfitted. He looks upon 
 himself as pre-eminently a man of business a prac- 
 tical man. Rothschild was not his equal in finan- 
 ciering ability ; Napoleon nor Hampden could have 
 wearied him in work ; Halifax was not his superior 
 in political sagacity. Name any man who has suc- 
 ceeded or failed in any undertaking, he will instantly 
 unfold to you the secret of his success, or the over- 
 sight which led to his downfall. 
 
 " But for cards and liquor," himself would have 
 excelled any man of his acquaintance ; as it is, see 
 how well he gets along in the world. In truth, his 
 mind is strictly of the "nil admirari" order; he 
 worships no man ; and his regard for himself is only 
 
THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 117 
 
 a reluctant indulgence accorded not to what lie is, 
 but to what he ought to be, and would be, " but for 
 cards and liquor." 
 
 For this remarkable self-confidence he is indebted 
 partly to a nature eminently high-spirited, and partly 
 to his position. Like the driver of a locomotive, he 
 wields a power infinitely greater than his own. He 
 handles the lever that unlooses the throttle-valve of 
 the mightiest engine on earth, and it is but natural 
 that he should confound derived with individual 
 power. Disconnect him from his engine, let him 
 conduct a business, other than his own, upon the 
 same loose principles, he would soon discover his 
 errror. But then he would lose one of his most 
 delightful traits. 
 
 The Virginia editor is not a profoundly learned 
 man; he is not even a smatterer, in the sense, at 
 least, in which that equivocal compliment was paid 
 to Milton. His specialty is politics ; and his tastes 
 not less than his occupation conspire to prevent his 
 acquiring any other knowledge. Of Latin he re- 
 members a few terms, such as " ex post facto " and 
 " ex parte" which he picked up while drifting, for a 
 few weeks, through a law office. Of Greek he re- 
 tains nearly the whole alphabet, being only a little 
 uncertain as to the relative shapes of Zeta and Xi, 
 and confusing Phi with Psi. His stock of poetry 
 consists of a few scraps of Hudibras, Byron, and 
 Peter Pindar ; he has, besides, a professional pride 
 and tenderness for the quatrain commencing : 
 " Truth, crushed to earth, will rise again I " 
 
118 THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 
 
 It would be impossible to restrain him from quoting 
 this occasionally, and, if it were possible, it would 
 be cruel. 
 
 His historical information does not extend quite 
 to the times of the Ach^an League and the Amphic- 
 tyonic Council, but dates rather from the Resolu- 
 tions of '98. With the wordings of the American 
 government, from its inception down to the present 
 time; with the character, and, to an extent, with 
 the writings of the great men who took prominent 
 part in its formation ; with the policy of the party 
 leaders; with the politicians, great and small, of his 
 own times, and with their tactics, he is intimately 
 familiar. In fact, his attainments may be summed 
 up in the word " politics ;" for while he does not un- 
 derrate those who understand and take an interest in 
 Belles Lettres and the Arts and Sciences, he frankly 
 confesses that he knows and cares nothing about them 
 himself. So fitted is he for partisan journalism, and 
 so wedded to it, that it is to be hoped the divine 
 economy has set apart some waste democratic star, 
 some uncleared portion of the celestial public domain, 
 some half-settled nebulous Kansas as a newspaper 
 heaven for him and his fellows. Elsewhere no con- 
 ceivable use could be found for them. 
 
 His style in writing varies from the plainest Anglo- 
 Saxon to the most gorgeous highfalutin. In gen- 
 eral, however, he makes use of ordinary English, and 
 cares little or nothing about nicety and finish. He 
 is better at repartee than at argument, but prefers 
 
THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 119 
 
 hard talk to the most polished wit. His humor is 
 peculiar, and considerably wider than it is subtle. 
 
 It has been said by some that the Virginia editor 
 is chosen rather for the stoutness of his heart than 
 for the brilliancy of his intellect, and, to be honest, 
 there is some truth in the allegation. A newspaper, 
 to be successful in the Old Dominion, must not be 
 defective in what they call chivalry; and a long- 
 established paper, having the prestige of high-toned 
 valor, would hardly employ a ready-writing craven 
 in preference to a brave gentleman less facile with 
 the pen. But the requirements of the public in this 
 regard, and the usages of the papers, have been a 
 thought exaggerated. 
 
 It is not true, for example, that the man-of-all- 
 work, the "Caesar" of the office, who is employed to 
 sweep out the old papers and trash in the morning, 
 receives an additional compensation for sweeping in 
 the dead editors lying about the door, who have 
 been killed at various places during the night and 
 brought there, as to a Morgue, for recognition and 
 distribution. Neither is it true that a paper, in order 
 to keep up its circulation, must have at least one 
 editor killed a day, and that papers having secured 
 a good editor, one whom they are unwilling to lose, 
 are in the habit of imposing upon the public by 
 buying up worthless wretches to assassinate in place 
 of him. Equally unfounded is the report that papers 
 impoverished and doing a small business are forced 
 to practice the contemptible fraud of substituting 
 wooden dummies, manikins, or lay figures in place 
 
120 THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 
 
 of bona fide corpses. These reports have reference, 
 doubtless, to States farther South than Virginia. 
 
 A propensity for gaming is a part of the editor's 
 constitution an hereditary taint, for which he is no 
 more responsible than for the age of his grand- 
 father, and which he could as easily get rid of as re- 
 move the shape of his legs. The affliction being 
 eminently genteel, he not only bears up under it 
 with manly fortitude, but cherishes it with much re- 
 gard. He is not much of a hand at " short cards." 
 His delight is to be seated over against a grim, im- 
 perturbable faro-dealer to have bets of "red 
 checks" all over the table half a dozen "piddlers" 
 of "white chips" to be leaning over his shoulder 
 and admiring his nerve a negro to be patiently 
 awaiting the end of the *.!eal to hand him a brandy 
 toddy on a silver waiter for the game to be stoutly 
 contested, and himself to "come out right smartly 
 winner." He has no great faith in "cases," but be- 
 lieves in betting on three cards at a time, and has a 
 special hankering for " the pot." 
 
 After all, and in spite of his many faults, the Vir- 
 ginia Editor is a gentleman. He comes of a good 
 stock, and, however wild he may be, never disgraces 
 it by a low or mean action. His vices are not those 
 of a groveling spirit. If his temper is hot, it is not 
 implacable; if his resentment is quick, it never 
 seeks an under-handed revenge. If he prefers a 
 clean bullet-hole to a fisticuffish bruising or mang- 
 ling with a bludgeon, that is his own concern. If 
 he is a sturdy partisan, he is above the venality and 
 
THE VIRGINIA EDITOR. 121 
 
 the trimming which disgraces the journalism of 
 States nearer the pole than his own. If he drinks 
 too much, it is because the liquor he uses is of the 
 best quality. If he gambles, it is because he can't 
 help it. If he lives something beyond his income, 
 he is doing no more than all enlightened nations and 
 the majority of great men have done and continue 
 to do. His tastes are lavish. An imperial gallon 
 cannot be contained in a quart pot. And what po- 
 litical fabric was ever reared or maintained in its 
 integrity without the aid of an occasional loan ? If 
 he is not a very good citizen, it is because he wants 
 to be a better editor. 
 
 Finally, half an ounce of lead is "honorably and 
 satisfactorily adjusted " in his heart or brain, and the 
 Virginia Editor dies, to the great joy of himself and 
 to the intense grief of his party, the faro-dealers, 
 the bar-keepers, and of every body who is entitled 
 to an unexpected fifty cents simply because he is a 
 negro and can run an errand. The no longer belli- 
 gerent remains are attended to the tomb by an im- 
 mense concourse of citizens of all parties, and the 
 epitaph, stale but true, is, that "the community 
 -could have better spared a better man." 
 
CANAL REMINISCENCES: 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF TBAVEL IN THE OLD DAYS ON THE JAMES RIVEB 
 AND KANAWHA CANAL. 
 
 AMONG my earliest recollections is a trip from 
 Cumberland County to Lynchburg, in 1835, 
 or thereabouts. As the stage approached Glover's 
 tavern in Appomattox county, sounds as of a can- 
 nonade aroused my childish curiosity to a high pitch. 
 I had been reading Parley's History of America, and 
 this must be the noise of actual battle. Yes ; the war 
 against the hateful Britishers must have broken out 
 again. Would the stage carry us within range of the 
 cannon balls ? Yes, and presently the red-coats would 
 come swarming out of the woods. And and Gen. 
 Washington was dead; I was certain of that; what 
 would become of us? I was terribly excited, but 
 afraid to ask questions. Perhaps I was scared.. 
 Would they kill an unarmed boy, sitting peacably 
 in a stage coach ? Of course they would ; Britishers 
 will do anything ! Then they will have to shoot a 
 couple of men first; and I squeezed still closer be- 
 tween them. 
 
 My relief and my disappointment were equally 
 great, when a casual remark unfolded the fact that the 
 
CANAL REMINISCENCES. 123 
 
 noise which so excited me was only the " blasting of 
 rock on the Jeems and Kanawha Canell." What was 
 "blasting of rock?" 
 
 What was a " canell ?" and, above all, what man- 
 ner of thing was a " Jeerns and Kanawha Canell?" 
 Was it alive ? 
 
 I think it was ; more alive than it has ever been 
 since, except for the first few years after it was opened. 
 
 Those were the " good old days " of batteaux, 
 picturesque craft that charmed my young eyes more 
 than all the gondolas of Venice would do now. True, 
 they consumed a week in getting from Lynchburg to 
 Richmond, and ten days in returning against the 
 stream, but what of that ? Time was abundant in 
 those days. It was made for slaves, and we had the 
 slaves. A batteau on the water was more than a 
 match for the best four or six horse bell-team that 
 ever rolled over the red clay of Bedford, brindle dog 
 and tar-bucket included. 
 
 Fleets of these batteaux used to be moored on the 
 river bank near where the depot of the Virginia and 
 Tennessee Railroad now stands ; and many years after 
 the "Jeems and Kanawha" was finished, one of them 
 used to haunt the mouth of Blackwater creek above 
 the toll-bridge, a relic of departed glory. For if 
 ever man gloried in his calling, the negro batteau- 
 man was that man. His was a hardy calling, de- 
 manding skill, courage and strength in a high degree. 
 I can see him now striding. the plank that ran along 
 the gunwale to afford him footing, his long iron-shod 
 pole trailing in the water behind him. Now he turns,- 
 
124: CANAL REMINISCENCES. 
 
 and after one or two ineffectual efforts to get his pole 
 fixed in the rocky bottom of the river, secures his 
 purchase, adjusts the upper part of the pole to the 
 pad at his shoulder, bends to his task, and the long, 
 but not ungraceful bark mounts the rapids like a sea- 
 bird breasting the storm. His companion on the 
 other side plies the pole with equal ardor, and be- 
 tween the two the boat bravely surmounts every 
 obstacle, be it rocks, rapids, quicksands, hammocks, 
 what not. A third negro at the stern held the 
 mighty oar that served as a rudder. A stalwart, 
 jolly, courageous set they were, plying the pole all 
 day, hauling in to shore at night under the friendly 
 shade of a mighty sycamore, to rest, to eat, to play 
 the banjo, and to snatch a few hours of profound, 
 blissful sleep. 
 
 The up-cargo, consisting of sacks of salt, bags of 
 coffee, barrels of sugar, molasses and whiskey, af- 
 forded good pickings. These sturdy fellows lived 
 well, I promise you, and if they stole a little, why, 
 what was their petty thieving compared to the enor- 
 mous pillage of the modern sugar refiner and the 
 -crooked-whiskey distiller ? They lived well. Their 
 cook's galley was a little dirt thrown between the 
 ribs of the boat at the stern, with an awning on oc- 
 casion to keep off the rain, and what they didn't eat 
 wasn't worth eating. Fish of the very best, both 
 salt and fresh, chickens, eggs, milk and the invinci- 
 ble, never-satisfying ash-cake and fried bacon. I see 
 the frying-pan, I smell the meat, the fish, the Rio 
 .coffee ! I want the batteau back again, aye ! and the 
 
CANAL REMINISCENCES. 125 
 
 brave, light-hearted slave to boot. What did he 
 know about the State debt? There was no State 
 debt to speak of. Greenbacks? Bless, you! the 
 Farmers Bank of Yirginia was living and breathing, 
 and its money was good enough for a king. Re- 
 adjustment, funding bill, tax-receivable coupons 
 where were all these worries then ? I think if we 
 had known they were coming, we would have stuck 
 to the batteaux and never dammed the river. Why,. 
 shad used to run to Lynchburg! The world was 
 merry, butter-milk was abundant; Lynchburg a lad, 
 Richmond a mere youth, and the great " Jeems and 
 Kanawha canell" was going to oh! it was going to 
 do everything. 
 
 This was forty years ago and more, mark you. 
 
 In 1838, 1 made my first trip to Richmond. What 
 visions of grandeur filled my youthful imagination ! 
 That eventually I should get to be a man seemed 
 probable, but that I should ever be big enough to 
 live, actually live, in the vast metropolis, was beyond 
 my dreams. For I believed fully that men were 
 proportioned to the size of the cities they lived in. 
 I had seen a man named Hatcher from Cartersville, 
 who was near about the size of the average man in 
 Lynchburg, but as I had never seen Cartersville, I 
 concluded, naturally enough, that Cartersville must 
 be equal in population. Which may be the fact, for 
 I have never yet seen Cartersville, though I have 
 been to Warminster, and once came near passing 
 through Bent-Creek. 
 
 I went by stage. 
 
126 CANAL REMINISCENCES. 
 
 It took two days to make the trip, yet no one com- 
 plained, although there were many Methodist min- 
 isters aboard. Bro. Lafferty had not been born. I 
 thought it simply glorious. There was an unnatural 
 preponderance of preacher to boy nine of preacher 
 to one of boy. That boy did not take a leading part 
 in the conversation. He looked out of the window, 
 and thought much about Richmond. And what a 
 wonderful world it was ! So many trees, such nice 
 Tocks, and pretty ruts in the red clay ; such glorious 
 taverns, and men with red noses; such splendid 
 horses, a fresh team every ten miles, and an elegant 
 smell of leather, proceeding from the coach, prevail- 
 ing everywhere as we bowled merrily along. And 
 then the stage horn. Let me not speak of it, lest 
 Thomas and his orchestra hang their heads for very 
 shame. I wish somebody would tell me where we 
 stopped the first night, for I have quite forgotten. 
 Any how, it was on the left-hand side coming down, 
 and I rather think on the brow of a little hill. I 
 know we got up mighty soon the next morning. 
 
 We drew up at the Eagle hotel in Richmond. 
 Here again words, and time too, fail me. All the 
 cities on earth packed into one wouldn't look as big 
 and fine to me now as Main street did then. If 
 things shrink so in the brief space of a life- time, 
 what would be the general appearance, say of Peters- 
 burg, if one should live a million or so of years ? 
 This is an interesting question, which you may dis- 
 cuss with yourself, dear reader. 
 
 Going northward, I remained a year or two, and 
 
CANAL REMINISCENCES. 127 
 
 on my return the " canell " was finished. I had seen 
 bigger places than Richmond, but had yet to have 
 .my first experience of canal travelling. The packet- 
 landing at the foot of Eighth street presented a scene 
 of great activity. Passengers on foot and in vehicles 
 continued to arrive up to the moment of starting. I 
 took a peep at the cabin, wondering much how all 
 the passengers were to be accommodated for the 
 night, saw how nicely the baggage was stored away 
 on deck, admired the smart waiters, and picked up a 
 -deal of information generally. I became acquainted 
 with the names of Edmond & Davenport in Rich- 
 mond, and Boyd, Edmond & Davenport in Lynch- 
 burg, the owners of the packet-line, and thought 
 to myself, " What immensely rich men they must 
 be ! Why, these boats cost ten times as much as a 
 stage-coach, and I am told they have them by the 
 dozen." 
 
 At last we were off, slowly pushed along under 
 the bridge on Seventh street ; then the horses were 
 hitched ; then slowly along till we passed the crowd 
 of boats near the city, until at length, with a lively 
 jerk as the horses fell into a trot, away we went, the 
 cut-water throwing up the spray as we rounded the 
 Penitentiary hill, and the passengers lingering on 
 deck to get a last look at the fair city of Richmond, 
 lighted by the pale rays of the setting sun. 
 
 As the shadows deepened, everybody went below. 
 There was always a crowd in those days, but it was a 
 -crowd for the most part of our best people, and no 
 one minded it. I was little, and it took little room 
 
128 CANAL REMINISCENCES. 
 
 to accommodate me. Everything seemed as cozy 
 and comfortable as heart could wish. I brought to 
 the table an excellent one it was a school boy's 
 appetite, sharpened by travel, and thought it was 
 " just splendid." 
 
 Supper over, the men went on deck to smoke, 
 while the ladies busied themselves with draughts or 
 backgammon, with conversation or with books. But 
 not for long. The curtains which separated the 
 female from the male department were soon drawn, 
 in order that the steward and his aids might make 
 ready the berths. These were three deep, " lower," 
 " middle," and " upper ;" and great was the desire on 
 the part of the men not to be consigned to the 
 " upper." Being light as a cork, I rose naturally to 
 the top, clambering thither by the leathern straps with 
 the agility of a monkey, and enjoying as best 1 might 
 the trampling overhead whenever we approached 
 a lock. I didn't mind this much, but when the fel- 
 low who had snubbed the boat jumped down about 
 four feet, right on my head as it were, it was pretty 
 severe. Still I slept the sleep of youth. We all 
 went to bed early. A few lingered, talking in low 
 tones ; and way-passengers, in case there was a crowd, 
 were dumped upon mattresses, placed on the dining- 
 tables. 
 
 The lamp shed a dim light over the sleepers, and 
 all went well till some one and there always was 
 some one began to snore. Sn-a-a-aw aw-aw-poof ! 
 They would turn uneasily and try to compose them- 
 selves to slumber again. No use. Sn-a-a-aw -poof! 
 
CANAL REMINISCENCES. 129 
 
 " D that fellow ! Chunk him in the ribs, some- 
 body, and make him turn over. Is this thing to go on 
 forever ? Gentlemen, are you going to stand this all 
 night ? If you are, I am not. I am going to get up 
 and dress. Who is he, anyhow? No gentleman 
 would or could snore in that way!" 
 
 After awhile silence would be restored, and all 
 would drop off to sleep again, except the little fellow 
 in the upper berth, w T ho, lying there, would listen to 
 the trahn-ahn-ahn-ahn of the packet-horn, as we 
 drew nigh the locks. How mournfully it sounded in 
 the night ! what a doleful thing it is at best, and 
 how different from the stage-horn, with its cheery, 
 ringing notes ! The difference in the horns marks the 
 difference in the two eras of travel; not that the 
 canal period is doleful I would not say that, but it 
 is less bright than the period of the stage-coach. 
 
 To this day you have only to say, within my hear- 
 ing, trahn-akn-ahn* to bring back the canal epoch. 
 I can see the whole thing down to the snubbing-post, 
 with its deep grooves which the heavy rope had worn. 
 Indeed, I think I could snub a boat myself, with very 
 little practice, if the man on deck would say " hup /" 
 to the horses at the proper time. 
 
 We turned out early in the morning, and had pre- 
 cious little room for dressing. But that w r as no hard- 
 ship to me, who had just emerged from a big board- 
 ing school dormitory. Still, I must say, being now a 
 grown and oldish man, that I would not like to live 
 and sleep and dress for twenty or thirty years in the 
 cabin of a canal-packet. The ceremony of ablution 
 9 
 
130 CANAL REMINISCENCES. 
 
 was performed in a primitive fashion. There were 
 the tin basins, the big tin dipper with the long 
 wooden handle. I feel it vibrating in the water now, 
 and the water a little muddy generally ; and there 
 were the towels, a big one on a roller, and the little 
 ones in a pile, and all of them wet. These were 
 discomforts, it is true, but, pshaw ! one good, big, 
 long, deep draught of pure, fresh morning air one 
 glimpse of the roseate flush above the wooded hills 
 of the James, one look at the dew besprent bushes 
 and vines along the canal bank one sweet caress of 
 dear mother nature in her morning robes, made am- 
 ple compensation for them all. Breakfast was soon 
 served, and all the more enjoyed in consequence of an 
 hour's fasting on deck ; the sun came out in all his 
 splendor ; the day was fairly set in, and with it there 
 was abundant leisure to enjoy the scenery, that grew 
 more and more captivating as we rose, lock after lock, 
 into the rock-bound eminences of the upper James. 
 This scenery I will not attempt to describe, for time 
 has sadly dimmed it in my recollection. The wealth 
 of the lowlands, and the upland beauty must be seen 
 as I have seen them, in the day of their prime, to be 
 enjoyed. 
 
 The perfect cultivation, the abundance, the elegance, 
 the ducal splendor, one might almost say, of the great 
 estates that lay along the canal in the old days have 
 passed away in a great measure. Here were gentle- 
 men, not merely refined and educated, fitted to dis- 
 play a royal hospitality and to devote their leisure 
 to the study of the art and practice of government, 
 
CANAL REMINISCENCES. 131 
 
 but they were great and greatly successful farmers 
 as well. The land teemed with all manner of pro- 
 ducts, cereals, fruits, what not ! negroes by the hun- 
 dreds and the thousands, under wise directions, gen- 
 tle but firm control, plied the hoe to good purpose. 
 There was enough and to spare for all to spare ? 
 aye ! to bestow with glad and lavish hospitality. A 
 mighty change has been wrought. What that change 
 is in all of its effects mine eyes have happily been 
 spared the seeing ; but well I remember I can never 
 forget how from time to time the boat would stop 
 at one of these estates, and the planter, his wife, his 
 daughters, and the guests that were going home with 
 him, would be met by those who had remained be- 
 hind, and how joyous the greetings were ! It was a 
 bright and happy scene, and it continually repeated 
 itself as we went onward. 
 
 In fine summer weather, the passengers, male and 
 female, stayed most of the time on deck, where there 
 was a great deal to interest, and naught to mar 
 the happiness, except the oft-repeated warning, 
 " braidge /" "low braidge /" ]STo well-regulated 
 packet-hand was ever allowed to say plain "bridge;" 
 that was an etymological crime in canal ethics. For 
 the men, this on-deck existence was especially de- 
 lightful ; it is such a comfort to spit plump into the 
 water without the trouble of feeling around with 
 your head, in the midst of a political discussion, for 
 the spittoon. 
 
 As for me, I often went below, to devour Dickens' 
 earlier novels, which w^ere then appearing in rapid 
 
132 CANAL REMINISCENCES. 
 
 i 
 
 succession. But, drawn by the charm of the scenery,, 
 I would often drop my book and go back on deck 
 again. There was an islet in the river where, ex- 
 actly, I cannot tell which had a beauty of its own 
 for me, because from the moment I first saw it, my 
 purpose was to make it the scene of a romance, when 
 I got to be a great big man, old enough to write 
 for the papers. There is a point at which the pas- 
 sengers would get off, and taking a near cut across 
 the hills, would stretch their legs with a mile or two 
 of walking. It was unmanly, I held, to miss that. 
 Apropos of scenery, I must not forget the haunted 
 house near Manchester, which was pointed out soon 
 after we left Richmond, and filled me with awe ; for 
 though I said I did not believe in ghosts, I did. The 
 ruined mill, a mile or two further on, was always an 
 object of melancholy interest to me ; and of all the 
 locks from Lynchburg down, the Three-Mile Locks 
 pleased me most. It is a pretty place, as every one 
 will own on seeing it. It was so clean and green, 
 and white and thrifty-looking. To me it was simply 
 beautiful. I wanted to live there ; I ought to have 
 lived there. I was built for a lock-keeper have that 
 exact moral and mental shape. Ah! to own your 
 own negro, who would do all the drudgery of open- 
 ing the gates. Occasionally you would go through 
 the form of putting your shoulder to the huge 
 wooden levers, if that is what they call them, by 
 which the gates are opened ; to own your own negro 
 and live and die calmly at a lock! What more 
 could the soul ask ? I do think that the finest pic- 
 
CANAL REMINISCENCES. 133 
 
 ture extant of peace and contentment a little ab- 
 normal, perhaps, in the position of the animal is 
 that of a sick rnule looking out of the window of a 
 canal freight-boat. And that you could see every day 
 from the porch of your cottage, if you lived at a 
 lock, owned your own negro, and there was no 
 great rush of business on the canal, (and there sel- 
 dom was,) on the "Jeems and Kanawhy," as old 
 Capt. Sam Wyatt always called it, leaving out the 
 word "canal," for that was understood. Yes, one 
 ought to live as a pure and resigned lock-keeper, if 
 one would be blest, really blest. 
 
 JSTow that I am on the back track, let me add that, 
 however bold and picturesque the cliffs and bluffs 
 near Lynchburg and beyond, there was nothing from 
 one end of the canal to the other to compare with the 
 first sight of Richmond, when, rounding a corner not 
 far from Hollywood, it burst full upon the vision, its 
 capitol, its spires, its happy homes, flushed with the 
 red glow of evening. And what it looked to be, it 
 Avas. Its interior, far from belieing its exterior, 
 surpassed it. The world over, there is no lovelier 
 site for a city ; and the world over there was no city 
 that quite equalled it in the charm of its hospitality, 
 its refinement, its intelligence, its cordial welcome to 
 strangers. Few of its inhabitants were very rich, 
 fewer still were very poor. But I must not dwell on 
 this. Beautiful city ! beautiful city ! you may grow to 
 be as populous as London, and surely no one wishes 
 you greater prosperity than I ; but grow as you may, 
 you can never be happier than you were in the days 
 
134: CANAL REMINISCENCES. 
 
 whereof I speak. How jour picture comes back to 
 me, softened by time, glorified by all the tender, glow- 
 ing tints of memory. Around you now is the added 
 glory of history, a defence almost unrivalled in the 
 annals of warfare ; but for me there is something 
 even brighter than historic fame, a hue derived only 
 from the heaven of memory. In my childhood, when 
 all things were beautiful by the unclouded light of 
 "the young soul wandering here in nature," I saw 
 ycu in your youth, full of hope, full of promise, 
 full of all those gracious influences which made your 
 State greatest among all her sisters, and which seemed 
 concentrated in yourself. Be your maturity what it 
 may, it can never be brighter than this. 
 
 To return to the boat. All the scenery in the 
 world rocks that Salvator would love to paint, and 
 skies that Claude could never limn all the facilities 
 for spitting that earth affords, avail not to keep a 
 Virginian away from a julep on a hot summer day. 
 From time to time he would descend from the deck 
 of the packet and refresh himself. The bar was 
 small, but vigorous and healthy. I was then in the 
 lemonade stage of boyhood, and it was not until 
 many years afterwards that I rose through porterees 
 and claret-punches to the sublimity of the sherry 
 cobbler, and discovered that the packet bar sup- 
 plied genuine Havana cigars at fourpence-ha'penny. 
 Why, eggs were but sixpence a dozen on the canal 
 bank, and the national debt wouldn't have filled a 
 tea-cup. Internal revenue was unknown; the cou- 
 pons receivable for taxes inconceivable, and forcible 
 
CANAL REMINISCENCES. 135 
 
 readjustment a thing undreamt of in Virginian phil- 
 osophy. Mr. Mallock's pregnant question, "Is life 
 worth living ?" was answered very satisfactorily, me- 
 thought, as I watched the Virginians at their juleps: 
 "Gentlemen, your very good health;" "Colonel, 
 my respects to you ;" " My regards, Judge. When 
 shall I see you again at my house ? Can't you stop 
 now and stay a little while, if it is only a week or 
 two ?" " Sam," (to the bar-keeper,) " duplicate these 
 drinks." 
 
 How they smacked their lips ; how hot the talk on 
 politics became ; and how pernicious this example 
 of drinking in public was to the boy who looked on I 
 Oh ! yes ; and if you expect your son to go through 
 life without bad examples set him by his elders in a 
 thousand ways, you must take him to another sphere. 
 Still, the fewer bad examples the better, and you, at 
 least, need not set them. 
 
 Travelling always with my father, who was a mer- 
 chant, it was natural that I should become acquainted 
 with merchants. But I remember very few of them. 
 Mr. Daniel H. London, who was a character, and 
 Mr. Fleming James, who often visited his estate in 
 Roanoke, and was more of a character than London, 
 I recall quite vividly. I remember, too, Mr. Francis 
 B. Deane, who was always talking about Mobjack 
 Bay, and who was yet to build the Langhorne Foun- 
 dry in Lynchburg. I thought if I could just see 
 Mobjack Bay, I would be happy. According to Mr. 
 Deane, and I agreed with him, there ought by this 
 time to have been a great city on Mobjack Bay. I 
 
136 CANAL REMINISCENCES. 
 
 saw Mobjack Bay last summer, and was happy. 
 Any man who goes to Gloucester will be happy. 
 More marked than all of these characters was Major 
 Yancey, of Buckingham, "the wheel-horse of De- 
 mocracy," he w r as called; Tim. Rives, of Prince 
 George, whose face, some said, resembled the inside 
 of a gnnlock, being the war-horse. Major Yancey's 
 stout figure, florid face, and animated, forcible man- 
 ner, come back with some distinctness; and there 
 are other forms, but they are merely outlines barely 
 discernible. So pass away men who, in their day, 
 were names and powers shadows gone into shadow- 
 land, leaving but a dim print upon a few brains, 
 which in time will soon flit away. 
 
 Arrived in Lynchburg, the effect of the canal was 
 soon seen in the array of freight-boats, the activity 
 and bustle at the packet landing. New names and 
 new faces, from the canal region of ~New York, most 
 likely, were seen and heard. I became acquainted 
 with the family of Capt. Huntley, who commanded 
 one of the boats, and was for some years quite inti- 
 mate with his pretty daughters, Lizzie, Harriet and 
 Emma. Capt. H. lived on Church street, next door 
 to the Reformed, or as it was then called, the Radi- 
 cal Methodist Church, and nearly opposite to Mr. 
 Peleg Seabury. He was for a time connected in 
 some way with the Exchange hotel, but removed 
 with his family to Cincinnati, since when I have 
 never but once heard of them. Where are they all, 
 I wonder? Then, there was a Mr. Watson, who 
 lived with Boyd, Edmond & Davenport, married 
 
CANAL REMINISCENCES. 137 
 
 first a Miss , and afterwards, Mrs. Christian, 
 
 went into the tabacco business in Brooklyn, then dis- 
 appeared, leaving no trace, not the slightest. Then 
 there was a rare fellow, Charles Buckley, who lived 
 in the same store with Watson, had a fine voice, and, 
 without a particle of religion in the ordinary sense, 
 loved dearly to sing at revivals. I went with him ; 
 we took back seats, and sang with great fervor. 
 This was at night. Besides Captain Iluntley, I re- 
 member among the captains of a later date, Captain 
 Jack Yeatman ; arid at a date still later his brother, 
 Captain C. E. Yeatman, both of whom are still 
 living. There was still another captain whose name 
 
 was Love something, a very handsome man; 
 
 and these are all. 
 
 In 1849, having graduated in Philadelphia, I made 
 one of my last through-trips on the canal, the happy 
 owner of a diploma in a green tin case, and the 
 utterly miserable possessor of a dyspepsia w^hich 
 threatened my life. I enjoyed the night on deck, 
 sick as I was. The owl's "long hoot," the "plain- 
 tive cry of the whippoorwill ;" the melody for it is 
 by association a melody, which the Greeks have but 
 travestied with their brek-ke-ex, ko-ex of the frogs, 
 the mingled hum of insect life, the " stilly sound " 
 of inanimate nature, the soft respiration of sleeping 
 earth, and above all, the ineffable glory of the stars. 
 Oh! heaven of heavens, into which the sick boy, 
 lying alone on deck, then looked, has thy charm fled, 
 too, with so many other charms ? Have thirty years 
 of suffering, of thought, of book-reading, brought 
 
138 CANAL REMINISCENCES. 
 
 only the unconsoling knowledge, that yonder twink- 
 ling sparks of far-off fire are not lamps that light the 
 portals of the palace of the King and Father, but 
 suns like our sun, surrounded by earths full of woe 
 and doubt like our own ; and that heaven, if heaven 
 there be, is not in the sky; not in space, vast as it is; 
 not in time, endless though it be where then ? 
 "Near thee, in thy heart!" Who feels this, who 
 will say this of himself? Away, thou gray-haired, 
 sunken-cheeked sceptic, away ! Come back to me, 
 come back to me, wan youth; there on that deck, 
 with the treasure of thy faith, thy trust in men, thy 
 worship of womankind, thy hope, that sickness could 
 not chill, in the sweet possibilities of life. Come 
 back to me ! "Tis a vain cry. The youth lies there 
 on the packet's deck, looking upward to the stars, 
 and he will not return. 
 
 The trip in 1849 was a dreary one until there came 
 aboard a dear lady friend of mine who had recently 
 been married. I had not had a good honest talk 
 with a girl for eighteen solid I think I had better 
 say long, (we always say long when speaking of the 
 war) "fo' long years !" I have heard it a thousand 
 times for eighteen long months, and you may im- 
 agine how I enjoyed the conversation with my friend. 
 She w r asn't very pretty, and her husband was a Louisa 
 man ; but her talk, full of good heart and good sense, 
 put new life into me. One other through-trip, the 
 very last, I made in 1851. On my return in 1853 ? 
 I went by rail as far as Farmville, and thence by 
 stage to Lynchburg ; so that, for purposes of through 
 
CANAL REMINISCENCES. 139 
 
 travel, the canal lasted, one may say, only ten or a 
 dozen years. And now the canal, after a fair and 
 costly trial, is to give place to the rail, and I, in com- 
 mon with the great body of Yirginians, am heartily 
 glad of it. It has served its purpose well enough, 
 perhaps, for its day and generation. The world ha& 
 passed by it, as it has passed by slavery. Henceforth 
 Yirginia must prove her metal in the front of steam,, 
 electricity, and possibly mightier forces still. If she 
 can't hold her own in their presence, she must go 
 under. I believe she will hold her own ; these very 
 forces will help her. The dream of the great canal 
 to the Ohio, with its nine-mile tunnel, costing fifty 
 or more millions, furnished by the general govern- 
 ment, and revolutionizing the commerce of the 
 United States, much as the discovery of America 
 and opening of the Suez canal revolutionized the 
 commerce of the world, must be abandoned along 
 with other dreams. 
 
 One cannot withhold admiration from President 
 Johnston and other officers of the canal, who made 
 such a manful struggle to save it. But who can 
 war against the elements ? Nature herself, imitating 
 man, seems to have taken special delight in kicking 
 the canal after it was down. So it must go. Well, 
 let it go. It knew Yirginia in her palmiest days 
 and it crushed the stage coach ; isn't that glory 
 enough? I think it is. But I can't help feeling 
 sorry for the bull frogs ; there must be a good many 
 of them between here and Lexington. What will 
 become of them, I wonder ? They will follow their 
 
140 CANAL REMINISCENCES. 
 
 predecessors, the batteaux; and their pale, green 
 ghosts, seated on the prows of shadowy barges, will 
 be heard piping the roundelays of long-departed joys. 
 
 Farewell canal, frogs, musk-rats, mules, packet- 
 horns and all, a long farewell. Welcome the rail 
 along the winding valley of the James. Wake up, 
 Fluvanna ! Arise, old Buckingham ! Exalt thyself, 
 O Goochland ! And thou, O Powhatan, be not 
 afraid nor shame-faced any longer, but raise thy 
 Ebenezer freely, for the day of thy redemption is at 
 hand. Willis J. Dance shall rejoice ; yea, Wm. Pope 
 Dabney shall be exceeding glad. And all hail our 
 long lost brother ! come to these empty, aching arms, 
 dear Lynch's Ferry ! 
 
 ' I have always thought that the unnatural separa- 
 tion between Lynchburg and Richmond was the 
 source of all our troubles. In some way, not entirely 
 clear to me, it brought on the late war, and it will 
 bring on another, if a reunion between the two cities 
 does not soon take place. Baltimore, that pretty 
 and attractive, but meddlesome vixen, is at the bot- 
 tom of it all. Richmond will not fear Baltimore 
 after the rails are laid. Her prosperity will date 
 anew from the time of her iron wedding with Lynch- 
 burg. We shall see her merchants on our streets 
 again, and see them often. That will be a better 
 day. 
 
 Alas ! there are many we shall not see. John G. 
 Meem, Sam'l McCorkle, John Robin McDaniel, John 
 Hollins, Charles Phelps, John R. D. Payne, Jehu 
 Williams, Ambrose Rucker, Wilson P. Bryant (who 
 
CANAL REMINISCENCES. 
 
 died the other day), and many, many others, will not 
 come to Richmond any more. They are gone. And 
 if they came, they would not meet the men they used 
 to meet ; very few of them at least. Jacquelin P.. 
 Taylor, John N. Gordon, Thomas R. Price, Lewis 
 D. Crenshaw, James Dunlop why add to the list ? 
 They too are gone. 
 
 But the sons of the old-time merchants of Lynch- 
 burg will meet here the sons of the old-time mer- 
 chants of Richmond, and the meeting of the two, 
 the mingling of the waters Blackwater creek with 
 Bacon Quarter branch deuce take it ! I have gone 
 off on the water line again the admixture, I should 
 say, of the sills of Campbell with the spikes of Hen- 
 rico, the readjustment, so to speak, of the ties (R. R. 
 ties) that bind us, will more than atone for the ob- 
 solete canal, and draw us all the closer by reason of 
 our long separation and estrangement. Richmond 
 and Lynchburg united will go onward and upward 
 in a common career of glory and prosperity. And 
 is there, can there be, a Virginian, deserving the 
 name, who would envy that glory, or for a moment 
 retard that prosperity ? Not one, I am sure. 
 
 Allow me, now that my reminiscences are ended, 
 allow me, as an old stager and packet-horn reverer, 
 one last Parthian shot. It is this : If the James river 
 does not behave better hereafter than it has done of 
 late, the railroad will have to be suspended in mid- 
 heavens by means of a series of stationary balloons ; 
 travelling then may be a little wabbly, but at all 
 events, it won't be wet. 
 
THE 
 
 SACRED FURNITURE WAREROOMS. 
 
 THE stranger in Lynchbnrg who stops at the 
 City Hotel, in passing to and fro, will not fail 
 to be struck with the singular aspect of a building 
 not far from his lodgings. Upon the front of this 
 building, which stands a little back from the house- 
 line of the street, he will find marked 
 
 "E. J FOLKES, 
 FURNITURE WAREROOMS." 
 
 The shape of the house so marked is unlike the 
 shape of houses appropriated to business purposes; 
 but what will most curiously attract the stranger's 
 eye, is a little belfry perched above the gable. ]STo 
 bell swings in that belfry. Under a hastily-made 
 shed-porch in front of the house will be found a 
 number of rucking-chairs, tables, and other articles, 
 showing what may be expected inside. In the sweet 
 summer mornings, the proprietor may not unfre- 
 quently be seen seated in one of his rocking-chairs, 
 quietly reading a newspaper. 
 
 If the stranger w r ill venture to open either of the 
 two folding doors that give ingress to this building, 
 he will find the interior filled to repletion with all 
 manner of furniture. Let him go boldly in among 
 
THE SACRED FURNITURE WAREROOMS. 143 
 
 the multitude of bureaus, sofas, wash-stands, pier- 
 tables, and lounges. All is very still there. The 
 bright and glossy crowd of dumb domestics are 
 patiently awaiting owners to come and claim them. 
 One is reminded of those Northern Intelligence 
 Offices, where hosts of Irish and German girls sit, 
 without speaking, day after day; only here the ser- 
 vants are not flesh and blood, but structures of rose- 
 wood, mahogany and marble. 
 
 A strange and not wholly pleasant feeling creeps 
 over the visitor as he gazes on the inanimate forms 
 that people the broad wareroom. 
 
 If this furniture had been used, if it were old, and 
 black, and rickety, the feeling should be desolate in- 
 deed. But now that it is new, and rich, and beauti- 
 ful, it should suggest cheerful fancies only. Hither 
 the young couple will come to furnish their house 
 their home sweet, because it is theirs. In yonder 
 tall wardrobe will hang the spotless white dresses of 
 the bride, and the brave black finery of the groom. 
 The glass on that marble-topped bureau will reflect 
 the blushes of her pure young face, and the drawers 
 will be proud to hold the delicate laces and the mani- 
 fold "nice nothings" that pertain to her in right of 
 her sex. Upon that gold-embroidered tete-a-tete, the 
 happy pair will tell each other the story of their love- 
 days again and again tiring never of that sweet 
 time when the breeze blew fresh and fragrant from 
 the ever-nearing Isles of Hope. Surely the dumb 
 furniture is eloquent, and tells charming stories ! 
 
 Nevertheless, to the visitor, meditating in the 
 
144: THE SACRED FURNITURE WAREROOMS. 
 
 midst of the wareroom, there comes through all the 
 meshes of his silver-woven fancies, a something, out 
 of keeping with the place, breathing awe upon him. 
 
 W-hat is this? and why comes it? 
 
 It is the nameless spirit that clings to and lingers 
 in and around every unpeopled habitation; and it 
 comes here with peculiar solemnity and power be- 
 cause this wareroom was once the tabernacle and 
 house of the Most High God ! Yea, it was even so; 
 ^and albeit the pulpit hung with green, the old-fash- 
 ioned plain benches, and the deep-toned bell are gone, 
 the stranger may still see that this was a church once. 
 Here the mysterious rites that conjoin the transient 
 mortal with the Source infinite and eternal of life, 
 were performed. Here religion, in its terror and its 
 tenderness, in the sublimity of its hopes and the 
 boundlessness of its despair, was preached by lips 
 fired almost to prophecy; here prayers as pure as 
 ever trembled up to God's throne were uttered; and 
 here repentance as sincere as ever transformed err- 
 ing men was felt and avowed. Can a soul know its 
 unseen tragedies in 'time and place, and leave no mute 
 record there ? Can the glow and the joy of a faith 
 that dulls the last sharp pang, and triumphs over de- 
 cay be felt, and the spot that saw the birth of that 
 faith bear no witness of it ? Can celestial ministers 
 bring messages of everlasting peace to the fear-har- 
 rowed soul, and no lingering trace, perceptible to the 
 finer senses, remain upon the walls hallowed by the 
 touches of their wings, and on the floor pressed once 
 by their noiseless sandals ? Nay, truly. If the fire- 
 
THE SACRED FURNITURE WAREROOMS. 145 
 
 side delights, and all the "fair humanities" that en- 
 dear the humblest dwelling, will cluster about the 
 broken hearthstone, and redeem with tenderest sug- 
 gestions the horror of the charred and fallen rafters, 
 how much more shall the higher emotions of religion 
 hallow holier places, and with greater tenacity cling 
 to ruined shrines and deserted churches ! 
 
 But the palpable awe of the sacred wareroom must 
 be vague and fleeting to the stranger. It is deep, it 
 is lasting to him who remembers the old church in 
 its prime. When the white pailings in front enclosed 
 a little yard, green with a patch of sward 011 either 
 side, and a little paper-mulberry tree in the centre of 
 each patch. When the bell, tolling early on a bright 
 Sunday morning, summoned the children, clean with 
 starched white clothes, to the Sabbath-school. When 
 the mind, fretted now and hardened with business 
 cares, was concerned about the questions of the cate- 
 chism, and the ear familiar with the getting-by-heart 
 hum of the hundred round-faced scholars. 
 
 Graver was the time when the morning service 
 came. The little yard was filled then with gentle- 
 men grouped about the mulberry tree, after they 
 had assisted the ladies in to the right-hand door. 
 Youths were there, arrayed in their best, watching 
 the fair faces and the charming figures as they came 
 walking, or tripped lightly out of carriages. 
 
 Within all was hushed. The scholars, who short- 
 while hummed so loudly, were silent now, and sat 
 demurely by their parents' sides, with restless feet 
 that could not touch the floor. Soon, overcome with 
 10 
 
14:6 THE SACRED FURNITURE WAREROOMS. 
 
 heat, the little forms would be stretched upon the 
 bench, the moist young brows, protected by a kindly 
 handkerchief, reposing in a father's or a mother's lap. 
 
 Alas ! they who slept sweet slumbers in the hap- 
 py day when this wareroom was a church, shall 
 sleep thus again no more. The hands whose gentle 
 touches waked those sleepers when the sermon ended, 
 have mouldered into dust, or tremble now with the 
 palsy of age. The flight of years has made men and 
 women of those children who in this wareroom first 
 heard the public accents of prayer and praise. Their 
 youth is gone, and with it the wonder and the beauty 
 of life, and almost of religion. 
 
 Memories still more solemn come to him who once 
 sat in this sanctuary memories of high religious fes- 
 tivals and revivals, with their excitement, their power, 
 their terror, with that wondrous fascination which the 
 sight of weeping men and women, repenting, and 
 heart-broken, and joyful, must ever give. 
 
 But sadder yet, and sweeter than these, come mem- 
 ories imbued with the intense and mysterious charm 
 of sacred music. 
 
 Ah ! the singers, the singers that sang in this old 
 church! Few, very few of them remain. Some sing 
 no longer ; some have wandered from the fold ; some 
 live in far States and in other cities; and some are 
 .sleeping. 
 
 One noble old man, whose fine, venerable head 
 kept time to the divine music in his heart, we all re- 
 member. Warm was he ; true, upright, full of love 
 toward his fellow-man, full of service to his Master, 
 
THE SACRED FURNITURE WAREROOM8. 14:7 
 
 and not to be wearied in well-doing. Who that ever 
 heard him can forget with what fervor he was wont 
 to sing : 
 
 " All hail the power of Jesus name, 
 Let angels prostrate fall; 
 Bring forth the royal diadem, 
 And crown Him Lord of all." 
 
 lending his whole soul to the melodious utterance of 
 that name he loved so well ? 
 
 His earthly voice fell silent long ago ; his honored 
 dust reposes in the graveyard of his church; and 
 there a marble obelisk rises to attest the esteem his 
 townsmen justly bore him. 
 
 One other singer, the sweetest that ever sang in 
 this old church, returns dim but beautiful to the fill- 
 ing eyes that gaze upon the dead space where once 
 her living self lovely in the dawn of womanhood 
 and in the beauty 'of her guilelessness sang praises 
 to Him who is the source of beauty and of truth. 
 How pure, how sweet, how tender, was her voice! 
 the vocal life of her sinless heart ! the fit, intelligent, 
 worshipful, loving instrument to hymn the highest 
 music ! 
 
 Unhappy, unhappy singer ! Neither thy beauty, 
 nor thy sweetness, nor thy sinlessness, could save 
 thee from the appointed sorrow. It is over now. 
 The sweet voice is dumb, the loveful lips are ashes, 
 and the true, stainless woman's heart shall throb no 
 more, no more for ever. All of her that could fade 
 lies in the church-yard, not far from him, the noble 
 Christian, father and friend of humanity, whose voice 
 
148 THE SACKED FURNITURE WAREROOMS. 
 
 often blended with her own sweet tones when on 
 earth they sang together the songs of Zion. Over 
 her, the leaves, dark and glossy-green, of the sombre 
 oaks have lightly moved to the sighing winds of many 
 vernal morns ; and upon her tomb, through the long 
 nights of many autumns, those leaves, grown sere, 
 have fallen fast, as tears to weep her mournful fate. 
 Peace be to her, and joy, and love ! 
 
 Other singers there were in this old church, and 
 others still who sang only in their hearts ; all worthy 
 to be named, and all too sadly well remembered and 
 recalled by those who see the bowed forms, clad in 
 deep crape, that tremblingly walk the aisles of the 
 new church, and who miss the reverent faces from 
 their accustomed pew, and hear no more the well- 
 known voices in the choir. 
 
 Alas ! for life's changes ; alas ! for those that have 
 already come ; and for those yet to come unknown 
 changes but which must come oh! how shall we 
 bear them ? 
 
 The new times demanded the new church ; its 
 gothic beauty deserves the admiration it has re- 
 ceived; its organ, touched by a master's hand, doth 
 utter forth a glorious voice ; but so long as one beam 
 of the old church is fastened to another, and so long 
 as memory holds her seat, so long there will be one 
 who will turn from the finer architecture of the 
 modern structure and forget the grander music of 
 the organ, to muse over the simpler manners of the 
 past, and to bring back the plain hymn-music and 
 the singers that sang it of old, in the Sacred Furni- 
 ture Wareroorns. 
 
MY VILE BEARD. 
 
 i. 
 
 GETTING SHAVED IN CHARLOTTE. 
 
 I HA YEN'T got much beard, but what little there 
 is of it is the worst kind of beard. In the first 
 place, it is more like Berlin wire, tough and hard, 
 than an animal or other substance. 
 
 Some people, you know, contend that the hair and 
 nails are vegetables, inasmuch as they continue to 
 grow after a body is dead. But my beard is a metal. 
 In the next place, my beard crops out at all sorts of 
 angles, that on my chin growing downwards, like 
 anybody else's, while that on my cheeks grows up- 
 wards, and that on my throat emerges sideways in 
 every direction, like the rays of a starfish. Lastly, 
 my skin is exceedingly tender, my jaws very hollow, 
 and my neck scraggy and fluted, like a consumptive 
 Corinthian column if you can imagine such a thing. 
 The consequence is that I can't shave myself, even if 
 I knew how to sharpen a razor, a feat which I have 
 often attempted, and shall never perform. That's 
 certain, for I've tried and tried, till there is no use 
 in trying. Indeed, it is impossible for a barber to 
 shave me clean. You see, he can't get at my beard, 
 and if he could, lie dare not shave both ways, for if 
 
150 MY VILE BEARD. 
 
 lie does he leaves my face as bloody as a black-heart 
 cherry, just skinned. 
 
 Leander Harrison, the best barber in the State, 
 according to my thinking, will tell you that my beard 
 is the worst beard that ever disfigured the human 
 visage. 
 
 How serious a thing it is not to be able to shave 
 myself you will be able to understand as soon as I 
 tell you how I got shaved in Charlotte. Listen : In 
 the year 1850 or 1851 the date is not important 
 I started from town what town ? on horseback 
 wiiose horse's back ? If you had seen my horse, you 
 would at once have detected my business. He was 
 a showy horse, and his trappings, down to the very 
 martingale, were spick and span new. Saddle-bags 
 were new, and full of new clothes. Umbrella was 
 'new, hat new, gloves new, wiiip new in fact, the 
 whole turnout, rider included, had that slick var- 
 nished look that things have when fresh from the 
 hands of the cabinet-maker. I was five and twenty 
 years old, and the summer was just closing. Surely 
 you must guess that, although I was not going north, 
 my object was to lay in a stock of dry goods for the 
 fall. 
 
 The day was fine. I had a plenty of excellent 
 cigars, and never felt better in my life. 
 
 Our appearance ("our" meaning the horse and 
 myself) attracted the attention of everybody we 
 passed. We were especially pleased with the com- 
 pliment passed upon us by one of a group of small 
 negroes, who assembled around us when we stopped 
 
MY VILE BEARD. 151 
 
 at a woe-begone house on the roadside to get a drink 
 of water. The compliment ran thus : " Unh ! if dat 
 ar ain't de pootyest white man and de pootyest hoss 
 and bridle, I wisht I may nuvver." Under the im- 
 pulse of this praise we struck off gaily into that lone- 
 some road that leads to the particular locality in the 
 county of Charlotte which was the goal of my am- 
 bition. For twenty miles we passed not a solitary 
 traveller, and scarcely a human habitation. 
 
 I recall only a single log-hut on the left-hand side 
 of the road. Some two score sickly tobacco plants 
 crowded up to the very door of this hut, showing 
 that it was inhabited; but not a living thing was 
 visible. 
 
