The Portland daily press., 1894-01-20
THE SUWANEE RIVER.
Hear Sir Edwin Arnold SentimentaIize
About It.

About 1t.
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 a long hollow
in the hills where one of those pleasant
surprises occurred which go to prove
how song may consecrate locality. A
river, not very broad or deep, but with
certain special grace and character of
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 became acclimatized to Ameri-
can travel, always makes you wonder
whether they will carry the train this
time safely over. The river ran down
from the Georgian hills in lively cur
rent, 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 cyprus and willow
the woods which bordered it stood iso-
lated negro cottages, 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 a fish
line, and the black buzzards circled
over the maize fields. 1t was not a very
gilded as it was by the rays of mag
nificent sunset. Yet should have for
gotten it in a few minutes, as | had for
got the hundeds of other views which
the rushing train had traversed, had it
not been that happened to ask the con-
ductor what was the name of this par
ticular water.
Quite carelesSiy he answered, "That's
the Suwanee river, Mister!"
Snwanee river! In a moment the
stream had for me new and extraordi-
nary interest. I had not even known
that there was such river in geographic
cal reality, or that it flowed through
Georgia; and yet, here it was-real, au-
thentic, alive-leaping down through
the Southern forests, past the. maize
fields and the cotton flats, to pour itself
into the gulf of Mexico. In an instant
everything around appeared to be full of
the song that all the world knows and
sings, way Down Upon de Suwanee
River" The live oaks seem to wave
it in the evening air; the stream seemed
to sing it as it hustled over the rocks;
the birds in the thickets had it in the
soft musical notes we caught, and the
crickets and katydids beginning their
sunset chirrup joined in the half heard
monotonous. To be way down upon
de Suwanee ribber" was to have come
to corner of America dedicated to that
deep emotion of our common humanity
the love OF home. Is there anybody
who has not felt the charm of the simple
negro melody
When was playin' wild my brudder,
Happy was l,
q. take me to my kind old mudder,
Oar let me lib and die.
All de world am sad and dreary
Everywhere [ roam;
O., darkies, how. my heart grows weary,
Far from de old folks at home.
There, indeed, were the old folks at
home, white-haired darby sitting on
a log by the cottagedoor stripping maize
cobs; and shambling about among the
pigs and poultry, old Dlnah, with a
yellow bandana on her silver locks, con-
ming some song, which might, perhaps,
be the song of the river. So. after all,
it was real, and there was Suwanee
river and the sunny peace and beauty of
it were just what fitted well with the
sentiment of that touching and tender
air which has gone all through the world
because it holds in its unaffected music
the secret of the pathetic retrospects of
life Just the spot, it was, to which a
tired man, he he Niger or otherwise,
might look back to with attachment
and affection. We travellers coming
suddenly upon it and leaving it at
thirty miles an hour, had, of course,
nothing but the most fitting concern
with "de Suwanee ribber." But one
could imagine who dear it might be to
native born, and how sincere the origi-
nal emotion was of the song writer, or
else of some darkey from whom he bor-
rowed it, to write and set to such oft and
sympathetic music, Oars where my
heart is turning ever" Henceforward
for me that Georgian stream, with the
dark groves fringing it, and the red
crags, and the quiet reaches of silver
water gilded by the setting sun, has
place in thought among the famous
rivers of the globe; and / never hear the
melancholy music of the popular negro
lament without new feeling of what
song can do. far beyond history and i'm
portant events, to consecrate spot in
nature forever. and to localize uni
versal sentiment. Eft Ego in Arabia,
too, have been sway down upon the
Suwanee ribber. "-London Telegraph.