Part 18

Miss Emily Virginia Mason, biographer and anthologist, was born at Lexington, Kentucky, October 15, 1815, the sister of Stevens Thompson Mason, first governor of Michigan. She was educated in Kentucky schools and in a female seminary at Troy, New York. From 1845 until 1861 Miss Mason lived in Fairfax county, Virginia, but when the Civil War began she left her home and volunteered in the Confederate States hospital service; and she was matron successively of hospitals in the Virginia towns of Greenbrier, White Sulphur Springs, Charlottesville, Lynchburg, and Richmond. Miss Mason won a wide reputation in this work, becoming one of the best loved of Southern women. Almost immediately after the war her first literary work was published, an anthology of _The Southern Poems of the War_ (Baltimore, 1867) which was one of the first collection issued of verse which owed its origin to the war. Her second book was what she always said was the first life of Lee, though John Esten Cooke's account of the great soldier appeared about the same time, entitled _A Popular Life of General Robert Edward Lee_ (Baltimore, 1871). This was followed by her edition of _The Journal of a Young Lady of Virginia in 1798_ (1871), which enjoyed wide popularity among Virginians of her generation. Miss Mason went to Paris, France, about 1870, and for the following fifteen years she was associate principal of an American school for young women. Upon her return to this country she established herself in an attractive old Southern home at Georgetown, D. C., in which she spent the remainder of her life. Miss Mason's last literary work was _Memories of a Hospital Matron_, which appeared in _The Atlantic Monthly_ for September and October of 1902. She was an able writer and a most remarkable woman in many respects. Miss Mason died at Georgetown, D. C., February 16, 1909, at the great age of ninety-four years.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Southern Writers_, by W. P. Trent (New York, 1905); _The Washington Post_ (February 17, 1909).

THE DEATH OF LEE

[From _A Popular Life of General Robert E. Lee_ (Baltimore, 1871)]

On the evening of this day, 28th of September [1870] after a morning of great fatigue, he attended the vestry meeting referred to, returned home, and seated at the tea-table, opened his lips to give thanks to God.

The family looked up to see the parted lips, but heard no sound. With that last thanksgiving his great heart broke.

For many days his weeping friends hung over him, hoping for a return of health and reason, but in vain. He murmured of battles and sieges; of guarded tents and fields just won. Among his last words were: "Strike my tent! Send for Hill!" Remarkably coincident with those of his great lieutenant, Jackson, whose words were: "Let A. P. Hill prepare for action! March the infantry rapidly to the front! Let us cross the river and rest under the shade of the trees."

At 9 o'clock on the morning of the 12th of October, the great soldier breathed his last.

The following day his body was borne to the college-chapel, escorted by a guard of honor composed of Confederate soldiers. Next the hearse was led General Lee's favorite horse "Traveller," who had borne him in so many battles. The Trustees and Faculty of the college, the cadets of the Military Institute, and the citizens, followed in procession.

Above the chapel floated the flag of Virginia, draped in mourning.

Through this and the succeeding day, the body, covered with flowers, lay in state, visited by thousands who came to look for the last time upon his noble features.

On the 15th, the last said rites were rendered, amid the tolling of the bells, the sound of martial music, and the thundering of artillery.

The students, officers and soldiers of the Confederate army, and about a thousand persons, assembled at the chapel. A military escort, with the officers of General Lee's staff, were in the front. The hearse followed, with the faithful "Traveller" close behind it. Next came a committee of the Virginia Legislature, with citizens from all parts of the State. Passing the Military Institute, the cadets made the military salute as the body appeared, then joined the procession, and escorted it back to the chapel.

It had been the request of General Lee that no funeral oration should be pronounced over his remains. His old and long-tried friend, the Rev. Wm. N. Pendleton, simply read the burial services of the Episcopal Church, after which was lowered into a tomb beneath the chapel all that was mortal of Robert E. Lee.