 Fifty yards down the road I overtook a draggle- 
 tailed rooster, who ran out of my way and hid be- 
 hind a chestnut tree, and set up a crow in the weak 
 accents of unmistakable bronchitis. My horse 
 switched his tail as if to resent the insult, and on 
 we went along the lonely road. I began to feel not 
 so comfortable in the saddle as I had been at start- 
 ing, and my high spirits abated. As I had never 
 been in that region before, it soon became very cer- 
 tain that my invariable rule of getting lost had not 
 been broken. But there was the "main, plain road," 
 and all I had to do was to follow it. So I followed 
 it. And the trot of the showy horse became harder 
 and harder. Nothing but the ever-delightful and 
 continually recurring reverie, in which I had been 
 indulging from the moment I set out, sustained me 
 while that showy horse trotted harder and still harder 
 
152 MY VILE BEAED. 
 
 along that dreary road through the interminable 
 chestnut woods. All at once I was rudely awakened 
 from my delicious day-dream. The horse had 
 stopped ; and this is what made him stop : 
 
 eNteRTaNemEnt 
 By rueBin b Riles 
 
 This sign, painted in white letters on a black 
 ground, was fastened by a wooden pin, driven through 
 its centre, into an augur hole in an immense hewn 
 gate-post. There was one post, and no fence at all, 
 only a horse-rack, made of a piece of cedar, with its 
 many branches trimmed off, laid upon two forked 
 uprights of Spanish oak. The house had been a large 
 and good one. Now it was far gone in dark decay, 
 as were also the few remaining out-houses. All the 
 old trees had died out ; one side of the large yard 
 contained a thicket of young locusts, while the other 
 was imshaded, and almost grassless. 
 
 I thought to myself that Mr. Briles's entertainment 
 was likely to be rather indifferent. Still, it was the 
 best I could do. So, seeing nobody, I sang out, af- 
 ter the English fashion, 
 
 "House!" 
 
 ~No answer. 
 
 " House!" 
 
 Not a word. 
 
 " HOUSE !" this time as loud as I could bawl. 
 
 To my surprise I was answered from behind. 
 
MY VILE BEARD. 153 
 
 "'Taint 'house,' 'tis Briles." 
 
 "Ah!" said I, turning around, "how do you do, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Right peart ; how'd y' come on yourself ?" 
 The speaker was a fine specimen of a Virginia 
 countryman; over six feet, bony, dark, athletic, but 
 lazy, good-natured, yet passionate, and clad only in 
 a coarse shirt and still coarser " bluein " pantaloons. 
 " What place is this ?" I asked. 
 "Brileses." 
 
 " And where is Mr. Briles ?" 
 "Wharuvver he is thar you'll find me." 
 "Well, Mr. Briles, can I get dinner?" 
 " Sertiiey you kin. We all done dinner mo'n two 
 hours, and I was jes goin' squrl huntiii' ; but the 
 leaves is too thick yet awhile, and thar's plenty a 
 time befo' sundown. I recon we can git you. up 
 sornethin' or nuther pretty quick that'll do to stay 
 your stummuck. Boy !" 
 
 "Boy" was uttered in a tone calculated to raise 
 the dead, and very soon a cornfield hand came run- 
 ning to take my horse. Dismounting slowly, I found 
 myself so sore from the trotting I had undergone 
 that I could hardly walk into the house, the inside 
 of which I will not describe, lest it make this story 
 too long. Suffice it to say, that it corresponded with 
 the outside. Depositing my bran new saddle-bags 
 on the bench it was mighty hard in the porch, I 
 sat down and took off my hat and cravat, the better 
 to cool off. 
 
 "Take somethin', Mister?" 
 
154 MY VILE BEARD. 
 
 "With great pleasure," I replied. 
 
 "'Taint so dog-goned good, but you're 'bundant 
 welcome to it. Spos'n I make you a julep ?" 
 
 "Very well," said I. 
 
 A julep of new whiskey, with brown sugar, and 
 without ice is rather a hard thing to worry down,, 
 but I was so exhausted that I really enjoyed it. 
 After I had finished it, I asked Briles': " What 
 county is this ?" 
 
 " Tcharlut." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Tcharlut ; the county uv Tcharlut." 
 
 "Oh! Charlotte." 
 
 "Yes; Tcharlut." 
 
 "Well, how far is it from here to the Court 
 House?" 
 
 "A little over twenty-one mile jest twenty-one 
 mile to a nit's night-cap from that ar big white oak 
 up yonder at the forks uv the road." 
 
 " And what is this part of the country called ? 
 Has it any particular name ?" 
 
 " To be sho'. Right here is Brileses, which it is a 
 presink; but this here ridge ar called 'Venjunce 
 Ridge.'" 
 
 "Indeed! Why so?" 
 
 " They was bleest to name it somethin', I reckon, 
 and that's what it took its name from." 
 
 "Ah! Well, does a gentleman named Cooke 
 live anywhere in this neighborhood ?" 
 
 "Thar's old Beazly Cooke keeps a wheelwright 
 shop up here about two mile down in the Cub Creek 
 Hollow." 
 
MY YILE BEARD. 155 
 
 " He is not the man." 
 
 "Thar's Joneeston Cooke, owns 'bout two hundred 
 niggers, on the river." 
 
 "No; it is not he." 
 
 "Oh!" he exclaimed, with the most inoffensive 
 impertinence. " Oh ! I seen your hand plain two 
 bullets and a bragger a queen by the livins ! It's 
 the ole Captain you mean. I might a' known you 
 was arter courtin somethin'. He's rich as mornin'& 
 milk." 
 
 "Why, you don't expect me to court him?" 
 
 "Yes, maybe I don't. Ef he didn't had them 
 thousand acres o' low groun's that ar bridle and 
 saddle would nuvver have stopped at Brileses." 
 
 "Well," said I, "if you will turn a city collector 
 into a courting man, I can't help it." 
 
 "Pretty decking you'll do, I jes bet. You'll 
 cleckt a hundred and twenty poun' uv lady-meat and 
 about thirty niggers, or else you'll cleckt a kicking ; 
 one or tuther, sertin." 
 
 All this was said in such an indescribably good- 
 natured, honest tone, that I could not take offence. 
 So I told Briles that I would take a nap until dinner 
 was ready. 
 
 In what appeared to me a half minute, but was in 
 fact half an hour, I was awakened by Briles, and told 
 that dinner was on the table. A small table, covered 
 with a dingy cloth, was placed in the middle of the 
 dining room, and thereon I found chicken, ham and 
 eggs, some sweet potatoes and butter-beans. In ad- 
 dition to these, there was a plate of good butter, a 
 
156 MY VILE BEARD. 
 
 pitcher of milk, and three large hoe-cakes. This 
 was the dinner. Affixed to the ceiling, just over the 
 table, I perceived one of those fixtures which years 
 ago used to be in vogue in much larger taverns, 
 called, I believed, a fan. It consisted of a long piece 
 of red cloth, suspended by mechanical contrivances 
 which I cannot describe, and was kept in motion by 
 means of a rope pulled by a negro boy, who stood 
 exactly in the centre of the fire-place. As I sat 
 down, the boy began to pull the fan with vigor. 
 
 Briles apologized for his dinner. " Its pritty po' 
 eatin', and if you jest had waited tel supper time, I'd 
 a had you some squrls. We kill a ram lam' yistiddy, 
 the finest you uvver see, fat two inches thick on the 
 ribs, but the nigger took and put it in the spring 
 house, thout fastnin' the do,' and the fust thing a ole 
 houii' sneak in thar and eat it up clean to the bone." 
 During these remarks, Briles once or twice inter- 
 rupted himself to say in a loud voice, "boy!" to 
 which the negro pulling the fan would answer " suli," 
 and pull the fan more vigorously than before. Then 
 Briles would go on with what he had to say. But 
 he was evidently annoyed about something. 
 
 "Of co'se the dog didn't eat" 
 
 "Boy!" 
 
 "Suh." 
 
 The fan fluttered faster. 
 
 "Didn't eat all the lam', because " 
 
 "Boy!" 
 
 "Sub." 
 
 The fan flapped still faster. 
 
MY VILE BEARD. 157 
 
 "Because we all had done sent a good part of it 
 away to vayus neighbors " 
 
 "Boy!" 
 
 "Suh." 
 
 The fan was going at a terrific rate. Briles 
 thundered out 
 
 "BOY! don't be so dam' induschus!" Never was 
 a negro so taken aback. He had supposed all the 
 time, that the object of his master in calling him was 
 to urge him on in the work of keeping off the flies 
 with the fan, and now, when he discovered his mis- 
 take, I don't think the whole county of " Tcharlut" 
 could have presented a more pitably chop-fallen 
 spectacle. I laughed outright. But Briles glared at 
 him savagely, until I thought he would have fallen 
 where he stood. 
 
 When dinner was over, the master of the house 
 invited me to go out hunting with him, a proposition 
 to which I would willingly have acceded, if I had not 
 been so stiff and sore. Briles went off. I lighted 
 my cigar and lolled upon the bench in the porch. I 
 pass over the night and the particulars of my intro- 
 duction to Mrs. Briles, who proved to be both ugly 
 and quarrelsome for which last Briles, very con- 
 fidingly, accounted, by saying " there nuvver was no 
 peace in no family that didn't have children." 
 
 The next morning I found myself even more stiff 
 and sore than I had been the evening previous. 
 Every joint ached. It was plain that I had to pass 
 the day at Briles's. Briles did his best to make my 
 stay agreeable, but the constant sharp voice of Mrs. 
 
158 MY VILE BEARD. 
 
 jBriles, as she scolded the negroes in the back yard, 
 and my natural impatience to reach my journey's 
 end, made all his efforts abortive. 
 
 However, the second morning came and found me, 
 not exactly supple, but able to mount the trotting- 
 horse again, and to endure him for a season. I de- 
 termined to hasten on immediately after breakfast. 
 But when I went to the little dingy-looking glass to 
 brush my hair, a terrible fact was revealed to me : 
 My beard was three days old ! Shave I must, and 
 that immediately; but I could not shave myself. I 
 had no razor. Strange that I had never thought of 
 that before leaving town. But somebody must shave 
 me. Who f There were no barbers in that coun- 
 try; it was doubtful whether Briles ever shaved at 
 all ; and what to do I knew not. The case, as it ap- 
 peared to me at this time, was so grave that I find 
 it impossible to impart it. I was young, was going 
 to a highly respectable house, on business of the ut- 
 most importance. It was indispensable to a good 
 first impression that my appearance should at least 
 be decent. As these reflections crowded upon me, I 
 made up my mind to return to town, get shaved, and 
 bring a barber back with me. 
 
 When I went down to breakfast I told Briles of 
 my unhappy condition. Sympathizing with me, he 
 ; said he " wished to goodness he could shave me, but 
 he couldn't. He could trim ha'r tollibly, but never 
 had laid no razor to no man's jaw but his own." 
 After thinking over the matter for some time, it 
 suddenly occurred to him that his man "Benj'min" 
 
MY VILE BEARD. 159 
 
 liad worked on the " Gunnel," and may be he knew 
 how to shave. So Benj'min was called. He proved 
 to be a clumsy, self-important creature, who " 'low'd 
 he could shave a gent'man good as any barber." 
 Rather than ride back thirty miles to town, I con- 
 sented to let Benjamin try his hand on me, upon the 
 following terms, proposed by himself : 
 
 1st. He didn't want me to pay him nuthin no 
 way. 
 
 2nd. If he " made the bleed come," he " wouldn't 
 take nuthin if I w T as to gin it to him." 
 
 3rd. He agreed to shave me " two days under the 
 skin." 
 
 4th. If I had " a little ole wescut or hankcher," 
 Benjamin would be a thousand times " obleeged" to 
 me for either of them. 
 
 This contract being accepted on my part, Briles 
 went off to a " vandue," and Benjamin went off after 
 .his shaving implements. I waited in moody silence 
 his return. 
 
 Soon I heard Mrs. Briles quarrelling with Benja- 
 min because he attempted to take some of the cook's 
 hot water, and thought something was said about 
 " soap," but of this last I was not certain. I waited 
 and waited. It was fully an hour before Benjamin 
 came back. In one hand he held a tin bucket, such 
 as negroes use to carry their dinner to the field, full 
 of hot water ; in the other was a large, round, dark- 
 bay, ugly-looking gourd ; and under his arm was 
 what appeared to me to be a leather surcingle, a mop, 
 and a bowie-knife ; but I was so mad with him on 
 
160 MY VILE BEAKD. 
 
 account of his delay that I could not see very well. 
 He came into the porch, where I sat, with a smile 
 of intense self-esteem on his face, and said he had 
 been detained all this time by honing the razor. I 
 answered not a word. Setting down his implements 
 on the bench behind me, he stood irresolute for a 
 time, and finally went off. I sat still as a stone. 
 He soon returned with an axe and a nail. Driving 
 the nail partway into one of the pillars of the porch, 
 he bent the head upwards so as to form a hook, and 
 to this hook he attached the leather surcingle (it was 
 over a yard long), and began to " strop" the bowie- 
 knife, which proved, however, to be a razor, or 
 rather a cross between a razor and a broad-axe. 
 Never before or since have I seen such an imple- 
 ment. 
 
 I looked on, without saying a word. He talked 
 and strapped, and strapped and talked. When he 
 had finished strapping his broad-axe (it took him a 
 quarter of an hour to do so), he tested its sharpness 
 by nicking his thumb-nail and by splitting a thread 
 of his w r ool. I kept perfectly quiet. Regarding my- 
 self as a doomed man, I sat quite passive and ready to 
 meet my fate. He laid down his razor and went be- 
 hind me to get the tin-bucket and other things. I 
 have had many sensations in my time, but I doubt if 
 all of them put together could produce quite so har- 
 rowing a state of mind and body as I experienced when 
 that negro came forward with a large painter's brush 
 (it was not a mop), and a gourd full of soft soap 
 this home-made, greasy, villainous stuff. But I 
 
MY VILE BEARD. 161 
 
 held my peace. He lathered me. Ugh ! I shud- 
 der when I think of it. But he did lather me up to 
 my very temples and down to my breast-bone. And 
 such lather ! "Whew ! I opened not my mouth. Nay, 
 verily not in the presence of that lather. After 
 he had invested my countenance with the nauseous 
 froth, Benjamin gave his baby broad-axe a few more 
 whets on the surcingle, and the amputation of my 
 beard commenced. During the first few strokes I 
 was agreeably surprised, the broad-axe seemed to cut 
 so smoothly. But when he had scraped my jaws 
 pretty thoroughly and got over to the fluted part of 
 my neck, where the beard grew like the vortex of a 
 whirlpool, I became conscious of a pain that no man 
 certainly no woman ever realized. I cannot de- 
 scribe it. It was like tearing the skin off and stick- 
 ing of red-hot needles into the raw meat, as fast as 
 it appeared under the razor. But it was something 
 more than this something more than the dumb rage 
 I felt, added to this, and something more than the 
 awful odor of the soft-soap lather, added to that. 
 Imagine it ! But, like a stoic, I bore it without a 
 murmur. ISTay, I kept my fury so quiet that I did 
 not even make a comment when Benjamin made the 
 remark, for which I had been looking : " Dar now !" 
 said he, " de blood ar done come, spite 'o all I could 
 do. Dis razor shave mighty easy, I boun ; but den 
 de skin on yo' nake 'pear to be monsus weak, 
 monsus." 
 
 The fact is, the blood was trickling down my 
 breast. 
 
 11 
 
162 MY VILE BEARD. 
 
 As I made no answer, Benjamin dipped his paint 
 brush into the soap-gourd, lathered me anew, and 
 kept on shaving. 
 
 "I done shave you down," said he, after awhile, 
 " right clean and good. Now I gwine ter shave you 
 up. I 'spec when it go agin de grain, it ar mos' likely 
 to giv some trouble, but tain' no use o' shavin' unless 
 you gwine ter do de thing as it ought to be done." 
 
 So he shaved me against the grain, and I gritted 
 my teeth, determined to bear the torture without a 
 groan, if I died under his hand. At last he got 
 through "shaving me up" and began running his 
 finger about in the greasy soap-suds on my throat to 
 feel which way the beard grew, stopping now and 
 then to staunch the flowing blood with a towel, and 
 promising me that as soon as he got through he 
 would make it all right "by plarsterin' de beard- 
 holes with a little sut." In getting at the before- 
 mentioned vortex of beard, he assumed all sorts of 
 attitudes and bent my head and neck in all manner 
 of directions, until I thought he would end by twist- 
 ing my head entirely off. He got in front of me, 
 behind me, on my right side, on my left side, and in 
 between my legs. He was very rough and very 
 determined to fulfill his promise to shave me two 
 days under the skin. Still I gritted my teeth and 
 let him keep on his murderous operation. The job 
 was not an easy one. I felt something almost like 
 pleasure when he began to perspire and to show 
 anger, as if the beard were a personal enemy whom 
 he could not conquer. 
 
MY VILE BEARD. 163 
 
 "Good G d A'mighty! what a beard!" he at 
 length exclaimed. It 'pear to grow farst is you 
 shave it." 
 
 I answered not a word. 
 
 It is probable that I could have gone through 
 with that terrific shaving without a syllable of com- 
 plaint, if Benjamin had not wounded my pride as 
 well as my person. Getting to a little spot just 
 under the angle of my jaw, where the beard was 
 peculiarly twisted in its growth, he became fairly 
 puzzled. He did his besMo get at it, but he could 
 not. This way and that, behind me and before me, 
 on either side, every way, he tried, but all in vain. 
 Then it was that he broke out, in the most offensive 
 tone imaginable, with the following unparalleled pro- 
 position. 
 
 "My little marster, there's 'bout three or fo' uv 
 the outrajusist little bars here I uvver did see. I 
 carn't gether um, all I kin do. Couldn't you 
 couldn't you a urrah couldn't you jes start' on 
 yc? hade (head) for a minute or two, if you please, 
 sir." 
 
 The words " stan' on yo' hade " were hardly out of 
 his mouth before he was lying flat of his back. In 
 a frenzy of passion, which had been restrained until 
 it could be restrained to longer, I knocked him sense- 
 less with a chair. It was like lightning, so quickly 
 and fiercely was it done; and to this day I have 
 never been able to tell how I kept from killing him 
 outright. And this was the way I got shaved in 
 " Tcharlut." It is enough to make me " stan' on my 
 
164 MY VILE BEARD. 
 
 hade" whenever I think of it. The rest of the ad- 
 venture you shall hear. 
 
 II. 
 THE THROAT-CUT LOVER. 
 
 I left Brileses' with a throat perfectly raw and 
 bloody, the maddest man the world that day con- 
 tained, and in the worst possible plight to go a court- 
 ing. But go I must, and court I must. To return 
 home would have been folly; I was under a solemn 
 promise to be at the young lady's house by a cer- 
 tain day. So I paid Briles his bill a very small 
 one accepted, not with the best grace, his condo- 
 lence and his promise to thrash Benj'min soundly, 
 indignantly rejected Mrs. Briles' proffer to " ease 
 my misery by wropping my throat in a strip of fat 
 bacon-rine that would go round twice' t," and set 
 forth. My throat pained me terribly; my anger 
 was high, and I rode on as fast as my horse could 
 carry me. The few persons I encountered eyed me 
 with a strange look; but I was out of sight be- 
 fore they could make a remark. Crossing the river, 
 I entered the county of Halifax not without some 
 awkward questions from the ferryman. Leaving the 
 fertile lowlands, I ascended a low range of hills, 
 trotted rapidly along the ridge, and about dinner 
 hour found myself lost. Then, for the first time, I 
 observed the very red a'spect of my bosom. My 
 collar was in even a worse condition ; it was a bloody 
 rag. My throat was still bleeding. Dismounting 
 from my horse, I repaired to a marshy spot in the 
 
MY VILE BEARD. 165 
 
 woods, and gave my neck a good bathing. The 
 water was warm, but the astringent property im- 
 parted to it by the oak leaves which had fallen made 
 it act like a charm. It staunched the blood com- 
 pletely, and, though it burnt me severely at first, 
 produced the most soothing and grateful after-effect. 
 Feeling much relieved, I sat down on the root of a 
 tree, and wiped my neck as well as I could with my 
 handkerchief. I then concluded that the best thing, 
 nay, the indispensable thing, for me to do, was to 
 divest myself of my sanguineous under-garment, and 
 put on a clean one. Accordingly, I went for my sad- 
 dle-bags, brought them into the woods, about twenty 
 feet or more from the road, opened them, pulled 
 out a a a nicely ironed a urah, and proceeded 
 to make a sylvan toilette. Meanwhile, I became ex- 
 ceedingly hungry. To stay my hunger, I lit a cigar. 
 My garment was just on, but not a single button 
 buttoned, when a negro boy came riding by on a 
 mule. I called to him to stop. He did so ; looked 
 around, but saw nobody. I told him to wait a 
 minute until I could get ready. Though he could 
 not see me, I could see him very plainly ; and as he 
 was evidently a little frightened, I thought it ad- 
 visable to go up to him, and ask him to tell me the 
 way to the place I was going. Out I walked, ac- 
 coutred as I was, white above and dark below my 
 pantaloons being dark grey and cigar in mouth. 
 
 As soon as he saw me, he turned to run, but, on 
 second thought, held his ground. But the moment 
 I got close to him, he bounced off the mule and ran 
 
166 MY VILE BEARD. 
 
 through the woods, bawling as hard as he could. Of 
 course I ran after him. It would never do to let 
 slip the only chance I had of ascertaining my where- 
 abouts. The little devil ran like a deer ; but after 
 a hard chase I overtook him and collared him. The 
 moment I laid my hands on him, he made the woods 
 ring with piercing screams, and in a very short time 
 I was surrounded by half a dozen rough, powerful 
 white men, one of whom, armed with a sledge-ham- 
 mer, threatened to " bust my derned head open ef I 
 didn't let that ar boy go." 
 
 It turned out that the spot where I caught the 
 boy was but a few hundred yards from the interest- 
 ing village, or blacksmith's shop, of "Madison's 
 Cross Roads," and that the amiable gentlemen who 
 surrounded me comprised a large majority of its 
 population. I explained to them at once the reason 
 why I had run after the boy, and even went so far 
 as to tell them about my getting shaved in Charlotte, 
 thus accounting for the very suspicious appearance 
 of my throat and the singularity of my costume. 
 Some of them looked as if they believed me ; others 
 did not. I overheard one fellow whisper to his 
 friend : 
 
 " That man's bin hung. Don't you see his neck ? 
 He needn't tell me nothing 'bout his gittin' shaved 
 at Briles's. Briles's Ben kin shave good as anybody. 
 I think I heerd thai* was a man hung last Friday in 
 Pittsylvany, and that ar is the man to a dead moral 
 certainty." 
 
 " I don't like his looks, neither," was the reply. 
 
MY VILE BEARD. 167 
 
 "But if a man's bin hung wunst, you can't hang 
 him nar a'nuther time for the same offenst. It's 
 agin the law. But what was he a doing to Brace's 
 Jim? He couldn't a wanted to kill the nigger; 
 reck'n he could?" 
 
 "Dunno," said the h'rst speaker. "He's got the 
 worst face I uvver see on top of any man. He aint 
 too good to commit murder jest to keep his hand in." 
 
 While this agreeable conversation was going on, I 
 busied myself in buttoning up my apparel and making 
 myself as decent as I could. By the time I got 
 through the citizens of Madison's Cross Roads drew 
 off a little way, as if to consult what was best to be 
 done with me. I awaited patiently their decision. 
 The spokesman came forward and said : 
 
 " Mister, you tell a mighty straight sort of story, 
 but you've got a kind uv count'nance that none uv 
 we all don't like. I don't want to hurt your feelins, 
 but the sooner you git away from Madison's Cross 
 Roads the better. YOU say you're going do\*n to 
 Squire Cookses. Well, you ken jes go 'long. But 
 I'm a coming thai* soon to-morrow morning, and ef 
 your story aint crobborated by facts, I'm gwine to 
 take you up, according to law." 
 
 They all turned and walked off, taking Bruce's 
 Jim with them. I laughed and went to my saddle- 
 bags, finished dressing, mounted my steed and started 
 off quite gaily, both pain and hunger having disap- 
 peared under the excitement of my amusing inter- 
 view with the fierce Madison's Cross-Roaders. Un- 
 fortunately, the only information I had been able to 
 
168 MY VILE BEARD. 
 
 get in regard to the locality of Squire Cooke's, was 
 to the effect that it was " a right sharp ways down 
 the road, jinin' John Thompson's land, after you get 
 over the creek." As I rode on, it occurred to me 
 that it would be a good thing to tie my handkerchief 
 around my neck, which began to feel sore again, and 
 to bleed a little. This I did, and felt the better for 
 it. But now my hunger returned with great violence. 
 I got down from my horse, and ate a few chestnuts 
 that I found under the leaves; but these served only 
 to make me still hungrier. I again mounted and 
 rode forward. Emerging at length from the seem- 
 ingly interminable woods, I beheld, to my great joy, 
 an apple orchard, sure sign of a house in the neighbor- 
 hood, though none was in view. A fine tree, loaded 
 with big red apples, was not far from the fence, and 
 in a very few minutes I had a dozen in my hands 
 and my pockets, and was sitting on the fence eating 
 them with great relish. Up came a shabbily-dressed 
 old fellow, riding a sorrel mare, with awkward colt 
 behind her. Thinking him some third-rate farmer, 
 I hailed him in a free and easy manner, and asked 
 him how far it was to old Squire Cooke's. He re- 
 plied stiffly, that it was but a short distance. "I 
 told him that I was on the way to the Squire's house, 
 and as I had already lost myself twice, I would be 
 obliged to him if he would show me the exact place." 
 
 The old fellow bestowed a suspicious glance upon 
 me, wrinkled his shaggy eye-brows, in token of 
 satisfaction or the reverse, and said : 
 
 " If you will follow me, I will show you the house." 
 
MY VILE BEARD. 169 
 
 You guess the sequel, O reader. The old fellow 
 was Squire Cooke himself ! 
 
 I spare you the recital of my inward pangs and 
 confused apologies when the awkward discovery was 
 made. One thing I congratulated myself upon, viz. : 
 that I had not (as I was in an ace of doing several 
 times) asked the old fellow if Squire Cooke was as 
 well off as people said he was, and whether he was a 
 skin-flint, as I had heard. 
 
 My reception by Mrs. Cooke was kind, by her 
 daughter cordial. The Squire kept very grim. At 
 dinner we had corn-pudding, late in the year as it 
 was. Like a fool, I said nothing to account for the 
 alarming appearance of my throat, which was fully 
 exposed to view, owing to the fact that it was so 
 .sore outside that the bare idea of tying a cravat 
 tightly around it, to hide it, was agonizing. The old 
 lady, obliged to talk to me, always took care to let 
 her eyes fall below the level of my hair, which was 
 not pretty hair. My inamorata looked cold. The 
 hideous redness of my throat had begun to tell on 
 her. I felt uneasy. The servants gazed at me very 
 much. Paterfamilias ate a great deal and said no- 
 thing. My face began to get as red as my throat. 
 In this pleasant state of bashfulness, and while I was. 
 in the act of carrying the first forkful of corn-pud- 
 ding to my mouth, the old gentleman addressed me 
 a question. You know how corn-pudding retains its 
 heat. I knew it too, but in my confusion forgot it. 
 So when the old gentleman suddenly spoke to me, 
 jpop ! the burning mass of corn-pudding slipped off 
 
170 MY VILE BEARD. 
 
 my fork, fell down my loose collar, and lodged ex- 
 actly where my throat was rawest ! ! Don't ask 
 what I did. Hah ! but it was hot ! If I didn't 
 hear things fizz under the corn-pudding. I felt 
 them. I did not sit still. I did not keep quiet. I 
 did not display any heroism. I don't know precisely 
 how I acted. Think I howled. Expect I danced round 
 the room. Believe I swore. Remember I cried. 
 The pain was mighty bad. The chagrin was worse.- 
 Know I cared nothing for the dignity of manhood. 
 Know I tore open my collar, my bosom, my vest,, 
 and snatched out the pudding, as much as I could 
 get of it. It burnt my fingers, and I slung it off, 
 little caring where it went. Think it spattered the 
 old gentleman's face. You are correct in saying that 
 I ought not to have forgotten that I was in the pre- 
 sence of my sweetheart, and ought to have borne the 
 pain with a smiling visage. I dare say. Yes, I 
 ought to have been very smiling. But what is a 
 sweetheart to a man with an ounce of corn-pudding 
 frying away on his raw throat ? Answer me that. 
 Everything was done for me that could be done, and 
 in process of time I became as easy as a man could 
 well be under the circumstances. But I felt small- 
 inclination to make love to Miss Cooke. Nor did 
 Miss Cooke seem to expect it. She played on the 
 piano, talked about trifles, and was altogether too 
 condoling. I discovered a number of defects in her 
 character. She seemed fond of alluding to painful 
 subjects. She lacked genuine feeling for the afflicted.. 
 
MY VILE BEARD. 1T1 
 
 There was a good deal of hypocrisy in her amiable 
 nature. I was glad when bedtime came. 
 
 Slept badly. Throat hurt me. About day, fell 
 into an uneasy doze, from which I was awakened 
 by a noise in the yard. My friends of Madison's- 
 Cross Koad had come to arrest me, as a man who 
 had impertinently escaped from the gallows, and tried 
 to kill or kidnap one of Bruce's negroes. Fortunately,, 
 the Squire was a magistrate, and after hearing the 
 evidence of his daughter, summoned into the parlor 
 before sunrise as a witness, dismissed the case, and 
 sent the Madison Cross Koaders home, grumbling and 
 dissatisfied. They wanted my blood; that was plain. 
 
 My trial did not improve my position as a suitor 
 in the eyes of any of the family, and I knew it. My 
 hopes were scattered to the winds. At breakfast, 
 unable to eat any solid food, I swallowed my coffee 
 in solemn silence, and as soon as the meal was ended, 
 went forth to look after my horse. Outside of the 
 stable I heard two negroes talking. One of them 
 stuttered : 
 
 " D-d-d-dat ar man come cotin' Miss Sally he 
 he ain't n-n-no thing but a tackey." 
 
 "Hoccum he aint? He got good hoss and bridle 
 is anybody, don't keer whar they come from." 
 
 "He d-d-don't war no strops to his britchis." 
 
 "But. he got money I seen it!" replied my de- 
 fender. 
 
 " An-an-an he don't war no gallowses." 
 
 "Hoccum he don't war no gallowses! How you. 
 know, I reckon !" 
 
172 MY VILE BEARD. 
 
 "Did'nt I I I see him d-d-dis morning, when 
 dey c-c-come to try him f-f-f ore he dress ?" 
 
 " Well, if you sho' he don't war no gallowses ef 
 you sho 9 den de sooner he clear out from here de 
 better. I don't wants to b'long to no man whar don't 
 war gallowses, cause I nuvver see no gent'man but 
 what he war'd gallowses a par uv um. Evin a 
 ove'seer, he war one. 'Spectable people nuvver fastens 
 their britchis with a buckle and tongue, like a gearth, 
 and Miss Sally ain't gwine hav him, ef you heer my 
 racket." 
 
 This was enough for me. Two hours afterwards 
 I left Squire Cooke's. Never returned there 
 and never will not if I had a million " par uv gal- 
 lowses." 
 
CORNFIELD PEAS. 
 
 I KNOW these Virginians pretty well. They are 
 the greatest people on the face of the earth. In 
 fact, they are the only people. There was a time 
 when, in my deep benightment and in my unloyalty 
 to my ever dear old mother Virginia, I believed that 
 Englishmen and Russians were people. Such, how- 
 ever, is not the case. I am wiser now, and know that 
 England is a country laboring under dry-rot. It is, 
 as we Virginians say of a tree, "doted," and English- 
 men are but the fungoid remains of what was once a 
 people. It is not with much pleasure that I make 
 this undeniable statement, for we of Virginia sprang 
 from British loins. In like manner, the Goddess of 
 Wisdom and of War sprang from that broken-down 
 old rake and thunderer, Jove. Minerva came from 
 a pain in Jupiter's head, and Virginia came from a 
 pain, for the want of sense, in the head of Bull. As 
 for the Russians, they own slaves, and hence they ape 
 the manners of Virginians. But their slaves are 
 white, and until they learn to say "thar" and to call 
 a cucumber " curcumber," they cannot, in my opinion, 
 lay any claim whatever to the honor of being called 
 people. In this connection it is well to state, for the 
 benefit of political economists, that the apparently 
 
174 CORN-FIELD PEAS. 
 
 human beings of the British isles would to this day 
 have remained what they once were, and even now 
 seem to be a people but for the Act of Emanci- 
 pation. There cannot be a people without niggers, 
 and niggers are not niggers unless they are slaves. A 
 free nigger is a monstrosity, a paradox, a hand with- 
 out muscle, an amputated leg, a glass eye-ball, and 
 -a shinplaster uncurrent at that. In a word, he is 
 a tender without any locomotive ; fuel coals, for 
 -example without any machinery. A nigger with- 
 out a master is latent power off the track. Put him 
 on by himself, you can get him along only by push- 
 ing, so constant and severe that it costs more than it 
 comes to. Tackle him to an engine in the shape of 
 .a white man, and the long train laden with industrial 
 products goes it with a rush, the locomotive displays 
 itself to advantage, and the black tender follows and 
 keeps close up behind, in a blaze of dust and glory. 
 
 Some miles pity the distance is not greater to 
 the northward and eastward of Yirginia there are, as 
 it were, people. But they are only Yankees. From 
 repeated close and careful personal inspection of 
 great numbers of them, I am prepared to say that 
 almost any man not born and raised in Yirgiuia 
 would mistake them for beings endowed with the 
 -celestial spark of reason. Gifted with the lineaments, 
 the members and the garb of humanity, they succeeded 
 for many years in palming themselves off as people. 
 'The imposture indeed was carried to an incredible 
 pitch. Yankees, it is said but how can I believe 
 it ? Yankees were employed to instruct the immortal 
 
CORNFIELD PEAS. 175 
 
 mind of the youth of Virginia. Oh ! astounding ! 
 But the statements neither of history nor tradition 
 can often be trusted, and the above, it must be ad- 
 mitted, is preposterous. Why, I would respectfully 
 ask, do we never meet with a Virginian, young or 
 old, or middle-aged, who says " heaow " for " how," 
 " doo " for " dew," " dun't " for " don't," and such 
 like execrable jargonisms ? I answer, because such 
 do not exist in the limits of the great Commonwealth, 
 or if they do, dare not give vocal or other token of 
 Yankee instruction, lest suddenly they be knocked 
 down by the earliest sapling which the Virginian 
 who hears them can wrench from our blessed soil. 
 
 A dissenting Englishman, wrenched by the vio- 
 lence of his fanaticism from the nutritious juices of 
 beef, and forced to subsist upon the marrowless in- 
 sipidity of codfish and pumpkins, clams and onions, 
 the Yankee is not in any sense a person. He is a 
 chattel of the worst possible master a machine. 
 He is a bad version of Frankenstein the trembling 
 and ever obedient slave of his own creation a wiper 
 and cleaner of the dirty iron structure made by his 
 own hands. The highest of his menial functions is 
 revolting to the white handed Virginia nobleman. 
 For what loftier task has he than to absterge the 
 grimy orifices, joints, and bowels of a locomotive. 
 Evidently none. In place of reason he has cuteness 
 the faculty of invention. On this account he is 
 tolerated until such time as the Virginians see fit to 
 ~begin that " irrepressible conflict " which must in- 
 evitably end in the conquest to the daily habit of 
 
176 CORNFIELD PEAS. 
 
 chewing tobacco, and the right pronunciation of 
 " whar," of all that part of the habitable globe which 
 is capable of enlightened civilization. So long as it 
 shall seem advisable to countenance improvements in 
 machinery, the legislators of Virginia, holding now, 
 as they have always done, and will always do, abso- 
 lute control of the Federal government, will continue 
 to surround the Yankee with the protection of law, 
 and to invest him with the right of suffrage, the lib- 
 erty of unrestricted concubinage according to the 
 latest canons of free love, and the full permission to 
 worship, according to the dictates of his own con- 
 science, that transitory woolly-headed idol known in 
 Virginia as a runaway nigger. This period, contrary 
 to the supposition of all Yankees, and a few of the 
 less cultivated Virginians, will not be of indefinite 
 duration. On the contrary, it will be brief quite 
 brief. It shall come to pass, some dull July after- 
 noon, about four years from now, that a Virginian, 
 hearing that Anderson's fine-cut tobacco is seriously 
 interfering with the sale of the legitimate Orinoco 
 plug, and learning from his " Enquirer " that Seward 
 has at last laid his incendiary hand on the supreme 
 court, with intent to "reconstruct" it that is, to 
 fill its benches with Abolitionists it shall then come 
 to pass that a Virginian, rousing from the lethargy 
 superinduced by the ambrosial diet hereafter to be 
 glorified, ejecting his fist-big quid to replace it with 
 another and a larger one, and disengaging his shoe- 
 less feet from the summit of the lofty mantelpiece, 
 will slowly repair to the shade of a neighboring 
 
CORNFIELD PEA8. 177 
 
 " honey-shuck " tree, behind the ice-house, and there 
 proceed to fasten his eyes into the corner of a dilapi- 
 dated worm fence. 
 
 In silence so profound as to be interrupted only 
 by the incessant song of the jar-fly and the intermit- 
 tent gush of the juice of his adored weed, he will per- 
 sist in meditation for the space of twenty minutes. 
 At the expiration of that time he will have done a 
 thing of which, although it be a work of necessity, 
 he will be heartily ashamed he will have invented 
 a machine for the invention of all kinds of machines 
 that may be required throughout all coming time, 
 together with an auxiliary machine to attend to all 
 sorts of machines, to keep them perpetually greased 
 and in working trim, and to repair any damage, how- 
 ever extensive, short of entire destruction, that may 
 put them out of running order. Overpowered by 
 the unnatural and disgraceful exertion, he will seek 
 relaxation in the uncalled-for and undeserved chas- 
 tisement of a small male nigger, order an early sup- 
 per, eat a quart of iced buttermilk and four clods of 
 warm dough called done biscuit, and go straight to 
 bed. Unable to sleep, he will fret himself into an- 
 other fit of invention, the result of which will be a 
 machine for pursuing, catching and bringing back 
 fugitive slaves, to which he will add a patent steel 
 key for the reopening of the African slave trade. 
 Satisfied with this, his thoughts will rush joyfully 
 back to their natural channel. He will recur with 
 pleasure to the " cardinal principles of the Democratic 
 party," and after spending a few moments in blissful 
 12 
 
178 CORNFIELD PEAS. 
 
 contemplation of the resolutions of '98, will fall into 
 a stertorous slumber, and enlighten his wife with his 
 somnambulistic views of the question of " intervention 
 for protection." In the morning he will rise to his 
 plug with more than his wonted ravenous avidity, -eat 
 some more heated dough diluted with rawish chicken, 
 straddle a half -fed blooded horse, and pace oif to the 
 nearest town, to get a young lawyer to write out an 
 account, preceded and concluded by a number of po- 
 litical reflections, of his inventions of the day pre- 
 vious. This account will be published in the Rich- 
 mond papers, accompanied by leading editorials, 
 complimenting or abusing the inventor for his party 
 affiliations. From the moment of that publication, 
 Jonathan Othello's occupation will be gone. He will 
 subsist for a time on machine-made boot-pegs, after 
 which, finding no use for his faculties, he will die of 
 chagrin and cerebral, or rather cerebellial inanition ; 
 and then, such consummation being for the first 
 time possible, the approximate elevation of mankind 
 toward the altitude of Virginia gentlemen will begin. 
 Recurring to the subject of "people," it is enough 
 to say of the dwellers in the western and northwest- 
 ern sdction of the Confederacy, that a race of aban- 
 doned hog-fatteners, mule-growers, grain-measurers 
 and hemp-twisters, could not, even in the most ecstatic 
 moments of arrogance inspired by bad whiskey, call 
 themselves " people." To locate a quarter section of 
 prairie, to enter it, to clear it, and then quit it, and go 
 to Pike's Peak and come back in rags and vote for 
 Stephen A. Douglass these performances, though 
 
CORNFIELD PEAS. 
 
 not essentially dishonorable, do not occur to me as 
 being precisely those which a mature, unequivocally 
 human would delight in. The truth is, the cross be- 
 tween the Virginian and the Yankee, or the German, 
 or any of the inferior races, is never, except in a sin- 
 gle instance, attended with results at all more encour- 
 aging than the cross between the horse and the ass. 
 On the one hand we have the hinney or hoosier, an 
 entirely useless biped ; and on the other the mule or 
 Missourian, a very good beast of draught when 
 "broke." The exceptional instance alluded to, one 
 which, from a sense of justice not less than of per- 
 sonal obligation, I am constrained to notice, is that of 
 the Virginia mulatto. I have marvelled, how often 
 I know not, at the gross and wanton neglect of this 
 delightful hybrid by Virginia authors and editors. 
 Why no poem has ever been addressed to one of the 
 most beautiful and useful staples of our State I could 
 never tell. Our literature is shamefully defective 
 in this regard. We have niggers in print by the 
 thousand, but no mulatto has ever yet gone to press, 
 unless it be the tobacco press. And yet the mulatto, 
 if he be a male and in any way related to the Declar- 
 ation of Independence, makes an unsurpassed fiddler ; 
 or if of less eminent connection, an excellent carriage 
 driver and an invaluable barber. But it is to the 
 softer form of this desirable product that our in- 
 debtedness is greatest. What would this w r orld be 
 without a mulatto chambermaid and washerwoman? 
 Nothing, less than nothing. The violence of my feel- 
 ings will not permit me to say any more on this point. 
 
180 CORNFIELD PEAS. 
 
 Only one other kind of man remains to be dis- 
 posed of, that run-wild Virginian entitled " South- 
 erner." As I hope one day to treat this unfortunate 
 at some length, I shall leave him here, with the 
 mere observation that the ginning of cotton and the 
 crushing of sugar cane are requirements altogether 
 too rapid to be compatible with the lordly indolence 
 which in all ages and in every land has characterized 
 " people." It follows, since Virginians are the only 
 people in the world, they are necessarily the greatest 
 people on the face of the terraqueous globe. There- 
 fore, I repeat what I said at first, Virginians are the 
 greatest people that ever did or ever will draw the 
 breath of life. For men, women, or children, dead 
 or alive, climate, soil, scenery, rivers, mountains, 
 medicinal springs, niggers, horses, cattle, dogs, fish, 
 oysters, sora, game chickens, apples, peaches, blue 
 plums, wood-peckers, revivals, gullies, watermelons, 
 tobacco, chestnuts, hollow logs, chinquapins, natural 
 bridges, mellow bugs, June apples, shuck mats, per- 
 simmons, politicians, sweet potatoes, grassnuts, hams, 
 caves, Methodist preachers, agricultural fairs, gold 
 and iron ores, light bread, dilapidated houses, horne- 
 spun clothing, artichokes, wasps, good coifee, mul- 
 lens, broom straw, waffles, hollyhocks, biscuit, worm 
 fences, apple jack, ashcake, pines, wild turkeys, cider, 
 members of congress, whiskey, candidates for the 
 presidency, cymlings, pipes and stems, turnip salad, 
 shavers of paper, novelists, unfinished canals, poets, 
 shoats, railroads that don't pay, hotels, games of 
 knucks, Democratic inspectors, universities, bar- 
 
CORNFIELD PEAS. 181 
 
 keepers, female schools, chigoes, buttermilk, faro- 
 dealers, horse-cakes, jig-players, and juba-patters 
 no country on earth will, as we all well know, com- 
 pare with the Old Dominion. If anybody is in- 
 clined to dispute this, let him address himself a few 
 questions. 
 
 Haven't we had the most presidents, the greatest 
 jurists, orators and military men ? Didn't Revenue 
 win the $1,000 prize at the St. Louis fair? Can 
 this planet, or any orb that floats in celestial space, 
 afford anything equal to a thoroughgoing, highbred 
 Virginia sweetheart ? Where will you find a man 
 to mix a julep equal to Lemuel Bowser's ? Was the 
 mother of the Gracchi a circumstance compared to an 
 old Virginia gentlewoman in a check apron, with a 
 bundle of keys in a little whiteoak basket on her arm, 
 and a turkey-wing fan in her hand ? 
 
 Is there any chewing tobacco in the world like that 
 made in Lynchburg ? Ain't Ridgway the greatest 
 editor that ever put pen to paper ? Is there a place 
 on this continent or any other where they understand 
 how to cook fried chicken arid cure hams as they do 
 in Virginia? Who that ever smoked Langhorne & 
 Armistead's tobacco, in a Woodall pipe, would give 
 a d n, or even the fraction of a d n, for any other 
 tobacco, or any other pipe ? Ain't Hunter, and Botts 
 and Wise the three most prominent candidates, after 
 Douglass and a dozen others, for the chief magistracy 
 of this Union ? Lives there the man not a Virginian 
 who comprehends the joys of Brunswick stew, the 
 bliss of roas'n ears, and the rapture of pot liquor? 
 
182 CORNFIELD PEAS. 
 
 Did any boy but a Virginia boy ever catch cat-fish 
 out of a branch with a pin-hook after a heavy shower ? 
 Point me out the fellow who has danced to the sound 
 of Henry Thornton's fiddle, and who wouldn't split 
 the Italian opera into splinters if he could, and you 
 will point me out a fool. The earth does not produce 
 oysters any better than Carter's Creek oysters, and you 
 will hunt through all eternity to no purpose to find 
 sora superior to those you get in Petersburg. As to 
 discovering a finer hotel-keeper than Tom Ballard, the 
 very idea is absurd. Do you think it possible that any 
 other village of four hundred and sixty inhabitants can 
 support as many good newspapers as Fredericksburg ? 
 Did you ever eat any snaps cooked by an old Virginia 
 cook ? Look at the equestrian statue of Washington in 
 Richmond. Contemplate the puddle-ducks of Prince 
 Edward. Gaze about in all directions, and whenever 
 you find a good thing, that thing is a better thing in 
 Virginia than anywhere out of Virginia. These ques- 
 tions and simple statement of facts might, without the 
 least difficulty, be multiplied indefinitely. The pres- 
 ent number, however, will suffice. The proof is con- 
 clusive. Virginians are the greatest people on earth. 
 Nevertheless, they are a very various people. From 
 those stupendous accumulations of beef and lime- 
 stone which go by the name of men in the county of 
 Montgomery, to the chicken-cart drivers of the Pa- 
 munky, who, owing to the oscillations incident to 
 their favorite chills, are scarcely ever plainly visible, 
 but who, when seen, present a countenance of wax? 
 embellished with turkey-egg freckles, and an emacia- 
 
CORNFIELD PEAS. 183 
 
 ted body, with an ague-cake on one side balanced by 
 a tickler on the other, from the former to the lat- 
 ter what an interval ! Between the inhabitants of 
 the Dismal Swamp, who appear to be composed of 
 bamboo-brier warp, with terrapin filling, and the rug- 
 ged and ruddy mountaineers of the northwest, who 
 look as if they had been torn by accident out of a 
 side of sole-leather what a difference ! Yet they are 
 all, more or less, Virginians, thank the Lord ! and 
 consequently, more or less, the greatest people in the 
 world. Let them be duly conscious and proud thereof. 
 If I were asked what this " more or less " means, to 
 what it is attributable, and why Virginians are the 
 greatest of people, I should say, quietly peas. If de- 
 sire were expressed- to know what sort of peas, I 
 should answer, loudly, CORNFIELD PEAS. In case this 
 view should fail to receive the cheerful acquiescence 
 of my interrogator, it would be my duty and my 
 glee to put his doubts for ever at rest by the cogent 
 argument following, to-wit : 
 
 I. By so much as a man is a Virginian, by so much 
 is he a great man. 
 
 No sane mind .will dispute this proposition. 
 
 II. Per contra, by so much as a man is not a Vir- 
 ginian, by so much he is not a great man. 
 
 This proposition will not be disputed by any sane 
 mind. 
 
 III. By so much as a man is not a great man, is 
 he a little man, or Yankee, or foreigner. 
 
 All sound intellects will agree that this is a logical 
 inference. 
 
184 CORNFIELD PEAS. 
 
 IY. Wherever you find cornfield peas most abun- 
 dant, there you find that the Virginia characteristics 
 abound the most. 
 
 That is a matter of fact. 
 
 Y. Ergo, it follows that Virginians are the great- 
 est people in the world, because of cornfield peas, and 
 that they differ from each other, are more or less 
 Virginians, and consequently more or less great, in 
 exact proportion to the quantity of cornfield peas 
 they grow and devour ; for I take it for granted that 
 no rational eye could see a grown cornfield pea with- 
 out instantly introducing it to a palate which would 
 immediately become educated and enamored. 
 
 The chain of argumentation is complete and pro- 
 foundly irrefutable. 
 
 But examine the physical geography of the great 
 Commonwealth, and you will find that throughout 
 the Tide-water country, and on the south-side of the 
 river Jeems (for mercy's sake do not call it James) 9 
 cornfield peas are produced in profusion. And 
 where else do you find the unadulterated Virginian, 
 I would like to know ! In the Piedmont region 
 fewer cornfield peas are raised, and consequently the 
 people are not as thoroughgoing Virginians as they 
 should be. They are too fond of making money, and 
 don't care enough about the debates in the Conven- 
 tion. Why, they actually raise pippins in Nelson 1 
 When people quit limber-twigs and barkerliners, and 
 get to raising pippins, you may know that cornfield 
 peas are neglected, and New Jersey tastes corning 
 in. I have my opinion of such people. 
 
CORNFIELD PEAS. 185- 
 
 I have not the cornfield pea statistics of the Valley 
 at hand, but I am willing to swear that the annual 
 yield from Lexington to Winchester wouldn't fill an 
 Essex nigger's tater-hole. Apprized of this fact, will 
 anybody hereafter wonder at the appearance of the 
 Ruffner pamphlet ? Surely not. Yet this im- 
 portant fact, to the best of my recollection and be- 
 lief, was never mentioned during the whole of the 
 gubernatorial canvass. But, to test the matter, be- 
 gin at the lower end, the collar bone of the Northern 
 Neck, and travel up. You start in the midst of 
 unlimited cornfield peas and pure Virginians, but by 
 the time you get to Prince William you see scarcely 
 any cornfield peas, and hear people calling " fo'pence " 
 " fippenny bit !" Dad shine such a set! When I 
 got off the cars to go to Brentsville, the county seat 
 of Prince William (and a drearier place I never saw r 
 except ISTew Glasgow), a lad had the audacity to call 
 a ninepence a k< shill'n," right close to my ear. To 
 the latest hour of my life I shall regret that I did 
 not stab him to the heart with a Barlow knife, which- 
 I always carry, because I am a Virginian. 
 
 In Alexandria I am convinced that they seldom 
 eat cornfield peas ; at Harper's Ferry none at all ,~ 
 and in the Pan Handle they never . heard of them. 
 Wheeling, Parkersburg, Sbepherdstow T n, Clarksburg,. 
 Woodstock, and along there, must be very deficient in 
 cornfield peas. I suppose some of the inhabitants of 
 these unhappy places emigrated from Eastern Vir- 
 ginia, and, having eaten abundantly of cornfield peas 
 in childhood and youth, retain enough of the noble- 
 
186 CORNFIELD PEAS. 
 
 -constituents in their bones to give tone and character 
 to the towns they dwell in. As to Abingdon and 
 the Southwest generally, I have my grave doubts. I 
 reckon some small cornfield peas are raised in that 
 section, but, when eaten, become so mixed with 
 goose fat, taken from the neighboring goose farms 
 of Tennessee, as to lose half their virtues, and so 
 give rise to a set of people not exactly low, but de- 
 cidedly Brownlow in character and habits. I trust 
 the next Legislature will see the necessity of sending 
 out a large number of cornfield pea missionaries to 
 stock that country with the essential element of Vir- 
 ginia greatness. 
 
