Newspaper Page Text
Written for the Banner of the South anc\ Planters*
Journal.
The Keystone State.
Atiiexs, Pa., Marcli 11,1871.
Editors Manner of the a South and
Planters' Journal:
Dear Sirs: My attention has been
called to an article in your paper ot
Feb. 25, signed "Virginias,' in which
the writer seems much disturbed by an
article you re-published in the Banner
of Feb. 4, from the Athens Gleaner ,
by the request of lion. Alexander 11.
Stephens.
As this article, over my signature,
in the Banker of Feb. 4th, was a reply
to a denial of the Philadelphia Tele
graph of a statement 1 had made in a
former number of the Gleaner , of the
incident which caused Pennsylvania to
be called the Keystone State, I have
calmly awaited any attempts that might
be made to historically refute the asset
tion I made: that the appellation of
this term to Pennsylvania had its ori
gin in the placing of the initials of this
State on the keystone of the arch of the
stone bridge erected over Pock Creek,
about the close of the last century.
No denial having been made by any
one of the Pock Creek Bridge inci
dent, nor any doubt expressed since,
by any one outside of Philadelphia,
of this being the true history of
the origin of our State nom de
plume, I have not hitherto felt called
upon to publicly notice comments on
my article by the press, but have felt a
desire that if the appellation of Key
stone to Pennsylvania had an earlier,
or other cause, than the one I gave, it
should be historically shown, and the
question set at rest.
In the attempt at criticism by the
person signing himself “Virginias,’’the
writer seems to have been laboring un
der at least two misapprehensions:
First, that I assumed for Pennsylvania
a pre-eiTimenee over her sister States of
the old thirteen; and second, that 11
was writing an historical dissertation j
on the general events of our country j
for the last hundred years.
If the writer is what the signature
“ Virginius,” and the place of address,
“ Lynchburg,” seem to indicate—a Vir
ginian—there is a bitterness in his tone
and manner that savors little of the
genuine chivalric sons of the Old Do
minion. That noble State, which has
my veneration equal to my own, is like
a giant oak in a genial soil, with its
roots deep and’’’ its branches widely
spread. For many generations, the
cast ing of its foliage to mingle with the
dust beneath it, has seemed to give a
perpetual characteristic to its fruit, un
tarnished by the smoke of the mush
rooms that may grow beneath its shade,
and falsely claim its kinship.
Late unhappy events have scattered j
throughout Virginia, and all over the
South, some noxious mushroom plants
foreign to her soil—some buzzing in
sects, that like the famed Hessian fly,
that soon after the close of the war of
the Devolution, overspread our country,
blasting the bearded grain and destroy,
ing the hopes of the husbandman, and
others still more pestiferous—
“ That love to suck a putrid wound,
But where no sore is to be found,
Will bite and strive to make one. '
But such are not Virginia’s own true
sons. I have read the rich pages of
her history, and have shared the hospi
talities and friendship of her own peo
ple, and found the great and the good
of other States and climes, like Franklin
and Lafayette, embalmed in their mem
ories with those of a host of her own
noble dead. A response to such feel
ings flows back to the heart of Vir
ginia from every true Pennsylvanian,
every true American:
BANNER OF THE SOUTH ANI> PLANTERS’JOURNAL.
“ Brave old Virginia—proud you well may be, l
When you restore that glorious dynasty !
Os intellectual giants, who were know
As much our country's children as your j
own—
Your brilliant jewels— aye, you gave them ,
all,
Like Sparta's mother, at your country’s j
call!
The Senate knew their eloqm net* and ;
power.
And the red battle in its wildest hour;
No matter whence—to glory orthe grave—
They shone conspicuous, bravest of the
brave;
One o’er the bravest and the best bore sway,
Bright is his memory in our hearts to-day;
Ilis bosom burned with patriotic fire—
Virginia's son became ids country’s sire.”
The glorious memories of the past
should link Pennsylvania and Virginia
in equal brotherhood, and a taunt at
the dust of Mount Vernon, or over the
grave of Franklin at Philadelphia,
should bring the crimson hut of shame
to the cheek of every American citizen.
Nor should recent events continue to
embitter the common cup of children
of such an ancestry—such an inheri
tance. Be it mine to link and keep in
memory the dust of Mount Vernon and
Lexington, as that of Virginia's two
noblest sons, great in their greatness,
equal in goodness, and heirs in common
with Franklin, whom the self-styled
“Virginius” (?) would deride, of a
world’s true respect.
