However much of ability may have been engaged upon it, the press of the South—up to the events just preceding the war—had scarcely been that great lever which it had elsewhere become. It was rather a local machine than a great engine for shaping and manufacturing public opinion.
One main cause for this, perhaps, was the decentralization of the South. Tracts1 of country surrounding it looked up only to their chief city, and thence drew their information, and even their ideas on the topics of the day. But there it ceased. The principal trade of the South went directly to the North; and in return were received northern manufactures, northern books and northern ideas. Northern newspapers came to the South; and except for matters of local information, or local policy, a large class of her readers drew their inspiration chiefly from journals of New York—catholic in their scope as unreliable in their principles.
These papers were far ahead of those of the South—except in very rare instances—in their machinery2 for collecting news and gossip; for making up a taking whole; and in the no less important knowledge of manipulating their circulation and advertising3 patronage4. The newspaper system of the North had been reduced to a science. Its great object was to pay; and to accomplish this it must force its circulation in numbers and in radius5, and must become the medium of communicating with far distant points. Great competition—application of il faut bien vivre—drove the drones from the field and only the real workers were allowed to live.
In the South the case was entirely6 different. Even in the large cities, newspapers were content with a local circulation; they had a little-varying clientele which looked upon them as infallible; and their object was to consider and digest ideas, rather than to propagate, or manufacture them.
The deep and universal interest in questions immediately preceding the war, somewhat changed in the scope of the southern press. People in all sections had intense anxiety to know what others, in different sections, felt on vital questions that agitated7 them; and papers were thus forced, as it were, into becoming the medium for interchange of sentiment.
An examination of the leading journals of the South at this period will show that—whatever their mismanagement and want of business success—there was no lack of ability in their editorial columns. Such organs as the New Orleans Delta9, Mobile Advertiser, Charleston Mercury and Richmond Examiner and Whig might have taken rank alongside of the best-edited papers of the country. Their literary ability was, perhaps, greater than that of the North; their discussions of the questions of the hour were clear, strong and scholarly, and possessed10, besides, the invaluable11 quality of honest conviction. Unlike the press of the North, the southern journals were not hampered12 by any business interests; they were unbiased, unbought and free to say what they thought and felt. And say it they did, in the boldest and plainest of language.
Nowhere on the globe was the freedom of the press more thoroughly13 vindicated14 than in the Southern States of America. And during the whole course of the war, criticisms of men and measures were constant and outspoken16. So much so, indeed, that in many instances the operations of the Government were embarrassed, or the action of a department commander seriously hampered, by hostile criticism in a paper. In naval18 operations, and the workings of the Conscript Law, especially was this freedom felt to be injurious; and though it sprang from the perfectly19 pure motive20 of doing the best for the cause—though the smallest southern journal, printed on straw paper and with worn-out type, was above purchase, or hush21 money—still it might have been better at times had gag-law been applied22.
For, with a large proportion of the population of different sections gathered in huge army communities, their different newspapers reached the camps and were eagerly devoured23. Violent and hostile criticisms of Government—even expositions of glaring abuses—were worse than useless unless they could be remedied; and when these came to be the text of camp-talk, they naturally made the soldiers think somewhat as they did.
Now, the greatest difficulty with that variously-constituted army, was to make its individuals the perfect machines—unthinking, unreasoning, only obeying—to which the perfect soldier must be reduced. "Johnny Reb" would think; and not infrequently, he would talk. The newspapers gave him aid and comfort in both breaches24 of discipline; and in some instances, their influence against the conscription and impressments was seriously felt in the interior. Still these hostilities25 had their origin in honest conviction; and abuses were held up to the light, that the Government might be made to see and correct them.
The newspapers but reflected the ideas of some of the clearest thinkers in the land; and they recorded the real and true history of public opinion during the war. In their columns is to be found the only really correct and indicative "map of busy life, its fluctuations26 and its vast concerns" in the South, during her days of darkness and of trial.
