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Southern Field and Fireside.
VOL. 1.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
4 THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN.
7 BY MARY E. BRYAN.
/ “ When shall It he I see thy red lip now
N Tremble with the low spoken question, and thine eyes
fij? Search mine, until I feel the hot tears flow
, To the repressing lids. I answered then with sighs,
Bnt lam stronger now—the hour Is past,
A And the blue billows of a tropic main
® Break between thee and me. Look up!—at last
7 I’ll answer thee. Aye, we t/iall meet again.
Y Not in an hour which any tongue of Time—
/ Brazen or silver—may ring on the air,
A Not when the voice of streams in joyful chime
y Summons young April—shaking from her hair
Clusters of scented hyacinths, moist and blue
As thine own dewy eyes; nor when the shade
6 Os whispering elms, of summer ripened hue,
o' Bathes my hot brow In some sequestered glade;
7 Nor when the autnmn clusters of the vine
y Jiang purple In the sun, and the faint breath
/ Os brooksidc asters, and the moaning pine
"N Alike—and sadly—prophesy of death;
ffi Nor when I droop my weary head, as now,
Upon my hand, beside the winter hearth—
Shall thy quick step, thy kiss upon my brow
A Make me forget that ever grief had birth.
* No, never more shall sunlight’s golden sheen,
Nor the pale stars—a wlerd and watchful train—
Nor yet the moonlight,—chilly and serene,
T Look on the hour when we shall meet again.
Yet we ehall meet. Listen! One winter day,
jr Standing where late the gentians were a-bloom.
You said when life’s red current ebbed away,
T That we should, like the flowers, sink to a tomb
Os dust and nothingness upon the breast
e Os earth, whence we had drawn our sustenance,
J And that the sleep would be eternal rest;
Y And then you met my anxious, upward glance
/ And smiled, and said that the mysterious scheme,
A Which in the world's dim ages priests had spun,
W Os life beyond, was but a dotard's dream.
v. And I believed you, for you were the Sun
To my unbudding soul; but that is past.
I have talked with my soul in the still hours,
o' And, with bared brow, prayed In the temples vast
7 Which Nature rears, and when the dreaded power
Y Os Death had stamped pale foreheads, I have knelt
/ To catch the meaning in the dying eyes;
And so have solved the mystery; I have felt
W Your teachings false; the spirit never dies.
y There is a world beyond, and we shall meet—
L ' The thoaght foils like a dead flower on my heart—
* Meet only once —at the dread Judgment Seat,
? Clasp hands, look in each other's eyes and—part,
Sj And part forever I Oh! by all the years
T My soul has kept thy memory enshrined,
■x By all my burning prayers, and by my tears,
JJu And by the love to long despair resigned,
r I charge thee let that single glance be kind—
'y Fnll of unuttered love as dying breath
I Breathed out in kisses—when the arms entwin'd
Shall soon be severed by the grasp of death.
9 The gulf that then shall part us, is more deep
</. And dark than death. Oh! let that last look be
Jr One of immortal love, that I may keep
C, Its sacred memory through eternity.
•••
r [For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
\ FROM A TOURIST’S QUIVER;
? OR,
V Scenes and Incident* of a Tour
( From New Orleans to New Yorlr.
W BY OXR OF TUB PARTY.
V ARROW THE FIRST.
J' New Orleans, Hotel St. Louis, {
7 November, 1859. J
V My Dear Mr. Gardner:
' The question, so interesting to an invalid seek
\ ing health, is at length, in my ease, decided.
f The consultation of my physicians held yester
y, day in the little sitting-room adjoining my sleep
ing apartment resulted in this inexorable decis
% ion, viz: “ that a northern climate and bracing
o' air are necessary to my recovery.” This flat of
7 a tribunal more grave and potent to a sick man
V than that of the Supreme Bench of gowned
judges, was communicated to me by Dr. S ,
\ after his medical council had retired.
