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[For The 8unny South.]
A SPRI\« CAROL.
BY ANNIE BLOUNT PARDUE.
Not yet do we see the sweet daisies come peeping—
Not yet do we see the rich peach-blooms unfold,
Nor the old-fashioned jonquils so slyly come creeping
From their hidden retreat in the hard, frozen mould..|
But soon will Spring’s harbinger, snow-drops, be coming
" ith song-birds who hail from a Bunnier clime;
And soon ’mid the peach-blossoms busy bees humming, l
All promising hopes of the fair Summer-time.
Yes, April is near us. Old Winter hath led her
With courtliest grace to his vacated throne,—
Has turned with a sigh from the woodland and meadow.
The brooklets and fountains late chained as his own.
Regretful he loosens the ice-fetters binding
The rivulet longing in vain to be free
Which now adown grassy slopes gracefully winding
Its silvery length, seeks its haven—the sea!
All Nature will wake from her long, trance-like slumber,
concern at weak portions of it, Gordon, anxious
to strengthen his men in their determination to
hold their position, exclaimed: “General Hill,
you need not fear for this portion of the line.
These men are going to stay here." The men
caught the spirit of the words, and the assur
ance was carried along the line, “Yes, we have
come to stay.” Alas ! little did the poor fellows
know the dread significance of these words, and
how many of them were to stay on that ground
locked in death’s embrace !
And now commenced a slaughter at which the
imagination recoils. Line after line of the en
emy was repulsed by the gallant regiment, with
a devouring fire both on its front and right
flank. Only six men from the whole right wing
of the regiment escaped; all the others, officers
and men, were killed or wounded. Colonel
Gordon was wounded twice early in the fight,
two balls passing through his right leg, but he
refused to leave the field. An hour later, he
was shot again, a ball passing through his left
have been twenty-four hundred of these (among
them Major-General Barlow); and there were
captured and turned over to the division-inspec
tors. eighteen hundred prisoners—the aggregate
result being that Gordon's little command, not
over twelve hundred muskets, had put hors du
combat forty-six hundred of the enemy in less
than an hour! So great was his success, that
the whole Federal line had retreated, and Gor
don was anxious to continue the pursuit and
seize the heights, which the enemy afterwards
so strongly fortified. But he was halted by his
superior officers.
But it was not until the momentous and vital
campaign of 1864 that Gordon found his name
familiar to the public and conspicuous in the
gazettes. It was on the stormy lines of the Rap-
idan that he performed his chief part in history,
and achieved his great renown. In the first
day’s fight he was in a position that drew all
eyes upon him. On the fifth of May, his com
mand was -on the pike leading from Orange
Creation be vocal with bird-hymns of praise,
And myriads of insects without name or number
Live out their brief lives with each separate phase
In one moment of time;—yet perchance their soft heyday
To them seems as long as the three-score and ten
Which sums up existence—both Winter and May-Day—
Allotted to us, short-lived children of men.
Oh! now as the glorious Spring is approaching,
And rose-footed May, with her hand-maids the flowers,
Will soon on old Winter’s domains be encroaching,
And fright him away with her fairy-like bowers.
With sorrow too deep for mere words, I remember
One ’mid all the loved ones from earth passed away—
Who faded and perished ere manhood's September
Had crowned with its sceptre the boyhood of May.
Vain will the Spring smile for thee!—Each sweet blossom
But brings back again that sad evening last year,
When tender hands wreathed them above thy still bosom,
And strewed love’s last offering above thy cold bier.
We think of thee oft when we hear sweet birds singing,
Aad watch the bare meadows grow fragrant and vernal;
Y’et this one cheering thought the fair Spring-time is
bringing—
Thou art gone in thy youth where ’tis Summer eternal.
OUR PORTRAIT UALLKRY.
DISTINGUISHED GEORGIANS.
General John B. Gordon was born in Upson
county, Georgia, February 6, 1832. The family
is descended from the Gordons of Scotland;
came to America shortly before the Revolution
of 1776, and made its mark in the edglit years’
war.