These papers held their own bravely for a time, and fought hard against scarcity27 of labor28, material and patronage—against the depreciation29 of currency and their innumerable other difficulties. Little by little their numbers decreased; then only the principal dailies of the cities were left, and these began to print upon straw paper, wall papering—on any material that could be procured30. Cramped31 in means, curtailed32 in size, and dingy33 in appearance, their publishers still struggled bravely on for the freedom of the press and the freedom of the South.
Periodical literature—as the vast flood of illustrated34 and unillustrated monthlies and weeklies that swept over the North was misnamed—was unknown in the South. She had but few weeklies; and these were sturdy and heavy country papers—relating more to farming than to national matters. Else they were the weekly editions of the city papers, intended for country consumption. Few monthly magazines—save educational, religious, or statistical35 ventures, intended for certain limited classes, were ever born in the South; and most of those few lived weakly and not long.
De Bow's Review, the Southern Quarterly, and the Literary Messenger, were the most noteworthy exceptions. The business interests of the larger towns supported the first—which, indeed, drew part of its patronage from the North. Neither its great ability nor the taste of its clientele availed to sustain the second; and the Messenger—long the chosen medium of southern writers of all ages, sexes and conditions—dragged on a wearisome existence, with one foot in the grave for many years, only to perish miserably36 of starvation during the war.
But any regular and systematized periodical literature the South never had. The principal reason doubtless is, that she had not the numerous class of readers for amusement, who demand such food in the North; and of the not insignificant37 class who did indulge in it, nine-tenths—for one reason, or another, preferred northern periodicals. This is not altogether unnatural38, when we reflect that these latter were generally better managed and superior in interest—if not in tone—to anything the South had yet attempted. They were gotten up with all the appliances of mechanical perfection; were managed with business tact39, and forced and puffed40 into such circulation as made the heavy outlay41 for first-class writers in the end remunerative42.
On the contrary, every magazine attempted in the South up to that time had been born with the seeds of dissolution already in it. Voluntary contributions—fatal poison to any literary enterprise—had been their universal basis. There was ever a crowd of men and women among southern populations, who would write anywhere and anything for the sake of seeing themselves in print. And while there were many able and accomplished43 writers available, they were driven off by these Free-Companions of the quill—preferring not to write in such company; or, if forced to do it, to send their often anonymous44 contributions to northern journals. These two reasons—especially the last—availed to kill the few literary ventures attempted by more enterprising southern publishers. The first of these two in a great measure influenced the scarcity of book-producers, among a people who had really very few readers among them; and even had the number of these been larger, it seems essential to the increase of authors that there should be the constant friction45 of contact in floating literature.
Good magazines are the nurseries and forcing houses for authors; and almost every name of prominence46 in modern literature may be traced back along its course, as that of magazinist, or reviewer.
The South—whether these reasons for it be just or not, the fact is patent—had had but few writers of prominence; and in fiction especially the names that were known could be numbered on one's fingers. W. Gilmore Simms was at once the father of southern literature and its most prolific47 exemplar. His numerous novels have been very generally read; and, if not placing him in the highest ranks of writers of fiction, at least vindicate15 the claims of his section to force and originality48. He had been followed up the thorny49 path by many who stopped half-way, turned back, or sunk forgotten even before reaching that far.
Few, indeed, of their works ever went beyond their own boundaries; and those few rarely sent back a record. Exceptions there were, however, who pressed Mr. Simms hard for his position on the topmost peak; and most of these adventurous50 climbers were of the softer sex.
