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THE ROMANCE OF MADISON AUCE WAIKER JEmsm -
ESTLING among the red clay hills
of Middle Georgia, lies the inter
esting little city of Madison, the
county seat of Morgan County.
Those who are only acquainted
with the hustling, bustling cities
of the new South, Atlanta, Sa
vannah, Jacksonville, and Macon,
know nothing of the charm, the
N
romantic influence, the real life of the old
South, “befoh the wah,” which is typified by
the beautiful old County seat of Morgan
County.
The hard clay roads winding away among
the hills, the far reaches of vision, including
in the hazy distance many alluring sites, for
the old plantation houses call to mind the
days of long ago, when the great family
coaches lurched and careened over these
self-same roads, bearing the beautiful girls
of the family to some neighboring plantation
for a week of fun, frolic and love-making.
This town of Madison boasts of Main
street some twelve miles in length. In the
business section of the city, is the public
square. On it is a monument to the heroes
this place furnished in defense of their be
loved Southland. On one side is the court
house, a handsome structure, the pride of
the county. A very fine hotel also fronts on
the square, and when court is in session, the
Colonels and Majors and other male repre
sentatives of the Southern aristocracy pass
between the court house and the hotel, or
pause in friendly greeting to some citizen.
Beyond the square and the few blocks of
business houses, Main street straggles care
lessly along for miles in either direction be
tween occasional farms, cotton fields, or
farm houses. These latter, both in the style
of architecture and in the spacious grounds
surrounding them, recall the Manor houses
of England. The residences along Main
street are very attractive, many of them of
colonial architecture, and the older ones all
speaking to those who can understand their
language, of palmier days, of days when they
were very important factors in the old time
Southern regime.
The cemetery of Madison lies a short dis
tance from Main street, within easy walking
distance of the centre of town. Possibly
when the town was laid out, it was on the out
skirts, but the place has grown around and
beyond it in all directions. One is rather sur
prised, at first, to see the memorials of love,
the last resting places of so many, so near the
haunts of the living, but gradually one comes
to like it, to think of the founders of many
of the early families, lying here amongst the
stir of life, where they are frequently called
to the memory of the living and where, in
the long summer evenings, the townspeople
may wander in quiet reflection. Were not
their sleep so deep and dreamless, the sleep
ers might be disturbed by the roar of the
trains that pass frequently each day, two
railroads running directly through this
“God’s Acre.” What an example of the push
of modern life, of the selfishness of commerce
that the peace of this consecrated spot could
not be respected, but that its quiet must be
broken constantly by the tread of the hoofs
of the iron horse.
The gardens of Madison are a marvel to one
unacquainted with the flowers of the Middle
South. Each home has its rose garden,
where the queen of flowers grows in profu
sion, with such wealth of perfume and varie
ty of colorings, as to set a rose lover wild
with joy. Here, too, are the lark-spurs, the
gorgeous popies, the candy-tuft, Love-lies
bleeding, Touch-me-nots, phlox, and many
other loves of our grandmothers.
Standing upon a hill which overlooks
a magnificent panorama of forest-crowned
hills and distance-dim valleys, is the “Great
The Golden Age for June 22, 1911.
house” of one of the early plantations. This
house is built of brick, that were made and
baked upon the plantation by the slaves. It
has three immense gables in front, and the
vista from the front door, through the house,
is charming. One looks through the wide
double doors into a roomy hall, beyond that,
through parted curtains, the glance roams
through the back hall, across the wide back
porch, down a grassy slope and through an
arched hedge gateway into the kitchen gar
den, beyond which lie the distant, blue-hazed
hills. From the wide entrance-hall a side hall
leads to the left, through a graceful, alcovied
side entrance, to the old-fashioned garden,
which one enters through a white arched
gateway. A large grape arbor brings visions
of the joy of grape time, but visions of the
future and past are forgotten in the joy of
the present, which thrills the heart of a
flower lover standing in that lovely profu
sion of bloom. It pleases one to think that
these same perennials have loomed year af
ter year. We think of the dear hands that
planted many of the shrubs, turned to dust
long since. We imagine the daughters of the
house wandering here in the dusk among the
flower oeds, possibly plucking some keep-sake
nosegay for a soldier lover, and our romance
loving soul runs riot amid such stimulating
surroundings.