At the beginning of the late war between the
States, John B. Gordon was engaged in some
mining enterprises, and was living in Jackson
county, Alabama. He raised a company of cav
alry end offered it to Governor Moore; but it was
declined, as cavalry was not then needed. He
then raised an infantry company, styled “Rac
coon Roughs,” the men having been raised
around Raccoon Mountain. This company was
accepted as one of the ten to compose the Sixth
Alabama regiment, and Gordon was elected
major. He was afterwards elected lieutenant-
colonel, and when the regiment re-organized at
Yorktown, in April, 1862, was by a unanimous
vote of the men elevated to the position of colo
nel.
“ Seven Pines ” was the first serious engage
ment of the Sixth regiment. But in this
single battle it made a record of glory sufficient
for all time, and achieved the bloodiest and most
brilliant success of the day. More than two-
tliirds of Gordon’s entire command were killed
or wounded. The lieutenant-colonel, the major
and the adjutant were all killed. Every horse
ridden into the .fight was killed, the one on
which Gordon was mounted being the last to
fall under his rider. The terrible scene of death
occurred when the brave Alabamians, having
taken the Federal breastworks, were ordered to
drive the enemy from a dense swamp, in and
around which the timber had been felled, mak
ing an almost impassable abattis. In this charge,
through a galling fire, Colonel Cordon felt it his
duty to ride at the head of his regiment; although
the fact that he was left as the only mounted offi
cer drew the fire of the enemy’s sharpshooters
upon him. His horse had been shot in the
breast, but was still able to carry him. He rode
so near the enemy’s lines that officers and men
distinctly heard the Federal command, “Bring
down that man on horseback,” “Shoot that
d d Colonel,” etc. His noble animal at
last fell under him, his clothing was pierced by
three bullets, but, yet unhurt, he stood at the
p>ost of danger, and the men held the ground
they had won. without a sign of wavering, until
they were ordered to retire. His escape was
almost miraculous, and he had survived in the
midst of a great carnage. Out of six hundred
men, three hundred and ninety-six were killed
or wounded, and in one company of forty, there
were only ten survivors. The men had fallen
so rapidly that it was impossible to carry them
to the rear, and as they fought mostly in water
several feet deep, men had to be detailed to raise
the heads of the badly wounded to prevent them
from drowning.
In this fight, General Rodes, commander of
the brigade in which was the Sixth Alabama,
was wounded, and although Colonel Gordon was
not the senior officer present, he was placed in
command during the absence of Rodes. He
participated in the seven days’ battle around
Richmond, and at Malvern Hill was in com
mand of Rodes' brigade, and led the desperate
charge upon the Federal batteries for half a mile
through an open field. His brigade was first in
the charge and left its dead nearer the enemy's
guns than did any other Confederate troops.
Nearly one-half the command were killed or
wounded in the terrible onset: and the Colonel
had the butt of his pistol carried away by a ball,
the breast of his coat tom open by another, and
his canteen at his side shot through by a third.
So greatly did he expose himself, and so won
derful had been his escapes, that his men began
to think, and frequently said, “The ball has
not been moulded that can hurt Colonel Gor-
don!”
In the battle of Boonsboro. or South Moun
tain, Gordon again distinguished himself. Gen
eral Rodes. in his official report declared, “ Col
onel Gordon handled his regiment in a manner
I have never seen or heard equaled during the
war.” Of his conduct in the fight. General D.
H. Hill reported that “Colonel Gordon, the
Christian hero, excelled his former deeds at the
Seven Pines and in the battles around Rich
mond. Our language is not capable of express
ing a higher compliment."
