Newspaper Page Text
LSliC&uil s’A<y£
cthe sunny south
JWkIL 27, 1907.
GfieSUNNY SOUTH
Published Weekly by
Sunny South PubLifhing Co
Susine/s Office
THE CONSTITUTION BUILDING
ATLANTA. GEORGIA
(■uni it tfce pnteflei >Uu
meemmi elm m11 matter
Tho Sunny South Im tho oldomt moo My payor of Lltoraturo,
ttommncoe Fa A and FlAlon in tho South ^ It Im now rt*
Jtorod to tho original mhapo and will bo publlmhed am for•
marly ovary tvook & Poundod In IS74 It grow until 1690*
whan, mm a monthly• Itm form warn ehangod am an export*
moat # It now rotumm to Itm original formation am a
meekly with ronowod vigor and tho Intontlon of oollpae
lag Itm moot pro miming porlod In tho past.
Change
E SPEAK of the man or the woman
VVfl with the nomadic instinct, as though
M I 1 both were solitary human - types,
occurring at rare intervals in the
great mass of individuals. As a mat
ter of fact, the “wanderlust” has its
germ in all of us, at some one time
in our careers. There are excep
tional men and women, of course, in
whom the craving for change, the
driving spirit of unrest, predomi
nates over all other traits. It is
literally impossible for this variety
to make themselves fixtures in
locality, often in occupation. Only wihen age or
fll-bealth or some other form of misfortune have
quenched *the spirit, or, as it were, dipped their
union?, do they abandon the highway and settle
Into what is frequently a sad counterfeit of per
manency. but you will have to go through the col
lection of human units with a fine-toothed comb,
before you can get a census of the chronic rovers—
yen will discover its proportions are not very
formidable.
Dismissing, then, this class as a very small one,
fwe come to the great bulk of men and women, the
over age not the exception.
The quicksilver in us reaches the '"climax of its
powers, as a rule, during the dreamy days of late
youth and early maturity. It is then that the nomi-
nal imaginationi is most vivid. Fed on what it
reads, on what it observes, and what it hears, it
gets to work on the microbe latent in the man or
woman in town or country. They may, even in
the high-geared days of youth, be apparently stolid
and unfanciful in temperament. They may go
about their set tasks with a seeming resignation to
the fate that chains them to one spot.
Watch their eyes glisten and' grow wistful as the
skilled story-teller spins his tale about the wonders
of far-a-way places.’
The thing is universal in its application, though
varied in its development.
The boy far removed in the country regards the
small town as a sort of land of enchantment.
The young man in the small town hears stories
tof the minor city and, if he is ambitious, he lays
plans that will terminate, some day, in a pilgrimage"
The young man or woman of the embryo city
heeds the siren song of the metropolis.
And it is a safe assertion that the youth of the
latter has before him the lure of a visit to foreign
lands, or to some far-off portion of his x»wn coun
try.
This is, of course, only to crudely classify the
germ of unrest, as it struggles in the minds of all
of us. There are a multitude of varieties, governed
largely by the temperament and environment.
Many of the dreams of travel remain—just
dreams. Lack of energy, lack of ability, sometimes
the duty of sacrifice, may prevent their assuming
tangibility.
On the otiher hand these dreams—dike a great
man-v of the creations that originate in that wonder
ful fairyland of fancy—are so many spurs, goading
the will and the mind into efforts which end in
the gaining of the goal. Often, too, in the winning
of the main prize, we find that we have accom
plished other things much more worth the while—
self-development, for instance.
And this, in the end^seems to be the providential
motive back of this queer instinct. The Great
Architect seems to desire that we be broad in mind
as well as spirit—not cramped in either.
Travel, a yielding to the “wanderlust,” works
toward both of these ends. It shows us, primarily,
just how little is our own little beaten track, around
which we pace each day. It gives us, too, the vital
advantage of mingling with other people who re
gard the great world) and its affairs from a stan3-
point that differs from ours. It breeds tolerance,
develops judgment, makes for poise.
Remove it, and you eliminate one of the
agencies that has promoted the world’s progress
and that leads the individual, no less than the race,
from the dangerous stagnation involved in mark
ing time.
Don't It Make You Tired?
