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Mississippi (Mississippi, United States) (search for this): chapter 32
the influence of events whirling into notice so telegraphically. Better writing than this we have never read, and if the gentleman goes on at this rate, we know well enough who will be the Xenophon of the war. The business at Columbia, as we gather from this journal, is principally campanological. They have a new bell in that city, and they ring it continually. On Tuesday, 8th ult., they rang it for the secession of Florida. On Thursday, 10th ult., they rang it for the secession of Mississippi. On Friday, 11th ult., they rang it for the secession of Alabama. On Sunday, the 13th ult., they do not appear to have troubled the bell-rope at all. Upon the 9th ult., having heard of the flight of the Star of the West, the diarist exclaims: This intelligence did not surprise us. We were already looking the reality of war in the face. Were they? And did they relish the prospect? Smoking cities, blockaded ports, famished wives, starving children, insurgent negroes — did they like the
Alabama (Alabama, United States) (search for this): chapter 32
tter writing than this we have never read, and if the gentleman goes on at this rate, we know well enough who will be the Xenophon of the war. The business at Columbia, as we gather from this journal, is principally campanological. They have a new bell in that city, and they ring it continually. On Tuesday, 8th ult., they rang it for the secession of Florida. On Thursday, 10th ult., they rang it for the secession of Mississippi. On Friday, 11th ult., they rang it for the secession of Alabama. On Sunday, the 13th ult., they do not appear to have troubled the bell-rope at all. Upon the 9th ult., having heard of the flight of the Star of the West, the diarist exclaims: This intelligence did not surprise us. We were already looking the reality of war in the face. Were they? And did they relish the prospect? Smoking cities, blockaded ports, famished wives, starving children, insurgent negroes — did they like the picture? Like it? How can any one be so simple as to put the ques
Clarendon, Ark. (Arkansas, United States) (search for this): chapter 32
A Southern Diarist. Who would not, if he could, read history in perpetual diaries, and so have done forever with philosophic historians and historic philosophers Who will not join with us in the regret that Noah kept no log? Who does not prefer Pepys to Clarendon or Hume? Who can assure us that Walter Scott's Journal will not be read long after his romances in prose and verse have been forgotten? Who would barter Byron's memoranda, smirched and hasty, for a dozen Childe Harolds, and a regiment of Laras, and who would not buy back from the ashes to which mistaken friendship consigned them, those Memoirs burned by Tommy Moore, which would have been cheaply saved to English literature by the destruction of all the poetry? And who will not be enchanted to learn, that amidst the war of revolution, the din of disunion and the noise of nullification, an ingenious gentleman of Columbia, S. C., is keeping a Journal and printing it by bits in The Yorkville Enquirer, thus — to use his o
South Carolina (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 32
be wounded; they will be much obliged to the gentleman who may shoot them; wounds will be welcome; gore will be glorious; houselessness sweeter than hospitality. A long and bloody war looms before the rolling eye of the editor of The Yorkville (S. C.) Enquirer as the sun-rise of the millennium. An ounce of lead in his clavicle would, we fancy, materially mitigate his ardor. It was upon Saturday, Jan. 12, while hundreds were engaged in training with pistol and rifle, the afternoon being, as we are told, vocal with the music of preparation, that the diarist made the following entry: If it were conceivable that all our men could be killed, South Carolina need not despair; her women can defend her! The imagination is thus carried back to the Amazonian regiments, to the petticoated squadrons of the King of Dahomey, to Boadicea and Joan of Are. It is rather a drawback to find that the Lady Lancers, the Amazonian Artillery, the Female Fusileers, the Sweet Sappers, the Modern Miners, t
Benin (Benin) (search for this): chapter 32
lavicle would, we fancy, materially mitigate his ardor. It was upon Saturday, Jan. 12, while hundreds were engaged in training with pistol and rifle, the afternoon being, as we are told, vocal with the music of preparation, that the diarist made the following entry: If it were conceivable that all our men could be killed, South Carolina need not despair; her women can defend her! The imagination is thus carried back to the Amazonian regiments, to the petticoated squadrons of the King of Dahomey, to Boadicea and Joan of Are. It is rather a drawback to find that the Lady Lancers, the Amazonian Artillery, the Female Fusileers, the Sweet Sappers, the Modern Miners, the Pretty Pioneers, the Side-saddle Cavalry, will not be wanted until all our men are killed. Not being a woman, and still less a she-soldier, we cannot undertake to speak with absolute accuracy; but we should be a little dubious about the female fighting after the quietus of all the men. How will Mrs. Col. Cotton be able