Another “great house” claimed our fervent
admiration in Madison. This was founded in
the early days, the family that built the house
coming from Virginia to Madison by wagon,
before the days of the railroad. With them
they brought the mahogany sideboard, still
treasured for its associations. The present
members of that family have the love of their
home deeply ingrained in their hearts. From
far and near they have gathered together
pieces of old colonial furniture, rare old
dishes, so that now the house is furnished
almost entirely in keeping with its colonial
character. A wide hall, with parlors on
either side, leads one to a wide cross-hall,
the entrance to the rose garden at one end,
the stairway at the other. This stairway
is unique. Half way up is a landing, across
the width of the hall, where stood the grand
father clock. The stairs ramble on acress
the landing. There are steps up and steps
down, on the second floor and one is ready
for surprises everywhere. From this land
ing one can look down into the hall and con
verse with those below. One can imagine this
being a fine stage for the play of flirtation,
and we are sure many a Southern beauty
has paused here, to say a last word to the
ardent wooer below.
The chambers above are furnished with the
high four-posters and candle sticks are ev
erywhere. Two ancient spinets are treasured
mementoes of former days, and from these
skilful fingers can entice the ghosts of former
melodies. At the witching hour of midnight,
we are sure these wide halls and roomy cham
bers are peopled by shades, who again may
step the minuet, and once more visit the
haunts of former days.
Entertaining is a fine art in Madison. The
ladies are cooks, artist cooks. When one
gathers with friends around a table groaning
with delicacies, the finest thing that can be
said in anticipatory delight is “Our hostess
prepared all this with her own hands.” No
feast is complete without the famous “beaten
biscuit,” made in its perfection by the ladies
of the Middle South. We were told of one
“stag dinner,” beginning with raw oysters,
followed by a twenty-pound shoat, beautiful
ly browned, red apple in mouth, at one end
of the table, a twenty-pound turkey at th 3
other end, and forty birds sprinkled be
tween; Vegetables and salads followed, and
among the deserts were mentioned several
cakes and claret gelatine.
Cotton is the great staple here, as else
where in Georgia, and everybody is busy un
til the crop is in. Then come the “days off,”
when the country families entertain all their
friends with a barbecue. These are prepared
in this way: A pit is dug in the clay about
four feet deep and four or five feet wide,
and as long as needed. The night before
these pits are filled with hickory wood which
is kept burning all night. In the morning
you have a fine bed of live coals, with no
smoke or flames. The carcasses are then
brought, and spitted with two smooth rods,
which lie across the pits. Each carcass is
basted with strong solution of salt, applied
with a swab. After they are basted, at in
tervals, with a preparation of vinegar, but
ter, pepper and other spices, and turned fre
quently. By the time the meat is properly
berbecued, the long tables under the trees
are ladened with the finest products of the
hostess’ skill, and the friends are feasted.
Barbecued meat has a flavor not known to
any other method of cooking meats. They
say barbecued meat is a “dream.”
The beautiful red hills of Georgia, the col
onial mansions, the entertainments and bar
becues, are all dreams now, and as we return
to the proasic rush of everyday life, we often
refresh ourselves by dreaming of the romance
of Madison the beautiful.
THE ART OF FORGETTING.
“Forgetting those things which are be
hind,” is the way the great Apostle expresses
it.
Did you ever consider that 99 per cent., or
more, of the discords in life come from finan
cial disagreements ?
It is an ideal condition to keep so filled with
the spirit of “peace, good will toward all” as
not to be switched off the main line by wran
gling of this character.
When an unpleasant experience has to be
me t—an unkind remark regarding yourself
or some one in whom you are interested —do
with it as the conductor of a freight-train
does with a car that has reached its destined
station —cut it out!
The transporting of such luggage through
life’s journey is what makes the trip unnec
essarily trying.
Follow Faul’s injunction, “Laying aside
every weight (useless vexations), run with
patience the race.”
That is what is impressed upon us in the
wise advice to forget those things which are
behind —those things which are depressing,
and tend to exasperate and embitter, or cause
grief when we revert to them.
Should you be so unfortunate as to have
an altercation with another, every time the
matter is threshed over in the mind it is as
when the photographer takes a negative from
the rack and makes a new print from it.
Don’t print from this mental negative, and
thus bring up the scene again, with all its
nerve-rasping quality.
What is the use?
Should you have a hard day at the office,
with many things to perplex and annoy, will
it make you feel better to take them home
and rehash the incidents to your wife? Will
it make her more fully; enjoy the evening in
your society?
Even should some of the mean feeling
cling to you on the way home, don’t take it
inside, but shut the front door in its face. It
is only one of the incidents of the day, be
hind you. Forget it.
The Good Book says, “Keep yourselves in
the love of God.” Do that, and these dis
cordant thoughts will be driven back into the
darkness from whence they came, while in
their place will come “the peace of God,
which passeth all understanding.”
H S. JENISON.
Jacksonville, Flu,
