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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