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Southern Field and Fireside.
I JAMES GARDNER, 1
1 Proprietor. |
VOL. 1.
[For the Southern Field end Fireside.]
A MEMORY.
With fancy's eye again I see the sjiot where last we
met,
Thy fairy form, thy youthful face, and sparkling eyes
of jet;
Again I hear thy losing voice and feel thy kind em
bra^fc,*
And from this heart thine image dear, time never ran
efface.
Our rambles through the shaded glen do I remember
well,
The haunted glen, so stories said, where restless ghosts
did dwell; *
And hieing home at close of day, our hearts from sor
row free,
In mirthful songs our voices joined in simple mel
ody.
But all those happy days are past! Those joys for
ever fled!
On the green mossy slope I ne'er again shall lean my
t head;
These eyes shall never more behold the modest flow'rs
that there
Beside our woodland i>ath diffused their fragrance on
the air.
But I'll not mourn those pleasures past as one whose
hopes are riven.
For riper years have brought new joys—joys that de
scend from Heaven;
And when 1 bend the suppliant knee before the Throne
dt Grace,
I pray, dear friend, that we may meet in Heaven, our
resting-place.
North Carolina. Viola.
i #i > -4^— —■ " -
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
FROM^^TOMI^TwnVER;
OR,
Scenes and Incidents of a Tour
From New Orleans to New York.
BY ONE or THE PASTY,
ARROW XV.
Louisville, Ky., Dec. 17, 1859.
This city has long held a distinguished com
mercial rank, and has been built up to its present
stately proportions by its large and successful
compiereo. Situated geographically in a com
manding position on the south shore of the
Ohio, it has long been the rival of Cincinnati on
ovftS hand and of St. Louis on the other.
Older than the former, at one period it prom
ised to become the greatest metropolis of the
two; but Cincinnati had the superiority of hold
ing the key to the Lakes and a country to be
developed of unparalleled agricultural opulence;
while Germany took a fancy to make it her
American Frankfort by directing thither the
great Teutonic wave of her emigration. Louis
ville is indebted only to the legitimate results of
her trade »nd agriculture for her prosperity;
and though surpassed in magnitude by her two
rivals above named, is “ a city of no mean dig
nity," and stands upon as sound a mercantile
basis as any City in the Union. Steadily and
safely she has achieved her greatness, and -her
reputation is as stable as her success is meri
ted.
Her citizens are chiefly from the older Slave
States, Virginia being nobly represented in her
best society. I am constantly reminded of
Baltimore and Richmond as Itraverse the streets,
not from any actual resemblance iu scenery,but
from a similarity of aspect and manners. The
people are Southern in feeling intensely so, albe
it the free soil of Indiana bounds the northern
horizon of the opposite shore. But as extremes
usually meet, the Kentuckians are likely to hold
more firmly to their hereditary institutions in
such a proximity; as the portion of the camp
nearest the foe is ever the most strickly watched
and warded, and the sentinels the best armed
and most sleepless.
The wheels of business roar hero from early
morning with that grand anthem of commerce
so dear to the merchant’s ear. A mercantile
activity pervades all the thoroughfares, while
' the quay is lined with the great steamers that
ply to New Orleans on one side. Pittsburg on
the other. It presents a scene of constantly
varying interest to the eye of the spectator.
While we were looking,a leviathan, belching out
clouds of black smoke from her tall chimnies,
took her departure; laden to the guards with
produce, cattle, ploughs, carriages, and all arti
cles of merchandise of northern manufacture
destined for the markets of the South; while
groups of passengers crowded the decks!
I like the Kentuckians I meet here very much.
Kentucky, you must know, is “Virginia’s Wes
tern daughter,” and all the best elements of
the old Virginia character are re-produced in
this “ Virginia of the West."
The Kentuckian is “ Young Virginia, ’ with
all the modern improvements. He shows this
in his appearance, his manly pride, his fine
looks, and his ardent love of the Old Dorainiou.
One can only understand the Kentuckian by
recollecting his origin. Thus regarded, the dif
ference between him and his southern neighbor
• the Tennesseean is at once perceived. Tennes
AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, APRIL 28, 1860.
seeans and Kentuckians are often classed to
gether in common parlance, when no two people
are more diverse. Tennessee is the western
daughter of N. Carolina! Now all travelers know
that no States m the Confederacy differ so wide
ly in the character, habits, looks, and associations
of the people as Virginia and North Carolina.
The citizens of the one, by an ordinary observer,
would never be mistaken for those of the other!
The Tenneseean is the North Carolinian western
ized ! The Tennesseean’s attachment for the '“Old
North Estate”, if possible, exceeds that of the
full-blooded Kentuckian for the “ Old Dominion.”