John Esten Cooke had written a very clever novel of the olden society, called "Virginia Comedians51." It had promised a brilliant future, when his style and method should both ripen52; a promise that had not, so far, been kept by two or three succeeding ventures launched on these doubtful waters. Hon. Jere Clemens, of Alabama, had commenced a series of strong, if somewhat convulsive, stories of western character. "Mustang Gray" and "Bernard Lile," scenting53 strongly of camp-fire and pine-top, yet had many advantages over the majority of successful novels, then engineered by northern publishers. Marion Harland, as her nom de plume54 went, was, however, the most popular of southern writers. Her stories of Virginia home-life had little pretension55 to the higher flights of romance; but they were pure, graphic56 and not unnatural scenes from every-day life. They introduced us to persons we knew, or might have known; and the people read them generally and liked them. Mrs. Ritchie (Anna Cora Mowatt) was also prolific of novels, extracted principally from her fund of stage experience. Piquant57 and bright, with a dash of humor and more than a dash of sentiment, Mrs. Ritchie's books had many admirers and more friends. The South-west, too, had given us the "Household of Bouverie" and "Beulah;" and it was reserved for Miss Augusta Evans, author of the latter, to furnish the only novel—almost the only book—published within the South during continuance of the war. The only others I can now recall—emanating from southern pens and entirely made in the South—were Mrs. A. de V. Chaudron's translation of Mülbach's "Joseph II.," and Dr. Wm. Sheppardson's collection of "War Poetry of the South."
This is not an imposing58 array of prose writers, and it may be incomplete; but it is very certain that there are not many omissions60.
In poetry, the warmer clime of the South would naturally have been expected to excel; but, while the list of rhymsters was longer than Leporello's, the poets hardly exceeded in number the writers of prose. Thompson, Meek61, Simms, Hayne, Timrod and McCord were the few names that had gone over the border. Up to that time, however, the South had never produced any great poem, that was to stand ?re perennius. But that there was a vast amount of latent poetry in our people was first developed by the terrible friction of war.
In the dead-winter watches of the camp, in the stricken homes of the widow and the childless, and in the very prison pens, where they were crushed under outrage62 and contumely—the souls of the southrons rose in song.
The varied63 and stirring acts of that terrible drama—its trying suspense64 and harrowing shocks—its constant strain and privations must have graven deep upon southern hearts a picture of that time; and there it will stand forever, distinct—indelible—etched by the mordant65 of sorrow!
Where does history show more stirring motives66 for poetry? Every rood of earth, moistened and hallowed with sacred blood, sings to-day a noble dirge67, wordless, but how eloquent68! No whitewashed69 ward70 in yonder hospital, but has written in letters of life its epic71 of heroism72, of devotion, and of triumphant73 sacrifice!
Every breeze that swept from those ravished homes, whence peace and purity had fled before the sword, the torch and that far blacker—nameless horror!—each breeze bore upon its wing a pleading prayer for peace, mingled74 and drowned in the hoarse75 notes of a stirring cry to arms!
But not only did our people feel all this. They spoke17 it with universal voice—in glowing, burning words that will live so long as strength and tenderness and truth shall hold their own in literature.
For reasons thus roughly sketched77, no great and connected effort had been made at the South before the war. Though there had been sudden and fitful flashes of rare warmth and promise, they had died before their fire was communicated. That the fire was there, latent and still, they bore witness; but it needed the rough and cruel friction of the war to bring it to the surface.
What the southron felt he spoke; and out of the bitterness of his trial the poetry of the South was born. It leaped at one bound from the overcharged brain of our people—full statured in its stern defiance78 mailed in the triple panoply79 of truth.
There was endless poetry written in the North on the war; and much of it came from the pens of men as eminent80 as Longfellow, Bryant, Whittier and Holmes. But they wrote far away from the scenes they spoke of—comfortably housed and perfectly secure. The men of the North wrote with their pens, while the men of the South wrote with their hearts!