Yorkville (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 32
Smoking cities, blockaded ports, famished wives, starving children, insurgent negroes — did they like the picture? Like it? How can any one be so simple as to put the question? Like it! We tell you that they pine and pant to be persecuted; they prefer to be wounded; they will be much obliged to the gentleman who may shoot them; wounds will be welcome; gore will be glorious; houselessness sweeter than hospitality. A long and bloody war looms before the rolling eye of the editor of The Yorkville (S. C.) Enquirer as the sun-rise of the millennium. An ounce of lead in his clavicle would, we fancy, materially mitigate his ardor. It was upon Saturday, Jan. 12, while hundreds were engaged in training with pistol and rifle, the afternoon being, as we are told, vocal with the music of preparation, that the diarist made the following entry: If it were conceivable that all our men could be killed, South Carolina need not despair; her women can defend her! The imagination is thus carri
Caesaraugusta (Spain) (search for this): chapter 32
killed. Not being a woman, and still less a she-soldier, we cannot undertake to speak with absolute accuracy; but we should be a little dubious about the female fighting after the quietus of all the men. How will Mrs. Col. Cotton be able to lead the Heavy Mothers to the charge, when her dear departed no longer animates her by his martial smile? How will Arabella, of the Light Artillery, deport herself at the guns, when Augustus sleeps in a soldier's grave? Who believes that the Maid of Saragossa would have rammed the great cannon with such astonishing virulence, if there had been no gallant gentlemen looking on? To return to our Diary. On Monday, 14th ult., we find the following discouraging entry: The war does not progress. As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, and as the thirsty soul panteth after the whiskey barrel, so does this man of memoranda pant for blood. Monday the fourteenth was a blue Monday indeed. Nothing to ring the bells for; no excuse for extra libati
Columbia (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 32
rn, that amidst the war of revolution, the din of disunion and the noise of nullification, an ingenious gentleman of Columbia, S. C., is keeping a Journal and printing it by bits in The Yorkville Enquirer, thus — to use his own noble language--attem, and if the gentleman goes on at this rate, we know well enough who will be the Xenophon of the war. The business at Columbia, as we gather from this journal, is principally campanological. They have a new bell in that city, and they ring it con indeed. Nothing to ring the bells for; no excuse for extra libations; even the small-pox subsiding — how monotonous in Columbia must that day have been. Something of the solitary sensations of Robinson Crusoe must have come over our jotting gentleman, for his diary comes to a dead stop. He ceases suddenly to chronicle the rapidly changing features of the times in Columbia, and begins to abuse Mr. Buchanan as a poor old man. This we cannot but regard as a gratuitous insult. Poor, Mr. Buchan
Florida (Florida, United States) (search for this): chapter 32
sketch the rapidly-changing features of the times as they vary under the influence of events whirling into notice so telegraphically. Better writing than this we have never read, and if the gentleman goes on at this rate, we know well enough who will be the Xenophon of the war. The business at Columbia, as we gather from this journal, is principally campanological. They have a new bell in that city, and they ring it continually. On Tuesday, 8th ult., they rang it for the secession of Florida. On Thursday, 10th ult., they rang it for the secession of Mississippi. On Friday, 11th ult., they rang it for the secession of Alabama. On Sunday, the 13th ult., they do not appear to have troubled the bell-rope at all. Upon the 9th ult., having heard of the flight of the Star of the West, the diarist exclaims: This intelligence did not surprise us. We were already looking the reality of war in the face. Were they? And did they relish the prospect? Smoking cities, blockaded ports, fa
Arabella (search for this): chapter 32
e Fusileers, the Sweet Sappers, the Modern Miners, the Pretty Pioneers, the Side-saddle Cavalry, will not be wanted until all our men are killed. Not being a woman, and still less a she-soldier, we cannot undertake to speak with absolute accuracy; but we should be a little dubious about the female fighting after the quietus of all the men. How will Mrs. Col. Cotton be able to lead the Heavy Mothers to the charge, when her dear departed no longer animates her by his martial smile? How will Arabella, of the Light Artillery, deport herself at the guns, when Augustus sleeps in a soldier's grave? Who believes that the Maid of Saragossa would have rammed the great cannon with such astonishing virulence, if there had been no gallant gentlemen looking on? To return to our Diary. On Monday, 14th ult., we find the following discouraging entry: The war does not progress. As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, and as the thirsty soul panteth after the whiskey barrel, so does this man
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