 It will be seen, then, that wherever in Virginia 
 there is a deficiency in the crop or a neglect of the 
 culture of cornfield peas, just there the pernicious 
 traits of Northern and Western character creep in. 
 Hence, further, the chemical inference that the es- 
 .sential oil or active principle of cornfield peas (what 
 might be called cornfield peanine) would, if copiously 
 .administered to the Yankee or the Hoosier, turn him 
 into a Virginian. Although I am not so clear on 
 this point, 1 should dislike to see the experiment tried 
 on a large scale. It is true, it might result happily, 
 might deabolitionize the Northern masses, and put 
 an end to the eternal agitation of slavery. But I arn 
 opposed, yet a while, to this wholesale transmutation 
 of useful menials into gentlemen. If we were all 
 gentlemen, existence would be intolerable. Life is 
 not worth a button to a Virginian who cannot look 
 down with infinite scorn upon nearly everybody else. 
 
CORNFIELD PEAS. 1ST 
 
 I thank my ignorance that I have not'the remotest 
 suspicion of what the botanical name of the corn- 
 iield pea is. I know that it is found in a curved, 
 bumpy pod, three of which, if straightened out, 
 would be about as long as a leading editorial in the 
 Hichmond Whig. The outside of this pod is a lit- 
 tle rough, resembling green velvet, and the inside is 
 lined with white vegetable satin. In this sumptuous 
 bed of the interior repose a half dozen or so of the 
 blessed globules. There are several varieties the 
 best of which, according to the sworn statement of 
 my own and. many other respectable and reliable 
 palates, is the kind called the Grey Crowd er. As 
 its name implies, this noble pea is planted in the 
 cornfield, and, unlike the miserable Marrowfat, it 
 climbs, not a dead stick, but rises beside a living and 
 towering stalk. So far from injuring the corn, it 
 benefits its growth ; if not during its (the pea's) life- 
 time, after its (the pea's) death; for it is a notorious 
 fact, that the cornfield pea improves land better than 
 Peruvian guano, and almost as well as Kuffin's ferti- 
 lizer. As an edible, the vegtable has not its equal. 
 It is good for man and beast and nigger. It does 
 not agree with Irishmen. Its nutritious properties 
 .are unsurpassed. It is the concentrated quintessence 
 of the delightful. It is harmless. It may be eaten 
 in any quantity. It is hard to quit eating it. It 
 does you good all over. It is fine for the general 
 health. It fattens you up ; makes you strong and 
 sassy. Its taste is indescribably delicious. In brief, 
 it is meat, drink, lodging, house-rent, taxes, and a 
 Jree ticket to the fair and back again. 
 
188 CORNFIELD PEAS. 
 
 You wretclied, wretched guzzlers and gormandi- 
 zers! you that sit at the would-be splendid tables of 
 the Metropolitan, St. .Nicholas, Girard, and Revere, 
 gobbling up your pates, terrenes, ragouts and fricas- 
 sees, swilling your Burgundy and Imperial out of your 
 wine-coolers ! there is, if you did but know it, on 
 this earth, or rather in its Eden, Virginia, a diviner 
 thing than your poor tongues ever tasted. "What, 
 namely ?" Peas, egad ! Aye ! cornfield peas ! the 
 central, ethereal, intensely-condensed, elaborated,, 
 sempiternal, luxurious fruition of all that is nectare- 
 ous, ambrosial, vivifying and exalting in the wide 
 realm of nature's alchemy. Too good, too good for 
 you, ye Northern gormandizers, ye urban bibblers ! 
 Fit diet only for gods, for Virginians, and for nig- 
 gers ! Not a pea, not a fragment of a pea, not the 
 smallest black eye of a pea, not even a pea-shell, or 
 the glimpse thereof, shall ye have ; no, not to save 
 this mighty Union. 
 
 Properly to understand the indescribable merits of 
 the cornfield pea, and to enjoy the same, one must 
 know how to prepare it. They are never eaten raw ? 
 except in the sterile lands adjoining the North Caro- 
 lina line. There, I am told, they are inclosed in a 
 paste composed of persimmons and tar, and in this 
 state much relished by ladies during the intervals of 
 snuff-dipping. In the grand Commonwealth, how- 
 ever, the true scientific method of preparing them 
 for the table is as follows: Gather your peas before 
 sundown, ere the dew falls. On the morrow, at or 
 about ten or eleven of the clock, extricate your peas 
 
CORNFIELD PEAS. 189 
 
 from their natural wrappings by a dexterous manipu- 
 lation of the thumb-nail, after the manner of goug- 
 ing out the eyes of a courthouse adversary. Rinse 
 your peas. Then parbile (yes, bile I will say bile) 
 p&rbile them. Next fry them with two or three or 
 more slices (according to the quantity of peas cooked) 
 of streaked middling, encouraging as much as possi- 
 ble the exudation of the bacon gravy, retaining and 
 disseminating the same throughout the luguminous 
 collection by the instrumentality or process of gently 
 mashing the individual members or peas with a spoon. 
 The agglutinated composite of grease and of peas 
 .should now present a dark brown, but not quite 
 scorched aspect, and such being the case, your peas, 
 after being emptied into a deepish dish, may be 
 swiftly transferred from the kitchen to the table. 
 
 But you are by no means ready, however much 
 you may think so, to eat your peas, unless you have 
 earnestly studied the harmonies of food, and with 
 especial reference to the unchangeable affinities of 
 the cornfield pea. A brief hint of explanation will 
 make my meaning clear, perchance, to-wit : butter- 
 milk and ashcake go together, don't they ? Hoecake 
 and sweet milk middling and snaps ham and cab- 
 bage bacon and greens beefsteak and onions 
 chine and turnips lamb and green peas jole and 
 turnip sallet, (not salad) sweet potatoes and young 
 ducks shoat and butter beans and so on; all these 
 fit into one another and make each other better, hey? 
 Well, cornfield peas have a partner, to which they 
 are attached as passionately, and even more so, than 
 any of the couples just named. 
 
190 CORNFIELD PEAS. 
 
 As for meats, there are but two real old Virginia, 
 meats bacon and fried chicken, and cornfield peas- 
 go well with either of them. I have heard of people 
 who ate the divine pea with veal, and mention was 
 once made to me of a Scotch Presbyterian whose 
 habit was to mix baked eels with cornfield peas ; but 
 Heaven has kindly preserved me from witnessing 
 spectacles of such idiocy. The precise, and indeed 
 the only harmonious companion of cornfield peas m 
 tomatoes, ("a" broad, very broad as thus, "to-mar- 
 tus," if you please.) But your tomatoes must not 
 be cooked. They must be raw. They must be 
 peeled and sliced in slices not too thin. They must 
 not be dressed with vinegar, pepper and salt, and the 
 like of that. Or with mustard. Or associated with 
 cucumbers. They must be sprinkled with a little 
 not much sugar; not white sugar, always, invari- 
 ably brown sugar. Let nothing tempt you from 
 brown. Sprinkled with a little brown sugar, finely 
 divided with a knife, and intimately mingled with 
 the peas, the immortal dish is utterly ready. 
 
 Now ! Fall to. Don't eat slowly. Eat fast, and 
 take large mouthfuls a knife blade, heaped up the 
 whole length, at every pop. Say not a word. An- 
 swer no questions. Keep your eyes immovably 
 fixed on your peas. Come down steadily to your 
 work. Fill your plate again and again. Once more. 
 A quart every time. Don't be alarmed. Eat on. 
 Let out girth. Unbutton your waistcoat. Make a 
 fresh start. Scorn the imputation of a memory that 
 charges you with already having had some peas. Let 
 
CORNFIELD PEA6. 191 
 
 your intrepid stomach give the lie to your recollec- 
 tion. Eat more. Eat a heap more. Stop ? Never 
 while there is a pea in the dish. You must not 
 starve. What ! When the low grounds are full of 
 peas. Away with the haggard thought. Banish the 
 emaciated conception. Keep on eating. But why 
 don't you eat f Thar's plenty. " Another plateful ?"' 
 That's sensible ; that's what I call a coming appetite.. 
 No, no, no ; don't snatch your plate away a man is 
 never helped until his plate is packed eight inches 
 high. Pitch in, freely, fearlessly, copiously, Appo- 
 mattoxly. Ah ! that's the lick. Now you're coming 
 to town. Hand over hand. Go it! Rip! Now 
 one last, long, large, illimitable mouthful, and you 
 are done. "Ah a a!" " You feel good; you're 
 bound to feel good. Stop ! not an inch, don't budge 
 an inch, or you are a dead man, dead as Hector." 
 
 "Boy! take this gentleman up in his chair and 
 carry him round to the shady side of the house and 
 keep the flies off him till sundown. You hear ! 
 Quick sir ! Mark time ! Forward ! march !" 
 
 Pea ! blessed pea ! thrice-blessed cornfield pea ! 
 sublime pellet ! celestial molecule ! divine little gob ! 
 oh! pluperfect ellipse of vegetable fatness and 
 sweetness ! how much is due to thee. All that Yir- 
 ginia is, or has been, or can be, is owed to thee. 
 Without thee there is no Virginia. The majesty of 
 our mothers, the honor of our sires, the beauty of 
 our daughters, the courage of our sons, the strength 
 of our slaves, the fertility of our soil, the salubrity of 
 our climate, and the magnificence of our scenery, I 
 
192 COBNFIELD PEAS. 
 
 .ascribe to thee. Our glorious Past began with a 
 " P." Our Patriotism, our Pride, our Power, our 
 Politics, our Pre-eminence, commence with a P. 
 Our Progress is nothing without a P. The very 
 name of Patrick Henry starts with a P. Thomas 
 Jefferson wrote with a Pen, two-thirds of which was 
 -a "-Pe." Chief Justice Marshall delivered his de- 
 cisions in a Court that would never have been Su- 
 preme without a P. More blessed than these, the 
 Pater Patrice, could boast a double P two capital 
 P's. The essence of Peas interpermeated his pure 
 and inapproachable spirit. The soul of Washington 
 was a solid cornfield pea ! 
 
MY UNCLE FLATBACK'S PLANTATION. 
 
 A RAMBLING SUMMER PIECE. 
 
 WHEN yon got to the little town of F , 
 look out of the car window, O passenger on 
 
 the S side railroad! and you will see an old 
 
 gentleman, with a long knotty staff in his hand, a 
 broad-brimmed white wool hat on his head, a heavy 
 iron-grey beard on his chin, a small long-tail black 
 coat, out at elbows, on his back, and tow-linen panta- 
 loons on his nether extremities a striking object in 
 the large motley crowd which swarms around the 
 depot every time the train arrives. This is my 
 Uncle Flatback, come to town to get the mail and 
 take notes of every man who enters the bar-room, in 
 the basement of that commodious tavern you see 
 across the way. A remarkable man is old Flatback 
 "Uncle Jeems," or, in that negro dialect which 
 Yirginians so delight in, u Unc' Jirn" as he is gen- 
 erally called, for short. Do you wish to know more 
 of him ? You will get out of the cars, follow the rail- 
 road track through the Deep Cut, over the Buffalo 
 Bridge and along the great embankment, until you 
 come to a persimmon tree on the right hand side of 
 the road. Looking to the South, you catch a glimpse 
 of a house embosomed in trees, with stables and other 
 13 
 
194 MY UNCLE FIATBACK'S PLANTATION. 
 
 outhouses close by. That is the Flatback mansion, 
 dubbed Mountain View, from the circumstance that 
 the blue knob of a mountain, in an adjacent county, 
 is visible from the premises. 
 
 I am sure you will like Uncle Flatback's house 
 and yard the former is so cool and roomy, the lat- 
 ter so level, green and shady. Indeed, there are two 
 houses, an old and a new one, joined by a covered 
 passage, with folding doors, which when thrown 
 wide open, in the summer time, turn the passage into 
 a porch the most -delightful part of the house ; for 
 the breeze is always blowing there. The old house 
 is charming, I think. It is only a story and-a-half 
 high, and is built in that solid, honest way which 
 was the rule every where in Virginia before the 
 new-fangled, flimsy, slazy style of the Yankees was 
 introduced. The chimneys are in one corner of the 
 rooms, and being big, old-fashioned, triangular fel- 
 lows enough bricks in one of them to make a 
 modern house one chimney answers for half a 
 dozen rooms, if need be ; consequently the rooms 
 are five-sided instead of square which pleases me 
 mightily, because it is Virginian, and smacks of the 
 old days. If ever I build a house, I shall pattern 
 after the old Virginia style. Hang your model cot- 
 tages your suburban villas your Hudson river 
 contraptions ; I'd as soon eat cod-fish chowder and 
 cold bread, or subscribe to a Yankee newspaper, as 
 live in one of them. 
 
 There are four rooms below, including the dining 
 room, and two above stairs, in the old house. Uncle 
 
195 
 
 Platback inhabits the room next to the little back 
 porch, which looks towards the kitchen, the negro 
 quarters, the corn house and the stable. His door 
 is never locked from one year's end to another. It 
 is true, there are two double-barrel guns and a rifle 
 in the corner by the wardrobe, but they are never 
 loaded, except when a crow or a hawk comes near 
 the house, and as the old load has always to be drawn 
 lightning would hardly explode it before the new 
 one is put in, you may judge in what danger thieves, 
 feathered or unfeathered, stand at Mountain View. 
 The back porch, facing east, receives the first rays 
 of the morning sun, and is shady nearly all day; 
 hence it is a favorite resort of mine, though I am 
 generally in the way, for there is always some house- 
 hold business going on here some slicing of cur- 
 cumbers (call 'em fefcumbers? NEVER!) shelling 
 of peas, washing of butter or rinsing (I'd rather say 
 rensing, yea, even renching, if you will allow me) of 
 things. But I love to see people slice curcumbers- 
 and shell peas. Then it is so pleasant to be where 
 you can see dinner coming in where the dishes are 
 stopped on the way and fixed up more butter put 
 in the beets, a little more pepper in the stew, and so 
 on. 
 
 I have a passion for porches. To me, a porch is 
 
 A thing of beauty a joy for ever, 
 
 except in very cold weather. If I had the building 
 of a house, I would make it mostly of porches, upper 
 and lower, with a room or so hung here and there on 
 
196 
 
 a nail driven into the pillars. Had I been unfor- 
 tunate enough to have lived in the days of the an- 
 cients, I would have kept a stoa not that I have 
 any mercantile talent and talked philosophy and 
 " High Die " against the best of them, with my heel& 
 on the " bannisters " and a pipe in my mouth. If 
 Socrates had come fooling after me, trying to trap 
 me, I would have told him I was a hardshell Baptist,, 
 given him a chew of tobacco, and requested him to 
 behave himself. But I wouldn't give a white bone 
 button to have lived in the days when the domestic 
 negro and fried chicken, with plenty of creamy 
 gravy and a few sprigs of fresh parsley, were un- 
 known. The Greek is a fine language, but I prefer 
 Yirginian. It has no aorist, no middle voice, and 
 other woes to the early getter-by-heart. A Virginian 
 can say what he has got to say without regard to 
 grammar that vile infraction of the Bill of Rights 
 and the liberties of the people. I contend that free- 
 dom of speech is possible only in Virginia. 
 
 Then again, I couldn't have gone the ancient cos- 
 tume. It is picturesque, does well for marble, and 
 for historical paintings in oil, but it is sadly unfit for 
 a citizen of Buckingham or Prince Edward. Im- 
 agine a man walking through a new ground, or a 
 ploughed field, with a great sheet flapping at his 
 calves. He would feel worse than a woman. Con- 
 sider him in a brier patch. How would a body get 
 over a fence, ride a horse, or chase a hare, say no- 
 thing of climbing for coons ? In the saddle, my 
 breeches have a grievous tendency upward anyway, 
 
197 
 
 as if the washerwoman had starched them with 
 leaven ; what on earth would become of me in a 
 toga f I would show ankles higher than a circus 
 rider, or a White Sulphur belle dancing the German ; 
 I couldn't bear to go to town unless the people would 
 do as they did when Queen Godiva rode through the 
 streets of Coventry. No, you painters keep your 
 grand historical wardrobes ; give me a straw hat, an 
 oznaburg shirt, no waistcoat, tow-linen pantaloons, 
 with yarn "gallowses," home-made cotton socks and 
 a pair of low-quarter shoes, moderately thick-soled, 
 made by Booker Jackson. 
 
 The attic rooms, up the "little stars," in the old 
 house, are delightful to sleep in when the summer 
 rains are drumming lullabies with their soft wet 
 knuckles on the mossy shingles, or in winter when 
 the icy gusts suck up the flames from the deep little 
 fire-place. I know not why it is that attics, with 
 their sloping ceilings and little windows on either 
 side of the chimney, 
 
 Where the sun comes peeping in at morn, 
 
 have such attraction for me. Don't let's analyze 
 feelings ; vivisections are so horrid, and the weather, 
 to-day, is so warm. Who can trace the origin of 
 ideas and emotions, when the thermometer is 90 in 
 the shade ? Who can be a metaphysician with a fly 
 in the burr of his ear, and two on his forehead ? 
 Locke himself couldn't. Dear reader, you know 
 what a country not a hotel attic is. The very 
 nam e brings back the days of childhood, with a thou- 
 
198 
 
 sand gentle memories, which we may hint but never 
 tell. And if you have ever been so happy as to 
 lodge in an attic tenanted by a young lady, who 
 makes way for you because the house is small, or the 
 guests are many, then memories brighter than any 
 of childhood are yours for ever, and thenceforth at- 
 tics are sacred in your eyes. My good fortune, not 
 very many weeks ago, led me to a little upper cham- 
 ber in a house on ground which has since become 
 historical. The dormer windows of that little cham- 
 ber looked out upon the Chickahominy. 
 
 A feeling of awe comes over the sinner as he ven- 
 tures tremblingly into the sanctuary where Sleep, 
 the good old nun, keeps watch over the maiden 
 Virtue. He puts the candle upon the spotless dress- 
 ing table and stands irresolute. All is so still so 
 tidy and orderly ; so clean and fair ; so sweet and 
 pure. Angels are here. He sees their robes in the 
 curtains of the windows, the drapery of the chaste 
 couch and the dressing table. What shall he do ? 
 How dare he get in that bed ? The pictures on the 
 wall are looking at him ; the mirror is a great big 
 glaring eye. What ! disrobe here ? Not he. He 
 catches sight of his pale, distressed face in the look- 
 ing-glass, and laughs a low laugh at himself. Uneasy, 
 delighted wretch. He wouldn't be out of here for 
 the world, but he don't know what to do. He is 
 afraid to move, lest he disarrange or knock down 
 something. Finally, after much cogitation and per- 
 plexment, he thinks it will be no harm to sit down 
 in that little chair in the corner, and steps softly to- 
 
199 
 
 wards it, bumping his head as he goes along. " Dear 
 me ! what low chairs ladies do use !" A view of the 
 whole room half in shadow, half in shine pleases 
 him much. He contrasts it with his own disorderly 
 bachelor's den, and sighs. One by one he takes in 
 each separate object, marks them all with a note of 
 admiration, and at length fixes his eyes permanently 
 on not the smallest article of furniture in the room. 
 'Long time he broods over it, his blameless thought 
 
 " Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss." 
 
 He thinks of the nest of some white-winged dove 
 the shell of the pearl of purest ray serene. u Bless 
 her sweet soul !" ends his reverie, and up he rises, 
 for it is getting late, and he must decide upon the 
 course he shall pursue till morning. Grown bolder, 
 he presumes to touch the little bottles of Bohemian 
 glass on the toilet table, and marvels much at every 
 thing deeming womankind wonderful creatures in 
 all their ways, and envying the hardihood of those 
 courageous men whose brazen and impudent nerves 
 carry them unfalteringly through all the " masked 
 batteries" and feminine mysteries which surround 
 and terrify him here at dead of night. He takes up 
 tenderly, as if they were so many infants, the books 
 that lie on the dormer window sill, reads their titles, 
 approves the literary taste of the young lady, and 
 lays them carefully down again, exactly as they were 
 before he put his profane hands upon them, listen- 
 ing the while, and hoping nobody down stairs hears 
 him fumbling about ; for now it is very late indeed. 
 
200 
 
 The candle is in the socket he must do something. 
 What ! Ah ! now he has it. He will play hench- 
 man to his lady love, lie down outside the door, and 
 guard her chamber, as though she herself were sleep- 
 ing there. But the servant, unacquainted with ro- 
 mance, coming in the morning to bring fresh water 
 and black his shoes, and finding him stretched in the 
 passage with his clothes on, will declare he is drunk. 
 At last, his candle being out, he remembers that he 
 was sent here to go to sleep in the accustomed mode, 
 and praying to be forgiven, he reclines upon the 
 outermost edge of the dove's nest, yields him to 
 sweet fancies, which presently become dreams, and 
 so good night to him, for 'tis the happiest of his 
 life. 
 
 We return to the " little stars " which lead to the 
 attic in the old house at Mountain Yiew, in order 
 that we may notice the workmanship. Here is ad- 
 mirable carpentry joining such as you rarely see in 
 these degenerate days, and material unknown to our 
 impatient green-timber times. How firm the steps 
 are under foot and how unworn, although they have 
 been in daily use full half a century. It is true the 
 light slippered feet of ladies and the bare soles of 
 Ethiopian and mulatto maids have frequented this 
 sturdy little staircase, but the very grain of the wood, 
 polished to the neck-breaking point, shows what hon- 
 est w r orkmen our fathers were. 
 
 I would like for you to rest a moment in the room 
 at the foot of the attic staircase, because I have some- 
 thing to tell you. There is nothing in this room to 
 
201 
 
 attract attention, except a red-cushioned settee and 
 one of those old-fashioned combinations of book-case, 
 desk, and bureau, which are becoming so rare. 
 When I first set up in life wtat 21, as M. D. I 
 owned one of these old conveniences, but sold it in 
 less than a year, like a fool. How I could have 
 managed to lug the thing about with me in my mani- 
 fold wanderings, subsequent to the Esculapian era, it 
 is impossible to say ; but if ever I do get settled in 
 a country home I intend to have a " secretary " 
 what a fine old name ! at the risk of my life. How 
 in the name of sense is a country gentleman to get 
 along without a secretary, with its endless pigeon 
 holes and secret drawers to keep his shot gourds, 
 powder horns, cap boxes, bonds, accounts, and odds 
 and ends of everything in, I should like to know? 
 Why, it wouldn't be worth a man's while to have a 
 son without a " secretary " to unlock for him on 
 rainy days, as a special and very great favor : nor 
 would there be any place to hide things from a man's 
 wife. It is folly to expect a boy to entertain proper 
 respect for a father who doesn't own a " secretary " 
 that wonderful household museum and arcanum 
 of manhood's great mysteries and treasures. 
 
 But about the little room at the foot of the stair- 
 case. Listen. 
 
 One summer night, years ago, long before my 
 Uncle Flatback ever dreamed of living here, a 
 young lady tripped noiselessly down these old stair 
 steps, then almost new, and jumped out of the win- 
 dow. The wheat, heavy with dew, was growing up 
 
202 
 
 to the very walls of the house, and lest the young 
 lady's clothes might get wet, an obliging young gen- 
 tleman is at hand, to receive her in his arms and carry 
 her through the wheat field. In the edge of the 
 woods, some hundred yards off, a handsome vehicle, 
 drawn by blooded horses, is waiting. Eound go the 
 wheels off fly the young couple through the forest, 
 and ere the morrow's sun is set, they are in North 
 Carolina, married. Very fair and sweet and gentle 
 was the young lady ; very brave and wild was her 
 lover too wild, the old folks thought, for so sweet 
 a girl. But love tamed the bold lover, and this 
 proved the happiest of run-a-way matches. Many 
 sons and daughters were born unto them, and rare 
 good fortune in this chequered life! all of them 
 crowned their parents heads with honor. A more 
 prosperous and respected family dwells not within 
 the limits of the Commonwealth. One of the sons was 
 the captain of our company at Manassas the sturdy 
 
 "Rifle Grays" of L . Brave as his sire, he rose 
 
 to be lieutenant-colonel of the " gallant Eleventh," 
 and now lies sick of a severe wound received in 
 the fierce battle of the Seven Pines. How the 
 years have sped since the night in which the lovers 
 eloped from this old house ! Many years have come 
 and gone over the sleeping dust of the maiden who 
 leaped out of that window. I remember her in the 
 prime of womanhood, and she was sweet and gentle 
 and beautiful then. The snows of seventy winters 
 lie on the brow of the bold lover, but the fire of his 
 youth is not spent, and he is passing the evening of 
 
203 
 
 his days peacefully away in the midst of his children, 
 and his children's children, honored and beloved by 
 all. This happy romance always repeats itself to me 
 when I seat myself at the foot of the " little stars," 
 and look out of the window, and listen to the sum- 
 mer winds sighing through the leaves of the stout 
 aspen which has grown up in the old wheat field, 
 now a verdant yard. 
 
 I shall not detain you with a minute description 
 of the new house, which, as you know, is joined to 
 the old by a covered passage. It is a more preten- 
 tious but far less substantial edifice than its humble 
 companion. On the ground floor there is a high- 
 pitched parlor what has become of all the "draw- 
 ing-rooms" we used to have five-and-twerity years 
 ago, I wonder? and over the parlor there are two 
 chambers, also high-pitched, and above them a size- 
 able garret. So you see this modern structure, which 
 every thunder-gust shakes to its foundation, is tall 
 enough to look down with contempt on the old house. 
 But, notwithstanding the disparity in years and stat- 
 ure, the two seem to get along very well together. 
 The hard, mathematical eye of a Yankee would be 
 offended at the juxtaposition of so uneven a couple, 
 but, thank God ! we in Virginia are used to these in- 
 congruous architectural matches. It will be a sad 
 day for us when there is any regularity about any- 
 thing in Virginia. When people begin to build 
 houses " on the square," they begin to calculate or,, 
 to give the word its idiomatic meanness, " cack'late " 
 and when they begin to " cack'late," they begin to 
 
204 
 
 keep an account of expenses which is the infallible 
 premonitory symptom of the virus of Yankeeism 
 striking into the bone. I don't want to live among 
 no sich people. I want to go whar I kin build my 
 house catty-cornered, lop-sided, slantingdicular, bot- 
 tom-upwards, any way I please, and have no correct 
 idea about nothing, 'cept politics. 
 
 The glory of the new house is the " big room," 
 up stairs. This spacious chamber boasts four great 
 windows which reach within six inches of the floor 
 ventilation in perfection ! You are in the house 
 and out of doors at the same time ; may see every- 
 thing, hear everthing, and feel every wind that blows. 
 On one side is the garden, and beyond it, a quarter 
 of a mile away, is the railroad ; which, seen in pro- 
 file, looks like the key-board of an interminable piano- 
 forte. This railroad is great company for us at Moun- 
 tain Yiew. It reminds us that we are in the world 
 of busy life and motion, although we are nestled so 
 snugly under the locusts that you can hardly see us, 
 brave soldiers, as you rush to the wars. It affords 
 an easy path to the village, and brings us every day 
 a squad of convalescent soldiers, who walk out to get 
 dinner and breathe the pure air. We are never tired 
 of it. A locomotive under a full head of steam is 
 always attractive. Every time a train passes, we all 
 get up to look at it, and, if its speed is at all rapid, 
 Uncle Jim seldom fails to exclaim, " I George ! she's 
 a goin' uv it." 
 
 Through the window on the opposite side of the 
 big room, the vision is led down the sloping fields to 
 
205 
 
 the " low-grounds," now groaning under a luscious 
 load of watermelons, muskmelons and cantelopes, and 
 thence to the river, whose lines of beauty are traced 
 by masses of luxuriant foliage, so thickly do the trees 
 and clambering vines crowd to the banks to drink the 
 life-giving water, all muddy as it is during half the 
 year. Over the river a hill mounts boldly up, and 
 on its top a white house is perched, like a castle on 
 the Rhine. Beyond the hill, far in the distance, are 
 the knobs of the mountain. Almost at the foot of 
 that mountain, the father of Uncle Flatback used to 
 live a Revolutionary soldier, seven years in the line 
 concerning whom and his hapless daughter, Vir- 
 ginia, you may one day hear more. The river side of 
 the big up-stairs room I like far better than the rail- 
 road side. The view is more extensive, more varied, 
 rural, sequestered. The railroad suggests the busy 
 world and all my cares away yonder in the city, 
 crowded now with thousands on thousands of sick and 
 wounded, and but lately delivered, thank God ! from 
 myriads of besieging Yankees. Whereas the river,, 
 rolling under thick-boughed trees, brings thoughts of 
 freedom, peace, seclusion, the delights of bathing and 
 fishing to the mind. Talking about fishing, there is 
 the noblest beech, the best place for fishing, and, 
 sometimes, the finest fishing in this little muddy river 
 that heart could wish. I wrote a piece once about 
 that old beech, and the fishing frolics I have enjoyed 
 while reclining on its fantastic roots, equal to any 
 arm-chair, and under its scanty shade. When my 
 collected works are printed, I want somebody to 
 
206 
 
 hunt up that piece, take out the nonsense and re- 
 publish it for there are some good things in it, I 
 think. 
 
 But it is not for the peaceful view only that I like 
 the river-side of the big room so well. It is on ac- 
 count of the trees the aspens close to the window, 
 and the sturdy oaks that tower above the crank-sided 
 carriage-house, just outside the yard. Oh, me ! what 
 delight to lie by the window during the listless, mid- 
 summer days, and look at the aspens, all in a flurry 
 of delight, and watch the lazy, fleecy clouds far up 
 in the blue welkin. And then at night to stretch out 
 in the wide bed, or on a soft pallet down on the floor, 
 close by the window, and look up at the stars through 
 the gently moving branches, and listen to the mur- 
 muring and whispering of the leafy creatures. I 
 know not what they say, but I know they are talk- 
 ing. They have their secrets tales of the old, old 
 world, of the "joyous prime" of Eden, and that 
 dread time when this planet was not ripe for man, 
 but life was striving up to him through Nature's 
 every manifestation. 
 
 You can't teach me anything about trees. I'm ac- 
 quainted with 'em ; have known 'em ever since I was 
 a child, and used to spend whole days with 'em in 
 the woods. I tell you they are people. Everybody 
 knows that some trees are tame and others savage, 
 barbarous, half civilized, and so on. Put a pine tree 
 in a yard, and what does he look like how does he 
 feel? He looks out of place, and he feels embar- 
 rassed and mad, just as a negro field-hand would if 
 
you were to set him down in a parlor, or at a dinner 
 table in the midst of white folks. Whereas an aspen 
 or a locust is perfectly at home in a yard, and throws 
 out his arms affectionately towards the house, and tries 
 his best to put a hand or two in at the window and 
 pat you on the cheek with his leafy fingers. You 
 think trees have got no soul, no mind, no heart. 
 That's because you have got no soul yourself, plague on 
 you ! When a little bird hops on a twig, and begins 
 singing as if he was singing for wages, the tree 
 thrills clean down to his toes in the ground. So 
 when the rain comes to fetch water, and the winds 
 from away over the mountains and oceans come to 
 tell the news, can't you see how happy the trees are, 
 how they clap their hands and jump up and down, and 
 get bright in the face, and actually laugh in the sun- 
 shine? If you can't its because the panes in the 
 windows of your soul need washing. You think be- 
 cause trees can't walk they are an inferior order of 
 beings. Well, now, if you think a bit, ain't you 
 too stuck to this earth ? Why don't you step over 
 to the next star, and find out something that a tree 
 don't know ? 
 
 Men have a small opinion of trees because their 
 hearts are set on money, stocks, fame, glory, and 
 such trash ; but boys think differently. Boys love 
 trees. They love to play with them, love to climb 
 them, because hugging is the principal part of climb- 
 ing, and not the least portion of loving. And what's 
 the reason boys delight so to ride saplings? Young 
 things love to play with .each other. Do the 
 
208 
 
 saplings enjoy it? Enjoy it! Now, look here. Do 
 you want to provoke me to death ? Did you ever 
 ride a sapling? Well, then you have noticed that, 
 after you have done riding, the sapling bends over 
 for days and days. A man of sense would tell you the 
 sapling continued to lean over because the " woody 
 fibre," elasticity, etc., etc., and scientific so-forth. I 
 know better. It's no such a thing. The sapling re- 
 mains in the stooping posture because he thinks a 
 game of leap-frog is going on, and is waiting for the 
 next boy to come along ; and having a long time to 
 live (provided he ain't cut down to make a ridge 
 pole of a henhouse, or a roost for turkeys), and being 
 mighty patient and sweet-tempered withal, holds an 
 till the pain in his back compels him to rise up again. 
 Poor things ! I have seen 'em waiting and waiting, 
 for days and days after the boys had gone off and 
 forgot 'em. It makes me right down sorry to look 
 at 'em. 
 
 Let me come back from tree-talk to the river 
 again the muddy Appomattox whose waters are 
 as ugly here as its name is picturesque. It sweeps 
 around the foot of my Uncle Flatback's plantation 
 in a wide, irregular curve, until its lines of dense 
 foliage are lost to the view from the windows of the 
 room "up the big stars." There is a wagon-way 
 which runs in a straight line by the sweet-potato 
 patch and the little barn down to the sandy low- 
 grounds, which, year after year, bear those copious 
 crops of watermelons, rnuskmelons and cantelopes 
 for which Mountain View is famous. Just on the 
 
209 
 
 river bank there is a hut of pine poles, which might 
 be taken for a henhouse if it were not so far away 
 from the mansion itself. In winter time you might 
 puzzle your brain for ever to find the use of this hut ; 
 but in summer the protecting lines of string, stretch- 
 ing from end to end of the melon patch, and the 
 numerous scare-crows, made out of Winston's old 
 breeches and Polly's old petticoats, compel you to 
 the just inference, viz. : that it is the guardhouse of 
 the dusky sentinels who watch over the precious fruit 
 which cumbers the ground hard by. 'Lijah, or 'Lijy, 
 poor fellow ! before he died in the service of his 
 country working upon the fortifications around 
 Richmond used to keep watch here ; but John was 
 always Uncle Flatback's right-hand man in all mat- 
 ters pertaining to melons. 
 
 Of the merits of the Mountain View melons I can 
 speak by experience, having eaten them a thousand 
 times, more or less. My only regret is that I can't 
 eat a thousand at a time. You know, dear reader, 
 that there are certain occasions deemed very sad by 
 wise and elevated persons unlike ourselves when 
 this mortal nature gets the better of us, and the only 
 perfect happiness seems to be in the unlimited in- 
 dulgence of our animal apetites. Base, very base 
 are we, when these sensual seasons overtake and 
 master us. But poor, pitiful worms of the dust 
 that we are such seasons will arise ; and we have to 
 knock under to them, just as we do to the periods of 
 frost and sunshine. I have known the time, my vir- 
 tuous and dyspeptic friend, when the highest bliss I 
 14 
 
210 
 
 could picture to myself, was a cloudless summer day, 
 about two years long, in the which the present des- 
 picable wretch now writing these lines did nothing 
 but sit in his shirt sleeves, under the shade of a 
 mighty tree, and eat the ice-cold core of a vast, pre- 
 posterous and unbounded watermelon, from soon in 
 the morning until midnight. Forgive me, forgive 
 me, ye earthly saints who live not by bread alone, 
 and who never have any bad thoughts ; but the fact 
 is, I do really feel sometimes as if I would like to eat 
 or drink some particular good thing, right straight 
 ahead for several consecutive centuries, without stop- 
 ping even to take breath. 
 
 Under the locusts in the front yard there is a bench 
 of a convenient height to be eaten off when a person 
 is standing up. Here Uncle Flatback leads his 
 guests of a summer evening, and drawing a great 
 pocket-knife, plunges it remorselessly into the de- 
 licious entrails of his green-ribbed victims, until a 
 dozen or so are split wide open, and lie at the mercy 
 of the mouth-watering bystanders. Pitch in freely, 
 young men and maidens, but beware of yonder 
 grizzly-bearded priest of melons, whose sacrificial 
 blade has opened this inviting expanse of vegetable 
 meats for your behoof. His stern and oft-repeated 
 "take keer uv the seed," is meant in earnest, I as- 
 sure you. Incur not the wrath of the hospitable 
 ancient, whatever you do ; but eat till you can eat no 
 more, and never mind your fingers and mouth, over 
 which the sweet juice is rapidly crystallizing into 
 sticky watermelon candy, for 'Liza or Link, as the 
 
211 
 
 seed-saving ancient calls her will be here presently 
 with a bowl full of fresh spring water, nice soap and 
 plenty of towels the people of Mountain View be- 
 ing a cleanly race, and having a madness for towels, 
 of which, to the best of my remembrance, there are 
 never less than half a million on hand at a time. 
 
 Following the course of the river, you find below 
 the watermelon patch a number of towering syca- 
 mores, rising out of a tangled thicket. In former 
 years these trees used to be the resort and dormitory 
 of that most graceful object of Southern skies the 
 " tukky-buzzard." It is said they were driven off by 
 the cannonading of the first battle of Manassas, two 
 hundred miles away a pretty story, truly. Just 
 beyond this " roost" there is a dam, over which the 
 muddy water falls as naturally, if not as beautifully, 
 as at Niagara. This dam feeds Morton's or Jackson's 
 mill, a quarter of a mile down the stream ; and this 
 mill a biggish pile of dusky weatherboarding, which 
 once had some pretentious to the proud name of 
 Merchants' mills, and the gable of which may be 
 seen peeping above the luxurious foliage that lines 
 the banks of the river, is one of the prettiest and 
 most pleasing sights at Mountain View. For I am 
 of Macdon aid's opinion, that true happiness con- 
 sists in living in the country and owning a little mill. 
 Apart from the beauty of the big wheel in motion, 
 there is a satisfaction in taking toll of your neighbor, 
 a charm in the racket and the dropping corns of the 
 hopper, and a sense of company in the continual re- 
 currence of a" nigger boy, perched on top of a meal- 
 
212 
 
 bag, far back upon the haunches of a sober-sided old 
 family mare. Mills suggest peace, home and plenty ; 
 and then I think the apparition of an honest, chunky, 
 well-bred, respectful, and not too self-important negro 
 miller, all covered with meal, at the door of the mill,, 
 is one of the finest sights in the world, next to a 
 country blacksmith's shop in the night time. Yan- 
 kees and English can write poems about their mills- 
 and smithies ; why can't we of the South ? I'll tell 
 you ; it's because we are too wretchedly lazy. Plague 
 take it ! if I had the leisure and the mill, or the black- 
 smith shop, I wouldn't ask anybody any odds, but 
 write the poem myself. And I bet you what you 
 dare, it would be a good one, and, what is more to 
 the purpose, it would be Southern so Southern that 
 there would be no mistaking it. A Yankee would 
 throw up the whites of his eyes on reading it. Con- 
 soun our Southern poets ! they sing about everything 
 except the things we common people most care 
 about the scenes and sounds of home, far in the 
 depths of the uncontaminated country, where the 
 little that is yet unpolluted by Yankee ideas and cus- 
 toms still remains. Our Southern poets all want to 
 be like Shakspeare, who was a universal sort of all 
 out o' doors and all over creation of a fellow a man 
 of no time and no country, but for all time and all 
 countries and in aiming to be Shakspeare, they 
 succeed in being nobody at all. If they would quit 
 straining at the heroic and the historical, kick Tenny- 
 son and all other models into the middle of next 
 week, or elsewhere, and if they would content them- 
 
213 
 
 selves with the homely, and come right down to the 
 soil that gave them birth, they might do something. 
 My judgment, which may be very valuable, for aught 
 I know, is, that when a man thinks the afflatus is in 
 him, his first business is to let books rigorously alone ; 
 his next, second, last and only business is, to go 
 straight to mother nature, get in her lap, look deeply 
 in her beautiful eyes, and listen finely to her voice 
 (whispering to him alone), and then tell what he has 
 seen and heard as simply and as musically as he can. 
 Heretofore Southern poets have coveted the appro- 
 bation of scurvy Yankee newspapers, and followed 
 Yankee models, oh, shame ! in order to gain it. One 
 -of the compensations of this frightful war, is the 
 deliverance of our literature from this bondage, and 
 the birth of a school of poets truly southern. Al- 
 ready Hayne, Thompson (J. R.), Timrod, and Ran- 
 dall, have given us heroic songs, w r hich belong to us 
 and to us alone born as they are of the inspiration 
 bequeathed by martyred patriots legacy priceless 
 and immortal and copied after no models. Better 
 is yet to come, when time shall have hallowed and 
 glorified the men and deeds of these fateful days. 
 Who will sing Stonewall Jackson's elegy ? 
 
 On the road from the mill here, since this piece 
 is to be as rambling and parenthetical as any Sterne 
 ever wrote let me stop a bit. The little one-story- 
 and-a-half dwelling house near the mill would make 
 an exquisite pencil sketch or painting in water colors 
 or in oil; it is one of myriads in Virginia. Porte 
 Crayon had an eye for the grand and the comic, also 
 
214 
 
 a little imagination. He did partial justice to her 
 mountain scenery, to the Dismal Swamp, the indi- 
 genous beings of the rural districts and the Virginia 
 nigger in his manifold variety, from the conceited 
 carriage-driver to the fat cook and the little black 
 boy blowing a " blarther ;" but he had no eye for the 
 beauties of Virginia homes. Is it a marvel he de- 
 serted to the Yankees ? Whoso will, let him partake 
 freely of the moral conveyed in this digression. 
 
 On the road from the mill to Uncle Flatback's 
 there is a beautifully secluded and delightful bridge. 
 Big trees, dressed with wild, luxuriant vines, bend 
 over and frame it in from the work-day, cornfield 
 world on either hand. It is a matter of life and 
 death to cross this bridge except on foot, and its use 
 as a crossing for vehicles has long since been aban- 
 doned. The neighbors who used to patronize the 
 mill abuse Patrick Jackson, the mill-owner, for not 
 repairing the bridge, and Patrick Jackson, in turn, 
 abuses the neighbors for not furnishing the timber. 
 Both parties, I think, deserve leather medals for 
 being gloriously lazy Virginians, willing rather to 
 let things rot, and break the legs of horses and the 
 necks of niggers, than to get into a Yankee stew and 
 a New England fease the moment anything needs 
 mending, and to work madly over every crack and 
 fissure, as if godliness consisted in patching, and the 
 world would be blotted out of existence the moment 
 it ceased to smell of newly sawed pine and fresh 
 varnish. For my part, I hope the bridge never will 
 be mended, but stay just as it is until the humbler- 
 
215 
 
 bees humble-bees ? not any, I thank you I speak 
 Virginian, not the lingo of Bosting, or even of Ing- 
 ling, (perhaps you'd like for me to say England. I 
 be blamed if I do,) until the bumbler-bees, and 
 other borers, reduce it to wood-dust and scatter it 
 atom by atom into the stream. As long as the bridge 
 is in its present break-neck condition, Uncle Flat- 
 back's plantation will not be a thoroughfare for 
 everybody who wants to take a short cut from the 
 plank road to the old stage road to Richmond. I 
 hate a place that is continually enlivened and afflicted 
 by people traveling vaguely about in shackly buggies 
 that can run along a road no broader than a hog 
 path. There is no peace, no sense of ownership in 
 such a place as that. You might as well have no 
 place at all. The hands in the field are always stop- 
 ping to look at these wandering vehicles, the axles 
 of which invariably creak loud enough to be heard 
 half a mile off. Like as not they'll break down right 
 at your door, and the people will be sure to stay all 
 night, and the unclean nosed child in the buggy 
 (there is always one of them) will give your children 
 the itch or the measles, and the black girl who rides 
 behind the buggy wil.1 make herself generally ob- 
 noxious by fascinating the boy that brings wood into 
 the house. Even if the fugitive buggy doirt break 
 down, from the moment it heaves in sight, everybody 
 in the house, the kitchen and the quarters, is in a 
 fever of uncertainty as to whose buggy it is ; and as 
 it comes up slowly, a half hour or more is wasted in 
 conflicting and vain conjectures, until it passes by 
 
216 
 
 the man, woman, child, servant and horse all staring 
 stupidly at you and all your folks, who are staring 
 stupidly at them ; and when the plaguy thing is gone 
 and quiet is once more restored, its horrid creaking 
 leaves you with a toothache and a crick in the neck, 
 and starts old Ring, who ought to have been dead 
 long ago, to howling, until you are mad enough to 
 beat his brains out with the fishing-pole which you 
 have been peacefully trimming. I am not lacking 
 in the natural instinct of hospitality, but, Virginian 
 as I am, if I had a place, by jingo ! there should not 
 be a gate in it nothing but drawbars twenty poles 
 high, and each pole fastened with ten thousand knots 
 of the strongest, biggest, stiffest, roughest and hand- 
 tearingest grape-vine I could find. The labyrinth 
 of Crete would be a " main, plain road " compared to 
 my place, and the labors of Sisyphus wouldn't be a 
 circumstance to the labor of getting through it. As 
 for bridges, I wouldn't have one, unless it was two 
 hundred years old and half gone when it was first 
 built. A log, a round, slippery log, with the bark 
 off, fastened high up in the crotch of a tall tree on 
 this side, and stuck in the crotch of a still taller tree 
 on the other side of the creek, is a good enough 
 bridge for me. If people want to see me, let 'em 
 swim like Leander, or wade like Cousin Sally Dillard. 
 Maybe I'll have a " cunner" for them I like best, but 
 further than that I will not go no, I will not you 
 needn't ask me. 
 
 Many pleasant evening strolls I have had to the 
 old bridge, all by myself, leaning over the bewhittled 
 
21.7 
 
 and name-graven railing, thinking thoughts and 
 dreaming dreams till the evening star arose and the 
 whippoorwill began his chant. But the water under 
 the bridge is not clear as crystal, swift as an arrow, 
 and sparkling as a stream of diamonds fit abode for 
 Naiads and Undines but muddy as the telegraphic 
 dispatches from Mississippi before the fall of Yicks- 
 burg, slow as an army wagon or a conscript making 
 a charge, and full of all manner of nasty and con- 
 founded " mud-kittens,'- " snap'n-turkles," and snake- 
 doctors. Still, I love to go there and look by the 
 hour, not at the plague-taked water, but at the 
 pendant vines, the intricate emerald umbrage cut 
 daintily upon the azure ground of the sky, the many 
 shaped clouds, the ravishing dyes of sunset, and 
 fancying what a great fellow I might be if I only 
 had money enough to quit writing nonsense and 
 .stick resolutely to poetry and romance. 
 
 As you go from George Daniel's I think I'd 
 better write it Dannill's, that's the way Virginians 
 pronounce the name as you go from George Dan- 
 nill's land to Unc' Jim's, the road runs close to the 
 river bank, and through a dense growth of bushes, 
 which, in former years, when the carriage could go 
 on the bridge, and I used to go with Aunt Mary and 
 Cousin Betsy to church, gave us no end of trouble ; 
 for if we dodged from one side of the carriage to the 
 other, to keep the intruding branches from scratch- 
 ing our eyes out, we were sure to encounter a set of 
 branches still longer and more insolent, besides skin- 
 ning our elbows no small calamity to a body with 
 
218 
 
 as plump, fine arms as Betsy's against the brass 
 buttons by which the carriage curtains were fastened. 
 Unc' Jim never had the address and hardihood to 
 clear up this thicket, or to prune the pugnacious 
 branches. So, Sunday after Sunday we had to run 
 the gauntlet and display our agility in dodging 
 around a space not much larger than the inside of a 
 coffee-pot for the carriage was a Yankee carriage, 
 as scrimp, meagre and rickety as the cheap and 
 wretched souls that made it. Woodson, the carriage- 
 driver, when struggling through this bushy maze, 
 used to imitate the most difficult feats of the ancient 
 gymnast or modern India-rubber-man of the circus, 
 by tying himself into a double-bow-knot, and placing 
 the top of his head on the bottom of the foot-board, 
 so that only the small of his back and the tips of his 
 knee-pans were visible. Since the " bustid " condi- 
 tion of the bridge has made church-going by the 
 Jackson's mill route impossible, the thicket has been 
 left to its own wild will, and has become as impene- 
 trable as the abattis which Hooker vainly erected in 
 the Wilderness. Well, I am not sorry. Trees, as I 
 said before, are living souls ; I love to see 'em grow, 
 and it hurts me to see them destroyed merely to 
 make room for people to pass. Why, I would like 
 to know, can't we treat them as politely as we do 
 other gentlemen of high standing? One vacation 
 old Hart cut down a dead apple tree that grew by 
 the fence which enclosed the play-ground at Edge- 
 hill. I saw the gap the moment I got back, and 
 felt as if one of the boys had died. When Uncle 
 
119 
 
 Jim cut down the pines between the house and Israel 
 Hill simply to get a better look at the train as it 
 passed, it seemed to me as cruel and unwise, as if a 
 tyrant had destroyed a fine army merely to get a 
 view of a fast woman. I detest clearings and tree- 
 murderers of all sorts. The sight of a new ground 
 makes me as mad as the devil. To kill a forest in 
 order to raise a weed tobacco is to me the very 
 climax of crime and folly. The depraved and irra- 
 tional salivary glands of the human race have a 
 vast deal of sin to answer for. They have played 
 Mother Earth the same vile trick Lot's sons played 
 on him; they have uncovered her nakedness; nay, 
 worse, they have heaped hickory ashes and many 
 chunks of burnt u bresh" upon her fair bosom, all 
 for the sake of getting something bitter and dirty 
 and dauby to make 'em spit, and keep on spitting 
 the livelong day. Isn't it horrible ? 
 
 Not a word none of your sneers, gibes, retorts 
 and ;< physician heal thyself." I do smoke; nay, to 
 my shame be it admitted, I even chaw a little. I 
 own I am as bad as any of you. But that does'nt 
 make tobacco any cleaner or the clearing of new 
 grounds less murderous. You see you can't make 
 anything out of me by your rejoinders and argu- 
 menta ad hominem. Cease, therefore, and throw 
 that villainous plug in your coat-tail pocket away, 
 and don't clap the crumbs into your mouth in a 
 moment of forgetfulness. 
 
 The fence that divides Dannill's land from Flat- 
 back's had a gate just beyond the thicket before 
 
1220 MY UNCLE FLATBACK'S PLANTATION. 
 
 mentioned, and the staples that's the name, I be- 
 lieve of that gate, are driven savagely into the 
 trunk of a young and very pretty beech tree. Who 
 was the unfeeling wretch that did this act of vandal- 
 ism? Would that I had him by the Adam's apple 
 or the scruff of the neck. Bad enough to treat an 
 innocent lad of a tree in this way, but to make a gate- 
 post of a historical tree is outrageous. On the 
 bark of this beautiful beech tree the letters J. R. are 
 cut, and John Randolph of Roanoke is said to have 
 cut them with his own hand. The tradition may be 
 apocryphal, but yonder is " Bizarre," scarcely half a 
 mile away, where Randolph lived for some years 
 after his brother Richard's death by-the-way, you 
 know that Dick was a greater man than Jack Ran- 
 dolph, just as Bobus was greater than Sidney Smith 
 the same may be said of the almost unknown 
 brothers of many eminent men and our maltreated 
 beech is on the road to " Sandy Ford," the mansion of 
 the Dillons, famous in the old times for its hospi- 
 tality, and a favorite resort of Randolph's. It is not 
 at all impossible that, coming home from Dillon's, 
 flown with, not insolence, but fried, chicken and 
 wine, and ruminating sadly on the certainty of his 
 leaving no posterity behind him, he may have stop- 
 ped his horse, and left his name to be perpetuated by 
 this lusty young tree, which (albeit the gloomy en- 
 graver has been mouldering in his grave for many 
 long years), seems hardly to have attained its adolo- 
 scence. 
 
 After you leave Randolph's tree, there is nothing of 
 
221 
 
 interest on the road to old Flatback's unless it be 
 a muddy horse-pond under a little sycamore until 
 you come to the spring. It is a splendid spring, ex- 
 cept in very wet weather, when the back-water of 
 the Appomattox chokes it up, and it tastes of its own 
 moss. It is shaded by oaks and elms magnificent 
 old fellows, that would set Virgil crazy were he to 
 see them, and throw him into a bucolic equal to 
 an attack of Asiatic cholera. Tityrus never recubed 
 under anything comparable to them. It is a fine 
 thing of a hot summer day to sit under these noble 
 trees, recline your head against their mighty boles, 
 and muse sweetly for a few minutes, until a caravan 
 of gigantic black or red pismires begin a pilgrimage 
 up your back bone for the Virginia ant, as you are 
 well aware, has a choice knack of getting under the 
 " body-linen," as old folks call it, which sets wrist- 
 bands and collar buttons at defiance. 
 