A singular commentary upon this has been given us by Mr. Richard Grant White—himself a member of the committee. In April, 1861, a committee of thirteen New Yorkers—comprising such names as Julian Verplanck, Moses Grinnell, John A. Dix and Geo. Wm. Curtis—offered a reward of five hundred dollars for a National Hymn81! What hope, feeling, patriotism83 and love of the cause had failed to produce—for the lineal descendants of the "Star Spangled Banner" were all in the South, fighting under the bars instead of the stripes—was to be drawn84 out by the application of a greenback poultice! The committee advertised generally for five hundred dollars' worth of pure patriotism, to be ground out "in not less than sixteen lines, nor more than forty."
Even with this highest incentive85, Mr. White tells us that dozens of barrelfuls of manuscript were rejected; and not one patriot82 was found whose principles—as expressed in his poetry—were worth that much money! Were it not the least bit saddening, the contemplation of this attempt to buy up fervid86 sentiment would be inexpressibly funny.
Memory must bring up, in contrast, that night of 1792 in Strasbourg, when the gray dawn, struggling with the night, fell upon the pale face and burning eyes of Rouget de Lisle—as with trembling hand he wrote the last words of the Marseillaise. The mind must revert87, in contrast, to those ravished hearths88 and stricken homes and decimated camps, where the South wrought90 and suffered and sang—sang words that rose from men's hearts, when the ore of genius fused and sparkled in the hot blast of their fervid patriotism!
Every poem of the South is a National Hymn!—bought not with dollars, but with five hundred wrongs and ten times five hundred precious lives!
To one who has not studied the subject, the vast number of southern war poems would be most surprising, in view of restricted means for their issue. Every magazine, album and newspaper in the South ran over with these effusions and swelled91 their number to an almost countless92 one. Many of them were written for a special time, event, or locality; many again were read and forgotten in the engrossing93 duties of the hour. But it was principally from the want of some systematized means of distribution that most of them were born to blush unseen.
Before my little collection—"South Songs, from the Lays of Later Days"—went to press, over nineteen hundred poems had accumulated on my hands! And since that time the number has greatly increased. There were battle odes, hymns94, calls to arms, p?ans and dirges95 and prayers for peace—many of them good, few of them great; and the vast majority, alas96! wretchedly poor. Any attempted notice of their authors in limits like this would be sheer failure; and where many did so well, it were invidious to discriminate97. The names of John R. Thompson, James Randall, Henry Timrod, Paul Hayne, Barron Hope, Margaret Preston, James Overall, Harry98 Lyndon Flash and Frank Ticknor had already become household words in the South, where they will live forever.
Wherever his people read anything, the classic finish of his "Latané," the sweet caress99 of his "Stuart" and the bugle100-blast of his "Coercion101" and "Word with the West," had assured John R. Thompson's fame. The liltful refrain of "Maryland, my Maryland" echoed from the Potomac to the Gulf102; and the clarion-call James R. Randall so nobly used—"There's Life in the Old Land Yet!"—warmed every southern heart, by the dead ashes on its hearth89. Who does not remember "Beechenbrook," that pure Vestal in the temple of Mars? Every tear of sympathy that fell upon its pages was a jewel above rubies103, in the crown of its gentle author.
Paul Hayne had won already the hearts of his own readers; and had gained transatlantic meed, in Tennyson's declaration that he was "the sonneteer of America!" And the yearning104 sorrow in all eyes that looked upon the fresh mound105, above what was mortal of tender Henry Timrod, was more eloquent of worth than costly106 monument, or labored107 epitaph.
But not only the clang of action and the freedom of stirring scenes produced the southern war-poems. Camp Chase and forts Warren and Lafayette contributed as glowing strains as any written. Those grim bastiles held the bodies of their unconquered inmates108; while their hearts lived but in the memory of those scenes, in which their fettered109 hands were debarred further portion. Worn down by confinement110, hunger and the ceaseless pressure of suspense; weakened by sickness and often oppressed by vulgar indignity—the spirit of their cause still lingered lovingly around them; and its bright gleams warmed and lighted the darkest recesses111 of their cells.
