The Newtown bee., 1879-07-02
Jefferson Davis at Home.

! Alighting from the tram at Beauvoir Station, Miss, you can see two or three small brown structures, a grove of pines, 1 and the white vista of vanishing railway track glittering with millions of minute | refractions of the bright sunshine for miles along it's sandy way.
 Taking the half-perceptible roadway to your right, ten or fifteen minutes walk through the pines brings you to the beach. Here you see a house built in the airy fashion of this region of per- petual sunshine. This is the residence of the Rev. Dr. Lacock, an aged Episco- palian clergyman, once chaplain to the Duke of Cambridge. Beyond the rever- end gentlemans estate you see, fronting beach, the another estate, the residence of MT. Davis.
 Entering the gate, you pass across a lawn dotted with live oak and other i Spanish moss. Before you is low and spac1ous mansion, painted white, with broad verandas At either side, trifle nearer the fence, is a small building, a sort of pavilion. While resting on the
 veranda, waiting for your letter of intro
 duction to be handed to the master, your eye takes in the hospitable provisions for ease afforded by several comfortable
 rocking-chairs, a table and a settee.
 ] Life here is dl .fresco. The broad hall
 which goes through the house'is open to
 the breeze, but not to the ardent sun, whose rays are intercepted by the yer
 anda. Here. on the front veranda. sits l of morning the ex-President of the l South. In full view is the Gulf of l Mexico, that dazzling, radiant expanse
 of shimmering blue. Its summer waves ! glide softly, to break in lulling sound upon the white and sparkling sand. i The breeze is laden with the strange
 perfume of the sea. It is the land of the
 lotus-eaters, where 'tis always afternoon.
 Sitting on this veranda, into what rev.
 cries may not the Confederate ex-Presi- l dent fall, as he gazes out upon this Mex
 ican gulf which, had the dreams ot the l Southern statesman been realized, would
 have been the inland sea of mighty ! empire, stretching to the tropics.
 l was soon summoned to the little
 pavilion to the right of the mansion. i This building is divided into two parts.
 The rearward is occupied by an ancient
 and favorite negro servant, whose idea
 of housekeeping is to display his furni- ] ture and tools on his little veranda. He
 has; notion of raising, vegetable odds
 and ends in boxes, and his vagaries eX-
 cite but smile. No one dreams of in-
 terfering. even for the sake of order, with 1 the privileges of this ancient servitor.
 The front portion of this pavilion is oc-
 cupicd by MT. Davis as a library and
 study. Here I found him, slightly in-
 disposed and lying upon a lounge. His
 manner is genial and very kindly, with
 that charming courtesy characteristic
 of the high-bred Southern gentleman.
 Seventy years of age, MT. Davis has 1 yet fresh and vigorous look. His hair,
 mustache and whiskers are white in part,
 but his eye is bright and cheerful. His i face in repose is almost severely intel i lectual, but the smile which lights up his mouth and his quietly cheerful laugh 1 dispel the first impression of coldness i Few of our public men have the quiet fascination of manner, the old fashioned grace and the charming conversational powers of Jefferson Davis. His memory is capacious and retentive. One might,
 with a facile photographic pen, collect
 great stores of reminiscence from his | lips .-Correspo'ade7sce Boston Herald.