The Arkansaw traveler., 1889-07-06
JEFFERSON DAVIS.

F.. Nj. Glmer. in Courier Journal
 l wonder how many of the people who fought for him against him remember that June Jeff Davis celebrated his eighty first birthday? The air was full of the blue and gold of summer, the other day, when I stopped at one of the dreary little wooden station houses that dot the railroad along the gulf coast. Painted above the door the word "Beauvoir," and knew that not stone's throw beyo'd, hidden behind a wall of trees, was the home of the hero of the Southern Confederacy. climbed a rustic stile, and following a we'll worn path through big scuppernong vineyard, pres enty found myself standing before an od-tash toned southern house with hall running through it, and wide galleries clasping it in protecting arms. The house faced the gulf, and is set far back in lawn full of live oaks, draped and festooned with Spanish moss, and as the wind caught up and waved the long pendants they looked like funeral banners flying at perpetual half- mast for the rior statesman, who was here ending a life that after many victories, knew the bitterness of hope less defeat. But the door swung open to me, and stood in the great hall full of pictures and cabinets old china, souvenirs of foreign travel and the price, less tokens of affection and honor shown & great man in his own country. Then, in a moment, Mr. Davis has come forward to greet me, slight sol dierly figure immediately dressed and still show ing in his walk and bearing his long years of mili tary service His hair is soft and thick and slvery lying about his thin temples like aureoa, and his skin has the transparent deicacy of fine porce- lain. Such, in appearance, Is Jeh Davis at eighty one in his quiet home by the sea- where the waters after storm are not more peaceful than his own
 life after the struggles that convulsed it. and where the memory of his blasted hopes and shattered ambitions has almost ceased to be bitter.
 "Beauvoir," which was a bequest to MT. Davis from noble southern woman, who worshiped him a hero and 8 martyr is typical southern home that has its counterpart in many another place along the gulf coast. There about nine hun dred acres in the estate, with mile of front age on the water but only the few acres occupied by lawn, garden and vineyard cleared, the remainder being part of the heavily timbered yell low pine forests that stretches back miles from the gulf everywhere in Mississippi. The house is a big many -roomed old mansion, with faring wings at the corners and the great hall through which one might almost drive a coach and four. From the drawing room windows one has delicious gmpses of the blue sea, with the low ying island bounding the horizon, and the white sails of the charcoal schoOners dropping slowly down from Biloxi. Within the walls a few copies of cee- brated pictures-a Saint Cecilia touching the harp with rapt fingers, the intense pathetic face of an early Christian martyr-and perhaps & sketch or two by the gifted daughter of the house, for Miss Winnie is an artist of no small power. All about dainty bits of brica brac, books, feminine jim cracks, and pertaining it all are great punches of roses in priceless jars of Wedgewood. It is pleas ant, cosy home like room, with nothing in it to remind one it belonged to 8 man who helped make the history of the nineteenth century. Over table short, dusty sword that had been recently sent from Mexico, and attached to it card which said that the weapon was found on the very spot where Lieutenant Davis made his famous charge at the battle of Buena Vista, and turned the tide of victory in favor of the Americans. I touched the rusty old sword and almost uncon- sciously MT. Davis drifted into talking of the heroes of the Mexican war, of Bowie and Houston and Crockett.
 "Hsnry Clay once told me-" said MT. Davis, with a smile "of his first meeting with Bowie. It was in the early days, and Clay was travelling in s n u