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FOOTNOTE:

[17] Copyright, 1909, by the Author.

J. STODDARD JOHNSTON

Josiah Stoddard Johnston, journalist and historian, was born at New Orleans, February 10, 1833. He is the nephew of the celebrated Confederate cavalry leader, General Albert Sidney Johnston. Left an orphan when but five years old, he was reared by relatives in Kentucky.

He was graduated from Yale in 1853; and the following year he was married to Miss Elizabeth W. Johnson, daughter of George W. Johnson, Confederate governor of Kentucky. Johnston was a cotton planter in Arkansas from 1855 to 1859, and a Kentucky farmer until the Civil War began. He served throughout the war upon the staffs of Generals Bragg, Buckner, and Breckinridge. Colonel Johnston was editor of the old Frankfort _Yeoman_ for more than twenty years; and from 1903 to 1908 he was associate editor of the Louisville _Courier-Journal_. In 1871 Colonel Johnston was Adjutant-General of Kentucky; and Secretary of State from 1875 to 1879. He has been vice-president of the Filson Club of Louisville since 1893; and he is now consulting geologist of the Kentucky Geological Survey. Colonel Johnston's knowledge of plants and mammals is very extensive and most surprising in a man of literary tastes. His tube-roses and flower gardens is one of the traditions of the old town of Frankfort. Colonel Johnston has published _The Memorial History of Louisville, Kentucky_ (Chicago, 1896, two vols.); _The First Explorations of Kentucky_ (Louisville, 1898); and _The Confederate History of Kentucky_. Colonel Johnston is one of the finest men in Kentucky to-day, dignified, cultured, and deeply learned in the history of Kentucky and the West.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Memorial History of Louisville_ (Chicago, 1896); _Library of Southern Literature_ (Atlanta, 1909, v. vi).

"CAPTAIN MOLL"[18]

[From _First Explorations of Kentucky_ (Louisville, Kentucky, 1898)]

The Revolutionary War was drawing to a close, involving Virginia in its last throes in the devastation of an invading army. The whole eastern portion was overrun by the British forces under Arnold and Tarleton, the capital taken, and much public and private property destroyed everywhere. Charlottesville, to which the legislature had adjourned, Monticello, and Castle Hill were raided by Tarleton's dragoons, and the legislature, Mr. Jefferson, and Doctor Walker barely escaped capture. An interesting incident of the raid is recorded well illustrating the spirit which actuated the American women of that period. Not far distant from Charlottesville, on an estate known as "The Farm," resided Nicholas Lewis, the uncle and guardian of Meriwether Lewis, of the Lewis and Clark expedition to the Pacific.

His wife was Mary Walker, the eldest daughter of Doctor Walker. Her husband was absent in the army when Tarleton with his raiders swooped down on her home and proceeded to appropriate forage and every thing eatable and portable. She received the British cavalryman with spirit and dignity, and upbraided him sharply for his war on defenseless women, telling him to go to the armies of Virginia and meet her men.

Tarleton parried her thrusts with politeness as well as he could, and after his men were rested, resumed his march.

After his departure Mrs. Lewis discovered that his men had carried off all her ducks except a single old drake. This she caused to be caught and sent it to Tarleton by a messenger, who overtook him, with her compliments, saying that the drake was lonesome without his companions, and as he had evidently overlooked it, she wished to reunite them. From that time she was known as "Captain Moll," and bears that sobriquet in the family records. She was a woman of strong character, was still living at "The Farm" in 1817, and left many descendants in Virginia and in and near Louisville, Kentucky. On the 19th of October, 1781, Tarleton's career closed, and Virginia was relieved from similar devastation for a period of eighty years by the surrender at Yorktown.

FOOTNOTE:

[18] Copyright, 1898, by John P. Morton and Company.

