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the old coat of gray.
BY BLONDINE.
The following beautiful p<»em was written by the daugh
ter of Mrs. L. Virginia French, at the age of sweet sixteen.
[Editor of The Sunny South.
It lies there alone;—it is rusty and faded,
With a patch on the elbow, a hole in the side;
But we think of the brave boy who wore it, and ever
Look on with pleasure and touch it with pride.
A history clings to it;—over and over
We see a proud youth hurried off to the fray,
^ ith his form like the oak and his eyes like the eagle’s—
How gallant he rode in the ranks of “the Gray!”
It is rough, it is worn, it is tattered in places,
But I love it the more for the story it bears—
A story of courage in struggle with sorrows,
And a heart that bore bravely its burden of .cares.
It is ragged and rusty; but ah! it was shining
In the silkiest sheen when he wore it away,
And his smile was as bright as the glad summer morning
When he sprang to his place in the ranks of “the Gray.”
There's a rip in the sleeve and the collar is tarnished,
The buttons all gone with their glitter ana gold;
’Tis a thing of the past, and we reverently lay it
Away with the treasures and relics of old.
As the gifts of a love, solemn, sweet and unspoken,
Are cherished as leaves from a long-vanished day,
We will keep the old jacket for sake of the loved one
Who rode in the van in the ranks of “the Gray.”
Shot through with a bullet, right here in the shoulder,
And down there the pocket is splinted and soiled;
Ah! more—see, the lining is stained and discolored!
Yes, blood-drox>s the texture have stiffened and spoiled.
It came when he rode at the head of the column,
Charging down in the battle one deadliest day,
When squadrons of foemen were broken asunder,
And Victory rode with the ranks of “the Gray.”
Its memory is sweetness and sorrow commingled,—
To me it is precious—more precious than gold;
In the rents and the shot-holes a volume is written,
In the stains on the lining is agony told.
That was ten years ago, when in life's sunny morning
He rode with his comrades dowD into the fray,
And the old coat he wore and the good sword he wielded
Were all that came back from the ranks of “the Gray.”
And it lies there alone. I will reverence it ever—
The patch in the elbow, the hole in the side—
For a gallauter heart never breathed than the loved one ]
Who wore it in honor and soldierly pride.
Let me brush off the dust from its tatters and tarnish— \
Let me fold it up closely and lay it away;
It is all that is left of the loved and the lost one
Who fought for the right in the ranks of “the Gray.” j
OUR PORTRAIT GALLERY.
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
OF
HONORABLE ANDREW JOHNSON.
Ex-President Andrew Johnson, the newly- j
elected Senator from Tennessee, is a character j
whose traits, as well as public life, are attracting j
a great deal of journalistic notice. All in all, if I
not the greatest of our living statesmen, he un- j
doubtedly occupies the largest space in the public |
mind. Whether in wisdom he is superior to all ,
other men of his day, is a question which ought j
and must be submitted to the historian and biog- j
raplier who shall write when excessive devotion !
of friends, as well as the angry passions of ene- j
mies, sleep with the generation of men who j
shared it, and who will write history as it is j
uninfluenced by loves or hates.
While it would be impossible to find, in the
whole South, an impartial pen—for everybody is
either the friend or enemy of Mr. Johnson—facts
may be given in reference to his life and public
service, and especially his dominant traits, which
the country would read with interest.
The writer of this sketch, having studied Mr.
Johnson and having been much with him, sub
mits that his true character is greatly misunder
stood. For forty years political enemies have
pronounced him a demagogue, and even many
good people who were not his enemies believed
him to be a demagogue. This grew out of the
fact that Mr. Johnson believes, and always has
believed, that the people who need legislative
protection are those who have no position, and
are never seen or heard as lobbyists about legis
lative bodies. No man in America is further
from being an agrarian, and no public man that
I have ever known so uniformly and under all
circumstances acts upon his conviction of duty,
resting alone upon principle.
