of their minds, but remain ignorant and ridiculous all their lives for the want of a few lively ideas, a few trains of thought, which would have stirred up their dormant faculties and led to the useful discovery that they had intellect capable of expansion and a soul of mysterious power. Those having illiterate parents, who cling to the good old fashion of having no book or newspaper in the family, who make no progress in any thing, not even in managing their farms or fencing in their yards, have no glass windows in their dwellings and a pole to hold back the shutters, merely because their "fathers" did so before them, deserve to be pitied. Such are very apt to perpetuate the generation of "hewers of wood and drawers of water," or at least to cast on society a set of men, women, and children whose aims and enjoyments are of the coarsest texture, with a tendency downward.

Ah!

I ought to know all about this matter. My lot was humble, obscure; not a family within ten miles, in a populous neighborhood, possessed a single member, old or young, except two or three ladies, who valued intelligence, or, at least, who possessed any. Still, they were clever, kind-hearted, honest people,-raised corn, wheat, potatoes, cattle, hogs, poultry, and garden-articles for their support. They had plenty. just to think of these simple, easy times,-these contented folks,-old men telling about the Revolution, but could not describe any battle or event so as to give a correct idea of it! In their day, no schools dotted the land as now. Most of these veterans were unable to write or even read. Think you the late war with Mexico would be so imperfectly represented by the soldiers? Education, a plain, solid amount of knowledge, is now common everywhere. The schoolmaster is abroad, and is decidedly a more respectable gentleman than he was in my old field-college days, when my best teacher kept a jug of whiskey at his bedside all night, and often waked up to take a swig! Dear old T- s! He flogged me once for hunting birds on Sunday, though he loaded the gun and sent me on the expedition. Unfortunately, I returned home in the public road, and therein was my crime! He repeated his orders that I was at liberty to hunt squirrels, rabbits, or whatever game I pleased on the Sabbath, so I would not let people see me; but, if I ever showed myself in the road, he would stripe me again! From that time I ceased to profane the Lord's day: the curious morality of my teacher shook my confidence in him as a spiritual guide.

But this digression is rather personal. Still, I desire to continue it briefly, to awaken in your mind proper sympathies to grasp the truth as it blazes from the wreck of my youthful companions. If allowable, or, indeed, if it could answer any useful purpose, I would give the names of all my school-mates and the boys of my neighborhood, so far as I remember them. Of the one hundred or more within this circle,-within the range of my visiting, not one has risen to eminence, not one has applied himself to letters, not one has excelled in any liberal pursuit, though a few have acquired wealth, and one of them has been to the Legislature. Most of the poor fellows are dead: some met violent deaths, some of them had sons who fell in Mexico, and some of their wild boys went to sea as sailors. Two or three have succeeded in trade; but far the largest number have dwindled down to "hog and hominy" as the happiest station on earth, and their descendants are likely to keep up the old landmarks.

Now, you despise me for this confession,-for my impudence in trying to advise you, when it is reasonable to suppose that I am no better than

my school-mates, my neighbors' children, among whom I was raised, and whom I describe as wanting in cultivation. Even so. I am no better. I claim no superiority. They moved along in their native channel. When I look back, I see their fields, their dwellings, their children, and the turf-covered grave, all touching my heart in sad recollection. Such has been the fate of many of them. But the picture is disagreeable, and I draw the curtain over it. I mourn whilst I chronicle. I am the only one of that group of a hundred boys who, by accident, became devoted to books; my first reading for information being that of a newspaper left weekly in a little box at my father's gate by the mail-rider.

It is time I make the application. While I have nothing to boast, my example is before you. You know my defects: they are many. They have entailed on me suffering enough to kill a dozen sound men. None but a tough, withered invalid could have borne up under them; none but a poor enthusiast who clings to the belief that man has a spirit able to subdue difficulties could toil on and hope for deliverance at last. Honor I do not seek; fortune is hard to realize. My only aim is to make the most I can of my poor talents and opportunities, that, when I pass away, you and other young men will regard me as a friend, -as one who opened his heart and gave you the best advice in his power.

What was I born for? Why are you in the world, struggling with its anxieties, the ups and downs of life? The philosopher and the fool can only answer, We are here because we could not prevent our birth. Life is a gift, and may be made a blessing or a curse, just as we use it. Think not that the troubles and vexations we encounter daily are in vain. They are the tonic of life; they impart vigor both to mind and body. But for these our existence would become dull and tiresome; there would be no variety to enliven, no play of the passions to stimulate us. Yet I confess that if I had my choice I would take a smooth road, with no rocks, pits, or brambles to annoy me, though I fully believe "it is good that a man bear the yoke in his youth," even through life, to make him gentle and patient. that is a stranger to trouble, to hardships, to self-abasement, is not likely to fathom the depths of life, to bring up its pearls and its gems from the hidden caverns of the mind,-the great storehouse of excellence. Until a man is ground up in the flint-mill, until he sees much, endures much, he is not ready for the highest efforts of which he is capable. There is some danger in this process, I grant. In passing through the mill of adversity, the soul, the courage of man is sometimes crushed; as, for instance, being a little hurt, he takes a drink to cure him, or he hates mankind and gives up in despair: either remedy-liquor or despair-is certain destruction.

