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Southern Field and Fireside.
( YOL. 1.
}
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
THE SWEET SPRING TIME.
Old Winter hath fled on the wings of the Past.
And sweet smiling Spring Is returning at last!
And Nature no longer looks gloomy and sad—
The woodland and mountain and valley are glad! .
The trees from their branches the sombre leaves shake,
And sweetly the little birds sing in the brake.
The meadows look gay in their new dress of green.
And flowers in colors of beauty are seen.
“ ltejoice, rejoice!” is heard from the hills,
And merrily murmured in brooklet and rills;
O! light is my heart while a welcome I sing,
To the love-tide of Nature—the beautiful Spring!
Augusta, Ga. Florence.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
ARROWS
FROM A TOURIST’S QUIVER;
08,
Scenes and Incidents of a Tour
From New Orleans to Neva- Yorlt.
*
nv ONE or THE PARTY.
ARROW XII.
Nashville the "Athens of the West”—Lexington dis
putes the claim—site of Nashville—the magnificent
capitol—a word about “ the modus of transitu,” from
Chattanooga to Nashville—use of the "qualifying ad
verb” gentlemanly pleasantly commented —the term
sanctum as used by Editors also commented, not so
pleasantly—Editors musn't use it so any more—a little
jiiety and Latin would prevent it—but what editors
have even that little?—Mr. Poyns hopes that editors
will stop this bad practice—Lookout Mountain—high
tressle thereabouts—“Kail-road” vs. “rail-way”—
Tim vs. Poyns—Queen Victoria on Slavery—what the
Major thinks of " deacon’s daughters,” and why—Mr.
Poyns spnimUraa r.n »ho a merlcnn habit of “haoiting”
- Put the boys and girls of these wmi-»uuO. must not
be despised—they may get into the “ White Uoase ”
one of these days—some poetry of the Widow and the
Major—Virginia-rall-fences offend Mr. Poyns’ (psthotic
sensibilities—who indulges in a classical allusion a
proposot Bowanee Mountain—about there the scenery
is “ savage ” and “ desolate,” but becomes “ delightful”
and “cultivated.” over a “ beautiful champagne coun
try,” ns Nashville is approached—Nashville famed for
its hospitality—“ notn eerrons," says Mr. Poyns.
Nashville, Tean., Dec. 10,1859.
We are now in this refined city, which, with
Lexington, Kentucky, contends for the palm as
the Athens of the West, not only for letters and
arts and refinement, but for beauty of location,
wealth, and .-esthetics generally. Its situation
is singularly commanding upon a rocky bill in
the midst of an undulating plain, with a remote
horizon. On one side this rock hangs in a sheer
precipice two hundred feet high over the olive
tinted waters of the beautiful Cumberland which
passes the city beneath two noble bridges, one
suspended in tho air, the other a railroad via
duct.
The Acropolis of this “ Athens ” crowns the
apex of the marble mountain of the city in the
form of a magnificent capitol, white and shining
in the sun like the Temple of Solomon at Jeru
salem, and costing nearly as much. It is a
majestic and eloquent edifice, truly imperial in
dimensions and graceful in outline, and, elevated
above tho city,yet springing from its very heart,
stands a “diadem of beauty,” the glory of its
citizons and the pride of the State. From its
grand porticos of white marble, north, south,
east, and west a wide and noble expanse of
country is visible, varied with villas, groves,
gardens, pleasant fields, and pastures, and ma
jestic forest groupings, tho fair Cumberland
winding grandly amid all; while around about
tho base lies reposing, as classic Athens of old,
under tho shadow of Mars’ Ilill, the beautiful
city itself which wears this architectural gem
on her brow.
And a fair metropolis it is, as pleasing to the
coup d’ooil of tho stranger contemplating it from
the lofty elovation of Capitol Hill, as romantic in
its position and features.
But it will hardly be en regie for me to make
a stride from the iron-ribbed city of Chattanoo
ga to Nashville without a word of the modus of
transitu and of the incidents enjroute.