 Hard by this spring there are some utilitarian 
 fixtures which disclose the indifference of the true 
 Virginian to aesthetics, and knock the sense of the beau- 
 tiful on the head very effectually. They are fixtures 
 used at hog-killing time. There are the rocks that 
 are heated to put in the water that scalds their hair 
 off. There is the pole on which the hogs are hung 
 by the hind legs to be disemboweled. There they 
 are, close to the spring of sweet water and right 
 under that elm, the equal of which is not in all Vir- 
 ginia. You are a man of imagination, of course, and 
 whenever you look at that pole, you see the naked 
 porcine corpses hanging down, with a great gash in 
 
222 MY DNCLE FLATBACK'S PLANTATION. 
 
 front, and a corn-cob in the open bloody mouth of 
 each of them ; and every time you look at these 
 rocks, you smell burnt hair and feel bristles, and re- 
 member, as if it were yesterday, the first night you 
 ever saw the plantation Crispin making low-quarter 
 stitch-downs, and how funny it was to see a man sew- 
 ing with two threads at the same time. 
 
 There are some jugs of milk of both kinds sweet 
 milk and butter-milk in the spring house, and Ada 
 will be here presently to carry them to the house, 
 for Aunt Mary is going to give us green apple tart 
 to-day; but the place reminds us of the hogs, so let's 
 get away to the thicket of plum and thorn bushes, 
 just over the grassy knoll above us. Double up 
 your coat for a pillow and lie down awhile, and I'll 
 tell you something. You see that old tobacco house 
 yonder? You do. Well, do you know that in all 
 the Southern novels and poems that I ever read or 
 heard of, there is not a line about tilted and sway- 
 back old tobacco houses or about plum bushes or 
 thorn bushes? And do you know that I think there 
 is a deal of romance and of poetry in these things ? 
 Why, the thorn bush is the home of the nightingale 
 did you know that ? No, you know nothing and care 
 less about these very romantic things ! I knew you 
 didn't. You are Virginian, and, since childhood, 
 you have ceased to care about plums wild plums, 
 I mean. You say the skin is bitter and the things 
 get squashy as soon as they are ripe. You think 
 thorn bushes were made especially to furnish negroes 
 with vegetable buttons to fasten "galluses" by, and 
 
223 
 
 as for old tobacco houses, you are too busy making 
 new ones to think about them at all. Very well, sir, 
 if these are your prosaic views, you can just get up 
 from under Uncle Flatback's pretty plum bushes and 
 go with me to dinner, and eat butter-beans until you 
 burst fit end for you, you miserable materialist. 
 
 As we go by the kitchen and the quarters, I shall 
 not allow you to talk with Malindy, who is cooking 
 for the hands, or with Polly for dinner is late or 
 with Locky, who is ironing like mad she is a real 
 steam engine, Locky is you shall interrupt nobody, 
 but go straight along into the yard and do your best 
 to appease the ire of Uncle Flatback, who threatens 
 momentarily to "skin the head" of Liza and Gary 
 Ann, if they don't " hurry up that mush." As for 
 me, I will go into the garden. 
 
 No, I am not going to read you a long rigmarole 
 about the garden not if I can help it although, on 
 the principle of praising the bridge, I ought to do 
 so ; for many and many a good meal this garden has 
 furnished me. It is an unpretentious garden; has 
 no palings, you see ; only a rail fence. The reason 
 of this is this Uncle Flatback rents the place, and 
 won't go to any unnecessary expense about it. If 
 he owned it, he would fix up things nicely enough ; 
 but, like every true Virginian, he has been on the 
 eve of moving to Alabama, or Mississippi, or Texas, 
 ever since he first came here twenty years ago. 
 Butter-beans, snaps, green peas, beets, cabbage and 
 a few flowers, make up the contents of the garden ; 
 other vegetables, such as tomatoes, onions, black-eye 
 
224: MY TINGLE FLATBACK's PLANTATION. 
 
 peas, cymlings and "rosin" ears, being grown here- 
 and there, first in this and then in that patch, in 
 various parts of the plantation a curious and pecu- 
 liar feature of old-fashioned Virginian management. 
 About gardens and orchards by the way, there is 
 no orchard at Mountain Yiew ; because, in the first 
 place, Uncle Flatback is afraid his apples and peaches 
 might be made into liquor of some sort, and in the 
 second place, he is continually going to go to Texas 
 or elsewhere about gardens, orchards, clover and 
 wheat fields, there is something to be said which 1 
 have never yet heard said, namely: they are (to me 
 at least) proofs of the existence, wisdom and good- 
 ness of Deity, better and more convincing than 
 Paley's watch, or any other argument from design 
 ever excogitated by the philosophers. Just think 
 how ready to the hand all fruits, vegetables and 
 grains grow. Suppose you had to plant a ladder 
 against the pole every time you wanted to get a dish 
 of snaps, or to send a man up in a balloon to get 
 your apples, or to cut through trees two feet thick, 
 in order to harvest a crop of corn, or to sink a shaft 
 whenever you. had sweet potatoes for dinner. What 
 a hard old world to live in this would be, if a man 
 had to blast out his turnips, or make use of a patent 
 Yankee stump-puller to get at each separate head of 
 clover, or to worry his asparagus out of the earth 
 with the aid of a jack-screw! Then how easy it is 
 to shell peas and peel peaches ; why, you can mash 
 soft peaches with your mouth, without peeling them 
 at all. Think what intolerable botheration it would 
 
225 
 
 be to crack open watermelons with a sledge-hammer,, 
 or to saw through pea-hulls as you do cocoanuts. 
 Pursue the idea, my friend, and the next time you 
 see a curcumber, or a punkin, or cymling lying in- 
 vitingly on the ground, as much as to say " here I am, 
 ready for you," thank the Lord for all his goodness. 
 
 The garden looks toward the railroad, and on both 
 sides of the railroad you can see a number of negro 
 cabins, which you take to be Uncle Flatback's quar- 
 ters. No such thing. They are relics of a grand 
 experiment at emancipation made some forty or fifty 
 years ago, by Dick Eandolph. Like most of the men 
 of his day, Dick thought slavery a great evil, and at 
 his death manumitted his negroes, gave them plenty 
 of tolerably fertile, well-timbered and well watered 
 land, parcelled it off into small farms, gave them 
 stock, farm implements, etc. The negroes looked 
 upon their landed estate as new Canaan, and called 
 it "Israel Hill," by which name it goes to this day. 
 They had the advantage of years of slavery, which 
 civilized and christianized them ; habituated them to 
 labor and taught them the mode of raising crops. 
 They had moreover the advice and assistance of 
 white neighbors, all of whom, at first, regarded the 
 scheme with scarcely less favor than Randolph him- 
 self, and were disposed to aid the negroes in any 
 and every way possible. The experiment was fairly 
 made. Its failure was signal. 
 
 In this year of grace, 1862, the population of Is- 
 rael Hill is scarcely so great as it was forty or fifty 
 years ago, when the inhabitants entered the new 
 15 
 
226 
 
 Canaan. Had they remained slaves, their numbers 
 would' have been quadrupled. As it is, they will 
 doubtless die out in the course of a few years and dis- 
 appear, as they have done in Gerrit Smith's and so 
 many other Yankee experiments at colonizing free 
 negroes. One or two of the Israel Hill families ex- 
 hibit in their abodes and crops some capacity for self- 
 improvement ; the rest are thriftless, to say the least. 
 Men and women alike earn a precarious subsistence, 
 laying up nothing and spending much of their earn- 
 ings in drink. One of their number, the patriarch 
 of the Hill, old Uncle Sam White, now considerably 
 more than one hundred years of age, is so remark- 
 able that a bare outline of his character would re- 
 quire a separate article. A more honest, upright 
 man ; a more truly pious and devoted Christian, can- 
 not be found in this whole Confederacy. A cheer- 
 ful old man, his laugh, as he w^alks along the rail- 
 road and stops to speak with his acquaintances, may 
 be heard for half a mile. He is, withal, a gentle- 
 man of the old school, full of the gracious hospitality 
 with which he was familiar half a century ago, in 
 the house of his aristocratic master ; and, previous to 
 the war, while wine was yet attainable, never failed 
 to set his decanter out when you entered his humble 
 cabin. No man, white or black, is more respected 
 in his neighborhood than this genial, honest, Godly- 
 minded old man ; and when he goes to his long home, 
 as he must soon do, there will be more regret for 
 his loss among the whites than among the people of 
 his own color. 
 
227 
 
 Let me now come back, if I possibly can, to Moun- 
 tain Yiew, and close this discursive and tiresome 
 article with a brief account of old Flatback himself. 
 He is the son of a lieutenant of the American Re- 
 volution, who entered the ranks as a private, and 
 fought through the war, and bore upon his person 
 the mark of an honorable wound. This son of his 
 served in the war of '12, as a private in the Virginia 
 line, marched from the Yalley to Ellicott's Mill, but 
 was never in any engagement. True to their parent- 
 age, his sons have played a manly part in the great 
 struggle against the North. "When the war broke 
 out, one of them was in Texas. He hurried home, 
 joined Garnett's command, and, by the accidental 
 discharge of a pistol, fell at Rich Mountain, before 
 the disastrous battle at that place occurred. The 
 other has been in the war from the beginning, and, 
 if he be alive, is still a private in Stuart's cavalry. 
 I am told that the Prince Edward troop, raised by 
 the gifted and ill-fated Thornton, contains no better 
 soldier and no greater favorite, than William Flat- 
 T^ack. 
 
 With all his eccentricities of dress and behavior, 
 old Governor Flatback he is called governor in 
 compliment to his real or fancied authority over 
 his nearest neighbors, the sable residents of Israel 
 Hill is greatly liked and respected. The young 
 men, and the old as well, of the neighboring village, 
 are never tired of joking him about his temperance 
 hobby, his belief in the medicinal virtues of white- 
 oak bark, and many other odd notions. He takes a 
 
228 
 
 joke generally in good part, and is not unskilful in 
 returning the rough compliments of his assailants, 
 but is at times quite hot-tempered and excitable 
 which makes the fun of teasing him all the more 
 pleasant to his persecutors. 
 
 Besides being a great temperance and white-oak 
 bark man, he is a great raiser of watermelons and 
 cornfield peas. It was at his house that I was first 
 made acquainted with the superlative virtues of that 
 peculiar variety of the cornfield pea known as the 
 " Grey Crowder ;" and as for his melons, their fame 
 has gone forth to the ends of the earth with slight 
 limitations. In addition to these claims to greatness, 
 he was, in his youth, a mighty fox-hunter, owned the 
 best pack of hounds in the country, and bred and 
 trained a series of the most remarkable dogs, all 
 named " Redcoat," that ever lived. Le Roi est 
 mort ; vive le Roi. The dog died, but Redcoat sur- 
 vived. When the first Redcoat expired his son fell 
 heir to the title, and so on for I know not how many 
 years. In the same way there was a succession of 
 terriers named Bob, the property of the Governor's 
 second son, James, who died, as before stated, at 
 Rich Mountain. The last Bob, a sober-sided, gen- 
 tlemanly dog, who travelled with his master to Kan- 
 sas and back, may be seen to this day at Mountain 
 View, a mournful reminder of the generous hearted 
 young man who loved him so fondly, for whose sake 
 he is cherished and petted to the serious detriment 
 of his health for over-feeding has produced a cu- 
 taneous disease that worries him incessantly, and has 
 
MY UNCLE FLATBACK 6 PLANTATION. 
 
 made him gnaw nearly all the hair off his hind 
 quarters. To tell the wonders performed by the 
 Redcoat lineage would require a volume. If my 
 Uncle Flatback's fond memory may be trusted, no 
 such dogs ever lived before, or ever will live here- 
 after. Lightning on four legs might rival their 
 speed ; anything less fleet they could distance easily. 
 Like the Lama of Peru, mentioned by the showman, 
 who " travels at the rate of forty miles a minute 
 pigeon tied to his tail can't keep up " they were 
 considered as rather rapid than otherwise. With re- 
 gard to their noses, it is enough to state that they 
 did not consider a trail cold until it was six weeks old 
 and ploughed up at that. The music of their voices 
 was so exquisite that Uncle Flatback declares it in- 
 variably cured him of a raging toothache, or lockjaw, 
 or hydrophobia, or some such infirmity to which he 
 was subject in his hunting days. 
 
 It remains only to speak of Governor Flatback's 
 kindly heart and open-handedness, and this is no 
 easy task to one who has experienced so much of 
 both as the writer of this fatiguing sketch. To say 
 that he is hospitable, after the good old-fashion of 
 Virginia hospitality, is to praise him but lightly, for 
 that virtue is still common to all who inhabit the Old 
 Dominion. But the assertion so often and so falsely 
 made of many men, that no one in want ever left his 
 door empty-handed, is literally true in his case. His 
 family, like himself, seem never so happy as when 
 they are performing some friendly and generous 
 deed. Nor is their's a half-way performance. I will 
 
give a single instance in proof of the whole-souled 
 way of doing things in the Flatback household. 
 
 Late one evening, about five years ago, my aunt 
 came running to the house in great alarm. She had 
 been frightened by a strange-looking man, who was 
 approaching the house. This man soon made his 
 appearance. He was a sight to see, indeed. A mass- 
 of rags saturated with water enveloped an emaciated 
 frame, and under an immense shock of matted hair 
 peered forth a haggard face, the picture of death. 
 He was a poor Irishman, making his way on foot to 
 a distant city. While trudging the railroad he had 
 been taken ill, had applied at various houses for 
 lodging, and had been refused, no doubt because of 
 his frightful appearance. In this condition he had 
 been forced to lie out in the rain for two consecutive 
 nights ; had dragged his way to Israel Hill, where 
 the negroes directed him to Governor Flatback's, a& 
 perhaps the only place in which he would be sure of 
 finding a shelter. 
 
 Most people would have been satisfied with giving 
 the poor man supper and a night's lodging ; but this 
 was not the Flatback way of doing things. The 
 next morning he would have pursued his journey. 
 No ; the Flatbacks would not hear of it ; he must 
 stay until his clothes were washed, and until he got 
 stronger. James Flatback took him in charge, gave 
 him a good bath, cut his long, tangled hair, rigged 
 him from the skin out in a suit of his own clothes, filled 
 his pipe with good tobacco, and put him in the yard 
 under a tree to dry. I never saw a man so improved. 
 
231 
 
 He had an honest, intelligent face, and sat under the 
 tree in a state of high enjoyment. 
 
 No sooner had he finished smoking than a big 
 Flatback watermelon was pressed upon him, and this, 
 of course, brought on an attack of the ague and 
 fever, which had seized him some days before. He 
 was put to bed, treated with calomel and quinine, 
 and very soon got upon his legs again. But the 
 chills had hardly subsided before a galloping con- 
 sumption came on, and we expected every day to see 
 him die. It was pronounced by a competent phy- 
 sician a case of genuine pulmonary phthisis, and no 
 one expected him to live. The poor fellow suffered 
 horribly. As he lay in the little room adjoining my 
 uncle's chamber it was fearful, during the paroxysms 
 of expectoration, to hear him alternately cursing and 
 praying for death to release him from his pangs. 
 
 Brandy (in spite of old Flatback's prejudices against 
 liquor), cod-liver oil, and whatever else was needed, 
 was supplied ad libitum, and six. weeks after, to our 
 utter amazement, Paddy rallied and gave unmistak- 
 able evidence of an intention to live. He did live. 
 Skilful treatment, good nursing, and generous living 
 cured him, and for three years he occupied the little 
 room next to my uncle's, working whenever it suited 
 him, and entertaining Governor Flatback, who became 
 very fond of him, with stories of his adventurous 
 life, with recitations of poetry, and with a never- 
 failing flow of Irish humor. Soon after the war 
 broke out he joined the army, became one of Jack- 
 son's " foot cavalry," was in the great campaign of 
 
232 MY UNCLE FLATBACK'S PLANTATION. 
 
 the Valley, from McDowell to Fort Republic, got 
 wounded in the battles before Richmond, visited 
 Mountain View during his convalescence, received a 
 hearty welcome, and returned to his command, where 
 he is to this day, for aught I know. 
 
 Such are the Flatbacks. If they had not over- 
 whelmed me time and again with kindness ; if the 
 patience of people who read were inexhaustible, and 
 if paper were as cheap as the Flatbacks are generous, 
 I should make it a point to allude to them, casually 
 at least, if not favorably and at length. As it is, I 
 must dismiss them with a simple " God bless 'em," 
 -as a people too warm-hearted and unworldly for 
 serious notice in so brief and pointed an article as 
 this. But if time, Yankees, Confederate taxes, and 
 things generally, spare me, I intend some day to do 
 them justice, and to make the Flatbacks and myself 
 as famous as Willis' Mountain, Beard's Old Tavern, 
 or the Masonic Hall in Curdsville. 
 
II Y WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT 
 WIVES. 
 
 WE do not marry our own wives ! We many 
 the wives of somebody, of anybody else, and 
 anybody or somebody else marries our wives. It 
 may sound very funny and very silly to say this, but 
 it is the plain, hard truth, and nine out of ten mar- 
 ried men will, in their secret souls, admit it. I re- 
 peat it, we don't marry our own wives; and all the 
 lawyers, legislators, judges, jurists, statesmen, philo- 
 sophers, physiologists and phrenologists on earth can't 
 make us do it, or devise a way by which we might 
 do it, if we chose. And I believe we would choose, 
 for I have a good opinion of human nature. This is 
 a puzzle for the spirit-rappers a riddle which even 
 the Fourierites can not solve. Speculation, ratiocin- 
 ation, imagination, no mental faculty or process will 
 avail us here. I doubt if that " internal appercep- 
 tion at a depth within the penetralia of consciousness 
 to which Kant never descended," of which Cousin 
 boasts, will mend the matter. But the reason is very 
 plain to me. It was not intended for us to marry 
 our own wives ; " God's last best gift is reserved " unto 
 another higher life ; elsewise this earthly existence 
 would of itself be Heaven. 
 
234: MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 
 
 And now you know what I mean by "wife." Not 
 merely your wedded spouse and lawful mother of 
 your children, but that woman-soul, fashioned by 
 God himself as the one only partner and complement 
 of your soul; truly the "better half" of your inmost 
 self; with whom you are perfect man, without whom 
 you are but an unhappy segment, more or less dimly 
 conscious and complaining of your incompleteness. 
 You see I am a believer in the exploded theory of 
 " matches made in heaven." Yes, I am ; for I have 
 seen four sucli matches in my life, and I do not ex- 
 aggerate when I say that, for them, the rmllenium 
 has already come. But I have been lucky ; for such 
 matches are exceedingly rare, most people never 
 having seen them at all. 
 
 Not only do we not marry our own wives, but fre- 
 quently we never so much as see them, or, if we do 
 see them, don't know them. On the other hand, a 
 man may see his wife and know her to be his wife, 
 but his wife may not know him, may never know 
 him in this life ; vice versa, the wife may know her 
 husband and never be known by the husband, and so 
 on. I wish to record iny experience on this subject; 
 and if I do so in a somewhat frivolous style, it must 
 not be inferred that I am not in earnest ; the infer- 
 ence might be false--" many a true word is spoken 
 in jest." 
 
 It follows, or may follow, from what has been said, 
 that we are all married. Yes, that is my opinion. 
 Now, in the eye of the law and of society, I am a 
 bachelor, with every prospect of remaining a bach- 
 
MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 235 
 
 elor ; but in point of fact, and in the eye of reason, 
 I am a married man just as much of a married man 
 as Brigham Young is ; the only difference between 
 us being that his wives are visible, or to speak phil- 
 osophically, phenomenal, while my wife is not, ex- 
 cept, as before said, in the eye of reason particu- 
 larly my reason. I say again, and most emphatically, 
 I am a married man ; I say so because I know my 
 wife, that is, I know her name and have seen her 
 twice. I have never been introduced to her, never 
 spoke a word to her in the whole course of my life, 
 and never expect to. She doesn't know me from a 
 side of sole-leather, probably never heard of me ; and 
 if I were to go up to her and tell her she was rny 
 wife (which is the fact), would have me put in jail or 
 a mad-house. But, poor thing ! that's no fault of 
 hers (she being entirely ignorant of my theory, and 
 of the eye of reason also), and she is my wife, to the- 
 contrary notwithstanding. 
 
 The first time, which was the next to the last time, 
 I ever saw her was about three years ago three years 
 ago exactly, next February. It was in the town of 
 Plantationton a little, old, drowsy town situated on 
 the banks of a little muddy river, with a long, ugly 
 Indian name. The stage in which I was travelling at 
 the eventful time stopped in Plantationton, and the 
 stage-passengers dined there in a rusty old tavern r 
 with a big worm-eaten porch, and a gangrenous, 
 cracked bell. I got out of the stage, feeling very 
 cramped-up and dirty, and straightway betook my- 
 self to a tin basin (there were half a dozen more on 
 
236 MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 
 
 the old, hacked-up bench), full of clear, cold spring- 
 water, by the help of which and a piece of sticky 
 turpentine soap, I managed to make a very respect- 
 able ablution. My face washed, I applied it for a few 
 minutes to a long, greasy, ragged old linen towel, 
 that hung up on a roller fastened to a scabby, old 
 weather-boarding ; then I parted my hair with the 
 half of an old horn comb that was tied to a string, 
 and smoothed it with a little, old, wiry, worn-out hair- 
 brush that was tied to another string; and then I was 
 ready for dinner, which was not yet ready for me. 
 Pending dinner, I sat down in a split-bottomed chair 
 elevated my heels, leaned back, took out my knife 
 and commenced paring my nails. I had seen the 
 little old town frequently before, and didn't care to 
 see it again, especially on a miserable, gummy, cloudy, 
 damp, chilly day in February, and so confined my 
 attention for some time to my fingers, of which I am 
 rather proud. But, fortunately for me, I heard an 
 old fellow behind me say, "By dads ! she's beautiful ;" 
 and looking up, saw the young lady alluded to. I wish 
 to Heaven I had never looked down ! She was stand- 
 ing exactly opposite me, in the front door of a dried- 
 up wooden store ; her head was turned up the street, 
 as if she was looking for somebody, and her lit- 
 tle foot was patting the sill with the sauciest, 
 sweetest impatience imaginable. That young lady 
 was my wife ! I didn't know it then, but I know it 
 now. 
 
 She was beautiful bewi tellingly beautiful so 
 beautiful that for a long time I did not know I was 
 
MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 237 
 
 looking at her didn't know I was looking at any 
 tiling didn't know any thing. The joy of her 
 presence was flowing in one uninterrupted stream 
 through all the avenues of sense, and it was not un- 
 til my soul became full to the brim of her beauty 
 that I could say I saw at all. Whether she was 
 dressed in silk, barege^ delaine, or calico I could never 
 tell, and never cared; I remember only her little 
 bonnet of simple straw neat, trim, and vastly be- 
 coming, as the bonnets of pretty women always are. 
 She was young not more than eighteen rather 
 above the medium height; of round and perfect 
 figure ; her hair was golden, and her eyes were blue ; 
 her complexion pure as light itself, fresh as the dew, 
 and glowing as the dawn. She must have felt the 
 many eyes feeding on her cheek and brow, for she 
 turned presently, and how instantly the impatient 
 little foot disappeared, how archly modest the smile 
 that illumined her lightly-blushing face ! I could 
 read her character at a glance. She was warm, and 
 tender, and true ; good, wise, merry, healthy, happy, 
 sweet-tempered, willing, patient, loving, tidy, thrifty, 
 and sincere, and every thing a wife ought to be or 
 could be. Why didrft I know she was my wife ? 
 Why didn't she come over and tell me so ? Alas ! 
 we were both blind and she remains so still ! 
 
 There I sat, drinking my fill of beauty inhaling 
 bliss at every breath. How little did she dream of 
 what was going on in my soul ! How could she tell 
 that her radiant image was effacing all other images 
 from my heart, to be itself effaced for a time, but 
 
238 MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 
 
 only to reappear in the hallowing and charmful hues 
 of memory the one solitary and sufficing ideal of 
 my unblessed life ! She saw me gazing, at her, but 
 only as she had seen hundreds gaze before. 
 
 A primrose, 'mid the tavern's stir, 
 A yellow primrose was to her, 
 And it was nothing more. 
 
 I was only a sallow-faced young man, with a black 
 mustache and a deal of impudence. I didn't look 
 like her husband a bit ; but I was her husband for 
 all that I know I was. 
 
 Fair reader, let us here moralize a little. But no ; 
 I am not good at that, and, besides, I am too prolix 
 any way. Yet remember, beautiful maiden, and be 
 watchful of your looks ; for, all unknown to yourself, 
 you may be shaping for life, and perhaps for life be- 
 yond life, the destiny of some ill-looking biped 
 who glares at you from the opposite side of the 
 street ! 
 
 All the other stage-passengers, and all the tobacco- 
 spitting loungers about the tavern, were gazing at 
 her as well as myself; she knew it, too the little 
 rogue ! and was pleased, as she ought to have been. 
 She ceased to look for that somebody up the street, 
 who never came, and stole a sweet, bright glance 
 toward us, as if to say, " I can't help being pretty, 
 indeed I can't. I am glad you think me so, and you 
 may look as long as you please ; I sha'n't charge you 
 anything." 
 
 Bless her sweet little soul! Every man in that 
 
MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 239 
 
 porch ought to have bent his knee in homage to so 
 much beauty and goodness. 
 
 But the confounded dinner-bell rang, and the 
 beasts in broadcloth rushed to their food just as any 
 other beasts would have done. I am ashamed to 
 confess it, but a most unromantic sense of propriety 
 smote me the moment I heard that accursed bell. 
 " It is out of the question," said I to myself, " for 
 you to be staring that young lady out of countenance ; 
 get right up and go to your dinner. It is true, you 
 may never see so beautiful a face again, but then, 
 you know, your health is delicate, and it won't do to 
 neglect so important a meal as dinner. You have a 
 long and wearisome ride before you; besides, she 
 don't care anything for you, and even if she did, you 
 are in no condition to marry." 
 
 Thus did mere animal cravings prevail against the 
 sweet appeals of beauty ; aud thus (as the last clause 
 of my mental argumentation abundantly shows) did 
 my mind unconsciously refuse to entertain the possi- 
 bility of a rejection, and so assert the truth of the 
 statement I have made, namely, that she was my 
 wife. The world will call this vanity, but I call it 
 intuition or spontaneous unconscious apperception. 
 With great reluctance I rose as if to go; she saw 
 that all except myself had gone, but still stood in the 
 front door of that dried-up old store, patting the sill 
 once more with the tip of her tiny little slipper. 
 She was so good that she could not refuse to gladden 
 even one poor mortal with the^light of her blessed 
 ^countenance. It flashed across my mind that I 
 
24:0 MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 
 
 might save fifty cents by missing my dinner ; avarice 
 had come to the aid of beauty, and I sat down again. 
 But hunger (yes, miserable human that I am, it was 
 hunger) defeated them both. 
 
 Ah ! if I had only known then as much as I know 
 now, how differently I would have acted. I would 
 have dismissed the contemptible subject of dinner, 
 and, having summoned a waiter, would have ad- 
 dressed him thus: "Boy, do you see that old red 
 trunk in the boot of the stage yonder? Well, just- 
 take that trunk off ; I am so pleased with your lovely 
 village that I intend to stay here until I get married." 
 The young lady on the opposite side of the street 
 would have heard me; it would have produced a 
 deep impression on her (and first impressions, you 
 know, are everything) ; I would have remained in 
 my seat until the young lady left ; I would have 
 eaten my dinner in peace ; afterward I would have 
 donned my new doeskin breeches and my new black 
 coat; then, by hook or by crook, I would have pro- 
 cured an introduction to my wife; and after a while 
 I would have married her there's no doubt about it. 
 Although I was poor, her beauty and her love would 
 have made me rich ; my love for her would have 
 made me strong and able to work; by this time I 
 would have acquired a standing in society I would 
 have been happy. 
 
 But I sold my wife for a mess of pottage I went 
 in to dinner. When I reached the door of the 
 dining-room I hesitated, went back to the porch and 
 commenced gazing at my wife as before. She saw 
 
MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 241 
 
 me, and gave me a smile ; upon my honor she did. 
 It was the sweetest smile I ever received. I may 
 have valued smiles before, but it is certain I have 
 never valued one since. Whatever made me return 
 to the dining-room after receiving so great a favor 
 
 1 could never remember. It was so fated. I did 
 go back to the dining-room, harried through my 
 dinner, which had become cold and indigestible, and 
 hurried back to the porch. She had gone ! 
 
 The stage was waiting for me ; I jumped in, and it 
 rattled out of the little old town. We had not gone 
 many miles before the consequences of hasty eating 
 brought on a terrible attack of dyspepsia. I became 
 painfully aware that I had lost my dinner and my 
 fifty cents ; but I did not know I had lost my wife 
 
 2 forgot her ! I was returning, after a long absence, 
 to my native city, to enter upon a new and untried 
 profession ; and there were a thousand things to oc- 
 cupy my attention, to the exclusion, not only of wives, 
 but even of sweethearts. So I lost my wife and 
 didrft know it ! And so, I imagine, most of us lose 
 our wives. 
 
 About a year and a half afterwards ; that is, about 
 one year ago, having failed in business, as an aimless, 
 unmarried that is, phenomenally unmarried man 
 is very apt to do ; though it doesn't make much dif- 
 ference if such a man does fail, especially after he 
 has lost his wife having failed in business, I say,, 
 and having nothing to do, I returned to Plantationton r 
 not in the stage, but in the cars, the railroad having 
 been in the meantime completed. So completely 
 16 
 
242 MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 
 
 had my wife gone out of my mind, that I did not 
 once think of her when I sat down in the old tavern 
 porch and looked over at the dried-up little store, in 
 the door of which I had seen her patting her little 
 foot so prettily. I ordered a buggy and drove out 
 to my uncle's, about three miles from town, and spent 
 many pleasant weeks there during the hot summer 
 months. Being a young man of a marriageable age, 
 my relations very naturally offered to introduce rne to 
 the marriageable ladies of the neighborhood. I ex- 
 pressed my willingness. Which sort did I fancy 
 fair or dark, blonde or brunette ? Fair, by all means ; 
 who ever heard of a sallow man fancying a woman 
 of his own complexion? Oh! then, I ought to 
 have been here a year ago ; there was a young lady 
 living in town, a great friend of ours, perfectly beau- 
 tiful, and the very best girl in all the world, who 
 would have suited me exactly. Ah, who was she ? 
 Miss Jenny So-and-so. Jenny! the very name I 
 want my wife to have; describe her to me. They 
 described her. It was the identical young lady I 
 had seen standing in the old store. I became ex- 
 cited, and my pulse rose as I asked the question, 
 " Where is she now?" "Oh! she has been married 
 .a long time to Mr. Thingamy, and lives now in the 
 .city of Jacksburg, about a hundred miles from here." 
 My pulse sank, not because I knew she was my wife 
 (that is quite a recent discovery), and I had lost her, 
 but for the good and sufficient reason (which authors 
 have but lately had the honesty to avow) that every 
 bachelor feels himself defrauded when a pretty 
 
MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 24:3 
 
 woman marries. From the bottom of my heart I 
 wished Mr. Thingamy and the city of Jacksburg had 
 been at the bottom of the sea before they ever had 
 heard of the beautiful Miss Jenny. I felt indignant 
 she should have displayed so much haste to get mar- 
 ried; and I refused to be introduced to anybody in 
 the neighborhood of my uncle's. But whenever 
 -conversation (as it will often do in the best of fami- 
 lies) turned on the subject of young ladies, my uncle's 
 family were sure to bring their favorite Miss Jenny 
 forward as a paragon of beauty, sweetness, good- 
 breeding, good every thing. As often as this would 
 happen an unaccountable depression and feeling of 
 loneliness and bereavement would come over rne, and 
 last for hours. I can now account for it it was the 
 as yet inarticulate, unintelligible premonition a 
 species of spontaneous, unconscious apperception of 
 nature, protesting against, and at the same time pre- 
 paring me for, the full consciousness of the great 
 loss I had sustained in losing my wife. My uncle 
 had named a beautiful kitten after her; do you 
 wonder that I petted Jenny, and fed her and caressed 
 her every day I remained in the country ? I do not. 
 I am naturally fond of cats, and that, they say, is a 
 sign I am going to be an old bachelor. Well, what 
 if it is ? 
 
 When the summer was ended, I left my uncle's 
 and returned home, still ignorant that I had lost 
 my wife, and forgetting her as before. For nearly 
 a year I knocked about among the young ladies, 
 falling now a little in love, and then falling out 
 
MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 
 
 again ; charging myself with fickleness and want of 
 decision of character, and wondering greatly why I 
 could nut fall really in love with any body. Poor 
 fool! I didn't know that there was nobody left to 
 love ; I was married and didn't know it. Many a 
 man is in the same fix. 
 
 Things remained in this condition until about a 
 month ago, when, having failed a second time in 
 business, I concluded to spend another summer at 
 my uncle's. The cars dropped me at Plantationton ; 
 I went to the same old tavern, sat down in the same 
 old porch, in the same old split-bottomed chair, and 
 looked over at the same old store, and there, by 
 heaven ! stood my wife, in almost the very spot I 
 had first seen her. She was waiting for her husband, 
 who was following with the nurse and child. Her 
 husband was a dark-skinned fellow almost as dark 
 as myself, and not very unlike me. I have since ex- 
 pended some severe thought on this resemblance be- 
 tween me, the spiritual husband, and Thingamy, the 
 phenomenal husband of my wife, and it is perfectly 
 plain to my mind that, under the influence of the 
 same spontaneous, unconscious apperception, she was 
 trying her very best to marry me ; in fact, did marry 
 as near me as she possibly could. How that fact 
 has made me love her ! 
 
 The whole party had come down on the same train 
 with me, and I had not known it. Fate again. 
 They stood opposite me for some time, apparently 
 resting, and I had the second and last (I know it 
 will be the last) long, good look at her. She was 
 
MY WIFE, AND MY THEOKY ABOUT WIVES. 245 
 
 greatly changed. Xo longer the same buxom, 
 blooming girl I had seen years before, patting her 
 pretty foot against the sill, but a beautiful woman, 
 infinitely lovelier than the girl; pale, but beautiful 
 as the bright fulfilment of the perfect day is beauti- 
 ful more beautiful than the rosiest hues of the 
 uncertain dawn; thin, but beautiful, as thought and 
 loving cares beautify and make delicate mere matter ; 
 older looking, but possessed of that ineffable charm 
 which only the realization of woman's destiny can 
 impart to woman. I gazed on her, not with breath- 
 less admiration as at first, but with calm, intelligent 
 adoration. Positively, hers was and is the sweetest 
 human face in all this world. Nothing, absolutely 
 nothing was wanting from those pale and gentle 
 features ; they expressed all that a wife and mother 
 ought to be. And even as I gazed, there came into 
 my soul that strange pain of vacuity and depriva- 
 tion a numb and formless hurt which needed 
 only the light of reflection to assume the acuteness 
 of thought, the permanence of knowledge. 
 
 From that day I have known she was my wife; 
 how I knew it, and why I knew it, has been told 
 already, or if not told, never will be, for it never can 
 be. The knowledge or conviction, if you prefer to 
 call it so, grows on me ; it increases with the increas- 
 ing light of morning, is revealed in the splendor of 
 high noon, deepens in the pensive summer twilight, 
 and rises with the tutelary stars. The winds tell of 
 it to the melancholy trees ; the waters repeat it with 
 their many liquid voices. It is written in cloudy 
 
246 MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES. 
 
 hieroglyphs upon the distant sky; it is the shadow 
 thrown upon the plain of life by the sun of hope 
 which sinks behind my heart enlarging and to en- 
 large, darkening and to increase in darkness until 
 the night of death. It is but I am getting absurd. 
 
 Shall I remain a bachelor? dwindle down and 
 shrivel up into an old bachelor ? Never ! Since I 
 cannot marry my own wife, I'll marry the wife of 
 somebody else ; and if I could only find the wife of 
 the man who married my wife, I'd mar^y her in 
 spite of fate. And if I could only ride about in the 
 cars with a plenty of nurses and children, and Thin- 
 gamy could see me and know my theory, I should 
 be perfectly satisfied. 
 
 Dear reader, take warning by me; study my 
 theory ; it was written for you, and for the whole 
 human race. Try to cultivate your spontaneous, 
 unconscious apperception. And if ever you sit down 
 in an old tavern porch and see a beautiful young 
 lady on the opposite side of the street, don't wait 
 for dinner, but go right over and demand her in 
 marriage. You may be mistaken ; she may not be 
 your wife ; she may be already married ; but no 
 matter, it is your duty to make the effort. If you 
 don't, you'll regret it ; you will find yourself in my 
 predicament. You may see me any day struggling 
 through the weeds of my uncle's wheat field, look- 
 ing and feeling unutterably mean. No wonder ; I 
 have lost my wife ! 
 
FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 
 
 A BEECH grows askant the Appomattox that 
 _jLJL_ curves around the foot of Uncle Jim's plan- 
 tation. The stream, generally muddy, is clear now 
 as a maiden's eye. Deep under the bushy banks, it 
 flows with a still surface, but a strong current, a 
 moving mirror, that reflects the fair October skies, 
 and every limb and leaf of the over-hanging trees in 
 beauty not their own, for, under the perfectly out- 
 lined forms of branch and spray, drooping vines and 
 fluttering leaves, lie the mysterious, immeasurable 
 depths of heaven. 'Tis a strange feeling that comes 
 over a man as he looks down, down, down into those 
 depths, so fathomless, so wondrous lovely, and yet 
 so near at hand the cunning trick of light reflected 
 from calm water. You come back with a start when 
 you remember how simple it all is. 
 
 The beech I spoke of is of great age. Poor old 
 soul ! he has seen his best days ; he is dying now.' 
 As he bends over the water, with his lean uplifted 
 arms stretched out, he reminds me of an old fellow 
 putting on an overcoat that is too tight across the 
 shoulders for him. I fancy I can hear the big, pite- 
 ous splash he will make when he topples over into 
 the river, and can see his great corpse floating along, 
 the naked limbs thrust up appealingly, helplessly, 
 from his watery grave, till the negroes come and 
 
248 FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 
 
 catch him, and cut him up with brutal axes, and 
 burn him in their quarters 'way into the long winter 
 nights. But, thank goodness ! the old fellow is 
 tough and gristly ; he will hang on the bank many 
 and manjr a day yet, and I hope to catch abundance 
 of flat-back from under his sheltering boughs before 
 he takes his final plunge. 
 
 The best thing about the old beech is this : lean- 
 ing over so far from the bank, the better to look at 
 himself, no doubt, (he must have been vain of his 
 personal appearance in youth, and I don't wonder at 
 it, nor blame him a bit), leaning over in this way, he 
 has been compelled to send out a tremendous growth 
 of roots to hold on by. All gnarled, twisted, and 
 interlaced, these roots form as nice a rustic arm chair 
 as heart could wish the best place to fish you ever 
 saw r . You can sit down, lean back, rest your feet, 
 do anything you please. Then the seat is so per- 
 fectly clean. And it is nicely shaded, too. With 
 your pole fixed in a crevice right at your hand, you 
 can smoke or read, prepared in a moment, when a 
 mullet nibbles to take him. 
 
 .As Uncle Jim's plantation was once a part of the 
 "Bizarre Estate," this old beech has a historical 
 value. I look upon his roots with great respect. 
 Jack, and Dick, and Judy, and Nancy Kandolph 
 have reposed their aristocratic bones on these same 
 roots often and often. But I look upon these roots 
 with awe. In the far past, a mightier race than the 
 Randolphs was here. Indians and Randolphs alike 
 are gone ; we shall see them no more. In fact, I 
 
FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 249 
 
 never saw them at all ; but I am pleased that mine 
 -eyes have dwelt their humble glances on those vene- 
 rated roots, so honored in the days of yore. 
 
 It is early in the morning when " me and Billy 
 Ivvins" and the other fellows set forth in the direc- 
 tion of the old beech. The air is crisp and cool. 
 One of the fellows has a double-barreled gun. The 
 morn, like an eastern queen, is sumptuously clad in 
 blue and gold; the sheen of her robes is dazzling 
 sun-light, and she comes from her tent of glistening, 
 silken, celestial warp, beaming with tender smiles. 
 Billy Ivvins totes six slender pine poles on his left 
 shoulder, and a cymling full of the best and biggest 
 fishing worms in his right hand. The woods, painted 
 in all the gorgeous dyes of autumn, repose on the 
 distant hills, their tops trembling in the fresh breeze. 
 One of the party carries a cold ash-cake to bait the 
 hole with. The day is beautiful exceedingly. The 
 veil of dusky silver, the haze of Indian summer, is 
 rent in twain, and we see nature face to face, in the 
 unclouded glory of her beauty 
 
 " Sweet day ! so calm, so cool, so bright, 
 . The bridal of the earth and sky." 
 
 I've got two splendid Woodall pipes, plenty of 
 first-rate smoking tobacco, and a box of German 
 matches in my pocket. It is a day of days for flat- 
 back, provided the moon is right. Flatback won't 
 bite on the wane of the moon ; nothing but nigger- 
 knockers bite then nigger-knockers and eels. 
 
 However, we are going to try, moon or no moon. 
 .Billy Ivvins swears that the planetary bodies have 
 
250 FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 
 
 nothing to do with fish its all confounded supersti- 
 tion. 
 
 Arrived at the beech, the lines are quickly un- 
 wrapped from the poles, the hooks (Sutherland's best) 
 are baited with two long worms each, a few crumbs 
 of bread are cast in to keep the roach and other lit- 
 tle fish busy ; out go the sinkers as far to the middle 
 of the stream as the poles will allow, the corks after 
 wabbling for a little while settle down and set jauntily 
 on the water ; the poles are fastened between the 
 roots, and the irrepressible piscatorial conflict be- 
 gins. Billy Ivvins leans against the trunk of the 
 old beech ; next him is Billy Y., then comes Dr. X., 
 the best fisherman of the party, and, lastly, myself, 
 perched far out on a projecting root. They tell me 
 the root is rotten, and that I will fall into the water ; 
 but' I know my weight better. The fish don't bite 
 fast. I predict that we are going to have bad luck.. 
 Billy Y. does the same thing. Billy Ivvins swears 
 that we are " 'boun to take 'em." Dr. X. sits per- 
 fectly silent. We all watch our corks : no move- 
 ment. A desultory talk springs up, mainly about 
 the Harper's Ferry affair. Billy Ivvins swears that 
 an attempt will be made to rescue " old Brown." 
 " He is of the opinion that the country is full of ab- 
 olitionists ; says that these oil-cloth and table-cloth 
 men that tramp about the State are nothing but 
 emissaries of the underground they ought all to be 
 hung. And all these northern preachers, professors, 
 and school-teachers, that we have amongst us, ought 
 to be made to swear an oath of allegiance to Vir- 
 
FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 251 
 
 ginia, or else be immediately killed. He thinks- 
 " Gizzard " the very man for the present crisis. Ding 
 'em ! he'll swing 'em. Gizzard's good grit as ever 
 fluttered. If Brown is acquitted, he (Billy I.) will 
 be one of twelve men to follow him and shoot him 
 on sight, wherever found. Brown ought to be hung, 
 drawn and quartered, his head stuck over the peni- 
 tentiary, and the rest of him suspended in trees in 
 various parts of the State, a terror to all who be- 
 hold. 
 
 "The militia ought to be thoroughly organized. 
 He wondered why old Gizzard had not done this be- 
 fore. Fine every man ten dollars who don't attend 
 muster," etc., etc. 
 
 Dr. X. thinks he has a nibble, and begs Billy to 
 stop talking, which he does reluctantly. 
 
 We all admire the glorious weather, the lovely 
 day, the sweet seclusion by the river-side, under the 
 beechen boughs, with the fresh wind pouring its in- 
 visible flood over our heads as we sit under the bank,, 
 and shaking down a Danse shower of golden leaves 
 from the trees. 
 
 There is a plenty to interest and charm us beside 
 the world of inanimate nature around us. 
 
 The tree tops are full of robins eating grapes. 
 How they chirp, and flutter, and shriek, and dash 
 about ! as if half afraid and altogether delighted,, 
 like a parcel of school-girls bathing in a shallow 
 creek. Crows by the hundred wing their level flight 
 over the field back of ns, cawing as they go. They 
 are preparing to hold a caucus in the pines over there. 
 
252 FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 
 
 Here comes a gust of blackbirds. They wheel im- 
 petuously, and alight in an instant, as if drilled, high 
 on the limbs of a dead birch-tree right opposite us, 
 on the other side of the river. There they are, all 
 in a lump, the black rascals, looking at us as uncon- 
 cernedly as you please. It is as much as we can do to 
 keep Billy Y. from banging away at them. But it 
 will never do to scare the fish. Whew ! robins and 
 blackbirds go off in a tumultuous cloud. 
 
 What's the matter now ? Alia ! No wonder you 
 new so quickly, my little fellows. There's a hawk, 
 a big grey one, comes swooping on noiseless wings 
 out of the sky. By jingo! he's lit not forty feet 
 from us. Shuh ! he's gone, without a sound, before 
 Billy Y. can get to his gun. " Hallo ! hallo ! what's 
 that ?" " Otter." " Otter the devil it's a mus'rat. 
 No, 'taint it's a duck." " 'Taint a duck either, it's a 
 didapper." " There he is ; there he is ; I saw him 
 when he rose." Billy Y. is after him ; but he might 
 as well try to shoot a witch without a silver bullet. 
 We hear his gun go off, and he comes back presently 
 bringing a field-lark in his hand, the yellow breast 
 all rumpled, and the brown wings hanging limp and 
 lifeless. 
 
 Meantime Dr. X. has caught one or two fish 
 small ones whitesides. Billy Ivvins, in great 
 wrath, has pulled out a hideous nigger-knocker, and 
 I have had a glorious nibble. Billy Y. is in bad 
 luck ; not a thing has touched his " stopper ;" he is 
 restless, and keeps moving about, to the great an- 
 noyance of that exemplary fisherman Dr. X., a 
 
FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 253 
 
 model of quietness and taciturnity. Billy I wins 
 swears that Billy Y. has got the " evil hand," and 
 that's the reason the fish won't bite at any thing he 
 has touched. Whereupon I make a pun, and say 
 that Billy Y.'s evil hand has given his pole the pole- 
 evil. Billy I wins swears he will kill me for a fool. 
 We hear a squirrel barking down the river, and 
 the "evil hand" goes after him, and brings him. 
 The fish are beginning to bite pretty well one or 
 two medium-sized flat-back have been landed by Dr. 
 X. Again there is silence, interrupted only by the 
 restless and unlucky Billy Y., and two little negro 
 girls who are picking peas in the cornfield across the 
 river. The corn has been topped, and stripped of 
 its broad fodder blades, each stalk holds out a heavy 
 yellow pouch, giving promise of endless pone for the 
 coming year. A slight rustle is heard in the weeds 
 over the way. Perhaps the partridges are there a 
 glorious flock, not less than a hundred have grown 
 up in Uncle Jim's plantation during the summer, 
 and have come down to spend the fall in the low- 
 grounds. But while we look, a small inquisitive 
 head, with a Roman crest, and an eye half hidden 
 in a white circlet, peers out of the weeds; and 
 presently a sinuous, graceful neck is lifted high, 
 disclosing a breast cuirassed in blue, burnished steel ; 
 it is a lordly peacock, with his mate, anxiously in- 
 quiring the meaning of those strange forms seated 
 on the old root over against him. And now a shadow 
 with expanded wings is seen in the limpid depths 
 of the stream. We look up, and lo ! far, far aloft in 
 
254: FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 
 
 bright October heavens there floats, on stretched 
 unmoving pinions, a buzzard that hungry black re- 
 publican democrat of the skies surveying the wide 
 territory below him, intent on practical squatter 
 .sovereignty, and seeking where he may intervene to 
 protect the carcass of a deceased cow or mule. 
 Several of them, belonging to Uncle Jim, having 
 paid the forfeit of too deep affection for poisonous 
 -mushrooms, now lie stark and cold in the pines be- 
 yond the tobacco-house. Billy Y. proposes "un- 
 friendly legislation " in the shape of three fingers of 
 shot; but as it is important to preserve the harmony 
 of the party (the fishing party), Senator Douglas I 
 beg pardon, I should have said the buzzard, is per- 
 mitted to go on- his way unmolested. 
 
 Our lines are continually disturbed by. dead leaves. 
 They appear to love to hang around the corks, like 
 a parcel of red-nosed topers round a bottle. As 
 they come sailing down the river, myriads in num- 
 ber, and of all the hues of the rainbow, one can't 
 help thinking that somebody has split a quilting up 
 the stream, and is naturally anxious to see the girls, 
 .and find out how the accident occurred. I'll bet 
 there are some boys up there, and that the quilting 
 frame, baskets of scraps, etc., got upset while a 
 tremendous romping was going on. 
 
 "Hush!" says Dr. X. (Nobody has said a word.) 
 "I've got a bite;" he goes on, calmly; "that's a flat- 
 back. I know by the way he bites, and I shall cer- 
 tainly catch him." We look the cork gives scarcely 
 .a sign, and the next moment out comes a dripping 
 
FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 255 
 
 ingot of silver, glistening brightly in the sun. The 
 ingot proves to be a goodly flat-back, and is soon 
 thrown high and dry on the bank. Billy Ivvins 
 swears that the pint of his hook is out, and that's 
 the reason the fish haven't bit at him this half hour. 
 He pulls at length, and up comes a tolerable sized 
 flat-back, who had been quietly sucking all the time. 
 Now I have a decided nibble. " It's nothing but a 
 roach," says Billy. "Give him plenty of time," 
 says the Doctor. So I w^ait till I can wait no longer, 
 and then jerk: and by Jove! its a splendid mullet. 
 The fish are beginning to bite in earnest ; everybody 
 catches them except Billy with the "evil hand;" 
 not even a nigger-knocker will bite at him. And 
 the fish get bigger and bigger, pull stronger and 
 stronger. Soon the Doctor hangs a whaler a flat- 
 back sixteen inches long, how he pulls ! How he 
 bends the pole! "Let him play, let him play!" is 
 the cry, and we all draw out our lines to give him 
 room. At last he is wearied out; the Doctor draws 
 him to the surface, and he lies fully exposed to view, 
 a prodigious fellow. He has given up entirely and 
 struggles no more. Just at this crisis, the hook slips 
 out of his side where it had accidentally caught, and 
 the noble fish is lost. But flat -back rnagnus don't 
 know he is loose. There he lies, resigned to his fate. 
 A second more, he wriggles his tail and darts out of 
 sight under the water. There is a general outcry of 
 'disappointment and vexation. But all we have to 
 do is to make up for lost time ; so we throw in again, 
 and it is not long before we are rewarded for our 
 
256 FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 
 
 pains. The fish we are catching now are all of good 
 size, twelve or fourteen inches long, and upon my 
 word they do pull gallantly. It is equal almost to 
 trouting. Billy Ivvins swears that the flat-back in 
 this hole are superior to any other in the river 
 they are of pure Castilian blood, game and mettle- 
 some as a wild horse when he is first lassoed. 
 
 "Is that the cars?" Yes, it is the train from 
 Lynchburg. It is half -past one o'clock high time 
 for dinner. And while the roaring of the train is 
 still in our ears, here comes Aunt Lockey from the 
 house, with a heavy basket, little Ada staggering be- 
 hind her under the weight of a big bucket of fresh 
 spring water. An old plank makes a good dinner 
 table ; the plates and dishes, with excellent fried ham, 
 chicken that needs only a little salt, sweet potatoes, 
 bread and sweet pickles, make up the repast, which 
 we devour with hearty relish, watching our corks all 
 the time. But the fish are too well-bred to interrupt 
 gentlemen while they are dining. There's not a sin- 
 gle bite until we are through with onr meal and have 
 lighted our pipes. Even then the fish trouble us 
 very little. Doubtless they are taking a siesta, for 
 it is a well-known fact that fish never bite well from 
 after dinner until an hour or two before sunset. We 
 wait patiently. The slant sunbeams creep around the 
 little tree to our left, and fall upon the water above 
 the pool. 
 