Mr. Johnson is not a combative man, as he is
understood to be. He is just the reverse; but
when duty drives him into an issue, his rule
has always been to take the offensive.
In social life he is kind and genial, but not
brilliant. Close and intimate relations with him
always make a life-time friend; and indeed, the
most wonderful power of this man of mark is
his tenacious and ever-enduring magnetism. 1
Once a friend, always a friend, can be truly said j
of almost every one who in life has formed an
attachment for him. This comes in part from his !
own enduring attachments when once formed.
Mr. Johnson has no smiles for his friends, and !
makes no to-do in receiving them, but nothing is i
better settled than that he would die by them.
Of course, in the great struggle of 1861, the !
great bulk of Mr. Johnson's friends heaped upon ;
him nothing but curses, and with one voice they 1
would have condemned him to death. That in
war the man who of all others had been most
honored should come and rule over them as Mil
itary Governor, was in their estimation a crime
nnparalelled. After the war came, no city in
the whole South was more intensely Southern
than Nashville. All shouldered the musket and j
i started from the fair city to fight Yankees, sigh
for loved ones left behind, and curse the Mili
tary Governor. More than forty of these men ;
the other day voted for Mr. Johnson for United
States Senator against three of their most popu
lar commanders and comrades-in-arms; and
when Mr. Johnson's election was proclaimed at
the capitol, the immense crowd rushed from the
scene, and in ten minutes nearly all the busi
ness houses were closed, the people were on the j
streets and rushing to the hotels, congregating
in public places, some crying and some shout
ing, but all joyous; and, as by spontaneous ac-
tion, from all parts of the eity and from the
country the people came, until by night they ,
were prepared to give Mr. Johnson such an ova-
Ition as no public man ever had in the city, not
excepting General Jackson when he returned
from his victory at New Orleans, or the Marquis
de Lafayette when he visited ns in 1825.
Mr. Johnson goes to the Senate with this one j
great predominating thought,—to aid, judi
ciously and wisely aid, in giving to the coun
try a restored and purely civil government. His
life has been an eventful one; he wants no strife,
and will have none unless driven to the wall.
He is now sixty-six years old, but well-preserved.
Though not a classical scholar, he has acquired
a great deal of information, and is a fair English
scholar. From an obscure boy whose early and
only known virtue was to love and support by
his own hands a widowed mother, he made him
self a splendid mechanic. When quite a young
man he was a leading member in the lower House
of the State Legislature, then State Senator, then
ten years in the lower House of Congress, then
four years Governor of Tennesse, then six years
[For The Sunnv South.]
YOUTH—THE JOYS OF LIFE.
BY NETTIE LOVELESS KIERULTF.
“ O. what a world of beauty passes away
With the winded hours of youth!”
Ah ! how sweet are the halcyon days of youth;
how radiant, “when life is young and heart
elate,” ere care has brought its age or the world
its contaminations! Then we feel this is indeed
a beautiful, beautiful world! We behold its
beauty on earth, sea, and sky; “in the faintest
star that trembles out in the blue, smiling arch
of heaven, which, like some wave struggling to
reach a far-off land, dies just as it reaches the
shore.” We behold it “in every tint that paints
the blooming flowers of summer, and that flames
out in the stars at night; in roseate life that
spreads out its sweet enchantments to our long
ing gaze ! Hope and Fancy clothe the future
with glittering garments, throwing the charm of
success upon even’ coming event. Thank God
for this season of freshness—these years of happy
in the United States Senate, then two years Mili
tary Governor of Tennessee, then Vice-President
of the United States, then President of the Uni
ted States for nearly four years, and now, in the
prime of his intellectual manhood, he is returned
to the Senate of the United States.
JACOB DUNDERHED SPEAKS.
Augoosta, Geokchia, March 1, 1875.
Mr. John H. Seals:
Dear Sir,—I vas got meinself vrom Qwin und
Bendleton, yon dees city, a gopy of dot butiful
baper vat you vas got yourself out mit, Der Sunny
Soud, bei Etlanta. Veil, dot vas a butiful baper
und a butiful names, doo, Der Sunny Soud. It
vas a names so fool of butiful sendimends und
bleasant regomembrai es — Der Sunny Soud !
