Newspaper Page Text
Southern Field and Fireside.
VOL. 1.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
“PATIENCE, AND SHUFFLE THE CABDS.”
BY W. OILMOKI SIMMS.
I.
Nay, leave off your moaning, and hear to the school.
Much saving, if honor'd, of bards,
Who equally practice and teach the good rule,
As laid down by Sancho, when Fortune retards;
Os Patience, dear brother, Patience, dear brother,
Yes, Patienoe, dear brother, and shuffle the cards.
n.
To growl at the Fortune we cannot defy,
And grumble at Fate, which all skill disregards,
Is wolfish, not human,—and “all in my eye”;
Fur better to try a new cast of the die,
And, Patience, dear brother, Patience, dear brother,
Try Patience, dear brother, and shuffle the cards I
n
The luck is against us; and what if it be?
Luck, if present at all, to the blockhead awards
That help which he needs, far more greatly than we,
And to baffle it, patience a moment, and see—
Aye, Patience, dear brother, Patience, dear brother,—
What will come of another good shuffle of cards.
IT.
One lesson, good fellows, I beg to lay down.
Endowed by the saints, by the sages and barda:
Fortune's not to be won by your passionate frown.
We must win her by smiling, asSylla his crown*;
And Patience, dear brother, Patience, dear brother,
The patience of 6ancho, and—shuffling the cards!
* Sylla took no merit to himself for all his perform
ances, but ascribed every thing to Fortune, He bnilt
her a temple. He was a favorite of the fair sex, by pro
fessing a perfect faith in their powers for good and evil.
— Hi
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
FROM A TOURIST’S QUIVER;
OR,
Scenes and Incidents ol a Tour
From New Orleans to New York.
BY ON* OF TII* PARTY.
ARROW—No. Y.
Baton Rouge — Gen. Taylor's Residence—Natchez
—the “ Cliff" — Chateaubriand — Mrs. R. V.
Johnston—Legend of the Fawn's Leap—the old
French fort Rosalie.
New Natchez, Nov. ’59.
I still write you from my elegant and com
fortable state room in the noble steamer
Eclipse. We have had a rapid passage the
first three hundred miles out from New Orleans,
and I have not only engaged myself with the
varied-scenes and incidents of the voyage, but
am improved in health and spirits. The Major
has lost his heart to a widow with black eyes,
and Tim has lost his gold dollars to some gen
tleman with “ black legs.”
I had hoped to have seen something of Baton
Rouge, the former military residence of Gener
al Taylor, and where, I am told, he lies buried
without a suitable monument to mark the last
resting place of the hero of many wars. The
white, lowly cottage beneath the China trees
near the Barracks, where he dwelt, was pointed
out to me. How few of our truly great men
were born and lived in stately homos surround
ed with all the luxuries of hereditary wealth!
Clay was reared in a small farm house; so was
Webster. Harrison’s house on the Ohio at
North Bend was a plain dwelling without pre
tense. None of the splendid villas of the Re
public have given notable men to it. The rule
is, men rise from the lower strata to the higher
in this country, wholly reversing the order of
things in the old States of Europe.
Baton Rouge is a pretty town, half Creole in’
population and aspect. Its origin was in a
trading store, before wliigh the trader erected a
tall pole painted red as a sign to boatmen and
his Indian customers; and hence the term Ba
ton Rouge (red stick) became the designation of
the village, which has now arrived to the dig
nity of being the State capital. This original of
the name brings to my recollection another
queer appellation of an old French village, not
far from St. Tyjnfs. Its malo citizens lyere,
doubtless, a hard Jot, as they never returned
from town but with empty pockets. Each man’s
wife, therefore, in derision and justifiable anger
termed her guilty scamp of a lord “ Vide Pouche,"
empty purse, which name has stuck not only
to the citizens, but to the town itself to this day.
Baton Rouge is, as is well known, a military
post. The barracks are two-storied brick edi
fices, enclosing a parade in the form of a penta
gon, four buildings and an open side on the
river completing the plan. The south wing of
the town is dignified by a tall white castellated
edifice, which is the State-House. It presents
quite an imposing appearance, seen from the
river. It is not many years, since both French
and English were spoken in debate! of the Leg
islature of Louisiana : but now, I believe, the
English is solely made use of.
I JAMES GARDNER, I
Proprietor. f
AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1860.
Wo had a pleasant sail, (if I may so designate
a steam progress,) up the river. The banks are
always attractive with cottages ani villas, until
we come to the bold cliffs twenty miles below
Natchez, when the aspect of the shore becomes
wild anil broken. I surveyed these romantic
heights with deep interest Aside from the
brilliant colors of the earth-strata, which varie
gate the precipitous sides and the tower-iike
pinnacles which give grandeur to them, they
have historic interest. Near them the ancient
and polished Natchez chiefs held their stately
court, of which Chateaubriand has written so
admiringly in his charming story of “Attila.”