Duly seated in the cars, with forty-two other
way-from-homers, we left Chattanooga for Nash
ville, some ten or more hours’ ride, as I was in
formed by that “gentlemanly conductor,” whom
free-passed Editors have immortalized, so that
henceforth and forever these useful officers (who,
I believe, hold the same relation to a passengor
train that captains do to first class packet-ships)
can never be civilly spoken of without tho qual
ifying adverb. Also, the same nomenclature is
. applied to the very clever clerks of steamboats:
“We are indebted to the gentlemanly clerk of
the Excelsior for city papers in anticipation of
(no offence to the P. M. 6.) the mails.”
We wish all these gentlemanly conductors
and clerks deserved the distinctive appellation,
or would try to do so. How different are cap
tains of ships spoken of by the grateful Editors,
whose castors are courteously whitened with
those mysterious hieroglyphics which, like the
“ Open Sesame” in the story, passes them from
Beersheba to Dan, and back again from Dab to
Beersheba, as if they rode the magic horse
which, by turning a screw in his bead or tail,
(we forget which, as our nursery tales are less
I JANES GARDNER, I
1 Proprietor. (
AUGUSTA. GA., SATURDAY, MARCH 24, 18(50.
fresh in otir memories than when we were be
lieving boys,) would take them in a whisk from
the dark mountains of Arabia to thp sun-lit
| peaks of India.
But about “the Captains!” “We would re
commend the steamer Gen. Isaac James Blowup,
Jr., to the patronage of the public, with her
noble and popular captain Tom, and gentleman
ly clerk, Mr. Jim” ; or, “We had the pleasure
of seeing the popular captain of the Anti-Blowup,
in our office yesterday, looking as fresh as a new
pin. A noble fellow is he, and we commend
| his popular boat to the public.”
But if it is a sea-captain of a steamship, tho
| phrase changes, and becomes ‘the gallant,’
j ’ the daring,’ * the skillful’ captain, Ben Brace,
the most splendid fellow that ever walked a
; quarter deck!’ Well, we suppose custom is
i the maker of tho laws, and that these things
| fix themselves by a legitimate process. Even
| Editors (those terrors of all evil doers and of
young authors) have their prefix adjectively,
which is stereotyped. “The intelligent and
' clever Editor of the Bungtoion Spitfire, honored
i Our sanctum with a visit this morning, looking
web and hearty. Our merchants would find his
paper a valuable medium for country advertise
ments.” Also, “Wo are glad to see the clever
and talented Editor, Colonel Revolver, of the
Ramrod, published in Derringer county, in our
streets. We in»;te the clever Colonel to our
sanctum before he takes the cars home.”
And here let me say ono word about the very
objectionable use made by country editors of
| the word “ sanctum.” All' intelligent persons,
, who know anything of the Bible, know that it
> is a part of the appellation to that sacred por
| tion of the Sanctuary of the Temple of Jerusa
. iem called Holy of Holies. The words are to
> be found in the ancient Latin translations of the
; Scriptures,and at first were impiously introduced
t by such editors as Tom Paine; but have been
’ made use of since, through thoughtlessness or
; ignorance of their solemn and Divine significa
tion. I have, I regret tc say, seen the* phrase
• made use of by religiout newspapers, who ought
’ to know better. Into the Sanctum Sanctorum
; of the Temple no human being was allowed to
enter save the High Priest, and he only once a
year, and then not without sprinkling his way
with the blood of many sacrifices, for Jehovah,
in the glory of the visible Shechinah, dwelt
there, the Oracle of the llouso of Israel. This
fact is enough to show the bad taste, to say the
least, of editors who give to their offices the
consecrated appellation which belongs only to
the dwelling place of God himself, in the midst
of His Temple.
We left Chattanooga on a bright day, tho sun
lighting up the valley of tho Tennessee, and
fringing with gold the wooded outline of “Look
out,” whoso brow-like front lifted itself a thou
sand feet above tbe river into tho transparent
azure skies. We flow along for a few miles
until we came directly beneath its shaggy poll,
and were received into tho embrace of his forest
roughened arms. The vicinage was fearful, for
closer and closer he clasped us to his rocky
hearj, and our train boro us along at a dizzy
height across bis fir-clad breast, as a train of
ants migbt wind along across the corslet of a
giant seated upon a rock.