EDMUND FLAGG

Edmund Flagg, traveler, journalist, and poet, was born at Wiscasset, Maine, November 24, 1815. Immediately upon his graduation from Bowdoin College, in 1835, he removed to Louisville, Kentucky, and became a teacher. His letters written to the _Louisville Journal_ while traveling in the states of the Middle West, were afterwards collected, revised, and published anonymously, entitled _The Far West, or a Tour beyond the Mountains_ (New York, 1838, two vols.). This work has been edited by Dr. Reuben Gold Thwaites and published as volumes 26 and 27 of _Early Western Travels_ (Cleveland, 1906). In 1839 Flagg became associate editor of the Louisville _Literary News-Letter_, of which George D. Prentice was editor. All of his poems of merit were published in the _Journal_, and _News-Letter_. Flagg contributed both prose and verse to the Louisville papers for nearly thirty-five years. Ill-health compelled him to abandon journalism for law, and at Vicksburg, Mississippi, he formed a partnership with the celebrated Sargent Smith Prentiss. Two years later he became editor of the _Gazette_ at Marietta, Ohio. Flagg's first two novels were issued about this time, entitled _Carrero_ (New York, 1842), and _Francois of Valois_ (New York, 1842). He was next editor of a publication at St. Louis; and in 1849 he was secretary of the American legation at Berlin. In 1850-1851 he was United States consul at Venice. He afterwards returned to St. Louis and to journalism. Two of his plays, _Blanche of Artois_, and _The Howard Queen_, were well received at Louisville, Cincinnati, and several other cities. In 1853 Flagg's _Venice, the City of the Sea_, appeared, and it won him a wide reputation. _North Italy since 1849_, issued some years later, resumed the story of Venice where his first work had left off, and brought it down to date. Flagg was afterwards connected with the State department in Washington, and under an order from Congress he prepared his famous _Report on the Commercial Relations of the United States with all Foreign Nations_ (Washington, 1856-1857, four vols.). His final work was a novel, _De Molai, the Last of the Military Templars_ (1888). Edmund Flagg died at Salem, Virginia, in 1890. He is most certainly a Kentucky poet, journalist, and traveler, but his fame as a dramatist, historian, and novelist belongs wholly to other states.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Literature of the Louisiana Territory_, by A. N. DeMenil (St. Louis, 1904); Adams's _Dictionary of American Authors_ (Boston, 1905).

THE ANCIENT MOUNDS OF THE WEST

[From _The Louisville Literary News-Letter_]

Ages since--long ere the first son of the Old World had pressed the fresh soil of the New--long before the bright region beyond the blue waves had become the object of the philosopher's reverie by day, and the enthusiast's vision by night--in the deep stillness and solitude of an unpeopled land, these vast mausoleums rose as they now rise, in lonely grandeur from the plain and looked down even as now they look, upon the giant floods rolling their dark waters at their base, hurrying past them to the deep. So has it been with the massive tombs of Egypt, amid the sands and barrenness of the desert. For ages untold have the gloomy pyramids been reflected by the inundations of the Nile; an hundred generations, they tell us, have arisen from the cradle, and reposed beneath their shadows, and like autumn leaves have dropped into the grave; but, from the midnight of bygone centuries, comes forth no darting spirit to claim these kingly sepulchres as his own! And shall the dusky piles, on the plains of distant Egypt affect so deeply our reverence for the departed, and these mighty monuments, reposing in dark sublimity upon our own magnificent prairies, vailed in mystery more inscrutable than they, call forth no solitary throb? Is there no hallowing interest associated with these aged relics--these tombs, and temples, and towers' of another race, to elicit emotion? Are they indeed to us no more than the dull clods we tread upon? Why then does the wanderer from the far land gaze upon them with wonder and veneration? Why linger fondly around them, and meditate upon the power which reared them, and is departed? Why does the poet, the man of genius and fancy, or the philosopher of mind and nature, seat himself at their base, and with strange and undefined emotions, pause and ponder, amid the loneliness that slumbers around? And surely, if the far traveler, as he wanders through this Western Valley, may linger around these aged piles, and meditate upon a power departed--a race obliterated--an influence swept from the earth forever--and dwell with melancholy emotions upon the destiny of man, is it not meet, that those into whose keeping they seem by Providence consigned, should regard them with interest and emotion?--that they should gather up and preserve every incident relevant to their origin, design, or history, which may be attained, and avail themselves of every measure, which may give to them perpetuity, and hand them down, undisturbed in form or character, to other generations?