V “ But, my dear doctor, the North is too cold,”
I ventured to remonstrate. “I shall perish 1"
“ You will not live here through our damp
* and mizzling winter, my dear fellow,” said the
o' medical gentleman with a smile. “A frosty,
J dry air will put new life into you!”
W “Where shall I go? to Canada?” I inquired
' with a shudder: “for I have a great horror of
X cold weather 1 I would rather seek shade than
8? blazing grates; meet the fiery sun in battle than
Jack Frost!”
“Not so far as that!" Minnesota will do! St.
& Paul’s!’ Wo send invalids there now I The air
f is as dry as dry champagne! The snow, there,
1 has so little moisture, it is like sparkling sand
V and does not adhere at all to the boot in walk
' ing through it! The winds seldom blow, and
\ when they do are not laden with damp! Chills,
w fevers, rheumatism, are unknown there !”
j JANUS GARDNER, I
i Proprietor. f
AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, JANUARY 21, 1860.
“ And, seriously, you would advise me to take
a boat and ascend this river to its other extrem
ity, doctor?”
“Yes.”
“It is too much 1” I said; “ I know doctors
are merciless autocrats to uspoor-devil-invalids;
but this is going a little too far, my dear doctor,
in more senses than one! To leave this luxuri
ous St. Louis palace, and the perfect menage
which surrounds me, where my lifted little finger
is obeyed as if it were the elevated sceptro of a
king, to leave all my comforts here to put up
with a cold, half-warmed room, in a poor fifth
rate hotel or tavern poorly kept, where the gigan
tic, rough landlord waits upon you with his hat
on, and about as gently as he would upon his
horse; with hard beds, hard fare, and, with all,
and over all, the mercury reading all day from
10“ to 40“ below 0. I freeze and shrink at the
bare conception of such a state of things! Is
not New York coid enough in all conscience,
dear doctor! Don’t be merciless, because you
have me in your power! Say New York and I
obey your imperial eukase."
The Doctor laughed and said:
“ New York, then! You will do very well
there! But St. Paul’s is not the village you im
agine it to be 1 It is a city of size and pretensions.
Why, my dear fellow, it is the sedilea of two
Bishops, one of the Roman, the other of the Epis
copal, and these prelates are not bad judges of
the land!”
“ I will, with your permission, go to New
York, Doctor.”
“ I concede so much to you, my dear fellow!”
he answered patronizingly.
“ Thank you 1” I answered, quite relieved.
What mere children we sufferers are in the
hands of medical men! How they treat the
best ot us like naughty little boys, and how we
behave, too, like children. How fully we sur
render our wills to theirs—sacrifice our dearest
habits to their command! How fully we divest
our minds of all personal responsibility, and put
our lives with perfect confidence in their hands I
A man whom last week we never saw, becomes
to-day, (as ouY physician,) the arbiter of our
fate; the centre around which revolve all our
hopes.
“ The sooner you leave, the better,” he said,
taking his hat and gloves, and shortly afterwards
he left me, saying he would call again and leave
me some written directions of regimen for my
journey.
Left to myself, I nervously paced my floor, for
I am not ill enough to be in bed much, my dis
ease being an affection of the heart, (not senti
mental, but material,) and tried hard to bring my
resolution into full consent with the Doctors’
council! The idea of taking a journey to the
Borean North in November, to a man of my
tropical tastes and southern constitution, to say
nothing at all of my bodily infirmities, was full
of annoyance and discomfort. But who ever
dared act contrariwise to a consultation of grave
M D.’s ? Before their wondrous power Empe
rors succumb, and Beauty, Intellect, Strength
and Ambition bend in silent admiration. What
was I—a young man—a simple citizen of pri
vate fortune, who had never written more than
a poem to a lady’s shell-curved eye-lid, and had
no ambition beyond the recovery of my health!