Yes,—
You may boast of der Nort,
Uud its shkadius on ice;
You may boast of der Vest,
Und its grains—veil, dot’s nice;
You may boast of der East,
Und breg of its skooils
Yere learuin’s got easy,
Und dere's more knaves den fooils.
But geef me der blaees
Vere das vedder’s ser heis—
Vere shweet Liberty leefs
Und der beobles bate vice !
Yes, give me der blaees,
Says my heart und my mout,
Mein blace bei adopshun—
Mein dear Sunny Soud !
Dot vas der sendimends of Jacob Dunderhed,
Mr. Edditur; und mein frau she vas obsairfed,
“Dot’s so, Jacob; dot’s so !” Und I tole yon vat
it vas, ef I know meinself, und I tink it vas, you
vould put your name behind der front of dot
leetle notes yourself.
Aber, dot makes nodding out, about it. 1 at
vas der oose of heving a butiful goondry, butiful
reevers und moundens, butiful vimmens und
sebmart mens like Meestress Bryan, und Alex.
Stephens, und Ben. Hill, und Mr. Seals, und
Jacob Dunderhed, und some more like dot, ef
we hed no butiful babers like Der Sunny Soud ?
Now, der New York Letcher, und der Gimney
Gorner, und der Saturday Xight vas all good
babers for der beebles in his vays, mebbe; but
ve vas got room enough, I shall tink, for anoder—•
for a good home baper, like Der Sunny Soud—
vere our home beobles can build ourself oop a
home literariness, und don’t vas got any neces
sariness to gone away oil' in der schnow, und
ice, und der vite Bolar pears goondries to dig it
out, und pay for it, too, by cheminy! Dot's so,
too, Mr. Seals ! Now, vone dimes ago I vas been
a noosebaber mens meinself, bei der “Ameri-
kanische Zeitung,” nnd as I made moneys enuff
mit dot beesinesses to gotmeinselfs a poor house,
I vas always got great sympaddies mit noosba-
bers. und abofe all, vor der noosebabers von der
Soud. So no medder ef you vas a dembrance
mens yonrselfs (dembrance vas a goot tings, by
cheminy !) dot makes nodding out, I dook mein
self a gooble or dree glaises of lager bier, und I
drinks meinself a doast to Der Sunny Soud. It
vas dose:
Here's to der Soud—der dear Sunny Soud,
Dot land of der brafe und dot home of der free,
Whose beobles shoost now vas so down by der mout,
But vas got ’emselfs now so fool oop of glee !
Und here’s to our bress, und der new Sunny Soud!
May it vas all der dimes brosbrous und free !
May its edditurs nefer got down bei der mout,
But makes moneys like leafs von der dree !
Now dot vas a goot vishes, to be sure: und ef
yon vonld like to hear from Jacob vonce in a
vhiles, like dot, Mr. Edditur, vhy I dink I vould
drop yon a line or dwo. shoost to help you gife
goot done and helty sendimends to Der Sunny
Soud. Jacob Dunderhed.
P. S.—How vas dot Ben. Bootler beesnes mit
you ? Don't you vas got some gledness dot old
Shpoons vas goned oop der laidle? Bully vor
Dompson, I says; yes.
Den here's to Dompson, mit dose P,
Who leef d bei der nashun's gradle,
Dot man who shlacht old spooney B.,
Und sendet him oop der laidle !
Fashionable women are making their own
dresses this winter, and confessing it, too.
