principal speaker and Dr. Paxton of New York, and looked over the assembled multitude, it was a stirring scene. The choir, composed wholly of colored singers, sang a number of pieces, and sang well, as such singers always do, for they have an instinct of melody; and yet I felt a disappointment, and said to the leader, "Why did you not sing some of the old plantation melodies?" "Because," he answered, "I thought I would educate my people to something higher!" That tells the whole story. It is in the effort to rise to "something higher," that they have lost what gave their songs such a wonderful pathos and power. The feeling may be a natural one, but the result is to be lamented, for so perishes what we would not willingly let die. These songs have still a place in a world that is full of breaking hearts. Slavery is dead, but sorrow is not dead, and the time has not yet come, and perhaps never will come, when mourning hearts will not need to sing Nobody knows the sorrows I've seen, Nobody knows but Jesus,"

and

66

66 Keep me from sinking down,"

At two o'clock we came to a city set on a hill. Not a very high hill, to be sure, but one that it was refreshing to see after so long dwelling on the plains. This was Tallahassee, the capital of Florida, a city which, compared with the new towns that have sprung up here and there, is quite venerable, and was in the former days a home of the Southern aristocracy, and that still has many old families, which, though reduced in wealth, retain that dignity and courtesy of manners, which was the most attractive feature of the olden time. It is still one of the most charming towns in the South.

Riding over the hills, through long streets, past the Capitol (in which the Legislature meets for a few months

94

THE GRAVE OF ACHILLE MURAT.

of the year, when the town is filled with the atmosphere of politics), we come to the Leon Hotel-so named from the county in which it is, that received its name at the first settlement of the country, when it was christened from the province of Spain that was united with Castile hundreds of years ago.

There is another reminder of the Old World in the graveyard, where, beneath a modest stone, lies the body of Achille Murat. What a story is told in the name graven on that monument! He who lies here was born in a palace, the son of that fiery soldier whose deeds were known on every battlefield of Europe, and of Caroline, sister of the great Napoleon. Nephew of the master of France, he seemed born to great destinies. His father was made King of Naples, where, possessed of an independent sovereignty, he thought to manage his little kingdom in his own way, and chafed at receiving orders from Paris, to the indignation of his Imperial creator; but restraining his own impatience for a time, it broke out after the triumph of the Allies in 1814, when he turned against his former master, who was so angered by this treachery that when he returned from Elba, he would not receive his former lieutenant-a degree of displeasure which cost him dear, for with Murat (as he thought) he might have won the battle of Waterloo. "It needed only," he said, "to break a few English squares, and Murat would undoubtedly have effected that." Meanwhile the latter had lost his throne, which he endeavored to recover by a revolution that was immediately suppressed, and he was shot.

Then the several branches of the Napoleon dynasty sought a refuge in different parts of the world. Joseph Bonaparte, the eldest brother of Napoleon and former King of Spain, came to the United States, and for some years lived in retirement at Bordentown, New Jersey ;

A FRIEND ON AN OLD PLANTATION.

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95

while the son of Murat, as yet hardly grown to manhood, came to Florida and married an American wife, and no doubt was happier in his quiet home than if he had inherited the throne of the two Sicilies.

After the restoration of the Empire under Louis Napoleon, the representatives of different branches of the family were recalled to Paris, and shone as the stars of the Imperial Court. But Achille Murat was in his grave.

The old residents of Tallahassee still remember him as the quiet French gentleman, who won their respect and their good will by his courtesy; and they point out to strangers the mansion on yonder hill where he lived with his truehearted American wife, who wrote the touching inscription on his tomb, where she now sleeps beside him.

But I had come to Tallahassee chiefly to see an old friend, Prof. E. Warren Clark, who many years ago wrote Letters from Japan, when that country was less known than it is now. I did not see him in Japan, nor become acquainted with him till after his return to America; nor even since had I seen him often. But I felt such genuine respect for him as one of the pluckiest men I had ever known, that, although it was nearly two hundred miles out of my way, I would not leave the South without seeing him. Inquiring for him I found that he was living on a plantation five miles from the city. Asking for a carriage to take me there, the proprietor of the Leon kindly offered to drive me himself; so that I had not only his spirited horses, but an excellent companion and guide. It was a pleasant afternoon, and the new-plowed furrows in the fields lay open to the sun, and as they melted under the increasing warmth, gave promise of an early Spring. My friend, coming South a few years since for his health, had taken an old plantation, which had run to waste after the war, but which he had set to work with his usual energy

96

MAKING A STOUT FIGHT.

to restore, and bring into cultivation.

The place was

a large one, comprising several hundred acres of upland, dotted over with grand old oaks, and looking down upon a beautiful lake, across which the hills on the opposite side cast their evening shadows.

He was

But he had no end of troubles to encounter. attacked with chills, which would have shaken the life out of a less resolute man; while he daily groaned over the easygoing and slow-moving blacks, who would wear out the patience of a saint. In hearing his story, I could not but think that his " fight of afflictions" was greater in some respects than Paul's: for while the Apostle had to fight with beasts at Ephesus, he never had to fight with the fever and ague; and though his patience was tried in dealing with all sorts of "unreasonable men," he had not to deal with the Sambos and Topsys of an old plantation. However, my brave friend did not ask pity from anybody, and while he told of his manifold experiences, laughed heartily over them. Fortunately he stays here but a part of the year. His family are settled in a delightful home in Columbia, Tennessee, to which I hope he will be able to remove, to engage in that varied work, as teacher and preacher and lecturer, for which he is admirably fitted.

As he was alone except with his workmen, I immediately laid hold upon him, and carried him off captive to Tallahassee for the night. A pleasant evening it was in the spacious parlors of the Leon Hotel, before the blazing fire, where were many visitors from the North, among whom we found, as usual, the three Cs-Cincinnati, Cleveland, and Chicago-well represented; while in our private talks we went back in memory and imagination to the happy days that we passed in the Land of the Rising Sun.

CHAPTER VIII.

MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA."

When Sherman made his famous March to the Sea, the Boys in Blue enlivened their "tramp, tramp," with many a song as well as story-songs that were sung, not only on the march, but by the camp-fire, and echoed far and wide through the dim aisles of the Southern forest. Of these, no one was more popular than "Marching through Georgia." I do not remember ever to have heard it; if I have I did not know it at the time, as I could not even now tell it from "Dixie." But as any verse of the Bible may serve for a text, so the title of this old war-song is a good enough heading for the wayside observations of one who has been lately "marching through Georgia," from one end to the other, though he did not capture anybody, but on the contrary, must admit (if he had to confess the truth) that the people captured him.

I" invaded" the State from the south. It is less than thirty miles from Tallahassee, the capital of Florida, to Thomasville, which (to keep up the military phrase) was my first "strategic point." This is one of the new creations of the New South, that has sprung up in the pine woods. Dr. Metcalfe, the eminent physician of New York,