He

I have heard and read of plans, of exact systems: so many hours for this object, so many to business, so many to recreation, so many to sleep, --and they look well on paper; but I have never been able to preserve any method in the use of time. I could divide it well enough in theory without mastering the practice. Who, exposed as I am to interruptions, to the calls of men, some on business and others because they have nothing to do,—who, thus situated, could ever adhere to system,to particular hours? Often a man drops on me immediately after breakfast; and, if I am polite enough to converse with him, though I pause for him to disburden his conscience, he holds on until the dinner-gong frightens him into a declaration of his business. I am fond of society; it has given me all the little stores of pleasure that I possess; and, when I can escape from labor, it is

refreshing to talk in a lively, careless sort of manner with well-informed, even illiterate persous, if they have good, common sense, or any ideas at all. Have you not been in the company of men, however, who were so insufferably stupid, so given up to ignorance, that you could not interest their attention by your best endeavors ? Such people may be very harmless, but they are awful bores. I always treat them civilly; and sometimes when they remain too long to my damage, and they won't take a hint otherwise, I leave the room with an apology of business; and then, after an hour's absence, I have found them still where I left them. Job had no such idlers to try his patience. His three friends were excellent talkers, and they and Job kept up a remarkable conversation for several days, much for the benefit of mankind.

Bear these and all other tribulations, after the example of Job, without a murmur. All men generally do their best. Circumstances make the difference, a topic which I shall press at another time.

Now, hold

up your head like a man, and, come what may, good or evil fortune, never be depressed in spirits, never think of yielding to difficulty. The brave alone are sure of conquest.

GEORGIANS."

XI.-REVIEW OF GOV. GILMER'S BOOK,-
(From the Southern Recorder, July 3, 1855.)

Gov. GILMER'S BOOK,-"GEORGIANS."-Without reference to what has been said about the volume written and published by Gov. GILMER, we venture an humble opinion for what it is worth. We sit in no chair of criticism, and pretend to no authority in letters. Our aim is simply to do justice.

A book is put into circulation,-a queer sort of book, to-be-sure, abounding in family records, neighborhood-chat, and a variety of matter,-childhood, farming, love, politics, marriages, elegant society, plain customs, law, Congress, Indians, public functionaries, individual qualities, compliments, pretty women, ugly men, high-bred Virginians, respectable persons from other States, good housekeepers, pleasant wives, worthless husbands, dutiful children, and a hundred other topics introduced with conversational freedom. Such is the character of the book we propose to examine. It is no thunderbolt; it is no zephyr. It is between the two, more as a fireside talk, where heroes, statesmen, and scholars lay aside their public masks and open their hearts in rambling good nature and frank sincerity.

Honor to that man who mystifies not,-who, feeling within himself a love of simplicity and truth, scorns to disguise objects in the glitter of composition, as most authors unfortunately do, from a mistaken pride of style. The world is full of splendid trash,-books by the million, chaff by the ton. History is no longer reliable, the author being so anxious to show himself that his facts are doomed to play a subordinate part. The volume by Governor Gilmer has no kinship with such productions. He betrays no fondness for fine writing, as such: he writes correctly enough, and with spirit; yet we lose all thought of him in the flood of materials gushing from his memory. He is the living record of all Broad River transactions, from the time Col. O'Haggerty's grandfather left Ireland and settled on the Rappahannock, and thence on Broad River, down to the marriage of his daughter Sophia with Dick Stapleton. Then follows a catalogue of the young Stapletons. Tom went in the army; Charles tried college, but left in his Junior year, a decided blockhead. Wesley took to preaching, married the widow Scott's daughter Peggy, by whom he had

REVIEW OF GOV. GILMER'S " GEORGIANS."

439 eleven children, and then died, leaving them a slender property. Kate Stapleton, the eldest daughter of Dick, married Judge Wilson, and, after living five years a most affectionate wife and mother, died on a visit to the White Sulphur Springs, in Virginia. Judge Wilson's second wife was Harriet Wildstar, whose great-grandfather emigrated from Wales, and who, while detained in London a few days for a vessel to the American Colonies, had the good fortune to see the axe which beheaded Charles I. The axe is still preserved in the Tower, and was seen by Mr. Randolph in 1820. Mr. Randolph was a good judge of metal, having the fine English armor of his ancestors, of massive polished steel, in the old family mansion. Besides, Mr. R. had a brace of pistols of genuine Damascus twist, which he handled with matchless precision.