Sad, sad it is to watch the lapse of time, the
magician. The bright-eyed, blushing school
girl, quick with ready wit and smiles, with her
fair hopes for the future, feels confident of tfie
ever-brightening joys which the gilded world
holds up before the admiring gaze. Disappoint
ment has not yet visited the brave young heart—
tried it as by fire and brought it forth as gold
refined. But time rolls on, laden with its joys
and griefs to the expectant world. What the
sorrows or disappointments of the fair maiden
are, none can tell,—that is carefully locked in
her own breast; but sure tbeir traces are upon
the pensive brow and in the depths of those calm,
sad eyes. If kind fortune cheer the way, the
voice rings out gladly and the lips smile; but
ab! how suddenly the shadow chases the sun
light from the sparkling face. Time has changed
the laughing, hopeful girl. Where are the bright
dreams and hopes of the days that are dead ?
Like autumn leaves, they have fallen and passed
away, hallowed by many a sigh. A battle with the
world withereth the spirit, for there is no love
there to refresh the soul. God is love, and in its
mad race for gold the world has forgotten its God.
The years have glided on, on, and now let us
look at the pensive maiden. Ah ! time has still
wrought a sadder change. She is now a sorrow-
stricken old woman. She has had many joys,
but there is a row of graves in the church-yard—
every branch has been severed from the withered
old trunk, and it mournfully awaits its fall.
Death is all that is left now. But looking up
the dim, shadowy aisles of. the past, the hopes
and dreams of youth loom up—still bright, still
beautiful—and the old heart throbs more quickly
and the withered lips smile as the mind dwells
on the fond memories so dear to every heart.
How the memories of youth mellow and sweeten
with time! “From the trials of life” we hear the
old woman murmur; I have gathered many
golden fruits of the spirit, and learned that God’s
mercies are over all his works. Come, sweet
Death! Ah ! new joys to the spirit to launch
out on the stream of Jordan,—to look back on
the receding shores of the world, whence come
softly murmured farewells,—to look forward
across the chilly stream to the bright-shining
shores of eternity, whence the music of a thou
sand harps is sweetly floating,—to look above,
and behold the face of God, smiling and
sweetly saying, “Well done, good and faithful
servant; enter thou into the joys of life.”
[For The Sunny South,]
SMALL FOOLISHNESS.
People are prone to one idea. The world is
constantly being taken charge of by a fancy.
For instance, we have the age of gold, the age of
iron, the age of peace, the age of revolutions.
We have a reign of broad brim hats, another of
narrow brims; an era of short coats, and another
of long coats. We have an age of utility, and
another when show enters most largely into all
that is worn or otherwise used.
This same thing enters into and influences all
the relations of life. The old time when such
names as George, Thomas, William, Robert and
James were thought good enough for boys, and
Mary, Martha, Sarah, Jane and Jerusha were all
the most devoted parents desired, have gone the
way of all sublunary things; we find in their
stead, Willie, Rollie, Wallie and Charlie for the
future statesmen, orators and philosophers,
whose mates are designated as Lillie, Minnie, j
Linnie and Birdie, with all the variations that !
can be sung upon those two terminal letters, ie. !
I could not have respected my grandfather if
his name had been Willie. He was old. gray,
fatherly and wrinkled. “Uncle James” had an
honest sound about it which suited the lips of j
nephews and neices. while grandfather Willie j
would have been simply horrible.
Grandmother Minnie ! But it will not do to !
pursue the subject further. I will, however,
ask: Will the people, not all. but most people,
poor, ignorant, silly things that they are, never
learn that good taste and good sense go hand in
hand, and ihat is most beautiful which is most
harmonious—not most harmonious with youth
nor with age, hut that which is most harmonious
in all the meanderings of that crooked road from
the cradle to the grave ? Abnot.
[For The Sunny South.]
A VALENTINE
From a Little Boy of Sine to a Little “Torment” Aged Eleven.
I want to write you something on a pretty little theme.
And I think I’d better do it while my muse is in a dream.
With a pretty little girl I’m deeply now in love.
And the one to whom I write is the very little dove.
If I should say I love you, you must not think I’m bold—
For without your little sympathy I’m left out in the cold;
This sort of courting some say is the very height of bliss,
But I “kinder ’* like the sort that's seasoned with a kiss.
Don't you ?
I have sent Cupid on—he is bidden not to tarry—
To tell you for me that I “sorter ” want to marry.