This cliff, as part of his scene, is classic ground.
A gentleman of Natchez, who saw me gazing
with interest on the cliffs, was so kind as to
point out to me the ravine called “The Fawn’s
Leap.” I had heard the tradition, and, indeed,
had read a thrilling tale with this title in one of
the old annuals, written by the late John T.
Griffith, Esq., a planter of the vicinity, a man of
fine taste and elegant scholarship. In his daugh
ter, the talented Mrs. Rosa Vertner Johnston,
the poetess of Kentucky, all the father’s genius
is reproduced. And here let me commend the
exquisite volume of Mrs. Johnston’s poems to
her fair countrywomen of the South. The poet
ess is a lady of great personal beauty, refine
ment, as well as fortune, and illustrates in her
person the exquisite grace of her poems. Per
haps some of your readers would like to hear
the Legend of the Fawn’s Leap. As lam at
perfect liberty, in my tour, to cull flowers by the
way, and write about just what pleases my hu
mor, for the nonce, I will briefly sketch it. The
story is this: .
About the year 1728 the French had a garri
son at Fort Rosalie, where Natchez now stands.
The chief of the Natchez Indians, the most cul
tivated, warlike, graceful and intelligent of all
the American tribes, dwelt a few leagues dis
tant in his “ palace ” upon a lofty mound in the
heart of a magnolia forest. The young French
commander saw his daughter Lina and lost his
heart to her, and the lovely maid, to compensate
him, gave him her little brown heart in lieu. The
two kept each other’s hearts and each other’s se
crets. At length, the old chief with other
chiefs brought a conspiracy to head against the
French. A quiver of forty arrows was given
to each chief, when the conclave broke up, with
instructions that each night they were to draw
out an arrow, and when only one arrow re
mained, they were all to meet with their war
riors at a certain spring not far from the Fort,
and surprise it.
Now the best plots in the world have been
marred by the softer sex, getting wind thereof.
Lina had small shell-like ears that could listen
and hear as well and delicately as a young rabbit’s.
She overheard the conspiracy. She shook her
beautiful head with a very positive negative to
the whole sherae. She had no idea of having
her lover’s head cut off, even though by her
father’s battle-axe. So what does she do? She
does not betray her father and tribe by going to
inform the young French Captain of his inten
tions, and so get him into peril. She is wiser
than that. She watches her opportunity and by
night steals out, and silently as a fawn treads,
she- sought her father’s lodge and from the quiver
drew out a single arrow. The next night she
abstructed from another chiefs quiver two ar
rows, and so pursued her purpose, until none of
the arrows in the quivers of the six chiefs num
bered the same.
What was the result? Indian warriors are
not the best of arithmeticians beyond their ten
fingers. The issue was that one tribe came to
the rendezvous a week too soon, and finding
itself unsupported, retired in great wrath with
the head chief. In succession, others came to
go away in anger; and when the old king went
to the rendezvous and found none of his fellow
chiefs assembled, ho declared his wrath in no
gentle tones. The result was, the fort was
saved, but the six chiefs had well nigh gone to
war with each other.
By and by the old chief suspected the truth,
by comparing notes with tho others, and Lina
(the Fawn), on being arraigned, was found guil
ty. She had her choice given her, either to
marry a hideous dwarf who had taken it into
his head to love her, or leap from the cliff a
hundred feet into the seething flood beneath.
This cliff was the Tarpeian rock of the nation.
She chose the latter. There was half a mile to
run from the lodge to tho cliff. Permission was
sought by and granted to the Dwarf, that if he
could overtake her he should have her. This
permission from her father gave wings to her
feet. She flew like an arrow from the bow,
strings. The whole tribe pursued in wild excite
mont. The hobgoblin of a dwarf, being short of
leg and long of arm, abandoned the use of his
feet, and went over the ground hand over hand
in enormous summersaults, rolling like a wheel
with four spokes of unequal length. The sight
of him gaining upon her in this fashion gave new
velocity to her spead. But she felt that she
conld never reach the cliff, to escape him by
death! She could hear him pant like a blood
hound, with his tongue lolling out, as he came
on. She almost believed she felt his hot breath
on her neck. The cliff was some hundred yards
off 1 She knew she could never reach it! The
ehouts behind terrified her. To the right was a
broad chasm, twenty odd foet across and a hun
dred feet deep! Sho had np alternative! Death
would be certain at this cl*! With a wild cry
and a supernatural bound to escape his horrid
grasp, the beautiful fugitive sprang out into the
dizzy air! A savage growl escaped the lips of
the dwarf who, unable to check himselftumbled
headlong over, and gyrated headlong downward!
but a loud cry of surprise from Savages
hailed the safe alighting of the Indian princess
on the farther verge of the chasm! Scarcely
believing her own escape, she paused an instant
to look down at the rotary goblin as he descend
prone into the sheer abyss! Then bounding
away she was lost in the glades of the forest,
and in another hour, was safe in the strong hold
of Fort Rosalie clasped to her lover’s heart!