That these venerable piles are of the workmanship of man's hand, no one, who with unprejudiced opinion has examined them, can doubt. But with such an admission, what is the cloud of reflections, which throng and startle the mind? What a series of unanswerable inquiries succeed! When were these enormous earth heaps reared up from the plain? By what race of beings was the vast undertaking accomplished? What was their purpose?--what changes in their form and magnitude have taken place?--what vicissitudes and revolutions have, in the lapse of centuries, rolled like successive waves over the plains at their base? As we reflect, we anxiously look around us for some tradition--some time-stained chronicle--some age-worn record--even the faintest and most unsatisfactory legend, upon which to repose our credulity, and relieve the inquiring solicitude of the mind. But our research is hopeless. The present race of Aborigines can tell nothing of these tumuli. To them as to us they are vailed in mystery. Ages since--long ere the white-face came--while this fair land was yet the home of his fathers--the simple Indian stood before the venerable earth-heap, and gazed, and wondered, and turned away.

CATHERINE A. WARFIELD

Mrs. Catherine Ann Warfield, poet and novelist, was born at Natchez, Mississippi, June 6, 1816, the daughter of Nathaniel H. Ware. She was educated at Philadelphia with her sister, Eleanor P. Ware Lee (1820-1849), with whom she afterwards collaborated in her first two volumes. Catherine Ware was married at Cincinnati, in 1833, to Robert Elisha Warfield, of Lexington, Kentucky, and Kentucky was her home henceforth. _The Wife of Leon, and Other Poems, by Two Sisters of the West_ (New York, 1844), and _The Indian Chamber, and Other Poems_ (New York, 1846) were the works of the sisters. In 1857 Mrs. Warfield removed from Lexington to Pewee Valley, Kentucky, near Louisville, and some three years later her masterpiece appeared, entitled _The Household of Bouverie_ (New York, 1860, two vols.). This work brought her into wide notice. During the Civil War Mrs. Warfield wrote some of the most spirited lyrics which that mighty conflict called forth. After the war she turned again to prose fiction, producing the following books: _The Romance of the Green Seal_ (1867); _Miriam Monfort_ (1873); _A Double Wedding_ (1875); _Hester Howard's Temptation_ (1875); _Lady Ernestine_ (1876); _Miriam's Memoirs_ (1876); _Sea and Shore_ (1876); _Ferne Fleming_ (1877); and her last novel, _The Cardinal's Daughter_ (1877). Mrs. Warfield died at Pewee Valley, Kentucky, May 21, 1877, at the time of her greatest popularity. Of her books _The Household of Bouverie_ is the only one that is generally known to-day, and is, perhaps, the only one that is at all readable and interesting. Mrs. Warfield was an early edition of "The Duchess" and Mary Jane Holmes, though she did write fine war lyrics and one good story, which is just a bit better than either of the other two women did.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Women of the South Distinguished in Literature_, by Mary Forrest (New York, 1861); _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1910, v. xii).

CAMILLA BOUVERIE'S DIARY

[From _The Household of Bouverie_ (New York, 1860, v. ii)]

Another queer scene with little Paul, whose quaint ways divert and mystify me all the time. During Mr. Bouverie's absence of a week, I have nothing else to amuse me nor to write about. He has called me familiarly "Camilla" until now; but fearing that Mr. Bouverie might not like the appellation, or rather that it might make me appear too childish in his sight, I said to him recently:

"Paul, you are a little fellow, and I am your guardian's wife. Don't you think it would sound better if you were to add a handle to my name, as common folks say? Call me 'Cousin Camilla' or 'Aunt Camilla,' whichever you prefer; which shall it be, Quintil?"

"Neither," he replied, manfully, "for you are neither of those things to me, and I do not like to tell stories; but I will call you 'madam,' if you choose, as you are a 'madam;'" and something like a sneer wreathed his childish lips.

"A foolish little madam, you think, Paul!" I rejoined, half in pique, half in playfulness.

"Why that is the very name for you," he said, brightening with the thought. "'Little Madam!' I will call you so; but I will not put in the foolish," he added, gravely, "for, perhaps, you will change after a while and grow wiser."

He spoke very seriously, sorrowfully almost, and I was quite provoked for a moment to be set down in this fashion, by such a mere babe and suckling. I was glad of the opportunity presented to me of snubbing him by noticing a streak of molasses on his cheek.