1 The North Carolines have a large Gaelic element,
and the State partakes of the shrewd, plain,
practical intelligence of its aucient Scotch set
tlers, and this feature characterizes their de
scendants and colonists, the Tennesseeans, —
while Virginia was colonized by English cava
liers and is purely an English country; and the
Kentuckian is the modern English cavalier,
with a good deal of Johu Bull in the sturdy
manliness of his character. Hence, no two States
are more unlike than Kentucky and Tennessee
in population, tastes, manners and customs, and
aspects of the people. The Kentuckian is a tall
biit fleshy man,and remarkably well-made, while
the Tennesseean is equally tall, but thin and
. spare. Both people are equally brave in battle;
and the Tennesseean Scotch blood once 'ipon the
field, no foe can stand before his rifle!
Kentucky is full of fine looking men, especi
i ally in the agricultural districts; and the women
of Kentucky are among the most beautiful in
■ the world, and distinguished for their superior
height and graceful carriage.
The Major commented upon this as we prom
enaded the streets, in which, as it was an unu
sually brilliant day, we met a large number out
shopping. We also saw several very elegant
and well got-up equipages. Farther south we
had seen sixteen hundred dollar carriages, driv
en by a negro with a torn hat, and hole in. his
jacket, and looking as if he had just been caught
with a lasso out of the cotton field and placed
on the box for the nonce. But here we observ
ed the nice “appointment” which marks the
Virginian in his “ turn-out.” The incongruity
of a ragged driver to a costly carriage is one
deserving rebuke: but in some of the cotton
States the ladies think a fine carriage compen
sates for a ragamuffin of a coachman! Livery
ought to be worn by all drivers and footmen
when on duty. Some may call this aristocracy.
I call it simply propriety and good taste.
This is the city which the genius of Amelia
and the wit of Prentice have rendered celebrated
in the eyes of all who read. The graceful and
talented Poetess lives no longer on earth, save
in the sweet memories of the thousand conge
nial hearts where she has been enshrined,
through thepporerw r er of her genius, over human
sympathies. What marble so imperishable as
to be remembered by the appreciating; and,
when tho appreciating die, to carry with the
soul the memory still into the life of eternity 1
Immortality is possible for man ; for, while the
memory exists, its shrines will remain. Shak
speare will be remembered by'myriads for my
riads of ages! This is immortality. To be car
ried over the grave into eternity and never be
lost there, this is the birthright and reward of ge
nius.
And not only does genius confer a life ever
lasting on its possessor, by uniting its memories
with those whose lives are everlasting; but
it immortalizes places on earth! We visit
Europe, but not to see its houses and palaces
and temples 1 These do not give immortality to
cities; but to stawl where genius has stood and
consecrated the place 1 Shakspeare, . Scott,
Burns, Woodsworth confer immortality on
tow’ns, landscapes and lakes! Alas, in this
land, infant History has hardly learned to han
dle the chisel or grave the marble. Yet already
Washington has immortalized Mount Vernon;
Jackson, the Hermitage; Clay, Ashland; Frank
lin, Boston; and so on for many other names and
places.
My first thought, when I come to a town, is,
“What man or men has consecrated, this place ?
Whose genius has historified it ? Who of the
past has left his spirit in the air ? What mighty
ghost of the past walks its streets? Who is
the genus \ocit Where are its immortal gods?
its poets, painters, orators, statesmen, martyrs
aud heroes ? Where were they born ? In what
street —in what house?' Where do they lie in
the grave yard ? What places were they indi
vidually associated with in their lives ?
If the town has no civic Pentes —no dead
heroes of the ages, whether of sword or pen. it
is to me so much brick and mortar, so many
lines and angles! Towns and cities must have
souls to live, and these souls are their mighty
dead 1
Therefore, every city and town of any impor
tance should have for the intelligent traveler a
“Guide Book." a key to the places historically
worthy of attention—should keep a record of all
that can give it glory or interest in the eyes of
strangers 1 When I was a lad, I was a week in
Philadelphia, and knew not that Franklin lay
buried within a stone’s throw of the Merchant s
Hotel, where I stopped, until I had reached Bal
timore; and so vexed and disappointed was I at
not knowing it earlier, I would have gone back,
if time had permitted, to have seen his grave!
At the Galt House I asked the polite clerk or
landlord what there was worthy of attention to
a stranger in his city? what historical incidents ?