NCE a main lhas acquired great, or
even moderate, wealth, it seems to
' occur to him as a duty to society to
indulge in that sometimes thankless
task of moralizing. The latter is all
very well in its way—but the way-
must be well-chosen. The first
topic, for example, which the man
laden with dollars encounters, is
apt to be a nice little homily on the
“Dangers and Responsibilities of
Wealth.” No one questions that it
lhas both—in liberal measure. So
has crossing the street; so has eat
ing breakfast; so has getting married. We have
no doubt that Croesus often finds his fortune a
burden. Wealth brings the ability to realize
MOST of our dreams. That means satiety—no
further zest in life. So, within certain limits, the
opulent citizen, unless he be also a wise citizen, is
to be accorded our sympathy. He can get it—by
the bushel-measure.
But—come now, we’re talking honestly—
wouldn’t you just snatch at the chance to change
places with him. Wouldn’t you be charmed to re
lieve him of a portion of his burden? It would
be only Christian charity, you know. Wouldn’t you
become suddenly unselfish and brave, and find
your shoulders broad enough for all the risks and
the responsibilities entailed by money?
We rather think sol
And don’t it—candidly—make you a little tired
to hear so mudh repetition of this talk ?
Wouldn’t you lots rather be dealt out a few les
sons in the great game of GAINING wealth, than
lamentations over its possession?
• You know you would 1
Not that we argue that everyone is mercenary,
or tihat covetousness is a canker of universal
growth.
A few of us do mot really care for wealth. A
great many of us SAY we do not, or make use of
that old proverb “Give me neither poverty nt>r
riches.”
But over the average man unacquainted with it,
wealth has power amounting almost to hypnotism.
He may not admit it in so many words—but
there are a good|many of the species whose actions
belie their denials.
Thus it is that we lend but a scant hearing to
Lord Moneybags, when he begins to groan over
his lot and envy that of the poor man.
He makes us a trifle weary.
For he can find a regiment, a battalion, a
BRIGADE of poor men who would swap places
with him-7-
Any day on the calendar!
f Along the Highway I
^ By FRJtMK t JTJttrrON J
More More Do the Rich Incline
^ ^ To the Simple Life ^ ^
HAT -some
the New
n try
r Jk >
id
r *J*| York households repre-
I senting large wealth are
1 inclined to outdo In cere-
— moay London households
of the highest social
status is the opinion of
a New YotPt lately re
turned from a long visit
to London. She said:
"Persons who never get
farther than the outside
of the homes of Eng
land’s wealthy class, or
at least never get farther than the
rooms of state, and whose knowledge
of. the private life of the dwellers is
gained only from reading fiction, have
an idea that from morning till night
the Englishman of title and his family
are surrounded by lackeys, that on any
and every occasion they are on dress
parade.
"I confess to having had something
of tkat feeling myself at one time. To
see showily uniformed guards wear
ing tall plumed hats at the entrance
to this and that great house—guarding
it from what? 1 used to ask—and rows
of footmen standing at attention in
every corridor and anteroom was very
impresslve.
SURPRISED AT SIMPLICITY.
"I did experience, I must admit, a
feeling of awe when 1 first entered
these hauses. Therefore I was all the
more surprised at the simplicity of
manners, the lack of ceremony I found
on many occasions when admitted in
formally into tho family circle. That
is why 1 have come to the conclusion
that households of the corresponding
Class in America, especially in New
York, are now in some respects more
ceremonious than the English.
"There are fewer lackeys in the fore
ground at the American home, but 1
believe this is due principally to the!
fact that In even me largest houses,
ov<r here there is not spate enough to
accommodate such an army of retain |
ers. At any rate it is certainly not!
because our rlcn men and women ob- ;
ject to the experience or are not ablej
to afford the expense, for in other re-!
spects, for instance in the furnishings
of their houses and elaborateness of
the domestic service, Americans are in
clined to outdo the Engiish, I think.
“An example? Well, I have in mind
the family luncheon to which a guest
or two may have dropped in unex
pectedly.
ALWAYS UNEXPECTED GUESTS.
"In England, by the way, there are
always unexpected guests to luncheon,
ter the reason that in the higher so
cial circles nearly everyone is related
to everyone else. What is more, the
English hostess is never put out at
unexpected guests for luncheon or tea.
To some extent she keeps open house
at those hours because of an under
standing, perhaps, that the every-day
English luncheon is eomparatively
plaln, including principally cold dishes
and very substantial ones at that.