 The biting commences again, but I am chilled and 
 go up the bank to walk about and warm myself. As 
 the fish are tossed up, I can but admire them. The 
 
FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 257 
 
 " flat-back," you know, is called " sucker " in some 
 parts of the country, and, with its broad, mottled, 
 green back, its large fins and black eyes, makes as 
 pretty a fish as any that swim in our waters. It is 
 easily caught, if you have patience. The mullet is 
 a beautiful fish. Its glistening sides of silver mail 
 and its broad, purple fins, are a delight to look at. 
 All fish are beautiful, on account of their clean, 
 healthy look; but these we are catching seem pecu- 
 liarly so. What unpolluted blood flows in their 
 veins ! how free they are from the aches, the ills, the 
 slow, consuming diseases of human kind ! They owe 
 no money, buy no clothes, pay nothing for board, 
 rent no houses, are never taxed, never have any ac- 
 counts at the dry-goods stores, are never troubled 
 about bonnets for their wives, or schooling for their 
 children, own no land and no negroes, care nothing 
 about old Brown, are not at all excited about the 
 election in 1860, and don't have to get up, of a cold 
 winter's morning, and wash their faces in a tin pan. 
 It is a sin and a shame to drag them out of their 
 homes into this dirty upper world. How soon their 
 glory departs, their lustre fades ! Their silver coats 
 are soon begrimed with dust, and even their round, 
 undefended eyes, are filled with it. Pity, pity, they 
 haven't got eye-lids. I declare it hurts me to see 
 them flapping vainly to get back into the water, as 
 they lie gasping and panting on the bank. And how 
 sorrowful their poor mouths look did you ever no- 
 tice them? 
 
 Another name for the nigger-knocker is hog-fish,, 
 17 
 
258 FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 
 
 and it is by far the ugliest tenant of the Virginia 
 waters. Cat-fish are sweet and pretty compared to 
 nigger-knockers. They have a mean poisonous look. 
 Their heads are ragged and hideous beyond expres- 
 sion, reminding me of the stump of a thumb after 
 the end has been blown off by a pistol, more than 
 any thing else I can think of. 
 
 But now the shades are deepening fast ; it is get- 
 ting really cold; the water, with its dark reflections, 
 looks like a wondrous picture in Indian ink. We 
 hear the dull tinkle of the bells, as the cows pace 
 slowly to the " cuppen." Still, the fish bite. We 
 can scarcely see our corks, but we are loath to leave. 
 Billy Ivvins hangs a monster flat-back ; he pulls like 
 mad ; as he rushes to and fro under the water, the 
 pole bends like a bow, and fairly cracks under his 
 struggles ; but Billy Ivvins knows how to manage 
 him. At last he is completely exhausted, and 
 struggles no more. Cautiously, slowly, Billy draws 
 him up ; he is fairly out of the water, a glorious 
 fellow, eighteen inches long at the very least, and 
 hangs as still as death. But ere his tail is six inches 
 from the water, the treacherous snood snaps, down 
 he drops, and is gone for ever. You just ought to 
 have heard Billy Ivvins swear. I have heard many 
 men curse, such as congressmen, hackdrivers, and 
 gamblers, but none of them ever equalled Billy 
 Ivvins on this occasion 
 
 "No ancient devil, 
 
 Plunged to the chin, when burning hot, 
 Into a holy water pot ; 
 
FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 259 
 
 Could so blaspheme, or fire a volley 
 Of oaths so dire and melancholy," 
 
 as Billy I wins fired when that snood snapped and 
 that flat-back fell back into the Appomattox. 
 
 But now we are compelled to leave. "We fix up 
 our tackle in haste, and put out at high speed, one of 
 the party carrying the mighty string of flat-back, 
 mullet, and nigger-knockers; the others taking 
 charge of the guns, etc. A little way down the river 
 bank, we discover what appears to be a bundle of 
 fodder set np on the end to scare the fish away from 
 three or four poles that hang over the water. It 
 proves to be Uncle Jim, in a battered wool hat and 
 a sun-cured old overcoat, with his feet wrapped up in 
 ft blanket to keep them warm. The old fellow has 
 displayed his skill by catching nearly as many fish 
 as all of us boys together. Adding his fish to our 
 string, we set forth again at a topping pace, to start 
 the circulation, which has become stagnant by long 
 sitting on the beech root. Besides, it is very cold. 
 
 By the time we reach a snug little bachelor estab- 
 lishment, the stars are sparkling in the skies, and we 
 are warm as toasts from the rapid two mile walk. 
 Supper is soon served. We partake of it sparingly 
 and go to Farmville to hear old Joe Sweeny. We 
 find that the old fellow has let down; but he is 
 welcome to our small change for the sake of what he 
 used to be when he was young and in his prime. 
 
 After the concert is over we repair to the Ran- 
 dolph House, take a good big drink of excellent Bum- 
 gardner a whiskey that is said to have power almost 
 
260 FISHING IN THE APPOMATTOX. 
 
 to raise the dead. We pay our respects to Messrs. 
 Pry or and Goode (it is the night before election day), 
 and find both of them pretty well used up, and accord- 
 ingly leave them to their much needed rest. We re- 
 turn to the bachelor establishment, and about eleven 
 o'clock sit down to a magnificent flat-back supper; 
 and we enjoy it as only Appornatox flat-back fisher- 
 men can enjoy it. At the close of his tenth cup of 
 coffee, Billy Ivvins looks over a lofty pile of flat-back 
 bones, and gets very sick. He swears that flat-back 
 is the greatest eating in the world. He wishes he 
 may be teetotally dad-blasted into everlasting dad- 
 blamenation if they ain't superior even to shadses. 
 The skulls of flat-back parched would make splendid 
 coffee. Flat-back is the meat of all meats for married 
 men to eat. He intended to get him a large wagon 
 and fill it with flat-back, and get married and start in 
 the morning for Texas, etc., etc. 
 
 And so ended the great "ketchin' of flat-back,, 
 mullet and nigger-knockers, in the Appomattox." 
 
A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS. 
 
 O!N" my return to Lynchburg, all the doctors with- 
 out exception Payne, Williams, Patterson, 
 Gilmer, Hobson, Morris, Langhorne, the Lathams, 
 father and son, the elder and the younger Owen, etc., 
 etc. welcomed and encouraged me. But I was much 
 too sick to practice, wandered about two or three years 
 in search of health, and finally settled down to 
 journalism as my vocation. In '59, when I came to 
 Richmond to live, it was Dr. C. Bell Gibson who 
 told me I would always find a plate waiting for me 
 at his table ; and it was Arthur Peticolas, whom I had 
 known intimately in Lynchburg, who was a constant 
 visitor to my room at night, and with whom I gladly 
 renewed the discussions upon art and poetry which 
 had been begun years before. Though no longer a 
 member of the profession, I received from all the 
 Richmond physicians with whom I became ac- 
 quainted much courtesy and kindness, and in my 
 sicknesses from time to time, had occasion to call upon 
 first one and then another of them for advice and 
 assistance, which they promptly rendered, and for 
 which I am their debtor to this day. 
 
 But I must not forget the country doctors. Among 
 them I remember with special gratitude and affec- 
 tion, Dr. James Dillon of Prince Edward, Dr. 
 Gordon of Tappahannock, Dr. Cochran of Middle- 
 
262 A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS. 
 
 burg, and Dr. Edmond Taliaferro of Orange. If I 
 were a novelist hunting for types of a Virginia 
 country doctor, I could not go amiss among the 
 gentlemen just named. What worth, what modesty,, 
 what labor, ill-paid arid often unpaid, what bravery 
 and what fidelity to high trusts is theirs ! I honor 
 them and their kind with an honor beyond words. 
 The tall form, the ruddy face, the thin grey locks 
 of Dr. Dillon, how familiar and how welcome they 
 are, and have been for ever so many years, to the 
 whole country-side near Earmville. I was with 
 "Dr. Jim" in his quaint old house, "Sandy Ford,'' 
 the scene of boundless hospitality during the days of 
 the Eandolphs, on one of those terrific nights in the 
 winter of 55-'6. The water froze in the pail on 
 the hearth beside the roaring wood fire, that was 
 kept up all night long. It was t,oo cold to sleep in 
 any comfort, although we were close together in a 
 bed piled with blankets. Again and again the doc- 
 tor arose and went to the fire to put on more wood 
 and warm his back, and had I not been a much 
 younger man, and ashamed, I too would have gotten 
 up to warm my own back. The doctor had been an 
 invalid for weeks, but had he been well would have 
 responded to any call made upon him, if indeed any 
 one could have ventured to go for medical assistance 
 through such a frightful storm. Blessings on your 
 frosty pow, Dr. Jim, and long may you live to jog 
 through sunshine and storm along the woodland 
 roads of Prince Edward, gladdening many hearts by 
 your coming. 
 
A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS. 263 
 
 Tossing from side to side of my bed in an agony 
 of unrest, the thick saliva pouring into my mouth 
 faster than I could expel it, and almost strangling 
 me (it was a second attack of parotitis) Dr. Gordon 
 came to me, and with half a grain of morphine soon 
 transported me into the heaven of perfect repose. 
 What 'a relief it was, and how my heart went out to 
 him in thankfulness ! On many other occasions has 
 the Dr. administered to my ailments, and much 
 cause have I to be grateful to him. His quiet gentle 
 manner as he enters the sick room, his habit of cross- 
 ing his legs, twisting his pen-knife, and taking his 
 time for a friendly talk with you after the pill or 
 powder has been given what a contrast to the hur- 
 ried visit and hasty prescription of the fashionable 
 city physician ! When he is called away, no man in 
 all Essex will be more kindly remembered than Dr. 
 Thomas Gordon of Tappahannock. He still lives, 
 and, thank heaven, promises to live many a long year. 
 
 One must be a bachelor of five and thirty, and 
 often sick in his solitary room, to appreciate fully the 
 comfort, and in fact the pleasure, of being sick as a 
 married man. Many pleasant sicknesses have I had 
 since my marriage, but the happiest of them all was 
 one of the longest of them all a six weeks attack of 
 catarrh at Lichtield, in Orange county. During the 
 paroxysms of coughing I suffered a good deal ; at 
 other times I was comparatively free of pain, and able 
 to read and scribble at will. My good wife brought 
 me my meals to a nice little up-stairs room, warmed 
 by a cosy wood fire. Without, all was cold and cheer- 
 
264: A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS. 
 
 less ; . within, all was sweet quietude and peace. The 
 world with its sinfulness and its cares was far removed 
 from me. I wanted never to go back to it again, and 
 would fain have been an invalid all my days rather 
 than encounter the temptations and troubles of life 
 again. I look back upon that sickness as a glimpse, 
 all too brief, of heaven. Dr. Edmond Taliaferro at- 
 tended me. His visits were not numerous, but enough 
 to impress indelibly upon my memory his quick 
 bright eye, his perfect healthfulness (" sound as a nut " 
 is truer of him than of any man I ever knew), and 
 his excellence as a man and a physician. How much 
 good that admirable little man has done, and how 
 poorly paid he has often been, there is no telling. 
 From the bed in which I now lie I send him greet- 
 ing, God-speed and a thousand kind wishes. 
 
 And what shall I say about that dear old doctor 
 whose picture in my photograph album I looked at 
 but yesterday, recalling the while the sad, happy mem- 
 ories of Middleburg ? Hale and hearty, the picture of 
 strength, able to buffet all the mountain storms that 
 come, his joyous laugh comes to me over the years 
 that have lapsed since we parted, and I can see him 
 plainly in his front porch, with his grandchildren 
 playing around him. He and his wife were with 
 us that night when God called away the little boy 
 who was the delight, the splendor and the hope of 
 our lives, and he was with us that bright July morn- 
 ing when God sent us another son, " the sweetest boy 
 in the world," as I called him in his babyhood, and 
 often call him now, albeit he is six years old and 
 
A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS. 265 
 
 over. This pulse in my wrist must be beating very 
 slowly when I cease to remember with admiration 
 and affection " Uncle- William " and " Aunt Kate." 
 Heaven send them a sweet sunset before the cloud- 
 less morning that awaits them hereafter. 
 
 Ah ! Doctor, I'll tell you what I would like. I 
 would like to present you with a golden backgam- 
 mon box and a set of diamond men, and allow you to 
 beat me one just one time in your life. It would 
 make you so happy. 
 
 In "Abraham Page " or " What I know about Ben 
 Eccles," I forget which, there is the finest tribute to 
 the country doctor that I have seen in any language. 
 But how is it that the theme never awakened the 
 muse of Goldsmith or Shenstone or the pencil of a 
 genre artist of the first order. The rusty long-tailed 
 overcoat tucked well under the legs, the tall napless 
 Iiat drawn down over the eyes, the ears protected by 
 a comfort of fiery red from cold, the beard white 
 with snow or sleet, the compressed lips, the yellow 
 leggings tied with green list, the thick yarn socks, 
 knitted by some grateful hand, covering the boots, 
 the gray saddle-blanket peeping out from under the 
 sheep skin covered saddle, the black, medical sad- 
 dle-bags, slick with long using, the faithful horse 
 plodding through frozen mire or plashing through 
 the puddles and brooks here are the elements for 
 a dark winter day but better still, these same 
 figures of horse and rider dimly descried through 
 the thick darkness of the winter's night, when the 
 fierce icy gusts are pouring through the mountain 
 
A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS . 
 
 passes, bending the naked trees by the road side, and 
 almost beating down the gray -haired rider, who must 
 trust to his sure-footed steed ; for who can see the 
 way on such a night in the midst of such a storm ? 
 And then the entrance of the doctor into the sick 
 chamber lighted up by the log fire, the sick woman 
 in the old-fashioned bed with valence and teaster 
 turning her hollow eyes to him with an ineffable 
 look of gladness and of hope. 
 
 What must be the thought of the good old doctor 
 as he passes in through the tempest and the horror 
 of thick darkness, often unattended and alone, oftener 
 still knowing that he can never be paid even a pit- 
 tance for all he is braving and enduring! Memories 
 of his student-life come to him, and of his early 
 triumphs and failures in practice, of his first mar- 
 ried days, of his own sick child left at home, and of 
 the cozy chamber where his wife aw r aits his uncer- 
 tain coming. Despite the rushing blast and the 
 roaring; mountain torrent he is fording, there come 
 
 O O ' 
 
 to him the cries of infants he has ushered into this- 
 world of pain, the last long suspiration and the wide 
 ghastly yawn of the dying, the shrieks of bereaved, 
 women, and the suppressed tumultuous sob of stricken, 
 men these come to him as he courageously breasts 
 biting wind and freezing rain to reach his patient. 
 In the cold gray dawn, his mission ended and the 
 sufferer relieved, he sallies forth. The winds are 
 still, the wide expanse of snow, unbroken yet by hoof 
 or foot, stretches over the miles, no longer long, that 
 lie between him and his home. As he beats onward. 
 
A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS. 26T 
 
 the first smoke rises from the peaceful homesteads,, 
 and he hurries along to get his bright welcome and 
 his wife's kiss, to snatch a breakfast and again to 
 mount his horse and plod his daily round through 
 snow and slush. And this is life to the country doc- 
 tor and his fellows. 
 
 Brave hearts, noble gentlemen, benefactors seldom 
 fully requited, in my summer trips away from the 
 city I never pass one of you without an inward bow- 
 ing of the head in reverence and the uttering of a 
 silent benediction upon you. Ye are the salt of the 
 earth, and your reward is assured in the bright here- 
 after. 
 
 Of late years our physician has been a sort of 
 Quinbus Flestrin, or man-mountain, who has done 
 so much for me and mine that it would be a relief to 
 me to abuse him violently. It is not in the nature 
 of a weakling like myself to look with complacency 
 upon any man who is heaped up and running over 
 with health. The Egyptians wrapped their dead in 
 endless windings of cloth, but nature has bandaged 
 Dr. Coleman with such great ropes and coils of 
 bodily well-being that he may be regarded as a real 
 mummy of health. Disease might feel for his vitals 
 for a century to no purpose, and I should think that 
 Death himself, after leveling his spear at him, would 
 take a second look, and saying, "It's no use; that 
 fellow is too thickly health-plated," pass on to the 
 other side. Twice a day for many long months have- 
 I seen that strong Roman head enter my doorway y 
 and once a day for weeks has he, on other occasions,. 
 
268 A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS. 
 
 visited me or my children. His ponderous tread and 
 his portentous door-slam are familiar to us all. I 
 should like to praise his skill, to tell about his art of 
 winning the love of women and children, and the 
 charm of his strong presence in the sick room, but 
 may not trust myself. He has just delivered me 
 from the pangs of diphtheria, and I might overdo 
 the thing. Fain would I hope that I have done 
 with him for a good long while at least ; but I suspect 
 that it will be another case of Michael and the dragon 
 contending for the body of Moses, and that, after a 
 sufficient number of brilliant victories, the dragon 
 will at last get the better of Michael Coleman.* 
 
 City physicians undergo less hardships and fatigue, 
 but are subject oftentimes to a heavier weight of re- 
 sponsibility, than most of their country brethren. 
 True, they have more and better appliances, and can 
 generally call in consultation when needed more 
 ability than the country doctor has at command ; but 
 endemics and epidemics sweep over the cities more 
 often than the country, the ghastlier forms of schirrus 
 and fungus are more prevalent there, and men of 
 the greatest distinction, flocking to the cities, have 
 more frequently to be treated. Moreover, the city 
 physician is much more critically and jealously 
 watched than his country brother. On the other 
 
 9 Alas ! the patient and the physician were but a short 
 time parted. Dr. Coleman was himself declining when he 
 ministered to the sufferer in his final illness, and three months 
 after the last sad scene of Dr. Bagby's life, he too was taken, 
 .and left a city in tears. 
 
A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS. 269 
 
 hand, the latter has too often to rely wholly on him- 
 self in cases of the greatest emergency, as in aceouch- 
 ments and capital cases of surgery. But I will not 
 pretend to strike the balance between them. God 
 knows that both classes have a hard enough time. 
 For nothing in this world would I undertake the 
 labor or responsibility of either of them. Fact is, 
 I couldn't; it is not in me, or anywhere about 
 me. 
 
 To country and to city doctors I owe more than I 
 can ever repay. I think that in this world it happens 
 not seldom that they who would be princes in gen- 
 erosity, and give and give forever, are not only de- 
 barred from giving, but are doomed forever to re- 
 ceive ; and I believe that in the great book of the 
 recording angel there are pages upon pages filled 
 with the credits of gratitude which found no voice 
 for very shame of mere words of requital, and be- 
 cause the fitting deed could not go hand in hand with 
 the warm will welling up from a profoundly thank- 
 ful heart. 
 
 Ah ! gentlemen, had I my way there would not be 
 wanting some large silver watches and some moder- 
 ately high-priced snuff-boxes for a good many of 
 you. But in earnest, if I were a millionaire, I do 
 not believe that all the stinginess incident to that af- 
 fliction could keep me from setting rich men an ex- 
 ample of honor done to those that richly deserve to 
 be honored. Carrington should clear for me the 
 most spacious room in the Exchange. It should be 
 most beautifully and becomingly decorated. There 
 
"270 A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS. 
 
 would I gather the brightest men and the loveliest 
 women in the land, and my doctors from far and 
 near should be there. At a fitting hour I would 
 command the peace, and then some silver-tongued 
 Kciley or Stringfellow, gifted in speech, should say 
 the splendid words that ought to be said in praise of 
 your noble profession. Then the sweetest girl in all 
 Virginia a doctor's daughter most likely should in 
 the eyes of that brilliant assembly pin to your lapels 
 the badge (newly instituted by myself) of the 
 Knightly Order of the Golden Pill. No, I do but 
 jest. She should decorate you with the cross of the 
 Legion of True Honor, in that it would be given, not 
 to the slayers, but to the savers of mankind. And 
 then, oh then, there should be a supper, such a sup- 
 per a supper of the gods, an Olympian feast com- 
 pounded for the special delectation of doctors, from 
 which not one of you should rise till he felt too rich 
 to accept a cent from A. T. Stewart or Win. B. As- 
 tor. And then I would consider myself moderately 
 even with a few of you. 
 
 However ill-paid and often unpaid physicians may 
 be, they have the consolation of knowing that emi- 
 nence and success in almost every other calling and 
 profession is a selfish success limited in its good ef- 
 fects to the man and his immediate family ; whereas 
 in medicine great success is based, necessarily, upon 
 great and wide-spread beneficence. To even moder- 
 ately distinguished medical men, indeed to all but the 
 very meanest and most worthless doctors, there must 
 -come thrills of pleasure so supreme that only the 
 
A PIECE AEOCT DCCrOKS. 271 
 
 -minister of the gospel who feels that he has been the 
 instrument of saving a soul can hope to taste a 
 pleasure at all comparable with it. 
 
 Faithful keepers of the great seal of family se- 
 crets, trusty wardens of the ineffably precious health 
 of our loved ones, silent and pitying witnesses of hu- 
 man suffering and human weakness, who shall rightly 
 tell your worth, and with what patent of nobility 
 shall ye be fitly honored! Statistics show that, man 
 for man, your profession has fewer culprits than any 
 other whatsoever. The simple figures, unfeeling and 
 unflattering, bear testimony to the lofty virtue of 
 your calling. It is the hope of humanity, and there 
 is reason for the hope, that the day will come when 
 there shall be no more great lawyers, for there shall 
 be no more litigation ; when there shall be no great 
 -warriors, because wars shall have ceased ; and when 
 even the need for great statesmen shall have passed, 
 since mankind will have outlived the infirmities that 
 demand legislative correction or restraint. But that 
 day can never come on this earth when men will not 
 die. A healthy race, obedient to the laws of right 
 living, will require few doctors (doctors truly, that 
 their chief functions will then be the teaching of san- 
 itary principles, and the mode of life demanded for 
 the highest physical development) ; but these few 
 will be crowned with the laurel that once, rested only 
 upon the brow of the soldier, and with the bays that 
 were reserved solely for the jurist and the statesman. 
 
 The mind makes many pictures, and this is one 
 that often delights me. In the realm where there 
 
272 A PIECE ABOUT DOCTORS. 
 
 will be no use for doctors, but where many doctors 
 shall be, it shall come to pass that beside the river of 
 living waters, and under the trees whose leaves are for 
 the healing of the nations, each upon his little knoll 
 of emerald sward, the good doctors of this world 
 shall be seated. Celestial airs, borne from the trem- 
 bling wires of harps attuned to praise the Great 
 Physician, and mingled with the divine odors of 
 amaranth and asphodel, shall pass by on the soft, 
 pulsing breeze. And around each doctor shall be the 
 host, small or great as the case may be, of them to 
 whom he ministered on earth. They shall press for- 
 ward with lips no longer dumb, with hands no longer 
 afraid to tell by their clasp what even the lips might 
 not like to say, and with eyes blazing full and warm 
 from the unmasked soul. And from lips and hands and 
 eyes shall come measureless requital. And the little 
 ones, the little ones whose first wail and whose last sigh 
 the good doctors heard, they shall come with purest 
 kisses and cherubic palms, with such sweet thanks 
 and caressing as only the al ways-angels know. And 
 then the picture falls softly and slowly away. 
 
MEEKINS'S TWINSES. 
 
 DEDIKATID. 
 
 To the Hapy Man that aint Got but One Chile, & Him growed 
 
 Up, and Doin uv a Good Bisnis in a Far Distant Lan', 
 
 whar He kant be Heered a cryin in the Kite fur 
 
 His Bottil, 
 
 I DEDIKATE THIS Wu K 
 This Brocher, as they says in Frentch. 
 
 M. ADDUMS. 
 
 BABIS in ginrul is bald-heded, bo-leged disturb- 
 ers uv the peece. They cums into this worl' 
 frownin horrid, fists doubled up, red as peper, hot as 
 jinjer, and hongry as hogs. You got to 'ten to um 
 got to drap all biznis and 'ten to um then and thar, 
 or elts you'll heer from um erly and ofting. The 
 nuss lanches um into life with a dram uv sum kind, 
 and then wunders they luvs whiskey when they has 
 growd up. 
 
 But twinses is misteyus vizitatins uv Providens ; a 
 urthquake in 2 colyums, the rite and lef wings uv a 
 hurrykane that thar aint no accountin fur. They 
 cums like claps uv live thunder out'n a clere sky in 
 the midil uv the day or nite (they aint a keering 
 which), and konetirnates the naberhood. Nobody 
 aint never pepared fur um, and thar is a rusliin 2 
 and fro uv doctors, misses and wimmin that shakes 
 18 
 
274 MEEKINS'S TWINSES. 
 
 the chimblys and jars the whole visinty. A feerful 
 tiem! 
 
 They fetches no bagige, not a rag, not a blame 
 thing, not even a swaller-tale cote and a standin col- 
 ler ; but they cums to stay. Thar is much borryin 
 uv klothes it takes nuf dry goods to set up a firm 
 uv twinses as to stok a good size Brod St. sto and 
 you've got to opin a milk depo and free bodin hous 
 on the spot, lookin fur yo' pay in a nuther and a beter 
 woiT. Becoz twinses has but vage idees uv setlin bills. 
 
 Meny wimmin arives at yo' manshun, and tliar is 
 much miratin. The po' men fur sevrul bloks aroun 
 gethers on the cornders of the strete and wunders to 
 eche uther if twinses is ketchin, like mezils and chikin 
 pok. Thar minds is onesy. They goes to potheker- 
 ries to git sum intmint again the things. 
 
 But taint no use, no manner uv use. Kwinine 
 nor brimstone nor kerosiv sublimit, nor nuthin knowd 
 to man, can't kepe um off. Twinses is misteyus 
 things, and thar is no a kountin fur um one way nor 
 the uther. Hew Blar, the drugger, can't put up 
 nuthin to fend um off, nor Tom Doswil, with all his 
 expeyunse, can't inshure um. If they ar a cumin, they 
 ar a cumin ; and if they aint a cumin all creashum can't 
 hurry um up. Twinses is the most obstnit and opin- 
 yunated kattil I know. 
 
 Thar is a nuther misteyus thing 'bout twinses. 
 Them that wants um can't have um no how thar 
 is men at backgamon that never flings dublets, no 
 matter how they ratle the box and blow on it for 
 luck ; and them that don't want um, and kin hardly 
 
275 
 
 turn roun thout treddin on childun, has um shure. 
 Here they cum a hoopin and a holrin. Now me and 
 Tom Cuckpotrik is the very pattun uv men for 
 twinses was cut and dride you may say to be the 
 fathers uv twinses, but nary a twin hav cum these 
 30 yeer, tho' we has bin dyin fur um. On the uther 
 hand, look at Meekins; uv all and uv all humins! 
 Meekins but mo' anon. No; twinses is misteyus. 
 To the rich man childun cum one at a tiem, like 
 balls down the trof t uv a ten-pin ally ; but to the po 
 man they curns 
 
 " 2 by 2, 
 
 Like the elifint and the kangeroo." 
 
 Twinses is like the pistuns or the walkin beam uv 
 a stemebote when you lays one down you takes the 
 uther one up ; and when they both opins thar skape- 
 pipes and squalls at the same tiem, why, lettin off 
 steme is a Quaker metin to it. F'yar well, vane 
 worl', I'm a gwine home! No you aint you're a 
 gwine to 'ten to them twinses, 'ten to nuthin but 
 them, if you don't want the hous to cum down ; and 
 & plezant tiem you'll hav uv it. You may talk to 
 me 'bout Gypchun bondige, but a m uther at ded uv 
 nite wrestlin with two bawlin squallin twinses one 
 holrin to see if his holrin aint louder holrin than the 
 holrin uv the uther one holrin a muther endurin 
 11 v that bondige sturs my sympathies mo'n the Gyp- 
 chuns and Izralites combined. 
 
 A quare thing is that the man gits all the kredit 
 fur twinses, while the woman that has to tote the 
 
276 
 
 hevy eend uv the log all the tiem, don't git nun. 
 Folks is inklined to blame her, and tell her, " no mo 
 uv that, now." But the man puts on his hat and 
 walks 4th with a ar uv modist pride, like a rich man 
 handin roun the plate fur the first tiem in church. 
 " I don't take no kredit fur this," he kinder seems to 
 say, " I reely don't, but still I want to git the kredit 
 all the saim. Taint evry body has twinses, and 
 then is umbil bout it like me." And they tell me 
 thar is wimmin that actilly is envus and jellus uv 
 wimmin that has twinses, and wood fain git the resipe 
 if thar was one. Well, thar is childun that brags 
 'bout bein sicker than uther childun, and its a twisted 
 sort uv a worl' we liv in enyway. I don't understan 
 it' no way nor I don't ever hope to. It gits me 
 got me long ago. 
 
 The last obzurvashun I got to make 'bout twinses 
 ar this they kin do mo kryin to the minit, and kiver 
 a squar inch quicker and thicker, with bawl and 
 squall, than any other livin thing exsept a Linchbug 
 ockshuneer uv lugs. 
 
 These few remox is drord 4th by Meekins. Uv all 
 and uv all but I'm a comin to that dreckly. Peter 
 Meekins is my naber our back lots jins. He is the 
 wevil-eatinest man I know. Somthin is always the 
 matter with his durn tung, and from gum-biles to 
 corns thar aint nuthin he dont hav, and keep on havin 
 it. Dispepsy is his stanby, and when he aint got 
 that, he fills up the chinx with dipthery. He can't 
 barly walk, becoz he's got the f urtogo. Things wont 
 gee with him, so he's always in a state uv wo. Uv 
 
MEEKINS'S TWINSES. 277 
 
 all and uv all. He takes a melunkoly vew. This 
 worl' looks to him like a mixter uv misry, blaein and 
 and lamp-black. Uv all humins ! I kinnot understan 
 it. Thar aint mo'n enuf uv him to make a do-mat, 
 he is very shucky and shaky, and is fraziled out at 
 his edgis into somthin that ansers as hed, arms and 
 legs. Now uv all and uv all humin beins who shood 
 hav twinses but this same Meekins. It's a fac, by 
 gum ! and it jist knox me down, you know. I aint 
 fetch breth good since I heerd it. 
 
 My wife must uv told me, bat my mind hav bin so 
 ockqupide with politix that I disremembered it till 
 the uther day when I met him on the strete. He 
 were very sadd. His chin wiggled and his nose 
 wobbled, he were so very sadd. 
 
 " In the name uv mizry," says I, " Meekins, what's 
 the matter?" 
 
 "Ah!" he says, groanin, and the water gethered 
 in his eyes. 
 
 " How is yo drotted tung, now ?" I says. 
 
 " Taint that," says he, and the teers cum a rollin 
 down his holler cheex, and his nose trimbled. 
 
 "Tell, tell me quick," I says; " I feel so sorry fur 
 you, and I want to do sumthin fur you rite away." 
 
 " Well," he says, in a vois that went to my very 
 hart, "I were I were took down with the twinses 
 'bout 3 month ago, and bin very lo ever sinse." 
 
 "What!" I ixclaimed, "you? uv all and uv all, 
 you, got twinses? Giv me yo' han!" and I grabed 
 him to kongratulate him. 
 
 But I heerd sumthin like krokry crackin inside uv 
 
278 MEEKINS'S TWINSES, 
 
 him, and feerin he wood cum to peeces in my han, I 
 let him go. 
 
 "Yes," he says, "they has lit down upon me in 
 my ole age, and they is hevy." And he weept. 
 
 "Well, well, well!" I says, "Uv all and uv all 
 this beats bobtail. Gearls uv corse ? " 
 
 "No," he says, sorrerful, "two uv as fine a boy as- 
 ever swollered katnip." 
 
 "And you a cry in 'bout that ?" says I. 
 
 "Two nusses," he says, "two kribs, two sets uv 
 
 uv uv everything two ." And he sobbed 
 
 he actilly did. 
 
 " Cheer up, my livety lad (much lively 'bout him), 
 cheer up," I says. 
 
 But he wood'n cheer a bit. 
 
 "Two baby carriges, two par uv shoes, two soots 
 uv klothes, two everything, too much ! too much ! too 
 much!" And he farly boohood. 
 
 Says I, " Meekins, fur goodniss sake don't giv way 
 so you'll bust the breechin uv yo very soul, if you 
 kepe on that a way." 
 
 But he kep on, and throwin his face down into his 
 hands, said in a pashun uv teers : 
 
 " Dubl tile and dubil trubil, 
 Childun bile and babis bubbil." 
 
 I kin stan a good deal, but my temper giv way at 
 this. Says I, " You inf urnil old son uv a fopensapeny, 
 if you don't stop howlin here in the strete in brord 
 day lite 'bout nuthin but twinses, I'll ketch you 
 by the nap uv yo neck, fling you into the middil 
 
MEEKIN'S TWINSES. 279 
 
 uv Mill's garding, and leave you thar, a mass uv 
 fragments for boys to fling at kats with." 
 
 This stopt him. "Ah !" he says, "Ah ! this ar a 
 worl' uv much wind on the stummick, and skeersly 
 nuthin in the breeches pocket." And with that he 
 shufild off his mortal kile in the dreckshun uv his 
 own house. I went to mine, madd, madd with a 
 doub'l " d." And I says to my wife : 
 
 " Did you know old Meekins had twinses ?" 
 
 " Know it ?" she says, " didn't I tell you the very 
 day they was borned ?" 
 
 "May be you mout," I says; "but my mind hav 
 bin so gammed and glued up with politix and Re- 
 tunrin Bodes that " 
 
 " you bored me every tiem you returned home 
 
 till I wish them bodes, as you call um, was nailed 
 over your mouth." 
 
 "Well," I says, "What doo you think uv it?" 
 
 That were the wrongest questun that ever I axed 
 in all my life. It let down the tale-bode uv her 
 naterally lerge tinnier cart of elloquense, and she 
 drownded me then and thar. 
 
 " Think uv it ?" she skreakt. " Think uv it ? Its 
 the outrageousest, owdashusest peece uv impertinense 
 that's been peppetrated in my naberhood in 40 odd 
 year. Its a sin and a sham,e, and a shokin, overwhel- 
 min skandil, that pepil pretendin to be desent shood 
 act in that way. Genteel pepil, like sum I know, 
 don't hav no twinses they've got mo regard fur 
 sersiety than to have um. But I know these Meek- 
 inses uv old. They had um a puppus a puppus," 
 
280 
 
 stompin her foot and drappin her nittin " jist to 
 git into notis and git some good things to eat. And 
 mo things has cum to the Meekinses since them 
 twinses was borned than I got pashunce to tell about. 
 Bread, cake, pies, puddins, breakfasts, dinners, appils, 
 oranges, prunes, ducks, potridges, Mallegy grapes 
 thar's old Meekins a eatin sum this very minit ." 
 
 Shure nuf there was old Meekins settin by his 
 cellar dore a doin sum uv the dolefullest chawin you 
 ever see. 
 
 " Yes," she went on, " it's a delibrit, depe-lade plan 
 to git notyriety and rise in sersiety. But they couldn 
 deseeve me, no ! I never incouraged twinses, and 
 never wil. They gits no custard and thin biskit from 
 Ms house, nor they never wont." And then her 
 wurds duv-taled and run into one nuther that fast 
 that I couldn make out nuthin she said nuthin but 
 "Jib jib jib jab jab jab jibjab jibjab jibjab jibber 
 jabber jibber jabber jibber jabber whing whang fing 
 fang bing bang ding dang ling lang ping pang ting 
 tang ring rang r-r-r-r attertatterclattersplatter." 
 
 Whew ! I had heered of a heated turm, but here 
 was a heated turmigint uv the wust kind with a ven- 
 junce. Jodge ! she just did leeve me the top uv my 
 hed, and that were all. I were thankful fur that, be- 
 coz I see how it were in a flash the old 'oman were 
 black in the face with jellus envy uv the po' littil 
 aflickted Mrs. Meekins, as good a woman as her hus- 
 band is no count. 
 
 I riz. 
 
 "Madum!" says I, drawin myself up to my fool 
 
281 
 
 hight. " Madum !" I says in tones nv sopesuds and 
 thunder. " Madum ! taint no use, no erthly use. I 
 aint Aberham" and stoopin down and pokin my face 
 into hern, "nor you aint Sary, neither. So shet 
 rite up !" 
 
 She's 60 last grass if she's a day, and got Irish 
 blud in her too, but she did'n even open her lips. 
 She snifft me down with kontempt and konsintrated 
 venum that druv me spang out'n the hous, and I 
 foun myself in the back poche, holrin at the pitch, tar 
 and turpentime uv my vois, "gimme ar! gimme ar! 
 fur mersy's sake gimme ar !" fur I were neerly ded, 
 that whurlwind uv wurds had tuk my breth away so. 
 
 Old Meekins's cook, Lizer, a likely woman, cum 
 out'n the kitchin to see what were- the matter. I 
 recken she thot I were distrackted, but old Meekins 
 didn evin turn his hed, lie were so bizzy with his 
 Mallegy grapes. 
 
 My son Floojins, my yungest chile, 'bout nine yere 
 old goin on ten, and a good boy, tho' I say it Floo- 
 gins had heerd his muther what she said, and folrin 
 me into the back poche, went down the steps, say in 
 as he went by, 
 
 " Doggon my skin uv kats ! I'll fix him." 
 
 With that he began hunting roun the yard till he 
 diskivered a rusty old pad-lock, and takin good aim 
 at Meekins, he let fly, and by the livins ! he presto- 
 vetoed him off 'n the face of the erth. He jest blotted 
 him rite out. Thar were the cheer he set in, thai* 
 were his hat and sum few skatrin grapes, but Meek- 
 ins was nowhar. Floojins had wiped him into thin 
 
282 
 
 air. I stood deff and dum with astonishment, for 
 Wyman hisself never played a trick equl to that. 
 
 But bimeby, ten minits by the wotch, here cum 
 old Meekins out of the cellar, a site to see a con- 
 globerashun uv blud, teers, har, eye-brows, skin and 
 grape juist, feerful to behole. It were horribil, but 
 it were funny, too. I lafft till I nearly died, and 
 Lizer cum out, took the old man to the hydrant, 
 washt him off with a dish-rag, and led him slow and 
 paneful into the hous. 
 
 This brot me to my senses and shamed me so I 
 didn' know what to do. So I lookt down in the yard 
 to find Floojins. Nary Floojins did I find. But pres- 
 intly I seen him in Mills's garding he had gone 
 thar to commune with his own littil innersent andi 
 confiden self. I put on my hat, went over to whar 
 Mr. Bowers, the stove man, is a bildin sum houses,, 
 gethered me a piece of skantlin, and lit into that 
 Floojins till you would a thot the Ohesapeek & Ohier 
 frate trane was a cummin in on tieru and a howlin.. 
 
 It dun me good and it dun the boy good, but it 
 didn't help Meekins. He lost enuf skelp to kiver a 
 trab-ball, and I feel so sorry for him. I'me a goin, 
 to take up a subskripshun uv caf-skin to mend it. Dr. 
 Koleman says the old man will be out in a week, if 
 the urrosipelus don't set in and his tung don' git sore 
 agin. But I'm not a going to bed till I do what's 
 rite by po' old Meekins. 
 
 I've recht a good old age, hav traviled fur and 
 wide, hav eat a heep, bin to Noth Kiliny, livd in 
 
283 
 
 Am'erst, seen much and dun meny things, but Mee- 
 kins havin twinses lays over eny thing that ever hap- 
 ined in my time. It's the ivent of the age. Uv all 
 and uv all. Meekins ! Twinses ! I don't bleev it. 
 'Taint so. I kinnit onderstan it. My dride litenin 
 bugs throws no lite on the subjec. It's a dark, mis- 
 teyus mistery. 
 
 Mozis ADDUMS. 
 
 Konfexnery & Fede Sto, Rockitts, 
 Dec. 27, a Teen Sebenty 6. 
 
IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 
 
 \7 EAE-S ago it matters not how many there 
 JL walked the streets of a nameless city a little 
 -school-girl. Tip-toe she stood upon that mount 
 whence the warm splendors of womanhood are des- 
 cried. Sweet, sweet, arid never to be forgotten is 
 that scene ! The realities of her later life may be 
 better, but never, never so entrancing. 
 
 She had not a sinless heart that child; all her 
 impulses were intense, very intense, but because she 
 was not selfish, those impulses led her of tenest in the 
 right way, yet sometimes too far in that way. Little 
 heauty had she nothing to take pride in, except her 
 lavish black curls, that floated free on her shoulders 
 in those careless days. Her broad brow shamed her, 
 for it was too broad, of almost masculine mould, not 
 delicately shaped nor fair. Mind she had, more than 
 she knew ; power, that came of her intense feeling, 
 more than those who should have known her best 
 ever dreamed, but the light of that power was not 
 yet fully come into her grey eyes to beautify them. 
 One bright spring morning, this little girl, in her 
 school-going walk, passed a gentleman whose pres- 
 ence so touched her that she stopped and turned to 
 look after him as he went on. Morning after morn- 
 Ing she met him, passed him, turned to look after 
 
IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 
 
 him. To her young eyes he seemed old, taller than 
 he really was, grave, pale, abstracted a student 
 whose blood ran cold, who pored over dry books, wha 
 cared not for the world budding in May, blithe and 
 warm with sunshine and bird-songs, cared least of all 
 for homely little school-girls. From the heights of 
 manhood, he seemed to see only far things wise and 
 great things, that so fixed him he could see naught 
 that was little, be it never so beautiful and sweet. 
 
 This tall, handsome gentleman he was handsome 
 but very, very cold and hard stood far above the 
 pettiness of such poor things as flowers and music. 
 He was all mind pure intellect ; he had no heart. 
 Surely, his mother and sisters must have died when 
 he was very young. "Poor, unhappy gentleman !" 
 This was the little girl's thought. 
 
 Once his deep hazel eyes deigned to fall to the 
 level of that child's brow. Fearlessly and full, she 
 met his gaze ; he but saw that it was a human being 
 and went on. She sighed, and hastened on to school, 
 to miss her lesson (was not her mind wandering ?) to 
 be harshly too harshly reproved by her teacher, to 
 return home, and in solitude, unnatural and unhealthy 
 for a child, to give way to that passion of tears which 
 only half grown school-girls know, and which is so 
 terrible, because so boundless, so vague. 
 
 Ere that grief was fully past, another May morn- 
 ing dawned, a morning all too soft and brilliant for 
 her mood. The storm, indeed, was over, and out- 
 wardly all was calm and fair; but within, the long, 
 sullen waves were lashing the barren shore, and the 
 
286 IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 
 
 clouds, no longer spread smoothly over the whole 
 heavens, were gathered into dreadful black shapes, 
 none the less horrible because they went hurrying 
 away upon some fearful errand of ill. Her heavy 
 heart foretold what bechanced, as, satchel in hand and 
 with bonnet downcast, she paced slowly toward her 
 dungeon, the school-room. A carriage stood at the 
 door of the house, trunks were piled behind, the 
 driver was gathering his reins. A tall, manly form 
 came out upon the door-step farewells were said, 
 hands shaken, a kiss given to a stately lady, and, with 
 pale face and eyes that looked not up from the pave- 
 ment, he stepped into the carriage, and the door was 
 shut. It rattled with cruel sounds away. A little 
 while, and the door of the house was closed the 
 carriage had turned the corner. And not a parting 
 word, not one look, vouchsafed to her who saw all 
 this. No, not one word. It was only an idle school- 
 girl, stopping in the street an idle little girl that 
 was all ! 
 
 Who told this little girl that the tall, handsome 
 gentleman was going away, told her so plainly that 
 she stood by and watched his leaving as calmly as if 
 she had been sent for to witness it who told her 
 this ? Grief told her grief, the truest, the only 
 prophet left us in these the uninspired latter days. 
 How sorrow it must be deep sorrow and that alone 
 of all the emotions can be and is prophetic, who 
 shall tell ? In the night-time come the spirits, yet if 
 the night be many-splendored they come not it must 
 be dark. 
 
IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 287 
 
 " He came and he is gone. He will not come back. 
 "Will he ? When ?" So the little girl said to herself, 
 ;and went quietly to school, sat down at the desk, and 
 opened her book. She remembers how very quiet 
 that morning and all that day was, as if the sense of 
 hearing had been numbed, or as if an eclipse had 
 overshadowed the world and hushed it. She studied 
 hard that morning and henceforth; what else was 
 left for her to do but to study ? 
 
 The eclipse of that morning passed not quickly 
 away. In its shadow she dwelt ; happy, she knew 
 not why. Far, far away, in the distant sky behind 
 her, shone a star, faint, feeble, tremulous a pulsing 
 speck of light, which followed her, coming never 
 nearer, never going further. Could she have seen it 
 plainly, she would have named this shining mote with 
 a pretty name she would have called it Hope. She 
 did not see it, she fdt it there, all the time, not 
 watching her, but simply there. So peacefully she 
 wrought away at her work of knowing what books 
 might teach. Something she learned of that il- 
 lumined volume whose beautiful lids Spring uplifts, 
 whose glorious leaves Summer unfolds that volume 
 which Autumn shuts somewhat again, but which even 
 winter cannot wholly close. One other book she 
 studied closely that living, thinking, feeling book 
 we call the heart, the mind, the soul. 
 
 And now the girl was a woman grown, wore a 
 woman's dress, and learned to bind her black curls in 
 formal puffs and bands. But the curls were wilful, 
 and the woman would often let them have their way. 
 
288 IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 
 
 She had quitted school, or rather she had changed 
 her school. Her school-house now was solitude, her 
 teacher, herself. This is the saddest school of all 
 for the young. Only strong scholars can go to it. 
 The weak, the worldly, the puny of mind or of heart,, 
 cannot go ; they die. It is the best school ; but to 
 be forced to it in youth, day after day, oh ! it is 
 wearisome, it is hurtful. Jane Eyre's school at Lo- 
 wood was gladsome compared to it. 
 
 The girl was a woman grown. It is no discredit 
 to her to say that she wished to be admired and loved 
 and it has been already said that her impulses and 
 desires were intense. In the fresh morning of woman- 
 hood, homage comes most naturally to woman, and 
 she should have it then. If she misses it, she goes 
 sick ; and if she misses it long, the sickness is but too 
 apt to become blight, from which she may recover, 
 out of which she may wear, but not without retain- 
 ing a dry sore at heart. 
 
 " She intensely desired to be loved," aye ! and to 
 love. No shame to her for this. Admiration she 
 also desired, and she is no woman who pretends to 
 wish otherwise. Love of admiration is not vanity ; 
 ^(/-admiration is. How could she be vain whose 
 mirror told the truth, and whose heart was not afraid 
 to own it ? She wished, as only a plain woman can 
 wish, to be beautiful, dazzlingly beautiful; and in 
 beauty's default, she longed that some clear eye of 
 power might pierce to that hidden spring whence 
 flowed emotions she knew to be more beautiful than 
 any tints of complexion or lines of configuration.- 
 
IT IS ONMIPOTENT. 289 
 
 Yet she stood a hand-breadth's height above her com- 
 panions, her shape was envied, and her skin too 
 quick to lose or gain its color was so praised that 
 she herself, at times, lingered to look at it. She 
 could talk, talk nonsense too, and abundantly ; laugh 
 merrily, and in any other way make herself, as she 
 thought, truly agreeable. The girls enjoyed, or pre- 
 tended to enjoy, her society wonderfully. What 
 wonder, then, if she asked herself many torturing 
 and unanswerable questions, when, looking around 
 her, she saw many of her school-mates belles, all 
 more or less beloved, and herself alone wholly, utterly 
 neglected. It was thus for years. Years ! and 
 every moment of every day of these years her heart 
 ached in want, in emptiness, in shame, in anger, in 
 fear. Her maiden's right love was denied her. 
 Why I What was, what could be, the reason of it? 
 What had she done, to be punished thus \ Was it to 
 be always ? Would it never end ? These questions, 
 repeated a thousand times oftener, it is to be hoped, 
 than any of her hapless sisters have repeated them, 
 were never answered, then nor since. It was so 
 ordered ; simply that. 
 
 Her wont, during these unhappy days, was to walk 
 alone in the garden. There, book in hand, she would 
 pace the level-topped terraces for hours on hours, not 
 reading, not thinking of what she had read, but, 
 fruitless task ! questioning destiny, and conning in 
 the high clouds hopes that winged themselves too 
 quickly away, or studying the sadness that dwells 
 asleep over in the far horizon. Her imagination, 
 19 
 
290 IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 
 
 though it teemed with fairest images, claimed not 
 the power to give pantheistic shapes to the beautiful 
 earth-life around her, to give poetic utterances to the 
 slow, soft wind that whispered secrets in her ears, or 
 to compel meanings from the splendid light that 
 rained out of the blue heavens. And the leaves that 
 were born, grew old, and died silently at her feet 
 telling her nothing of all they knew. The mystery 
 of the changeful elements, the magic work of na- 
 ture's hidden alchemy, she was content to let pass in 
 bright panorama, uninterpreted, except as signs and 
 wonders, telling of Him that dwelleth in light inac- 
 cessible and full of glory. In her book she saw how 
 some priest or priestess of nature construed these 
 wonders ; but when she came back from the book to 
 the temple itself the mighty temple of the visible,, 
 ever-changing, ever-renewed life she confessed with 
 sorrow that the makers of books were false, or but 
 partially inspired prophets. Every moment, every 
 sound in that sky-domed temple, older, grander, more 
 beautiful than Greece, Egypt or India ever saw, 
 points to some sibylline leaf yet undiscovered, per- 
 haps undiscoverable. Something of nature's form 
 and color the poets may describe; but of our mo- 
 ther's speech and the true dialect they bear no wit- 
 ness, they know nothing. Sight is the sense the 
 Muses love to instruct; hearing they will not, be- 
 cause they cannot, educate. Not that man is deaf ; 
 he hears, indeed, but cannot comprehend what he 
 hears under the azure dome. How pitiable his 
 guesses at the significance of sounds in the not soul- 
 
IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 291 
 
 less world of matter ! "What do the prattling waters 
 say ? the winds with their almost human breath ? the 
 vocal birds? and what the hush of starry nights and 
 swooning noons what say these eloquent silences? 
 The poet cannot tell. At best he can only imitate 
 the tongues he hears, and listen further off than 
 ever from the meaning to his imitations. 
 
 Yet it is pleasant to listen beyond all things plea- 
 sant to imitate, even remotely, and to fix on the legi- 
 ble page the sad, sweet intimations of nature's music 
 the hinted thought of the worlds of light and 
 peace, the sorrowless worlds, where melody in all the 
 fulness of its spiritual significance and force is 
 known, truly, perfectly. 
 
 Annie, so was she called, had many friends among 
 the girls of her acquaintance, but her best friend 
 was her piano. To her the piano was something 
 more than a plaything, much more than a mere help 
 to fill up the pauses in conversation with tiresome 
 visitors. It was the joy of her life, the interpreter 
 of all her wordless moods, whether gay or grave, 
 the confidante of her heart that heart so full of 
 longings, seemingly never to be appeased. Hence 
 she excelled in music, astonished her masters, learned 
 to despise them, and, when alone and secure against 
 intrusion, not seldom surprised and delighted her- 
 self so promptly and so volubly the keys gave back 
 the music which neither books nor masters had ever 
 taught her. In the Autumn twilights, when the fire 
 in the grate warmed but did not dispel the gloom,, 
 there would sometimes come to her a thrilling force, 
 
292 IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 
 
 a passion and a power to compel whatever she would 
 of strange, wild, sad, beautiful utterances from the 
 instrument she loved. When the piano was obe- 
 dient, she was happy. Then she truly lived, then 
 placed due value on her life, which at all other times 
 seemed wasting uselessly away, then felt not the 
 teasing of hope, but the high and joyous fruition of 
 power. 
 