He named the churches, steamboats, the chief
edifices. Ac., but knew nothing of the past. If
he could' have told of an old inn where Daniel
Boone once ate his dinner, I should have been
more pleased than to visit all the modern edi
fices, beautiful and grand though they be, as
well as numerous. I tried to recollect who were
the literary people; but, as usual, when one
gets to a place and wishes to see persons and
places thought of before leaving home, they can
never recall them.
But who can visit Louisville without think
ing of the great editorial wit whose name is a
synonym for keen sarcasm ? The Editor of the
Journal , and the Editor of the Boston Post, Col.
Greene, are the acknowledged wits of the Amer
ican Press. Their humor is of different metal,
but tho edges of their weapons are equally keen
and merciless. The latter has more humor, the
former the most irony. The rest of the Edito
rial fraternity, with all their talent, and wit too,
recognize without dispute these gentlemen as
Imperatores among wits of the Press.
Mr. Prentice is a large man, with a colossal
brain, £ ponderous-headed giant, his brow look
ing like a castle of intellect. He has a grave
and quiet manner, and one would be more likely
to take him for at Johnsonian Doctor of Laws
than for the graceful poet, political writer, and
true wit he is.
Thero are many very elegant streets in this
city, and a certain opulent and tasteful air in the
residences that reveals a highly cultivated soci
ety, which I regret wo had but little opportunity
to mingle with. At our hotel were several
charming Kentucky families, and as some of
them were friends of the fair Louisiana widow,
I had the pleasure of lorming their acquaintance.
Among them was one of the most charming
singers and performers on the piano I ever
hoard. She entertained us after tea with all the
graces and riches of song one expects to find
only in the opera house.
The Major, whose weak side is music, and
whose supreme weakness is the flute, fell incon
tinently in love with her. In an evil moment,
he confessed he could “do a little something on
the flute!” He hastened to his room for it, and
brought it into the drawing room. But I must
not expose the failure of my remote relative.
Wantofhreath was the trouble! His haste in as
cending and descending the Jacob V-ladder of
hotel Btairs, not having wings but much flesh,
put him out of wind; and after several despe
rate attempts to play “Oft in the Stilly Night” to
the beautiful Kentucky girl’s accompaniment,
he wiped his brows in mingled shame and des
pair, and looked daggers at Tim, who was laugh
ing at him under his white eye-laslies, while the
widow, in kindly and sympathizing tone, said to
the company:
“ I am sure Major Bedott plays very skilfully
on the flute I but, one is not always in tune,
you know 1 Sometimes I can never bring any
music out of the keys of the piano. We must all
fail, sometimes. Major!”
A word of kindness fitly spoken is a cordial
to wounded vanity. The Major’s countenance
changed. He looked as if he was proud of his
failure, which had been so sweetly defended.— ,
It elevated himself in the eyes of himself. He
was glad he had failed; as, if he not, he
should have had no such soothing balm.
“ Poyns,” he said aside to me, with exultation,
“I would cut my little finger off for the pleasure
of having her bind it up. I would be willing,
sir —yes, sir, would be willling, as the poem
said,
‘To die In aromatic pain’ by her hand.”
“ I fear, Major, you’ll die by her hand, yet 1
You can never win herl You grow thin. Your
whiskers have got a depressed, hang look to
them, and no longer bristle as they did, a la
militaire, when we left New Orleans. You are
sighing half the time like a cracked bag-pipe,
and have lost your appetite, and are good for
nothing 1 Neither wig nor bald pate, black nor
blue whiskers, avail your suit . I advise you to
abandon the field!”
This was spoken aside, near the door, under
a battery of the fair Kentuckian’s “march in
Der Preischutz;’’ for one can talk wonderfully
well under the mask of a stormy piece well
thumped.
“ Never, Poyns, never!” answered the Major,
with his broad hand laid upon his heart! — (
“ She is free I Sixty Nubians, and a league of
sugar cane 1 I love her to despair I If Tim were
at the bottom of the Red Sea with old Pharaoh,
all would be well enough 1 But ugly as the
imp is, he has a sort of Harry Clay (the ugliest
man that ever 1 saw, and Tim looks like him),
way of beguiling and pleasing the ladies! The
widow knows he’ll be rich, and she is young and
can wait till he is one-and-twenty. I wish,
Poyns, you’d manage to have him left behind!
If I’d known this young, unfledged chick would
have got to be such an eagle. I’d left him among
his Barritarian bayous and lagoons before I
would have taken him under my goose’s wing
to New York. Unsophisticated! An old head,
sir 1 I shall caution the widow, sir 1 He’s dan
•
gerous! See that, sir I . They are both sing
ing out of the same book, and she looks as hap
py, the mischievous thing, as if it was Prince
Albert I No, sir! If I had him out ol the way,
I’d marry her as soon as I got to New York 1"
The entrance of a party of guests interrupted
our conversation and Tim’s song.