“Now, just by way of illustration,
let me explain that a day or two ago
I dropped into my cousin's at the lunch
hour and found no one there but her
self and her sister. There were just
three of us at the table.
"But two men served the meal,
which consisted only of a plain bouil
lon, a broiled beef-steak, some fruit
and sweets—a simple enough menu
surely. As we lingered over our des
sert one man passed a dish of pink
bonbons, the other man passed a dish
of green bonbons and they continued
to pass them at regular Intervals till
we left the table.
ONE ATTENDANT ENOUGH.
"HaiJ I not been there the two men
would still have been in attendance.
That is my cousin's rule and it is the
rule of most of her New York friends
who live in what we call elegant style.
"In England it is different. There
are seldom fewer than half a dozen:
persons at an English luncheon, but it j
is the exception to see more than onei
man in attendance. !For all I know, :
waiters may be lined up by the score
in the pantry, but if so none of them I
appears in the dining-room.
"On the contrary, after the luncheon t
is put on the table and the cold joints I
are carved and left on the sideboard'
the butler withdraws and only ap- i
pears again when summoned, and that!
isn't often. I have seen men of title!
reach over and help themselves to this!
or that dish and leave the table even!
to get a slice of the cold -joint.
"In the smartest houses. In fact in|
only the smartest houses, this style of (
luncheon is considered the best form,';
and in the hunting sections of Eng
land the buffet features of the meal
are emphasized* hot dishes being dis
counted entirely in favor of cold roasts
and cold game pies. Perhaps it is the j
hostess, the English hostess of rank
having in a superlative degree the :
talent of making guests feel happy andi
at home, or it may be the informality.!
but whatever the reason I am certain
that I never enjoyed anything in my
life more than those English private
luncheons.
"The dinners I found deadly dull. but.
the luncheons en faraille were perfect.!
Personally I am not sure whether inj
the long run I would not prefer two,
men chasing each other with bonbon j
dishes than to have to wait on myself,
but that Is not tha point. I am simply j
wondering why it is that people who
have centuries of wealth and more or
less ceremonious living back of them
should understand the art of being in
formal so much better than wealthy
New Yorkers, many of whom are only
three generations removed from shirt
sleeves.
“Another feature of the English home
in the upper • classes which impressed
me as being less elaborate than many
Americans suppose is the nursery.
CHILDREN'S NURSERIES PLAIN.
“It is not a fable about the children
of royalty being taught to wait on
themselves and even to do manual
work, much less the children of/the
nobility and the untitled wealthy. It
is only in novels that an English child
is waited on hand and foot and pam
pered and indulged to her or his
heart's content by a retinue of serv
ants.
"Nothing of the kind occurs or can
occur in any of the houses I visited.
To begin with, the nurseries are not
so elaborately furnished as some New
York nurseries I know, neither have
the children so great an array of cloth
ing or of toys. Little children of 3 or
4 are not appareled so elegenatly as
their mothers, after the fashion of
New York youngsters.
"When not long past babyhood these
sturdy little English people, who are
visited regularly every day by their
mothers, who see in fact a great deal
of their motherB, are taken in charge
by a governess and taught all sorts
of useful things, including sewing.
There are girls of 17 in New York
who have never learned how to sew;
there is not an English child of 7,
I would not be afraid to wager, who
has not learned to use a needle.
GET PLAIN FOOD.
“The English child of high rank eats
the very plainest food served in the
simplest fashion in the nursery dining
room, which in most cases is the play
room, too. I was struck on one occa
sion when I was taken to a nursery at
the supper hour at the plainness of
the linen and china and the fact that
the meal consisted of thin slices of
bread and butter, milk served in heavy,
plain silver mugs, and jam, and not
every night, I was told, was jam in
cluded. Four nights in the week the
children got only bread and milk.
"For the midday dinner, chops or
roast mdat or chicken with baked po
tatoes and one other vegetable and a
simple pudding for dessert was the
customary bill of fare. Many poor
children in America fare more elabo
rately every day than do these small
scions of ancient historic English
houses.
“My visit to London, at any rate,
led me to conclude that for lessons in
some phases of simple living Americans
need only visit in some of the weal
thier English- homes. But I’m afraid
rich Americans have little or no use
for simple living.”—N»w York Sun.
The Gentle gaitea.
She wears a little cat
Twirled round for a bait.