But it was reserved for this heroic commander,
on the field of Sharpsburg. to give a surpassing
and sublime evidence of devotion—to show a
Roman spirit such as has been scarcely equaled
in any patriotic struggle of modern times. In
the disposition for the battle. Gordon's regiment
occupied a salient in the Confederate line. It
was his habit before taking his men into action
to make a few remarks, designed to act upon
their imaginations and raise their enthusiasm:
and indeed he was a remarkable orator, if the
test of eloquence is the efleet produced. As
General D. H. Hill was riding along the line
ljust before the fight began, looking with evident
arm and making a hideous and most painful
wound, mangling the tendons and muscles, and
severing a small artery. He bled rapidly; his
arm was completely disabled and his whole sys
tem greatly shocked. A little while and another
ball penetrated his shoulder, leaving its base in
the wound. This was a terrible and almost fatal
shock to his already-weakened powers; but he
yet persisted in remaining on the field, and hag
gard and bloody, turned to his men and waved
them on to the fight. Even in their own peril,
the troops were more anxious about their com
mander: they saw his gray uniform almost
crimson from the blood of so many wounds, and
they heard him declare that he would not leave
them as long as he had strength to utter a word
of command. He had taken the idea that all his
men were to be killed or wounded, and he de
termined to share the patriotic sacrifice. At last
the fifth ball struck him, passed entirely through
the left cheek, and brought him senseless to the
ground. Besides the five balls which seriously
wounded him, two had cut his clothes, one pass
ing through his cap, one through his pocket, in
denting the steel clasp of his purse; and a third
one had struck him on the breast, making a se
vere bruise.' The courage that had defied death
and kept the field with five unstaunched wounds
was sublime; and the characters of heroic reso
lution were written, clear and stern to the last,
in the pale face stained with blood.
He fell near the lines of the enemy, but when
consciousness returned, he scrambled back to
wards his s men, and was carried to the rear by
some of them.
For several months his life hung by a thread.
He had been conveyed to Winchester, where his
devoted wife, who hovered near him like a guar
dian angel throughout the entire war, was soon
by his bedside to administer to his comfort, and
with her own hands to bathe and dress his many
wounds. His friends and surgeons had hut
little hope of his recovery, but he never de
spaired. He studied to be cheerful, and when
so weak that he could not speak above a whisper,
he was making playful remarks to cheer his
anxious wife, who could ill-conceal the agony of
mind she was suffering on his account. It was
his unfailing spirits, with the assiduous nursing
of tender and affectionate hands, that effected
his recovery and restored him to his country’s
service.
In his report of the battle of Sharpsburg. Gen
eral D. H. Hill characterized Colonel Gordon as
the “ Chevalier Bayard of the army.” His gal
lantry did not escape the notice of the govern
ment, and he was made a Brigadier-General after
his recovery, in April, 1863, and placed in com
mand of the Georgia brigade formerly com
manded by General A. R. Lawton. The effect
of his fine discipline was soon recognized and
noticed in the reports of inspectors. In little
more than a month from the time he took com
mand. he fought at Marye’s Hill in front of Fred
ericksburg. and retook the heights by a brilliant
charge.
In the outset of the Pennsylvania campaign.
General Gordon was with Ewell at the capture
of Milroy's forces in Winchester. He crossed
into Maryland and moved in front of the Con
federate army on the Gettysburg, Yorkville, and
Wrightsville pike. Entering York with his
troops, he found the population in great alarm,
dreading all manner of outrages, and the women
and children making preparations for flight.
But he quieted their fears by a touching little
speech, telling them that the Confederates were
there to fight their armies, and not their women
and children, and passed on. He soon returned
to Y'ork. and thence to Gettysburg, to take part
in the great battles fought there. On the arrival
of Early's division, he was sent to support Rodes,
whose left was being turned. He saw his oppor
tunity. and by a bold and rapid charge, broke
the line guarding the right flank of the Federal
army, after an almost hand-to-hand conflict, and
then struck the flank, pressed heavily forward,
broke everything in his front, and turned the
tide of battle. “ It was a most brilliant charge."
as officially reported: and the results showed an
amount of execution greater, perhaps, than was
ever accomplished in similar circumstances of
the war by the same number of men. Gordon
left on the field, counted by the inspectors, more
than four hundred dead of the enemy. Taking
the rate of wounded as six to one. there must
Court-House to Fredericksburg. The Confed
erate troops in his front had been engaged some
time, when they were overpowered and forced
to retreat rapidly. General Ewell rode up to
Gordon, who was quietly moving down the pike
at the head of his column, and said: “General
Gordon, they are driving us; the fate of the day
depends on you.” Gordon replied: “We will 1
save it, General;” and immediately wheeling !
into line, he told his men what was expected of :
them, and ordered them forward, riding in their j
front. The charge was successful. He broke j
the Federal line in front, and then designating
certain troops to guard the front, wheeled his
right and left and swept down upon the enemy’s j
flanks in both directions, capturing many pris
oners and one regiment entire.