What! Was I to oppose the opinion of my phy
sician ? Life, too, is dear to me! With my
failing health, the perception of the beautiful
and true and glorious in nature is increased as
if the spiritual illumined the eye of the flesh, the
more the latter failed. The flowers, the singing
birds, the waving trees, the whispers of the
winds at night, the bright stars, the holy moon
light, tho motion of the waves, the beauty of
children and the smiles of manhood, the faces of
’men and the sight of the crowds on the streets,
the news of the day and the news of the world,
through the papers—all these things become
dearer and more real and more attractive to me
as the might of my strength of body decays;
and I say each day, with more energy and wist
fulness for life. “It-is a beautiful world! a
good and happy world I I feel that I love it
more and more! I cannot leave it! No, no! I
must get well and enjoy it many a year! for has
not God given it to his children for their pleas
ure and use! It is my world as well as that
healthy and hearty young man’s—who goes by
humming the Marseillaise; as well as that love
ly child’s, whose eyes dance with the light of
joy and love; as well as that beautiftil woman’s
whose triumphs are all in the tournament-field
of this dear world! It is my world as well as
that of the mockingbird who sings so exquisitely
in the cage on the window of the French barber
opposite; as well as that of the parrot who
seems to gossip, and fully enjoy all it can give
his narrow capacities! Here is my dog. too—
Chaos —so called from his unmitigated black
ness—it is his world, and he is content and
happy in it! So is it also mine ! I will live!
I will obey these terrible medical tyrants and go
to New York! When a man once surrenders
his independence to these kings whose sceptres
are lancets, he must obey their pandects or take
the responsibility of his own dying.”
Thus I soliloquized; and so having made up
my mind I rang for my body servant, a vener
able and faithful African slave who had closed
my father’s eyes and held me on liis knee when
I was a healthy and mischievous urchin (where
is that blood of health and life now ?).
The old black gentleman, for a gentleman he
was, (in all things a sable copy of my courtly
father, even to his bow’, and a peculiar gesture
of the left hand) came in and said with an air of
patronizing affection, ’which had grown upon
him since I had been an invalid under his nurs
ing care.
“Master Harry, you ring for old Cesar? I
specks you walk too much 1 Dar fever in you
eye! Bes’lay down, young master! Old doc
tor see yougoin’ bout dis ’xcited way, he ”
“I’ve done with doctors, Cesar!” I said
firmly. “ I’m going to the north !”
“To de norf!” repeated my old servant, with
a wider expansion of the eyes than I ever be
held. “ You die dar, sure! Cold wedder catch
and kill you, master! Dey say de frosteses up
dar burn de face jiss like fire-breath! It so cold
it set de folks a-fire 1”
“ I can’t help it, Cesar! Igo to the north and
start on the Eclipse on Monday. The doctors say
so!”
“Ah, dat alters kasesl Doctors knows for
sartain, coz dat is der business, l’se berry
sorry, tho’."
“ Three of ’em said so, Cesar,” I said desper
ately, and w’ith a sort of savage dissatisfaction.
“ Den dere’s no savin’ notin’ at all! Mite as
well as go agen de Bible as agen doctors!” he
said didactically.
“Get everything ready, Cesar. You are to
go too.”
“ Master mout jiss as easy leave he shadder
ahind as dis old man,” he answered, shaking his
grey poll and looking very decided. “ 1 don’t
like de norf, dar too many poor and proud free
brack folk dar; but I al’oy^looks down ’poa
dem chaff? Dey’s out ob place, my ’pinion!
Colored people need masters ober ’em to take
care ob ’em, jiss m*<cl] as childer do. All dem
free colored folks up norf dar, is poororpbings—
nobody owns ’em —nobody kear for ’em, dey has
to look out for deirsefs, an’ konsehens is dey
don’t get no lookin’ out for at all! Dem proud
ragged free niggers, if dey know whar der place
is, and whar de black man is properly ’spected
and looked after, dey’d stay sous and ’have deir
selves; but its good ting for us, master, dat dey
go, coz we gets rid o’ all de bad ones!”
“Tlut'll do, Cesar!” I said interrupting him.
“ I wish you to get ready for our departure on
Monday.
“Yes, master!”
