The gold leaf. [volume] (Henderson, N.C.) 1881-1911, 1894-04-19

In that part of the long journey
when We were passing through Georgia
and at the moment when the tedium
was worst, the train approached long
hollow in the hills where one Of those
pleasant surprises occurred which go to
/ prove how song may consecrate Il
locality, writes Sir Edwin Arnold in
the London Telegraph.
a river, not very broad or deep,
| but with certain special grace and
character Of its own, lay in front OF
our track. We had good view of it
as we came near the wooden trestle
bridge by which the line was carried
across-structures which until you
| become acCllmated 10 American travel
always make YOU wonder whether they
Will carry the train this time safely
! over. The river ran down from the
Georgian hills in a lively current,
broken sometimes into rapids and
! little CataraCts where the red and black
| rocks lay across its channel and then
widening out into picturesque reaches
bordered by thickets of dark-green
foliage and clumps of cypress and
willow.
In the clearings, here and there
between the woods which bordered it,
stood isolated negro cattages, around
which you could see little black
children at play and the invariable
/ pig, which is the house guest of the
negro as well as of the Irishman. A
punt was gliding along on the quiet
part Of the stream with a negro on
board dragging fishing line and tine
| black buzzards CirCled over the maize
fields. 1t was not d striking scene,
but beautiful in its way, gilded as it
was by the rays of a magnificent sun
set Yet should have forgotten it in
few minutes, as | had forgotten the
hundreds Of other rivers which the
train had traversed, had it not been
that happened to ask the conductor
what was the name Of this particular
water.
Quite carelessly he answered ::
d" That's the Suwanee river, mister -
The Suwanee river! In a moment
the stream had for me a new and
extraordinary interest. | had not even
known there was such a river in
geographical reality or that it flowed
through Georgia; and yet here it
was-real, authentic, alive-leaping
down through the Southern forests,
past the maize fields and the cotton
flats, to pour itself into the Gulf O
Mexico.
In an instant everything around
appeared to be full of the song that al
the world sings: "Way Down Upor
de Suwanee Riber.'' The live oak
seemed to wave it in the evening air
the stream seemed to sing it as i
bu:tled over the rocks the birds il
the thickcts had it in the soft musiCa
notes we caught, and the crickets ant
katydids beginning their sunse
chirrup joined in the half-hear'
chorus. The journey was no longe
monotonOus. TO be way dow
upon de Suwanee riber" was to hav
come to a corner of America dedicate
to that deep emotion Of our commo
humanity-the love of home. Is ther
ANYBODY who has not felt the char
Of the simple negro melody?-
I 4 I,,,,
Happy was |,
O. take me to my kind old mudder,
Oar let me lib and die.
All the world am sad and dreary
Eberwhere ! roam
. darkieS, how my heart grows weary,
Far from de old folks at home.
There, indeed, were the old folks (
home, white haired darky sitting o
log by the cottage door, strippin
maize cobs, and, shambling abor
among the pigs and poultry, oil
Dinah, with a yellow bandanna o
her silver locks, grooming some son
which might perhaps be the son
of the river.
= SO, after all, it was real and ther
| was a Suwanee river and the sum
peace and beauty of it were just wha
fitted well with the sentiment of tha
touching and tender air which ha
gone all through the world because
holds in its unaffected music the seCre
of the pathetic retrospect of life
lust the spot it was to which a tlre'
man. be he negro or otherwise, Nigh
look back to with attachment AM
affection. We travellers, coming sud
5 denly upon it and leaving it at thlrt
miles an hour, had, of course, nothln!
but the most fitting concern with " d
Suwanee riber." But one Coul
) imagine how dear it might be to
native born and how sincere tn
original emotion was of the song
+ writer or else of some darky fror
l. whom he borrowed it to write and t
Il set to such soft and sympatheti
h music. "Dare's where my heart
u turning eber."
r Henceforward for me that Georgia
It stream, with the dark groves fringln
u it, and the red crags and the quls
reaches OF silver water gllded by tn
setting sun, has place in the though
.e among the famous rivers of the glob'
Is and ! never hear the melanchol
q music Of the popular negro lamer
without new feeling of what son
can do, far beyound history and in
portant events, to consecrate spot
y nature forever and to localize
universal sentiment. Et Ego
lArcaaIa. l, too, have been "wa