After the battle was over and the pursuit ended
by the darkness, General Gordon, accompanied
by a courier, rode to the front to look after his
picket lines. Passing these in the darkness, he
rode into the Federal lines, which were in great i
confusion, exhibiting no organization whatever. !
He had proceeded some distance, when his cou- j
rier said in a low tone: “ General, these are Yan
kees." Paying no attention to the remark, Gen
eral Gordon rode on, when the courier said
again: “General, I tell you these are Y'ankees— i
their clothes are too dark for our men.” At this j
moment the General heard calls around him, :
“Rail) here, Pennsylvania regiment.” The |
critical position did not deprive him of his pres
ence of mind; he whispered to his courier: I
“ Follow me quietly, Beasley, and say not a
word.” He had not gone far when the color of I
his uniform, or some other suspicious circum
stance, attracted the attention of the Federals,
and suddenly there were calls. “Who are you?
Halt! halt!" Instantly the General threw him
self down on the side of his horse, giving him j
the reins, and shouting, “Come on, courier,”
the two dashed through the brush and into the
woods, escaping without hurt to horse or rider,
though a shower of minie-balls whistled around
them.
At Spottsylvania Court-House, Gordon was a
conspicuous actor in one of the most memorable !
and dramatic passages of the war. It was here
that, put in command of Early’s division (Early
taking command of A. P. Hill’s corps), he gave
the first cheek to the enemy advancing after tak
ing the salient held by General Johnson; and it
was here occurred the affecting and nohle scene
when he seized the bridle of General Lee’s horse
and refused to let him lead the Georgians and
Yirginians, placed in line for a desperate coun
ter-charge upon the enemy. In the dark and
misty morning, Gordon had been guided to the
point of danger by the volume of fire. Checking
the enemy and throwing his little command
against the heavy tide of his numbers, he after
wards re-captured all the Confederate line to the
right of the salient, some of the artillery lost in
the morning, and held during the day "the sali
ent, and all to the right of it to A. P. Hill’s line.
After this battle, marked by its monument of
carnage, and illuminated with so much glory to
the Southern arms. Gordon took part in"the" va
rious engagements between the two armies until
the thirteenth of June, when he was sent with
Early to Lynchburg to meet Hunter, and after
wards to the Valley of Virginia and into Mary
land.
Returning to the Army of Northern Virginia,
in front of Petersbug, General Gordon found but
little opportunity to gather additional laurels in
the declining fortunes of the Confederacy; and
it only remained for him to share the fate which,
from overwhelming numbers of the enemy, had
now become inevitable to that army which his
courage, chivalry and good generalship had so
greatly adorned. His part was heroic to the
last. It was Gordon's command chiefly engaged
in the battle of Hares Hill (March 25, I860),
where the troops "fought with a vigor and bril
liancy that reminded one of Lee's old campaigns:”
it was Gordon's command that held the last
lines in front of Petersburg; and it was Gordon's
command that in Lee's final and fatal retreat was
at the front, and gilded the last scene of surren
der with the spectacle of two thousand men pre
pared to cut through Sheridan's lines at Appo
mattox Court-House, and were only stayed in the
desperate enterprise by the flag of truce that
concluded the hostilities of that day and sig
naled the close of the war.
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
or
GENERAL JOHN B. GO BOON.
After the cessation of hostilities. General Gor
don retired to the pursuits of private life, but
his grateful countrymen were ever anxious to
bestow upon him some evidence of their appre
ciation of his services on the tented field, and in
1868 he was nominated for the position of Gov
ernor of Georgia, and ran against the Republi
can candidate, R. B. Bullock. The campaign
was a warm one, and it was generally thought,
and in many quarters positively asserted that he
was elected by some six or seven thousand ma
jority, but was “counted out" in the consolida
tion of the polls.
He then devoted himself mainly to the inter
ests of the Southern Life Insurance Company;
j but in 1873, when the Legislature came to elect
a United States Senator, he was put in nonrina-
! tion for that exalted and responsible position,
j Hon. Alexander H. Stephens, Benjamin H. Hill
: and others were also candidates, and the excite
ment in the General Assembly ran high as to the
probable result. But after a number of ballot-
ings. Gordon was chosen amid the plaudits of
the vast and excited multitude.