Now, is not this a nice little legend to pick
up en routet The place across which she
bounded is visible from the steamer, and I re
garded it with not a little interest. It goes still
by the name of “ The Fawn’s Leap,” but the
wearing away of the sides of the chasm has in
creased the span to full fifty yards! But wide
as it is, I have no doubt some of our modern
girls, pursued by a goblin Indian, might achieve
the feat, aeronautically—buPyed up by her crin
oline ! ,
And this reminds me-that some of the lovely
ladies who read this, may wish to know what
became of the lovers ? Fortunately, it is in my
power to gratify their feminine curiosity! The
old chief armed his four thousand warriors to
get possession of his daughter. The Fort was
taken, and two hundred and nine French sol
diers were massacred without mercy. But the
commander, finding all was lost, made his escape
to the river with the princess, and, after many
adventures, reached New Orleans, where they
were solemnly united in marriage by the Vicar-
General, and became the ancestors of some of
the best families in fair Louisiana.
We are now in sight of the ancient and opu
lent city of Natchez, and I see from my state
room Fort Rosalie itself, the'seene of the French
massacre, towering upon the cliff south of the
town. It is now a green glacis, with worn em
brasures, and is rapidly going to dissolution.
What a commanding site it would be for the
monument to be erected to the heroic Quitman!
It is but a third of a mile from the public square,
and from it a prospect unrivalled in extent and
beauty in the South, is to be obtained.
As we near the landing, the spires and roofs
of the city rise to the view over the verge of the
cliff, giving promise of a handsome city. The
aspect of the place is very noble, and the town
itself is one of the most charming anywhere to
be named.
I have just learned that an accident to our
cylinder will detain us here a few hours, and I
shall avail myself of the delay to visit a city so
famed for its wealth, beauty, aristocracy and in
telligence as Natchez. The Major and his
nephew, to whom I have taken a great liking,
will accompany me. Au revoir.
M 111
(For the Southern Field and Fireside.)
“US BETTES TO LAUGH THAN BE SIGHING.”
“ Tis better to laugh than be sighing to be
sure it is, but it is the hardest matter in the
world to make people believe it, you can’t con
vince them of it to save your fife, and I do de
clare that to look at the long sepulchral faces
one has to look at; and listen to the deeply
heaved sighs which are daily breathed around
you, is enough to give phQosophicar persons,
(like you and me, dear reader,)the horrors. Ask
them what is the mattert —hey answer with
another sigh that, “they have the blues, and
one ignorant of the moaning of the term, judg
ing from their pitiful tones, and wo-begone faces,
would conclude that some great calmity had
befallen them.
Oh! the folly of this eternal moping and sigh
ing. Away with it; no vain regrets, no imaginary
sorrows for me. I for one, intend to take life
easy, will smile instead of sigh, and laugh in
stead of weep. But methinks I hear a would-be
child of sorrow answer, (and in no very amiable
tone either,) that I had better wait until I have
had trouble. Wait, indeed; I wonder if I haven’t
had troubles, and no very small ones either,
but I did not see the use, as you do, Miss Moper,
of whining and pining over them. Suppose I
was weak enough to shed a few tears, fast at first;
why, in a moment I brushed them away, put on
a brave heart, and determined to smile even in
the very face of misfortune.
But goodness me! what a sigh! Oh, it is you,
Miss Faintheart; for pity’s sake tell me, what is
the matter —forsaken heartbroken —so you
have been trying to die for the last week, of a
broken heart ? I declare, it is almost a pity you
have not made it out; I am "ashamed of you,
weeping and sighing because your lover, (you
say) has forsaken you; for mercy sake’s, what
have you done with vour independence? Would
I be so silly! Why.'he is not worth a thought.
Away with his memory. Don’tyou know there
are as good fish in the sea, as ever were caught
out? Where is that little song you used to sing
with so much spirit?—“Tis better to laugh
than be sighing.”