 One evening can she ever forget it? she had 
 wandered late in the garden. Step by step, during 
 that long walk, her spirit seemed to descend the 
 solemn vale where, among great dusky rocks, over- 
 grown with gnarled and leafless trees, is put the 
 cavern of Despair. Long she stood, breathing the 
 deadly vapor that came out of its black, illimitable 
 depths. When an unseen hand led her gently away 
 from the mouth of that horrid vault, she was loath 
 to go; yet the kindly force constrained her. The 
 October moon was riding high, the yellow mist was 
 thick and chill, when she went in, and her school- 
 girl sorrow, the terrible, vague sorrow which seized 
 her the day before the proud, cold stranger left, 
 never to return, was upon her. She locked herself 
 in the parlor, and there, with thought and sense and 
 feeling, with fears and hopes all the fears and hopes 
 of her lonely life blended in one usurping passion 
 she poured forth upon the piano the sad story which 
 had been dumb in her breast so many years. It was 
 a weird, a melancholy, yet most sweet story the 
 sweetest ever told in the sweet language of music. 
 The trembling, tender fire of the serenade, the 
 
IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 293 
 
 mortal sadness and the immortal hope of the re- 
 quiem were indissolubly and harmoniously inter- 
 woven in it ; and through this warm, melodious woof 
 of mournful sweetness ran tortuous threads of scarlet 
 and of silver sound, now lost, now found again, 
 intimations, suggestions, reachings, upheavings, aspi- 
 rations, ever hiding, vet ever flashing back to light, 
 something almost unbearable, piercing through all 
 the changeful, thrilling chords. 
 
 Unlike other improvisations, this air was defined, 
 complete ; she played it again and again ; it did not 
 change with the ever-changing shades of emotion, 
 although that emotion did not even keep always 
 within the key ; it insisted upon its own original ut- 
 terance, admitting nor permitting any variation. She 
 remembered it perfectly could have written it in 
 notes if she had chosen. But she was startled to 
 find how old it was, familiar to her as the most fa- 
 miliar airs of childhood the oldest, it seemed the 
 sweetest and the dearest of early recollections. 
 Where she had heard it, when, and under what cir- 
 cumstances it was first played to her, she could never 
 tell ; but she soon ceased to think of it as her own 
 production. 
 
 Noiselessly as a spirit she walked from the parlor 
 to her chamber. The clock struck twelve. Was it 
 possible ? She retired, but not to sleep ; she wept, 
 but the tears were sweet. The faint star, which, 
 had stood so long above and behind her, was brighter 
 now, and had moved forward. Then the days be- 
 gan to go swiftly, the air became purer, the light 
 
294: IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 
 
 shone clearer, something dark and heavy had passed 
 away from her. Yet it was Autumn still, and the 
 breathing of her spirit was not quite free and unim- 
 peded. So the Winter came on, less stern than of 
 yore, but vacant. 
 
 With the winter came parties, in which she took 
 little delight. She danced to fill up the set; she 
 talked with those who talked with her because they 
 could talk, just then, with no one they liked better. 
 She was always asked to play, and she played me- 
 chanically banged, that under the coverture of the 
 banging the chatter might go on more quietly, and 
 soft words might be spoken to willing ears. Sitting 
 thus one night at the piano, the thought came to 
 her, "If I have any skill, it is on this instrument; 
 yet, play as I may, they heed me not." Her great 
 pride was stung to the quick at this. " I will con- 
 vince myself how silly and weak I really am," said 
 she to herself. " I will play the air that moves me 
 most; I will play it with all the feeling and all the 
 force I can command, under these lights, and in this 
 noisy throng, who know me not, nor care for me." 
 
 She played. There, in the midst of the revel, she 
 boldly told the secret of her heart told it in that 
 beautiful language which is the native tongue of the 
 souls of all men that walk the earth. 
 
 Whether there was something in the air itself 
 which had power to command her consciousness 
 away from the gay scene around her, she knows 
 not; she only knows that the thrill of strength crea- 
 tive passed from her heart to her hands, and there 
 
IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 295 
 
 was silence ; and then applause, questions, entreaties, 
 warm entreaties to play it again. If her life had 
 been at stake she could not have complied. She 
 rose, and was introduced to . 
 
 Oh ! how pale her poor foolish face grew. The 
 chill of death ran to her very heart. She needs must 
 take his arm, and they walked into the hall, where 
 the air was purer. She could not look at him, yet 
 she saw him, faint as she was. Unchanged, un- 
 changed ; grave, pale, cold, proud. For the first time 
 she heard his voice: it was low, deliberate, full of 
 power, and, at that moment, kind even to pity. And 
 this angered her. " What, after so long, pity me, 
 and pity me here. The time is past when I needed 
 pity. Have I not been well this half year ?" Sum- 
 moning all her strength,, she forced the color back to 
 her cowardly, tell-tale cheek, and answered him: 
 " No, she was not sick she was quite well, and 
 would trouble him no longer." 
 
 This was even roughly said. A film of something 
 very near disgust overlay his surprised voice when he 
 replied : 
 
 " Trouble?" 
 
 The cadence of interrogation ended in pity. It 
 was not that she wanted. She withdrew her arm, and 
 so they parted. 
 
 Yes, the house was lonely, and the grey eyes, feel- 
 ing ashamed of the warmer light that shone in them, 
 would look out of the window a glance, and then to 
 work and study again. But nothing passed the win- 
 dow ; days, days, days, and nothing passed the win- 
 
296 IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 
 
 dow. She would not go out ; they might beg, they 
 might threaten and talk of doctors, but she would 
 not go abroad. She could get fresh air in the gar- 
 den, and now\ what were doctors made for, she won- 
 dered? Yet the dull days sped on, on, on, how 
 wearily, how lonesomely ! Hope, new-born and full 
 of vigorous life, was dying ; the light of life wa& 
 darkened, the star above her shone paler, and the 
 fresh impulse which had made her heart warm and 
 the world habitable, was gone. Then why is it al- 
 ways thus ? then he was announced. 
 
 She was not slow to meet him in her own parlor, 
 nor backward to atone for her rudeness at the party. 
 Surely, it became her to make his visit a pleasant one,, 
 so pleasant that he would return again. But he was 
 calm, and would not respond to her warmth and ani- 
 mation perhaps she showed her gladness too plainly. 
 Pained by this thought, she became as cold as himself. 
 
 Conversation had not fairly commenced ere he 
 startled and offended her by asking her to the piano. 
 She could not refuse, neither could she do herself 
 justice. "I am only a musical instrument in his 
 eyes, to which he will listen a little while and go 
 away and forget it." How cmdd she play ? 
 
 " Excuse me, Miss Annie," said he, " but I have 
 not forgotten the beautiful air which procured for 
 me the pleasure of your acquaintance. Will you play 
 it for me now ?" 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Indeed, I cannot." 
 
IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 297 
 
 Soon he went away, leaving her not altogether at 
 peace with herself. But he came again, and with the 
 same petition. The compliment implied in his visit 
 was destroyed by this request, preferred, as before, 
 but a few minutes after he entered the room. " He 
 is in love with the tune," said she, to herself, " I have 
 heard of such instances before." 
 
 She would not play it for him, though he asked a 
 second and a third time for it. There was a smile of 
 derision, barely perceptible, but unmistakable, on his 
 face. 
 
 " He thinks me childish. I am not," in wordless 
 answer to that smile. 
 
 He went away, and the weary days began to come^ 
 and go. While the long hours wore on, she thought 
 to herself: "I w T ill yield next time. I will play it 
 with all my heart, my soul he shall like it better 
 than before." 
 
 But no sooner was he come than this promise wa& 
 broken. The old unwillingness and jealousy returned, 
 to her. Rising to leave, he said : 
 
 " I have never before sought a favor so earnestly r 
 nor will I ever again." 
 
 Yet he came back, and though he said not a word- 
 concerning music, his eyes asked all and more than/ 
 his lips had ever asked. Only once, but very wist- 
 fully, almost sadly, lie looked towards the piano^ 
 At this, her heart instantly gave way, and, unbidden, 
 she took her seat at the instrument. His face did 
 not even brighten. "But why," said she, wheeling 
 suddenly on the stool, "why are you so anxious to> 
 
'298 IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 
 
 tear this air? It is old; you must have heard it 
 often before you knew me." 
 
 "Never, I assure you. It is beyond expression 
 tender and sweet; it is wild yet sad; the spirit of 
 freedom, the freedom of the forest and the seas, 
 breathes through its soft melancholy. I think it 
 must be original with you. These are reasons suf- 
 ficient to induce me to ask, but beyond these there 
 is another stronger than them all." 
 
 " Then tell me that reason, or I will not play for you." 
 
 "I cannot." 
 
 She closed the piano. He took his leave, mani- 
 festing his displeasure only by the gravity of his 
 parting words, "I will persist no longer." Fain 
 would she have called him back after it was too 
 late. Her satisfied pride assured her that womanly 
 self-respect demanded kinder treatment toward one 
 whose only fault was perhaps of her own coining 
 a suspicion on her part transformed into a defect on 
 his. If he was in love with her music, was that 
 cause enough to justify behavior such as hers? It 
 was not ; her common sense, her conscience told her 
 it was not. But what waywardness equals that en- 
 gendered of the purest of emotions, acknowledged or 
 denied, in woman's breast ? 
 
 Her heart told her he would persist, and told her 
 truly. 
 
 " Confess the secret reason, and I will play," said 
 she the moment he came. 
 
 Had she not abundant cause for alarm, when he 
 .answered with all the solemnity of truth : 
 
IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 299 
 
 " In Paris, I was sick- dying, my physicians 
 thought. Little I cared, for life had never been dear 
 to me. But as I lay, whether awake or asleep I 
 knew not, whether dreaming or indulging those 
 fancies which come with death's shadow I cannot 
 tell ; while I lay thus, there came to me from the 
 street it seemed, though the nurse assured me other- 
 wise an air so like, and yet so unlike, the one you can 
 play if you will, that the resemblance, if it be a 
 resemblance, is wonderful even to the borders of the 
 miraculous. What the echo is to the sound, the 
 shadow to the substance, the twin brother to the 
 sister twin, was that air to yours. And yet it dif- 
 fered in this, that its suggestions were wholly unlike 
 those produced by yours. That suggested Home, in 
 its most vivid conceptions of repose, peace, seclusion, 
 purity, sanctity all that endears life; while yours, 
 as I have said, suggests freedom, as of a plumed 
 angel sweeping the starry expanse, joying in his 
 swift flight, yet carrying with him everywhere the 
 infinitely tender memories of heaven ; memories pen- 
 sive because of their unutterable sweetness. I bade 
 the servant open the window that I might the bet- 
 ter catch the notes of this ineffable melody. The 
 moment he did so, it died away ; and often as it re- 
 turned to me during the night, and often as I bade 
 him open the window, the same result followed. 
 "There was, of course, nothing supernatural in this. 
 Doubtless my brain was excited as the brains of 
 composers often are, and the melody was within and 
 not without me. Yet the effect was to arouse and 
 
300 IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 
 
 stimulate me, and this stimulus saved me. Can you 1 
 wonder that I was startled the night of the party,, 
 that I immediately sought an introduction to you, 
 visited you, entreated you time and again, in de- 
 fiance of my self-respect, to play this air for me, or 
 that, seeing how closely the story borders on the 
 marvellous, I should have been loath to tell it to you ?" 
 
 "I cannot," she replied, with his own solemnity [; 
 for the chill and the pallor of that very apprehen- 
 sion he had striven to disclaim, viz. : of the super- 
 natural, was upon her "I cannot. I fully believe 
 this story, nay I know it." 
 
 " How ?" asked he quickly. 
 
 " Because the melody came to me the very night 
 it came to you." 
 
 " Do you remember the night ?" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " "What was it ?" 
 
 " The twenty-sixth of August." 
 
 " Of the year just gone ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He bowed his head upon his palm, and sat nr 
 sculptured stillness. 
 
 " How can this be ?" 
 
 Then, with the star of her life shining in full 
 splendor near her, with the authority of one whose 
 destiny is assured beyond mischance, she answered : 
 
 " Ere very long I will tell you." 
 
IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 301 
 
 Many days after this she was playing the melody 
 ^he loved so well, and which she also, for his sake, 
 loved. 
 
 He withdrew the hand that had been hidden 
 .among her curls. 
 
 " Annie, you have never named this air." 
 
 " Never until now." 
 
 " The name should be sweet. What is it ?" 
 
 " Sit down, then." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " That you may see the name in those grey eyes 
 which you say reveal so much." 
 
 " I see it, plainly," said he. 
 
 " Then tell me." 
 
 "'The Dryad's Eequiem.'" 
 
 She shook her head. " Is it so sad as that ?" 
 
 He guessed again. " ' The Naiad's Bridal ?' r 
 
 She dissented. " You are not bright this morn- 
 ing, or else my eyes are dull, /must tell its name." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " LOVE !" 
 
 " First or last love ?" 
 
 " Both first and last, the one, only love." 
 
 " The best possible name. But why have you so 
 named it ?" 
 
 " Now that I have the right, I will tell you." 
 
 She told him the school girl's story the history 
 of her heart from childhood to girlhood, from girl- 
 liood to womanhood, the pure secret which had re- 
 vealed and interpreted itself in the air he so dearly 
 prized." 
 
302 IT IS OMNIPOTENT. 
 
 " You must give it another name," said he, when, 
 she had finished. 
 " What name ?" 
 " Call it < Woman's Power.' " 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " Because " he hesitated. 
 " Because what ?" 
 " It is omnipotent !" 
 
SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 A LMOST the first words my wife said to me on 
 _jLJL my return to Richmond after Lee's surrender 
 were " Richard, speak to Amy : she's been our best 
 friend." 
 
 So I " spoke to " Amy, a likely mulatto, which 
 much embarrassed Amy. 
 
 " Why, Ann has not deserted you, surely ?" 
 
 " Oh no ; but Ann is in the kitchen now, and you 
 can speak to her some other time." 
 
 Ann and Amy were the only servants we had; 
 and the night before the fall of Richmond, when I 
 went into the kitchen to take leave of them, and told 
 them that the Yankees would be in town the next 
 morning and they would be free, they asked me what 
 they had better do. 
 
 " Stick to your mistress. Good-bye," was my re- 
 ply as I hurried away. 
 
 And they did stick to her faithfully all through 
 that dreadful day, when the awful fire was raging, 
 when fragments of shell were raining on top of our 
 little home, when the houses across the street were 
 in flames, and when our own house, on fire a dozen 
 times, threatened to burn down over their heads, 
 and every day for three weeks after they had clung 
 
:304: SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 .steadfastly to her, doing everything they could to 
 cheer, comfort and help her along, and abating not 
 one jot or tittle of their former respect. 
 
 This news pleased me mightily, but did not in the 
 least surprise me, because I had always had a high 
 opinion of both Amy and Ann. Trained in the 
 house, they belonged to the better class of servants, 
 and were in themselves good-hearted people. 
 
 "How have the Yankees treated you?" was my 
 first question. 
 
 " Very well. The morning of the surrender your 
 father came early through the fire and smoke, bring- 
 ing me a guard a Pennsylvania boy, a private 
 quite handsome he was who read his Bible often 
 during the day, and treated me with the utmost re- 
 spect. At nightfall he was replaced by an Irishman, 
 a full-grown man, equally respectful, who paced the 
 back and front yards all night long, to guard against 
 fire and to protect us from thieves. He remained 
 several days, until order was restored in the city and 
 danger was passed. Other ladies, hearing of his 
 presence, came and placed themselves under his pro- 
 tection. He was such a comfort to us that we were 
 all sorry when he left, and I am sure that I tried to 
 show my appreciation of him by giving him the 
 best we had to eat in the house not very good, you 
 know, but the best we had." 
 
 " Haven't you had rations ?" 
 
 " Yes, but neither myself nor the servants could 
 eat the corn and bacon they gave us they are so 
 coarse, so different from ours." 
 
SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 305 
 
 " Then you like the Yankees, they have been so 
 kind to you ?" 
 
 "What! If Oh, Richard, how can you ask such a 
 question?" 
 
 u Why not?" 
 
 " Well, the men have been respectful, and the offi- 
 cers have certainly been very polite they are going 
 to send two great army-wagons and some men to 
 
 move us next week to Mrs. B 's, where I've 
 
 rented rooms much better than these we have here, 
 and the moving will not cost us a cent but but 
 I can't like them. Don't ask me why. They are so 
 unlike us, have such a strange pronunciation, and 
 they have conquered our country ; and and I don't 
 I can't like them." 
 
 " You wait a while. Their kindness will be sure 
 to break you down." 
 
 " Never /" was this rebellious woman's reply. 
 
 After our removal to Mrs. B 's we had some 
 
 further talk about the Yankees important talk 
 with a view to our future course in life. My wife's 
 opinion was, that we had little to hope from them : 
 they hated us, were doing all they could to humiliate 
 us, and would continue to do so. I did not agree 
 with her. My idea was, that the reaction from the 
 war would be quick and complete; that, as we had 
 at least shown ourselves to be brave, they would be 
 as proud of us as the English were of the Scotch 
 after the union of the two countries; that they 
 would make much of us, and do all they could to 
 
 20 
 
306 SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 restore our waste places, in order that the whole 
 country might prosper. 
 
 My idea is still the same. I believe now, not- 
 withstanding Mr. Lincoln's most unfortunate assas- 
 sination, that if the politicians and newspaper-men 
 had given the cue of kindness, the people would 
 gladly have followed, and that kindness shown so 
 generally by military men just after the surrender 
 would have been universally imitated by civilians, 
 and would surely have broken us down. Restoration 
 would then have been from the heart, without the 
 need of complex laws and constitutional amend- 
 ments. The opposite course was chosen by the au- 
 thorities in Washington, and the result is before us. 
 Here I am, Yirginian-like, talking politics when I 
 started out to tell about Servantgalism. My excuse 
 is this if, indeed, it were possible for me to help 
 myself that I have yet to read in a Northern mag- 
 azine or literary paper the first story, essay or sketch 
 relating to the war, or the events which followed it, 
 that was not pretty well peppered with politics, and 
 very sectional politics at that. But the conquerors 
 have rights that the conquered have not. 
 
 My little debate with my wife ended thus : " While 
 I believe that the Yankees are going to be kind to 
 us, even more so than they have been already, 
 I have no idea of remaining where I am on the 
 wrong side of the fence. I intend to turn Yankee 
 myself." 
 
 " What f" I wish you could have seen my wife's 
 eyebrows at that moment. 
 
SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. SOT 
 
 "Richmond is getting to be rather a hot and dark 
 place for me. Too many impudent negroes here. I 
 can't help feeling subjugated: can you?" 
 
 " No, indeed." 
 
 "Well, then, for one, I don't intend to remain a 
 down-trodden rebel ; I am going to be a free Amer- 
 ican citizen I am going to Boston." 
 
 "Boston /" The poor little soul was aghast, and 
 fairly screamed. 
 
 " Yes, Boston is the place for me. I want to be 
 in the head-quarters of Yankeedom. The laws 
 passed for loyal men will be my laws, the tariff 
 passed for their benefit will be my tariff " 
 
 "Desert your country in its hour of trial? Oh, 
 Richard!" 
 
 "My child, if by staying here and sharing the 
 sufferings of my fellow-rebels (so called), I could do 
 the least good, you know I would not hesitate an in- 
 stant. But that is not the question." 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 "The question is, How am I to make a living 
 here ? how get food and clothing for you and the 
 little girl ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," she answered sadly; "I had not 
 thought of that." 
 
 So it came to pass that I went, not to Boston, but 
 to 'New York, where I remained several months, 
 enjoying myself very much, as became a free citizen 
 of the United States. Mrs. Elder that is my wife 
 unwilling to be left alone in the negro-overwhelmed 
 city of her nativity, accepted the invitation of a 
 
308 SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 friend to visit her in a distant State. Amy went 
 with her; Ann, of course, had to be left behind, and 
 was discharged. 
 
 One day I ran down from 'New York to see Mrs. 
 Elder. As I drew near the house there was my lit- 
 tle Virginian toddling about the porch, and there, 
 too, was the faithful Amy. Ah, how my heart 
 warmed toward Amy ! how I relied on her ! 
 
 The weather was intensely hot. Looking from 
 the porch, my attention was drawn to a white man 
 who was mowing in a neighboring field. Through 
 all the blazing hours of the long, long midsummer 
 day that man swung his scythe, stopping a half hour 
 for dinner, and never ceasing until the broad red sun 
 went down in the burning west. Panting in the 
 shade of the ample porch, I wondered he didn't drop 
 from sun-stroke. 
 
 "Gussie," said I, "who is that man?" 
 
 "Why, that is Tom Watson, who used to live in 
 Giles county." 
 
 " You don't tell me so ! I must go to see him." 
 
 That very evening I did go to see him, and he 
 gave me an item in Servantmanism. 
 
 " Tom," I asked, " how in the world do you stand 
 the life you are leading? I wonder it don't kill 
 you." 
 
 " Kill me ! I never had such health in my life ; I 
 sleep like a top like ten tops. But, Richard" 
 here his face and his voice fell " my mind is going, 
 I can actually feel my brain shrinking inside of my 
 skull. You may laugh, but it is the solemn truth. 
 
SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 309 
 
 Head ! I never read, and I never think ; I have no 
 time to do either. When I get home at night it is 
 as much as I can do to milk the cow, chop the wood, 
 eat my supper, and fall into bed. I'm asleep in a 
 second. I can't even talk to my wife or play with 
 my children. And on Sunday I literally rest eat 
 and sleep. As for going to church, I never think of 
 it; it is out of the question." 
 
 " So, then, you don't believe in the Yankee theory 
 about the i dignity of labor ?' " 
 
 "Not a confounded bit. It is the most infernal 
 nonsense that was ever uttered." 
 
 Do you know that (being a Virginian) it pleased 
 me hugely to hear Tom say this ? 
 
 Then Tom, after explaining why it was that he 
 couldn't afford to hire "help" on his little farm, 
 gave me another item, this time about Servantgalism 
 or rather the want of it and white Servantman- 
 ism in its stead. 
 
 "Are you well acquainted with the old gentleman 
 your family is staying with?" inquired Tom. 
 
 "Well, no I can't say that I am. But why?" 
 
 " Because he is the gamest old cock that ever I 
 heard of." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Well, a year or so ago, while the war was raging, 
 the old gentleman's wife, who had just given birth 
 to a child, was attacked by typhoid fever. There 
 was not a servant of any kind on the place, not even 
 a farm-hand, and none to be had, because it was 
 known that he was a Southern sympathizer. His 
 
310 SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 only grown son, a chip of the old block, brave as Julius- 
 Caesar, was in the Confederate army, and the rest of 
 his children, five or six in number, were all smalL 
 I did not live in this neighborhood then, but I know 
 it to be a fact that not a single neighbor came nigh 
 the old gentleman in his distress. The 'sympa- 
 thizers' were afraid to come, and the Unionists 
 would not visit a rebel. The doctor, even, came but 
 once or twice a week. Now, what did this old aris- 
 tocrat do? Why, he just did everything. He 
 washed, he cooked, he ironed, he cleared up the 
 house, he cut the wood, he brought the water, he 
 washed and dressed the children, he nursed his wife 
 by day and night, he attended to the baby, fed it 
 from the bottle, made up the beds, swept out, dusted 
 down, and finally, getting his dander up, he sent to 
 the city for a sewing machine, taught himself to sew 
 on it, bought patterns, and cut out and actually made 
 with his own hands clothes for the children, down 
 even to a dress for the baby!* Now, if that ain't 
 doing well for a worn-out rebel aristocrat, I'd like 
 you to say what is doing well. I tell you that the 
 old fellow deserves as much credit as the most gal- 
 lant officer in the Southern army." 
 
 As Tom Watson was not himself a born aristocrat,, 
 this deserved and disinterested tribute to a slave-lord 
 tickled me prodigiously. 
 
 "And that is what you all have got to come to in 
 the South," added Tom. 
 
 This did not tickle me at all. But I returned to< 
 
 * An actual occurence. 
 
SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 311 
 
 New York in high good-humor, glowing with admir- 
 ation for the faithful Amy. 
 
 Being an exotic, and old at that, transplanting did 
 not agree with me, and I was forced to get back to 
 a more congenial climate. At the time of my re- 
 turn to Virginia, rny wife was visiting a relation in 
 the tide-water region. After I had been in the house 
 a few moments I said, very naturally, " I don't see 
 Amy. Where's Amy ?" 
 
 " Deserted me." 
 
 " Deserted you ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I think her friends more to blame than 
 she is." 
 
 " We-ell 9 if ever I put faith in a nigger again you 
 may shoot me." 
 
 The county in which we then were had been full 
 of negroes, many of whom, of course, had gone off ; 
 still, a great many remained. But not a decent nurse 
 was to be had for love, money, or blarney. So we 
 did the best we could without a nurse, and as the 
 weather was warm and our relative's children helped 
 us all they could, we got along very well. But after 
 a time we had to return to Richmond. (You would 
 like me to call it the " rebel capital," but I won't do 
 
 it.) 
 
 Then came the tug of war to me. Every Sun- 
 day afternoon, and some of the afternoons during the 
 week, I had to " mind the child." Do you know 
 what that is ? If you don't, don't try to find out, or 
 let anybody force you to find out. The child could 
 walk a few steps at a time ; she might have walked 
 
312 SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 farther, a great deal farther, but, to vex me, she 
 wouldn't. So I had to tote her two-thirds of the 
 time. I would put her down, and in the sweetest- 
 tones would say, " Walk across, meese (miss) walk 
 for farberins-parberins " (abbreviation for farther). 
 " Walk across, that's a goody girly-purly." 
 
 The thing would waddle about ten paces, and then, 
 holding out its chubby arms, would say in piteous 
 accents, " Up-a-days." 
 
 Accordingly, I upped and daysed her, and toted 
 her until my left ulna and radius were ready to break- 
 Oh, how I maledicted the faithless Amy and objur- 
 gated the Yankees ! At last I discovered a wood- 
 yard on the bank of the canal, and then, by throw- 
 ing chips and bits of pine bark and brickbats into the 
 water, I would sometimes keep the thing quiet and 
 contented for twenty consecutive minutes. By that 
 time water-splashing was played out, and I would 
 have to up-a-days and tote her again. She had learnt 
 to say " teeple," and if she pointed at the Second 
 Baptist church and Dr. Hoge's church once and said 
 " teeple," and I responded once by pointing at Dr. 
 Hoge's church and the Second Baptist church and 
 saying " teeple," we pointed and said " teeple " ten 
 thousand times apiece during those long, hot, hor- 
 rible, tiresome, Amy-less afternoons. I was sick of 
 " teeple." If a commission de Lanatico had sat upon 
 me, and one of its members had chanced to say 
 " steeple," I would have gone off like a pack of fire- 
 crackers, and a verdict of non compos would have 
 been inevitable. 
 
SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 313 
 
 Finding that we must have a nurse, we induced 
 Amy to return, or rather she asked us to let her 
 come back, for she loved the " teeple "-pointer. It 
 was an immense relief, but she was not the Amy to 
 me that she had been. 
 
 Finding that boarding was too expensive, we rented 
 rooms, the cheapest we could find two rooms and a 
 half with kitchen privilege for sixty-five dollars a 
 month ! Very soon a little brother introduced him- 
 self to Miss Up-a-days, and for many weeks there- 
 after Mrs. Elder was exceedingly sick. Dark weeks 
 they were, I assure you. To get bread and meat and 
 pay that sixty-five dollars a month rent was no easy 
 matter. In my desperation I tried to obtain the 
 noble position of sewing-machine agent, and failed. 
 I projected all sorts of schemes, and actually went to 
 see a great railroad president, in order to induce him 
 to join me in organizing a series of grand excursions 
 from Northern cities to the battle-fields of Virginia. 
 He was very civil, offered me a free pass over the 
 whole length of his road and back again, but as for 
 my scheme he was unable to perceive it. Eventually 
 I touched bottom by determining to start a newspa- 
 per, the prospectus of which I wrote out in full, and 
 now have in my possession, but nothing less than two 
 dollars (the subscription price, invariably in advance, 
 of my paper) would induce me to part with it. 
 
 Just at this terrible time we discovered Amanda. 
 Ah, Amanda was such a treasure ! She was a light 
 gingercake-colored girl, with hair like an Indian's, 
 only it waved, and she had had her dose of Yankees ! 
 
314 SEEYANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 That was a great card in our favor. Running away 
 from her master, she had found at Fortress Monroe 
 bad shelter, bad food, hardly any clothing, not very 
 kind treatment, and a plenty of ague and fever, with' 
 mercury and salivation to match. She knew her 
 business as nurse and house-cleaner thoroughly, and 
 we knew that she would stick to us. 
 
 So she did for a good long time eighteen months,. 
 If we had not gone to Blankton to live she might 
 possibly have been with us to this day. But the- 
 habits of the servants of Blankton were very different 
 from the habits of the servants in other parts of Yir- 
 ginia. The first thing we knew Amanda was bawl- 
 ing out of our chamber window at the maid in the 
 chamber of the house on the opposite side of the 
 street ; and when we rebuked her for such unseemly 
 conduct, she received the rebuke sullenly. But she- 
 obeyed our wishes, and continued to be a most ad- 
 mirable servant. Everybody envied us such a trea- 
 sure. We praised her, we petted her, did everything 
 for her gave her the keys and made her mistress of 
 the house. And a most excellent mistress she made,, 
 until when ? until she got religion of the " once- 
 in-grace-always-in-grace " kind. Her whole charac- 
 ter was changed within a few weeks, and from being: 
 a friend rather than a servant, she became first & 
 worthless huzzy, and then an actual enemy. 
 
 Particulars of her misconduct need not be given. 
 When I returned to Blankton, after a long absence, 
 and heard of her shameful and cruel behavior to Mrs. 
 Elder, my arm ached up to my shoulder for a cowhide. 
 
SERYANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 315 
 
 " Surely you do not mean the inhuman lash ?" 
 
 " My friend, I am the fragments of a slave-driver,- 
 with a fine Southern temper, an imperfect education 
 in the c humanities,' and an abiding belief that the 
 inhuman lash is a good thing for whites as well as- 
 black s, and will continue to be until the last vestige 
 of the originial barbarism of mankind has been erad- 
 icated." 
 
 " You brute." 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am." 
 
 So we left Blankton, and we left our treasure,. 
 Amanda. Strange to say, nobody coveted that 
 treasure, and she had finally to go into a distant 
 State to get employment. 
 
 After our separation from Amanda servant-gals- 
 came thick and fast. The list, in brief, ran some- 
 what as follows : At Greenville, Kate ; pretty good, 
 well-behaved, and capable, but her eyes got sore and 
 we had to give her up. Then Mary Ellen, with no 
 particular faults, but miserably green, gawky and in- 
 competent ; had her one month. Then Ellen ; no 
 account. Then, at Drinkly Courthouse, Lizzy, who 
 stayed with us twenty-four hours, and told Mrs. 
 Elder that she " seen from her face that she couldn't 
 please her." Then Laura, an impudent wretch, who 
 stayed half her time in the kitchen or anywhere away 
 from the scene of her duties, and who wound up by 
 telling my wife, early one morning, before breakfast, 
 that " if she expected her to mind that child all day 
 Sunday, she was mistaken." Off she went, and we 
 swapped the devil for a witch, her successor being 
 
316 SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 still another Ellen, a yaller not yellow square- 
 built, awkward, slow, hideous, filthy, diseased, and 
 utterly good-for-nothing stupe, of whom we would 
 gladly have got rid months before we did if any hu- 
 man being could have been found to put in her place. 
 At length, by moving to a distance, we procured 
 Jane, a slim, thin, fourteen-year-old charcoal chit, 
 lazy to a degree, and rejoicing in a sore finger the 
 whole time we had her, from June till October. 
 Jane's mother kept her to her duty, but about the 
 time she began to know enough to be of some use, 
 away she went, her finger still sore. Then nobody 
 for a long time. Then Roberta for three weeks. 
 She did very well for one of her age, but went home 
 one Saturday " to get her clothes," and that was the 
 last we ever saw of her. A few servant-gal-less 
 weeks ensued, and then turned up Melinda, a dirty, 
 lazy, but good-tempered creature, who actually re- 
 mained an entire year. She began to be good for 
 something, when one stormy night her stepfather 
 <jame, in a state of beastly intoxication, and insisted 
 on taking her home, nine miles away, through the 
 pouring winter rain. And, what is worse, he wanted 
 her to walk ! We found her crying bitterly, and it 
 was a long time before she would tell us what was 
 the matter, so afraid was she of the drunken wretch. 
 When at last she did tell us, I went to the back-door, 
 called that stepfather out of the kitchen, where he 
 lay in a drunken sleep, and told him, in my mild 
 Southern way, that if he was not off that plantation 
 in five minutes I would blow his besotted brains out. 
 
SERVANTGALISM IK VIRGINIA. 31T 
 
 He went, but in a few days sent her mother for her ; 
 and although she had another bitter cry because she 
 did not want to go at all, she had to go. This is a 
 sample of negro stepfatherism in Virginia. I could 
 give many others if space permitted, but the above 
 will suffice. 
 
 You will have observed that in several cases we 
 were allowed to keep girls until they became familiar 
 with the duties of nurse and house-servant, and, this 
 gained, they were whisked away by their parents. 
 Agreeable task, to train the youthful African, and 
 have your training for your pains ! And to pass one's 
 life in training a series of } r outhful Africans, how re- 
 munerative and highly improving to the temper ! 
 To sit down servantless after some sudden bereave- 
 ment of the Melinda-Jane-Roberta kind, with a world 
 of house-work upon you and nobody to help you, and 
 to look forward through a long vista of just such be- 
 reavements following faster and faster ah, this is the 
 bliss, this the ripe, red watermelony core of servant- 
 galism in the South ! Oh, who would not live alway, 
 and who could welcome the tomb, under those pecu- 
 liar circumstances ? I put it to you of the North to 
 say. 
 
 Pauline succeeded Melinda. A quicker, more 
 teachable, neater servant we never had. An old 
 grandmother, who had been the slave of a gentleman, 
 made Pauline stay with us when she often wanted to 
 go away, and made us keep her when we longed 
 often to get rid of her ; for Pauline, besides having 
 two fathers, who bothered us a good deal, was about 
 
318 SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 twice a week literally possessed of a devil. Such 
 -sulks on the slightest provocation or no provocation, 
 and such intolerable, unheard-of insolence ! The en- 
 treaties of her grandmother, who had six other 
 grandchildren to provide for, without help from 
 either of Pauline's fathers one of whom has since 
 married again, and threatens to dump six more chil- 
 dren down upon his old mother-in-law her grand- 
 mother's entreaties alone saved Pauline, not only from 
 dismissal, but from punishment " correction," as we 
 used to call it down this way. 
 
 Furious at some particularly unbearable insult to 
 Mrs. Elder, I sent for Pauline to come to my private 
 room, intending to ah! "correct" her, as her 
 grandmother had requested me to do whenever she 
 deserved it. She came. I showed her the inhuman 
 lash a small cherry switch, and cherry, you know, is 
 brittle. She did not tremble, but she looked as if 
 she felt very badly arid expected to feel a great deal 
 worse presently. / trembled not, however, with 
 fright ; but, remembering that if, Othello-like, I did 
 but lift " this puny arm," the consequences might be 
 more serious than I contemplated or desired, I re- 
 strained my fine slave-driving temper, allowed my 
 puny arm to subside, and in a low voice gave Pauline 
 just such a lecture as I would have given one of -my 
 own children. The result was that she ceased to sulk 
 &nd to be possessed of the devil oftener than once a 
 week, and in her anxiety to befriend me, jumped out 
 of bed one frosty morning and went in her bare feet 
 to gather chips to build my fire with. Poor Pauline ! 
 
6ERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 319 
 
 An attack of inflammatory rheumatism ensued, as if 
 her aged grandmother had not trials enough already, 
 .and would you believe it? Mrs. Elder is deter- 
 mined to have Pauline back as soon as she gets well. 
 
 Next in order comes Susan, a middle-aged woman 
 and a most excellent servant. At the end of three 
 weeks she left us, to go to another family, who had 
 hired her previous to her engagement with us. Then 
 Dilsy, a nappy-headed, frowsy, lagging, ignorant and 
 unspeakably sluttish caricature of humanity, with 
 whom the list might well end. But it does not. 
 
 About a month ago we moved back to the scene of 
 my toting and my " teeple "-talk, and for three weeks 
 we have been housekeeping. During that time we 
 have had, of cooks, one who can't make bread, but 
 is a very well-conducted person, although she has a 
 mulatto son, a line-looking fellow, who is studying 
 for the ministry; another mulatto son, who "wuks in 
 de fac'ry," and a mulatto daughter, Mattie, barely 
 grown and quite pretty, who goes to school in the 
 morning and sifts cinders out of all the neighbors' 
 ash-piles in the evening, in order to help out her 
 mother's fire and save wood. Of nurses we have had 
 three to-wit : First, Adelaide, who left at the end 
 -of the week, and wanted to leave in the middle of it, 
 because Mrs. Elder ventured to speak disrespectfully 
 to her on account of her being absent without leave 
 at the very time of day when she was most needed ; 
 -second, Ellen Randolph, a highly respectable old 
 woman and a lifelong house-servant, who came for 
 four days only, to tide us over a servant-gal vacuum ; 
 
320 SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 third, Penelope, a doleful young woman, who takes 
 an hour to do anything, and then does not half do it, 
 because she does not know how. 
 
 This foots up a total of eighteen servant-gals in 
 eight years, which is a better showing than nine- 
 tenths of our friends can make. As both the cook 
 and the nurse we now have are to leave us next 
 Wednesday, and as Penelope does not infuriate me 
 more than twenty times a day, we are quite happy 
 and contented ; for to be able to look forward five 
 whole days with an assurance of having servants of 
 some sort during all that stretch of time is happiness 
 here below, in Virginia. 
 
 Since our return we have been visited by Amy and 
 Ann, and the entire retinue of old family servants, 
 male as well as female, all of whom have been very 
 kind and respectful. This has put us, in a better 
 frame. Life does not present itself to us quite so 
 darkly as before, albeit it still promises to be an ever- 
 revolving kaleidoscope of colored servant-gals, here 
 to-day and gone to-morrow. Amy and Ann really talk 
 as if they want to come back to us, but of course they 
 can't, because they are bound by other engagements. 
 I am not so excitable as I was. My temper is im- 
 proving, my shirts are untorn and the hair is begin- 
 ning to grow again on my head. Mrs. Elder dare 
 not for her life allude to the subject ; but, as Lizzy 
 said at Drinkly Courthouse, I "seen from her eye" 
 that she indulges the hope that I will ultimately be 
 restored to that amiability which characterized me in 
 the halcyon years before the war, when I carried hab- 
 
SERVANTGALISM IN VIRGINIA. 321 
 
 itually a revolver in one pocket for my male, and a 
 cowhide in the other pocket for my female slaves. 
 
 Here, were I a literary New England woman- 
 writer for the - Monthly (as I hope to be in 
 another and better world), I might fitly point this 
 o'er-true tale and adorn it with a moral. But, sexed 
 and Southern-sectioned as I am, I cannot do that. All 
 I can do is to offer a few T closing remarks. 
 
 I am no longer a rebel. The situation has accepted 
 me, and I am devoted to the Union, I think. In 
 theory, if not in practice, I am as radical as Charles 
 Sumner himself; no longer believe in slavery or any 
 other dead thing, and am accustomed to take the 
 broadest views of all subjects. Keeping fully abreast 
 of the age, I read all the books of all the ablest 
 modern thinkers in the school of progress, and can, 
 as a rule, attribute every event, good or bad, to 
 "large general causes," as Mr. Buckle would say. 
 
 Still, Inrmo su'iu, ; and when I see my mother, my 
 wife, my sister, my cousins, and the wives, mothers, 
 sisters and cousins of all my friends, reduced to 
 menials, and compelled to drudge with no chance of 
 escape, no prospect of betterment, but every certainty 
 of the reverse (for the next generation of negroes 
 will be infinitely more unmanageable than the pres- 
 ent, and the plaguy Democrats will not let John Chi- 
 naman come in) when 1 see this, I say, I am utterly 
 unable to take an impersonal, philosophical view of 
 the matter. On the contrary, I grit what teeth I 
 have left, and consign the Yankees to perdition with 
 all the barbaric vehemence of my vulgar and fero- 
 cious Virginan nature. 
 21 
 
THE PAWNEE WAR 
 
 A KEMINISCENCE. 
 
 IN the southwestern corner of the Capitol Square 
 there is a truncated brick tower, modelled appa- 
 rently after the design of the Tower of Babel, as 
 conceived by the artists who illustrate Sunday-school 
 books, except that the sides of the superimposed 
 layers do not slope, but run vertically up a distance 
 of ten or fifteen feet, when they are suddenly con- 
 tracted, and another layer of lesser diameter begins. 
 Not above forty feet rises this humble and ugly 
 structure. On the top of it there is a homely 
 wooden belfry, and in that belfry a large bell hangs. 
 In peace times this bell struck the hours of the day 
 and night, gave the alarm of fire, and called the 
 truant "Alligators " * from their haunts in the bar- 
 
 * For many years the members of tbe Virginia House of Dele- 
 gates were nicknamed "Alligators." The origin of the term is 
 said to be this : An uncouth, roughly dressed Dutchman one day 
 attempted to make his way into the hall, but was met by the 
 doorkeeper with the query, " What do you want ? " "I vants to 
 go in dere." ".Whom do you want to see ? " "I don't vants to 
 see nobody: I vants to go in." "You can't go in, sir; the 
 House is in session, and it is against the rules. If you want to 
 see any member I will call him out." "I vants to go in," per- 
 sisted the Dutchman. "I tell you again, you can't go in,'' re- 
 
THE PAWNEE WAR. 323 
 
 rooms and faro-banks when there was a close vote in 
 the General Assembly once the House of Bur- 
 gesses or important public business to be dis- 
 patched. On rare occasions, such as the John 
 Brown excitement, the bell summoned the military 
 population of the city to arms. 
 
 A room in the lower part of the little brick tower 
 was used as a guard-house, as well for the policemen 
 of Mayor Mayo (whose business was that precisely 
 of other policemen) as for a squad of the State 
 Guard, who acted as sentries about the Capitol and 
 watched over the Penitentiary convicts employed in 
 grading the walks, and ornamenting and improving 
 the grass-plots, shrubbery, and trees that adorn the 
 Square. The State Guard would cry very small in 
 comparison with the Coldstreams, or the Guarde 1m- 
 periale. They numbered less than a hundred men ; 
 but they were well organized, drilled, and equipped, 
 and commanded by a very competent officer in the 
 person of Captain Dimmock, formerly of the United 
 States army. This single company of infantry con- 
 tained every regular soldier Virginia had at her 
 command when, true to her motto, Sic Semper Ty- 
 
 torted the doorkeeper angrily. "But I ish a Alligator." "A 
 what ? " cried the puzzled doorkeeper. ' ' I ish a Alligator mine- 
 self. " The doorkeeper stared in amazement. "What did you 
 say a Alligator ? " "Yaw," roared the now excited Dutchman ; 
 " I ish one o' dem Alligators from the Kounty of Wit ! " A light 
 dawned on the doorkeeper's mind. "Now I understand you," 
 he exclaimed; "you are a delegate from the county of Wythe. 
 Walk in, sir." Ever since the term "Alligator" has been a 
 household word in Virginia. 
 
324 THE PAWNEE WAR. 
 
 rannis, she raised her spear against the despot lately 
 enthroned in Washington. 
 
 About one o'clock, P. M., on the Sunday succeed- 
 ing the passage of the ordinance of secession, a sol- 
 dier ascended the wooden steps under the bell in the 
 little brick tower, seized the heavy clapper in hi& 
 hand, made two hard strokes, paused an instant, and 
 then made a third. Sullen and deep the notes- 
 floated out in the balmy spring air. 
 
 Far and wide the tocsin rang over the city, then 
 busy in the worship of the Prince of Peace. The 
 clergymen of the many churches hard by the Capitol 
 Square, who that morning for the first time had 
 ceased to pray publicly for the President of the 
 United States, were uttering the after-sermon peti- 
 tion, " Grant, O Loud, that the words that we have 
 this day heard," when " the outward ears " of their 
 kneeling congregations were smitten by the boding 
 sounds from the brick tower. Ere the prayer was 
 ended more than half the congregation had disap- 
 peared. Scarcely a man remained in the churches. 
 The dismay of the clergymen at witnessing this- 
 sudden depletion of their flocks was surpassed only 
 by the chill that struck to the hearts of the women 
 when their "affrayed eyes" were opened, and fa- 
 thers, husbands, sons, brothers, and lovers were 
 missing. 
 
 Father of Mercy ! was it possible that the hire- 
 lings of Lincoln had so soon gained the -vicinity of 
 the capital of the Old Dominion, and must priceless- 
 blood be shed immediately, and on the Sabbath day I 
 
THE PAWNEE WAR. 325 
 
 What else could this alarm and the sudden disap- 
 pearance of the men mean? How quickly the 
 blooming cheeks paled, and the pulses in the slender 
 wrists went cold and slow ! 
 
 There was no one in the city, familiar with "big 
 wars," to command 
 
 " Silence that dreadful bell! " 
 
 The soldier with the clapper in his hand manfully 
 anviled the resonant metal, and loud note succeeded 
 hollow murmur until the whole April air seemed 
 vibrating. Thousands of lips were pleading for in- 
 formation, and, for a time, none was found wise 
 enough to answer. Some terrible thing had hap- 
 pened, or was about to happen on the instant. 
 What was it? What could it be ? " Rumor, painted 
 full of tongues," was never so busy as during the 
 half hour after the churches were closed and the 
 congregations dispersed. But presently the true 
 story was told, and passed from mouth to mouth in 
 hurried, sometimes trembling accents : The, Governor 
 of Virginia had received official intelligence that the 
 Yankee sloop-of-war "Pawnee" had passed City 
 Point, at the confluence of the A.ppomattox and 
 James rivers, and was steaming hard for Richmond, 
 ivith the intention of shelling it and burning it to 
 to the ground ! 
 
 Monstrous intelligence ! City Point was sixty 
 miles away ; the river was narrow and tortuous ; in 
 many places the channel ran so close to the banks 
 that the felling of a single tree would have arrested 
 the progress of any vessel; besides, the Pawnee was 
 
326 THE PAWNEE WAR. 
 
 a wooden ship (monitors jet lay dormant in the 
 brain of Ericsson), and the steep bluffs on the farms- 
 of Drewry and Chaffin, which afterwards served the 
 city so well, afforded admirable vantage ground for 
 field-pieces and perfect shelter for marksmen. "What 
 gunboat would ever run such a. gauntlet for the mad 
 chance of shelling a city of forty thousand inhabi- 
 tants ? The foolhardiest midshipman in Uncle Sam's 
 service, even when crazed with sweet champagne 
 extracted from the pippins of the Jerseys and medi- 
 cated in the cellars of the Five Points, never dreamed 
 of so insane a project. All this is very plain, now 
 that three eventful years overlie that memorable Sun- 
 day in Richmond. It was not so clear to the excited 
 inhabitants, new to all the strategy and appliances of 
 war. A few saw the absurdity of the matter; but 
 the men made ready to meet the enemy, come how 
 he might, though all felt that this aquatic onset was 
 a most ungenerous and contemptible mode of attack- 
 ing a people accustomed only to dry-land engage- 
 ments with partridges and squirrels. The companies 
 of the First regiment of Virginia volunteers repaired 
 promptly to their drill-rooms, and in an incredibly 
 short space of time were ready for marching orders. 
 ^Randolph's battery of light howitzers was equally 
 prompt, and so was the only troop of horse the city 
 could muster the "Governor's Mounted Guard," as- 
 it was called. All told, there were perhaps be- 
 tween six and seven hundred organized men, most 
 of whom were as familiar with military forms as 
 volunteers in time of peace ever are. These were 
 
THE PAWNEE WAR. 327 
 
 prepared for any duty they might be called on to 
 perform in less than an hour from the time the bell 
 began tolling. 
 
 There were some affecting scenes. Mothers, sis- 
 ters, and sweethearts came down to the drill-rooms, 
 to interchange a parting word with the young men, 
 and to fill their haversacks with something good to 
 eat. These tender, inexperienced girls beheld in 
 imagination the manly forms of their loved ones torn 
 and mangled by pitiless fragments of Yankee shells, 
 soon to explode over the doomed city, and in the midst 
 of the serried ranks of infantry. No wonder the fine 
 young fellows felt a tremor about the heart and a suf- 
 fusion of the eyes which ill became veteran soldiers who 
 had taken part in the John Brown war. No wonder 
 they wished the " women would go home and quit 
 bothering." But these partings, affecting as they 
 were, sank into insignificance when compared w T ith 
 the solemn and energetic earnestness of the male citi- 
 zens who did not belong to the volunteer companies, 
 but felt it, nevertheless, to be their bounden duty to 
 defend their city, their families, and their properties 
 from the ravages of the ruthless and watery invader. 
 There was a gathering in hot haste of these, which 
 might well have vied with that in Belgium's capital, 
 besung by the Lord George Gordon Noel Byron. 
 What weapons did they not seize? fowling-pieces 
 mortally oxydized ; immemorial duck-guns, of pro- 
 digious bore ; ancient falchions that had flashed in 
 the eyes of Cornwallis at Yorktown ; pistols of every 
 conceivable calibre, and of all possible shades of in- 
 
328 THE PAWNEE WAR. 
 
 utility ; and, in one instance at least, a veritable 
 blunderbuss, so encompassed with verdigris that it 
 passed for a cucumber of precocious growth ! All 
 these, loaded or unloaded, with or without caps or 
 flints, to fight a gunboat mounted with ten-inch Co- 
 lurnbiads ! Everything that could shoot or cut was 
 called into requisition, and Sutherland the gunsmith, 
 albeit it was Sunday, was called upon to open his 
 store, and, complying, did a rousing business, dispos- 
 ing of nearly all his stock of arms and fixed amuni- 
 tion in two short hours the result of which was the 
 enhancement, the very next day, of revolvers, bowie- 
 knives, dirks, and even long-bladed clasp-knives, to 
 the extent of full fifty per cent. 
 
 Heavier metal than any Sutherland had to sell was 
 needed in the great trial at hand, and of this the 
 citizen heroes were well aware. Accordingly, a 
 party of them rushed to the Virginia armory, and 
 out of the large store of ancient ordnance there ac- 
 cumulated selected one of a pair of magnificent 
 bronze guns, quaintly but beautifully embellished, 
 which had been presented to the State by the Count 
 de Kochambeau in the name of the French govern- 
 ment. This rare and costly piece, weighing probably 
 two tons, was by some strange art, which the frenzy 
 of the moment suggested, hoisted upon a dray, or 
 some other strong vehicle. A mixed multitude of 
 horses, mules, and men were hurriedly gathered, the 
 motley motive power applied, and the whole party 
 dashed up the hill to Main street, and then down the 
 street at a terrific pace, until they reached the Cus- 
 
THE PAWNEE WAR. 329 
 
 torn House, and there the brave old gun, indignant 
 at the rough, unmilitary usage it had received, in- 
 continently leaped out of the dray into the street, 
 where it lay for many weeks, a' stranded Triton 
 among the schools of martial minnows that floated 
 by it, much wondering at its great size and the pur- 
 pose for which it had been placed in that position 
 the majority being of opinion that it was put there 
 to defend, not the Custom House, for that contained 
 no treasure, but the Virginia Banks, just opposite. 
 How this was to be effected was not clear, seeing that 
 the gun was on the ground and there was probably 
 neither a ball nor a cartridge in the city to fit it ; but 
 the military critics of those days were mostly from 
 the country, and not familiar, as thousands of them 
 now are, with the manual of heavy artillery. 
 