That bugle blast, "Awake and to horse, my brothers!", Teackle Wallis sent from the walls of Warren, when he was almost prostrated112 by sickness and mental suffering. Another poem, more mournful but with a beautiful thought of hope beyond, comes from that dismal113 prison-pen, Camp Chase. Colonel W. S. Hawkins, a brave Tennesseean, who was held there two long years, still kept up heart and ministered to his fellow-sufferers day and night. The close of the war alone released him, to drag his shattered frame to "his own, fair sunny land," and lay it in the soil he loved so well. But he has left a living monument; and the tender pathos114 of "The Hero without a Name"—and the flawless poetical115 gem8 that closes his "Last of Earth," will be remembered as long as the sacrifices of their noble author. The pent walls of other military prisons sent forth116 plaintive117 records of misery118, as well as stirring strains of hope unconquered; but the two here named are easily first of the rebel-prisoner poets.
Dirges for the great dead became a popular form, in which the spirit of southern song poured itself out. I had in my collection no fewer than forty-seven monodies and dirges on Stonewall Jackson; some dozens on Ashby and a score on Stuart. Some of these were critically good; all of them high in sentiment; but Flash's "Jackson"—heretofore quoted, when noting that irremediable loss—stands incomparably above the rest. Short, vigorous, completely rounded—it breathes that high spirit of hope and trust, held by that warrior119 people; and, not alone the finest war dirge of the South, it is excelled by no sixteen lines in any language, for power, lilt and tenderness!
Perhaps Thompson's "Dirge for Ashby," Randall's song of triumph over dead John Pelham and Mrs. Margaret Preston's "Ashby," may rank side-by-side next to the "Jackson." The modest author of the last-named did not claim it, until the universal voice of her people called for her name; and it is noteworthy that large numbers of war-song writers hid from their just meed, behind the sheltering anonymous. And the universal characteristic of this dirge-poetry is not its mournful tenderness—while nothing could be more touching120 than that; but its strong expression of faith in the efficacy of the sacrifice and in the full atonement of the martyrdom!
The battle-breeze bore back to the writers no sound of weak wailing121. It wafted122 only the sob123 of manly124 grief, tempered by a solemn joyousness125; and—coming from men of many temperaments126, amid wide-differing scenes and circumstance—every monody bears impress of the higher inspiration, that has its origin far beyond the realm of the narrow house!
Sacred to one and all—in the Dixie of yesterday, in the southern half of the cemented union of to-day—is the memory of that past. Sweet and bitter commingled127, as it is, we clasp it to our heart of hearts and know—that were it bitterer a thousand fold—it is ours still! So I may not leave the field of southern song, unnoting its noblest strain—its funeral hymn! Father Ryan's "Conquered Banner" is so complete in fulfillment of its mission, that we can not spare one word, while yet no word is wanting! Every syllable128 there finds it echo far down in every southern heart. Every syllable has added significance, as coming from a man of peace;—a priest of that church which ever held forth free and gentle hand to aid the cause of struggling freedom!
In hottest flashings of the fight; in toilsome marches of winter; in fearful famine of the trenches—the Catholic soldiers of the Confederacy ever acted the motto of the Douglas; their deeds ever said—"Ready! aye, ready!"
And, in fetid wards129 of fever hospital; in field-tents, where the busy knife shears130 through quivering flesh; on battle-ground, where shattered manhood lies mangled131 almost past semblance132 of itself; at hurried burial, where gory133 blanket, or rough board, makes final rest for some "Hero without a name;"—there ever, and ever tender and tireless, the priest of Rome works on his labor of love and consolation134! And the gentlest daughter of the eldest135 church was there as well. All southern soldiers were brothers, in her eyes; children of the One Father. And that noble band of Sisters of Mercy—to which our every woman belonged; giving light and hope to the hospital, life itself to the cause—that band knew no confines of ministry—no barriers of faith, which made charity aught but one common heritage!