At this moment a servant came in with a
card, which was closely followed up by the round
and honest visage of my fleshly friend and re
mote relative, Major Bedott.
“Bless met” he exclaimed as soon as he
could get his speaking breath; “ What, Harry,
my boy! I met your Doctor at the door, as he
was getting into his cab, and be tells me he has
sent you to New York for your health 1 Are
you really going to go, my dear poor fellow?”
and he shook mo by both hands and looked in
my face sympathizingly.
“Yes. I must obey! Change of air, —bra-
cing climate, and all that!” I answered. “I go
on Monday.”
“/go too!” he suddenly thundered out with
a great oath.
“ You t”
“Yes! I have been thinking of it along
time! I’ll go with you. We will be compag
nons du voyage! My nephew Tim goes also!
He wants to attend the medical lectures there!
It’s now all decided! If you go, you shall have
me for company.”
Os course I was gratified at this intelligence.
The Major would be the best of company for me!
I felt better reconciled now to my northern exile.
But what could take my bachelor friend north
at this season, who never went in summer, I
could not conjecture. He was innocent of all
disease. He was the picture of health. His
bald head shone with good condition. His ru
bicund face glistened with good living. His
grayish (pepper and salt) beard grew vigorous
and imposingly. What could take him north ?
Perhaps I shall find out before we leave! Till
then, au revoir.
ARROW.—No. 11.
New Orleans, La., St. Louis Hotel, |
November, 1859. f
It is no light affair to prepare for a northern
journey in the wintry months, my dear Mr. Edi
tor. One needs so many out-of-the-way things
for comfort. But at length by the aid of my
right-hand man, Cesar, we were all packed and
ready by Monday afternoon. The excitement
of preparation, with something fresh to think of
and engage in, had already benefitted me and in
creased the flow of my spirits, and my appetite.
“Bress my soul, Master Harry, you g’in to
look mity deal better ready," said Cesar as he
stopped in his occupation of packing my valise.
“ Yes, Cesar: I have no doubt I shall be
benefitted by my trip,” I answered complacent
ly, if not resignedly.
Is it the change of air and new medical treat
ment that so often improves the invalid ordered
away from home ? Or does not the disturbing of
the stagnant life of the sick room develope the
elements of health ? The nessessity of stirring,
of giving orders, of getting ready, of acting, of
thinking of something else besides the poor worn
body, all these contribute to recovered strength.
I have seen ladies who could not walk from their
bed to an arm-chair without aid, placed in cars,
and impro\e hourly, and after a four-days journey
that would fatigue a well-person, ascend without
aid three flights of New York hotel stairs and
the next day walk three squares on Broadway 1
Doctors are who send their patients a-travel
ing. It is exertion , new sights, sounds and
scenes, that do the cure. I half suspect my M.
D. is playing this pleasant and innocent medical
ruse upon me. Be it so. I will be cheerfully
aider and abetter in the conspiracy to get me off.
It makes no difference with me whether I am
; cured by the means or by the end; whether I
am restored by travel en-route or by the “bracing
air’’ in New York after I get there. Igo a
willing victim! May restored health reward my
obedience to my doctor’s commands!
It was deciicd that I was to meet Major Be
dott and his nephew, the incipient medical stu
dent, on the b- at at 5 P.M. At four o’clock Cesar
had a cabriolet at the door of the superb hotel
at which I had !wn for two months a guest. I
can not leave this noble and luxurious home
without a word commending it to the refined and
elegant traveler who can appreciate the ameni
ties and luxuries of life, aud who, whithout be
ing a prince, can live with all the splendor of
one. The edifice of “the St. Louis” itself is more
superb than many a Parisian palace, while it re
sembles a portion of “the Versailles" in style of.
architecture. Its interior is grand, spacious,
and magnificent. An air of imperial taste per
vades its numerous suites of apartments. Its
internal system (domestique) is faultless. Front
the quiet, self-poised and gentlemanly “ ruaitre
(sh pnlaW* t 6 the lowest serviteifr there fs no
• flaw—all is parfait menace. . This hotel i» the
favorite resort of the most distinguished French
families, who leave their sugar estates to so
journ a few weeks in the city; and is frequented
by the equally aristocratic cotton planter from
the opulent state of Mississippi. It is a charming
home, for a single gentleman, especially if he
is more or less invalided. The reunions in the
saloon and drawing-rooms in the evening invite
him from his solitary chamber, and he can either
enjoy the refinements of the best southern socie
ty, or listen to the piano and to the superb sing
ing thereto, which no gold paid for boxes at the
opera could purchase.