And a cute little monkey
For a nMffi
Her coat Is hooked with paws
With polished ilttle claws,
And two pretty squirrels
Make each cuff!
Oh, dear! the sunning cat
'Makes a most fetching hat— y
Tied down with two tails
Like a bonnet!
Her boa is a fluff
Of awans'-down stuff
With many little owls'
Heads on It!
Now don’t you think that
The girl is a cat
That can rob all the tiny
Creatures so?
Yet it’s -both heads and tails
She will scold- at the. males
For bagging a pheasant.
Don’t you know!
Did He Kiss Her?
(From The Denver Post)
A few nights ago a Denver university
boy took his best girl, a young woman
who lives out on the east side, to a the
ater. During the evening she complained
of not feeling well and they left before
the show was over. He took her home,
and when he said good night the girl was
pretty sick. Next day It turned out that
she had diphtheria. Then the young maa
began to wonder if he was booked for a
siege with the disease, too. He called on
a physician he knew to ask about It.
The physician heard the young man’s
tale. "Well,” said he at the conclusion
of it, “I think your chances to catoh the
disease depend on how you said good
night to the young lady.”
The young man was quiet a moment.
Then he said: "Doctor, I’m much ob
liged. If that’s the case I'm not In dan
ger.”
The young man went out. A minute
later he stuck his head in the door, “Say,
doc,” ho said, "diphtheria don’t go very-
hard with strong, healthy young men,
does It?’’
Miss AValah Tries to Bay a Dog.
(From The Bohemian.)
While Blanche Walsh was rehearsing
her new play in Chicago recently, a rat
ran across the/stage. There was some
excitement among the feminine members
of the company, hut Miss Walsh only
laughed, whereat the others looked up in
surprise.
"That is the first rat I have seen,” she
said, "since I left New York. Then I
had- a little experience with rat and—a
dog. Down at. my home on Long Island,
the rats were so aggressive that I went
to New York In search Of a terrier. I
applied to a business acquaintance named
King for information as to where I could
find a shop provided, with such animals.
iMir King took me to a dealer, and. said
to him that we must the dog tried before
we would purchase him. •
" That’s easy,’ replied t!\e dealer. I
have a rat pit back here; Just step this
way.’
"I began to get nervous," continued
(Miss Walsh, "but thought I would: show
my grit and stay it out. The dealer
brought forth a beautiful little terrier,
and when he-pvt him Into thegMt, placed
a fierce, gray-whiskered rat also In the
arena. I felt myself grow sick at heart
as the adversaries confronted each other
like two gladiators In ancient Rome.
Then suddenly, as I watched In a panic
of fear and disgust, the dog took flight,
pursued by the rat.
" ‘Buy 1 tho rat. Mis# Waleh,' quietly
suggested Mr. King, buy the rat.’ ” .
His Character Attacked.
T had a hunch he was backcappin’
me,” said the man in the black and
maroon sweater, according to The Chi
cago News. “I only found out ’bout It
for sure las’ Toosday an’ I sent him word
by Jimmie that I’d paste him In the jaw
the first tijne I seen him. Well, you bet
your life he oome around an’ apologised.
He owned up he was wrong about me, and
took It all back an’ didn’t want any hard
tfeelin’s.”
‘Then you’re all right now?” asked the
man with the tool basket.
"Whatcher mean?”
"I mean you an’ him is friends.”
“The man in. the sweater grunted,
’’Friends! Well, I guess not. After he
done me dirt? Not much!”
"Well, if he apologized—”
‘•That cuts a whale of a piece of ice
with me! I pasted him In the jaw same
as I said, that’s what I done to him.”
"After he’d taiken it back?”
’Bee here,” said the man with the
sweater. "If a man goes around tellin’
folks that you served time back in Ohio
two years for burglary an’ then comes
around an’ says he’s sorry, Is ■ that goin’
to square him with you?”
“Is that what he said about you?”
asked the man with the tool basket.
"No,” answered the man in the sweat
er. "Ha didn't say that. I wa# say
ing that to show you. 8’pose a guy
gives out that you deserted your wife
an’ kids an’ left ’em to die of starvation
while you was havin’ a good time your
self an’ then come around to you an'
apologized. Would the apology go?”
"I didn’t know you was ever mar
ried,” said the man with the tool bas
ket.