Over the border, too; in struggling Maryland, in leaguered Missouri, and far into the North, the Catholic clergy136 were friends of the southern cause. They ceased never openly to defend its justice; quietly to aid its sympathizers. They helped the self-exiled soldier to bear unaccustomed hardships, on the one side; carried to his lonely mother, on the other, tidings of his safety, or his glory, that "caused the heart of the widow to sing for joy!"
Fitting, then, it was that a father of that church should chant the requiem138 for the dead cause, he had loved and labored for while living; that Father Ryan should bless and bury its conquered banner, when the bitter day came that saw it "furled forever."
But is that proud flag—with the glory and the pride wrought into its folds, by suffering, honor and endurance unexcelled—really "furled forever?" The dust of centuries may sift139 upon it, but the moth137 and the mold may harm it not. Ages it may lie, furled and unnoted; but in her own good time, historic Justice shall yet unfold and throw it to the breeze of immortality141; pointing to each glorious rent and to each holy drop that stains it!
The war-poetry of the South has been dwelt upon, perhaps, at too great length. But it was, in real truth, the literature of the South. To sum it up may be repeated, after a lapse142 of twenty-five years—that sentence from the preface to my "South Songs," which raised such ire among irreconcilables of the southern press:—"In prose of all kinds, the South stood still, during the war; perhaps retrograded. But her best aspiration143, 'lisped in numbers, for the numbers came!'"
Even then her poetry proved that there was life—high, brave life—in the old land yet; even then it gave earnest that, when the bitter struggle for bread gave time for thought, reason and retrospect144, southern literature would rise, in the might of a young giant, and shake herself wholly free from northern domination and convention.
In art and her twin sister, music, the South displayed taste and progress truly remarkable145 in view of the absorbing nature of her duties. Like all inhabitants of semi-tropic climes, there had ever been shown by her people natural love and aptitude146 for melody. While this natural taste was wholly uncultivated—venting largely in plantation147 songs of the negroes—in districts where the music-master was necessarily abroad, it had reached high development in several of the large cities. Few of these were large enough, or wealthy enough, to support good operas, which the wealth of the North frequently lured148 to itself; but it may be recalled that New Orleans was genuinely enjoying opera, as a necessary of life, long before New York deemed it essential to study bad translations of librettos149, in warmly-packed congregations of thousands.
Mobile, Charleston, Savannah and other cities also had considerable latent music among their amateurs; happily not then brought to the surface by the fierce friction of poverty. And what was the musical talent of the Capital, has elsewhere been hinted. When the tireless daughters of Richmond had worked in every other way, for the soldiers themselves, they organized a system of concerts and dramatic evenings for benefit of their families. At these were shown evidences of individual excellence150, truly remarkable; while their average displayed taste and finish, which skilled critics declared would compare favorably with any city in the country.
The bands of the southern army—so long as they remained existent as separate organizations—were indisputably mediocre151, when not atrociously bad. But it must be recalled that there was little time to practice, even in the beginning; literally152 no chance to obtain new music, or instruments; and that the better class of men—who usually make the best musicians—always preferred the musket153 to the bugle. Nor was there either incentive to good music, or appreciation154 for it, among the masses of the fighters. The drum and fife were the best they had known "at musters155;" and they were good enough still, to fight by. So, recalling the prowess achieved constantly, in following them, it may be wondered what possible results might have come from inspiration of a marine156 band, a Grafulla, or a Gilmore!
Likewise, in all art matters, the South was at least a decade behind her northern sisterhood. Climate, picturesque157 surrounding and natural warmth of character had awakened158 artistic159 sense, in many localities. But its development was scarcely appreciable160, from lack of opportunity and of exemplar. The majority of southern girls were reared at their own homes; and art culture—beyond mild atrocities161 in crayon or water-color, or terrors bred of the nimble broiderer's needle—was a myth, indeed. A large number of young men—a majority, perhaps, of those who could afford it—received education at the North. Such of these as displayed peculiar162 aptitude for painting, were usually sent abroad for perfecting; and returning, they almost invariably settled in northern cities, where were found both superior opportunities and larger and better-paying class of patrons. But, when the tug163 came, not a few of these errant youths returned, to share it with their native states; and some of them found time, even in the stirring days of war, to transfer to canvas some of its most suggestive scenes.