 It must not be supposed that the infantry, light 
 artillery and horse waited for the upsetting of the 
 big gun. By no means. Long before they had 
 marched off, under what commander-in-chief history 
 has failed to record, in the direction of Rocketts the 
 euphonious title of the lower part of the city near 
 the wharves and the landings of the sea-going steamers 
 that then plied between Richmond and the principal 
 maritime cities of the North. Meantime every 
 ""coign of vantage" was occupied by anxious watch- 
 ers. Wives, whose tearful weight had just relieved the 
 throttled necks of husbands already heavily freighted 
 with horse-pistols, bowie-knives, brandy-flasks, and 
 cold ham and biscuit, were now recovered from their 
 -" wounds/' and straining their eyes from the upper 
 
330 THE PAWNEE WAR. 
 
 windows and porches to catch the first glimpse of 
 the dreaded Pawnee. The top of the Capitol, the 
 tops of houses, church steeples, the " observatories," 
 as they are unscientifically called, of the hotels, and 
 every high point in and around the city, were alive 
 with human beings. Church Hill in particular, 
 which overlooks the river at Rocketts, was swarming 
 with human beings of both sexes, all ages, and every 
 complexion, for the negroes were now as anxious and 
 excited as their masters and mistresses. 
 
 It was whispered that the Grand Army of Rich- 
 mond intended to " make a stand " at Rocketts, and 
 give battle to the Pawnee, for it was taken for 
 granted that that vessel would make fast to the wharf 
 before she opened her broadsides or gave tongue 
 even to the pivot rifle in the bow. This was an ad- 
 ditional incentive to the dense crowd on Church Hill 
 to remain just where they were, at least until the 
 enemy hove in sight. The army did make a stand 
 at Rocketts, but it was merely a halt for refresh- 
 ments fresh quids of tobacco. The line of glitter- 
 ing bayonets was soon again in motion, the cannon 
 rumbled, the war-horses kicked up a mighty dust,, 
 and the column quickly wound over the hill and was 
 out of sight. Still the multitudes on the towers and 
 house-tops watched and waited. Like a serpentine 
 silver band the river lay stretched before them, miles 
 and miles away, without a cloud to dim its tranquil 
 argent sheen. Far or near, none could descry the 
 Pawnee. The sun sank low, and at length set in 
 the peaceful heavens. Still no Pawnee. Twilight 
 
THE PAWNEE WAR. 331 
 
 deepened into night, the church bells called the 
 people from the hills and house-tops to prayers 
 prayers of gratitude for deliverance from " the pes- 
 tilence that steamet/i at noon-day," but doth not 
 often venture up narrow, shallow, and unknown 
 channels when thick darkness covereth the earth. 
 The Pawnee never came. The troops bivouacked 
 that night in the fields on the river-shore, some five 
 or six miles below the city, and inarched back the 
 next day to resume the exercises which were to fit 
 them for actual service, of which they were destined 
 to see far more than they dreamed. The night was 
 mild, and the march, the bivouac, and the shell prac- 
 tice in which the Howitzers indulged the following 
 morning, were regarded by the " boys " as a jolly frolic. 
 No accident and but one untoward event happened. 
 A son of Dr. Beverley Tucker, Professor in the Rich- 
 mond Medical College, contracted that night a pul- 
 monary disease which speedily proved fatal. Young 
 Tucker was, in Virginia at least, the first victim of 
 the war. 
 
 Thus began, progressed, and ended the famous 
 " Pawnee war/' We may laugh at it now, for there 
 were many laughable things about it. Not the least 
 of these was the consternation produced in the 
 country about Richmond by the exaggerated reports 
 carried out of the corporate limits by self-elected 
 couriers. Among other wild stories, was one to the 
 effect that the Pawnee Indians had come down -the 
 Central railroad, taken possession of the city, and 
 were scalping and tomahawking the citizens at a. 
 
THE PAWNEE WAR. 
 
 frighiful rate. This story was actually believed, and 
 many agitated ladies fled to the house of a daughter 
 of General Richardson, the Adjutant-General of Vir- 
 ginia, as if there w r as a charm about that powerful 
 title w r hich ensured safety to all its owner's relatives 
 and friends. Yes, we may laugh at the Paw r nee war, 
 and own frankly that there was something of a panic 
 that day in Richmond. But then, as in times more 
 alarming, when the tocsin again sounded, and with 
 better cause, Richmond shewed fight, and doubtless 
 would have made it had there been occasion. If 
 that was her first panic, it was her last. A year 
 afterwards one hundred thousand men, and thrice 
 one hundred pieces of cannon threatened her, with 
 scarce an earthwork between them and their prey; 
 but she was calm and smiling, for Lee confronted 
 the host of her foes, and Jackson was coming. 
 
FLIZE. 
 
 BY Mozis ADDUMS. 
 
 I HATE a fli. 
 A fli is got no manners. He ain't no gentle- 
 inun. He's an introoder, don't send in no kard, nor 
 ax a interduckshun, nor don't knok at the frunt door, 
 and nuver, nuver thinx uv takin off his hat. 
 
 Fust thing you know he is in bed with you and 
 up your nose tho what he wants up thar is a mistry 
 and he invites hisself to breakfast, and sets down 
 in yore butter, thont brushin his pants. 
 
 He helps hisself to sugar, and meat, and molasses, 
 and bred, and persurves, and vinnegy, and every- 
 thing don't wait for no invitashum. He's got a 
 good appytite, and jist as sune eat one thing a& 
 anuther. 
 
 'Taint no use to challenge him for taking liberties;, 
 he kepes up a hostile korrespondence with you,, 
 wether ur not, and shoots hisself at you like a bullit, 
 and he nuver misses, nuver. 
 
 He'll kiss yore wife 20 times a day, and zizz and 
 zoo, and ridikule you if you say a word, and he'd 
 Hither you'd slap at him than not, coze he's a dodger 
 
334 FLIZE. 
 
 uv the dodginest kind. Every time you slap, you 
 don't slap him, but slap yo'self, and he zizzes arid 
 pints the hind leg uv skorn at you till he aggrevates 
 you to distrackshin. 
 
 He glories in lightin every pop on the exact spot 
 whar you druv him from, wich pruves the intenshun 
 to teeze you. Don't tell me he ain't got no mind ; 
 he knows what he is arf ter. He's got sense, and too 
 much ov it, though he nuver w r ent to school a day in 
 his life except in the sugar dish. He's a mean, mil- 
 lignunt, owdashus, premedditated cuss. 
 
 His mother nuver paddled him with a slipper in 
 her life. His morrals was niglecktid, and he lacks a 
 good deal of humility mitely. He ain't bashful a 
 bit, and I doubts if he blushes ofting. In fact, he 
 was nuver fetched up at all. 
 
 He was born full grown ; he don't get old, neither. 
 Things gits old, but he nuver gits old and he's im- 
 perdent and mischevus to the day uv his deth. 
 
 He droops in cold wether, and you kin mash him 
 on a winder-pane, but you've jest put yore finger in 
 it. He cums agin next yeer, and a heep mo with 
 him. 'Taint no use. 
 
 One Hi to a family might do fur amusement, but 
 the good uv so menny flize I bedog ef I kin see. 
 Kin you ? 
 
 I have thort much about flize, and I has notist 
 how ofting they stops in thar deviltry to comb thar 
 heds and skratch thar nose with thar fourlegs, and 
 gouge thar arm-pits under thar wings, and the tops 
 of thar wings with thar hind legs, and my kandid 
 
FUZE. 335 
 
 opinyun ar that flize is lowsy; they eeclies all the 
 time, is misurbul, and that makes em bad-tempered, 
 and they want to make uther peepil misurbul too. 
 
 Ef that ain't the flosofy of flize, I give it up. 
 
 Altho a fli don't send in his kard, he always leaves 
 one, and I don't like it. 'Taint pritty ef 'tis round. 
 He kan't make a cross-mark only a dot and he is 
 always a dottin whar thar ain't no i's. Thars no 
 eend to his periods, but he nuver comes to a full 
 stop. 
 
 Sich handwritin is dizagreeabil. 
 
 He's a artiss, but his freshco and his wall-paperin 
 I don't admier. Thars too much sameness in his 
 patterns. His specs is the only specs that don't 
 help the eyes. You can't see through um, and you 
 -don't want too. 
 
 I hate a fli. 
 
 Durn a fli. 
 
CHARGE TO THE KNIGHTS, 
 
 AT A PYTHIAN TOURNAMENT AT RICHMOND, ON THE 4TH or JULY. 
 
 Tchivalry uv me Native State : 
 
 TOUR, committee showed much taste when they 
 selected me as your charger. Notablest of 
 chargers am I, and fittest. Educated in Princeton, 
 New Jersey, I can ride anything from a hickory 
 stick to the walking-beam of a steam-tug. A horse 
 I despise. But strap me down tight as McClellan 
 did his troopers, or pin me fast with hooks and eyes 
 to a side-saddle, and I can ride against any man in 
 the world if another man will lead the horse. 
 
 Nevertheless, Mr. Knights and Tchivalry of Vir- 
 ginia, I shall discharge the duty I sought vainly to 
 escape. You will observe I do not call you shiv- 
 erlry, but tchivalry ; and this I do because Sir 
 Knights as bold and valiant as you are would not 
 indeed, could not shiver, even on the Fourth of 
 July. Did they have any Fourth of July in those 
 days when Bryant de Boss Gulliverbut, and those 
 other amiable and tchivalric Mr. Sir Knights whose 
 names escape me, nourished, and lit or fought tour- 
 naments? I hope not; I trow not. I hope they 
 had too much sense to indulge in any foolishness 
 
THE PYTHIAN TOURNAMENT. 337 
 
 about Independence days. No; those pious and 
 doughty Mr. Sir Knights of those doleful and dia- 
 bolical old days would never have made gumps and 
 T)lockheads of themselves as certain tchivalric Bos- 
 tonians did, who got themselves up in Indian cos- 
 tume and rode a tilt at midnight against a tea-ship 
 when nobody was aboard, not even the cook's mate 
 in complete armor. That bold Boston tea tourna- 
 ment, like the occupation of Sumter by Major An- 
 derson, brought secession from the best British gov- 
 ernment the world ever saw up to that time 
 brought the Fourth of July, brought you out here, 
 me into this bad box, and all our woe. 
 
 But, Tchivalry of Virginia, to pronounce the 
 word properly, you must put a "t" before the 
 "chiv,' and utter a preliminary sneeze before the 
 " t," and you have it exactly, but, Tchivalry of Vir- 
 ginia, as some tremendous poet has remarked, "look 
 not mournfully into the past." And when some 
 charger, more gifted than myself, tells you, " in the 
 language of the sublime, immortal, and beautiful 
 Burke, ; the age of tchivalry is over,'" and then 
 adds, " 'taint so," in order to cheer you up, when 
 .some gifted charger tells you this, you up and tell 
 him " 'its so," and that he is a mis-stater. Aye, Mr. 
 Sir Knights, the age of tchivalry is over, and you 
 may thank your stars that it is over. Zounds ! 
 where would you be this day if it were not over? 
 Oadzooks ! how would you feel with a small iron 
 pot clapt close to your skull. Marry come up ! what 
 would be the state of your sudatory apparatus if you 
 22 
 
338 THE PYTHIAN TOURNAMENT. 
 
 had two hundred pounds of skillet lids distributed over 
 your precious persons ? 'Sdeath ! how your nerves 
 would flatten if you knew that in ten minutes from 
 this time the chances were that you would be- 
 knocked out of your saddle plumped out like the 
 middle man from taw by a real spear, and landed 
 flat on your back, twenty feet off in the road ? And 
 ten to one, the scoundrel who played you this tchi- 
 valric little trick would crown your sweetheart, and 
 she would smile upon him, and not even pay you; 
 the compliment of going to your funeral to-morrow. 
 
 Aye ! Mr. Sir Knights and Sir Gentlemen, you 
 may congratulate yourselves that, although this is 
 the Fourth of July, you don't have to get up and 
 put on a ready-made suit of steel, go out and straddle 
 an iron-clad horse, and put out from home with every 
 prospect of dying before sundown, because it is your 
 duty to dare every man to knock a chip off your hel- 
 met who says his mistress is prettier than yours. 
 
 Yes, gentlemen, this is a day of Spences, of Dev- 
 lins, of Wm. Ira Smiths, of linen dusters, butterfly 
 neckties, and shirts at $18 a dozen. Let us be duly 
 grateful therefor. 
 
 Having dispatched tchivalry, my next task is to- 
 gay somewhat about beauty. The two, beauty and 
 tchivalry, always go together. Why they always- 
 went together, and what they went for, I never did 
 know. Were all the women in the days of tchivalry 
 beautiful ? Certainly, they must have been beautiful,, 
 or else the skillet-lidded gentlemen of the period 
 would not have been willing to risk their lives twenty 
 
THE PYTHIAN TOURNAMENT. 339 
 
 times a day for them. It is not so now-a-days. Far 
 otherwise very much not so ! Alack ! that I should 
 say it, but the truth is that some modern women are 
 as ugly as the inside of an ancient, rat-eaten pine- 
 apple cheeze, and as high-tempered early in the 
 morning as a cross-cut saw. They have some temper 
 left in the middle of the day. Also some temper re- 
 maining at night. A homely face, a plenty of tem- 
 per, and precious little money, no man, however 
 tchivalric, would be willing to die for more than 
 once in twenty-four hours. 
 
 But, next to a thorough-bred horse, the beautiful- 
 est thing in the world is undoubtedly what do you 
 suppose ? A woman ? Oh, no ! A young woman ? 
 Not exactly. A wife ? A good wife is loveliness 
 itself ; but all wives are not good. A widow, then ? 
 We-11 ye-s, a pretty widow is a heap prettier than 
 mighty pretty. But the beautifulest thing in the 
 w T orld, beyond all shadow of comparison, is a bride. 
 And for the sake of a bride I think any valiant man 
 in a thin suit of clothes, all paid for, will be willing, 
 even on the fourth of July, to ride at an iron ring 
 twice as heavy and four times as big as that thing 
 dangling yonder. And it is your bounden duty, as 
 tchivalric Sir Knights, to make every one of the 
 ladies here present not one of whom is ugly all 
 the ugly and bad-tempered women have gone to 
 Chicago to make a living by getting divorces it is 
 your bounden duty, I say, to make each young lady 
 who now gazes on your manly, dewy, and tchivalric 
 forms, the beautifulest thing in the world a bride 
 
340 THE PYTHIAN TOURNAMENT. 
 
 and so give her the chance of becoming the next 
 beautif ulest thing in the world a widow. 
 
 Therefore, Sir Knights and gentlemen, I now most 
 earnestly charge you to do your level best. Proceed. 
 Set sail. Unship your royal mizzen cat-heads, haul 
 aft your spanker bowsprits, hoist your foretops'l 
 hatchways ! Go it, and may the devil take the man 
 that don't take the ring. 
 
THE RECORD OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 BATTLE ROLL OF THE ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA. 
 
 ~T) UBKE, the author of The Peerage, gives the 
 JLJ) following account of the famous Battle Abbey 
 and its still more famous Boll : 
 
 "The Boll of Battle Abbey, the earliest record, 
 of the Normans, has at all times been regarded with 
 deep interest by the principal families in the king- 
 dom by those who show descent directly from the 
 chiefs of the Conqueror's host, as well as by those 
 who indirectly establish a similar lineage. 
 
 " The Abbey of Battle, a memorial of one of the 
 most important events in English history, was erected 
 upon a place called Heathfield, about seven miles dis- 
 tant from Hastings, in fulfilment of a vow made by 
 the Conqueror prior to the battle which won for him 
 the diadem of England. Within a year the founda- 
 tion was laid on the very spot where the battle of 
 Hastings had been fought, and but a brief period sub- 
 sequently passed until the Monastery itself arose in 
 all its magnificence, richly endowed and highly priv- 
 ileged, dedicated to the honor of the Holy Trinity 
 and St. Martin, the high altar standing where Harold 
 and the Saxon standard fell. The Conqueror at first 
 designed that this great religious house should ac- 
 
342 THE RECORD OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 commodate one hundred and fifty monks, but pro- 
 vision appears to have been made for sixty only. The 
 first community, a society of Benedictines, came from 
 Marmenstier, in Normandy, and were enjoined to pray 
 for those who died in the battle, and to preserve a 
 faithful record of all who shared in the glory of the 
 victory. Thus arose the Abbey of Battle, and thus 
 the Koll of Battle Abbey. 
 
 "The endowments of the royal founder upon the 
 Abbey and the holy brethren were, in the extreme, 
 liberal and munificent. Aldsis in Sussex, Lymsfield 
 in Surrey, How in Essex, Croumere in Oxen, Bris- 
 walderten in Berks, together with a league of land 
 around the house itself, were but a portion of their 
 vast domains. They had, besides, the churches of 
 Hadings and Colanum, in Devon, and St. Olave, in 
 Exeter. The immunities they enjoyed were alike con- 
 siderable. Their grand charter exempted the Breth- 
 ren of Battle from episcopal jurisdiction, treasure 
 trove and free warren. The abbot wore the mitre, 
 and was invested with the power to pardon any felon 
 he might meet with going to execution. From foun- 
 dation to dissolution, the Abbey of Battle had a suc- 
 cession of thirty-one mitred abbots. The last, John 
 Hammond, was chosen in 1529. The site of the dis- 
 solved Abbey was granted by Henry VIII. to 
 Richard Gilmer, who sold the estate to Sir Anthony 
 Broune, from whose descendants the Brounes, Vis- 
 counts Montague, the Abbey and lands passed again 
 by sale to Sir Thomas Webster, Bart., in whose fam- 
 ily they are yet vested. The still extant ruins, com- 
 
THE RECORD OF VIRGINIA. 343 
 
 puted at not less than a mile of ground, bear ample 
 testimony to the splendor and magnificence of the 
 celebrated Monastery of Battle. 
 
 "The table containing the following names was 
 suspended in the Abbey, with this inscription :" 
 
 Here follows the latin inscription and the roll, as 
 given by Hollinshed, and again by Brompton, Du- 
 chesne and, Leland. Among the names recorded, 
 will be found quite a number which are household 
 words in Virginia and other Southern States. 
 
 Doubt has been thrown upon the accuracy of the 
 Roll of Battle Abbey, so far at least as it may be re- 
 garded as the muster roll of the Norman chiefs who 
 survived the field of Hastings, there being more than 
 a suspicion that its holy guardians felt slight qualm 
 at interpolation, when by that means they could pro- 
 pitiate the favor of some anticipated wealthy bene- 
 factor, or gratify the pride of some potent steel-clad 
 baron. A recent writer endeavors, thus eloquently, 
 to excuse the laxity of this celebrated record: "It 
 was no unworthy pride," says Mr. Warburton, "that 
 would introduce a little of the Norman sap into the 
 family tree. And if to effect such an object his- 
 tory be sometimes twisted, and heraldry suborned, 
 let us look with indulgent eyes. Even at this day, 
 in a country where titles command so much respect 
 from the general worth of those who bear them, Nor- 
 man blood is the proudest boast, and Norman fea- 
 tures the proudest distinction." The document is, 
 at all events, one of monkish times, and has always 
 been held in high estimation by the ancient chroni- 
 
3tt4 THE RECORD OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 clers. Grafton calls the list, which he publishes,. 
 "The Names of the Gentlemen that came out of 
 Normandy with William, Duke of that Prouynce,, 
 when he conquered the noble Realm of England, the 
 which he states that he took out of an Auncient Re- 
 corde that he had of Clarenceux, King of Armes." 
 And Stow asserts his catalogue is transcribed from 
 "A table some time in Battaille Abbey." Guilliaume- 
 Tayleur, too, a Norman historian, who could not 
 have had any communication with the monks of Bat- 
 tle, has given a copy of the muster roll, according in 
 most particulars with the lists which Burke has in- 
 serted. 
 
 Burke's "Annotations" refer briefly to those sol- 
 djers of the Conquest, of whom any authentic his- 
 tory remains, or from whom descendants may be 
 traced. The information imparted by him, meagre 
 though it be, will not be deemed valueless or uninterest- 
 ing by those through whose veins the Norman blood 
 flows, and in whose breast the Norman spirit breathes. 
 "On that soil" we again quote from Mr. Warbur- 
 ton's able work " on that soil where they fixed their 
 final home, the influence of Holla and his race 
 abides in monuments more enduring and worthier 
 than castles or abbeys; in the skill that tames the- 
 war-horse ; in the courage that ' rules the wave ;' in 
 the energies, the perseverance, the honor, the piety 
 of the English people. 
 
 " Nor have these influences suffered diminution from 
 the wear of eight hundred years. There is a vitality 
 in the Norman spirit on which time seems to have m> 
 
THE RECORD OF VIRGINIA. 345 
 
 power. Such as it was in the days after Hastings,, 
 such it is now. Then it inspired the Norman knight ; 
 it now breathes in the English gentleman." 
 
 We have taken the trouble to revive the history 
 of 'Battle Abbey, in order that we might fitly intro- 
 duce the suggestion promised at the close of our first 
 article on the record of Virginia. As we have said, 
 that record, so far at least as the Army of Northern 
 Virginia is concerned, is the record of the Confeder- 
 ate States, each of which has contributed lavishly 
 of its blood and treasure in the formation and achieve- 
 ments of that army. We owe it to ourselves, to our 
 posterity, to mankind, and, above all, to the battle- 
 scarred and toil-worn heroes of that truly great army, 
 to perpetuate its deeds of valor, endurance and suf-* 
 fering in some becoming manner. The day of ab- 
 beys, monasteries and monks is past for ever, but the 
 arts of modern civilization enable us to record the his- 
 tory of heroic actions in a manner far superior to the 
 written annals of ancient days. The printing press and 
 the photograph, by so much as they excel in rapidity 
 and accuracy the pen of the monk and the limner's 
 pencil, place it within our power to preserve the 
 muster-roll of the Army of Northern Virginia, and 
 to erect in honor of its deeds a "monument more 
 enduring and worthier than castles or abbeys." 
 
 Why should not each State have its muster-roll of 
 the second war for independence, and why should not 
 all the States unite in perpetuating the battle-roll of 
 the Army of Northern Virginia? The suggestion, 
 we have to make is this : 
 
THE RECORD OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 , I. The formation of a society, to be called " The 
 Historical Art Association of the Confederate States," 
 which shall be a permanent organization, chartered 
 regularly, and composed of leading men from every 
 State; the President of the Confederate States,* or 
 other suitable person, to be the President of the As- 
 .sociation. The Yice-Presidents to consist of one or 
 .more distinguished gentlemen from each of the 
 Southern States. The Executive Committee to be 
 composed of influential and energetic citizens of 
 Richmond, where the Association will meet at least 
 once a month for the transaction of business. The 
 Chairman of this Committee to be a man who will 
 give his heart and soul to the work, in which he will 
 be seconded faithfully by all the members of the 
 committee the aim being the formation of a living, 
 working, ever-growing Association. In addition to 
 these officers, there should be a Recording Secretary, 
 Corresponding Secretary, Treasurer, Historiographer, 
 Photographer, and Artist. 
 
 II. Regular, honorary, and corresponding mem- 
 bers, to be eligible on terms prescribed by the con- 
 stitution of the Association. 
 
 III. One or more travelling agents. 
 
 IV. The primary object of the Association shall 
 be the collection, in one magnificent volume, hand- 
 somely embellished and bound in the most durable 
 manner, of a series of engravings executed in steel, 
 in the highest style of the art, by the best artists, 
 and from photographs taken on the spot of all the 
 _great battle-fields in which the Army of Northern 
 
THE RECORD OF VIRGINIA. 347 
 
 Virginia, or any considerable detachment of it, has 
 been or may hereafter be engaged. 
 
 Y. Brief description of each battle-field ; contem- 
 porary description of the battle itself (if one of any 
 value may be had) ; official report of the commanding 
 general, with extracts from minor reports; list of 
 troops engaged, of casualties and captures ; and names 
 -of those who specially distinguished themselves. 
 
 YI. Brief extracts from comments of the press of 
 the South and North, and of Europe, on each battle. 
 
 YII. Plan of each battle, taken from official re- 
 cords. 
 
 YIII. Likenesses of generals, partisan chiefs, and 
 other officers of distinction, with short biography 
 .and list of battles in which they were engaged. 
 
 IX. The Historiographer should accompany the 
 Photographer, for the purpose of furnishing a writ- 
 .ten description of the battle-field as it appeared 
 when the photograph was taken, and to obtain other 
 data which might be of use to him in compiling the 
 
 volume. 
 
 X. The secondary object of the Association should 
 be the collection and preservation of historical relics, 
 o-ecords, etc. 
 
 If the Association prospered and accumulated 
 money, its aim in the future would be to have exe- 
 cuted, by the foremost painters of the day, a series 
 ^f historical paintings, on a large scale, of the great 
 battles fought by the Army of Northern Yirginia; 
 the paintings to be based upon the official reports 
 :&nd plans; the scenery as depicted by the Photo- 
 
348 THE RECORD OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 grapher, and the descriptions of the Historiographer" 
 of the Association. 
 
 Thus prepared, " The Battle-Koll of the Army of 
 Northern Virginia" would be eagerly sought by 
 every family in the Confederacy. Every consider- 
 able library, public or private, in the civilized world, 
 would want a copy, and pay almost any price for it. 
 Its cost would be great so great, indeed, as to place 
 it beyond the reach of many who would ardently 
 desire it, and to whom it would rightfully belong. 
 To obviate this difficulty, the following plan has sug- 
 gested itself to us : 
 
 I. Let a certain number of copies be printed with 
 an appropriate and beautiful presentation page. 
 
 II. Each city, town and county to subscribe for as 
 many copies as it chooses, to be presented to the of- 
 ficers, non-commissioned officers and privates (or to 
 their widows, orphans, or nearest surviving relatives,)' 
 from said cities, counties, etc., who have distinguished 
 themselves in some very signal manner. 
 
 What a treasure such a present would be what 
 an heir-loom how proudly and fondly cherished 
 and what an incentive to deeds of valor to the chil- 
 dren of each fortunate owner. The presentation 
 page would contain the owner's name, and the special 
 act or acts of gallantry which induced his countrymen 
 to present him with the volume, which would be 
 deemed, and, indeed, be a patent of nobility forever, 
 for a book well-bound and well-kept outlasts marble,, 
 granite or brass. 
 
 As an Appendix to the " Battle-Koll of the Army 
 
THE RECORD OF VIRGINIA. 349 
 
 -of Northern Virginia," its muster roll, containing a 
 full and complete list of every man who belonged to 
 that army, and for what length of time he served, 
 might be added. But this roll of itself would make 
 a separate and huge volume. If ever printed, it 
 would form an admirable companion volume to the 
 Battle-Book, and be an invaluable historical record. 
 We have thus given, at much greater length than 
 we intended, the views which have occurred to us in 
 regard to a proper record of Virginia and the achieve- 
 ments of its great army. We have shown that the 
 Legislature of Virginia and the Confederate Congress 
 have made ample provision for the execution of the 
 record in question. The Legislature has voted all 
 the money that may be necessary, and the Congress 
 has authorized the secretary of war to place the 
 record agent on the same footing as an officer of the 
 regular service. Supplies of all sorts, at government 
 cost, and free transportation are furnished him. In 
 return, the agent is required only to procure from 
 company officers "final statements of deceased sol- 
 diers, to be filed in the second auditor's office." By 
 allowing each recording agent the rations, etc., of the 
 regular service, it is evident that Congress contem- 
 plated the appointment of an officer who should de- 
 vote his whole time to the affairs of his office, and 
 be paid accordingly. It was the expectation, doubt?- 
 less, of those who framed the act, that each and every 
 State of the Confederacy would have its recording 
 agent, and that no State would be so negligent of its 
 interests and its fame as not to appoint such an agent. 
 
350 THE RECORD OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 If the appointments were not made, the blame rests,, 
 not upon Congress, but upon the Governors and State 
 Legislatures. Our own Virginia Legislature has 
 done its duty, and our Governor, we are fully per- 
 suaded, will do his. 
 
 State records can be made with State and Congres- 
 sional assistance, but no such aid can be expected for 
 the other scarcely less important work which we have 
 projected, namely: "The Battle-Roll of the Army 
 of Northern Virginia." That must be done by cor- # 
 porate or individual energy, and by the liberal coun- 
 tenance and support of citizens in all parts of the 
 Confederacy. Will that support be given, or will the- 
 record of the allied Confederate army be left to chance 
 That army deserves a monument commensurrate with 
 the greatness of its exploits. A column of stone,, 
 would be more imposing, but the "Battle-Roll" 
 would be more appropriate, more enduring, and 
 more inspiring to corning generations. The monu- 
 ment of marble could not be brought into every 
 man's house, and made the companion and text-book 
 of his children ; the literary monument could. But 
 we will not dwell on this point. If the merits of" 
 the work are not apparent at the first glance, no- 
 special plea and no details will make them so. 
 
 It may be said that the " Battle-Roll," like the^ 
 61 Record of Virginia," is a work to be consummated 
 only in times of peace. True, yet the longer both 
 are delayed, the less complete and accurate they will 
 be. Battle-fields will be ploughed up, trees cut 
 down, fortifications crumble, and the whole land- 
 
THE RECORD OF VIRGINIA. 351 
 
 scape be so changed as to become scarcely recogniz- 
 able. Such is the case to-day with the field of Ma- 
 nassas, compared with what it was in July, '61. The 
 Art Association should at once be organized, and the 
 work begin immediately. If the association cannot 
 be formed, any private individual who can and will 
 undertake the task of completing the Battle-Roll, as 
 we have outlined it, will be munificently rewarded 
 for his labor, and confer a lasting benefit upon the 
 Southern people. 
 
 We have suggested two works which we regard of 
 the first order of importance. It is not for those 
 who conceive to execute. Should these works be 
 postponed indefinitely, and executed at last in an in- 
 complete arid bungling manner, the blame will be 
 chargeable alone to the people who were culpably 
 negligent of their fame. Our task is done. 
 
UV WIMMIN. 
 
 BY Mozis ADDUMS. 
 
 AS wimmin is a gointer voat sune, every dog uv 
 a man that kin hole a pen is a takin uv a chants 
 at 'em in the gnuspapers. It's reether late in the 
 day fur me to cum intoo the ring, but I'm too mutch 
 uv a man to rezis the tumptashum to take a pop at 'em. 
 
 I has known and laved 'em well these menny a 
 year, but I has my ubjeckshun to wimmin. It ar 
 this eveything about 'em is too long. Thar kote- 
 tail is too long ; it riffles on the groun like runnin 
 water, and gethers up dert and trash like a harry- 
 kane duz going roun a fodder stak. But a shipp 
 under full sail ought to have a wake, and I wooden 
 hav wimmin's froks cut off to thar w T aste like a jump- 
 jackit for a pritty. 
 
 Thar shoo-strings is too long. A man kin war 
 bootz 'thout no strings a tall, ixseptin uv the strops, 
 but a wummun is bleest to hav cossets roun her 
 ankles and lace 'em up like 2 par uv stays. May 
 be it makes 'em walk mo prittier; I dunno. Thar 
 heels uv thar shoes is alsoe too long, and thar sox is 
 too long takes all day to dror 'em on. 
 
 Thar ixtremmytis is too long. They kin set in a 
 cheer lo' doun, and kick a man that's a settin in a 
 high cheer, 12 foot off in the clear, clean outen the 
 
uv WIMMIN. 353 
 
 hous. Now John Ekkles nor the Beljin jiunt, nor 
 nar nuther man, can't do that standin. This givs 
 'em a ondew idvantidge over thar marster, Man, in 
 the urly staidge uv the gaime. Arfter marridge, 
 the gaim uv kickin is mo evener. 
 
 I shall not say thar waste is too long, onlest they 
 dunno how to war thar clothes good, and are pedus- 
 trianated to be ole mades. A long barrel wummun 
 are a utto abominashun. I prefears a durringer. 
 
 Thar necks is too long. A neck uv a wummun 
 are like untoo the mune in the almenack when they 
 says, " Luner runs low," and, like the bress uv a gooce, 
 it imbraces a good deel uv the back. Ef the neck 
 uv a man were like the neck uv a wummun, the 
 gnott uv his crevatt wood rest on the pitt uv his 
 stummuck. When a wummun runs to neck, she out 
 runs ennything ixsept a osstrich or a kamme leppud, 
 and her hed hangs away out yonder like a appel on 
 the eend uv a switch that a boy is a gointer to sling 
 green appils with. And in them casis I has obsurvd 
 that whar the hed ar at sich a distance frum the 
 hart, the wummun is a onfeelin wummun. And her 
 neck is rinkeldy. 
 
 I kinnot say uv my oan ixpeyunce that the hands 
 and arms uv wimmin is too long, or why they is so, 
 but they ought to be so accordin to the lodjick uv a 
 man, and tharfo they must be so, whether or no 
 they ar so or not so. Thar nales is certny too long 
 bein' weepuns uv diffense in wimmin and katts, 
 tho' I has nuvver bin skracht nor broom stickt by a 
 wummun. But nales in katts is calld claws, and 
 22 
 
354: UV WIMMIN. 
 
 they hides 'em so that they nuvver comes out tell 
 they ar a gointer rip you. And then they do it 
 quick. 
 
 Wimmin's tungs is too long, whitch is rite, tungs 
 bein thar best holt, as Gra Lathum wood say, and a 
 more nateraler weepun uv diffense than nales or 
 claws. I've heerd a grate deel in my tiem 'bout 
 wimmins talkin, but for a ded-levvil, hand-runnin, 
 long-windded talk, I'll put a man aginst 'em enny 
 day. Housevver, when it comes to a skoldin uv a 
 suvvunt, and ptickly to quoiiin with annther wum- 
 mun, men carnt cumpyar with wimmin. Then it is, 
 as the grate Jummun pote, Go Ethe, sais, thar tungs 
 goes faster than fast as posbil, and the souperriorryty 
 uv the insterment is displade in a manner that must 
 make a good-talkin man feel ubbasht. 
 
 Thar nose is too long. You may taik a drink a 
 miel frum hoame, and two hours befo dinner, and 
 set doun and eet with the solemnetty uv Sockratees 
 eetin pizun; but 'taint no use that nose hav got 
 you, and had you frum the momunt you enterd the 
 frunt dore. In like manner her eye is too long, for 
 it seen you wobbil sunes you ternd the cornder; and 
 thar aint a plug uv tubbacker jobbed in the bottum 
 uv a trunc or dror that she don't see it like a telles- 
 kope. Why, she kin rede yo verry thoughts, and 
 see a cuss-word layin flat on the floor of your soul 
 fore it move. Evry wummun is a nachural clear- 
 voyunt. 
 
 That thar heds is too long I'm satisfide, havin 
 nuvver foun a wummun yit that couldn fool me or 
 
DY WIMMIN. 355 
 
 -enny uther man; and the smarter the man the eezier 
 it is to fool him. You may say whut you will 'bout 
 the wizdum uv men, and the want uv it in wimmin, 
 'but I has ubzuvd this fack, that wimmin don't looze 
 thar minds in old aidge like men. They don't git 
 doted ixsept in urly yewth. A sarcastick man would 
 say that wimmin have little mind to looze, and 
 tharfo they hangs onto it; but I has ubsuvd that, 
 .arfter they has puppytrated the snpreame folly uv 
 marryin, they has a good deal mo wizdum for a man 
 than the man havs for hisself ; and wimmin is like 
 fox-fire, they don't shine ixsept in a dark plais, and 
 marridge is dark enuf for most uv 'em, po souls ! 
 
 Thar har is too long, tho', I can't abear a wummun 
 with short har, or that parts her har on one side. I 
 want to kill them one-sided wimmin whenuvver and 
 wharuvver I see um but it hangs doun like a hoss's 
 tail, and they havs to gorm it over thar heds evry 
 which away, like a feller that's got a big dubble hand- 
 ful of stued melassis that it is hard work to keep 
 frum drappin on the floor. But wimmins har dont 
 git hard like melassis kandy, tho' I'd ruther pull it 
 enny day, if it's pritty, than kandy, becos it don't 
 stick to yo hands and makes sumthin run up yo elbo 
 that nuver runs out uv kandy. Wimmins har is like 
 tall trees on top uv a hill, put thar to hide the hard- 
 ness uv the rocks. Frum a feelin and a fingerin uv 
 thar blessid bewtiful har, soft as silk, you'd nuver 
 dream that dillishus and intocksikatin stuff like that 
 cums out uv perhaps the durnedest hardest bone on 
 earth. 
 
356 UV WIMMIN. 
 
 Finally, thar memmyris is too long. To save yo> 
 life, you couldn't tell the fust tiera or enny uther 
 tiem you quorld with yo sweethart or yo wife, but 
 she remembrers the tiem, plais, suckumstantses, and 
 verry words uv the furst and evry uther tiem yo 
 uvver quorld with her or said a hash thing. She 
 kin tell you the state of the wether on them interestin 
 ackashuns, the clothes you had on, the arteekles you. 
 had in the pockits uv them clothes, and the way you 
 cruilly and dierbolikly done it, while she, po trimblin. 
 thing, that nuvver give you no provocashun, only 
 wunderd and weept, and weept and wunderd, and 
 nuvver did find out what she done to awoken them 
 tubbalent pashins in yo luvin brest. And when she 
 begin to dror the lenth uv her memry on you, and 
 you cant rickollect a blaim thing, how you gointer 
 fend off ? You can't do it ; and a newspapir hilt befo 
 yo' fase, and whistlin, and drummin uv yo hands on 
 the arms uv yo cheer wont perteckt yo "in that 
 mornin." Her memry is bin a layin in wait like a 
 tigur for you these menny munths, and it will hav yo 
 hart's blood ef you don't rize to the magnetude uv 
 the immerdgency. The plainest way, as I've dis- 
 kivered by sad ixpeyunce, is to git madder than you 
 uvver was befo, stork mejesticully out uv the room, 
 slammin uv the dore with terriffic violents, and then 
 walk into a lonely plais and wonder why God Amitey 
 allow such a feend as yoself to live a minnit. Bimeby 
 you'll think better uv yoself and fergit all about it, 
 but she piles up the ded wood on you in her memry, 
 and I cant say that you've made so mighty much 
 
UV WIMMIN. 357 
 
 "by yo rarrin and a tarrin that ar memry uv hern 
 being boun to hav the last tag, do what you will. But 
 it do come acrost you at times that it is passin strainge 
 that you should feruvver and etunnully be always in 
 the wrong. But what kin you do, what kin you say ! 
 She havs the fackts and you havs the fury, and, in a 
 wrastle uv that kine, fackts is ail-under holt. 
 
 Now it's a remarkerbul and serprizin thing, in veu 
 uv her memry, that trezures up evry rong you uvver 
 done her, that her luv, like evry thing else, should 
 alsoe be too long. She luvs and luvs you, twell you 
 are so tierd and fitteegd that you wouldnt give one 
 good leedin eddytoriul in yo favrit paper for all the 
 wimmin in the whole worl; and the mo you go 
 pirootin roun uv nites, a play in uv keerds, a talkin 
 uv pollytix, a drinkin uv whiskey straits, and a eetin 
 uv free-rnasun's suppers, the mo she luvs you; and 
 that's like the sun a shinin on Esopp's travler's back 
 thar's no fightin a thing like that; it just gethers 
 you, and you got to knock under or else go rite 
 spang into torment with all uv her prars and teers 
 ^ crowdin you under the brimstone like fifty-six poun 
 weights a restin on yo shoulder blaids. The lenth 
 uv a wummun's luv for the man she luvs is like the 
 lenth uv a line in a fisshin for flat-back it givs him 
 room to play and rush aroun, and madly kevort twell 
 he gets completely wo out, and then you kin dror him 
 to shoar as meek as a blind sheep with a broken leg. 
 
 So, apun a carm reveu uv the intiur subjick, I 
 <?arnt see that man hav got so mighty much to brag 
 over his souperiorrity to wummun arfter all. In the 
 
358 UV WIMMIN. 
 
 wedth uv his veus, he may hold the age on her 
 slightually; but when it ctims to lenth nv feelins, 
 she ubtains him bad, for lenth is boun to tell in the 
 long run. 
 
 Ef evrything about 'em is too long, as I have 
 showed, nobody neednt wundur that wimmin shood 
 have a great ponskont (Frenteh) for long things, which, 
 ef you stop to think about it a minnit, is a wunder- 
 fool feecher uv femail karricture. Long kerls, long 
 brades, long ribbons, long har-pins. long nitten- 
 needils, long gluvs, gantlits and mitts, long list uv 
 uckquaintunsis, long akounts at the dry-guds stos,. 
 long shoppins, long walks with thar luvers (which 
 they luv 'em to be long-hard, with long beerds and 
 mustachers), long, all-day preechins, long buggy- 
 rides, long tiem gittin reddy to start, and then, wust 
 uv all by a long shot, long leeve-takins, that urri- 
 tates a man wnssern a plarster uv kentherrydees. 
 And then, so divvoatid they is to evrything long, 
 they'll set doun, with a long pen-pint in a long-pen- 
 handil, and write a long letter, cross up one side and 
 doun the uther, and then add two or three long pos- 
 skrips (like tackin uv severial flounsis to a long 
 skeert) fold it up lenthwise, and put it in a long in- 
 vellup, and seal it with a long stick of sealin waxx. 
 In fact, so great is thar horro uv short things, that 
 they wouldnt make a peeriud or full stop to save yo 
 soul, but makes a long dash in plais uv peeriuds, 
 commers, and evrything, so that it ruin yo eyesite 
 and taik away yo breth to rede thar letters, which is- 
 like creashun broke loose and lonjytude skattered 
 
UV WIMMIN. 359 
 
 evrywhichaway in fragments uv lattytude. Why, 
 evin the tops uv thar "t's" is long, like the mast uv 
 a shipp, crost with long crosses like yard arms ; and 
 the bottoms uv thar "g's" is so long that they look 
 like sturrup-lethers hangin doun 'thout enny sturrups 
 to 'em. 
 
 In cunclewshun, they livs too long, givin uv a man 
 (preechurs is diffrunt) no chants to marry but one in 
 a life-tiem, wharas a avvridge uv about seven to a 
 man would be about right, I jedge. But, no matter 
 how you treet 'em (and they is genrully treeted bad 
 enuf), they brokinly livs on tell they is some aty or 
 nienty yeers uv aidge old, retainin to the verry last 
 thar littil senses, and a settin in a stick back arm 
 cheer, with cap, spektickles, and the purpetchully 
 puppendickerlur back-boan uv the peeryud, etun- 
 nully a nittin uv a par uv socks for sum man or 
 nuther, and a lookin doun upon you like the perry- 
 mids of Ejipp lookt doun upon the Frentch army, 
 twell you feal that small and mean that you want to 
 creep throu a ke-hole, and sneek off and write a sa- 
 tirrikul arteekle on wirnmin, and be at ress. 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR: 
 
 THE RECORD or A MAN WHO SHIVERED THROUGH THE MANASSAS 
 CAMPAIGN. 
 
 EX-GOVEENOE James L. Kemper tells a war 
 story that is so very good I think he must have 
 invented it. Yet it is so true to nature that it ought 
 to have happened a hundred, nay, a thousand times. 
 He says that on the night of the retreat from Wil- 
 liamsburg in 1862, when men and officers were 
 mixed up indiscriminately in the muddy road, with 
 the rain falling heavily on them, and no man knew 
 his neighbor, a soldier near him (General Kemper) 
 pulled himself out of the mire, and going up to the 
 fence on the road-side dropped his musket to the 
 ground, and, in accents of the most intense sincerity, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Well, if ever I love another country ag'in, damn 
 me!" 
 
 Much the same feeling came over me the first night 
 I slept, or tried to sleep, at the new fair-grounds, in 
 the suburbs of Eichmond, which had been turned 
 into a camp of instruction, and was called Camp Lee. 
 My friend, Lieutenant Latham, of Lynchburg (after- 
 wards Acting Judge Advocate General of the Army 
 of Northern Virginia), and I slept under the same 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOK. 361 
 
 blanket on the upper floor of one of the fair-ground 
 buildings. The month was April, the night was 
 chill, the air keen, the blanket thin, the planks hard. 
 Moreover, I had eaten freely of hard tack and drunk 
 still more freely of cold water, which was bad for 
 niy dyspepsia. 
 
 Truth is, there was a big disgust upon me, more on 
 account of my "sojer clothes," I think, than anything 
 else. Nature had not fitted me for a roundabout 
 with brass buttons a fact which the young ladies dis- 
 covered as we marched past them and their waving 
 'kerchiefs on our way to Camp Lee. Besides, I had 
 always thought " so jering" tomfoolery anyhow. So 
 when the night wind blew keen upon my ribs, my 
 purpose to love any more countries diminished as 
 sensibly as did the soldier's on the Williamsburg road, 
 though I did not formulate it in such spirited terms 
 as his. Yet I loved my country, I verily believe, as 
 much as any man on the ground at Camp Lee would 
 have died for her ; bat not by freezing, or, worse still, 
 by filth. Of this last, more anon. That others 
 shared my feelings was proved by Y. Dabney. In 
 consequence of his huge bulky figure, his jolly good 
 nature and his fund of wit, Y- was a conspicuous 
 figure in the camp. He had been raised in luxury. 
 His father, a rich Mississippi planter, had lavished 
 money on him, and actually urged him into extrava- 
 gance. His ideal of life was a hotel in Paris, and 
 this sort of thing didn't suit him at all. But his 
 sense of duty was supreme. 
 
 "Boys," he would say, as he took his short meer- 
 
362 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 schaum from hie mouth and drew up his robust figure 1 
 to its full height, "Boys, I want you distinctly to 
 understand this is my last war ! This is my first,, 
 and I am going to see it through to the bitter end, 
 but after this no more war, no more sleeping in straw 
 forY. D. No, sir?" 
 
 He was as good as his word. He went through 
 the war, rising to a captaincy on the staff of Gordon, 
 of Georgia, and now teaches school in the city of 
 New York. 
 
 "Sleeping on straw !" Aye, that was the rub. To 
 be sure we had ticks, but they were about as thin as 
 the insect of that name ; there were about nine of us 
 to a tent good large Sibley tents we had at first 
 and not a night shirt among the whole nine. Re- 
 veille was another misery. I was three-and- thirty 
 years of age, a born invalid, whose habit had been to 
 rise late, bathe leisurely and eat breakfast after every- 
 body else was done. To get up at dawn to the sound 
 of fife and drum, to wash my face in a hurry in a tin; 
 basin, wipe on a wet towel, and go forth with a suf- 
 focated skin and a sense of uncleanness to-be squad- 
 drilled by a fat little cadet, young enough to be 
 my son, of the Virginia Military Institute, that, in- 
 deed, was misery. How I hated that little cadet 1 
 He was always so wide awake, so clean, so inter- 
 ested in the drill ; his coat tails were so short 
 and sharp, and his hands looked so big in white 
 gloves. He made me sick. What the deuce did I 
 care about learning how to "hold my piece," to 
 " load in nine times," and all that ? I was furious ; 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 363 
 
 but at the same time I got up a big appetite for break- 
 fast, which was generally good, for we lived pretty 
 well at Camp Lee. 
 
 I recall a single incident at Camp Lee. The com- 
 pany next to ours was from Campbell county, I think y 
 and composed almost wholly of illiterate country- 
 men. Hearing an animated conversation going on 
 towards their camp-fire one night, I drew nigh and 
 listened. The causes that led to the war were being 
 discussed, and the principal speaker, a sergeant, gave 
 an account of the formation of our government and 
 the true theory of its working on States-rights prin- 
 ciples that would have done credit to a constitutional 
 lawyer. On inquiry I learned that this sergeant was 
 by trade a plasterer, and what he knew about the 
 government he had learned from stump speakers. 
 He was a pretty fair specimen of the average Con- 
 federate soldier, who knew what he was about when 
 he entered into the war. 
 
 One morning news came that we had been ordered 
 to Manassas. It was true. I was glad anything for 
 a change. 
 
 Garland's Battalion, afterwards the Eleventh Vir- 
 ginia Regiment, was the first organized body of 
 troops sent to Manassas. The battalion was com- 
 posed of Company A, the Rifle Greys ; Company B,. 
 the Home Guard (both of Lynchburg) ; the Fincastle 
 Rifles, a Campbell county company, and possibly one 
 from Pittsylvania county, but I cannot be certain. 
 All that 1 remember is that there were four or five' 
 companies. There was some little grumbling in our 
 
364 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 -company, and, perhaps, others, when it became known 
 that Garland was to command the battalion, and this 
 discontent deepened when he obtained the appoint- 
 ment of colonel. It was loudly whispered that he 
 had intrigued for the appointment. No one doubted 
 Ids capacity, for he was a graduate of the Virginia 
 Military Institute, and a young lawyer of remark- 
 able intelligence, but, unfortunately, he " lacked 
 grit." Whereas, said the grumblers, the captain 
 of Company A, Maurice S. Langhorne, was, like all 
 the other Langhornes, brave as a lion. 
 
 This was the talk. I give it as an illustration of 
 the mistake constantly made at the beginning of the 
 war, that animal bravery was the main requisite in a 
 .soldier. What a mistake ! Bullies ever ready for a 
 brawl repeatedly proved arrant cowards on the field, 
 while the cowards, so-called, turned out to be the 
 most gallant and skilled of soldiers. Samuel Gar- 
 land was neither coward nor bully, but a refined, 
 .scholarly gentleman, whose courage in action was so 
 conspicuous and whose capacity so marked that when 
 he fell at Boonsboro', in the second year of the war, 
 he was acting major-general, and deemed one of the 
 most promising young officers in the whole army. 
 In his native city his memory is sacred ; he is beloved 
 and revered beyond any soldier that left that portion 
 of the State. His name is never mentioned without 
 honor and tenderness. 
 
 It must have been midday or earlier when we left 
 Richmond on a train of box-cars, with tents, camp 
 -equipage, etc., amid great cheering and enthusiasm, 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 365 
 
 for this, mark you, was war, real war, and no fool- 
 ing about it. Oh ! what asses men are ! as if that 
 were anything to be jolly about ! We went slowly 
 along, pausing at every station to let the girls see us, 
 give us bouquets and wave their handkerchiefs at us. 
 Being an invalid, I was allowed a seat in a passenger 
 car with the officers, but as the hot May afternoon 
 wore away I felt worse and worse. It was night 
 when we reached Gordonsville, seventy-six miles 
 from Richmond, and then occurred a long halt.. 
 Dr. Chalmers, who had heard me complain about my 
 throat, came to my seat and felt my pulse. 
 
 " You have decided fever," said he, u and the best 
 thing you can do is to get out here and lie over 
 till you get well. I will leave some medicine with 
 you." 
 
 Words more welcome never issued from mortal 
 lips no, not even when my lady-love said "yes.' r 
 There w T as a good hotel at Gordonsville it is there 
 now, and I never pass it without a benediction 
 kept by a man named Omohundro, who was called 
 " M'hundrer " for short. Into that hotel, and up stairs 
 to a second story room, I hurried with all speed. 
 "Wouldn't I have supper?" inquired M'hundrer. 
 No, but a bucket or a tub of hot water by a negro 
 boy. 
 
 The bathing over how I enjoyed it ! I dismissed 
 the boy, put on a night shirt that had been dying for 
 three weeks at least I had been dying for it blew 
 out the light, a wood fire was on the hearth, and got 
 into bed. The sweet languor of fever was on me,. 
 
'366 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 the warm bath had softened my whole nature, bodily 
 and spiritually, my skin began to breathe once more, 
 the odor of the clean pillow cases was more delicious 
 than roses or lilies, and as I stretched myself out at 
 full length I actually tasted the clean sheets clear 
 down to my toes. You may talk about happiness^ 
 but there is no greater happiness than I experienced 
 Sii that moment. What heaven may be I know not, 
 but that was heaven enough for me. I blessed Chal- 
 mers for advising me to stop, blessed the negro boy, 
 blessed M'hundrer, the hot water, the pillows, the 
 sheets, the whole world, and went to sleep vowing 
 that never again while life lasted would I sleep in 
 anything but clean sheets, be the consequences what 
 they might to the Southern Confederacy. 
 