It will not be surprising that I left with a sigh
all these blessings of life behind me to trust my
self to the tender mercies of a steamer (high
pressure,) and the changes and chances of a New j
York winter.
The New Orleans cabriolet into which Cesar
assisted me, is a French carriage drawn by one
horse and usually with an Irish lad as a cabrio
leteer. It has two seats, with a huge X'oupee
roofing over the sitter upon the hinder seat.
Some of them are very elegant and costly; aud
would make a tasteful and stylish equipage,
were they not so wholly monopolized as cabs.
In one of these I was driven rapidly along Char
tres street, the main artery of the city. It is
lined with brilliant shops, more American than
French. But I recollect when, thirty years ago,
this whole street was French in speech and as
pect; when the lamps were suspended by
chains from house across to house; when gens
d'armes in uniform, with swords at their belts,
were the police; when the “Host” was borne
along to the dying by four priests in white sur
plices, a gorgeous canopy concealing the “ holy
Presence" from the vulgar gaze, soldiers going
before and a train of boys and acolytes behind!
Tout cela est change a present. The Host goes
privately on its mission; gas illumines the
streets, burning upon lofty iron columns; the
clumsy French shop windows have given way to
showy plate glass; and the French shop-keej>ers
themselves have retired to other parts of the city
before the Anglican wave of progress.
Thirty years ago, ladles walked Chartres
street, with graceful black lace veils pendant
from their tall combs, or coquettishly drawn
over their heads so as to shade the brow and
eyes 1 Dark eyes and piercing they were, too,
and which needed to be tempered ere a man
could fully meet their burning gaze. Balconies,
then, were of an evening filled with happy fami
lies, people spoke French and walked leisurely,
and took off their hats to padres in broad brims.
All this is changed, also 1 New Orleans is be
coming every year more American; or, rather,
an American city has been gradually growing
up side by side (and every where dove-tailing
with its streets) with the old French one, until
the new or Anglo-city has become the largest
and most powerful and wealthy. Canal street,
a broad old field, or long common, lined with
stores, churches and houses, separates the
French and American towns, A sickly row of
sycamore trees is planted along the middle of
this old field or street, and beneath these con
sumptive trees is collected the refuse of the vi
cinity in the shape of offal, trash, cripples, old
ragged loafers, beggarly boys and fruit huck
sters. It seems to be the neutral ground be
tween French New Orleans and American New
Orleans, for which neither holds itself responsi
ble, to judge from its condition. It recalls the
< Two Dollars Per Annum, I
| Always In Adfsacei 1
flat in the Mississippi opposite Natchez, which
the annual receding of the river had converted
into an elevated and permanent body of land
which was covered soon with shanties. Here a
murder was committed. Prentiss was employed
by the defendant. In his argument he took the
ground that the flat was not in the jurisdiction
of the State As Mississippi nor of Louisiana op
posite ! Thift it was a locality beyond law and
outside of all jurisdiction. It was not a part of
the state in the beginning, and jurisdiction had
never been claimed over it. “It was no-ma*'s
land!" Prentiss gained his cause, as be de
served to do! Tlis client went on his way re
joicing. This flat is the nucleus of the famous
“ Natchez-tfoder-the-Hill.”