"I wasn’t. (But the princerple Is the
same. Nobody can't come up behind
me an’ then slap my face an’ say ’Oh,
excuse me. friend. Say, I don’t want
you to get mad about a little thing like
this. We don’? want no hard feelln’s,
you an' me.’ No, sir, he can’t do it.”
"I didn't think he’d got the sand to
do that," remarked the man with the
tool basket.
“Him! Weil, I should say h e hadn’t.
No; what he done was to tell Jerry
Wadsworth that Mike refused to credit
me for a round o' drinks, an’ he apolo
gized about it—said he meant it for a
josh an' din't s'pose Jerry took it
serious. But I pasted him on the jaw
all the same, like I said I would. I
ain't goin’ to have my character took
away from me. My credit with Jerry
is good."'
Jast Quips.
She—Of course every woman expects
her husband to live up to his ideals.
He—Her ideals, you mean.—Browning’s
Magazine.
Hicks—I thought you said he was a
Free Will Baptist. Wicks—Lord, no.
He's married.—Somerville Journal.
“Mr. Taffeigh is a smooth-faced young
man, isn't he, Matilda?’’ “Why, I
thought it felt—I mean—” "Matilda!’’
—j udge.
"Grover Cleveland is doing a great
work in his reproof of bachelors.”
“That's right,” answered Mr. Meekton:
"the married men oughtn’t to get all
the lecturing.”—Wishington Star.
TO THE RESTING DAY.
I.
It’s gallop, my hearty! and far away
In the race with Time to the resting
day!
A blast from Winter, a bloom from
May
In the BWift life-race to the resting
day!
II.
Gallop, my hearty! and far away—
A song to sing and a prayer to pray!
Blue o’ the sky, then shadows gray
In the silence deep of the resting
day.
HI.
Gallop, my hearty! for right or
wrong—
A sigh from sorrow, a smile from'
song;
Was it worth the winter—the bloom
of May—
That race with Time to the resting
day?
THE SEARCH FOR HAPPINESS.
Once a Man started on the road to
Happiness. Journeying on the way
he met a Traveller, fair of face and
ieim, who entreated him to tarry
amid the violets of the valleys; but
the Man pressed on till night, and
storm and darkness came down, and
he was lost in the gloom. And the
Spirit of the Storm said to him:
"You are in the country of the hills
of storm. The traveler you met on
the way was Happiness, and you knew
him not!”
OUR LITERARY MILLIONAIRES.
L
While still they’re in these festive
scenes,
To make their fame secure
They’re ta-kin' space in magazines
An’ writin’ "Lit-er-a-ture.”
II.
At least, they call it by that name,
Because they think they think;
If blotted pages don’t bring fame
They’ll raise the price of ink!
Riobard Le Gallienne doesn’t think
Kipling is much of a poet, and Kip
ling keeps on writing just as if he
thought differently.
“OLD TIMES—OLD FRIENDSI”
1.
I sit here on this wintry night.
And peace from dreams I win;
Dear days of vanished love and light—
Old times, old friends, come in!
H.
How lonesome falls the ghostly snow!
Tonight I fain would see
The loveliness of Long Ago;
That made a heaven lor me!
HI. - A
Yet more than all, there oome tonight
Dreams of what might have been I
Dsar days of loved and lost delight—
Old times, old friends, oome In!
PROVERBS OF THe HIGHWAY.
Keep up with the procession, and
don’t fall off when the world turns
round.
We are always hoping that the
long lane will turn—and yet we never
itop to consider the dangers it may
m into.
The growler fills the bill in one
way: He makes some of us thankful
we were bom happy.
e
THE LIFE DANCERS.
1.
You’re dancin’ today
In the liveliest way—
What a pity It is the poor fiddler’s
to pay!
H.
“All the green world is bright
With the blossoms and light;”
What a pity it is that so sOon falls
the night!
III.
But ’twas ever the way
’Neath the blue sky of gray:—
We dream not that Winter weaves
sorrow for May!
LEVEL-HEADED MAN.
“The preacher says you are’ going
to—•”
“Shut up! I can’t afford any other
iuuiner resort!”
The modern historical novel is
dead, and the authors who are re
sponsible for it will not live.
Greene’s Glorious Retreat
* Through the Carolina's *
Ri
h
By HELEN HAROOURT.