Some time in the future, if you think we shall agree;
I will call round to see you, if you say you’ll have me.
’Twould make me feel as happy as a king upon his throne
To lead you from the altar to a cottage of my own;
And to make it all complete—you must let me be frank—
We shall need a little “ shaver ” for you and I to spank!
The space intervening is a long time to wait,
And upon my tender feelings the thought will ever grate;
But I’ll make lots of money while Old Time is running,
So the milliner with her bills can never come a-dunning.
I vow the cold shall never bite your pretty little toes.
Because I shall put some big ones with them—I will those.
“You bet!”
These sentiments, I think, ought to make you very happy;
If you say you'll have me now. I'll come and ask your pappy.
I should like to close my song with something soft and
sweet,
But my muse has roused up and has gone out on the street;
But when he comes back and begins again to slumber,
I’ll remember what he dreams, and tell it, “By thunder!”
You ought, anyhow, to be pleased with this valentine,
Because my name is T and yours is Emmie-line.
Now, you need not try to catch me, for I'm off like a flea;
••The best laid schemes of mice and men,” you know,
“gang aft aglee.”
[For The Sunny South.]
THINGS GENERALLY.
BY b. ridges.
One of the noblest actions and the greatest il
lustrations of rigid economy that I ever heard
of was a man in an adjoining county, who
starved himself to death the other day to save
money to keep up his policy in a life insurance
company. Was it not grand !
Among the many troubles of this wicked
world, there are none perhaps more conducive
to profanity than the first few days’ tussle with
a new pair of shoes. I have read somewhere of
troubles that turned hair white in a single night;
I’ve heard of the troubles underwent by Joan d’
Arc, of John Brown and other distinguished in
dividuals, but their troubles sink into insignifi
cance when compared to the trouble I speak of,
ridiculous as it may seem.
Did you ever notice how a woman writes a
letter ? You couldn’t hire her to use pen and ink.
She always takes a pencil—a short one, for 'you
never saw a woman have a long pencil in your
life—at least I never did—and then-takes a book,
sits down in a low chair, puts the" half-sheet of
note-paper on the book, bends her head to the
book, grasps the pencil as if she wanted to
squeeze the marrow out of it, and when she gets
down the date and “My dear,” she stops, raises
her lmad and drums the end of the pencil against
her teeth while she stares at the floor and stud
ies what to write next. When the idea strikes
her, she writes down one word and then shakes
herself all over and says, “Oh! shucks, that
won’t do !” But she always concludes to let it
go after she has drummed on her teeth and stud
ied awhile (she wasn’t studying about the letter
either). When she gets about half through
writing what she wanted to say, she signs the
name. After she has folded it up, the letter is
re-opened and a P. S. added. Then she puts it
in an envelope, opens it again and an N. B.
is added. Before she sends it she has written
all around the edges, all over the letter in big
characters, and tops the whole off with “Please
excuse this scrawl.”
The first thing a man does when he reaches a
warm fire after exposure to the chilling blasts of
winter, is to lay hold of a poker and commence !
a vigorous punching of the fire, as if the fire
was to blame for his being cold.
This is exactly what Smith did the other day
when he rushed into my bachelor apartments.
I kept my mouth closed, however, and resolved -
on revenge. I invited him around last night,
and just before he came I had the poker red hot.
Smith came in hurriedly with his month puck
ered, nearly froze to death He reached for the
poker. In the sixtieth part of a second there
after he dropped it and asked for arnica. No
arnica being handy, I gave him a bottle of pain- 1
killer. His hand hurt him too much to notice |
the label, and by the time the pain-killer touched
the unfortunate hand, Smith was a blazing piece
of red hot humanity. Never saw a man so hot.
He was so hot that his conversation for several
hours afterward was brimstony, for he spoke '
pathetically and often of a hot place. He
wears his hand between mush poultices and
sweet-gum salve, and swears that he’ll never j
punch another fire in this world, nor in the next j
if there is any way to get around it. But I guess !
there'll be no “chilling blasts” in the world !
he’ll go to next. Poor fellow !