But I must leave the critic for a mo
ment, and attend to his elaborate list of
of grievances. In his flourishing Sftwr
of my numbered faults of omission and
commission in my article, he seems in
his sth and 7th counts to be
in his feelings at my mentioning the]
Fourth of July, as the date of the
duration, Ac. That a Declaration had [
been resolved upon before I do not de-j
ny; but that the true natal day of our j
Independence was accounted by ot®
earliest historians, who were dntem
poraries of the
scenes, as on the. Fourth, is too well
| known to require discussion,
j If the reader will turn to Winterbot-
I ham’s History of America, published in
New York in 1706, Vol. 1, page 200,
he will read: “Until the fourth of
July,-1776, the present United States
were British colonies,” Ac. If he will
turn to Marshall’s Life of Washington,
published in New - York in 1804, in
Vol. 2, page 410, he will find Chief
Justice Marshall stating that the Decla
ration received, on the Fourth, “the
sanction of the whole Congress,” omit
ting, as I also am charged with doing
in the critic's fourth count, all mention
of the silence on that day of the New
York delegation, as uncalled-for in the
matter under consideration. The reader
will also find in Bancroft’s Life of j
| Washington, published in Worcester, j
: Mass., in 1807, page 70, Mr. Bancroft
; stating concerning the Ileclaration:
| “ The resolution was solemnly debated
I for several days, and finally, on the
Fourth of July, passed Congress in the
! affirmative by the unanimous vote of
j its members,” he also omitting to meri-
I tion the non-action on that day of the
New York members.
; These writers were each contempo
rary with the events they were describ
ing, and had more cause than I to give
with fullness and exactness the unim
portant details which I am, with such a
flourish, accused of omitting. I might
multiply such standard references to a
score, were it necessary. If anything
connected with their consideration was
a part of the question relating to the
true origin of the term Keystone, as
applied to Pennsylvania, the reader
might expect of me a greater minute
ness in them. I might also give, if
the question relating to the Keystone
| theory demanded it (as my critic seems
j to think it does), sbrne consideration of
j the Quaker sentiment in Philadelphia
[•on slavery in (he easy -days of the Pe
public. But such adjects have neither
a direct nor indices relation to the
question at issue. 'Jjhetr introduction
into the LyncUburgl-riticism does not
call for their afseustabti by me through
the public- press. Y
& S. Hayden.
Note by EditoJr.— With much re
luct anc*. we publiSjh the foregoing:
communication, beqjHujse its spirit and!
language are exceecSugly questionable.
We fail to find aUmlfng in the article
of “ Virginius ” wMch authorizes the
extremely illiberal alifunkind language
of Mr. Hayden in rAptrd tu him. The
questions at issue Ixatween them ar-e
purely historical, ana do not justify t'ne
personal character attempted to be
given them in tha foregoing letter.
“ Virginius ” treatef the matter as a
historian and a stfltqjiman would be
expected to discuss’such questions, and
we regret that Mr. Ilaydon did not
profit by his exatMrajf
Written lor the thk South aud Pouters’
Journal.
Harvest Gleanings from an Autumn in
> Europe.
BY WII.UAM IBCNliir, WADDEU.,’ UNIVKR
SMt o%of.oih:ia.
NQ.J.
KiapM r.OXIXIN TO I*ARIB.
Nothing aiuusedbih American more
than the exalted * Mima!.- p arid h\
Englishmen n\m\ f'crossiny the Chan- •
neC He has nself endured the
protracted i igouies oi a voyage across J
the Atlantic, lasting perhaps, 17 days.
hear a man speaking in such
soloimlditttguage If a trip of a little
an hfur’s duration is ir
ludicrous,
emojfolis aro exdgfed by all of their
IwMPoifljfnl Jo an Englishman, a
NjNHMjjltfiO mips is a matter of im
-imi nothing amazes
I theta, sospUich I the indifferent air
with which an lAinericnn speaks of
>
ana Calais, and (2) via Folkstone and
Boulogne- The former has a shorter
but much rougher sea-passage, with a
longer Railroad journey: the latter, a
longer but smoother sen-passage, with
a diminished quantity of travel by
Paliroad. From Dover to Calais, if
the weather is good, the transit may be
effected in one hour and 20 tnintues:
from Folkstone to Boulogne, under
similar conditions, you will be taken
over in 1 hour and forty minutes.
The fare, either way, Ist class'is
sl2 50 in gold.
There are two other routes; viz;
(1) via Southampton! and Havre and
(2) via New Haven and Dieppe.