Of course we do not copy the words of Gov. Gilmer, only his method as a specimen. We have heard of a "family tree," and our imagination supplies one from the pencil of Gov. Gilmer. Planted in the fertile bottoms of Broad River, it luxuriates into limbs and branches, and foliage and fruit, so extensively, that all Georgia, besides a good portion of Alabama and Mississippi, are furnished with healthy scions for grafting, and the best seed in the world for propagating good society and large fortunes. Such was the Broad River Colony. It is mostly dispersed, its members gone to other States, many of them dead; and all have their names rescued from oblivion by the friendly hand of a lover of his race. We have met the Broad River people in scattered groups, talked with them, and shared their hospitality, without knowing the distinction which attached to their original locality. They were indeed clever, as described by their subsequent historian. Many excellencies which then escaped our observation are now quite palpable to our judgment.

We thank Gov. Gilmer for his book. It has been said by some of his friends that it has injured his fame,-there is too much gossip in it, too many hearts wounded, too much of the old man's infirmity. We dissent from all these imputations. Of itself, and on its own pedestal, it is worthy of respect. It differs from all other books; it is the beginning and end of a peculiar freedom of the press, which, as an experiment, will scarcely be repeated. The author was full of images, and overrun with facts. He was besieged; he found no rest.

Writing them down, by way of depletion, afforded some relief; yet the Broad River community, with their forests, fields, and cabins, log schoolhouses and rough hospitality,-with their whole issue of children and grandchildren, intermarriages, and associations thus formed, illustrated by pedigrees from English knighthood and Indian princes, including humbler degrees of ancestral reputation,-all had to be noticed; and nothing less than publication would answer. Gov. Gilmer is no voluntary author: the book was extorted from him.

We admire it for one quality: the author is so lost in his materials that we never think of him as an ambitious writer. Gov. Fury, Gen. Bragwell, Col. Bluster, Maj. Flint, and Capt. Steel, with most of their acquaintances, figure so prominently that the author is thrown into the shade. He is so conscious of this inferior position that he tries to get up a distinct chapter or two about himself, his early struggles, his services in Congress, his election as Governor, and his policy toward the Cherokees; but he has written up others to such a height above him that he cannot emerge from his rustic lodge; he is the least character in the book, although he affects to think generously of himself. Some readers imagine

that the author is the hero of the volume, and that all other personages and incidents are but secondary to the principal. This conclusion is plausible, we confess : still, it is alike erroneous and unjust. Gov. Gilmer was under no necessity to fabricate a name by any indirection. He was favorably known throughout the Union, and his eccentricities were relished, because from a noble heart. A petulant word occasionally might well be forgiven to one who had never been free from bodily suffering a single day in his life.

To sum up the characteristics of the volume, we have to circle, crossdrive, dash off at sharp angles, and then gallop, then pace, then halt, and look behind and before, above and below, to comprehend within the range of vision the droll array which the mind of the author has conjured up for public inspection. That he may have misunderstood the motives of some men to whom he has alluded, and that he has also been occasionally deceived by appearances,-as the wisest men are liable to be,-we readily admit still, we maintain that there is nothing in his book, taken in connection with Gov. Gilmer's known frankness and integrity of character, which should detract from his fame, or justify the denunciations and ridicule which have been lavished upon him. He is a noble Southerner, a noble Georgian, whose public services and spotless name entitle his old age to the veneration of all classes.

XII.—LETTER TO B. H. OVERBY, ESQ., ON THE GOVERNOR'S ELECTION, 1855. (From the Southern Recorder, October 30, 1855.)

B. H. OVERBY, Esq.:

DEAR SIR: The battle is over: victory imposes on you no inaugural. Banners, and music, and guns at midnight, proclaim another favorite with the people of Georgia. The Executive term has been renewed, with a potent expression of the popular will, to the fortunate incumbent for two years longer. Faithful or not, whether a wise selection or the contrary, he is chosen; and no one more cheerfully submits than yourself. In fact, the signs have never been very encouraging to the cause of "Prohibition," either before or since you became its nominee for Governor. Nor did you take the field with the hope of success. Your aim was higher; and you have gone through the campaign, not with the laurel of triumph, it is true, but with conspicuous honor and credit, such as upright men of all parties will ever respect.

I will not wound your sensibilities by any pretended condolence on your defeat; for really your work, your late mission of labor and love, is spreading its influence to the breaking up of the old mass of granite, the tippling-shops, which had crushed so many tender hearts. You have proved a public benefactor. The hundred and score addresses you made during the canvass, in all quarters of the State, still echo in the breast of thousands who listened to your manly arguments and soul-touching appeals. You painted humanity as it suffers, as it drags through the mire of intoxication. Even now your eloquent voice, its deep pathos and imploring sweetness, tremulous with emotion, lingers in my delighted memory. Blessings have been invoked on your head by many a parent, by heart-broken wives and neglected children. Tears of gratitude have flowed at the mention of your name, and bright hopes are cherished that the cause of which you were the champion will ultimately prevail. Be of good courage, soldier of moral progress: the dawn always succeeds the darkest period of the night.