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CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
olin 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924028782575 
 
A Mountain Stream in Virs 
 
FROM SUMMER LAND 
 TO SUMMER 
 
 A JOURNEY FROM THOMASVILLE, 
 GEORGIA, TO NEW YORK, DURING 
 APRIL AND MAY, 1899, AS TOLD 
 BY THE REV. J. HARRIS KNOWLES. 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM 
 PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE REV. F. 
 LANDON HUMPHREYS, D.D., AND 
 MR. LUDWIG SCHUMACHER . 
 
 ^ 
 
 NEW YORK 
 1899 
 
 V > ' 1 / 
 
 'c IVV' ^ 
 
FIVE HUNDRED COPIES PRIVATELY PRINTED 
 FOR FREDERICK HUMPHREYS, M.D. 
 
 No. 
 
 Mat 
 
 Copyright, i8gg, bv 
 FREDERICK HUMPHREYS 
 
TO 
 
 MRS. DR. FREDERICK HUMPHREYS, 
 
 WHOSE HAPPY IDEA LAID OUT THIS TRIP, 
 
 AND WHOSE KINDNESS 
 
 IS ALWAYS AN INSPIRATION AND A REWARD, 
 
 THESE FEW NOTES 
 
 OF A MOST ENJOYABLE TIME ARE 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY 
 
 J. HARRIS KNOWLES. 
 
Contents 
 
 I 
 
 The Rendezvous. — The Plan of the Trip. — 
 The Pleasure of Travel. — Alone in a 
 Pullman. — ^Ty First Fellow Tra\-eller. 
 — Old Acquaintances. — Cliicken a la 
 fi7-oven(ah\ — New Passengers at 
 Charleston. — The Hunters Pjound for 
 Florida. ^Tales of Old Life in the 
 South. — Returning- Soldiers. — The 
 Molested Chinaman. — Thomasville at 
 Last ....••• 
 
 II 
 
 Some Days in Thomasville. — A Stroll in 
 the Garden. — Happy, Idle Days. — 
 Brain Pictures. — I'leasant Callers. — 
 Southern Women. ^My Little Friend. 
 
vi CONTENTS 
 
 — The Letter of Thanks. — The Coun- 
 try Club. — The Magnolia Road. — A 
 Tragedy. — Sympathy for Both Sides. 
 — Clean Content and Comfort. — The 
 Patchwork. — The Preserves. — Sus- 
 ceptibility to Kindness . 29 
 
 III 
 
 Through Georgia. — The Three Zones. — 
 The Curved Furrows. — Atlanta. — The 
 Exposition Site. — The Gods of Greece. 
 — Through the Town. — The Confed- 
 erate Fort. — The Memorial Day Pro- 
 cession ...... 59 
 
 IV 
 
 Chattanooga. — Memorable Battlefields.- — 
 Up the Incline. — On Lookout Moun- 
 tain. — Through the Cemeteries. — The 
 Graves of the Unknown. — The Great 
 Altar 83 
 
 V 
 
 Hot Springs, Virginia. — Tennessee Moon- 
 shiners. — Mountain Ride to Springs. — 
 
CONTENTS vii 
 
 The Bath House.— The Mountain Val- 
 ley. — The New Homestead Hotel. — 
 Chance Meetings. — A Dead Town. — 
 The Little Virginians . . .103 
 
 VI 
 
 Luray Cavern. — Through the Old Town. 
 — The Mountain Conflagration. — Our 
 Guide. — Remembrances of War 
 Times. — The Entrance to the Caves. 
 — American Refinement. — Weird 
 Light Effects. — Underground Won- 
 ders. — The Embedded Skeleton. — 
 The Finding of the Caverns. — The 
 Ball-room. — The Music of the Rocks. 
 —The Cathedral- The Chimes.— A 
 Primeval Part. — Geological Forma- 
 tion. — Richness of the Pendants . 123 
 
 vn 
 
 Harper's Ferry. — Charlestown. — John 
 Brown. — Remembrances of 1859. — 
 Statement of Governor Wise. — An- 
 other View. — The Peace Offering. — 
 Contrasts in the Shenandoah Valley . 145 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 VIII 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Washington. — The Negro Singers. — The 
 Congressional Library. — Its Gorgeous- 
 ness. — The Simple Side of Things. — 
 Near View of the Obelisk. — A Sug- 
 gested Frieze. — The Payment of 
 $20,000,000. — A Retrospect. — Conclu- 
 sion ....... 163 
 
A IVI o u n t a i n 
 Stream in \'ii-- 
 ginia . Frontispiece 
 
 We hope you \vi 
 be pleased with 
 our trip . . . iv 
 
 What do you 
 think of it ? . . V 
 
 A Pleasant Iht . ix 
 
 Brynawel, Thoni- 
 
 asville ... 4 
 
 5 
 
 A Mountain Road 
 
 A Southern Farm 27 
 
 In the Garden, Brynawel 32 
 
 The Garden Front 33 
 
 .Something" worth looking at 57 
 
 Through Georgia 62 
 
 A Nickel's Worth of Niggers 63 
 
 The Circus Poster 82 
 
X ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 On Lookout Mountain 
 
 On the Heights . .... 
 
 The Incline, Chattanooga . . . 
 The Army and the Church 
 
 The Waterfall 
 
 The Young Virginians . ... 
 
 I would I were a boy again 
 
 Saracen's Tent * . 
 
 Double Column * . 
 
 Giant's Hall * . 
 
 Harper's Ferry 
 
 Retrospection .... 
 
 Valley of the Shenandoah . 
 
 Yes, we did have a lovely time 
 
 The Manage . . 
 
 Heads of Departments 
 
 How pleasant to look back over it all! 
 
 86 
 87 
 93 
 102 
 106 
 107 
 121 
 126 
 127 
 144 
 148 
 149 
 
 159 
 161 
 166 
 167 
 186 
 
 * From photographs kindly furnished by Mr. Lemuel 
 Zerkel. 
 
The Rendezvous 
 
Off on our journey for the Summer Land ! 
 
 There shall we meet dear friends whose love we 
 
 prize ; 
 There, 'neath the glow of sunny southern skies, 
 True hearts will greet us, with glad outstretched 
 hand. 
 
 True hearts, true hands, and souls who under- 
 stand ! 
 
 Such are the treasures for which wisdom sighs ; 
 
 For these, all else she evermore decries. 
 For, lacking these, all else is sterile sand. 
 
 P'ly then, ye wheels, and fly, O speeding train. 
 On from Manhattan, islanded in state ; 
 
 Fly then, ye haste me to my friends again. 
 
 On through fair lands and cities wide and great ; 
 
 Fly then, your clamor makes a merry strain. 
 
 On to the Home where dear friends for me wait. 
 
 J. II. K. 
 
feisty- T^i ■ -,i'''\- 
 
 
Hrynawel, 'riioma'^ville 
 
I 
 
 Lasj- year it 
 was my happi- 
 ness to make 
 " A Flitj^ht in 
 Spring- " to the 
 Pacific Coast 
 and back ^\'ith 
 ni}' yootl friend 
 Dr. Humphre}'s. 
 The scattered 
 notes of that ever 
 memorable excursion have already 
 seen the light. The preparation 
 of them for the press was a re- 
 newal to mvself of all the interest 
 
6 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 of the journey; and the assurances 
 of pleasure derived from my lit- 
 tle book, received from those who 
 had read it, have more than re- 
 paid me for the labor of its pro- 
 duction. 
 
 In this spring of 1899 my friend 
 again called me to his side, invit- 
 ing me to accompany him on his 
 return journey from his winter 
 home in the Southern Summer 
 Land to his summer home in the 
 North. 
 
 I was to join him once more at 
 Thomasville, Georgia, and then, 
 after a few days there, we were, 
 with the members of his household, 
 to take our journey northward. 
 
 Our route was to be through 
 
TO SUMMER 7 
 
 Georgia; into Tennessee, stopping 
 at Chattanooga ; then into Vir- 
 ginia, visiting the Hot Springs ; 
 exploring the mystic beauties of 
 the Luray Cavern ; traversing the 
 famous Shenandoah Valley ; peep- 
 ing at beautiful Washington ; and 
 so home, the whole affair taking 
 about ten days. 
 
 A few of the many interesting 
 episodes of that lovely journey I 
 will try to reproduce. 
 
 It was, then, with a feeling of 
 renewed pleasure that I set out on 
 my little outing with my dear 
 friends. Travel has always an at- 
 traction for me. When one can 
 measure from the golden mile- 
 stone of a fixed home, then to 
 
8 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 wander is ever sweet, and wander- 
 ing makes the return ever sweeter. 
 
 Travel is the very easiest way 
 to get out of the pressing sense of 
 those immediate and never-ceas- 
 ing obligations which always sur- 
 round us in our ordinary affairs. 
 But, for a journey, we can leave 
 them all with a perfectly clear 
 conscience. We quietly relegate 
 them to our return. 
 
 We are, while on the wing of 
 travel, free as the birds. We are 
 rid of all cares. The whole world 
 all about us is at its accustomed 
 and inevitable toil, but we are 
 flying through space, cared for, 
 carried, and all the vast machinery 
 of the universe seems to be for our 
 
TO SUMMER g 
 
 unemployed leisure alone. Time 
 even seems to be long drawn out, 
 and without its fleeting quality. 
 Space exists that we may pass 
 through it ; and our own will to 
 be away and moving, thus free, 
 seems to lift us above the world- 
 force even of gravitation itself. 
 
 We were to meet at Thomas- 
 ville. With these emotions of ab- 
 solute freedom from care or obli- 
 gation within me I sped on to the 
 rendezvous. 
 
 The way was one which I trav- 
 ersed before, but the new spring 
 seemed more beautiful than ever. 
 I watched its tender buds and 
 opening leaves, not unwillingly, 
 from the solitude of a Pullman. 
 
lO FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 I was the only passenger on board 
 until we reached Philadelphia. 
 Travel in the through cars south 
 was light. To be thus alone after 
 the roar of New York was delight- 
 ful. I gave myself up to it much 
 as the gentleman did who thought 
 that the height of pleasure was to 
 be alone in the choir of an Eng- 
 lish cathedral, while organ and 
 choristers and chanting priests 
 filled the vast sacred space with 
 holy sound. The rhythmic throb 
 of the engine and the continuous 
 murmur of the wheels were not 
 out of keeping with my peaceful 
 rest, while through the windows 
 I could see how spring was once 
 more decking itself in living green. 
 
TO SUMMER II 
 
 It did not take me long to 
 scrape an acquaintance with the 
 solitary fellow traveller who came 
 on board at the Broad Street 
 Station in Philadelphia. We were 
 soon in pleasant conversation, and 
 by one of those curious combina- 
 tions in life, I found that he was 
 the son of a Chicago physician 
 whom I had known well, many 
 years before. 
 
 There was no dearth of topic or 
 of talk on the rest of our journey 
 together, which was as far as Bal- 
 timore. We had much to say of 
 friends who were no more ; of 
 lives with downward trend, and of 
 those whose years were brighter 
 ever as they neared the close. 
 
12 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 Then there was business to be 
 talked of; and the questions of 
 the day ; and higher things were 
 not forgotten. I remember how 
 my friend's eyes were humid as 
 he spoke of his dear wife and her 
 religious zeal, and of her scrupu- 
 lous care of his children ; but, said 
 he, fingering a rather large and 
 somewhat artistic emblem of a 
 well-known secret society, " This 
 gives me all the religion I want." 
 But as he said the words I could 
 feel that there was in them rather 
 a bravado tone and not the gen- 
 uine ring of a firm conviction. 
 
 "No," said I, "that does not, 
 nor can it ever satisfy you. You 
 have taken that up of your own 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 13 
 
 free will. It has just as much au- 
 thority as you wish to give it. It 
 is in your control. Religion is 
 something different. It must seize 
 your whole being. You must 
 regard it as having power over 
 you, whether you wish it or not, 
 and that it is from God, whose you 
 are, and whom you must serve." 
 
 He listened to me with pro- 
 found regard, and, as he looked 
 afar out of the car window, he 
 spoke of the difficulties of faith 
 and of certain things which seemed 
 to him unreasonable, but he ad- 
 mitted that the devotion of his 
 wife, and his love for his children, 
 made him wish to believe. We 
 soon parted. Baltimore was close 
 
14 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 at hand, where he left me with a 
 warm shake of the hand, and once 
 more I was in the ma'S^nificence of 
 the PuUman all alone. 
 
 The time > soon came for that 
 which it is never safe to neglect 
 on a journey, one's dinner. Per- 
 haps this pressing need is left with 
 mortals en route, to remind them 
 that, despite of all their freedom 
 from ordinary cares and entangle- 
 ments, for the nonce, they yet are 
 human. 
 