JULIA S. DINSMORE

Miss Julia Stockton Dinsmore ("F.V."), poet, was born in Louisiana about 1833, but most of her long life of nearly eighty years has been spent in Kentucky. For many years Miss Dinsmore published an occasional poem in the newspapers of her home town, Petersburg, Kentucky, but, in 1910, when she was seventy-seven years of age, the New York firm of Doubleday, Page and Company discovered Miss Dinsmore to be a poet of much grace and charm, and they at once issued the first collection of her work, entitled "Verses and Sonnets." This little volume contains more than eighty exquisite lyrics, which have been favorably reviewed by the literary journals of the country. _Love Among the Roses_, _Noon in a Blue Grass Pasture_, _Far 'Mid the Snows_, _That's for Remembrance_, and several of the sonnets are very fine. Miss Dinsmore is a great lover of Nature, as her poems reveal, and she is often in the saddle. A most remarkable woman she surely is, having won the plaudits of her people when most women of her years have their eyes turned toward the far country. Another volume of her verse may be published shortly.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Current Literature_ (June, 1910); _The Nation_ (July 14, 1910).

LOVE AMONG THE ROSES[19]

[From _Verses and Sonnets_ (New York, 1910)]

"What, dear--what dear?"

How sweet and clear The redbird's eager voice I hear; Perched on the honeysuckle trellis near He sits elate, Red as the cardinal whose name he bears, And tossing high the gay cockade he wears Calls to his mate, "What, dear--what, dear?"

She stirs upon her nest, And through her ruddy breast The tremor of her happy thoughts repressed Seems rising like a sigh of bliss untold, There where the searching sunbeams' stealthy gold Slips past the thorns and her retreat discloses, Hid in the shadow of June's sweetest roses.

Her russet, rustic home, Round as inverted dome Built by themselves and planned, Within whose tiny scope, As though to them the hollow of God's hand, They gladly trust their all with faith and hope.

"What, dear--what, dear?"

Are all the words I hear, The rest is said, or sung In some sweet, unknown tongue.

Whose music, only, charms my alien ear; But bird, my heart can guess All that its tones express Of love and cheer, and fear and tenderness.

It says, "Does the day seem long-- The scented and sunny day Because you must sit apart?

Are you lonesome, my own sweetheart?

You know you can hear my song And you know I'm alert and strong And a match for the wickedest jay That ever could do us wrong.

As I sit on the snowball spray Or this trellis not far away, And look at you on the nest, And think of those beautiful speckled shells In whose orbs the birds of the future rest, My heart with such pride and pleasure swells As never could be expressed.

"But, dear--but, dear!"-- Now I seem to hear A change in the notes so proud and clear-- "But, dear--but, dear!

Do you feel no fear When day is gone and the night is here?

When the cold, white moon looks down on you, And your feathers are damp with the chilly dew, And I am silent, and all is still, Save the sleepless insects, sad and shrill, And the screeching owl, and the prowling cat, And the howling dog--when the gruesome bat Flits past the nest in his circling flight Do you feel afraid in the lonely night?"

"Courage! my own, when daylight dawns You shall hear again in the cheerful morns My madrigal among the thorns, Whose rugged guardianship incloses Our link of love among the roses."

FOOTNOTE:

[19] Copyright, 1910, by Doubleday, Page and Company.