The spectacle, looking above, was sublime
and awful, and the sheer descent into the river
below appalled tbe eye. Not only is the scene
ry the grandest and wildest ever penetrated by
a railway, but it is proportionablv perilous; not
only owing to the unnecessary speed ‘ behind
time ’ often calls for, but the fearfully high tres
sle, (pronounced by railroad men tritssk) work
which, at intervals, the cars have to cross. The
great caution, however, exercised has hitherto
prevented any serious accident; but when ono
does take place by one of these frail-looking
structures (yet, doubtless, strong enough, or tho
company would not suffer even a cattle-train to
cross them) it will long remain on record as a
“ Fearful and appalling calamity,” among tbe
railway accidents of the day.
[While I am writing, Tim, my friend and com
pagnon de voyage glanced over my shoulder, (he
has not yet quite reached that degree of refine
ment, though civilizing fast, which holds sacred
from the eyes of intruders what a person is wri
ting) and said:
“ Why, Poyns, what do you call it railway
for ? Don’t you mean railroad ?”
“ Yes, Tim; but railway is the proper term
and I believe the chartered word; at least the
word 1 railroad ’is not known in England! It’s
all railway there; and I dare say’l got the word
from the English.”
“ Say rail-roars, Poyns, as you are an Ameri
can. Confound the English 1 Didn’t they go to
war with us twice and come to take Orleans !
Ain’t they all abolitionists, from Queen Yic down,
and don’t they give the money to the Jack
Brownsites?”
“ Not all abolitionists. Not tbe Queen, Tim,”
I answered.
“ Prove it,” cried Tim, pushing his long fing
ers through bis long, whity hair, “ Prove it,
Poyns.”
“ I will try to do so. When a few years ago,
a certain very sensible, but very fanatical lady
wrote Uncle Tom and went to England to ride
on the chariot of its fame, she desired to be pre
sen ted to the Queen. Her admirer and patron,
ilie haughty Duchess of Sutherland, who holds
in bondage more serfs (white ones at that) than
any planter (not excepting the late Prince of
Planters Col. Bond) ever worked, made applica
tion to the court-lord of presentations, but tbe
Queen refused to receive her ;* and the reason of .
her refusal, given by our Minister to a friend of
mine, was because Her Majesty, aware of the
feeling tbe Southern States, the source of the
support of her cotton manufacturing subjects,
had against her on account of her book, declined
by such public reception, to seem to endure her
book!”
“Hurrah for Queen Yic! If I goto England
I will call on her,” shouted Tim, with a degree of
enthusiasm unusual to him.
“ When, however, a few weeks afterwards, a
Southern lady, Madame Le Vert, who chanced
to be in London, expressed a desire to lie pre
sented to Her Majesty, the Queen graciously con
descended to give her an informal reception,
which was a distinguished honor; as no Eng
lishwoman would dare to hope for presentation
except on one of the royal court Levees.'’
“I regard this,” said the Major, who coiqp in
a few minutes before, “as a marked rebuke of
abolitionism on the part of tho Queen. A sen
sible woman—a right sensible woman, and she
knows liow to keep her husband and household
in order. Prince Alfred js none of your fast
young men; as for the two princesses, I hear ‘
they are just as quiet and modest as, as, as, as
V
Here the Major was at a loss for a suitable
simile, when Tim suggested:
“As a Deacon’s daughter, Uncle 1”
“ The wildest devils in the world, boy—incar
nations of mischief! When I was a green
youth I , but no matter, Tim, I know what
they are!” added tL® with a gravo aspect
whioL gaiu® sad experiences could only have
stamped upon bis genial visage.
