The Tupelo journal., 1903-09-25
BILL ARP"

is broken. His passing reminds us
that the one is glorious heritage of
memorable other a splendid fulfill
ment of the prophecy of labor. He
was of both.
Charles H. Smith, known only by
his bluff pen-name wherever memory
loyal hearts thrill to Dixie" typified
and portrayed in his life and writ
ings all that has made his beloved
Southland individual and picturesque.
From the Uncivil War to Date" to
borrow the title of his last popular
book, his pen was busy with ideals
of the past and idyls of the present.
The ideals rang true to the noblest
side Of traditional Southernism, and
the idyls were sweet with the simple,
homely pleasures of unperyerted
Southern life today. What his gentle
pen delineated was not SO much the
patrician South as the homespun
South. 1t was his labor of love to
portray and extol the joy of living
in the cool, sequestered vale" He
was the prophet of simplicity-the
philosopher of the homefolks.
Perhaps "Bill Arp" was best known
to the world through his regular let
ter to the Constitution, correspond
ence covering more than a quarter Of
a century. These letters were a re-
| fiex, not alone of the rural South, but
of the active, thinking, rehabilitated
South-a delightful admixture of I'M
affected wit, droll humor, sharp
satire, common sense philosophy,
reminiscent gossip and realistic de-
scription. The good gray Sage OF
Barlow" was of the old school, and,
therefore, in the political sense, an
| irreconcilable; but only with respect
| to the South's few dearest prejudices.
He was not repiner. AS much as
he loved yesterday, he met the oppor-
tunities and obligations of today half
way, with CHEEKY heart and clear eye
His counsel was wise and safe. His
| viewpoint of life and affairs was
healthy. He was never a reactionary.
But more than aught else, Bill
Arp" was humorist, and will longest
| be remembered in that pleasant role.
| He was the Nasty" of the South,
but without the Ohio war humorist's
bitterness. During the war ne re-
| fiected the ideas of his section with
an appeal to the risibilitieS of his
compatriots that won him a wide
reading in perilous camps and at desc
| late hearthstones. His humor was of
! the quaint, unconscious sort, and it
| found the weak spots of whoever or
whatever he assailed. He could pierce
| a coat of mail with laugh. After
the surrender he reconciled the South
| with a laugh, too He accepted the
| inevitable with droll humor, not IN
mixed with pathos, calculated to make
war-worn, impoverished rebels" take
fresh grip on life with the courage
of hope in their hearts. Always an
| optimist, the postbellum gloom could
not withstand the radiance of his
quizzical smile. 1t reconstructed"
the secession States.
Aside from his newspaper contribu-
lions, Bill Arp" was the author OF
a number of books embracing his
most characteristic work, among
them a history of Georgia. Not lit
| tie of his fame was acquired on the
| lecture platform, where his genial
humor and rough and ready wisdom
attracted a host of auditors. His mind
| was versatile and well-rooted educa-
| tionally. Next to the book of nature,
| he loved the tones of the great in
literature. His writings were full of
|
but never pedantically interjected.
He knew his Petrarch and Plato as
he knew his Bible The mythology
and history of antiquity were familiar
to him. He was a student and a
scholar-self-taugh but nevertheless
a student and a scholar. The gentle
graces of his pen were those of the
man. He lived and felt what he wrote.
Withdrawn in large degree from the
SOrdid, material aspects of the world,
he dwelt with his books, his garden,
childhood and flowers. Nature he
loved passionately, but none the less
his fellowman. To his neighbOrs he
was not the distracted, self-centered
recluse, but a lovable, clever neigh
Dor. Nothing was too small or COM
monplace to enlist his interest and
sympathy. His was the universal
heart.
We shall miss bill Arp" in the
South, and particularly in Georgia,
the State of his nativity, home and
genius. His spirit and that which is
most natural and sweetest in the
spirit Of Georgia are one. We, South
erners all, loved him as We love the
'old home place"-for did he not
write from the soul of him about as
sociations, memories and loves dear
est to the Utmost heart of us? The
ages ambition may drive us away
from the quiet, shady paths, but our
secret ideal of contentment, plenl-
tude and clear conscience is there.
We loved him because he himself has
held fast to that ideal and warmed
it in our breasts.
The great heart of the South and
dear to the gentle dead by ties of
blood Their bereavement is indeed
great, but we share it. The shadow
is not alone over that typical old
Southern home, THE Shadows" 1t
rests over Dixieland. May the peace
which passeth understanding have
been found by our departed friend.
1--WE All Steal"
Daniel B. Hasbrouek, the venerable
vice-president of the Metropolitan
street railway company who has the
reputation of always having a new
story about any old thing that may
be mentioned, tells one of early steam
boat days on the Hudson that is worth
| repeating.
The pride of the river at that time
| was the new side-wheeler South
| America. One of the principal own
ers of her stock was an Albany man,
who had great expectations from the
| enterprise. When year of prosper
Gus traffic brought forth no dividend.
he became suspicious and determined
9 4 q