Oh! you used to sing it to him; well, go now
and sing it to yourself, and keep singing it, till
you are convinced that there is truth and sense
in it And you Mr. Despondent, what are you
raving and tearing your hair about ? What has
happened now?—lost all, you say? every dollar
gone ? Well, you were a simpleton; to risk all
you had in speculation, but it is all oversow,
and it is no use to bo taking on so about it, if
you were to tear every hair out of your head; it
would not bring one cent of it back. What, do
I hear aright? Talking about cutting your
throat? Well—l declare you are a philosopher;
that would better your case, wouldn’t it ? A sight
better off you would be in—in—oh give me a
word!—the place of torment! —wouldn’t you ?
Why I am ashamed at you; such weakness is a
disgrace to your sex. Now take my advice, be
a man, quit your raving and vain repinings, and
go to work, remembering at the same time, that
smiles will restore your lost fortune quite as
soon as sights or tears. •* Tis better so laugh
than be sighing.’’
I wish people could believe it. Oh, lam so
tired of looking at their doleful faces, hearing
them sigh and declare they are so unhappy.
Resist the devils (whether “ blue or red), and
they will flee from you. Now, X believe that,
next to Satan, the Blue-devils are among man’s
greatest enemies, and, like him, if resisted, will
flee from you. So, when you perceive them
coming on, commence singing If a moderate
tone will not do, sing loud, even qt the top of
your voice. If that will not answer, get up, put
on your hat, and challenge the children for a
race. Run till you are so exhausted that you
will not have time to think of anything but re
covering your breath. Yes, do that—in fact,
do anything but sit tamely down Rnd allow
yourself to be tyrannized over by those most ex
ecrable of all tyrants— the Blues !
“Tisbetter to laugh than be sighing.” There*
is wisdom in the words. If trouble comes, why
meet it bravely! Why should you sigh ? why,
fret? why bo* unhappy? Will it render less
keen your sorrow ? Away with that clouded
brow, and those shadows about the heart!
Pluck up courage, and hope for a brighter day.
Nil desperandum } Harry Jot.
HUMBOLDT.
Now that the great man has passed away at
length, one wishes to see at least, the place
where Humboldt worked and thought, and so
yesterday I went down to the humble house on
the Oranin burger street, one of the moet ordinary
mansions in Berlin. The “faithful Seifert" met
us at the door, well known to Americans as the
mau who, for thirty-six years, has attended
Humboldt in all his travels, a rugged German
man, nearly seventy himself, I judged, w’ • wel
comed us very hospitably. As is wr x,
this man has inherited all of Humbold -ry
and instrumedts, and the valuable collecwon of
art treasures and medals whiah the great philo
sopher left behind him. These all Seifert offers
for sale; at a great price, I must confess, but
still at a price which would place the valuable
collection within the reach of any one of our
American States, several ofour cities, and a few
of our Colleges. It has been lately proposed to
catalogue the whole, and expose them at private
sale, but Seifert’s attachment to his master is of
so true a nature, that he has not been able to
consent, as he told me yesterday, with tears in
his eyes, that they should be scattered far and
wide; he would have them all go together, an
unbroken, undivided, Humboldt Collection. So
he still proposes to sell all that Humboldt left,
for seventy-five thousand American dollars.
The collection would not bring nearly that
amount, not the third of it, sold on its own
merits alone, but the name of Humboldt give*
it a value whicn, perhaps, is not overestimated
at Mr. Seifert’s appraisal. I will only Say, in
this connection, that Homboldt’s faithful attend
ant wishes the collection to pass fhto the hands
of Americans, and he pressed me to state his
solicitude in one of my letters for the Press.
There was no nation of which the great Hum
boldt thought so highly as of America, and no
American was ever denied to his Excellency till
the latest years of a life, protracted to a few
months short of ninety years. Seifert told me
that over two thousand Americans are on record,
as having called on Alexander Yon Humboldt.
The house itself is, as 1 remarked, of the
simplest and most unpretending exterior; and
interiorly, it preserves the same simplicity. My
four rooms, for which I pay twenty dollars rent
a month, are sumptuous, compared with apart
ments so long occupied by this lord of science
and thought. Passing through a plain door,
with rusty brass knobs, we came into a small
room, very much filled with of nat
ural history, and having the air of much confu
sion. A huge stuffed owl stood close by the
window, and watched over a large and miscel
laneous assortment of such matters as Humboldt
had collected during his travels. On one side
hung a very old map of Rome, on another, Hil
debrandt’s well-known litograph of Humboldt
in his library. The next room was the library
•proper, a large, well-proportioned room, mostly
filled with books. There was a picture of Hum
boldt’s brother William, who died in the very
prime of his life, a man in no way inferior to the
I Two Dollar* For Annum, (
I Always In Aiwue*. 1
late Baron, though not a man of such remark
able beauty. There was a view of Humboldt,
taken by Hildebrandt, from behind, in which it
was possible to trace something of Humboldt,
despite the entire absence of face. The books
of the library are very miscellaneous; there are
some very rare works; some expensive books of
plates; but the books are generally of a miscel
laneous character, and indicate the wide range
of the Baron’s studies. 1 noticed that English
and American literature is well represented
there. In all, the number of volumes is not far
from twenty-four thousand, as Seifert told me,
and the chief value which they would have, is,
that they are largely annotated by the great pos
sessor. As Coleridgde's books were all more
valuable, because of what be wrote in their mar
gin, than for what their authors wrote in the
body of the work, so Humboldt’s library assumes
its real value in consequence of what he wrote
as comment, as he read.