But “to our muttons,” as the French say,
and “ where was I?” as the Americans say. In
the cars, rolling along among the spurs of the
Cumberland mountains. For miles wo contin
ued in the romantic regions of tbe Tennessee
river and its surroundings, passed deep gorges,
in which man had planted his solitary cabin,
and tall hills, on the side of which lie clung with
hit log-house like n wood-pecker to the bark of a
tree. In some of the wild vallies we traversed,
especially w here coal was to lie found, wo passed
large villages of mountain dwellers, who had
buried themselves in these solitudes I Where
will not man habit? The deserts of Arabia
are not too desolate for him, nor the wilds of
| America too gloomy and solitary 1 There is no
mountain cliff beyond tho reach of his door
stop, and no glen so deep at its foot that the
smoke of his rude chimney does not ascend
from it to mingle with the clouds I For forty
miles of wild and savage mountainous country,
we were continually surprised by habitations ;
groups of children;' cn their way to school in
rocky vallies, tossed their caps and books in the
air to us as we flew past above their heads like
gods of another wodd, as, perhaps, we were 1
for no two planets «an differ more in population
than the educated elasses of cities which trains
of cars bear along do from the wild dwellers
among the hills. But by and by all that will be
changed, la! Some one of the white-beaded
urchins who tossed their dog-eared spelling
books up in glee as we thundered past, may yet
dwell in the White House, (if the great Yankee
family of Browns will not do us all brown and
burn their dwn fingers in the operation,) and
the rosy-cheeked mountain girl in linsey wool
sey, who modestly turns away her eyes from
the gaze of the passengers, may yet preside at
Washington as the wife of a future President.
Clay was a white-headed boy in the slashes, and
Webster a black-keaded urchin among the gran
ite hills of New Hampshire; and Jackson a yel
low-haired, lanklimbed stripling among the
piney-woods of the Waxhaw. In this country
it is a safe and sensible maxim “to despise no
one;” for the whoel of fortune is ever turning
he who is underneath, and head down to-day
may be on the lop and head-up to-morrow. It
is unsafe in the South (more than in tho North)
to judge a people by tho place they live in,
their looks, their dress, and even by their lan- ;
guage.
“Many a gem of purest my serene
The dark, unfathomod caves of Ocean bear;
And many a flower is bom to blush unseen.
To waste Its fragrance on the desert air.”
And manv a boy who Senates' ear shall hold,
Saw first the light in some wild eabln home;
And he whose namo shall be by Fame enroll’d,
First letters learned beneath some forests’ dome.
Lest you should charge me with poetry, I
freely confess that the last four lines were com
posed at his own suggestion, to carry out my
idea, by the Major, after a night’s labor, polished
afterwards by the kindness of the widow, to
whom he referred them. Although I bear no
malice towards my remote relative, the Major,
yet to do credit to the fair widow, I give tho orig
inal lines, as written by the Major, after seven
hours’ work, and a quire of cap-paper:
* If this be an error (onr Information wc believe to be
authentic) we arc open to correetioi. A.Y.
*• An<l many a urchin who Senators’ cars shall fix,
Beheld the sun In some log-cabin dire;
And the lone boy whose lame shall on Fame's height
be fist.
His A. B. C. learned where blazed the Indian’s fire."
Here the widow and the Major are at issue.
We leave the reader to judge which shall bear
■ off the palm. Without doubt there is an unc
tious originating about the four verses of my
remote relative which will be far more admired
than tho more polished improvements of the
widow. We cannot deny tho fact that the Ma
jor, with all liis amatory prestiges, shook his
head many times with dubious negatives ere he
accepted the emendations. Perhaps if Mr.
Longfellow, or Dr. Simms, the leading poets of
the South and North, should see the verses,they
might improve them still, though ladies ought
to go Scott free in poetry (not in politics) if they
don't use bad grammar, and give us lords of tho
creation all tho glory of even tho
honor of appreciating their beauty, worth, amia
bility, and goodness, and general angelic super
iority over the bearded Parthians whom they
(under tho Rose) prefers to love, honor, and
(obey.)