In the Senate Chamber he soon attracted gen
eral attention, and demonstrated the fact that in
the forum as well as in the field, he was a foe-
man worthy of any man’s steel. His recent able
defense of the South against the malicious at
tacks of Northern politicians has called forth
from the entire South one universal expression
of gratitude, and he doubtless occupies to-day
the first place in the hearts of his countrymen.
“ Glorious Gordon ” is now the title which the
people everywhere apply to him; and no man
perhaps ever so completely deserved the enthu
siastic admiration with which he is regarded.
His name is now being mentioned in some
quarters in connection with the Vice-Presidency
of the United States.
[For The Sunny Sonth.]
PEASANT POETS OF SCOTLAND,
ROBERT BURNS.
BY PICCIOLA.
In a rickety little cottage on the banks of
“Bonnie Doon,” near Ayr, Robert Bums was
born on the twenty-fifth of January, 1759.
The poet is born of nature and of her Creator—
God. By nature’s hand alone are the genuine
seeds of poesy planted in the heart, which, when
germinated by the sunshine and dew of inspira
tion, blossom into the poet's rhyme. What was
it that first awakened the genius of song in the
Ayrshire plowman ? It was the voice of Nature,
thrilling his poet’s soul as she spoke to him in
the murmuring streams, the singing birds, and
the breath of flowers. Perhaps, as he followed
the plow or watched the springing of the grain,
the delightful emotions were kindled in the peas
ant’s heart, from which his immortal songs after
wards emanated. There was music to him in
the “chanting linnet” and in the “deep-ton'd
plover's gray, wild whistling o’er the hill.”
There was beauty to him in the flower of the
field, the mountain-daisy,—
“Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower;’’
the “little hare-bell o’er the lee;” the simple rose
bud “in a’ its crimson glory spread;” and the
deep impression which these made on his mind
is poetically expressed in a letter to his friend,
Mrs. Dunlop. He wrote:
“I have some favorite flowers in spring, among
which are the mountain-daisy, the hare-bell, the
wild-brier rose, the budding-birch, and the
hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with
particular delight. I never hear the loud, soli
tary whistle of the curlew on a summer noon, or
the wild, mixing cadence of a troop of gray plo
vers on an autumnal morning, without feeling
1 an elevation of soul like the enthusiasm of devo-
| tion or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to
i what can this be owing? Are we a piece of ma-
' chinery which, like the TEolian harp, passive,
takes the impression of the passing accident?
Or do these workings argue something within
us above the trodden clod ? I am myself partial
to such proofs of those awful and important re
alities,—a God that made all things; man’s im
material and immortal nature, and a world of
weal or woe beyond death and the grave.”
It was this glorious feeling of enthusiasm, J
this intense love of the beautiful, which enabled ,
man to gaze with a poet’s eye “abroad on all na- |
ture, and through nature up to nature’s God.”
At the early age of fifteen began the era of love |
and poetry in Burns’ life. There was a Scottish j
custom of coupling a man and woman together [
in the labors of harvest. Burns was thrown with |
a girl one year his junior, whom he describes as |
“a bonnie, sweet, sousie lass.” He says, “In- j
deed, I did not know myself why I liked so j
much to loiter behind with her when returning
in the evening from our labor; why the tones of
her voice made my heart-strings thrill like an
.Eolian harp; and, particularly, why my pulse |
beat at such a furious rate when I looked and j
fingered over the little hand to pick out the j
cruel nettle-stings and thistles.” It was the dawn j
of Love's young dream, and about this time he
first “committed the sin of rhyme.” Woman,
as well as nature, was an inspiration to the peas
ant poet, and we are indebted to female influ
ence for many of his sweetest songs. He wrote
to a friend: “ Whenever I want to be more than j
ordinary in song—to be in some degree equal to
your diviner airs, do you imagine I fast and i
pray for the celestial emanation ? Tout an con- \
traire, I have a glorious recipe. - I put myself in
the regimen of admiring a fine woman;" and in
proportion to the adorability of her charms, in j
proportion you are delighted with my verses. |
The lightning of her eye is the god-head of Par- !
nassus, andlthe witchery of her smile the divinity
of Helicon.”
