‘O subtle, Musky, slumberous clime’ Down the lofty nave of this forest cathedral, gleams under the open sky the tomb of some long-honored forefather of Savannah. The gigantic live-oaks of the stately plantation, festooned with the long Spanish moss, shadow the fragrant shrubbery growing at their feet. The whole scene breathes the ‘subtle, musky, slumberous’ atmosphere sung by the poet Thompson. Savannah, situated inland on the Savannah River, was through four years of the war unvisited by hostile armies. But in December, 1864, it fell into the hands of Sherman's troops. Many another lovely spot in the Southland passed through the conflict with its beauties undisturbed, as if to remind its brave people of the unbounded lavishness of nature amid the wreckage of war. Bravely have they answered the mute appeal of such surroundings. To-day the South can point, not only to the charms of its almost tropical clime, but to the material achievements which link it inseparably with the rapidly developing North and West. Its people have even come to feel a thankfulness for the outcome of the war. Typical are the whole-hearted vigorous lines of Maurice Thompson printed opposite.
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