HENRY T. STANTON

Henry Thompson Stanton, one of the most popular poets Kentucky has produced, was born at Alexandria, Virginia, June 30, 1834. He was brought by his father, Judge Richard Henry Stanton, to Maysville, Kentucky, when he was only two years old. Stanton was educated at the Maysville Academy and at West Point, but he was not graduated. He entered the Confederate army as captain of a company in the Fifth Kentucky regiment, and through various promotions he surrendered as a major. Major Stanton saw much service on the battlefields of Kentucky, Tennessee, and Virginia. After the war he practised law for a time and was editor of the Maysville _Bulletin_ until 1870, when he removed to Frankfort, Kentucky, to become chief assistant to the State Commissioner of Insurance. Major Stanton's first volume of verse was _The Moneyless Man and Other Poems_ (Baltimore, 1871). This title poem, written for a wandering elocutionist who "struck" the town of Maysville one day, and asked the major to write him "a poem that would draw tears from any audience," made him famous and miserable for the rest of his life. For the nomad he "dashed off this special lyric and it brought all Kentucky to the mourners' bench. It was more deadly as a tear-provoker than 'Stay, Jailer, Stay,' and though the author wrote other things which were far better, the public would never admit it, and many people innocently courted death by rushing up to Stanton and exclaiming: 'Oh, and is this Major Stanton who wrote 'The Moneyless Man?' So glad to meet you.'" One Kentucky poet took the philosophy of _The Moneyless Man_ too seriously, and _A Reply to the Moneyless Man_ was the pathetic result. The rhythm of the poem is very pleasing, but it is, in a word, melodramatic. Major Stanton's second and final collection of his verse was _Jacob Brown and Other Poems_ (Cincinnati, 1875). It contains several poems that are superior to _The Moneyless Man_, but the general reader refuses to read them. From 1875 till 1886 he edited the Frankfort _Yeoman_; and during President Cleveland's first administration he served as Land Commissioner. Besides his poems, Major Stanton wrote a group of paper-backed novels, entitled _The Kents; Social Fetters_ (Washington, 1889); and _A Graduate of Paris_ (Washington, 1890). Major Stanton died at Frankfort, Kentucky, May 8, 1898. Two years later _Poems of the Confederacy_ (Louisville, 1900), containing the war lyrics of the major, was artistically printed as a memorial to his memory. The introduction to the little book was written by Major Stanton's friend and fellow man of letters, Colonel J. Stoddard Johnston, and it is an altogether fitting remembrance for the author of _The Moneyless Man_.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Poems of the Confederacy_ (Louisville, 1900); _Confessions of a Tatler_, by Elvira Miller Slaughter (Louisville, 1905).

THE MONEYLESS MAN

[From _The Moneyless Man and Other Poems_ (Baltimore, 1871)]

Is there no secret place on the face of the earth, Where charity dwelleth, where virtue has birth?

Where bosoms in mercy and kindness will heave, When the poor and the wretched shall ask and receive?

Is there no place at all, where a knock from the poor, Will bring a kind angel to open the door?

Ah, search the wide world wherever you can There is no open door for a Moneyless Man!

Go, look in yon hall where the chandelier's light Drives off with its splendor the darkness of night, Where the rich-hanging velvet in shadowy fold Sweeps gracefully down with its trimmings of gold, And the mirrors of silver take up, and renew, In long lighted vistas the 'wildering view: Go there! at the banquet, and find, if you can, A welcoming smile for a Moneyless Man!

Go, look in yon church of the cloud-reaching spire, Which gives to the sun his same look of red fire, Where the arches and columns are gorgeous within, And the walls seem as pure as a soul without sin; Walk down the long aisles, see the rich and the great In the pomp and the pride of their worldly estate; Walk down in your patches, and find, if you can, Who opens a pew to a Moneyless Man.

Go, look in the Banks, where Mammon has told His hundreds and thousands of silver and gold; Where, safe from the hands of the starving and poor, Lies pile upon pile of the glittering ore!

Walk up to their counters--ah, there you may stay 'Til your limbs grow old, 'til your hairs grow gray, And you'll find at the Banks not one of the clan With money to lend to a Moneyless Man!

Go, look to yon Judge, in his dark-flowing gown, With the scales wherein law weighteth equity down; Where he frowns on the weak and smiles on the strong, And punishes right whilst he justifies wrong; Where juries their lips to the Bible have laid, To render a verdict--they've already made: Go there, in the court-room, and find, if you can, Any law for the cause of a Moneyless Man!

Then go to your hovel--no raven has fed The wife who has suffered too long for her bread; Kneel down by her pallet, and kiss the death-frost From the lips of the angel your poverty lost: Then turn in your agony upward to God, And bless, while it smites you, the chastening rod, And you'll find, at the end of your life's little span, There's a welcome above for a Moneyless Man!

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