Both are cheaper than the above
named, but in both, the sea-voyage is
much longer and, probably, much more
turbulent. The Folkstone Iloute is
unquestionably the best.
The sun had finally succeeded in
dislodging the everlasting fog just as
we steamed peacefully out of Folkstone
Harbor one glorious morning in the
i month of October. With the re
membrances of the Atlantic still fresh
| upon us, we surveyed the treacherous
blue water and shuddered at the sight,
j oven though a dim smoky line stretch
ing far across the Eastern horizon
j marked the French coast, and formed
i the boundary of om voyage. An oc
casional unintelligible farrrago of
■ sounds, too, with an expressive
shrug of the shoulders on the part
| of the utterer thereof, suggested to us
that we were nearing a land where
the words at our command would
serve our purposes to the very smallest
extent imaginable.
Greatly to our satisfaction, the sea
was as smooth as glass; there was not
even the ordinary “ground-swell”—the
long, undulating, billowy roll, which
is felt on the open ocean even at it’s
calmest stage: no sail on an inland
river could have been more delightful.
None of us were, in even the least
degree, sea sick, and, as a consequence
wo enjoyed tlie 106 minutes’ passage
r mi the English to the French coast
with unalloyed pleasure.
A more graphic pen than mine
would fail to describe the jam and
uproar and confusion and hurly-burly
ot the landing at Boulogne. Suffice
it to say, —ice did land. And an
omnibus carried across the little city
of Boulogne to the Station-House of
the Chemin de Fer dn Nord, whence
we were soon flying over the ground
to Paris, at the rate of 40 miles an
hour. Ihe cars are not very unlike
the English cars. I observed that a
narrow step ran along the whole
length of the train, so that the con
ductor or guard, as he is univesally
called there, can pass from one car
riage to another, without entering the
apartments at all. This involves a
degree of uunnecessary hazard, which
e never see in America, and which
always impressed me with an opinion
that a man was unworthy to hold life
who would expose it upon this nar
row pathway, with a train of cars
going at top speed. The country be
tween Boulogne and Paris is dull and
uninteresting in the highest degree.
The fields were fiat, treeless, barren ;
the land, poor and bleak; the houses
in most instances, stone hovels, the
homes ot haggard, ill-looking peasants.
W e passed vast quantities of bog,
with immense squares of peat, cut into
cubical blocks and set out to dry in
the sun and wind. I was surprised to
notice how scant the woodland ap
peared. I should have supposed that
the second growth would have re
placed the virgin forest trees, and that,
even if this had been destroyed, scrub
oaks, pines or undergrowth of some
sort would have covered these trackless
wastes of, apparently, abandoned
fields. As we neared Paris, however,
things improved vastly. As had been
the case with London, we entered
Paris after dark. The detention con
sequent upon the Custom-House
examination of baggage, although
a moying, is not offensive at all. “Pu
Tahoe?' is the most common inquiry.
Such a thing as turning ladies' trunks
topsy-turvy, scrutinizing the quality of
your clothing and extorting “duty"
from you for the purpose of pocketing
it themselves is utterly unknown in
France aud everywhere else as far as
my experience goes, save in the New
York Custom House, where a gang of
thieves once fleeced me to such an ex
tent a* to leave me barely money
eh oiigfi,' to Take mi? ‘tfftnwc
“Oh ! Look at the people all eating
out doors!” ejaculated one of the party
as we rolled over the smooth, Asphal
tiun-paved streets up to the London
and New York Hotel, Place dnlla\r.‘.
We had drawn up near one of the
magnificient Pestaurants so numerous
in Paris, and the broad side-walk in
front of it was lined with small marble
topped tables, at each of which sat
one or more occupants of either or
both sexes, enjoying their “case, dn
lait,” or glass of wine or mug of beer.
The Pestaurants of Paris are the most
gorgeous in all the world, and to walk
through one of the largest and finest,
with its huge plate-glass windows,
countless chandeliers, magnificient fur
niture and splendidly dressed guests
is to witness a scene, seldom equalled
and no where surpassed.
Nothing is more common in a Con
tinental City than to find Hotels
named with the old home-sounding
titles; viz: “The American Hotel,” The
London Destanrant Ac. The traveller,
of course, expects to find himself
perfectly at home, amid English-speak
ing people on all sides, and bitter is
his disappointment to ascertain, as he
generally does, that the English of the
establishment consists of the horrible
gibberish of one Interpreter, with per
haps just enough on the part of the
Proprietor to cause him, after listening
with the politest attention to the guests
demands and after going through a suc
cession of agonized spasms of effort to
make himself understood, to throw up
his hands iri utter despair, and,
ejaculating, “Oh rnon Dieu /” to dive
out of sight after the aforesaid In
terpeter, in order to understand a word
which is said. And then, too, this In
terpeter is also your guide, and if any
poor beggar on this earth is ever en
titled to the sincei est compassion of all
benevolent Christians an American
Tourist under the grip of a profes
sional guide is that unfortunate mendi
cant.