Written for The SUNNY SOUTH.
n S anticipated by Morgan,
Lord Cornwallis lost no
time in setting out in pur
suit of his hitherto despis-
— ed foe. The signal defeat
of his favorite officer and
picked corps had stirred
his anger. Determined to
reach Morgan before he
could effect a Junction
with Greene, Cornwallis
ordered all the baggage of
his army to be destroyed,
so that it could move the
more rapidly without encumbrances,
ddquor casks were staved in before the
eyes of the indignant soldiers, wagons
burned up, and ail the many things that
went to make up the comfort of a camip
were given over to the flames. The Brit
ish general set the example, beginning
with the destruction of -his own persona!
baggage, and going down the line till
the late private was reached. It took two
full days to do the work. Then, stripped
like a wrestler for the fight, Cornwallis
moved forward again.
Meantime Greene, informed of the vie*
tory at the Cowpens, accompanied- by a
single aide and a sergeant’s guard, had
pressed forward 150 miles to join Mor
gan and advise with him as to the best
course to pursue. The victors of the
Cowpens received their chief with hur
rahs. With him at their head as well as
their own beloved Morgan, they feared
nothing. It was therefore with cheers
and enthusiasm that they entered on a
race with their foes, a race that was
destined to -be unique in the bold attitude
and endurance of the one party, and the
dogged persistence of the other.
Greene had ordered the main army to
rendevous at Guilford, and thither he
now directed his march with Morgan’s
men, closely watched by Cornwallis. To
gain a clear understanding of the gimmd
over which this, one of the most remark
able retreats !n history, was performed,
it is necessary to glance at the map of
the Carolinas. Three large rivers rise in
the northwestern parts of North and
South Carolina, and flows southeasterly
intq the Atlantic. The most southern of
these rivers is the Catawba, which
empties into the Santee. North of It, and
nearly parallel is the Yadkin, emptying
into the [Peace river. The most northerly
of the three rivers is the Dan. This
river soon leaves its southeast flow, and
winds backwards and forwards across the
Virginia line, until it finally falls into the
Roanoke.
THE FAITHFUL RIVER.
Greene was now on the most southerly
river, the Catawba, and inarched north,
his course cutting the Yadkin and Dan.
The placing of a deep river between two
armies effectually separates them for the
time. On the other hand, a retreating
army with a deep river in front and a
powerful foe In pursuit behind it is al
most surely ruined. For this reason
Cornwallis was straining every nerve and
muscle to overtake his weak enemy
somewhere between the three rivers,
while the Americans were putting forth
every effort to keep a deep stream be
tween them and their pursuers
As we have seen, Morgan after the bat
tle of the Cowipens had succeeded in
crossing the Catawba, whose swollen
waters prevented Cornwallis from at once
following him. But in a few days the
river began to subside, and the British
commander determined on a night march
to a private ford near Salisbury, where
he might cross before his movement was
suspected. But he had reckoned without
his alert enemy who had stationed a
body of miiitia there to defend the pass
age, should it be attempree.
daylight the British army was seen
stealthily approaching the ford. A deep
hush was on everywung save for the
roar of the swollen river. Not a living
thing was to be seen on the shore. Rain
was falling in torrents. Cornwallis halt
ing his steed on the slippery bank, looked
across to the gloom on the opposite
shore. All was quiet, but among the
trees far back he saw (the faint gleam
of light from nearbyteamp fires, and so
he knew that the ford was not to be
passed so easily as he had thought.
But stai it must be diode at all haz
ards, and he gave the order to advance.
Wien muskets held above their heads to
keep them dry, and leaning against each
other to steady their slippery footing,
the troops waded into the river. The
water deepened unffl It flowed in a
strong, swift current above their waists.
The cavalry went plunging through, but
the force of the stream carried many of
them, both horses and riders, downward
in the darkness.
Scarcely had the head of the British
ccluror.s reached the middle of the river
when the challenge of the American sen
tries rang out ,artd the next moment
their guns followed suit. A destructive
volley, from the 500 militia was Imme
diately poured Into the British, hut still
they pushed steadily forward. Soldier
after soldier rolled over in the flood to
nse no more. Cornwallis’ horse was
shot under him, but the spirited animal
managed to reach the bank before it fell.