We leave this pleasant city to-day noon on a
superb steamer. The ice is running in the river,
but navigation Is yet open for three hundred
miles up.
*1 have met several very agreoablo peoplo
here ; and was surprised to see a New Orleans
friend but three days -from that city, tin Jack
son, Miss., Holly Springs and Nashville. Louis
ville is uow, by rail, in direct communication
with Charleston, Augusta, Memphis, and St.
Louis; and soon will be with Mobile, when
their great road cuts the Memphis «t Charleston.
In leaving this fair city. I carry away with
me pleasant recollections of the hospitality and
courtesy of the citizens it has been my privilege
to meet. Citizens of New Orleans, with which
Louisville trades so largely, are in great favor
here, and many the first families here pass
the gay season in the elegant metropolis of
Louisiana. Au revoir.
[For the Southern Field i»nd Fireside.]
SCIENCE—A NEPENTHE.
BY UAKY B, BKYAK.
Once, when the calm of an Indian summer
sunset mocked the wild unrest of my soul, I
went out to tread the crisp leaves of the hills
and feel the wind upon my forehead. Down,
where the brook glides through the rushes
noiseless as a dream, and the Tillandsia hangs
its mourning banner from the live oak trees, Al
lan, the recluse, sat before his cottage, and the
sunset fell upon his white hair and snowy beard,
and upon the open look before him. Marl and
pebbles, gathered in his evening walk, lay on
the stone seat beside him. and he heard not
thedrono of the bees fresh from the heart of the
late-blossomed gentians, ttor yet my footslops,
rustling the loug grass, for his mind was intent
upon his studies. I leaned over the low paling
and laid a rare dower upon his page, lie smiled
and raised his mild blue eyes to my face.—
The heavens above me were not more serene
and cloudless.
“ Father Allan,” I said, “ the cottage looks
gloomy in the autumn time: are you not lonely
here ?”
“ Nay," he answered, “ I have pleasant com
panions—my thoughts and these," —aud lie
laid his hand upon the book und looked around
upon beautiful Nature.
The calm lips, the sereue eyes, moved me with
a feeling almost of envy. Obedient to a quick
impulse, I spoke again:
“ Father Allan, Fate has held her bitterest
cup to your lips. Death and poverty have made
your old age solitary and destitute; and yet
your eyes are depths of calm. Are you, then,
happy ?”
Aud lie answered in his low, sweet, measured
voice,
“ I have attained peace.’ 1
Peace 1 The word was music to my disturbed
spirit.
“Peace ft sweeter than happiness, father,” I
cried; “ teach me how to attain it. Teach me
the secret of your sublime indifference to mis
fortune. What is there on earth that can make
us forget odr selves ?”
“Science,” he answered, aud turned again to
the book before him, whilo I passed on, feeling
that I had been mocked and baffled.
But the years that since then have passed
over me have brought more knowledge. 1 have
turned a page—the initial page —in the book of
Science, then sealed to me, and I know that the
old recluse spoke truly. Science and philosophy
are the nepenthe of the mind, for Aey abstract it
from the contemplation of its individual cares;
they lift it above the low atmosphere of sell, en
large the scope of its vision, and bid its thoughts
revolve in a wider orbit than that of mere per
sonal existence. They bumble the pride of man
and teach him bis own insignificance when com
pared with the wonders of the Universe. Be
side the grand truths of science, his petty joys
and hopes and sorrows dwindle into nothing
ness ; beside the incalculable ages that have
passed over the earth, and left their footprints
for science to reveal, the transient years of hu
mau existence seem but as grains of sand
thrown off the whirling wheel of Time.
I no more at the calm philosophy of
1 those who have drank from this magic fountain
'’—at their indifference to paiu, and poverty, and
misfortune. I marvel no more at Socrates, list
ening with unruffled brow to the tirades of Xau
tippe—nor at Galileo, deeming threatened death
a trifle in the presence of that sublime truth lie
embodied in the immortal words “ E pur si
muove.”
The vision of science is telescopian —sweep-
ing far, and high, and wide. She sends Thought
from sphere to sphere, from system to system
in yonder realm of space, where countless suns
are burning, and worlds innumerable are wheel
ing in their orbits. Placing the mind in the
centre of a Universe too vast for human concep-
I tion to embrace its exteut. —she bids it see its
j Two Dollars Per Annnm, I
| Always In Advance. I
own small planet among the myriads of grander
worlds—a scarce pcrceptiblo link in the great
chain of creation —an atom of golden dust sha
ken from the feet of God when lie walked
through space in the mysterious dawn of Time.