 I remained there two or three days, taking as little 
 -medicine as possible and getting well as slowly as 
 possible. During my stay a number of trains went 
 by on their way to Richmond, laden with the spoils 
 -of the arsenal and workshops at Harper's Ferry- 
 guns, ammunition and machinery that was invaluable 
 to us. 
 
 I believe that Garland found Captain Lay with a 
 part of the Powhatan troop at Manassas certainly 
 the place had been picketed for a few weeks but 
 that was all. Its strategic importance seemed to 
 have been overlooked. On my arrival I found the 
 boys comfortably quartered in tents and enjoying the 
 -contents of boxes of good things, which already had 
 begun coming from home. In a little store at the 
 station they had discovered a lot of delicious cherry 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 367 
 
 brandy, which they were dispatching with thought- 
 less haste. Rigid military rule was not yet enforced, 
 and the boys had a good time. I saw no fun in it. The 
 battalion drill bore heavily upon me ; Garland con- 
 stantly forgot to give the order to shift our guns from 
 a shoulder to a support. This gave me great pain, 
 made me very mad and threw me into a perspiration, 
 which, owing to my feeble circulation, was easily 
 checked by the cold breeze from the Bull Run Moun- 
 tain, and thereby put me in jeepardy of pneumonia. 
 Moreover, I longed for my night shirt and the clean 
 bed at Gordonsville. The situation was another 
 source of trouble to me. After brooding over it a 
 good while I got my friend Latham to write, at my 
 dictation, a letter to John M. Daniel's paper, the 
 Richmond Examiner. The letter was not printed, 
 but handed to General Lee, and additional troops 
 began to come rapidly one or two South Carolina 
 regiments, the First Yirginia regiment, Captain 
 Shield's company of Richmond Howitzers, Latham's 
 Lynchburg Battery, in all of which, except the regi- 
 ments from South Carolina, we had hosts of friends. 
 The more men the sicker I got, and the further re- 
 moved from that solitude which was the delight of 
 my life. I made up my mind not to desert, but to 
 get killed at the first opportunity. I might get a 
 clean shirt, and would certainly get, in the grave, all 
 the solitude I wanted. 
 
 Beauregard soon took command. This was a com- 
 fort to us all. We felt safe. About this time, too, 
 the wives a-nd sisters of a number of officers came 
 
368 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 from Lynchburg on a visit to the camp. That was 
 great joy to us all. Lieutenant Latham's little son, 
 barely two years old, and dressed in full Rifle Grey 
 uniform, was the lion of the hour. The ladies looked 
 lovely. Such a relief after a surfeit of men ; our 
 eyes fairly feasted on them. Other ladies put in an. 
 appearance from time to time. Returning from 
 Bristoe, where I had gone to bathe, my eyes fell on 
 three of the most beautiful human beings they had 
 ever beheld. Beautiful at any time and place, they 
 were now inexpressibly so by reason of the fact that 
 women were such a rarity in camp. They were bright 
 figures on a background of many thousand dingy, not 
 to say dirty, men. If I go to heaven I hope I may 
 the angels themselves will hardly look more lovely 
 than those young ladies did that solitary afternoon. 
 I was most anxious to know their names. They 
 were the Misses Carey Hetty and Jennie Carey, of 
 Baltimore, and Constance, their cousin, of Alexan- 
 dria. No man can form an idea of the rapture which 
 the. sight of a woman w r ill bring him until he absents 
 himself from the sex for a long time. He can then 
 perfectly understand the story about the ecstatic 
 dance in which some California miners indulged 
 when they unexpectedly (fame upon an old straw 
 bonnet in the road. Pretty women head the list of 
 earthly delights. 
 
 Over and over I heard the order read at dress 
 parade, all closing with the formula, "by command 
 of General Beauregard, Thomas Jordan, A. A. G." 
 This went on for some weeks without attracting any 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 369 
 
 special attention on my part. At last some one said 
 in my hearing : " Beauregard's adjutant is a Yir- 
 ginian." I pricked up my ears. "Wonder if he 
 can be the Captain Jordan I knew in Washington ? 
 I'll go and see," I said to myself. Colonel, after- 
 wards General, Jordan received me most cordially, 
 dirty private though I was. He was, as usual, very 
 busy. " Sit down a moment. I want presently to 
 have a little talk with you." My prophetic soul told 
 me something good was coming, and when, after 
 some preliminary talk about unimportant matters, he 
 said: "So you are a 'high private in the rear rank?' ' : 
 
 " Yes," was my reply. 
 
 "Aren't you tired of drilling?" 
 
 "Tired to death." 
 
 " Well, you are the very man I want. Certain 
 letters and papers have to be written in this office 
 which ought to be done by a man of literary train- 
 ing, and you are just that person. I'll have you de- 
 tailed at once, and you must report here in the morn- 
 ing. Excuse me now, I am very busy." Indeed, 
 he was the busiest man I almost ever saw, and to- 
 day in the office of the Mining Record^ of New York, 
 he is as busy as ever. A more indefatigable worker 
 than General Thomas Jordan it would be hard, if not 
 impossible, to find. 
 
 My duties at first were very light. I ate and slept 
 in camp as before, reported at my leisure every morn- 
 ing at headquarters, and did any writing that was re- 
 quired of me, General Jordan's clerks being fully 
 competent to do the great bulk of the work in his 
 23 
 
370 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 office. The principal of these clerks was quite a 
 young man, seventeen or eighteen, perhaps, and was 
 named Smith Clifton Smith, of Alexandria, Ya. 
 and a most assiduous and faithful youth he was. He 
 is now a prosperous broker in New York. After 
 midnight Jordan was a perfect owl ; there were al- 
 ways papers and letters of a particular character, in 
 the preparation of which I could be of service. We 
 got through with them generally by one A. M., then 
 had a little chat, sometimes, though not often, a glass 
 of whiskey and water, and then I went back to camp, 
 a quarter of a mile off, not without risking my life 
 at the hands of a succession of untrained pickets. At 
 camp things were comparatively comfortable. The 
 weather was so warm that most of the men pre- 
 ferred to sleep out doors on the ground. I often 
 had a tent to myself. Troops continued to come. 
 Many went by to Johnston (who, to our dismay, had 
 fallen back from Harper's Ferry), but many stayed. 
 Water began to fail, wells in profusion were dug, 
 but without much avail, and water had to be brought 
 by rail. Excellent it was. Boxes of provisions con- 
 tinued to come in diminishing numbers, but upon the 
 whole we lived tolerably well. The Eleventh Vir- 
 ginia, its quota now filled, had gone out on one or 
 two little expeditions without material results. It 
 formed part of Longstreet's Brigade, and made a fine 
 appearance and most favorable impression in the first 
 brigade drill that took place. How thankful I was 
 that I was not in it ! 
 
 During these days when the camp of the Eleventh 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 371 
 
 Yirginia was comparatively deserted, the men being 
 detailed at various duties, there occurred an episode 
 which will never be forgotten by those who witnessed 
 it. Coming down from headquarters about one o'clock 
 to get my dinner, I became aware as soon as I drew 
 nigh our tents that something unusual was "toward," 
 .as Carlyle would say. Sure enough there was. In 
 addition to the ladies from Lynchburg, heretofore 
 mentioned, we had been visited by quite a number of 
 the leading men of that city, who came to look after 
 their sons and wards. Several ministers, among them 
 the Rev. Jacob D. Mitchell, had come to preach for 
 us. But now there was a visitor of a different stripe. 
 The moment I got within hailing distance of the 
 captain's tent I heard a loud hearty voice call me by 
 my first name. 
 
 "Hello ! George, what'll you have ? Free bar. Got 
 ^very liquor you can name. Call for what you please." 
 
 Looking up, I beheld the bulky form, the dusky- 
 red cheeks and sparkling black eyes of Major Daniel 
 Warwick, a Baltimore merchant, formerly of Lynch- 
 burg, who had come to share the fortune, good or ill, 
 of his native State. He was the prince of good fel- 
 lows, a bon vivant in the fullest sense of the term, a 
 Falstaff in form and in love of fun. What he said 
 was literally true, or nearly so ; he had all sorts of 
 liquors. In order to test him I called for a bottle of 
 London stout. 
 
 " Sam, you scoundrel ! fetch out that stout. 
 
 How'll you have it plain ? Better let me make you 
 a porteree this hot day." 
 
372 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 " Very good ; make it a porteree." 
 
 He was standing behind an improvised bar of bar- 
 rels and planks, set forth with decanters, bottles, 
 glasses, lemons, oranges and pine apples, with his 
 boy Sam as his assistant. The porteree, which was 
 but one of many that I enjoyed during the Major's 
 stay, was followed by a royal dinner, contributed 
 almost wholly by the Major. This was kept up for a 
 week or ten days, officers and men of the Lynchburg 
 companies and invited guests, some of them quite 
 distinguished, all joining in the prolonged feast, which 
 must have cost the Major many hundreds of dollars.. 
 
 The Major's inexhaustible wit and humor, his 
 quaint observations on everything he saw, his san- 
 guine predictions about the war and his odd behavior 
 throughout, were as much of a feast as his eatables 
 and drinkables. He was the greatest favorite imagin- 
 able. Everything was done to please him and make 
 him comfortable, including a tent fitted up for him. 
 Being much fatigued by his first day's experience as 
 an open barkeeper, he went to bed early, the boys 
 all keeping quiet to insure his sleeping. Within 
 twenty minutes they heard him snoring, and the next 
 thing they knew the tent burst wide open and out 
 rushed the corpulent Major, clad only in his shirt, 
 and as he came he shouted at the pitch of his sten- 
 torian voice: "Gi' me a'r (air), gi' me a'r! For 
 God's sake, gi' me a'r !" Of course there was a uni- 
 versal burst of laughter, which the Major bore with 
 perfect good nature. Thenceforth he slept on a 
 blanket under the canopy of heaven, enjoying it as 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 373 
 
 much, lie declared, as a deer hnnt in the wilds of 
 Western Virginia. He carried with him when he 
 left the God-speed of hundreds of hearts grateful for 
 the abundant and unexpected happiness he had 
 brought them. 
 
 This was that same Major who cut up such pranks 
 in New York city a few months after the war ended 
 picking up a strong negro on the street and forc- 
 ing him to eat breakfast with him at the Prescott 
 House, imperiously ordering the white waiters to at- 
 tend to his every want, then walking arm in arm 
 Tvith the negro down Broadway, each having in his 
 mouth the longest cigar that could be bought, and 
 puffing away at a great rate, to the intense disgust 
 of the passers-by. Of this freak I was myself eye- 
 witness. In the restaurants he would burst out with 
 Si lot of Confederate songs, and keep them up till 
 scowls and oaths gave him to understand that it 
 would be dangerous to continue, when he would 
 suddenly whip off into some intensely loyal air, leav- 
 ing his auditors in doubt whether he was Union or 
 secesh, or simply a crank. In the street cars and 
 omnibuses he would ostentatiously stand up for negro 
 women as they entered, deposit their fare, gallantly 
 help them in and out, taking off his hat as he did, 
 and bitterly inveighing against those who refused to 
 follow his example. So pointed were his insults that 
 his huge size alone saved him from many a knock 
 down. He lived too merrily to live long, and died 
 in Baltimore in 1867, I believe. 
 
 Ever since the fall of Sumter Beauregard's star 
 
374 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 had been in the ascendant. His poetical name 
 seemed to carry a magical charm with it. Jordan 
 had implicit faith in him. Many others looked upon 
 him as likely to be the foremost military figure of 
 the war, and were prepared to attach themselves to 
 his fortunes. Keeping my place as a private detailed 
 for duty in the Adjutant's office, I contented myself 
 with a simple introduction to the General, and did 
 not presume to enter into conversation with him a 
 privilege most editors would have claimed. [I was 
 then editor of the Southern Literary Messenger.'} But 
 I availed myself of my opportunity to study this pro- 
 minent character in the pending struggle. His 
 athletic figure, the leonine formation of his head, 
 his large dark-brown eyes and his broad, low fore- 
 head indicated courage and capacity. Of his men- 
 tal calibre I could not judge, but others spoke 
 highly of it. He indefatigably studied the country 
 around Manassas, riding out every day with the 
 engineer officers and members of his staff. He was 
 eminently polite, patient and good-natured. I never 
 knew him to lose his temper but once, and then the 
 occasion was ludicrous in the extreme. 
 
 Just before the battle of Manassas the militia of 
 all the adjoining counties were called out in utmost 
 haste to swell our numbers. A colonel of one of 
 the militia regiments, arrayed in old style cocked hat 
 and big epaulettes, came up a morning or two before 
 the battle and asked to see the General. When 
 General Beauregard appeared, he said with utmost 
 sincerity : 
 
AN UNKENOWNED WAKRIOK. 375 
 
 " General Beauregard, my men are mostly men of 
 families. They left home in a hurry, without enough 
 coffee pots, frying pans and blankets, and they would 
 like, sir, to go back for a few days to get these things 
 and to compose their minds, which is oneasy about 
 their families, their craps and many other things.'"' 
 
 Beauregard's eyes flashed fire. 
 
 " Do you see that sun, sir ?" pointing to it. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the Colonel, in wondering timidity. 
 
 " Well, sir, I might as well attempt to pull down 
 that sun from heaven as to allow your men to re- 
 turn home at a critical moment like this. Go tell 
 your men to prepare for battle at any instant. There 
 is no telling when it may come." 
 
 The Colonel retreated in confusion. 
 
 Beauregard's high qualities as an engineer most 
 signally proved by his subsequent defence of Charles- 
 ton, compared with which the reduction of Sumter 
 was a trifle were acknowledged on all hands. What 
 he would be at the head of an army in the open field 
 remained to be seen. It was a trying time for him ; 
 but if he were nervous no one discovered it. 
 
 His staff was composed mostly of young South 
 Carolinians of good family, and he had in addition a 
 number of volunteer aids, all of them men of distinc- 
 tion. Ex-Governor James Chestnut was one, I think. 
 William Porcher Miles, an accomplished scholar and 
 elegant gentleman, I am sure was. So was that grand 
 specimen of manhood, Colonel John S. Preston ; also, 
 Ex-Governor Manning, a most charming and agree- 
 able companion. His juleps, made of his own dark 
 
376 AN UNKENOWNED WARRIOK. 
 
 brandy and served at midday in a large bucket, in 
 lieu of something better, greatly endeared him to us 
 all. 'One day all these distinguished gentlemen sud- 
 denly disappeared. Colonel Jordan simply said they 
 had gone to Richmond ; but evidently something was 
 in the wind. What could it be? On their return, 
 after a week's absence, as well as I remember, there 
 was an ominous hush about the whole proceeding. 
 Nobody had anything to say, but there was a graver, 
 less happy atmosphere at headquarters. Gradually it 
 leaked out that Mr. Davis had rejected Beauregard's 
 proposal that Johnston should suddenly join him and 
 the two should attack McDowell unawares and unpre- 
 pared. The mere refusal could not have caused so 
 much feeling at headquarters. There must have been 
 aggravating circumstances, but what they were I 
 never learned. All I could get from Colonel Jordan 
 was a lifting of the eyebrows, and "Mr. Davis is a 
 peculiar man. He thinks he knows more than every- 
 body else combined." 
 
 What ! want of confidence in our president, at this 
 early stage of the game ? Impossible ! A vague 
 alarm filled me. I had been the first the very first, 
 I believe to nominate Mr. Davis for the Presidency ; 
 had violated the traditions of the oldest Southern lit- 
 erary journal in doing so. I had no personal know- 
 ledge of his fitness for the position. No. But his 
 record as a soldier in Mexico, his experience as Min- 
 ister of War, and his fame as a statesman, seemed to 
 point him out as the man ordained by Providence to 
 be our leader. And now so soon distrusted ! 1 tried 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 377 
 
 to dismiss the whole thing from my mind, it dis- 
 tressed me so. But it would not down at my bid- 
 ding. Many prominent men came to look after the 
 troops of their respective States, sometimes in an offi- 
 cial capacity, sometimes of their own accord. Among 
 them was Thomas L. Clingman, of North Carolina, 
 with whom I had a slight acquaintance. How it 
 came about I quite forget, but we took a walk, one 
 afternoon, down the Warrenton road, and fell to talk- 
 ing about the subject uppermost in my thoughts 
 Mr. Davis. Clingman seemed to know his character 
 thoroughly, and fortified his opinions by facts of re- 
 cent date at Montgomery and Richmond. Particu- 
 lars need not be given, if, indeed, I could recall 
 them ; but the upshot of it all was, that in the opinion 
 of many wise men the choice of Jefferson Davis as 
 President of the Confederate States was a profound, 
 perhaps a fatal, mistake. Unable to controvert a sin- 
 gle position taken by Clingman, my heart sank low, 
 and never fully rallied, for the sufficient reason that 
 Mr. Davis' career confirmed all that Clingman had 
 said all and more. 
 
 As the plot thickened, so did occurrences in and 
 :around headquarters. Beauregard kept open house, 
 .as it were, many people dropping in to the several 
 meals, some by invitation, others not. The fare was 
 plain, wholesome and abundant, rice cooked in South 
 Carolina style being a favorite dish for breakfast as 
 well as dinner. The new brigadiers also dropped in 
 upon us from time to time. One of them was my 
 old school-mate, Robert E. Rodes, a Lynch burger by 
 
378 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 birth, but now in command of Alabama troops. In 
 him Beauregard had special confidence, giving him 
 the front as McDowell approached. Rodes was 
 killed in the Valley in 1864, a general of division, 
 full of promise, a man of ability, a first-rate soldier. 
 Lynchburg has reason to be proud of two such men 
 as Garland and Rodes. Soldiers continued to arrive^ 
 As fast as they came they were sent toward Bull 
 Run, that being our line of defence. Some regi- 
 ments excited general admiration by their fine per- 
 sonal appearance, their excellent equipment and 
 soldierly bearing. None surpassed the First Vir- 
 ginia Regiment in neatness or in drill in truth, few 
 approached it. The poorest set as to size, looks and 
 dress were some of the South Carolinians. Louisiana 
 sent a fine body of men. But by odds the best of 
 our troops were the Texans. Gamer men never 
 trod the earth. In their eyes and in their every 
 movement they showed fight, and their career from. 
 first to last demonstrated the truth, in their case at 
 least, of the old Latin adage, " Vultus index est 
 animi" the face tells the character. I verily be- 
 lieve that fifty thousand Texans such as those who 
 came to Virginia, properly handled, could whip any 
 army the North could muster. 
 
 But as a whole our men did not compare with the 
 Union soldiery. They were not so large of limb, SO' 
 deep in the chest or so firm-set, and in arms and. 
 clothing the comparison was still more damaging to 
 the South. A friend of mine, who lingered in 
 Washington till he could linger no longer, halted a. 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 379 1 
 
 day at Manassas on his way to his old home in Cul- 
 peper county. With great pride I called his atten- 
 tion to Hays' magnificent Louisiana regiment, one 
 thousand four hundred strong, drawn out full length 
 at dress parade. He shook his head, sighed heavily, 
 and described the stout-built, superbly equipped men 
 he had seen pouring by thousands upon thousands 
 down Pennsylvania avenue. This incident made lit- 
 tle impression 011 me at the time, my friend being of 
 a despondent nature ; but after my talk with Colonel 
 Clingman it returned to me, and, I confess, de- 
 pressed me not a little. 
 
 The camps were now deserted, the regiments being 
 picketed on Bull Run. It was painful for me to go 
 among the empty tents ; it was like wandering about 
 college in vacation nay, worse, for it was morally 
 certain that some, perhaps many, would return to the 
 tents no more. I missed the faces of my friends; 
 I longed for the lemonade "with a stick in it" that 
 Captain Shields and Dr. Palmer used to give when- 
 ever I made them a visit, and I really pined for the 
 red shirt and cherry voice of Captain H. Grey 
 Latham, as he went from tent to tent, telling them 
 new jokes, and on leaving, repeating his farewell 
 formula, "Yours truly, John Dooley," which actu- 
 ally got to be funny by perpetual repetition and be- 
 came a by-word throughout the army. Finally I got 
 so sick of the deserted camp that I asked Clifton 
 Smith to let me share his pallet in the little shed- 
 room cut off from the porch at headquarters. He 
 kindly assented, and I moved up, but still took my 
 
380 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 meals at camp. Doleful eating it would have been 
 but for the occasional presence of my dear friend, 
 Lieutenant Woodville Latham, who, being judge of 
 a court-martial then in session, had not yet joined 
 the Eleventh Virginia at Bull Run. 
 
 The nights were so hot that I found it almost im- 
 possible to sleep in Clifton Smith's little shed-room. 
 My mind was excited by the approaching battle, and 
 my habit of afternoon napping added to my sleep- 
 lessness. So the little sleep I got was in a chair in 
 the porch. Near me, on the dinner table, too long 
 for any room in the house, lay young Goolsby, a lad 
 of sixteen, who acted as night orderly. The calls 
 upon him were so frequent and the pain of being 
 awakened so great, that finally I said to him : " Sleep 
 on, Goolsby, I'll take your place." He was very 
 grateful. So I played night orderly from 12 o'clock 
 till 6 A. M. thenceforward, and on that account slept 
 the longer and the harder in the afternoon. Near 
 sunset on the 18th I arose from Smith's pallet in the 
 shed-room, washed my face and walked out upon 
 the porch. It was filled with officers and men, all 
 looking toward Bull Hun. One of them said : 
 
 " That's heavier firing than any I heard during the 
 war in Mexico." 
 
 "It was certainly very heavy," was the reply, 
 "but it seems to be over now." 
 
 And that is all I know about the battle of the 18th. 
 I had slept through the whole of it ! Major Harrison, 
 of our regiment, was killed ; Colonel Moore, of the 
 First Virginia Regiment, and Lieutenant James H. 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 381 
 
 Lee, of the same regiment, were wounded, the latter 
 seriously, as it turned out. There were no other casu- 
 alties that particularly interested me. 
 
 Every one knew the ordeal was at hand. The 
 movements preceding the great tragedy had the 
 hurry and convergence which belong to all catas- 
 trophes. A confused mixture of memories is left 
 me things relevant and irrelevant. L. W. Spratt r 
 Thomas H. Wynne, Mrs. Bradley T. Johnson, the 
 big guns of the entrenched camp ; the night arrival 
 of Johnston's staff, the parting with my friend 
 Latham all these and many more recollections are 
 piled up in my mind. Beauregard's plan of battle 
 had been approved by General Johnston. Ewell was 
 to attack McDowell's left at early dawn, flank him, 
 and cut him off from Washington, our other brigades 
 from left to right co-operating. Until midnight and 
 later all of Colonel Jordan's clerks were busy copy- 
 ing the battle orders, which were at once sent off to 
 the divisions and brigades by couriers. I myself 
 made many copies. The last sentence I remember 
 to this day; it read as follows: "In case the enemy 
 is defeated he is to be pursued by cavalry and artil- 
 ery until he is driven across the Potomac." He 
 needed no pursuit, but went across the Potomac all 
 the same. No, not all the same. Had we followed 
 in force the result might have been different. I sat 
 up as usual that night, but recall no event of interest. 
 
 As morning dawned, I wondered and wondered 
 why no sound of battle was heard none except the 
 distant roar of Long Tom, which set the enemy in 
 
382 AN TJNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 motion. How Ewell failed to get his order, how our 
 plan of battle failed in consequence, and how near we 
 came to defeat, is known to all. 'Tis an old, and to 
 Confederates, a sad story. 
 
 On the morning of the 18th, as Beauregard walked 
 out to mount his horse, he stumbled and came near 
 falling a bad augury, which, we thought, brought a 
 shadow over his face. But on this morning, the 
 21st, all went well; the generals and their staffs, 
 after an early breakfast, rode off in high spirits, vic- 
 tory in their very eyes. My duty was to look after 
 the papers of the office, which had been hastily 
 packed up, and, in case of danger, see that they were 
 put on board a train, which was held in readiness to 
 receive them and other valuable effects. The earth 
 seemed to vomit men ; they came in from all sides. 
 Holmes, from Fredericksburg, at the head of his 
 .division, in a high-crown, very dusty beaver, I well 
 recollect. He made me laugh. Barksdale, of Missis- 
 sippi, halting his regiment to get ammunition. The 
 militia ensconced behind the earthworks of the en- 
 trenched camp, their figures flit before me. It was a 
 superb Sabbath day, cloudless, and at first not very 
 hot. A sweet breeze from the west blew in my face 
 &s I stood on a hill overlooking the vale of Bull Run. 
 I saw the enormous column of dust made by the 
 nemy as they advanced upon our left. The field of 
 battle evidently would be where the comet, then il- 
 luminating the skies, seemed to rest at night. Re- 
 turning to headquarters I reported to Colonel Jor- 
 dan the movement upon our left. 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 383 
 
 "Has McDowell done that?" lie asked, with ani- 
 mation. "Then Beauregard will give him all his 
 old boots, for that is exactly where we want him." 
 
 The Colonel meant that Ewell would have a better 
 chance of attack by reason of the weakening of Mc- 
 Dowell's left. 
 
 Again and again I walked out to watch the pro- 
 gress of the battle, which lasted a great deal longer 
 than I expected or desired. The pictures of battles 
 at a distance, in the English illustrated papers, give a 
 good idea of what I saw, minus the stragglers and the 
 wounded, who came out in increasing numbers as the 
 day advanced, and disheartening President Davis as 
 he rode out to the field in the afternoon. At noon or 
 thereabouts, a report that our centre had been broken 
 hurried me back to headquarters, and although the 
 report proved false, kept me there for several hours, 
 the battle meanwhile raging fiercely, and not a sound 
 from Ewell. 
 
 Restless and excited, I went into a neighboring 
 house, occupied by a lone woman, who was in a peck 
 of trouble about herself, her house, her everything. 
 The bigger trouble outside filled my mind during the 
 recital of her woes, so that I now recall none of them. 
 
 Unable longer to bear the suspense, I left import- 
 .ant papers, etc., to take, care of themselves, and set 
 out for the battle-field, determined to go in and get 
 j*id of my fears and doubts by action. I reached the 
 hill which I had so often visited in the morning, and 
 paused awhile to look at some of our troops, who 
 were rapidly moving from our right to our left. Just 
 
384 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 then can I ever forget it ? there came, as it seemed,, 
 an instantaneous suppression of firing, and almost 
 immediately a cheer went up and ran along the val- 
 ley from end to end of our line. It meant victory 
 there was no mistaking the fact. I stood perfectly 
 still, feeling no exultation whatever. An indescrib- 
 able thankful sadness fell upon me, rooting me to the 
 spot and plunging me into a deep reverie, which for 
 a long time prevented me from seeing or hearing 
 what went forward. Night had nearly fallen when 
 I came to myself and started homeward. The road 
 was filled with wounded men, their friends and a few 
 prisoners. I spoke kindly to the prisoners, and took 
 in charge a badly wounded young man, carrying him 
 to the hospital, from the back windows of which am- 
 putated legs and arms had already been thrown on 
 the ground in a sickening pile. 
 
 At headquarters there was a great crowd waiting 
 for the generals and Mr. Davis to return. It was 
 now quite dark. A deal of talking went on, but I 
 observed little elation. People were worn out with 
 excitement too many had been killed how many 
 and who was yet to be learned. War is a sad 
 business, even to the victors. I saw young George 
 Burwell, fourteen years of age, bring in Colonel Cor- 
 coran, his personal captive. I heard Colonel Porcher 
 Miles's withering retort to Congressman Ely, who 
 tried to claim friendly acquaintance with him, but 
 went off abashed in a linen duster with the other 
 prisoners. I asked Colonel Preston what he thought 
 of the day's work. 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 385 
 
 "A glorious victory, which will produce immense 
 results," was his reply. 
 
 " When will we advance ?" 
 " We will be in Baltimore next week." 
 How far wrong even the wisest are ? We never 
 entered Baltimore, and that victorious army, one- 
 half of which had barely fired a shot, did not fight 
 .another pitched battle for nearly a year ! 
 
 It was after midnight when I carried to the tele- 
 graph office Mr. Davis' dispatch announcing the vic- 
 tory. Inside the entrenched camp one thousand or 
 twelve hundred prisoners were herded, the militia 
 standing up side by side guarding them and forming 
 .a human picket fence, funny to behold. It was clear 
 .as a bell when I walked back ; the baleful comet hung 
 over the field of battle ; all was very still ; I could 
 almost hear the beating of my tired heart, that had 
 gone through so much that day. Too much ex- 
 hausted to play orderly, I slept in my chair like a 
 top. 
 
 The next day, Monday, the 22nd, it rained, a 
 steady, straight down-pour the livelong day. Every- 
 body flocked to headquarters. Not one word was 
 said about a forward movement upon Washington. 
 We had too many generals -in -chief; we were 
 Southerners ; we didn't fancy marching in the mud 
 and rain we threw away a grand opportunity. For 
 days, for weeks, you might say, our friends kept 
 coming from Alexandria, saying with wonder and 
 impatience : " Why don't you come on ? Why stay 
 here doing nothing ?" No sufficient answer, in my 
 24 
 
386 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOK. 
 
 poor judgment, was ever given. The dead and the 
 dying were forgotten in the general burst of con- 
 gratulation. Now and then you would hear the loss 
 of Bee and Bartow deplored, or of some individual 
 friend it would be said : " Yes, he is gone, poor fel- 
 low ;" but this was as nothing compared to the joyous 
 hubbub over the victory. How proud and happy 
 we were. Didn't we know that we could whip the 
 Yankees ? Hadn't we always said so ? Henceforth 
 it would be easy sailing the war would soon be 
 over, too soon for all the glory we felt sure of gain- 
 ing. What fools ! 
 
 Captain H. Grey Latham, in his red shirt, was a 
 conspicuous figure at headquarters. His battery had 
 covered itself with renown; congratulations were 
 showered upon him. I saw Captain (afterwards 
 Colonel, on Lee's staff) Henry E. Peyton come over 
 from General Beauregard's room blazing with excite- 
 ment and exaltation. Yesterday he was a private 
 now he was a captain, promoted by Beauregard first 
 of all because of his signal gallantry on the field. 
 
 "By !" he exclaimed to me, "when I die, I 
 
 intend to die gloriously." Alas! Colonel Peyton, 
 confidential clerk of the United States Senate and 
 owner of one of the best farms in Loudoun county, 
 is like to die in his bed as ingloriously as the rest of 
 us. 
 
 A young Mr. Fauntleroy, desiring an interview 
 with General Joseph E. Johnston, I offered to pro- 
 cure it for him, and pushed through the crowd to 
 the table at which he sat. "Excuse me, General 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 38T 
 
 Johnston," I began. "Excuse me, sir!" he replied, 
 in tones that sent me away in a state of demoraliza- 
 tion. 
 
 The next thing I remember is the coming on of 
 night, and my resuming my post as night orderly. 
 I was seldom aroused, and slept soundly in a chair, 
 tilted back against the wall. In the yard just in 
 front of me were a number of tents, one of which 
 was occupied by President Davis. The rising sun 
 awakened me, My eyes were still half open when 
 Mr. Davis stepped out of his tent, in full dress, hav- 
 ing made his toilet with care. Seeing no one but a 
 private, apparently asleep in a chair, he looked about, 
 turned and slowly walked to the yard fence, on the 
 other side of which a score or more of captured can- 
 non were parked, Long Tom being conspicuous. The 
 President stood and looked at the cannon for ten 
 minutes or more. Having never seen him close at 
 hand, I went up and looked at the cannon too, but 
 in reality I was looking at him most intently. 
 
 That was the turning point in my life. Had I 
 gone up to him, made myself known, told him what 
 I had done in his behalf, and asked something in re- 
 turn, my career in life would almost certainly have 
 been far different. We were alone. It was an au- 
 spicious time to ask favors just after a great vic- 
 tory and he was very responsive to personal ap- 
 peals. My prayer would have been heard. In 
 that event I should have become a member of his 
 political and military family, or, what would have 
 suited me much better, have gone to London, as 
 
388 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 John K. Thompson afterwards did, to pursue in 
 the interest of the Confederacy my calling as a 
 journalist. But Clingman's talk had done its work. 
 Already prejudiced against Mr. Davis, his face, 
 as I examined it that fateful morning, lacked 
 or seemed to the elements that might have over- 
 come my prejudices. There was no magnetism in 
 it it did not draw me. Yet his voice was sweet, 
 musical in a high degree, and that might have drawn 
 me had I but spoken to him. I could not force my- 
 self to open my lips, but walked back to my chair on 
 the open porch, and my lot in life was decided. 
 
 General Beauregard removed his headquarters to 
 the house of Mr. Ware, some distance from Manassas 
 Station, a commodious brick building, in winch our 
 friend, Lieutenant James K. Lee, lay wounded. Mr. 
 Ware's family remained, but most of the house was 
 given up to us. I slept in the garret with the soldier 
 detailed to nurse Lieutenant Lee. In the yard were 
 a number of tents occupied by the General and his 
 staff. Colonel Jordan's office was in the house. My 
 duty, hitherto light and pleasant, now became some- 
 what heavy and disagreeable. I had to file and for- 
 ward applications for furlough, based mainly upon 
 surgeons' certificates. This brought me in contact 
 with many unlovely people, each anxious to have his 
 case attended to at once. It was very worrying. 
 Others besides myself, the clerks and staff officers, 
 seemed to be as much worried by their labors as I 
 was by mine. Fact is, young Southern gentlemen, 
 used to having their own way, found it hard to be at 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 389 
 
 the beck and call of anybody. The excitement of 
 battle over, the detail of business was pure drudgery. 
 We detested it. 
 
 The long, hot days of August dragged themselves 
 away. No advance, no sign of it ; the men in camp 
 playing cards, the officers horse racing. This dis- 
 heartened me more than all things else, but I kept 
 my thoughts to myself. At night I would walk out 
 in the garden and brood over the possible result of 
 this slow way of making war. The garden looked 
 toward the battle-field. At times I thought I de- 
 tected the odor of the carcasses, lightly buried there ; 
 at others I fancied I heard weird and doleful cries 
 borne on the night wind. I grew melancholy. 
 
 Twice or thrice a day I went in to see Lieutenant 
 Lee. Bright and hopeful of recovery, he gave his 
 friends a cheery welcome and an invitation to share 
 the abundant good things with which his mother and 
 sisters kept him supplied. A visit to his sick cham- 
 ber was literally a treat. The chances seemed all in 
 his favor for two weeks or more after our arrival at 
 the Warehouse, but then there came a change for the 
 worse, and soon the symptoms were such that his 
 kinsman, Peachy R. Grattan, Reporter of the Court 
 of Appeals, was sent for. He rallied a little, but we 
 saw the end was nigh. Mr. Grattan promised to 
 send for me during the night in case anything hap- 
 pened, and at two o'clock I was called. The long re- 
 spiration preceding death had set in. Mr. Grattan, 
 kneeling at the bedside, was praying aloud. The 
 prayer ended, he called the dying officer by name. 
 
390 AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 
 
 " James" (louder), " James, is there anything you wish 
 done ?" Lieutenant Lee murmured an inarticulate 
 response, made an apparent effort to remove the ring 
 from the finger of his left-hand, and sank back into 
 the last slumber. I waited an hour in silence ; still 
 the long-drawn breathing kept up. 
 
 " No need to wait longer," said Mr. Grattan ; " he 
 will not rouse any more." 
 
 I went to my pallet in the garret, but could not 
 sleep ; at dawn I was down again. The long breath- 
 ing continued ; Mr. Grattan sat close to the head of 
 the bed and I stood at the foot, my gaze fixed on the 
 dying man's face. Suddenly both his eyes opened 
 wide; there was no "speculation" in them, but the 
 whole room seemed flooded with their preternatural 
 light. Just then the sun rose, and his eyes closed in 
 everlasting darkness, to open, I doubt not, in ever- 
 lasting day. So passed away the spirit of James K. 
 Lee. 
 
 A furlough was given me to accompany the re- 
 mains to Richmond, with indefinite leave of absence, 
 there being no sign of active hostilities. In view of 
 my infirm health a discharge was granted me after 
 my arrival in Richmond, and thus ended the record 
 of an unrenowned warrior. 
 
 Let me say a word or two in conclusion. In 
 1861 I was thirty-three years old ; now I am 
 fifty-five, gray and aged beyond my years by many 
 afflictions. I wanted to see a great war, saw 
 it, and pray God I may never see another. 
 I recall what General Duff Green, an ardent 
 
AN UNRENOWNED WARRIOR. 391 
 
 Southerner, said in "Washington in the winter of 
 1861 to some hot-heads: "Anything, anything but 
 war." So said William C. Rives to some young 
 men in Richmond just after the fall of Sumter. 
 " Young gentlemen, you are eager for war you lit- 
 tle know what it is you are so anxious to see." 
 Those old men were right. War is simply horrible. 
 The filth, the disease, the privation, the suffering, the 
 mutilation, and, above all, the debasement of public 
 and private morals, leave to war scarcely a redeem- 
 ing feature. 
 
JUD. BBOWNIN'S ACCOUNT OF RU- 
 BENSTEIFS PLAYING. 
 
 " "1TUD, they say you heard Rubenstein play, when 
 f_/ you were in New York." , 
 
 "I did, in the cool." 
 
 "Well, tell us about it." 
 
 " What ! me ? I might's well tell you about the- 
 creation of the world." 
 
 "Come, now; no mock modesty. Go ahead." 
 
 "Well, sir, he had the blamedest biggest, catty- 
 cornedest pianner you ever laid eyes on; somethin' 
 like a distractid billiard table on three legs. The lid 
 was heisted, and mighty well it was. If it hadn't 
 been he'd a-tore the intire insides clean out, and scat- 
 tered 'em to the four winds of heaven." 
 
 "Played well, did he?" 
 
 " You bet he did ; but don't interrup' me. When 
 he first set down he 'peard to keer mighty little 
 'bout playin', and wished he hadn' come. He 
 tweedle-leedled a little on the trible, and twoodle- 
 oodle-oodled some on the base just foolin' and 
 boxin' the thing's jaws for bein' in his way. And I 
 says to a man settin' next to me, s'l, 'what sort of 
 fool playin' is that ?' And he says, " Heish !' But 
 presently his hands commenced chasin' one 'nother up 
 
393 
 
 and down the keys, like a passel of rats scamperin 5 
 through a garret very swift. Parts of it was sweet, 
 though, and reminded me of a sugar squirrel turnin' 
 the wheel of a candy cage. 
 
 " f Now," I says to my neighbor, < he's showin' off. 
 He thinks he's a doing of it ; but he ain't got no idee, 
 no plan of nuthin'. If he'd play me up a tune of 
 somekind or other, I'd ' 
 
 " But my neighbor says < Heish /' very impatient. 
 
 "I was just about to git up and go home, bein' 
 tired of that foolishness, when I heard a little bird 
 waking up away off in the woods, and calling sleepy- 
 like to his mate, and I looked up and I see that Ru- 
 ben was beginnin' to take some interest in his busi- 
 ness, and I set down agin. It was the peep 'o day. 
 The light come faint from the east, the breeze 
 blowed gentle and fresh, some more birds waked up 
 in the orchard, then some more in the trees near the 
 house, and all begun singin' together. People begun 
 to stir, and the gal opened the shutters. Just then 
 the first beam of the sun fell upon the blossoms; a. 
 leetle more and it tetcht the roses on the bushes, and 
 the next thing it was broad day; the sun fairly 
 blazed; the birds sang like they'd split their little 
 throats; all the leaves was movin', and flashin' dia- 
 monds of dew. and the whole wide world was bright 
 and happy as a king. Seemed to me like there was 
 a good breakfast in every house in the land, and not 
 a sick child or woman anywhere. It was a fine 
 mornin'. 
 
 " And I says to my neighbor, ' that's music, that is.' 
 
394 
 
 "But he glar'd at me like he'd like to cut my 
 throat. 
 
 " Presently the wind turned ; it begun to thicken 
 up, and a kind of grey mist come over things ; I got 
 low-spirited d'rectly. Then a silver rain began to 
 fall. I could see the drops touch the ground ; some 
 flashed up like long pearl ear-rings, and the rest rolled 
 away like round rubies. It was pretty, but melan- 
 choly. Then the pearls gathered themselves into 
 long strands and necklaces, and then they melted into 
 thin silver streams running between golden gravels, 
 .and then the streams joined each other at the bottom 
 of the hill, and made a brook that flowed silent except 
 that you could kinder see the music, specially when 
 the bushes on the banks moved as the music went 
 along down the valley. I could smell the flowers in 
 the meadow. But the sun didn't shine, nor the birds 
 sing; it was a foggy day, but not cold. The most 
 curious thing was the little white angel boy, like you 
 .see in pictures, that run ahead of the music brook, 
 and led it on, and on, away out of the world, where 
 no man ever was / never was, certain. I could see 
 that boy just as plain as I see you. Then the moon- 
 light came, without any sunset, and shone on the 
 grave-yards, where some few ghosts lifted their 
 hands and went over the wall, and between the black 
 sharp-top trees splendid marble houses rose up, with 
 fine ladies in the lit up windows, and men that loved 
 ^em, but could never get a-nigh 'em, and played on 
 guitars under the trees, and made me that miserable 
 I could a-cried, because I wanted to love somebody, 
 
395 
 
 I don't know who, better than the men with guitars 
 -did. Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind 
 moaned and wept like a lost child for its dead mother, 
 and I could a got up then and there and preached a 
 better sermon than any I ever listened to. There 
 wasn't a thing in the world left to live for, not a 
 blame thing, and yet I didn't want the music to stop 
 one bit. It was happier to be miserable than to be 
 happy without being miserable. I couldn't under- 
 stand it. I hung my head and pulled out my hanker- 
 chief, and blowed my nose loud to keep from cryin'. 
 My eyes is weak anyway ; I didn't want anybody to 
 be a gazin' at me a snivlin', and its nobody's business 
 what I do with my nose. It's mine. But some sev- 
 eral glared at me, mad as Tucker. 
 
 "Then, all of a sudden, old Ruben changed his 
 tune. He ripped and he rar'd, he tipped and tar'd, 
 he pranced and he charged like the grand entry at a 
 circus. 'Feared to me that all the gas in the house 
 was turned on at once, things got so bright, and I 
 hilt up my head, ready to look any man in the face, 
 and not afeard of nothin'. It was a circus, and a 
 brass band, and a big ball, all goin' on at the same 
 time. He lit into them keys like a thousand of brick, 
 he give 'em no rest, day nor night ; he set every livin' 
 joint in me a-goiri', and not bein' able to stand it no 
 longer, I jumpt spang onto my seat, and jest hol- 
 lered: 
 
 "'Go it, my Rube!' 
 
 " Every blamed man, woman and child in the house 
 riz on me, and shouted, ' Put him out ! put him out!' 
 
396 
 
 "Put your great-grandmother's grizzly grey 
 greenish cat into the middle of next month !' I says. 
 6 Tech me if you dare ! I paid my money, and you 
 jest come a-nigh me.' 
 
 " With that, some several p'licemen run up, and I 
 had to simmer down. But I would a fit any fool that 
 laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear Ruby out 
 or die. 
 
 "He had changed his tune again. He hopt-light 
 ladies and tip-toed fine from eend to eend of the key- 
 board. He played soft, and low, and solemn. I 
 heard the churcU bells over the hills. The candles 
 in heaven was lit, one by one. I saw the stars rise.- 
 The great organ of eternity began to play from the 
 world's end to the world's end, and all the angels 
 went to prayers. Then the music changed to water, 
 full of feeling that couldn't be thought, and began to 
 drop drip, drop, drip, drop clear and sweet, like 
 tears of joy fallin' into a lake of glory. It was 
 sweeter than that. It was as sweet as a sweetheart 
 sweetenin' sweetness with white sugar, mixt with- 
 powdered silver and seed diamonds. It was too sweet.. 
 I tell you the audience cheered. Ruben he kinder- 
 bowed, like he wanted to say, i Much obleeged, but 
 I'd rather you wouldn't interrup' me.' 
 
 "He stqpt a minute or two, to fetch breath- 
 Then he got mad. He run his fingers through his 
 hair, he shoved up his sleeves, he opened his coat 
 tails a lee tie further, he drug up his stool, he leaned 
 over, and, sir, he just went for that old pianner. He 
 slapt her face, he boxed her jaws, he pulled her nose, 
 
39T 
 
 lie pinched her ears and he scratched her cheeks, till 
 she farly yelled. He knockt her down and he 
 stompt on her shameful. She bellowed like a bull, 
 ,she bleated like a calf, she howled like a hound, she 
 squeeled like a pig, she shrieked like a rat, and then 
 he wouldn't let her up. He run a quarter-stretch 
 down the low grounds of the base, till he got clean 
 into the bowels of the earth, and you heard thunder 
 galloping after thunder, through the hollows and 
 -caves of perdition ; and then he fox-chased his right 
 hand with his left till he got away out of the treble 
 into the clouds, whar the notes was finer than the pints 
 of cambric needles, and you couldn't hear nothin' but 
 .the shadders of 'em. And then he wouldn't let the 
 old pianner go. He for'ard-two'd, he crost over first 
 gentleman, he crost over first lady, he balanced to 
 pards, he chassade right and left, back to your 
 places, he all hands'd aroun', ladies to the right, 
 promenade all, in and out, here and there, back and 
 forth, up and down, perpetual motion, doubled and 
 twisted and tied and turned and tacked and tangled 
 into forty-'leven thousand double bow-knots. By 
 jings ! it was a mixtery. And then he wouldn't let 
 the old pianner go. He fetcht up his right wing, he 
 fetcht up his left wing, he fetcht up his centre, he 
 fetcht up his reserves. He fired by file, he fired by 
 platoons, by company, by regiments and by brigades. 
 He opened his cannon, siege guns down thar, Napo- 
 leons here, twelve-pounders yonder, big guns, little 
 guns, middle-size guns, round shot, shell, shrap- 
 nel, grape, canister, mortars, mines and magazines, 
 
398 
 
 every livin' battery and bomb a'goin' at the same- 
 time. The house trembled, the lights danced, the 
 walls shuk, the floor come up, the ceilin' come 
 down, the sky split, the ground rockt heavens and 
 earth, creation, sweet potatoes, Mosses, nine-pences,. 
 glory, ten-penny nails, my Mary Ann, hallelujah, 
 Samson in a 'simmon tree, Jeroosal'm, Tump Tomp- 
 son in a tumbler-cart, roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle 
 ruddle-uddle-uddle-uddle raddle-addle-addle-addle 
 addle riddle-iddle-iddie-iddle reetle-eetle-eetle 
 eetle-eetle-eetle p-r-r-r-r-r-lang ! per lang! per- 
 plang! p-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-lang ! BANG! 
 
 With that bang ! he lifted hisself bodily into the 
 ar', and he come down with his knees, his ten fingers,, 
 his ten toes, his elbows and his nose, striking every 
 single solitary key on that pianner at the same time. 
 The thing busted and went off into seventeen hundred 
 and fifty-seven thousand five hundred and forty-two 
 hemi-demi-semi-quivers, and I know'd no mo'. 
 
 ""When I come too, I were under ground about 
 twenty foot, in a place they call Oyster Bay, treatin' 
 a Yankee that I never laid eyes on before, and never 
 expect to ag'in. Day was a breakin' by the time I 
 got to the St. Nicholas hotel, and I pledge you my 
 word I didn't know my name. The man asked me 
 the number of my room, and I told him, < Hot music 
 on the half -shell for twoT I pintedly did." 
 
THE EMPTY SLEEVE. 
 
 TOM, old fellow, I grieve to see 
 The sleeve hanging loose at your side 
 The arm you lost was worth to me 
 
 Every Yankee that ever died. 
 But you don't mind it at all ; 
 
 You swear you've a beautiful stump, 
 And laugh at that damnable ball ; 
 Tom, I knew you were always a trump. 
 
 A good right arm, a nervy hand, 
 
 A wrist as strong as a sappling oak, 
 Buried deep in the Malvern sand 
 
 To laugh at that is a sorry joke. 
 Never again your iron grip 
 
 Shall I feel in my shrinking palm 
 Tom, Tom, I see your trembling lip, 
 
 How on earth can I be calm? 
 
 Well, the arm is gone, it is true ; 
 
 But the one that is nearest the heart 
 Is left and that's as good as two ; 
 
 Tom, old fellow, what makes you start ? 
 Why, man, she thinks that empty sleeve 
 
 A badge of honor ; so do I, 
 And all of us I do believe 
 
 The fellow is going to cry ! 
 
400 THE EMPTY SLEEVE. 
 
 "She deserves a perfect man," you say; 
 
 "You not worth her in your prime?" 
 Tom ! the arm that has turn'd to clay 
 
 Your whole body has made sublime ; 
 For you have placed in the Malvern earth 
 
 The proof and pledge of a noble life 
 And the rest, henceforward of higher worth, 
 
 Will be dearer than all to your wife. 
 
 I see the people in the street 
 
 Look at your sleeve with kindling eyes ; 
 And you know, Tom, there's naught so sweet 
 
 As homage shown in mute surmise. 
 Bravely your arm in battle strove ; 
 
 Freely, for Freedom's sake, you gave it ; 
 It has perished but a nation's love 
 
 In proud remembrance will save it. 
 
 Go to your sweetheart, then, forthwith 
 
 You're a fool for staying so long ; 
 Woman's love you'll find no myth, 
 
 But a truth, living, tender and strong. 
 And when around her slender belt 
 
 Your left is clasped in fond embrace, 
 Your right will thrill as if it felt, 
 
 In its grave, the usurper's place. 
 
 As I look through the coming years, 
 I see a one-armed married man ; 
 
 A little woman, with smiles and tears, 
 Is helping as hard as she can 
 
 'To put on his coat, pin up his sleeve, 
 Tie his cravat and cut his food ; 
 
THE EMPTY SLEEVE. 401 
 
 And I say, as these fancies I weave, 
 
 "That is Tom and the woman he wooed." 
 
 The years roll on, and then I see 
 
 A wedding picture bright and fair ; 
 I look closer, and it's plain to me 
 
 That is Tom with the silver hair. 
 He gives away the lovely bride, 
 
 And the guests linger, loth to leave 
 The house of him in whom they pride 
 
 "Brave old Tom with the empty sleeve." 
 
AFTER APPOMATTOX. 
 
 "ON his way to Richmond, General Lee stopped for the night 
 near the residence of his brother, Mr. Carter Lee, of Powhatan 
 county ; and, although importuned by his brother to pass the 
 night under his roof, the General persisted in pitching his tent by 
 the side of the road, and going into camp as usual. " Taylor's 
 "Four Years with General Let," page 154. 
 
 UPON a hill-top, bold and free, 
 Ere that sad day is done, 
 The soldier form and face of Lee 
 Stand out against the sun. 
 
 The strong, grey head is carried high, 
 
 The firm hand grasps the rein ; 
 Earth nowhere holds such majesty, 
 
 And nowhere hides such pain. 
 
 A little onward now he rides, 
 
 For he alone would be ; 
 But something more than space divides 
 
 His staff from Eobert Lee. 
 
 Scarce can he tell the way he goes, 
 
 Scarce feels the April air; 
 Heap'd in his breast, his country's woes 
 
 Have filled him with despair. 
 
AFTER APPOMATTOX. 403 
 
 The purple mountains fade behind, 
 
 Before him lies the sea ; 
 In all this world a fate unkind 
 
 Leaves home nor hope for Lee. 
 
 The rosy flush dies on the plain, 
 
 And dismal shadows start ; 
 What tumult in his riven brain, 
 
 What torture in his heart ! 
 
 The bright'ning stars are naught to him, 
 
 Nor aught the sweet moonlight ; 
 His star has grown a-sudden dim 
 
 He nevermore shall fight. 
 
 His work seems done, his day seems spent; 
 
 What matters night or day ! 
 He will betake him to his tent, 
 
 And, kneeling there, will pray. 
 
 The cries that upward went that night 
 
 Unto the great White Throne 
 The tears for guidance and for light 
 
 To God alone are known. 
 
 Sacred throughout all coming time, 
 
 Those sleepless hours shall be ; 
 For who can tell, in words sublime, 
 
 The agony of Lee ? 
 
'67/2321(31 
 
 
US 
 
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