[For The Sunny South.]
DO WE TALK SLANG?
BY SUSS H. R. B.
We deny it emphatically! We hate, detest, \
abhor every perversion of our beautiful English. 1
But, really, this thing is becoming alarming! I
We can scarcely open our lips without uncon
sciously giving utterance to some abominable i
slang expression. We are asked at table if we
like such and such a dish. “Not much,” we
reply quietly, and are straightway amazed at the
chorus of "laughter with which our innocent re-
mark is greeted.
“What is the matter?” we ask stiffly, adding j
in an aggrieved tone, “ If there’s anything to pro
voke mirth, ice can’t see it!”
Another burst, during which we feel that we
have a legitimate right to be insulted, and still
more so when our ruffled feathers are stroked
the wrong way by the remark: “Who would
have believed that you would ever talk slang?”
“Slang!” we exclaim in great indignation.
“Not if we know it!” and in endeavoring to '
swallow onr feelings with our coffee, we devoutly
wish we had possession of the man who first
started this wicked wresting of our mother-
tongue. We would go for—we mean we’would
soak him in nitro-glycerine for awhile, then blow
him sky-high; ar.d when the scattered particles
of that man came together again, he wouldn’t
be worth a cent!—pshaw!—we meant to say, that i
before he reached this earth again, he would
have reason to ask, “How is that for high?”
What would the elegant speakers and rhetori
cians of the past think of such abuse of our ver
nacular? It is enough to bring them back from
the grave, which were a consummation devoutly
to be wished. Wouldn't the slang-slinger sing
low for the rest of his frightened days?
We say now, as we have said before, we don’t
talk slang; and we are exceedingly anxious to
see the man who says we do.
THE SUNNY SOUTH.
WHAT THE PRESS THINKS ABOUT IT.
Certainly no paper ever received such enco
miums from the press. We make a few short
extracts from different editorials, and could fill
columns with just such. Shall publish another
column in next issue:
It is just what the South has long needed, and
will be a cherished and welcomed visitor to the
people of the South.—Enterprise, Tenn.
It is a large, eight-page paper, and equal in
every respect to any similar publication hailing
from the city of New York. It is worthy a place
in every household in the Sunny South.—Com
mercial, Tenn.
The Sunny South is charming in itsj typog
raphy, and exceeds in beauty anything of its
class which we receive. It is elegantly illustra
ted and its literary contents are unequaled.—
Xewbury (S. C.) Herald.
The paper is a model of neatness in its make
up, and its columns are brim full of choice read
ing. Every department of the paper is-in the
hands of able and competent managers. We
wish the enterprise great success.—Courier, X.C.
It makes a splendid appearance, and is the
most promising eft’ort to establish a first-class
literary paper in the South that has been made
for a good while. Let us hope that it will suc-
deed—indeed, let us determine that it shall suc
ceed.—Presbyterian, S. C.
This new literary weekly in size and typo
graphical appearance certainly surpasses any
thing ever before brought out in the South, and
is fully equal to anything North. It has a good
temperance department, a chatty domestic cor
ner and a spicy editorial column.—Musical Mil
lion, Va.
We do not hesitate in pronouncing it the best
literary paper published in the South or North.
The illustrations are chaste and gotten up in the
highest style of the art. Its columns are filled
with choice original matter. This valuable
paper should find its way to the fireside of every
home in the South.—Choctaw Herald, Ala.
The Sunny South will be filled weekly with
sprightly stories, original poetry, essays, sketches
art and literary notes, etc. It is beautifully
printed and elaborately gotten up every way.
Let our people support such of our own papers
as successfully vie with Northern publications.
We class The Sunny South with this number.—
Star, Wilmington, X. C.
It is a weekly eight-paged literary paper, and
will fill a void that has long been felt in our
midst. The typographical appearance of The
Sunny South is equal if not superior to any sim
ilar journal published in Yankeedom, whilst its
columns are filled with a variety of superior
reading from the most eminent writers in the
South.—Xew Em, Texas.