 The lonesome darkies were glad 
 to have something to do, when I 
 called them to my side and told 
 my wants. I found that I was in 
 a buffet car. The waiter pre- 
 sented me with enthusiasm the 
 
TO SUxMMER 
 
 15 
 
 ornamental menu. Thereon was 
 an alluring array of dishes, with 
 rather mixed lingual names. 
 Chicken a la pi^oven(ale tempted 
 me, but it was a rash venture. It 
 was a horrid mess of fibrous sub- 
 stance, out of which the bones 
 dropped too easily ; and the red- 
 dish tomatoes and scattering spices 
 did not add anything attractive to 
 the dish. 
 
 "Your chicken a la provenfale 
 does not amount to much," I said 
 to the attendant. 
 
 " No, sah," was the reply ; " dem 
 canned goods ain't no good." 
 
 Here was a near reflection of 
 "Embalmed Beef" right with me ; 
 and what visions did it bring up ! 
 
l6 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 "Is everything on this menu 
 canned ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, sail, ebrything 'cept ham 
 and tongue," was the reply. 
 
 Then said I, " Serve me ham or 
 tongue for the rest of the journey." 
 
 What an absurd g-Htter of a 
 Parisian cafe the promising menu 
 gave, but all dropped in prosaic 
 fact, into a cupboard of canned 
 goods and a kerosene oil stove 
 therein, to warm them up for the 
 use of innocent and incautious pas- 
 sengers. 
 
 All this, however, was a mere 
 trifling grievance to any man with 
 either head or heart, for by this 
 time we were speeding on through 
 the historic soil of Virginia. From 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 17 
 
 the windows of my lonely car 
 there were ever pictures to be 
 seen. The great curves of the 
 ploughed fields ; the old houses 
 nestling in their surrounding trees ; 
 the mixture of new and old in the 
 stations we passed through ; the 
 historic names and places which 
 came to our eyes as we flew along ; 
 all gave something to think of, to 
 dream of, or to hope for. How, 
 everywhere in such a great State, 
 the past, the present, and the fu- 
 ture come to gaze at you, a mystic 
 three, indissolubly linked together ! 
 It was not until next morning 
 at Charleston, that any great in- 
 crease was made to our company. 
 During the night a few passengers 
 
 to 
 2 
 
l8 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 had entered ; but, once in the real 
 South, every seat was occupied. 
 The greater number were on pleas- 
 ure bent ; off for outings at Bruns- 
 wick, or fishing in Florida. With 
 a group of the fishermen I soon 
 found myself in agreeable chat ; 
 not that I am a fisherman, for I pre- 
 fer the pleasure of the woods and 
 streams, pure and simple, to any 
 hunt for game or anything else 
 that you can trap or kill therein. 
 The thirst to do to death anything 
 one sees in the woods seems to me 
 inexplicable. I would rather be 
 able to get close to bird and beast, 
 and see how they live, and learn 
 something of their mysterious ex- 
 istence, than thus to slay them. 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 19 
 
 Even the wanton destruction of 
 plant or flower seems a sort of 
 sacrilege ; there is a veneration for 
 nature in that self-restraint which 
 can 
 
 " Love the wild rose, and leave it on its 
 stem." 
 
 A certain nobleness does, how- 
 ever, inhere in the hunter, and out 
 of his excess and riot in killing, 
 some ofood does come. Amone 
 my hunting fellow travellers I 
 picked out one for his splendid 
 bearing. Tall, graceful, every 
 movement harmonious, with steady 
 eye, and good health gleaming 
 from his clear complexion. 
 
 When I entered the smoking- 
 
20 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 room of the car, he at once cour- 
 teously asked if tobacco was dis- 
 acrreeable to me. Of course it 
 
 o 
 
 was not. A lighted cigar soon 
 made me free of the company. 
 
 It was then I learned of the 
 proposed fishing excursion to 
 Florida, in which a young Eng- 
 lishman with him was to take 
 part. I hoped they would get 
 the biggest tarpon known, but it 
 seems they were after smaller 
 game. 
 
 As we journeyed on my new- 
 found and most courteous friend 
 told me of the old life among the 
 Sea Islands, off from Charleston 
 and that region. From plantation 
 to plantation the lords of the soil 
 
TO SUMMER 21 
 
 went in elght-oared gigs to make 
 brave pleasure for themselves 
 under hospitable roofs. 
 
 One can easily imagine how the 
 cup might overflow now and then, 
 and that hot blood would assert 
 itself in rather positive ways ; but, 
 like a dream, it has all vanished, 
 and a new order rises and new 
 problems come, more difficult to 
 settle than when black and white 
 marked the lines. 
 
 In relation to all this my friend 
 told me that in those old days 
 a book appeared, written by the 
 young English wife of a Southern 
 planter, which antedated " Uncle 
 Tom's Cabin " and had almost as 
 widespread an influence in Eng- 
 
22 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 land as Mrs. Harriet Beecher 
 Stowe's famous storj' years after- 
 ward. Theworkof thevounsf EnsT- 
 lishwoman was. however, largely 
 a collection of " dreadful tales " 
 which she had heard from the 
 rollickingr and mischievously ex- 
 aggerating lips of the boon com- 
 panions of her husband. Her 
 horrors were a spur to their inven- 
 tion, and tales which might have 
 adorned the "Arabian Xisfhts ' 
 were so positively affirmed that 
 she believed them. 
 
 One was related to me by mv 
 hunter friend. It was in brief 
 this : Two planters have an affair 
 of honor. A duel is to decide all. 
 The details of weapons, and all 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 23 
 
 that I forget, but the crowning 
 condition was that all the slaves 
 of the vanquished were to be 
 killed by the victor, beheaded, 
 and their heads used by him, to 
 ornament the fence-posts of his 
 plantation. This wild story is a 
 specimen of what was credited 
 and printed. 
 
 The hours of travel all through 
 the day were made bright by the 
 genial conversation of my hunter 
 friend. At Waycross — where I 
 was to leave the main line for the 
 local branch to Thomasville — just 
 before changing cars, my new- 
 found friend sought me out and 
 bade me farewell with all the 
 warmth of an old acquaintance. 
 
24 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 Strange as It may seem, we found 
 during our previous conversation 
 that we both alike knew the same 
 people in England, and had been 
 guests under the same roof in that 
 hospitable and lovely land. 
 
 It so happened that in our vivid 
 chat and pleasant interchange 
 of thought we. quite overlooked 
 exchanging cards. His name I 
 know not, neither does he know 
 mine, but I shall always remember 
 him with most pleasant recollec- 
 tions. 
 
 The journey from VVaycross to 
 Thomasville was passed in the 
 ordinary day coaches. In them 
 one came more directly in con- 
 tact with the ordinary life of the 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 25 
 
 people. It was somewhat of a 
 tedious journey, though there 
 was quite enough to interest and 
 amuse, nevertheless. 
 
 On board was quite a sprinkling 
 of returning soldiers, some listless 
 and indifferent looking. Doubt- 
 less, the horrors of drill camps, and 
 the experience of hastily equipped 
 troops under a tropic sun, had had 
 their effect upon them. There was 
 one tall, gaunt boy among them 
 with a fearful cough, who seemed 
 able to make sport enough for 
 all. Fever and consumption were 
 marked upon his hollow cheeks, 
 but nothing could dampen his good 
 humor and energy. He was here, 
 there, everywhere ; hail fellow. 
 
26 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 well met, with everyone. Once, 
 when a Chinaman entered the car 
 and slipped quietly into his seat, 
 the young soldier greeted him 
 with derisive cries of " Washee, 
 washee." I could not help lean- 
 ing over and saying in a low voice 
 to my young friend who was thus 
 mocking the stranger : " How 
 would you like to be made game 
 of if you were out in China?" 
 The young man's own good heart 
 made answer for him by his 
 silence at my remark, and his 
 further silence also toward the 
 Chinaman for the rest of the 
 journey. 
 
 The hours sped on, taking us 
 westward through the rich level 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 27 
 
 lands of southern Getirgia, until, 
 in due time, we ^vere once more 
 at our rendez\'ous in Thomas- 
 viUe. 
 
Some Days in Thomasville 
 
A PILLARED porch, a garden all around, 
 
 Tall whisp'ring trees, and glowing skies above. 
 Long rose-lined alleys, breathing peace and love, 
 
 Bright flowers and mocking-birds for sight and 
 sound. 
 
 A noble hall, whose space gives welcome sweet, 
 To those who enter its wide-open door ; 
 A hint it seems of that fair tranquil shore. 
 
 Where loved ones welcome, and where angels 
 greet. 
 
 And then, " the many mansions " of the blest, 
 What are they, but the chambers where we sleep ! 
 In peaceful mystery of slumber deep, 
 
 Each wrapped about, and tenderly caressed. 
 
 A pillared porch, a garden all around, 
 
 Where flowers and gracious deeds alike abound. 
 
 J.H. K. 
 
In the (jarden. Brj-nawel 
 
II 
 
 Oxii: more 
 in T h ' I m a s - 
 \ill(L'. it was dc- 
 1 i y h t f u 1 to 
 driA"e through 
 tlie embowered 
 streets, ti;i the hos- 
 pitable home which awaiteil me. 
 Tliere it stood, tinder its hiij^-e 
 trees, in its fraL;Tant y"arden ; and 
 under tlie broad shadow ot its pib 
 hired portico were m\' A\"clcominL;' 
 friends. 
 
 After the tirst few AV(^rds of 
 'jreetiiiL'' were said it seemeil that 
 
34 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 one's first duty in coming from 
 the North was at once to visit the 
 roses and the flowers. There was 
 a touch of melancholy in this gar- 
 den ramble, for during the past 
 winter an icy blast had blown 
 from the dark depths of air, and 
 had killed many of the choicest 
 and exotic flowery shrubs. It was 
 the biggest "freeze," everybody 
 said, which had been known for 
 years. The great creeper on the 
 portico was no more. The per- 
 fumed veil of its foliage had dis- 
 appeared ; but nature is never dis- 
 couraged. Already great shoots 
 were striking up and out, and six 
 inches, or more, in one night was 
 no uncommon growth. How cu- 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 35 
 
 rious it would be if our ears were 
 so acute as to be able to hear the 
 Impact of the increase in growing 
 organisms, as the cells expand 
 and atom joins on to atom. I 
 have fancied, in a close night in 
 August, that one could really hear 
 the corn grow during the dark 
 stillness of the silent hours. It 
 was all a series of fitful creaks and 
 starts, and mysterious rustlings 
 among the tall stalks of the grow- 
 ing corn, while not a breath of air 
 was moving ; and yet there was 
 ever perceptible this strange " go- 
 ing," as in the tops of the mul- 
 berry trees, in the scripture story. 
 Happy were the idle days passed 
 under the sapphire sky of south- 
 
36 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 ern Georgia. There was nothing 
 to do but lounge and drive, and 
 rest in peace. I painted pictures 
 for myself by the score, and all 
 this without material canvas or 
 color, or one movement of the 
 body from the veranda chair. 
 
 No artist could seize such pic- 
 tures in their fleeting splendor, 
 except with the sudden process of 
 a photographic look. Thus, with 
 my eyes for object glasses, and 
 the dark chamber of the brain for 
 camera obscura, I tried to capture 
 all the beauties of earth and air 
 which surrounded me. 
 
 Up through the great masses of 
 the evergreen oaks one could look 
 at the sk)', whose hue was of the 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 37 
 
 deepest blue imaginable, with a 
 rich tone in it of surpassing soft- 
 ness ; while floaiing across its 
 illimitable depths were mountain- 
 ous clouds, all creamy white and 
 golden, suggestive of rest and re- 
 pose, and tender, loving warmth. 
 The whole picture as seen from 
 that veranda chair was a delight 
 for ever — the rich tone of the red- 
 dish earth in the open roadway, 
 the intermingled greens of the 
 herbage and shrubs, culminating in 
 the dark masses of the oaks, out- 
 lined against the sapphire sky, and 
 the moving masses of the regal 
 clouds. From morn till night, 
 from east, back again to east, this 
 panorama of beauty was unfolding 
 
38 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 itself. To enjoy it all no more 
 was needed than the shifting of 
 one's chair and the opening of 
 one's eyes to the overwhelming 
 splendor of it all. 
 