At Stevenson, tho great central elbow. Mem- (
phis, Charleston, and Nashville-ward,we took in
more passengers, left an interesting Californian
family going west, and dashed on through a very
wild and barren and desolate country. Os all !
miserable scenes on earth, it is a newly plough- i
ed field, studded with stumps and enclosed by j
a Virginia rail-fence. For inventing such a fence
and transmitting to her posterity in the States i
settled by her, without the fear of
“ Governor Wise
Before my eyes,”
I bring accurations against the Mother
of Presidents. If ever there was an excres
cence on a beautiful landscape invented by
Sathauas, it is a Vir: Ra: Fence. The garden
of Kdan nnotoMH by one would have had no ut- ,
tractions for me. llow a 11 gentlnuma ” who |
has raised cotton enough to have a piano in his ,
parlor can have a rail-feneo in front of his bouse, ,
or along the approach to it, I cannot compre
hend. I had as lieve have a frame of pine-knots
about the portrait of my father or mother, or of
Washington. A plantation without hedges and
enclosed by sea-saw fences is like a bald fellow
who covers liis poll with hogs’ bristles and uses
“ Mrs. Allen ” to make them curl.
After leaving Stevenson (a Grocery-villo in*
a desolate region in honor of V. J£. Stevenson
the great R. R. President, by whose energy the,
road was achieved) we gradually emerged into
a more civilized country. We passed en route,
underneath the recently famous Sewaneo Moun
tain through a tunnel as dark as Erebus and
dreadful as the regions of Pluto. After we
emerged from the Tartarian regions of Rhada
mantluiß, we passed through savage scenery
which was broken only by the debouchure of a
railroad which, leaving our track.went winding
up the mountain towards the coal regions on
the summit of Sewanee. The whole country
about here is desolate and uncultivated, and for
many a mile we scarcely saw any signs of civil
ization except the stations and depots, at which
we were detained for a moment.
At length, after many leagues, we entered a
cultivated and beautiful champagne country,
and aftercighty miles of delightful scenery, man
ifesting a high degree of agricultural wealth, we
came near Nashville. The suburbs for three
leagues beyond the city was cultivated, relieved
by villas and handsome farms and all the indi*
cations of the vicinage of a city of refinement
and opulence. Entering the city underneath
streets, subtra-tunneled. we got out at the de
pot where omnibuses (not a hack to be found)
conveyed us to the City Hotel, which we wore
informed was the best (among tho worst) of the
hotels in this elegant city. But the reason of
the poor hotels here “is owing,” says the Ma
jor, “to the hospitality of tho citizens, who won't
let genteel people lodge anywhere but in their
own aristocratic mansions, opening to ‘the
town’ to all comers who come properly intro
duced by letters of introduction." I shall be
able to prove this, as I have “good letters” and
shall remain a few days in the “ Athens of
West.” -4« raw.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
DO OUR EARTHLY LOVES SURVIVE THE
GRAVEI
My Dear —: Toil ask, “ But do you be
lieve indeed, that in the life beyond, old earthly
loves will have power over the soul ? That
death will have no power to unloose tho ties that
have been spun around our mortal hearts ? I ;
know it is a beautiful belief, but I have hesitated
to admit its probability.”
Do I believe this? Yea, verily! For what
is this divine passion, love ? Is it of the earth,
earthy? Does it belong to these perishable
hearts of ours that when they cease throbbing
presently turn to dust ?No 1 It is a faculty of
the immortal being, it is a part (and a diviner
part, too,) of the soul; it is the one faculty by
which we more especially claim kindred with
our Eternal Father, for He is Love ! Our mere
ly earthly instincts may perish with the body
for whose use they were given, but all the spir
itual attributes of our souls, as love, faith, wor
j Two Dollar* Per Annum, I
| Always In Advance. |
'ship, aspiration, arc above and beyond tho reach
of death. His dart lias no barb to wound them;
they are portions of the diviner being, and go
with the life beyond. Only by destroying the
soul can these be slain.
For what has our Heavenly Father given us
these powers and faculties ? And why has He
surrounded us with objects calculated to call
them into exercise ?—and particularly this pas
sion of love? Is it reasonable to suppose that
the beneficent Being, who iu the creation of im
mortal intelligences, could have no object in
in view but the happiness of His creatures,
would endow them with faculties calculated to
bestow upon them the V. r i"’site pleasure,
and then deny them the mo—. atitication :
or limit them to the insignificantly short space
of this life ? Why has He so constituted us ?