Of them, the majority were naturally about Richmond; not only as the great army center, but as the center of everything else. Among the latter were two favorite pupils of Leutze, William D. Washington and John A. Elder. Both Virginians, by birth and rearing, they had the great advantage of Dusseldorf training, while they were thoroughly acquainted and sympathetic with their subjects. Some of Washington's figure-pieces were very successful; finding ready sale at prices which, had they continued, might have made him a Meissonnier in pocket, as well as in local fame. His elaborate picture, illustrating164 the "Burial of Latané"—a subject which also afforded motif165 for Thompson's most classic poem—attracted wide attention and favorable verdict from good critics. Mr. Washington also made many and excellent studies of the bold, picturesque scenery of his western campaigning, along the Gauley and Kanawha.
Elder's pictures—while, perhaps, less careful in finish than those of his brother student—were nothing inferior as close character-studies of soldier-life. Their excellence was ever emphasized by prompt sale; and "The Scout's Prize" and the "Raider's Return"—both horse and landscape studies; as well as a ghastly, but most effective picture of the "Crater166 Fight" at Petersburg, made the young artist great reputation.
Washington's "Latané" had post-bellum reproduction, by the graver; becoming popular and widely-known, North and South. The three of Elder's pictures, named here, were purchased by a member of the British parliament; but, unfortunately, were destroyed in the fire of the Dies ir?. The two first were duplicated, after the peace; and they gained praise and successful sale in New York.
Mr. Guillam, a French student, worked carefully and industriously167, at his Richmond studio; producing portraits of Lee, Jackson and others; which, having exaggerated mannerisms of the French school, still possessed no little merit. A remarkable life-size picture of General Lee, which produced much comment in Richmond, was done by a deaf-mute, Mr. Bruce. It was to have been bought by the State of Virginia; possibly from sympathy with the subject and the condition of the artist, rather than because of intrinsic merit as an art-work.
But, perhaps, the most strikingly original pictures the war produced were those of John R. Key, a Maryland lieutenant168 of engineers; one of those descendants of "The Star Spangled Banner," early noted140 in this chapter. Young, ambitious and but little educated in art, Mr. Key made up that lack in boldness of subject and treatment. His school was largely his own; and he went for his subjects far out of the beaten track, treating them afterward169 with marked boldness and dash.
"Drewry's Bluff170" was a boldly-handled sketch76 of what the northern army persisted in calling "Fort Darling." It showed the same venturesome originality in color-use, the same breadth and fidelity171 that marked Mr. Key's later pictures of Sumter, Charleston harbor and scenes on the James river.
These pictures named in common, with minor172 sketches173 from pencils less known at that time—among them that of William L. Sheppard, now famous as graphic delineator of southern scenes—illustrate both the details of the unique war, and the taste and heart of those who made it. Amid battles, sieges and sorrows, the mimic174 world behind the Chinese wall revolved175 on axis176 of its own. War was the business of life to every man; but, in the short pauses of its active strife177, were shown both the taste and talent for the prettiest pursuits of peace. And the apparently178 unsurmountable difficulties, through which these were essayed, makes their even partial development more remarkable still.
The press, the literature and the art of the Southern Confederacy—looked at in the light of her valor179 and endurance, shining from her hundred battle-fields—emphasize strongly the inborn180 nature of her people. And, while there were many whom the limits of this sketch leave unnamed, that sin of omission59 will not be registered against the author; for the men of the South—even in minor matters—did their work for the object and for the cause; not for self-illustration.