But still the British troops, marching
in close column, foreed their way across
the ford, and on landing, soon compelled
the militia to retreat. And now Corn
wallis, on the same side of the river
as his weaker foe, lost not a moment in
following up his advantage. Greene, in
formed at once that the enemy had
crossed the Catawba, ordered an imme
diate retreat to the Yadkin. Thus,
through the drenching rain, deep mud,
over hills and rocky ground, the weary
troops dragged themselves along with
desperate resolution.
On the third day they reached the Yad
kin and commenced crossing. Meantime
the constant rains were hourly swelling
the river, and by the time that the Amer
icans had, with some difficulty, effected
their passage, the water was foaming
by on a level with the river banks. Not
a moment had been wasted by their anx
ious commander, and well Indeed that it
was so, for at midnight. Just as the last
of the rear-guard were embarking, a
volley was fired upon them by the Brit
ish vanguard. Thus close was the pur
suit.
x A FUTILE ATTACK.
The dawn of the day revealed the two
armies within sight of each other. But
the bleased Yadkin was surging and roar
ing in defiant accents in front of the
British camp. To cross it in face of
that swift, foaming current was impossi
ble. Cornwallis, stung to madness by thlB
second narrow escape of his enemy,
brought his artillery to the shore and
began to cannonade the American camp.
It was a petty exhijbtion of malice, a
futile attack, for the patriots, protected
by an elevated ridge, rested safely behind
it, laughing their angry foe to scorn.
Some of the troopers e^en picked up th*
spent balls, saying that it was a pity io
waste them and- that they would return
them in due time to their owners.
There was a little abandoned cabin
whose roof just showed above the rocks,
and Greene, while his exhausted men
were taking a Decessary rest, took up his
quarters in it, and commenced writing his
dispatches. Cornwallis, feeling sure that
the American commander had established
his headquarters te the cabin, directed
his fire upon it, aim the rocks around ‘t
soon resounded with the thuds of hi -
iron messengers. The shingles began to
fly from the roof, the chimney and clap
boards to-splinter and fall, but the gen
eral never so much as looked up, con
tinuing his writing as calmly as if he had
been in his own peaceful home. Of such
sterling metal were the patriots of the
revolution made. That is why they won
out at the end.
Four days later the raging waters of
the Yadkin had partly subsided and
Cornwallis, marching to a lower point,
succeeded In crossing and Immediately
resumed his pursuit. But Greene was
Continued on Third Face.
Leaves from an Old
Scrap Book
By A GEORGIA COLONEL.
HB annexed extract was
from a letter to The Con
stitutionalist:
According to a proem*'
certed plan, well under,
stood by their bestial sol
diery, licensed bodies at
thieves, without responsi
ble officers, were sent in
advance of the main body
to practice those diabolical
acts for which the yankee
army are notorious. The
norrors of the scene which
■ cliwoed, no pen can portray! Bursting
Into houses with demoniac yells, the
work began. The privacy of ladies'
snartuients, though in some cases these
were occupied by invalids, was not re
spected. Trunks and drawers were
broken open, the contents torn to shred*
and scattered in confusion around, car
pets and curtains cut to pieces, furniture
destroyed in the most ruthless manner,
blankets and comforts stolen from the
beds, and feeble remonstrances made in
Dehalf of the little ones who must suffer
in consequence, were met by shocking
oaths and insulting words, which must
bo ho-ne In silence, less the vengeance
of worse than fiends be brought upon
defenseless heads. The common plea was
mat they were ordered to search for
silvet and gold of every description, and
this ihey obtained in many instances by
base t-ireats, and also by the falthless-
* ess o. negroes. The malicious intenhon
of starving us out was plainly evinced
by tffelr actions, and also avowed
ihougnout the whole army. Nearly
every bushel of corn and piece of meat
was carried off or destroyed, and the
wrttuhes, not content with gorging them
selves from our store rooms and pantries,
look 0 satanlc pleasure in pouring out
flour, sirup, vinegar, lard, etc., in one
Heterogeneous mass over the floors.
"We cannot whip your men and are de
termined to make the women and chil
dren suffer.” said these fiends, who call
th- mse.ves men!