Why instituted the dear relationship of husband
and wife, parent and child, brother and sister
and friend ? Shall not thdse dear tieß go with
the soul into the. "better land”? Shall the
mother there forget her child, or love it no more ?
What mother's heart will for a moment believe
it?
! As our merely earthly instincts, those in
• stincts calculated todevelope and preserve the
mortal part of our nature, if unperverted, infalli
bly lead us to the true means necessary to ac
complish that end, am! are intimations, afflrma
i tions of the existence of those means: so the
| Sentiments, the instincts of our diviner being, if
left to their normal operations, if unperrerted
by education, or other distorting influence, in
fallibly lead to the true means to attain the ob
ject for which they were gitren: that is, the
happiness of the soul, and are. intimations, af
firmations of the existence of thos», means
which they continually crave. Next to tfce
longing for immortality, what desire is so univer
sal as this one, that wo shall ui*** m the other
woriSt'Witlr,Ue near mm we l*ave loved and lost
iu this ? Is not this desire, one of the
great reasons why \n loig for immortality ?
Who would care muoh to live on forever, if
eternity were to be unblest with the love of
kindred uud friends? Be assured that what
ever else may perish, Love shall never die.
There, in that Better Land, the bonds for a mo
ment severed by death shall again* be united-
There, husband and wife, parent and child,
brother and sister, and friend with friend, shall
still love on.
But it may be said that “ Love to God” shall
be “all in all”; shall •swallow up and usurp the
place of every other love. Not so! Love to
Clod requires uo such sacrifice. If love were
limited—if it were confined in quantity—then
it might be that duty and gratitude might re
quire that we should waste none on inferior ob
jects. But love is boundless ; it is not confined
in bulk; it is inexhaustible ; it is of that fine
quality that it increases by being spent—the
more we love the greater becomes our capacity to
love. Neither does lovedwindlo by the increase
of the objects on which it is lavished; it may
begin with one object, spread out to two, and
grow and grow until it embraces the whole uni
verso of intelligent beings, yet it is not spent,
neither has the first object that onco monopo
lized it suffered any loss by the diffusion—it is
still as dearly loved as when it was the sole ob
ject of affection. For example: Here are two
beings, husband and wife, and they love each
other well and truly. Soon a little child comes
to their fireside, and their hearts boat with new
rapture —they love it, ah! how dearly 1 But
the old love is not destroyed—loses no particle
of Us fullness ; nay, is rather tho stronger for
this new tie. By and bye comes another little
child, and it is loved na dearly as tho first, yet
the first is stUl loved no less than before this
new object came; and so another, and another,
and another, each equally dear, each as much
beloved as the one wheu there was but one.
Agam: Love to God cannot require the sac
rifice of the love of kindred and friends, be
cause they are not antagonistic. They are de
grees, or rather differences, in Love. The love
of God, of husband and wife, parent and child,
brother and sister, and friend, can 00-exist in the
soul, for they are each different in kind, and eacb
is inexhaustible in its degree ; so that no matter
how much we love our earthly kindred and
friends, we do not rob God of the love that is
His right. It is possible to love God supremely,
and yet love the other objects of our affection
none the less. Be sure that as through our mor
tal loves we have the brightest foretaste of
Heaven that we can here enjoy, so those loves
shall accompany tho soul into the beatific state.
You say: “Itis a beautiful belief.” So it is;
and is beautiful because it is true. All those
objects, desires, hopes, and beliefs which, to the
unperverted soul appear beautiful, may be safely
assumed as true. God speaks to the soul through
these, and gives it some intimation, foreshadow
ing of that “joy, unspeakable and full of glory,”
that awaits in the bright Hereafter.
E. Y.
t —-1 ■ ■ — lll
It is stated that the late Mr. Hallam and his
useful follower, Mr. Rowland, are to be succeed
ed by Lord Brougham, who, at eighty-one years
of age, is preparing a History of the British
Constitution.
f
NO. 44. i l