 Another picture which I must 
 preserve was a view over the Ock- 
 loconee River. We came one day 
 upon the stream, in one of our 
 drives, and from the vantage 
 ground of a tall bridge we could 
 take in the bizarre effect of the 
 scene. The banks were wooded 
 and precipitous. The tortuous 
 river bed lay among sand banks 
 almost white, against which the 
 clear water, brown and transpar- 
 ent as the complexion of a hand- 
 some mulatto, lay in tranquil 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 39 
 
 depths. These depths were veri- 
 table mirrors for trees and clouds 
 and skies, but the reflections in 
 the water were all strangely 
 changed. They appeared in a clear 
 monochrome, as if painted in bitu- 
 men. The whole effect was beauti- 
 ful. Above was the clear blue sky, 
 the vivid and varied green of the 
 foliage, the broken ground of the 
 banks in reddish tints, the sand 
 banks glittering white in the sun- 
 light ; while in the still depths of 
 the water all was reflected in 
 minute detail, but changed to this 
 mysterious unity of uniform brown. 
 Somebody has said of old-time 
 landscape painters that their idea 
 of green grass was the color 
 
40 
 
 FROM SUxMMER LAND 
 
 of an old violin. Here was just 
 such a landscape, all painted by 
 nature itself, in the depths of the 
 Ockloconee. 
 
 But one could not give all one's 
 time to those pleasant reveries. 
 The portico was the scene of 
 many a pleasant call from South- 
 ern friends, sorry to take their 
 leave of pleasant neighbors, who 
 in a day or two would leave this 
 Southern summer land for the 
 summer of their far-off Northern 
 home. Such calls were delightful. 
 What can be more enjoyable than 
 the free, easy flow of refined con- 
 versation, gliding on from topic 
 to topic, as a clear stream winds 
 through a landscape, reflecting the 
 
TO SUMMER 41 
 
 form and color of all that moves 
 or grows upon its banks ? Cer- 
 tainly the Southern women have 
 wonderful talents in this relation, 
 and their soft voices and bright 
 eyes give value and emphasis to 
 their every utterance. 
 
 I had a little experience with a 
 very little lady during one of my 
 strolls in the garden. We were 
 separated by the fence, the little 
 lady and myself. She was playing 
 with a big black dog, who, on the 
 appearance of another dog follow- 
 ing some colored men, heedlessly 
 ran away from his little mistress. 
 Disconsolately she called after 
 him, " Nero, Nero," but he did 
 not return. Then in louder 
 
42 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 tones she called '" Xigger, Xigger," 
 at which her truant dog returned. 
 'Sly little friend explained to me 
 that her dog was first called 
 " Xiesfer, " but her mamma had 
 changed it to "Xero," and that he 
 did not know his name ver)- well 
 yet. I was amused at the adroit- 
 ness which, by turning the dog's 
 name into Italian, had preserved 
 his identitj- and avoided a term 
 which might give offence. We had 
 a great chat together. That was 
 last spring. I told her where I 
 had come from, and where we were 
 bound for, at which her eaeer 
 eyes opened wide. " Well," said 
 she, "there is one place in Phila- 
 delphia I would like to see, and 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 43 
 
 that is Wanamaker's. They have 
 everythhig there." Then there 
 was talk of all the toys there, and 
 it ended by my promising her 
 that when I sfot back to New 
 York I would send her a little 
 toy that I knew would please her, 
 and that was a dear little doll baby 
 in a bath tub, that she could wash 
 and dress every time she wished. 
 But alas, I lost the memorandum 
 of her name, and the whole thing 
 dropped from my memory until 
 one day during this visit, looking 
 up from the portico, I saw my 
 dear little s^irl once more. After 
 drawing her into conversation, and 
 cautiously leading up to toys, she 
 told me that last year " an old 
 
44 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 man " had told her that he would 
 send her a dolly in a bath tub 
 from New York, and said she, 
 with a melancholy far-off air, " He 
 never did." I asked her if she 
 thought I looked like that old 
 man, and in an amazed and amused 
 manner she said " You do ! " 
 
 Well, it is needless to say that 
 after I got back to New York one 
 of my first visits was to a toy 
 shop, where I made my purchase 
 and duly dispatched it by mail to 
 my little friend. 
 
 In due time this charming let- 
 ter reached me in reply, full of 
 kind feeling and that flow of lan- 
 guage ever a power on the lips of 
 a Southern woman : 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 45 
 
 Thomasville Ga 
 5— 19— 1899— 
 Rev J Harris Knowles 
 
 Kind Friend you made a little South 
 Georgia girl very happy the other day by 
 sending her the sweet little doll and bath 
 tub yes they came safe and sound and I 
 thank you very much for them and shall 
 keep them a long time I hope you had a 
 Pleassant trip home and are all well it is 
 very dry and hot and disty here now We 
 have not had rain for a long time and the 
 gardens are all dried up I hope to see 
 you down here next winter I am going 
 to read the book you wrote that Mama 
 liked so well A Flight In Spring I spent 
 four days last winter'in New Orleans and 
 liked it very much PaPa is taking out 
 fresh honey every day wish you had some 
 With kind wishes and many thanks I re- 
 main your little Friend 
 
 A. R. 
 
46 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 Amonor the memorable drives 
 
 o 
 
 during my few days at Tliomasville 
 was one out to the Country Club 
 and another on the Magnolia Road. 
 The Country Club stands on a 
 hieh knoll from which one sees 
 out over a rich wooded landscape 
 of splendid vistas. The grounds 
 are extensive, up hill and down 
 dale in constant change. The 
 golf grounds are gay during the 
 winter season, and the mild cli- 
 mate gives constant opportunity 
 for out-door sports. The dark 
 pools and knotted vines overhang- 
 ing them, in the forest dells, were 
 picturesque and mysterious, but 
 in summer heats might not be 
 inviting. 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 47 
 
 The ride on Magnolia Road was 
 one to be remembered. It was 
 under the umbrageous trees. The 
 roadway almost lost itself in the 
 thickets ; the magnolia flowers 
 were yet in bud, but the day was 
 warm, and the lizards on the fence- 
 posts, as they stuck out for the 
 moment, like bits of dried bark, 
 rigid and immovable, but ever 
 ready to devour the passing flies, 
 gave hint of that struggle for life 
 which ever surrounds us, and 
 which finds its most dreadful em- 
 phasis in those lands which near 
 themselves to the tropics. 
 
 It seems to me that all life, es- 
 pecially in its tragic aspects, in- 
 creases in intensity as one nears 
 
48 FKOM SUMMER LAND 
 
 the equator. Here in Georgia, 
 under the brieht skies and the Ian- 
 guor of the clear atmosphere, there 
 was the heavy feeHng of a tragedy 
 just past, the cuhiiinating horror 
 of many such. The public prints 
 from the great centres were full 
 of fearful details, but the local 
 paper, with rare good sense, 
 omitted all these, yet, nevertheless, 
 the lurid horror stared us in the 
 face for all that. 
 
 The consciousness of that trag- 
 edy at Newnan, Georgia, which 
 took place under the light of the 
 Sunday just past, filled one with 
 sorrow — sorrow first and foremost 
 for the good people of Georgia 
 — the gentle, the just, the wise. 
 
TO SUMMER 4g 
 
 as, held in the grip of an inevi- 
 table destiny, they have to face 
 the fearful complications of their 
 surroundings. My thoughts re- 
 verted to the crowds of colored 
 people, in increasing numbers, 
 which I saw as I came farther 
 South. They lounged about the 
 depots ; they lolled from the win- 
 dows in the streets of the little 
 towns ; they seemed to wear a heed- 
 less, defiant air or to bear them- 
 selves with a coarse indifference 
 so apparently foreign to the usual 
 confiding and yielding nature of 
 the negro. It was dreadful. 
 
 Over against all this one could 
 put the indomitable will of the yet 
 master race, which ever must mas- 
 
 4 
 
50 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 ter or die, and the dreadful com- 
 plications possible in Southern life 
 under all these conditions. I con- 
 fess that my heart was in my 
 mouth, in the sympathy which 
 was within me ; sympathy for 
 those who had inherited these 
 complications, and who had to face 
 the fearful problems which con- 
 fronted them ; sympathy for the 
 white people of the South, with 
 all the burthen which they have 
 to bear. 
 
 But there was sympathy too for 
 the colored man. I could not but 
 note the difificulties of his sad fate, 
 and how hopeless seems his out- 
 look, notwithstanding what he 
 may accomplish for his own ad- 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 51 
 
 vancement. He has done much. 
 He has achieved wonders in his 
 own development. The world has 
 not seen a parallel condition to 
 that which has passed under our 
 eyes during the last thirty years. 
 No enslaved race, suddenly freed, 
 could have accomplished so much 
 as the colored people have in 
 their educational progress in these 
 United States. But the tragedy 
 of it all is that this progress does 
 not smooth away difficulties in 
 social conditions, but rather em- 
 phasizes them. 
 
 It may be that political issues 
 work much harm in the mutual re- 
 lations between whites and blacks 
 in the South. Time must be then 
 
52 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 the great healer. Meanwhile one 
 must admit that it is a fearful thing 
 to be ever brought face to face 
 with a constantly increasing factor 
 in the social state, compared with 
 which the dangerous and ignorant 
 portions of our Northern commu- 
 nities, even in our most crowded 
 cities, are as nothing. It is a ter- 
 rible thing to exploit the colored 
 masses of the South for any party 
 ends whatever. It should be 
 frowned down by all true lovers of 
 our country. 
 
 Turning from these troubled 
 thoughts I have a lovely memory 
 of some happy colored people I 
 met. What could be better than 
 their clean content, their white 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 S3 
 
 floors, their spotless bedspreads, 
 their daintily dressed windows, and 
 the glittering array of their kitch- 
 ens ! They had their gardens too, 
 where roses grew as well as vege- 
 tables, the onion and the sweet pea 
 side by side, the useful and the 
 beautiful. Proudly the mistress of 
 the establishment showed us the 
 completed ambition of her needle 
 — a silk patchwork which took the 
 prize at the county fair. There 
 was a touch of pathos in her words 
 when she told us that she got the 
 blue ribbon all right for that, and 
 her preserves, but the money prize 
 was omitted, for "there war'nt any." 
 As to the preserves, these were 
 veritable works of art, I suppose 
 
54 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 never to be eaten, but to be looked 
 at with awe. What triumph there 
 was as the great crystal jars were 
 placed in our hands for our inspec- 
 tion ! There were preserved water- 
 melon rind and cantelopes, all 
 carved over in intaglio, showing 
 fishes and leaves and graceful or- 
 naments. It was really artistic. 
 When I asked Mrs. B. how she did 
 it, she answered with a laugh, "Oh, 
 I jes' did it," and that was all one 
 could elicit. I was much interested 
 in this display of taste in its double 
 sense, taste for the sweets and 
 taste for the clever ornamentation 
 thereon. 
 
 I afterwards learned that among- 
 the colored people there is always 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 55 
 
 a great reluctance to tell the proc- 
 ess by which they accomplish 
 anything. There is a sort of super- 
 stition that if they tell they lose 
 the knack themselves for ever. 
 This idea has place, if I mistake 
 not, in a far wider circle than the 
 negro race, and may be at the bot- 
 tom of trade secrets. 
 
 Among my many pleasant im- 
 pressions of Thomasville the happy 
 home of these faithful colored peo- 
 ple, trusting and trusted servants, 
 is not the least. 
 
 There is no race that is so 
 amenable to kindness as our negro 
 population. What but this suscep- 
 tibility can explain the loyalty of 
 the Southern slaves during the 
 
56 FROM SUMMER LAND TO SUMMER 
 
 trying years from 1862 to 1865? 
 Everything on the plantations 
 was then in their hands, but then 
 the colored people, in their posi- 
 tion of trust, were the protectors, 
 the providers, the loving support 
 of those they looked up to and 
 respected. There was no violence, 
 no outrage, no fearful crime. 
 There was a bond of mutual de- 
 pendence and respect. 
 
 Despite of all present difficul- 
 ties, if I mistake not, the Southern 
 people have even now more kindly 
 feeling instinctively to the negroes 
 than the people of the North, for 
 they know them better, are accus- 
 tomed to them, and understand 
 them. 
 
Through Georgia 
 
Despite of all the glory of the State, 
 The swelling; billows of the fertile land, 
 Wealth like of India, or of Samarcand, 
 
 Yet did my heart at times feel desolate. 
 
 Who shall unwind the knots of dreadful fate. 
 Who shall mete justice out with even hand. 
 Who shall with power, all evil men withstand. 
 
 Who shall defend the honor of the State ! 
 
 O land of Whitfield, Wesley, Oglethorpe, 
 O land where mercy was a corner-stone. 
 Think not that blood, rash spilt, can e'er atone. 
 
 The pang of mercy may be keen and sharp. 
 And stricken hearts may weep and sadly moan, 
 But love, and justice, can prevail alone. 
 
 J. H. K. 
 
Through ^.T^.r^ia 
 
Ill 
 
 Our passage 
 throuoh Georgia, 
 that Empire State 
 of the South, was 
 something to lie re- 
 membered. 
 