“Monsieur, we weel go to de Louvre
to day, s’il vous plait.”
“Well, but we have no English
Guide-Book.”
“N’importe, Monsieur: I know de
Guide Book all by myself: de book
1 not tell you noting at all I can not
know 1” “So be it then: lead on !”
Never was a more unfortunate con
cession. He tyannized over us with a
rod of iron. If a single individual of
the party got a rod a-head or fell a
yard behind, the old humbug was down
upon the estray like a detective police
man, whipping in all stragglers and
forcing the whole troop to look at the
same picture, at the same time, and to
listen to the horrid jargon of unin
telligible “pigeon-English,” with which
he described them, until, in wild des
peration, we went away, in order to
escape the tones of the scamp’s voice.
Vain hope that, however! lie was
hardly outside of the Palace Walls,
before he commenced a running lire of
self-congratulatory comments upon his
own knowledge and abilities as a
Guide.
“I know all de books! I tell all dat
anybody want! I been great heap
many years in Parree / Not any
Guide can tell les genlilliommes as
better as me!”
I sympathize heartly with Mark
Twain in the “Innocents Abroad” or
“Modern Pilgrims,” the most truthful
book ot travels, by the way I ever
read in my life, and, like him, when I
visit Paris again, I shall go provid
ed with an infallible specific against
Guides.
The Louvre is a vast stone palace,
once a Royal residence, connected by
an unbroken block of buildings with
the Palace of the Tuileries. Tlie col
lection of Pictures, Sculptures, An
tiquities, curiosities Ac., Ac., is im
mense, far, far the largest in the world,
excepting that at the Vatican at Rome.
Before taking them up, however, I may
as well dispose of the Tuileries, which .
we visited first. /
Coming down out of the Ru/
Royale we came into the world-know!
Pue de Pivoli, a vast artery connect!
ing the utmost limits of the Tuileriey,
with the Rue St. Antoine, a distance!
of two miles, with an Arcade running '
the whole way. Crossing this wo
walked through the beautiful gardens
of the Tuileries until we reached the
Palace.
This is (or was I) the City Residence
7iT the Eihjiefof - , Louis Nnipb'iflttrf? 11 "The
whole length of the facade is 330
yards and the breadth 36. It is con
nected with the old Louvre, once it
self a royal palace of the Kings of
France, by what is known as the new
Louvre, an enormous pile of stone and
mortar, erected by the last Emperor.
So tlie Tuileries, the new Louvre and
the old Louvre form altogether a vast
range of splendid stone mansions,
stretching along between the River
andtliePuede Pivoli, with magnificent
Courts formed by the unbroken con-
tinuations of the palaces and con
stituting, in reality, one prodigious
edifice, of three stories, each of a dif
ferent < rder of architecture. There is
a thoroughfare for vehicles at two or
threc points, admitting passage through
the quadrangles and across the Seine.
It has occurred to me as a question
worthy of serious consideration whe
ther it would profit my readers to at
tempt a description of all this indes
cribable splendor, and I have concluded,
“nem con," that it would not only not
profit them, but that \twould bore them
inexpressibly! “Why?” yoft ask:
why, because no man can give even an
approximative idea of the glory hereto
be seen. Why shall I write of mag
nificent marble stairways, leading to
gorgeous, gilded Halls, and there
opening into vast saloons, with fres
coed walls and ceilings, furnished with
the most admirable paintings by the
greatest Masters? Why shall I give a
Guide-Book list of exquisite works of
Art, painting and statuary, old and
new, from all quarters of the earth,
representing all ages of Time? Why
shall I tell of those everlasting Camp
chests, Coaches, articles of clothing
Ac., Ac., belonging to Napoleon the
! First, as well as to certain Kings ot
France before him? Are they not
written in the books of the Tourists by
the man, Murray! They are, —and they
bore people, and I don’t wish to imitate
the books in this particular at any
! rate.
As we went on almost immediately
to Italy, I will not enter into much of
an account of France, until after Pome,
Ac., is disposed of, —so, in my next, we
will start Southward Ho!
5