When Burns was twenty-five years old, he en
tered upon the farm at Mossgiel with his brother
Gilbert, and determined to devote himself assid- i
uously to farming; but instead of becoming a :
great farmer he became a noted poet; for it was
there he wrote “The Cotter’s Saturday Night,” |
“Halloween,” and other pieces which widely :
extended his fame in the world of literature. It \
was also there that he became acquainted with ;
Mary Campbell, a Highland girl, who was a ser- i
vant on a neighboring farm. Burns frequently !
imagined himself in love, but, undoubtedly, the
master-passion of his soul was his deep and last
ing affection for “Highland Mary.” What can
be more romantic and touching than their sad 1
parting on the banks of the Ayr? “We met,” j
says the poet, “by appointment on the second
Sunday in May, on a sequestered spot by the I
banks of the Ayr, where we spent a day in tak
ing a farewell before she should embark for the
West Highlands to arrange matters among her
friends for our projected change of life.”
How rapidly does imagination picture the
scene, as the rustic lovers sat side by side be
neath the sweet-scented hawthorn, looking into
each others eyes and breathing in low tones
love’s eloquent language! The river seems to
murmur a sad refrain as they sit in the sweet,
vernal gloamin’, whispering a fond farewell
which they little dreamed would be their last.
Burns touchingly commemorated this event in
his exquisite lines to “ Highland Mary:”
“How sweetly bloom'd the gay greenfiirk,
How rich the hawthorn blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my bosom!
The golden hours on angel wings
Flew o’er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
ft'as my sweet Highland Mary.*’
Several months after they had parted, he heard
of her death, and the shock which his strong,
passionate nature received left an impression on
his heart which time could never efface. Years
after, even when the love of “Bonnie Jean ” had j
warmed his heart, he was still true to the mem
ory of his lost Mary: and on the anniversary of
the day he heard of her death, he wrote that
soul-thrilling, immortal poem. “To Mary in
Heaven.” The circumstances under which it
was written will always touch a chord of tender
emotion in every human heart. As twilight
deepened, his wife (“Bonnie Jean") said that
“he appeared to grow very sad about some
thing." and at length went alone into the barn
yard, where he walked slowly, looking up
thoughtfully to the starry skies. Mrs. Burns re
peatedly urged him to come in to the fireside,
as he was suffering from a cold, and though he
promised to do so, he did not comply with the
request. At length she found him lying on a
heap of straw, gazing dreamily upon a brilliant
planet; and when she had finally prevailed on
him to come in, he wrote down the elegy, “ To
Mary in Heaven.” In imagination we can see
him stretched upon the pile of straw, his dark
eyes fixed mournfully upon the gleaming star
“that shone like another moon,” while from his
full, bleeding heart flowed out those thoughts
so replete with sorrow and tenderness:
“Thon lingering star with less’ning ray.
That lov'st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usher’st in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.
Still o’er these, scenes my mem’ry wakes.
And fondly broods with miser care;
'Since but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.”
The poets attachment to Jean Armour was an
earthly passion, but his devotion to Mary Camp
bell was of a spiritual nature, and like Dante's
love for the sainted Beatrice, it drew his thoughts
away from earth. As he gazed on that star, the
earthly was swallowed up in the eternal; and
the love which was the pole-star of his life shone
as a beacon-light from heaven, lifting his soul
from its prison-house of clay to the world beyond
the stars.
Bums was a genius, and his poetry evinces
genuine originality, humor and pathos. There
is no telling how high he would have soared
into the ideal had the pinions of his fancy not
\ been fettered by care and poverty, which so
often bound him to the cold, hard world of re
ality. As a song-writer, the world has acknowl
edged him a king, and down the corridors of
time the music of his lays will continue to re
verberate with unabated sweetness. “Bonnie
Doon,” “Afton Water,” and “O, Wert Thou in
the Could Blast” will be warbled by prima don
't nas of future ages, thrilling the hearts of thou
sands and causing their eyes to glisten with
tears of ready sympathy. Carlyle, his gifted
countryman has paid this high tribute to the
character and writings of Burns:
“He appears not only as a true British poet,
but as one of the most considerable British men
of the eighteenth century. Pure and genial as
his poetry must appear, it is not chiefly as a poet
but as a man that he interests and affects us.