 As we tra\-elled 
 northward and west- 
 ward from Thomas- 
 ville in the south, to Chattanooga 
 just over the Hne of the State, in 
 Tennessee, we traversed the three 
 great zones of Georgia — the great 
 sand}' plain which rises gradually 
 from the Atlantic sea coast, ex- 
 
64 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 tending as far as Macon ; then, a 
 hilly and diversified region, look- 
 ing like a pleasant and healthy 
 district ; and lastly, the mountain- 
 ous country, which has its culmi- 
 nation on Lookout Mountain in 
 Tennessee. 
 
 The impression made upon one 
 by this great journey of more than 
 three hundred miles was that one 
 was looking at an empire in very 
 truth. In the north were moun- 
 tain fastnesses, picturesque and 
 even sublime. Here were the 
 sources of the two principal rivers 
 which traverse the land. Here 
 were rich mineral deposits, gold 
 even having been found in paying 
 quantities in the past. Here, too, 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 65 
 
 were the scenes of some of the 
 highest developments of hfe 
 among the American Indians, but, 
 above all other causes of interest, 
 this vast and romantic region was 
 the scene of the bloodiest and 
 most deadl)' contests between the 
 North and South during the Civil 
 \\^ar. 
 
 Through all this great Empire 
 State, with its history and vast re- 
 sources, we made our flying trip, 
 resting only once at Atlanta, and 
 once again, just at the northern 
 entrance of the State, in Chatta- 
 nooga, Tennessee. 
 
 We saw with our eyes what the 
 books tell us — that Georgia can 
 produce everything that all the 
 
66 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 States of the Union can produce, 
 with the exception of a few semi- 
 tropical products peculiar to the 
 neighboring State of Florida. 
 
 We travelled northward through 
 the great sandy, pine-clad plain, 
 rich in its timber and also capable 
 of profitable cultivation, until dark- 
 ness settled down upon us. When 
 morning dawned we were in a hilly 
 region of rich red loam, somewhat 
 exhausted, we were told, by suc- 
 cessive crops, but yet capable of 
 profitable cultivation. 
 
 This part of the State has a cer- 
 tain grandiose air about it. The 
 billowy lines of the ever-ascending 
 hills, with the constant evidences 
 of agriculture all about one, gave 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 67 
 
 an idea of largeness and propor- 
 tionate prosperity which we hoped 
 was realized in fact. The whole 
 country had a character of its 
 own — broad, breezy, and luminous. 
 Somehow, one forgot to look out 
 for houses or towns or stations as 
 our way wound through this great 
 full-breasted country, so rich and 
 opulent-looking in its possibili- 
 ties. 
 
 I noticed one peculiarity in the 
 agriculture which set me think- 
 ing. It was this : Through all the 
 stretches of ploughed land through 
 which we passed I could not find a 
 field with a straight, even furrow. 
 The traces left by the ploughshare 
 were all in curved lines. Every 
 
68 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 hillside, every bending area, had 
 its curved lines upon it. They fol- 
 lowed the slightest deviation of the 
 surface from a dead level. Even 
 where the field was fiat, there too 
 the lines would curve in a way that 
 would bring horror to the heart 
 of a Northern farmer. I watched 
 these graceful tattooings on the 
 earth's surface with a curious inter- 
 est. On some of the hillsides the 
 plough marks were as involved al- 
 most as the peculiar lines which 
 each man carries on the end of 
 his thumb. 
 
 I asked some people I met what 
 was the cause of this peculiarity, 
 and was told that this variation 
 from the straight line was probably 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 69 
 
 to prevent washouts on the hill- 
 sides. But that did not seem rea- 
 sonable to me, for the graceful 
 curvatures were everywhere. The 
 field might be as flat as a table, 
 but the ploughshare wabbled round 
 there just the same; and a straight 
 line in a furrow in Georgia was as 
 hard to find as a straight line any- 
 where in nature's great handi- 
 work, whether in plant, animal, or 
 man. 
 
 I fell back finally upon a theory 
 of my own as to the cause of 
 all these graceful curves in the 
 ploughed fields of Georgia. They 
 are, said I, the results of the in- 
 stinctively artistic temperament of 
 the negro workman, He loves 
 
^o 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 rhythmic motion. It exists in his 
 speech, in his songs, in his gait — 
 there is something repugnant to 
 him in the monotony of a straight 
 Hne. He never will follow it. He 
 prefers the variation from the in- 
 flexible. He hates rules and all 
 routine, and relieves himself in the 
 tediousness of agricultural labor 
 by those artistic curves which the 
 ploughshare in his hands is made 
 to produce. The sign-manual of 
 a nature pleasure-loving, indeter- 
 minate, ever lightening labor with 
 an instinctive sense of beauty, lies 
 all over the State of Georgia. 
 
 How different it was in Tennes- 
 see ; how much more marked the 
 straight line was in Virginia! How 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 71 
 
 clean and clear it cleaves through 
 the soil of New England, or 
 stretches its vast parallels on our 
 Western prairies ! How exact it 
 is on the ploughed lands of our 
 Old Home, finding its most exact 
 conditions when the ploughshare 
 is guided by the firm hand and 
 cool head of a Scotch farmer on 
 the fields of Ayrshire or the slopes 
 of Midlothian! 
 
 I believe that the curved furrows 
 of Georgia tell us deep truths of 
 racial peculiarities, worthy of our 
 earnest study. To plough, and 
 keep ploughing, a straight furrow 
 requires steady persistence, an in- 
 telligent, resolute will, and a power 
 of concentration — all which quali- 
 
72 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 ties pertain especially to superior 
 races of men.* 
 
 We were prepared to find in 
 Atlanta, Georgia, where we stayed 
 over a day, a thoroughly wide- 
 awake place. It is a typical centre 
 of the new South. When one 
 sees the handsome avenues of 
 well-built mansions, and the busy 
 streets in the business portions of 
 the city, it is hard to realize that 
 the ravages of war had passed 
 over the place, not so long since, 
 with both fire and sword, and 
 almost razed it to the ground. 
 
 * My theory of line variation is worth a 
 thought, but since writing the above, I have 
 been again assured by a Georgian that the 
 curved furrows were to prevent washouts, and 
 to conserve moisture. 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 73 
 
 The enterprise and spirit of the 
 little place rather surprises some 
 other towns in Georgia. It is 
 considered a clear case of bluff", 
 and the audacity which conceived 
 the "World's Fair" Exposition, 
 recently held there, and for which 
 " an appropriation " was asked 
 and obtained, completely took the 
 breath away from less progressive 
 centres. 
 
 We went out to the exposition 
 grounds, and saw them in their 
 melancholy decay. Exposed laths 
 and broken plaster dispelled the 
 magnificent illusion of "marble 
 palaces and cloud-capped towers." 
 But one could imagine the stage 
 all set and the crowd playing 
 
-_j. FROM SUMMER LAXH 
 
 " World's Fair " to their own sat- 
 isfaction, and the lining- of some 
 pockets at least. 
 
 Even in its decay one could see 
 what a really good thing it must 
 have been, and though as nothino- 
 to the Columbian Exposition, yet 
 it was a surprising" success within 
 its own limits. 
 
 It was curious to see a faded 
 tympanum on the facade of one 
 of the buildinos, with the o-ods of 
 Greece and the m}ths of the 
 ancients still dominating the in- 
 tellect and art of this our modern 
 clay. It is the infinitesimal which 
 has unch-ing potency. Little 
 Greece and little Athens, with her 
 great men and greater artists, a 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 75 
 
 mere handful amid the myriads of 
 the world, still rule over us in 
 aesthetic relations and vitalize all 
 that we have of artistic conception 
 or power. 
 
 Our day at Atlanta coincided 
 with Memorial Day, when the 
 South yearly renews her devotion 
 to her sleeping soldiers. In the 
 morning of that day we extended 
 our excursion beyond the site of 
 the exposition through the resi- 
 dence portion of the town out to 
 Grant Park and to the site of the 
 old Confederate fort, on a com- 
 manding eminence, where the 
 cannon remain as they did in 
 those days of strife, which we 
 trust can never again be renewed. 
 
76 FRO^r summer land 
 
 It is a thrilline thingf to stand 
 on a site, made dreadful and sacred 
 both, by the blood of men ; to 
 bring before one's mind, under 
 that calm, peaceful sky above one, 
 that on that very spot were tur- 
 moil and encounter, the clash of 
 arms, and the tread of death. 
 
 We returned to the centre of 
 the little city and passed some 
 hours just lounging about the 
 streets. The Memorial Day pro- 
 cession was to come off later on in 
 the afternoon, and hot as the day 
 was we determined to see it. The 
 papers gave the names of the vari- 
 ous notables who took part, the 
 order of their precedence, and the 
 various ororanizations marchine in 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 77 
 
 the lines. But I preferred to look 
 on as an utter stranger and take 
 in the impression of the moment. 
 
 It was worth noticingf how in- 
 tense and real the interest was 
 in the whole proceeding. Flags 
 were everywhere, the Union flag, 
 of course, on all buildings, but 
 in the hands of the people on 
 the streets and in the line were 
 small Confederate flags of various 
 styles. I tried in vain to find one 
 to purchase in the stores ; there 
 were none on sale. 
 
 At last the procession hove 
 in sight, and at the head was a 
 marked and stern figure. He was 
 cheered to the echo, and bowed 
 right and left with chevalier-like 
 
78 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 grace. His empty sleeve, pinned 
 to his breast, told the story. The 
 ease with which he managed his 
 spirited horse with one hand re- 
 vealed his power. His gaunt, thin 
 face, prominent nose, determined 
 eyebrows, and well-marked cheek 
 bones, all told their tale of daring, 
 endurance, and persistence. But 
 his staff was more interesting even 
 than himself. It consisted of 
 striplings, each a six-footer, each 
 easy and erect in his saddle, each 
 a soldier, and yet little more than 
 a boy. On they followed their old 
 scarred leader. He was bowing 
 right and left, but they were im- 
 passive, eyes to the front, immov- 
 able, sword at rest, young eaglets, 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 79 
 
 with all the blood, brain, and brav- 
 ery of the old bird before them. 
 
 There were various military 
 companies, cavalry and infantry, 
 among the latter a colored regi- 
 ment, loudly applauded. The line 
 was swelled with various civic or- 
 ganizations, all bearing flowers 
 and wreaths to deck the graves of 
 the departed. This duty was not 
 left alone to the military. A dis- 
 tinguishing and pleasing part of 
 the procession was a lengthy and 
 double line of carriages, filled with 
 ladies, who were to take their part 
 in the memorial services of the 
 day. It gave one's heart a tug to 
 see the mourning garb of some, 
 their silvered hair and their bent 
 
•go FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 forms ; but love was undying with- 
 in them. The young, too, were 
 with them to ensure the continu- 
 ance of the same love when they 
 were gone. O, how women's 
 hearts are ever true to departed 
 memories ! It was delightful, here 
 in Atlanta, to see that the place 
 was not too big to thrust out from 
 its Memorial Day procession the 
 loving hands of the truly gentle, 
 as well as the truly bereaved. 
 
 The great procession passed on, 
 with music and flowers, and the 
 combined flags of the Union and 
 the Confederacy; the first, a glori- 
 ous fact, more loved than ever, 
 the other, a memory, but cher- 
 ished and revered for its very dar- 
 
TO SUiMMER 8l 
 
 ing, the symbol of a cause whose 
 success would have been ruin, but 
 whose overthrow was nevertheless 
 bitter at the time. 
 
 Out of that bitterness has come 
 the new wine of a recognized and 
 national life, and in that life may 
 Atlanta, and all the South, ever 
 flourish. 
 
 At night we drew out of the city 
 and by morning we were " through 
 Georgia," and at Chattanooga in 
 Tennessee. 
 
 6 
 
Chattanooga 
 
An altar high within the land, 
 
 Where erstwhile foes stand hand in hand, 
 
 Tears now unite — They understand. 
 
 The love of country each inspired, 
 With honor high each soul was fired. 
 The fame of each, by each, is quired. 
 
 An allar tomb within the land. 
 To martyred dead, a glorious band, 
 Whom all can claim, hand grasped in hand. 
 
 J. H. K. 
 
On Lookout Mountain 
 
t 
 
 IV 
 
 C HATTANOOGA, 
 
 just over the 
 
 northern border 
 
 •■ —^.Mi^^ of Georgia, in 
 
 ■""■»--. -' ^ ■ Tennessee, is a 
 
 place filled with 
 
 interest. 
 
 It lies at the foot of Lookout 
 
 Mountain, and is in the centre of 
 
 scenes ever memorable in the 
 
 history of the United States. 
 
