Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1857-01-21
Eor the .Sneetntor.

For the Spectator.
am indebted to the kindness of a friend il
Savannah, Col. W. H. H., for transcribing th'
subioined article from the poems of Judge Charl
ton of Ca 1t will be read with interest BY
many of your readers. McC.
Bonaventure.
BY ROBERT NJ. CHARLTON.
| Near the City of Savannah is beautiful spo
called Bonauenture. 1t was the ancient resi-
dence and burial place of the Tattnall family
and there sleep the ashes of Josiah Tattnall
one of the Governors of Georgia and Member
| of Congress: and of his son Edward T. Tattnall
also distinguished member of Congress from
| Georgia. Tie buildings all have decayed ant
fallen. but the magnificent avenues OF old oak
remain. twining their arms together, and cano
pied by the long black moss, which hanging
| from the trees, and catching from limb to limb
or waving gracefully. to the breeze, form o
picture Of grandeur and sublime beau
ty that language can never properly des
cribe. AT the close of spring evening
when the whip-poor-will has commenced hli
Law. and the moon beams are flashing upon the
chrystal river, and shining upon the mossy GOV
| u L
Reposing beneath the thick bower, you may
hear the merry song of the negro as he glides ir
his light canoe above the wave, and the voice
of mocking-brd, and the scream of the night
hawk. and tile hum of the insect tribe, come
with q mingled lullng sound to the ear. The
atmosphere is ballny, and the soft breezels lader
with the perfume oftheye jessamine. No sense
remains ungratifed, and you tear yourself away
j 49,. IL, hot
ciate. A few years since q stranger, suffering
from melancholy, visited it so often and became
50 enamored with 1t, that after exclaimlnt
"What a beautiful spot to die in" flung him
self in the river and perished.F
Bonaventure has been recently purchased
with the view converting it into burial ground
| II is sweet spot to slumber in, after the fevel
of life has ended, and many tear OF affection
and of memory will glisten upon the wild now
ers that spring unbidden, but not uncherished
DER its verdant turf
The following is feeble effort to describe
the beauties of the scene:-
IT'S clear and beautiful Summers day,
And the sun shines down with his brightest ray,
And the birds sing their anthemsamong the trees
That rock with the breath of the gentle breeze;
And the deer bound on in the forest wide,
Or stop to gaze in the streamlets tide.
Oh. tell me not that your northen cline
Alone has charms for the poets rhyme
You must dwell meath the dome of our Southern sky
And list to the sounds as they murmur by,
You must see the stars of our dewy night
The fairy scene of our sweet moonlight,
Our Oaks with their mossy festoons hung,
Mid whose wreaths the mock-birds notes are sung
| A.
Twining around each leafy bower,
The tall Magnolia's noble bloom.
The Orange with its sweet perfume,
The butterfly of gorgeous hue,
Fit dweller meath sky so blue
And YOU must own-unless your mind
To every generous thought is sere-
That gentle nature always kind,
Scatters her blessings every where
Do YOU doubt it yet? Come with me, then.
Let us roam from the busy haunts OF men;
There's lovely spot, some miles away,
And there let our eager footsteps stray
A chrystal river, deep and wide,
Washes bluff with its ripping tide;
You NAV hear the scream of the sea curlew,
And the hawk as it doth its game pursue,
And there may you see the light canoe,
Dancing away on the waves Of blue.
Look to the shore there are aged oaks,
That have stood both Time and Tempesps strokes,
Yet still uprear their noble form,
Despite the lightning and the Storm
See, how they stretch beyond your view
In many splendid avenue
Let US wander down the forest aisle,
Thro' which the sumbeams never smile;
Look how the boughs together lock,
And the long moss around them cnging,
| Its sable banners wildly hnging,
As if they dared the Tempests shock.
mournful legend could tell,
OF one, who loved this spot so well,
He flung his life beneath the wave,
And sought and found his chosen gravel
Look to the right! 'reath that Laurels bloom,
You may see the shaft of a marble tomb
And there below that quiet grave
Sleepeth the true heart bold and braye:t
Norhe alone, for scatter'd round
Is many aconsecrated mound
! The honored sire, the gallant son,
The matron who all hearts had won,
The child who nee had known lfe's woes
Here slumber in their last repose.
Earth keeping here sacred trust,
The ashes of the brave and just
And Georgia has no spot, ween,
More cherished than this rural scene!
The glare of the day
/ Has vanshd away,
And the moon smeth down with her silver ray;
See how it kisses the waters foam,
Look how it shines on the mossy dome.
And near yon rill
The whip-poor-will
Sends to your heart its plaintive trill.
Let us tear ourselves from the fairy view,
And bid to its scenes kind adieu
But memory still will long retain,
The charms of Bonaventure's plain
And trace, in many pleasant dream,
Its waving oaks-its chrystal stream.
Savannah, Ca june 6, 1916.
*Rev. ]. w. Jackson, Rector of St Johns Church
Savannah, committed suicide by throwing hmsel
in San Augustine creek that washes one side OF tn
| grounds His wish was gratifed-he found q grav
in the loved spot
/ tHon. Edward F. Tattnal
ANTIQUITY OF NURSERY RHYMEs.-Many o
these are centuries old. "a man OF words ant
not of deeds" is found in manuscript OF tin
seventeenth century in the British Museum, dit
fering, indeed, from the version now used, bu
still sufficiently similar to leave no question q
to the identity
"Multiplcation is Vexation, painful realit.
20 h,vs ,vas found few wears a0o il