He was often advised to write a tragedy: time
and means were not lent him for this; but through
life he enacted a tragedy, and one of the deepest.
; We question whether the world has ever since
witnessed so utterly sad a scene; whether Napo-
pleon himself, left to brawl with Sir Hudson
Lowe, and perish on his rock ‘ amid the melan-
1 choly main,’ presented to the reflecting mind
such ‘ a spectacle of pity and fear’ as did this in-
t trinsically nobler, gentler, and perhaps greater
soul, wasting itself away in a hopeless struggle
with love entanglements which coiled closer and
closer around him, till only death opened him
an outlet.”
He was received into the literary world with
enthusiastic admiration, and mingled with the
! highest; but the conduct of the peasant-poet
J under these circumstances proved the true no-
; bility of his character. He was one of the few
who ever stood upon the pinnacle of Fame unsul
lied by earthly pride and vanity. It is said that
his address to the females was extremely defer
ential, with a turn either to the pathetic or hu
morous, which possessed a peculiar fascination
for the fair sex.
Robert Burns died in Dumfries on the twenty-
first of July, 1796, in the thirty-eighth year of
his age. At his grave critics laid down their
weapons; his faults, which were but human,
were forgotten, and his name will always be
ranked among the great ones of earth. His freed
spirit, so burdened with sorrow while here, no
doubt found rest at last with his Mary in heaven.
PERSONALS.
General Toombs has been seriously ill with
pneumonia, but is now convalescent.
Judge Strozier will contest General Wright’s
claim to the Judgeship of the Pataula Circuit.
General Longstreet has not removed to
Georgia, as announced, but is still in Louisiana.
Mr. Alfred Grant, agent of the Georgia rail
road at Athens, died on the fifth instant.
Judge Henry W. Thomas, of Fairfax, has been
elected Lieutenant-Governor of Virginia by a
large majority.
Mrs. Gerritt Smith has followed her husband
to the land beyond the river. Her death oc
curred last Saturday.
Miss Anna E. Dickinson proposes to deliver a
lecture in Savannah, before a great while, on a
subject not yet announced.
Archbishop John McCloskey, of New York,
has been elevated to the dignity of Cardinal by
the Pope. He is the first American to wear the
Cardinal’s hat.
Miss Lou Atkinson, an accomplished daugh
ter of Mr. S. A. Atkinson, of New Y'ork, commit
ted suicide in Madison, Georgia, recently, by
shooting herself with a pistol.
Sir Charles Lyell, the great English geolo
gist (who visited Milledgeville in 1846), was bur
ied with great pomp in Westminster Abbey last
week by the side of “rare Ben. Jonson.”
Rev. David Wills, D.D., of Atlanta, has ac
cepted a call to the pastoral charge of the West
ern Presbyterian church in Washington City,
and will enter upon his duties on the first of
April.
The day fixed for the installation of the Prince
of Wales as Grand Master of the Free Masons is
the twenty-eighth of April. The inauguration
will take place either in the Albert Hall, Crystal
Palace, or Alexandria Palace.
Rev. M. B. Wharton, formerly pastor of the
Baptist church at Eufaula, Alabama, but more
recently pastor of a church in Louisville, Ken-
tuck)’, has accepted a call from, and is now in
charge of the Green Street Baptist church, in
Augusta.
The portrait of the Hon. Jefferson Davis has
been added to the gallery in the office of the war
department at Washington, under the law of
Congress authorizing the collection of .the por
traits of all who have filled the position of secre
tary since the organization of the government.
The venerable matron, Mrs. John B. Floyd,
the widow of one Governor of Virginia and Uni
ted States Secretary of War, the daughter-in-law
of another, the sister-in-law of a third, and re
lated to or connected with some half dozen oth
ers, visited the Capitol and Executive Mansion
last week, accompanied by two daughters of ex-
Governor James McDowell.
Ann Eliza Young, the nineteenth wife of Brig
ham Young, now a convert to Christianity, is
drawing large houses to her lecture exposing the
polygamous life in Utah. She says Brigham is
governed absolutely by Amelia Folsom, his favor
ite wife. He supports his numerous wives and
thirty-six children on a paltry income of forty 3
thousand dollars per month. * •