 From this point one can go to 
 the battle-fields of Chickamauga, 
 Missionary Ridge, Orchard Knob, 
 and Lookout Mountain ; and when 
 
88 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 one speaks of these sites, he 
 speaks not merely of locaHties, 
 but of places which would be in- 
 teresting even if the raven wing 
 of war had never overshadowed 
 them. Nature here is lavish in 
 the immense, in the picturesque, 
 in the inspiring ; but when one 
 adds to this the fact that only 
 thirty-six years ago, in the short 
 space of three months and nine 
 days, 34,000 men laid down their 
 lives here, within the radius of 
 one's glance, as one stands on 
 Lookout Mountain, then, indeed, 
 the whole place seems filled with 
 ghosts. One is thrilled by the 
 vast expanse of the view ; but 
 the deeper thrill is that of one's 
 
TO' SUMMER 8g 
 
 soul, as the eye within sees not 
 the landscape merely, but the 
 strife, the tumult, the shouts of 
 battle, and the garments steeped 
 in blood. 
 
 It all seemed incredible as one 
 looked out over that great expanse 
 of the fair surface of the earth. 
 How could blood have been spilt 
 under such a sky? How could 
 men, on those inspiring mountain 
 heights, hurl each other down the 
 declivities to certain death ? Yet 
 so it was. The very clouds which 
 hung upon the mountains, cover- 
 ing both armies, seemed loath to 
 lift themselves from the serried 
 lines, obscured from each other 
 by the merciful mists of heaven. 
 
9° 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 But time moved on inexorably, 
 and the clear light came, and 
 brothers slew each other, until 
 night again came down to hide 
 from each their awful work. 
 
 Yes, it was glory, it was bravery, 
 it was the noble offering of a na- 
 tion's best blood ; but though it 
 was all this, it need not have been. 
 So at least one may venture to 
 think ; but the gfaee of war was 
 thrown down, and the delirium of 
 that fearful madness must needs 
 have its end. 
 
 It was then, with hearts attuned 
 to the unseen influences of all that 
 historic reality, that we went out 
 to see it all, as it is to-day. 
 
 The town of Chattanooga, a 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 91 
 
 railroad centre of no mean impor- 
 tance, the site of several large in- 
 dustrial establishments, presented 
 an animated appearance. Its well- 
 paved streets, attractive residences, 
 and general air of prosperity gave 
 one pleasure. It was a mere out- 
 post before the war, but ever since 
 the dawn of peace it has gone on 
 increasing in importance as the 
 years fly by. It bids fair to be 
 always an attractive centre, com- 
 mercially and socially. Commer- 
 cially it is the gateway to the 
 great railroad systems of the South; 
 socially it is already attractive as 
 affording both a summer and winter 
 residence amid scenes of romantic 
 beauty and historic interest. 
 
92 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 Our first point was up to the 
 top of Lookout Mountain. We 
 made this ascent by one of the 
 inclined railways, of almost per- 
 pendicular grade, having near its 
 termination an ascent of sixty- 
 seven feet in one hundred. One 
 has an instinctive tendency to 
 cling pretty closely to the seats 
 in this section of the incline ; for, 
 as one looks out over the vast 
 landscape beneath one, it would 
 seem as if an uneasy jerk would 
 spill the passengers into space. 
 
 We made the upward journey 
 with perfect safety and great ra- 
 pidity. One would have preferred 
 the leisurely ascent, by the con- 
 tinuous windings of the well-kept 
 
The Incline, Chattanooga 
 
TO SUMMEK 
 
 95 
 
 military road, but that would take 
 up too much time. Once on the 
 great mountain plateau we were 
 unmindful of aught else but the 
 historic memories we had brought 
 with us, and the noble expanse 
 which spread itself out at our feet. 
 
 An old negro was our cicerone 
 for the occasion. He had been 
 all through the war, he said, and 
 told us with his soft voice his story 
 of the battles, which I have com- 
 pletely forgotten. The one thing 
 which sticks to me is that, while 
 speaking of other military heroes 
 as gen'ral this, or gen'ral that, he 
 always spoke of Grant as Giant 
 Grant. 
 
 It was hopeless to get from him 
 
96 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 any clear idea of the lines of at- 
 tack and defence, except in a most 
 scattered way. It was better to 
 give one's self up to the scene, and 
 let imagination work. 
 
 As far as possible the positions 
 of the various regiments engaged 
 in the several battles have been 
 determined, and marked by suit- 
 able monumental stones and 
 bronze tablets. The whole vast 
 extent of the battle sites has been 
 thus marked by loving and patriotic 
 hands. But these waymarks of 
 history require for their present 
 use a previous knowledge of the 
 whole campaign and the actors 
 therein, which everyone does not 
 possess. 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 97 
 
 It was delightful, however, to 
 think that at the close of the war 
 both sides united at once in the 
 respectful and reverential duty of 
 thus identifying these historic 
 localities. The eleven Federal 
 and eleven Confederate States 
 whose troops were engaged here 
 in mortal combat have united to 
 conserve their dust, to perpetuate 
 their names, and to preserve the 
 memories of their patriotism and 
 bravery. 
 
 Not only have battle monuments 
 been raised by these States to the 
 brave departed, but the bodies of 
 the slain have been lovingly gath- 
 ered and laid to sleep beneath the 
 green sward of vast cemeteries. 
 
98 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 whose grace and beauty speaks 
 ever of peace. 
 
 Through cemetery after ceme- 
 tery we drove, each one more 
 beautiful than the other, and this 
 beauty came not from any mere- 
 tricious ornamentation or park 
 gardening. It was rather the re- 
 sult of nature's own sympathy. It 
 came from the rich green sward, 
 from the over-arching trees, and 
 from that air of sombre magnifi- 
 cence which the great spaces pre- 
 sented. 
 
 In no other nation, if I mistake 
 not, could one find such evidences 
 of grateful love, to officers and 
 soldiers alike, as one finds in our 
 national military cemeteries, wher- 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 99 
 
 ever they are found. This is more 
 touchingly manifested where the 
 very battle-field itself or its imme- 
 diate vicinity has been selected for 
 such loving remembrance. Here 
 at Chattanooga the rank and file, 
 as well as generals and officers, 
 were all individually commemo- 
 rated. Whether under the mas- 
 sive monument, or in the narrow 
 grave, the individual man was re- 
 membered. His name and style 
 were there engraven. But love 
 did not stay even at this. There 
 were many soldiers left unidenti- 
 fied. The tramp of battle and 
 the rapid sweep of the succeeding 
 hours often removed all traces of 
 likeness, and made recognition 
 
lOO FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 impossible. To gather all those up 
 and put them in one common 
 grave would have seemed enough 
 to some, but that did not suffice 
 the love that followed their fate 
 and mourned for them. Hence 
 it is, that the most touching sights 
 in Chattanooga Cemetery are the 
 sweeping curves of the nameless 
 eraves which mark the last restingf 
 places of the unknown dead. 
 
 Unknown they were, but their 
 personal identity, even though un- 
 known, was respected and hon- 
 ored. There was nothing that 
 touched me more in the national 
 cemetery than those graves. The 
 manner in which they were placed, 
 the sense of beauty in the great 
 
TO SUMMER loi 
 
 curving lines in which they lay, 
 all told a story of loving and ten- 
 der sentiment not met with, I 
 think, under other skies. 
 
 It would have been pleasant to 
 linger for days at Chattanooga, 
 to inspect its industries of iron 
 and lumber, its manufactories of 
 farming implements and other in- 
 dustries, to visit its many churches, 
 and schools, and know more of its 
 growing life, but we had to hurry 
 on, despite even of some pressing 
 invitations to tarry longer. 
 
 It would have been a delight to 
 have taken a leisurely outlook over 
 all those historic sites, and intelli- 
 gently to trace out how battles 
 were lost and won. We had. 
 
lo: 
 
 FROM SUMMER LANK TO SUMMKR 
 
 ho\\'e\'er, seen enough to inspire 
 our souls with thoughts of glorj- 
 and of countr)', and to fill our 
 imagination witli the idea tliat 
 Lookout ^fountain 
 was as a great altar 
 set up in tlie midst 
 of our land, e\'er 
 sacred to imion 
 and te> peace, 
 u p o n ^^' li i c h a 
 precious oKering 
 had been placed 
 b y the w h o 1 e 
 nation, which 
 would make an- 
 other such war 
 L)etwecn lirdhren, 
 fore\er imp(_)ssible. 
 
Hot Springs, Virginia 
 
From the dark depths of earth 
 
 Come genial, living springs ; 
 Like angels from the vast profound 
 
 With healing on their wings. 
 
 From the mysterious deep 
 
 Which eye hath never seen ; 
 The healing waters issue forth, 
 
 Translucent, clear, serene. 
 
 They come to heal, to bless, 
 
 To give us joy for pain ; 
 To tell us that in every deep, 
 
 Is blessing, for our gain. 
 
 Out of the deep of woe, 
 
 Can come the balm of peace ; 
 Out of the deep of death, 
 
 For every ill, surcease. 
 
 J. H. K. 
 
The Waterfall 
 
V 
 
 We went b}' 
 nio-ht throug-h 
 the picturesque 
 regions of east 
 Tennessee, and 
 doubtless missed 
 much thereb)'. I liad heard from 
 my hunting friend, whom I met 
 on Iiis wa)' to Florida, man}' inter- 
 esting things about this wild coun- 
 trj' and its primiti\'e inhal^itants. 
 
 To their unsophisticated nature 
 the legislation Avhich restricts the 
 free transmutation of corn into 
 whiskey seems a most unreason- 
 
I08 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 able proceeding. For the original 
 bushel of the simple corn they 
 can procure but a trifling and 
 fluctuating price ; but for the dis- 
 tilled juice thereof they can always 
 command a ready and eager mar- 
 ket, and obtain an ever so much 
 larger income. 
 
 The light of day, when excise 
 officers are on the alert, is not as 
 welcome to them as the hours 
 when moonlight casts its shadows. 
 Hence, I presume, their name of 
 " Moonshiners," which in this 
 poetic fashion refers to their con- 
 cealed and illicit traffic. 
 
 A man travelling in these re- 
 gions must be ready at a moment's 
 notice to answer very clearly as 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 109 
 
 to what his business is, where he 
 comes from, and whither he is 
 going. Woe betide him if there 
 is any mystery in his movements, 
 or if he cannot clear his skirts of 
 any suspicion of being an excise- 
 man. 
 
 The traffic in these spirits of 
 the night is carried on with a fine 
 sense of honor. A man leaves his 
 jug, with the necessary money, at a 
 certain place, and in the silence 
 and mystery of darkness his ves- 
 sel, filled, is left in his outhouse, or 
 barn, or some convenient spot 
 where it is sure to be found. It is 
 all very rude and simple, and I sup- 
 pose in a certain sense immoral, 
 but it is very interesting. 
 
no FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 My hunting friend told me of 
 an old aunt of his who lived in 
 those parts. She was a grand 
 dame of the old school, and lived 
 in fine state. At her death it was 
 my friend's duty to settle her 
 estate. As they overhauled her 
 premises they found demijohn 
 after demijohn tucked away in all 
 sorts of places. They were all 
 full, untouched ; and when the 
 caretaker of the place was asked 
 for an explanation of such singu- 
 lar storage, his answer was, that 
 the old lady was so anxious to 
 keep the whiskey away from him, 
 that every demijohn she could lay 
 hands on she hid thus away. 
 
 It is no wonder that such re- 
 
TO SUMMER III 
 
 gions and such people give mate- 
 rial for some of our best native 
 romances written. We were sorry 
 Ave could not see them all at closer 
 view. 
 
 In due time we left the main 
 line of the railroad, and made the 
 ascent on the very steep and very 
 select railway leading to the cele- 
 brated Hot Springs in Virginia. 
 
 The ride was interesting, even 
 after all the experiences of the 
 Far West and Colorado. There 
 was no such wildness or grandeur 
 as one sees there, but yet it was 
 all inspiring and beautiful. 
 
 We nestled down for the night, 
 in that narrow mountain fastness, 
 enjoying the comfort of our private 
 
112 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 car, but not before we had made a 
 little tour of observation, taking in, 
 as far as possible, all the advan- 
 tages of the place. The hot 
 springs in use are all enclosed in 
 a spacious bath-house, imme- 
 diately connecting with the New 
 Homestead Hotel. Next day we 
 made experience of the baths, and 
 certainly nothing could be better 
 than the warm and beautifully 
 crystalline, greenish water, clear 
 and pure as the air. The bathing 
 facilities are splendid and tasteful, 
 without any luxurious display, or 
 suggestion even of voluptuous- 
 ness. The lavish clear flow of the 
 warm waters was delightful, and 
 it seemed that it must be a 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 "3 
 
 fountain of health to all who 
 could try to make their inner lives 
 as clean as its cleansing flood. 
 There were lithia springs also, with 
 gushing streams of silver, good to 
 drink and drink again. 
 