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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advertising
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patronage
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radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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entirely
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agitated
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gem
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delta
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possessed
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invaluable
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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14
vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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vindicate
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| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
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16
outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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17
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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18
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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19
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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20
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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21
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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22
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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23
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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24
breaches
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| 破坏( breach的名词复数 )； 破裂； 缺口； 违背 | |
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25
hostilities
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| n.战争；敌意(hostility的复数)；敌对状态；战事 | |
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26
fluctuations
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| 波动，涨落，起伏( fluctuation的名词复数 ) | |
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27
scarcity
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| n.缺乏，不足，萧条 | |
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28
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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29
depreciation
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| n.价值低落，贬值，蔑视，贬低 | |
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30
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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31
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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32
curtailed
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| v.截断，缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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34
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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35
statistical
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| adj.统计的，统计学的 | |
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36
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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37
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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38
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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39
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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40
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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41
outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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42
remunerative
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| adj.有报酬的 | |
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43
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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44
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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45
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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46
prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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47
prolific
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| adj.丰富的，大量的；多产的，富有创造力的 | |
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48
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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49
thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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50
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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51
comedians
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| n.喜剧演员，丑角( comedian的名词复数 ) | |
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52
ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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53
scenting
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| vt.闻到（scent的现在分词形式） | |
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54
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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55
pretension
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| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
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56
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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57
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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58
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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59
omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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60
omissions
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| n.省略( omission的名词复数 )；删节；遗漏；略去或漏掉的事（或人） | |
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61
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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62
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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63
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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64
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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65
mordant
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| adj.讽刺的；尖酸的 | |
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66
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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67
dirge
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| n.哀乐，挽歌，庄重悲哀的乐曲 | |
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68
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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69
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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71
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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72
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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73
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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74
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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75
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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76
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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77
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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78
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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79
panoply
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| n.全副甲胄，礼服 | |
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80
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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81
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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82
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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83
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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84
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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85
incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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86
fervid
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| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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87
revert
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| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
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88
hearths
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| 壁炉前的地板，炉床，壁炉边( hearth的名词复数 ) | |
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89
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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90
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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91
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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92
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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93
engrossing
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| adj.使人全神贯注的，引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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94
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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95
dirges
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| n.挽歌( dirge的名词复数 )；忧伤的歌，哀歌 | |
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96
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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97
discriminate
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| v.区别，辨别，区分；有区别地对待 | |
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98
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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99
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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100
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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101
coercion
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| n.强制，高压统治 | |
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102
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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103
rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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104
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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105
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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106
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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107
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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108
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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109
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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111
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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112
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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113
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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114
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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115
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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116
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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117
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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118
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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119
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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120
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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121
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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122
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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124
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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125
joyousness
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| 快乐，使人喜悦 | |
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126
temperaments
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| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
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127
commingled
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| v.混合，掺和，合并( commingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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129
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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130
shears
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| n.大剪刀 | |
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131
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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132
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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133
gory
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| adj.流血的；残酷的 | |
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134
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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135
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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136
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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137
moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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138
requiem
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| n.安魂曲，安灵曲 | |
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139
sift
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| v.筛撒，纷落，详察 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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141
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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142
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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143
aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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144
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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147
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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148
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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149
librettos
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| n.（歌剧等的）剧本( libretto的名词复数 ) | |
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150
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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151
mediocre
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| adj.平常的，普通的 | |
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152
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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153
musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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154
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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155
musters
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的第三人称单数 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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156
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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158
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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159
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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161
atrocities
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| n.邪恶，暴行( atrocity的名词复数 )；滔天大罪 | |
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162
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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163
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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164
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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165
motif
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| n.(图案的)基本花纹，(衣服的)花边；主题 | |
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166
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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167
industriously
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168
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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169
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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170
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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171
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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172
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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173
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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174
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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175
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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176
axis
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| n.轴，轴线，中心线；坐标轴，基准线 | |
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177
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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178
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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179
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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180
inborn
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| adj.天生的，生来的，先天的 | |
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