Then, leaving the constellated worlds above
us, Science seeks the one on which we tread;
and, by the light of her torch, she leads us down
into its subterranean galleries, and unveils the
pictures of the past that hang upon their walls.
Here are preserved the archives of ages and
cycles of bygone Time, and science reads the
hieroglyphic records. Every “ period ” has left
its memorial; from that in which deep called
unto deep, and no voice of life broke upon the
wild music of the w.aters, down, through un
numbered centuries, to the present epoch. As
we contemplate these records, stamped in
delibly upon the palimpsest of the earth,
Thought rolls back through the seeming eternity
of the past, and the world, which we vainly
fancy made for us slope, is seen as the home
and the grave of millions of be>ngs who lived
and perished before the advent of man—huge
animals, whose size would now be to us terri
fically monstrous, whose tread shook the gigantic
forests of fern and whose voice rolled thunder
ously through the valleys—monsters of the sea,
birds and reptiles, of whose vast proportions our
minds can with difficulty lorm the idea. All
are now extinct—the species swept wholly from
existence, while the earth, like a kaleidoscope,
turned slowly in thf lands of Time, shows up
on Its' irrrface new A>rb.i>, new
and new modes of animal and vegetable life.
Such glances down the shadowy vista of the
past, wierdly lighted by the lamp of Science,
make the period of human existence appear the
veriest span; and individual life seems insignifi
cant when we know that the earth, of which we
boast ourselves the lords, is but a mighty sepal- -
chre, formed in part of its own accumulated
dead. Man himself, from first to last, is in the
eye of Science but the predominant and distin
guishing animal of an epoch; and the period al
lotted to the whole humau race in which to play
out their drama of life and death on the change
ful stage of the world, Science may designate as
the “Homoferous or lyan-beariug period,” and—
judging the future by the past —predict that, in
the corns; of ages, man, like the snimals preced
ing him, would be swept from the face of the
earth, the species become extinct—the type only
being preserved in fossil—while a new, aud (in
accordance with the law of the ascending scale
of being) a higher form of life would occupy
the world, aud tread above the graves of extinct
humanity.
Said I, that the tendency of Science is to
make man feel his own insignificance ? Not so.
The extended views of the Universe which
Science opens to the mind of man, tend, indeed,
by elevating his. thoughts, to lessen the apparent
magnitude of the cares and misfortunes that are
incident to human life: but oflifeiuthe abstract
—of the soul, which is the principle of life,
Scienco gives man the loftiest conceptions. It
gives him a view—imperfect indeed, but Btill
grand and broadr—of the plan and perfection of
the Universe, and he feels his own importance
as an integral part of this sublime whole—the
harmony of which would be destroyed were the
smallest part to be wanting. In* the mighty
Harp of Creation, whose golden chords are the
worlds that fill the immensity of space, every
sentient, every inanimate thing contributes to
perfect tlio music that sounds harmoniously in
in the ears of its Creator, aud not the frailest
string could be broken or removed, without im
pairing the melody of the whole. -
The Genuineness or Paintings.—The diffi
culty of determining the genuineness of pictures
is strikingly shown by the following incident
related by Mr. Hogarth, the eminent print
publisher in the Hay market:
Some years since I purchased a picture at
Christie’s, sold as a genuine production by Mul
ler, of an ‘ltalian Boy’; it was signed and
dated. Mullersaw the picture several times at
my house, and never hesitated to acknowledge
its being painted by himself. Goorge Fripp, of
the Water-Color Society, also saw and re
marked : ‘You have got Sphinx’s picture (a nick
name given to Muller). I saw him paint it.’
This picture I sold to one of the trade at Cam
bridge ; and, as Muller’s reputation rapidly in
creased, the picture passed quickly into other
hands. One of these persons wrote to Muller,
asking if it was his work. ‘lf it is the same
picture Mr. Hogarth had, I painted it’ The
picture upon this was again sold, and sometime
after taken to Muller to verify, which he did;
his brother, however, who was present, looked
at the canvas and exclaimed: ‘Bill, this can’t
be your picture; don’t you remember it had a
sketch at the back ?’ This caused a closer ex
amination, and it was found to be a copy. Os
course, the picture no loDger possessed the
value in the eyes of its previous possessors, and
it came back to me. In almost the last letter I
received from Muller, he alludes to this transac
tion, and says: “I found out all about the ‘ltalian
Boy.’ I painted the picture for Mr. , and
he had six copies made from it, and yours was *
oue of them." *
NO. 49.