 The surrounding country is 
 somewhat bleak, rough and moun- 
 tainous. This might possibly bore 
 some people who would miss bus- 
 tle and crowds, but to anyone who 
 loved nature, who could walk or 
 ride on those mountain paths, 
 nothing could give more perfect 
 rest than this good hotel in its 
 wild fastness, with these healing 
 springs, and this mountain air, 
 mild and comforting alike in win- 
 ter weather or in summer shine. 
 
 8 
 
114 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 This bleakness and roughness 
 of aspect, however, is nothing but 
 the grim appearance, which we 
 might attribute to some fabled 
 dragon on guard at the portal of a 
 concealed paradise. Before the 
 venturesome the monster flees. 
 We found such a paradise in an 
 excursion we made to one of the 
 many picturesque valleys in this 
 mountain stretch. We drove in 
 under the great trees until we 
 were close to the dancing stream, 
 which ran gayly on its course 
 through the valley, leaping from 
 rock to rock for our pleasure and 
 diversion. 
 
 It was delightful to stray along 
 the banks and to clamber out 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 "5 
 
 upon the rocks amid the turmoil 
 of the torrent, and watch the cata- 
 ract descend from crag to crag 
 behind the veil of foliagfe which 
 obscured and yet enhanced its 
 beauty. 
 
 There is a feminine erace in all 
 such beautiful scenes. The ex- 
 quisite forms of the waving cur- 
 rent, the crystal depths of the 
 silent pools, the reflected lights 
 within them of the heavens above, 
 the fresh pure sparkle of the danc- 
 ing wa\-es, the snow)' purit}' of 
 the descending torrent, the fresh- 
 ness of the living foliage, the 
 happy life of birds and flowers, 
 all made glad by the presence of 
 the stream, suggest the feminine 
 
Il6 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 idea, which ever gives life and grace 
 and beauty to that which without 
 it would be but a barren wilderness. 
 
 We got back from our excursion 
 as evening fell down on the sur- 
 rounding mountains, and after din- 
 ner passed some pleasant hours in 
 the spacious parlors of the New 
 Homestead Hotel. There, to our 
 surprise and pleasure, we met some 
 dear friends from New York. 
 
 This reminds me that during the 
 day, as I was lounging about at 
 the Springs, I saw approaching me 
 a splendid-looking swell, gotten up 
 in the highest style of riding cos- 
 tume — great baggy corduroys, with 
 close-fitting leather leggings, a 
 jaunty hat, a smart coat, and a 
 
TO SUMMER 117 
 
 riding whip in his hand. He was 
 fair and florid, and well set up, 
 with a flaunting yellow moustache 
 of grand proportions, and had a 
 general air of being excessively 
 healthy and happy. 
 
 As this splendid vision came 
 near me I ventured to give it a 
 quiet and direct glance ; when 
 from the clear blue eyes came a 
 look of recognition, and from the 
 laughing mouth the words, "Well, 
 if this isn't Canon Knowles ! " My 
 
 reply was: "M , what on earth 
 
 are you doing here?" 
 
 He soon told me that he was 
 the riding-master at the hotel ; that 
 he had been at Hot Springs for 
 quite a time. Here, said I to my- 
 
Il8 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 self, is the right man in the right 
 ■ place at last. I had met him in 
 New York, and admired his splen- 
 did appearance. He always seemed 
 to me too manly and intelligent for 
 the limited sphere in which he had 
 found employment. It rejoiced 
 me, then, to see him here, in his 
 free, outdoor life and congenial oc- 
 cupation, which brought into full 
 play the manly qualities so well 
 developed on the genial soil of his 
 native Ireland. I am sure that 
 such a splendid fellow as this must 
 be popular with his pupils, earnest 
 and steady as he is, as well as gen- 
 tle and polite. 
 
 In the early hours of the morn- 
 ing we descended the mountains 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 119 
 
 and reached once more the main 
 line, where we had to wait some 
 hours for our train connection. 
 Our stopping place was a wide 
 plain, almost "Western" in its ex- 
 tent. There a city was to have 
 been built. The name given thereto 
 was suggestive of the foundations 
 of all greatness. Speculation ran 
 high ; all was to be on a grand 
 scale; and the little old village not 
 far off cowered before the advent 
 of the mighty city. But it never 
 came. It was all shrunk up to noth- 
 ing, or nearly so, and a weather- 
 beaten street-car line, run by mule 
 power, was the connecting link be- 
 tween the dead city and the living 
 old hamlet away in the hills. 
 
I20 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 It would be sadly interesting if 
 one could read the whole story of 
 such a venture and its ultimate 
 failure. 
 
 While we were waiting under 
 the burning sun our car was an ob- 
 ject of attraction to the boys play- 
 ing about. Bright, clear-eyed little 
 fellows they were, straight up and 
 down, and independent. It was 
 amusing to see the nonchalant 
 way they interviewed us. They 
 climbed upon the steps, they stood 
 on the platform at the end, they 
 entered and sat down ; but all was 
 done so undemonstratively and 
 with such manly ease that we could 
 not object. 
 
 We were interested in these little 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 121 
 
 Virginians — so manl3^ so simple, 
 and so yentlemanh'. There was 
 nothing- \\hatever boisterous or 
 rude about them. They brought 
 us wild flowers, and were not eager 
 
 for remuneration, 
 a farewell polite- 
 1\' as our car sped 
 awa}-. 
 
 It took us 
 ]rian}- long hours 
 to reach Lura)', 
 where late in the 
 e\'ening we en- 
 tered the m\-stic 
 regions under- 
 ground, of which 
 we will tell in the 
 next chapter. 
 
 They waved us 
 
Luray Cavern 
 
Within the Holy Place of God 
 The light of day did never shine ; 
 
 As if to tell that earthly light, 
 
 He needed not within His shrine. 
 
 For light and dark to Him are one, 
 He seeth where no light can be ; 
 
 And where no mortal eye can peer. 
 He works with wondrous symmetry. 
 
 The crystal in the darkness dim, 
 
 The gem within the depths of earth, 
 
 The treasures of the unseen world, 
 
 Have each and all with Him their birth. 
 
 Thus, in this cavern huge and vast, 
 And wondrous, with its splendors rare. 
 
 The darkness witnesses the truth, 
 That God was ever working there. 
 
 J. H. K. 
 
Saracen's Tent 
 
VI 
 
 It was night 
 when we reached 
 the o 1 cl - f a s h - 
 ioned \'illag'e of 
 Liira)', but that 
 ni a d e the e n - 
 trance into the 
 famous ca\'erns 
 more romantic still. 
 
 Although the regidar season 
 had not opened we were most 
 courteously met by the superin- 
 tendent of the ca\'es, an omni- 
 bus was placed at oiu" disposal, 
 and through the long, stragrgHng 
 
128 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 village street we drove out a mile 
 to the hillside entrance of the 
 underground wonders. 
 
 Even in the dark it was a beau- 
 tiful ride. The dimly lit village 
 streets and the lights of homes 
 seen through open windows were 
 pleasant. The clear obscure of 
 the open country under the stars 
 had also its charms. Away east- 
 ward a huge conflagration was 
 blazinof on the distant mountains. 
 In our eyes it seemed something 
 terrible, but to our guide it was 
 but a prosaic affair — only some 
 folks burning out the underbrush 
 to let the grass grow upon the 
 mountains for the cattle thereon. 
 Commonplace as its origin might 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 129 
 
 have been it was a splendid illu- 
 mination, nevertheless, and added 
 to our enjoyment. 
 
 The guide was a charming fel- 
 low, with a refined good face. He 
 was kindness itself to us, and took 
 all pains possible in showing us 
 the wonders of the caverns. His 
 gentlemanliness was manifest in 
 every turn. The flames in the 
 far distance suggested to m)- mind 
 the long past warlike scenes of 
 the Shenandoah Valley in which 
 we then were. I asked our guide 
 if he had recollections of those 
 bitter days. " Yes," said he, " I 
 remember them well. It was 
 nothing but trouble for years. 
 We scarcely knew how to get 
 
130 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 bread for our families, or how to 
 keep it if we had it. We were 
 run over by both armies, time and 
 time again, until we were sick of 
 our lives." There was an infinite 
 pathos in his introspective look, as 
 he brought up the memories of 
 the past which the blazing hillside 
 had suggested to my mind. 
 
 We reached the entrance to the 
 caves, a well-appointed house built 
 over a descending staircase which 
 led directly to the wonders. Here 
 American refinement and ingenu- 
 ity met us on the threshold. We 
 were eiven candles, but these were 
 not merely single ones, which each 
 could take in his or her hand. No, 
 they were arranged in clusters of 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 131 
 
 three or four, placed in a com- 
 bined socket. Attached to this 
 socket was a curved metal shade, 
 to which was fastened a conven- 
 ient handle. The upright shade 
 covered the light from one's eyes, 
 the handle made it pleasant to 
 hold, all dripping of grease was 
 prevented, and with complete com- 
 fort we could follow our guide 
 down the steps into the cavern. 
 
 We were told that there was no 
 mud, no dirt, no danger; all that 
 was necessary and peremptory 
 was that we were to keep close to 
 our guide, and by no means to 
 step aside into any alluring by- 
 paths. Good advice this, for any 
 undertaking, to keep to the pre- 
 
132 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 scribed way and to keep close also 
 to one's leader. 
 
 The caverns during the show 
 season are lit with electric lamps, 
 but the illumination which our 
 guide provided seemed to me 
 better than any steady electric 
 light could be. We saw the caves 
 by means of a plentiful use of 
 magnesium wire. 
 
 As we advanced through the 
 first cavern our candles revealed 
 to us somewhat of the Aladdin- 
 like wonders of the fairy place, but 
 when our guide flashed out his 
 bright white light, and waved it 
 about over the glittering stalac- 
 tites and the grotesque and won- 
 derful formations on every hand, 
 
TO SUMMER 133 
 
 the effect was magical. To this 
 bright Hght would succeed the 
 darkness of the abyss, until our 
 eyes could again perceive the flare 
 of our candles, which served to 
 illuminate but a narrow circle and 
 show us one step at a time. 
 
 We were taken from one won- 
 der to another, up and down 
 again, until we had reached a 
 depth of over two hundred feet. 
 There was no damp, nothing dis- 
 agreeable, the air was pure and 
 sweet, and not too cold. We saw 
 glittering formations in all kinds 
 of fantastic shapes, some clear and 
 white as the purest moonlight, 
 others rose- colored, others gray, 
 others tinted like onyx, and 
 
134 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 grained like the finest wood, vary- 
 ing in tone from richest brown to 
 brightest orange. 
 
 We saw clear pools of pellucid 
 water, silent, cold, and still, like 
 fairies' mirrors. Some were like 
 huge cups partly crusted over by a 
 carbonate film, others were fifty 
 feet deep or more. 
 
 All sorts of fantastic names were 
 given to the formations, such as 
 Titania's Bower, Saladin's Tent, 
 and the Spectre, or anything 
 which the fancy might contrive ; 
 but the silence of it all, and the 
 carving work done in the eternal 
 darkness, were more to me than 
 mere names. 
 
 Here one could see, descending 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 135 
 
 from the unseen heights, huge 
 laminae, side by side, close and 
 regular as the underside of a 
 mushroom, but huofe as griant 
 oaks; yet, monstrous as they were, 
 as delicately moulded as a lady's 
 ear. 
 
 Here was a prostrate giant, a 
 hug^e column of alabaster, g-nawed 
 and discolored by the ages which 
 had recorded the unknown years 
 since its overthrow. In and around 
 and through it all we wandered 
 in the surrounding darkness, led 
 on by our faithful guide. Our can- 
 dles, shining out before our own 
 footsteps, but yet keeping our- 
 selves ever in the shade, produced 
 many curious groupings. These 
 
136 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 were all enhanced when, at point 
 after point, the magnesium wire 
 flashed out its weird white light 
 for our surprise and delight. 
 
 It was a sensation to look into 
 the mazy black depths utterly be- 
 yond our reach. In one of these 
 we could dimly discern the em- 
 bedded bones of a human skele- 
 ton, some hapless one who in for- 
 gotten ages dropped down there 
 to his irrevocable doom. 
 
 What a fate it must have been 
 to be thus buried alive in impene- 
 trable darkness, within those cold 
 smooth walls which no mortal foot 
 could ever climb. 
 
 Had he wandered in from the 
 outward world, and lost his way. 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 137 
 
 or had he dropped from above 
 down through some half-concealed 
 fissure which opened to the upper 
 air ? 
 