The next room is mainly devoted to pictures
of art Not a large collection; many things not
especially valuable, except from their connection
with their possessor. I noticed the best picture
of Humboldt ever taken, by the distinguished
Schrader, and a portrait by Schrader, too, of
Seifert's beautiful daughter, who came in to
greet us, and to talk of Humboldt, —the familiar
steel engraving of ou{ Washington, standing by
a large stone column, half of my readers have
seen tlie some; a steel engraving of Louis Phil
ippe, and the present king and queen of Prus
sia. There was one plain armchair in this room,
in which Humboldt always sat to take his cof
fee. I have heard that Humboldt never sat in
an armchair: he did not often, bnt he tolerated
one on his premises.
The next room was small, and contained
whole works of art, but was not much used by
Humboldt, apparently. In it was a cast of Hum
boldt's face after death, but I did not look at it,
preferring to carry in my memory rather that
lifelike picture by Schrader, which adorns the
walls of his breakfast-room. Mr. Seifert then
invited us into the study. It was just such a
room as Hildebrandt has represented it, just as
plain as I had fancied, but smaller. Indeed, it
would be called a very small room with us, and
a rather dark, disagreeable room. It was away
from the street; it was dark; it seemed gloomy.
Yet here was where Humboldt worked and
thought. There I seemed to be in his work
shop. There stood that plain nine table, on
which he wrote Cosmos, the drawers yet filled
with the memoranda for that gibat monument of
his lenniijg and strength. Not hn armchair
was iu that room; one little picture from one
with a uame unknown to me; a few books, a
few instruments, and this was all. There was
an oilelo.h carpet on the floor of this room ; no
other room had any carpet.
On the table whereou Cosmos was written, Seifert
spread out the hundred and more medals which
Humboldt had received in token of his attain
ments. After his death they were found in
some obscure place where Humboldt had thrust
them; for it was not such things that Humboldt
prized. They are valued at over two thou, and
dollars, and will be given to the purchaser 01 :he
collection.
Then we went into the little sleeping-room,
which, in May of this year, witnessed Hum
boldt’s death. It was furnished with a simpli
city approaching almost to baldness ; it was
more simple in its arrangements than the dormi
tory of a second-class American Academy,
The bed had been removed; everything else
remained. Here Humboldt spent the hours from
three tiUseven; only four hours of sleep he al
lowed himself.
It was sad, it was solemn to go over these
vacant apartments. Here was Seifert, hardly
refraining from weeping as he talked of his mas
ter ; hero was Seifert’s beautiful daughter, whom
Humboldt held when she was baptized,—but
the great spirit of the place was gone. It seem
ed aimost like sacrilege to be walking so freely
about those rooms, to be looking into Alexander
Von Humboldt’s drawers; to enter his sleeping
room ; and to sit in the fchair where he took his
coffee. It was one of the sAddest, and, at the
same time oue of the grandest hours of my life.
To be standing in the footsteps of so great a man,
and to be looking out upon the world where be
looked out upon it, and to mark how independ
ent real greatness is of all the adjuncts of pomp
or circumstance, was a good lesson to the soul.
Berlin, December 7th, 1859.— [Bouton Congre
gatkmalist.
A Valuable Diamond. —A letter from Paris
says: “By the arrival of the Bombay mail came
hither a Mr. Amunn, having for sale a consider
able parcel of diamonds, some of them quite ex
traordinary for size and importance. He bas dis
posed of few, the prices ranging from £IOOO to
£15,000. An uncut brilliant, of unusual mag
nitude, he has refused to part with for seven
million francs, and stands out for £32o,ooo,which
if he can’t get in Paris, he carries the gem to
Amsterdam or St Petersburg. The ‘diggings’
in Lucknow, and some other favorite hidden lo
calities, during the mutiny were not unpro
ductive.”
NO. 37.