As ray cabriolet turned into Canal street, I
caught a glimpse of “ the St. Charles” I What a
caravansAtf How closely that vast architec
tural pile is associated with {he progress of
this city 1 Who that has visited New Orleans
has not been in it? A few years ago it lost its
lofty dome by fire, but its restoration is still
talked of. It was the helmet of the city! It
is shorn of its chwfest glory without it. From
its summit the city could be seen outspread in
all its length along the river and breadth to the
lake; while the majestic Mississippi could be
traced for leagues north and westward, winding
in gigantic curves amid the rich alluvion sugar
plains, till lost to the view in the level distance
of the ocean-like horizon. The lake shone in
the sun like a sheet of silver, with here and
there a vessel breaking the brilliant expanse.
The city itself nos seen half-belted by a girdlo
of ships, of schooners, of smaller vessels—a
wonderful chevetx defrise, a league in extent,
bristling along the whole front of the metropolis,
and gay with me flags of all nations. Over this
fringe of span lowered a clqud of bistre-color
ed smoke, §*|(h«h l W»nn the smock-stacks of a
hundred steamboats.
At the foot of Canal street my cabriolet
stopped, as we had reached the pier where our
steamer lay. Her vast size and beauty distin
guished the Eclipse above all her fellows. From
her tall iron chiranies, greater in size than the
“ oldest oak of Epping Forest,” and in height ri
valling the lofty pine, rolled skyward huge
scrolls of brown smoke, almost as thick as black
wool to look at Its voluminous clouds, rolling
over in the setting sunlight, cast a deep shadow
across the wide pier and upon the decks of a
score of other vessels. Ever and anon her deep
bell would toll out its warning to hasten pas
sengers ; then its ponderous wheels would move
restlessly in their circular prison houses, like
confined Leviathans impatient to start, and
from the hoarse escape'pipes would come a deep
sullen roar like the voice of Behemoth. And
were not harnessed to that steamer iron mon
sters with iron limbs and with strength more
terrible than a score of Behemotlii? mightier
than Leviathan ? more terrible in its angry pow
er ? more destructive in energy ? And to this
iron beast—nay, these seven iron-headed blind
brutes, ranged in a row beneath the deck, I was
about to entrust my body and its life I Seven
tigers harnessed to a quiet gentleman’s buggy,
were quite as iunocent, so long as both—boilers
and tigers—behaved themselves. Well, one
gets nervous thinking of nervous things. I
went on board, and having seen my state room,
which Cesar had pre-engaged for me, well aft
and pleasantly near that forbidden land to bach
elors, the “ ladies’ cabin”, I ascended to the up
per deck to take a view of the busy and inter
esting spectacle of the “Levee,” a scene unpar
alleled in the world, inasmuch as it gives, at a
coup d'ceil, the whole field of a city’s commer
cial life a league in extent, with a thousand
keels of all names and flags embraced in the
single view. Au revoir.
Match between the Race Horse and the
GREYUOtrNt). —An extraordinary match has re
cently been made in England between the Duke
of Beaufort and the Earl of Wincbolsea, the ob
ject of which is the test and comparative speed
of the raco horse and the greyhound. The match
is to be for $5,000 a side, half forfeit, and the
Duke backs five couples of houuds against three
horses, to be selected by the Earl, who are to
carry 119 pounds each. The race is to take
place over the full distance of the Beacon Course,
which is four miles, 1 furlong and 173 yards in
length, and is to come off during the Houghton
Meeting, in the Fall of next year. The hounds
are to run a trail on the opposite side of the
course to that on which the horses do their
work, so as not to interfere with each other.
Trials of this sort have been made before in Eng
land, and have nearly always resulted in favor
of the hounds. “Stonehenge,” in his work on
the dog, mentions an instance in which there
were as many as sixty horses, contending over
the above named Beacon Course, against a pack
of hounds, but says that, notwitstanding their
extremeßt efforts, a dog named Blue Cap won in
eight minutes and a few seconds; and only
twelve of the horses were with the dog at the
finish.
Life is not all smiles and roses; and without
deeply rooted convictions of faith and hope, it is
impossible for any human being to live a truly
happy life.
NO. 35.