 It might have been in some such 
 fashion as this latter, for it was by 
 observing such a fissure, through 
 which cold air seemed to rush up- 
 ward, that the caverns were dis- 
 covered by Mr. Andrew J. Camp- 
 bell, who, with others, entered 
 them on August 13, 1878. Since 
 then the caverns have been a show- 
 place of great attraction, thousands 
 visiting them every year. They 
 are certainly worth more than one 
 visit ; for in beauty and richness 
 the stalactite display exceeds that 
 of any other cavern known. 
 
138 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 The immense space called the 
 ball-room suggests the magnifi- 
 cence of a race of giants. The 
 rocks above, with their clustering 
 pendants catching the light ; the 
 great decorations of encrusted 
 alabaster upon cyclopean walls ; 
 the great oval of the cemented 
 floor, the seats arranged here and 
 there for spectators ; give the no- 
 tion that if one we're to wait in 
 silence and utter some magic spell 
 the mysterious denizens of this 
 strange palace would show them- 
 selves to our mortal gaze, and 
 make rare revel for our delig-ht 
 and awe. 
 
 Neither would music be want- 
 ing. Every hanging frond of crys- 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 139 
 
 tal is an instrument ready to an- 
 swer with a touch. The great 
 stalactites would give a tone deep 
 as the lowest organ note, and the 
 whole gamut of musical utterance 
 could be evoked by a knowing 
 hand. 
 
 We heard this litho-melody to 
 perfection in the vast opening 
 called the cathedral. Our guide 
 left us grouped at one side of the 
 great space, while on the other he 
 approached the organ, formed of 
 alabaster columns closely placed 
 together. He played a little mel- 
 ody which was weird in the still- 
 ness, and as he plied his hammer 
 rapidly over the whole surface, as 
 one would slide the finger over 
 
 & 
 
I40 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 piano keys, he showed us that a 
 patient and skilful musician could 
 find every tone and semitone neces- 
 sary for any melody or comiDlicated 
 harmony. Our guide was more suc- 
 cessful with the cathedral chimes, 
 which he struck out from some 
 huge sword-like pendants near by. 
 The tone was clear and true, pro- 
 ducing in that semi-darkness an 
 effect which one could never forget. 
 We were told that the extent 
 of these caverns in all their won- 
 der is unknown. Every year new 
 chambers are opened and made 
 ready for inspection. A certain 
 amount of clearing has to be 
 done, but I begged of our guide 
 that portions at least should be 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 141 
 
 left entirely in the rough. There- 
 upon he conducted us into a part 
 not yet thrown open to the public. 
 It was like the forest primeval. 
 The dust of ages was there, the 
 uncleared floor littered with debris, 
 the ooze under foot, the precarious 
 treading which needed constant 
 watchfulness, but the glory of sta- 
 lactite and crystal was all the 
 same. I was satisfied when I saw 
 this cavern absolutely untouched, 
 that the improvements of cement 
 paths to walk on, of fence-posts 
 and railing, and other marks of 
 human care, did not take anything 
 from the unequalled beauties of 
 the Luray Cavern. 
 
 " Geologically considered, the 
 
142 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 Luray Cavern does not date be- 
 yond the tertiary period, though 
 carved from the Silurian lime- 
 stone. At some period long sub- 
 sequent to its original excavation, 
 and after many large stalactites 
 had grown, it was completely 
 filled with glacial mud charged 
 with acid, whereby the dripstone 
 was eroded into singularly gro- 
 tesque shapes. After the mud 
 had been mostly removed by flow- 
 ing water, these eroded forms re- 
 mained among the new growths. 
 To this contrast may be ascribed 
 some of the most strikingf scenes 
 in the cave. The many and ex- 
 traordinar)' monuments of aque- 
 ous energy include massive col- 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 143 
 
 umns wrenched from their place 
 in the ceiling and prostrate on the 
 floor ; the hollow column, forty 
 feet high and thirty feet in diam- 
 eter, standing erect, but pierced 
 by a tubular passage from top 
 to bottom ; the leaning column, 
 nearly as large, undermined and 
 tilting like the campanile of Pisa ; 
 the organ, a cluster of stalactites 
 dropped points downward in the 
 room known as the cathedral ; be- 
 sides a vast bed of disintegrated 
 carbonates left by the whirling 
 flood in the retreat known as the 
 Elfin Ramble." * 
 
 It would be impossible to over- 
 
 * Encyclopaedia Britannica, art. " Liiray 
 
 Cavern." 
 
 \ 
 
144 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAXH TO SUMMER 
 
 estimate the richness and grandeur 
 of those underground wonders in 
 Lura)' Ca\-ern. In the canopy 
 alone of the Imperial Spring it is 
 estimated that 40,000 pendants 
 are visible at once. 
 
 For hours one 
 may traverse this 
 land of gnomes 
 and pixies, and 
 yet leax'e the scene, 
 as we did, with the 
 feeling that the 
 half had not been 
 told us, and that 
 we had seen but 
 the merest frag- 
 ment of its unend- 
 ino- wonders. 
 
Harper's Ferry 
 
It seems a place filled with pure upper air, 
 An open gateway to the golden west, 
 A gardeil fair, hemmed in by mountain crest, 
 
 With some kind faithful dragon watching there. 
 
 O ever may, the products fair, of peace, 
 The golden apples meet for marriage feast. 
 Of union true, twixt West, North, South and 
 East, 
 
 Grow in our Hesper-land, and never cease. 
 
 And may they also ever guarded be 
 
 By faithful hearts, the loyal and the true ; 
 And may these golden apples aye renew 
 
 Our love of country and of liberty. 
 
 J. H. K. 
 
Harper's Ferry 
 
VII 
 
 As we were draw- 
 ing near Harper's 
 Ferry a brakeman 
 entered our car and 
 drew our attention 
 to Charlestown, Vir- 
 Sfinia, which we 
 were then approach- 
 ing-. 
 
 "That dome," 
 said the bralceman, 
 "is w li e r e John 
 Brown was tried, 
 and not far off he was hung." 
 The quiet old town, which seemed 
 
ISO 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 to show no signs of modern prog- 
 ress, at once assumed an interest 
 in our eyes. For think what one 
 may of John Brown and his ac- 
 tions at Harper's Ferry, October, 
 1859, he stands out as the advanc- 
 ing herald of events which began 
 to take place in all their dread 
 reality eighteen months after his 
 death. 
 
 A man who could stand on the 
 gallows in that town of Charles- 
 town, with the black cap drawn 
 over his face and the noosed 
 rope about his neck for a long 
 fifteen minutes, while troops were 
 marched and countermarched to 
 form a hollow square about his 
 gibbet, without ever showing a 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 151 
 
 quiver, either in head or in arm or 
 limb, must have had some stuff in 
 him. Yet that was the process of 
 his taking off, when, after the 
 sheriff left him with the word that 
 all was ready, he was thus left in 
 that awful darkness awaiting the 
 coming of his doom. 
 
 The man was the product of 
 his inheritance and environments. 
 He was saturated with the Bible ; 
 he brooded on the ideas of lib- 
 erty ; he was a mystic himself ; he 
 deemed himself an instrument in 
 the hands of God for the work 
 that he set out to do. Had he 
 broken with orthodoxy and put 
 himself forward as a leader in a 
 new religion, his force and gloomy 
 
152 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 power might have had results 
 as enormous as that of Joseph 
 Smith and Brigham Young, both, 
 aHke with John Brown, products 
 strangely sprung from certain con- 
 ditions of American life. 
 
 I remember well the thrill which 
 passed through the country in 
 1859 when the leader of the Har- 
 per's Ferry raid and his comrades 
 were hung by the State of Virginia. 
 Some applauded the short and 
 sharp decision which seemed hap- 
 pily to end the whole disturb- 
 ing matter. Others felt otherwise, 
 and sadly said, "The end is not 
 yet." No one knew what was 
 coming. 
 
 It is worth while quoting here 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 153 
 
 what Governor Wise, of Virginia, 
 wrote concerning John Brown : 
 " They are mistaken who take 
 John Brown to be a madman. He 
 is a bundle of the best nerves I 
 ever saw ; cut and thrust and 
 bleeding and in bonds. He is a 
 man of clear head, of courage, for- 
 titude and simple ingenuousness. 
 He is cool, collected, indomitable ; 
 and it is but just to him to say 
 that he was humane to his prison- 
 ers, and he inspired me with 
 great trust in his integrity as a 
 man of truth." This opinion, com- 
 ing from a gentleman in high po- 
 sition, whose duty it was to have 
 him tried, duly sentenced and 
 hung, is of some weight. 
 
154 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 With all these ghosts of the 
 past in our minds, we reached 
 picturesque Harper's Ferry, and as 
 we crowded out on our car plat- 
 form to look about us, one of our 
 party exclaimed, with feeling voice, 
 "This is Harper's Ferry, where 
 that great and good man John 
 Brown made his noble stand for 
 freedom." 
 
 Near us was a small group of 
 men, one of whom looked up in 
 a quick, nervous manner, and re- 
 plied at once with a tone like the 
 ping of a rifle : "Sir, I feel sorry 
 for you if you can call Brown a 
 
 good man ; he was the 
 
 rascal God Almighty ever put 
 breath into. He came here and 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 155 
 
 tried to steal our property ; and, 
 right over there, within thirty rods 
 of us, he shot down innocent men 
 in cold blood." 
 
 This sudden aspect of a totally 
 different view of things was abso- 
 lutely ludicrous. The seriousness 
 of the fact that such views do 
 exist was as nothing. The words 
 were hailed with a roar of laugh- 
 ter from all sides. Then, after a 
 blank silence of surprise, there 
 was some more talk pro and con. 
 It was soon all over. 
 
 I confess that I felt some sym- 
 pathy with my well-knit, firmly set 
 old mountaineer from Virginia, as 
 he hurled back in his calm rage 
 his last shot : " Why didn't you 
 
156 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 buy our slaves from us and not 
 rob us of everything we had?" 
 There the hardy old fellow stood, 
 defiant looking and yet gentle- 
 manly. He had in his hands a 
 superb bouquet of mountain aza- 
 lea, which seemed to emphasize the 
 finer side of his nature, even while 
 his clear eye flashed lightning. 
 To ease matters a little I stepped 
 off the car and engaged him in 
 conversation about the charming 
 flowers he was holding. With 
 hospitable grace he handed me the 
 whole bunch. I thanked him and 
 said that they would serve as a 
 peace offering in the present dis- 
 pute. Quite close to the station 
 was a small obelisk set up to mark 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 157 
 
 the site of John Brown's fortress, 
 and hard by, where the American 
 flag was flying- in the breeze, was 
 the place where the blood had 
 been shed to which the Virginian 
 had referred. 
 
 Curiously enough, a few days 
 before leaving New York I met a 
 gentleman who mentioned to me, 
 I do not remember in what con- 
 nection, that John Brown in his 
 younger days was a believer in 
 non-resistance, and the literal in- 
 terpretation of the ethics of the 
 Sermon on the Mount, but after 
 his Kansas experience he de- 
 liberately made the Old Testa- 
 ment his model — an eye for an eye, 
 and a tooth for a tooth. This 
 
158 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 accounts for the assassination in 
 Kansas of the four pro-slavery 
 men called from their beds at 
 night and deliberately shot. It 
 also explains the strangeness of his 
 actions at Harper's Ferry, which, 
 as we now look back at them, 
 merely antedated a huge move- 
 ment later on, which drenched the 
 entire nation with blood. 
 
 Our brief stay at Harper's 
 Ferry, short as it was, seemed a 
 continuation of the history of the 
 nation. We soon drew out from 
 the station and left the romantic 
 spot far behind. 
 
 The rest of our day's journey 
 was through the lovely valley of 
 the Shenandoah, peaceful in its 
 
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TO SUArMER 
 
 i6i 
 
 fertile slopes, en- 
 compassed by the 
 distant hills, and 
 watered by the 
 winding- river. 
 
 All was once 
 the scene of 
 wear)- warfare, 
 now for ever end- 
 ed. How hard 
 it was to realize, 
 amid the [jresent 
 beauty and rest, 
 the fire and 
 smoke of contend- 
 ing forces and 
 the horror and 
 tears of suffering 
 and of death. 
 
Washington 
 
IjIKF. some huge tower of soaring silver flame, 
 The Obelisk lifts high its awful form, 
 Radiant, serene, in sunshine or in storm. 
 
 It tells of him, who gives to it, his name. 
 
 Silent, serene, unmoved and ever true, 
 
 Like silver tried in sevenfold furnace fires. 
 His spirit still our faltering will inspires. 
 
 And summons us, like him, to dare and do. 
 
 The curving dome, may speak of pliant wills ; 
 
 The colonnades, of whispering intrigues ; 
 
 But, brave, the Obelisk, doth such base leagues. 
 Frown down upon, with all their kindred ills. 
 