It is in all respects, the equal of any Northern
weekly, and is not filled up with the miscella
neous trash that gives many of them their noto
riety. Many of our best Southern writers are
among the contributors. J list such a paper is a
felt want at the South, and we hope the enter
prise may meet with abundant encouragement.—
Charlotte (X. C.) Chronicle.
It is the same size and style of the New York
Ledger and is the best literary paper that has
ever been published in the South. It has an
able corps of contributors, is finely printed on
beautiful paper, and we hope is destined to be
successful and take the place of the sensational
(rash that now to such a great extent floods the
South—all from the North.—Staunton Spectator.
The editor-in-chief is Mr. John H. Seals, a
gentleman of experience and approved ability as
a journalist, who is to be assisted in the various
departments of the paper by the best talent in
the South. In short, all the arrangements for
The Sunny South show a determination on the
part of its proprietor to make it an honor to our
section and a means of entertainment and im
provement to every family into which it enters.
It deserves to be liberally patronized.—Missis
sippi Soidh.
Its pages are devoted to literature, romance,
science, education, temperance and Southern
progress, and it is the very embodiment of ex
cellence in each of these features. We have ex
amined its articles with care and can commend
as we can but few of the popular literary papers
of the day. It is able, earnest, zealous, truthful,
moral, pure and sincere in its noble mission in
behalf of literature, temperance, education, sci
ence and progress. We commend it to the
people of the Northwest.—Iowa Plaindealer.
It is the most beautiful specimen of artistic ty
pography we have seen issued from any South
ern press, and the talent, genius and learning
displayed in its stories, editorials, etc., are of
the finest order. Taken as a whole, The Sunny
South is superior to any of the Northern publi
cations of like character that are liberally pat
ronized by the Southern public. We hope that
the Soutnern people will rally to the support of
Professor Seals, and aid in building up a litera
ture in the South worthy of her talents and peo
ple and in keeping with her progress in other
branches of civilization.—Central City, Ga.
We welcome it as an evidence of a spirit of
literary enterprise in the South, which prom
ises us an independent home literature. The
paper is neat in its appearance, handsomely
illustrated, and full of useful and entertaining
reading matter. The character of the initial
number and the character of the editors and con
tributors, insures The Sunny South a position
in the foremost rank of American literary papers.
We hope the people of the South will sustain
this commendable home enterprise, and intro
duce The Sunny South into every family circle.
Let it be received as a friend, and let it supplant
those Northern papers which have shown such
an unfriendly spirit to our section.—Courier-
Herald, Tenn.
We welcome the advent of The Sunny South
with hearty good will. It is to us a bright mes
senger from a warmer clime, and forms another
link to bind ns to the noble State that gave it
birth. Though in its infancy, it is an infant
Hercules, and is already one among the best
publications North or South. Its biographical
sketches are germs of future history—a history,
as it were, in embryo. Its romances are over
flowing with originality and purity of thought,
and cannot fail to please and interest even the
most recherche and exacting. These, with many
other articles in prose and poetry, make up a
periodical both instructive and attractive. May
the future of The Sunny South be ever as bright
and buoyant as its young life promises—Courier,
Virginia.
In all respects it is equal to the literary publi
cations of the North, is devoted to the literature
of the South, and should find its way to the fire
side of every Southern family. We trust lovers
of good reading in our section will patronize
The Sunny South. There is no reason why we
should not build up and sustain periodicals
equal in merit to any in the North; we have wri
ters of ability, whose productions reflect credit
and honor upon themselves and their section.
But they have served to give character to North
ern literature, while of us it is said that we have
neither periodicals nor literary men and women.
The fault is with us; we have not encouraged
Southern periodicals, and our people have been
forced to send their subscription elsewhere.
Let us rally around The Sunny South and make
it the representative and exponent of Southern j
literature.—Holly Springs Reporter, Miss. A