"Go wash your face, Paul," I said, "it is dirty!"

He walked gravely to the glass and surveyed the stain. "Looking glasses are useful things, after all," he said; "they tell the truth--see 'Little Madam,' how you are mistaken! my face is not dirty, only soiled; food is not dirt--if it were, we should all starve."

He turned and smiled at me in his peculiar way, half mocking, half affectionate.

"Yet, as you bid me," he added, "I will wash it off; but isn't it a pity to waste what would keep a bee alive a whole day!"

Is this brat a humorist?

He has brought out of his funny little trunk the oddest present for me! It is a Medusa's head admirably carved in alabaster, and was broken from the side of a vase by accident, and given to him by a lady, at whose house he made a visit with Mr. Bouverie.

He considers it a priceless treasure. There is a vague horror to me in the face that is almost insupportable. The snaky hair, the sightless, glaring eyes, are so mysteriously dreadful. He says it will answer for a paper weight. No, Paul, I will lay it away out of sight forever.

A PLEDGE TO LEE

(Written for a Kentucky Company)

[From _Southern Poems of the War_, edited by Emily V. Mason (Baltimore, 1867)]

We pledge thee, Lee! In water or wine, In blood or in brine, What matter the sign? Whether brilliantly glowing, Or darkly overflowing, So the cup is divine That we fill to thee! Vanquished--victorious, Gloomy or glorious, Fainting and bleeding, Advancing, receding, Lingering or leading, Captive or free; With swords raised on high, With hearts nerved to die, Or to grasp victory; Hand to hand--knee to knee, With a wild three times three We pledge thee, Lee!

We pledge thee, chief: In the name of our nation, Her wide devastation, Her sore desolation, Her grandeur and grief! Where'er thou warrest When our need is the sorest, Or in Fortress or forest, Bidest thy time; Thou--Heaven elected, Thou--Angel-protected, Thou--Brother selected, What e'er thy fate be, Our trust is in thee, And our faith is sublime. With swords raised on high, With hearts nerved to die, Or to grasp victory; Hand to hand--knee to knee, With a wild three times three, We pledge thee, Lee!

J. ROSS BROWNE

John Ross Browne, humorist and traveler, was born in Ireland, in 1817, but when an infant his father came to America and settled at Louisville, Kentucky. Browne was educated in the Louisville schools, and studied medicine for a time under several well-known physicians. When eighteen years old he went to New Orleans; and this journey kindled his passion for travel that ended only with his death. Browne took the whole world for his home. He first went almost around the globe on a whaling vessel, and on his return to this country, he published his first book, called _Etchings of a Whaling Cruise_ (New York, 1846). Browne was private secretary for Robert J. Walker, Secretary of the Treasury, for a time, but, in 1849, he went to California as a government commissioner; and in 1851 he went to Europe as a newspaper correspondent. A tour of Palestine is described in Browne's most famous book, _Yusef, or the Journey of the Frangi_ (New York, 1853). He shortly afterwards returned to the United States and became an inspector of customs on the Pacific coast; but the year of 1861 found him again in Europe, residing at Frankfort-on-the-Main. Browne's next work was _Crusoe's Island_ (New York, 1864). His family's residence in Germany resulted in the author publishing _An American Family in Germany_ (New York, 1866), one of his most delightful volumes. Browne's travels in northern Europe are described in _The Land of Thor_ (New York, 1867). He now returned to America and made his home in California. He investigated the mineral resources of the country west of the Rocky Mountains, and his report was issued as _Resources of the Pacific Slope_ (1869). _Adventures in the Apache Country_ (1869), was his last book. Browne was appointed United States Minister to China on March 11, 1868, but he was recalled sixteen months later. He died at Oakland, California, December 9, 1875. Most of his volumes are very cleverly illustrated with his own comical sketches of characters and scenes. That J. Ross Browne was a man of very considerable ability in several directions admits of no argument.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. Appletons' _Cyclopaedia of American Biography_ (New York, 1887, v. i); _National Cyclopaedia of American Biography_ (New York, 1900, v. viii).

LAPDOGS IN GERMANY

[From _An American Family in Germany_ (New York, 1866)]