While the work of ruin was going on
wiinlii oors, the roaring and cracking of
flames was heard without, as one build-
ng utter another was burnt to the
gro’.in- and but for a Providential rain
ihiflFwUoIe village must soon have been
laid In ashes. The noble old Masonic
hail, he court house, two hotels and the
toil, were the first to 'fall. In all there
Ivere '.bout one hundred buildings withm
the village destroyed. After allowing
anile time lor the work of ruin to be
como’eted, "Kilpatrick, the prince of
fiends.” arrived with banners waving,
•md uand playing the hated tune of
•Yankee Doodle.” Thus the arch hypo
crite placed sham guards at our doors to
prevent destruction where all was already
destroyed. Notwithstanding his public
Jcclar< tion that no occupied house should
be burned, he gave secret orders to the
contrary, and after passing a night of
terrible suspense, the terrified occupants
ot several houses were aroused from a
'ew moments of troubled slumber, to
rush out m tne gray light of a cold rainy
morning, from the roofs burning over
their heads.
Many nave lost all, houseless and al
most starving and naked, they depend
unon the kindness of more fortunate
friends who themselves have barely the
necessaries of life. There is not a house
in the village which they did not attempt
l °And I yet we have those among us who
would have us love these devils incar-
nrte. Did whifjped Spaniel ever crouch
more lovingly under the lash?
BURNING OF JACKSONVILLE.
A correspondent of The New York
Tribune wrote the following on Mar>-li
l, 1865: '
"Jacksonville is in ruins. This beaii
tlful city, which has been for so many
years the favorite resort of Invalids
from the north, has today been burned
to the ground and. what is sad to re
cord, by the soldiers of this nation’s
army. Scarcely a mansion, a cottage,
a negro hut, or a warehouse remains.
The long lines of magnificent oaks,
green and beautiful, with the thickest
foliage, the orange groves perfuming
the air with their blossoms, the syca
mores, the old century plants adorn
ing every garden, the palmetto . and
bayonet trees, ever tropical In vend-
dure, the rose and the jessamine—all
that at this season, Indeed, I might
say through all seasons, has made
Jacksonville a little Eden, has been
burned and scorched and crisped, if
not entirely consumed to ashes, by the
devouring flames.
Yesterday the beautiful cottage used
used the Catholic parsonage, together
with the church, was fired by some of
the soldiers, and in a short time burn
ed to the ground. Before the flames
had fairly reached the church the sol
diers burst open the doors and com
menced sacking it of everything of
value. The organ was in a moment
torn to strips, and almost every sol
dier who came out seemed to be cele
brating the occasion by blowing
thggugh an organ pipe.
Today the same spectacle has been
repeated only upon a much grander
scale. There must have been some un
derstanding among the incendiaries
with regard to the conflagration. At
8 o’clock the flames burst from sev
eral buildings In different parts of the
city and at a later hour still more were
fired. The wind then rose to a stiff
gale, and the torch of the incendiary
became unnecessary to Increase the
fire.
The only mansions of any value left
standing, as we move down the river,
are the elegant mansions of Colonel
Anderson and Judge Burritt, both
rebels and scoundrels of the deepest
dye.
"It gives me pleasure to report that
the negro troops took no part what
ever In the perpetration of this van
dalism. They had nothing whatever
to do with It, and were simply silent
spectators to the splendid but sad
spectacle. The Sixth Connecticut
charge it upon the Eighth Maine, and
the Eighth Maine hand it back upon
the Sixth Connecticut. After the fires
In different parts of the city had
broken out Colonel Rust ordered every
man to be shot who should be found
applying the torch. But the order
came too late. The provost marshal
and his guard could not shoot or ar
rest the wind. No human power could
stay its ravages.”
SCOUTS AT ST. LOUIS.
he Savannah Republican published the
following on April 29, 1863;
Our readers will recollect an account
we save some months ago of a most
daring adventure on St. Simons island
by Captain Hazzard, of the Glynn
Guard-, and eight of his men. ‘"than tbe-*
vicoeeued in killing a number of yan-
■rfees ana negroes, atid then making good
their escape without the loss of a man.
Our daring scout has again viiited the
island, traversed the greater portion ot it,
ascertained the whereabouts of the en
emy, and done them considerable harm.
Accompanied by three of Tils men, vix,
Coroiral Stafford Privates Charles
Miller and James Harris, Captain Haz
zard left his camp on the 18th of the
present month in a small open canoe, and
reached the island about 10 o’clock the
same night, ending near the site of the
old tamily residence at West Point, he
walked about eight miles the same night
and ai rived at a place known as Hamil
ton where » portion of ihe yankees were
Continued on Fourth Pago.
i
distinct mat