 Upward, severe, unswerving, honest, pure, 
 A solemn sermon set in soaring stone ; 
 From time, it calls to God's eternal throne. 
 
 Where only what is pure, shall sure, endure. 
 
 J. H. K. 
 

The Menage 
 
VIII 
 
 It was well on 
 in the afternoon 
 when we reached 
 Washington, and, 
 ha\'ing' the next day before iis, a 
 good rest was the wisest [jroceed- 
 ing. This I obtained while riding 
 at random on some of the street- 
 car lines, where one can look about 
 and see people and things without 
 much fatigue. 
 
 At night I happened upon a 
 capital specimen of negro music. 
 I was strolling on one of the 
 .streets near the station, just be- 
 
l68 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 fore turning in for tlie night in our 
 railroad car, when I heard some 
 sweet sounds coming from a dark 
 corner near a vacant lot. In the 
 gloom I could see three negro 
 youngsters lying on the grass, 
 crooning their melodies for their 
 own delieht. A little crowd soon 
 gathered, and the singers were in- 
 duced, by the hope of some dimes, 
 to step into the light and raise 
 their music in louder fashion. This 
 they did with a will, varying their 
 performance with wild dances. 
 There was a survival of the bar- 
 baric in the tom-tom slapping on 
 the thigh to mark time for the 
 dancers ; while in the music there 
 was a strange tone, full of mystery. 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 169 
 
 The three boys, when singing, 
 formed a group, facing inward. 
 They stared into each other's eyes 
 as if possessed, and then they 
 warbled away in a three-part har- 
 mony, always pleasing, sometimes 
 a little crude, but again and again 
 introducing curious diminutions 
 and expansions of interval, more 
 like the gypsy music of Hungary 
 or Bohemia than aught else. A 
 few of the melodies I heard were 
 genuine darky airs ; others were 
 ordinary music-hall songs, but 
 given with a peculiar twist by 
 these young minstrels. 
 
 During the winter I had heard 
 a delightful concert by the Men- 
 delssohn Glee Club, of New York, 
 
170 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 in which some negro music was 
 admirably sung. Beautiful as it 
 was it lacked the wild flavor of 
 the genuine article, such as one 
 could perceive in the untutored 
 efforts of these street lads. If the 
 three boys in Washington could 
 be induced to sing on the New 
 York concert stage just as they 
 sang in the shadow of a fence, as 
 I heard them, it would make a 
 success. 
 
 As the little al fresco concert 
 was at full blast a cry came on the 
 night air, " Cheese it, the cop ! " 
 and the three darky performers 
 fluttered off into the outer dark- 
 ness like frightened birds. 
 
 A day at Washington, and at 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 171 
 
 such a place, how little It is to 
 have at one's disposal ! But a wise 
 traveller will never lament over 
 what he cannot see, and will limit 
 his observations to his oppor- 
 tunity and be philosophically con- 
 tent therewith. 
 
 The Congressional Library was 
 our first point, we had heard so 
 much of its splendor and its great- 
 ness. It is indeed a magnificent 
 affair. The exterior has a quiet 
 sumptuousness most satisfactory, 
 and the interior fairly glows with 
 rich color and decoration. There 
 is so much of this that it is almost 
 oppressive. The loud tone of the 
 entrance hall, the gay coloring, 
 and the flaunting forwardness of 
 
172 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 that part seem to call for a shout 
 of exultation rather than for the 
 reverent hush which one might 
 be expected to experience when 
 approaching the sacred shrine of 
 Minerva. The inner corridors are, 
 some of them, exquisite models in 
 subdued and appropriate color- 
 ing, and the whole place, outside 
 of the library proper, is a library 
 in itself, full of thought and art, 
 an ever open book for all comers. 
 One could tread those courts for 
 years and find new lessons in each 
 reprise of footstep. 
 
 From the surrounding gallery of 
 the great rotunda we looked down 
 into the library far below. Up 
 near where we stood were great 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 173 
 
 monumental , bronze figures of 
 famous men of the past. Beneath 
 was the broad silent space, filled 
 in with the busy workers of the 
 present, as In their sumptuous 
 surroundings they toiled amid 
 their books. 
 
 The whole effect of the library 
 was rich in the extreme. The 
 superb rotunda, with its vast lan- 
 tern, the bronzes, the marbles, 
 the carvings, the decorations, the 
 sumptuous quiet of the place, sug- 
 gested an infinity of wealth and 
 power. There was a pomp and 
 circumstance about it all as if of 
 something triumphant. It made 
 me think of Venice in its glory, 
 and of the grandeur of the Roman 
 
174 
 
 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 basilicas, of the luxuriousness of 
 old Italian ceilings and ornamen- 
 tation. It was with a corrective 
 shock that one thought of the 
 Radcliffe Library at Oxford, or 
 the old Bodleian, or of the simple 
 uncompromising plainness of the 
 huge rotunda of the British Mu- 
 seum. I doubt if the austerity of 
 the old British Museum would 
 ever please our people. We seem 
 to need the magnificent and the 
 splendid ; a note of luxury and 
 pomp is ever with us in our private 
 life as well as in our public affairs. 
 In Washington itself there is, how- 
 ever, a simple and unaffected side 
 which is truly wonderful. 
 
 Nowhere do you see any evi- 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 175 
 
 dence of display, military or of- 
 ficial. Here are no horseguards 
 mounted as immovable sentries 
 before buildings of state ; no 
 soldiers passing their rounds be- 
 fore the residence of President or 
 members of the cabinet ; not a 
 vestige of anything of the kind. 
 You pass by the White House, 
 the Treasury, the Capitol, or any 
 other public building: not a guard 
 is in evidence anywhere. Of course 
 there are caretakers and detectives 
 and all that, for such are neces- 
 sary against accident. The whole 
 air of Washington seems to say : 
 " Everything here is in the guard- 
 ianship of the people." 
 
 We had several drives through 
 
176 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 the ever varying avenues and 
 squares of this beautiful Wash- 
 ington. The wealth of foliage, 
 the broad spaces, and the splen- 
 dor of the public and private 
 buildings, with their picturesque 
 groupings, impress one with the 
 attractiveness of this queen city 
 of the nation. 
 
 The PTOwinp' heat reminded us 
 that we must not be lured on to 
 undue exertion, and we concluded 
 to limit our excursions to a visit 
 to the great obelisk. 
 
 A closer view of this great 
 structure, which dominates the. 
 landscape with a sort of spiritual 
 splendor for miles about Washing- 
 ton, impressed us greatly. 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 177 
 
 It is a fearful sensation to stand 
 close to its vast height and then 
 look up to its huge walls. The 
 optical effect is bewildering and 
 almost uncanny. We had hoped 
 to make the ascent, but the eleva- 
 tor was out of order, and it was 
 too near the hour of closing to 
 make an attempt to get at the top 
 by the staircase. 
 
 The exclamation of a gentle- 
 man who had just returned from a 
 pilgrimage to the summit, and his 
 earnest manner in saying "I would 
 not do that again for a farm," 
 spread contentment among us at 
 our failure to make the ascent. 
 
 A curious effect was to experi- 
 ence the rush of cold air blown 
 
178 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 out through the entrance door 
 from the heights above. It came 
 like a breeze from the northland, 
 and with an intensity quite re- 
 markable. 
 
 While looking at the great obe- 
 lisk close to its base, one feels 
 that the smallness of the blocks 
 has, near the ground, a rather 
 weak effect, and yet I suppose it 
 could not have been otherwise. 
 Perhaps the uniformity of the 
 stones suggests universal suffrage 
 and the equality of all votes. 
 Some courses of larger blocks 
 in the first stages of the building 
 would have been more satisfying 
 to the eye. The chipping away 
 and disintegration of those small 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 179 
 
 courses of the marble, so easily 
 noticeable, gives one an uncom- 
 fortable suggestion. 
 
 The plain square doorway, too, 
 seems a mean sort of thing. I 
 would like to see the base, for at 
 least twenty or thirty feet up, en- 
 closed in handsome bronze, form- 
 ing a great ornamental frieze of 
 State flags and emblems, or, better 
 yet, a spirited grouping of all the 
 heroes of the Revolution, with 
 Washinsfton himself in their midst. 
 Such a frieze of noble men would 
 be an eternal object lesson in 
 history, and take away from the 
 mean effect of the lower portion 
 of the great obelisk, and also re- 
 move the cold isolation of having 
 
l8o FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 Washington all by himself and not 
 rather" with his generals around 
 him, without whom even he could 
 not have been what he was. 
 
 Our day in Washington was 
 soon to end, and then, some time 
 in the night, our train was to 
 whisk us away to New York while 
 we slept. 
 
 It so happened that a great 
 event coincided with our stay of 
 a day. We read it in the even- 
 ing papers. It was the payment 
 to Spain of twenty million dollars 
 in connection with the formal ces- 
 sion of the Philippine Islands to 
 the United States. The papers 
 told us of the four checks for $5,- 
 000,000 each, and how the French 
 
TO SUMMER i8l 
 
 Ambassador, M. Cambon, received 
 them at the State Department, 
 giving a receipt therefor, non- 
 chalantly folding up the four pre- 
 cious pieces of paper in his card 
 case, putting that in his pocket 
 and returning to his home quite un- 
 attended and on foot, without the 
 slightest concern about the vast 
 sum he carried with him. The re- 
 ceipt which M. Cambon gave was 
 dated May i, 1899, and was as 
 follows : 
 
 " Received from the Secretary of State 
 of the United States the sum of twenty 
 miUion dollars ($20,000,000) in four drafts 
 upon the treasurer of the United States, 
 numbered 4,509, 4,5 'o, 4,5 n, 4,5^2, and 
 dated April 29, 1899, each draft being for 
 
l82 FROM SUMMER LAND 
 
 five million dollars ($5,000,000), the same 
 being in full payment of the obligation of 
 the Government of the United States to 
 the (iovernment of Spain, as set forth in 
 Article III. of the treaty of peace between 
 the United States and Spain, signed at 
 Paris, France, on the loth day of Decem- 
 ber, eighteen hundred and ninety-eight, 
 the ratifications of which were exchanged 
 In the city of Washington, on the nth day 
 of April, one thousand eight hundred and 
 ninety-nine, the same being provided by 
 an act of Congress, approved March 2, 
 1899, entitled ' An act making appropria- 
 tions to carry out the obligations of the 
 treaty between the United States and 
 Spain, concluded December 10, eighteen 
 hundred and ninety-eight.' " 
 
 What an illustration the whole 
 proceeding was of the quiet- 
 ness and confidence of these 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 183 
 
 United States. The utter sim- 
 plicity of the whole proceeding — 
 the French Ambassador walking 
 to the State Department and re- 
 turning to his embassy again on 
 foot, the huge affair and all its 
 relations, transpiring as a mere 
 commonplace transaction — it was 
 splendid. 
 
 A little over a year ago our 
 party passed through Washington 
 for our " Flight in Spring." The 
 war with Spain was not then de- 
 clared, but war was in the air. 
 Now the whole great action was 
 over, the war was ended ; the pay- 
 ment to M. Cambon, who repre- 
 sented Spain, finished the whole 
 transaction. 
 
184 FROM SUMMKR T.AND 
 
 We were out on the Pacific coast 
 during April and May of last year. 
 \\'hile the war was at its heioht 
 we followed its proorc^ss with 
 throbbing- hearts, hearing b)' the 
 shores of the Pacific of the glori- 
 ous victories of our fleet on the 
 far opposite shores. We felt, out 
 there in California, as never be- 
 fore, the glory and splendor of 
 our great land. It all grew upon 
 us as we traversed its empire from 
 east to west, and back again 
 to east, to New York, and to 
 home. 
 
 Again we had been on our trav- 
 els. We were speeding from Sum- 
 mer I^and to Summer, passing 
 through a portion of the vast 
 
TO SUMMER 185 
 
 States of the South, back again to 
 New York and to home, and our 
 new journey was to us a fresh 
 revelation of the unimagined won- 
 ders of this our land wherever 
 one is happy enough to pass over, 
 in any direction, its vast extent, 
 rich and glorious as it is, and 
 freighted with possibilities for the 
 future, possibilities which they 
 alone who even in some dim way 
 know America can ever faintly 
 imagine. 
 
 Our night between Washington 
 and Jersey City passed like a 
 dream. In the early morning 
 hours we were ferried across to 
 Liberty Street, and once more 
 New York received us into the 
 
lS6 I'Ivt).\r SL'MMKR LAXI> TO SL'M-MI:R 
 
 immensity of its iindimmed mag- 
 nificence. Our ti'i|j from Summer 
 Land to Simimer was at an 
 end.