The poet Bleckley : a paper read before the Twelfth annual session of the Georgia Bar Association in Atlanta, Ga., Oct. 13, 1895

'ii */;$?*;'' VfF:K'"i

THI'S POET

...A PAPER...

'.A

. _'

Read before the Twelfth Annual Session of the Georgia Bar Association "3

in AUafctm Ga., October 3, 1895, at the Invitation of

,. i

-- its Executive Committee,

**i " I i#

JUDGE JOHN W. AKIN.

. ~'->if"o^

"Tale him all in all, we shall not see his like again.'.'

13.-;??# *?.-.:___ ,-.'". : %-

i't v 'A'': '4't*> >

-I' ------T"1----^-- >' ' '' *< ?

iSfeM-?t?evi'r.?'i^ '.'". ' -" -. ;^,vr?vsjjq*

w t - r -' ;, ' /

. .. . .

. ', if. yt v*

v>

>
* ,; f!f FnnUin Frinta

THE POET BLECKLEY.
BY JUDGE JOHN W. AKIN*.

A PAPER READ BEFORE THE GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATIOS AT ITS TWELFTH AJfSUAL MEETIXG, OCTOBER 3, 1895.

[Note.--At the end of this paper I append entire all of Judge Bleckley's poems except those which appear in the body of this paper. This is the surest--perhaps the only--way to preserve them.* Even now I possess the only copies of several. The bar and public cannot afford to lose them.--JOHNW. AKIN.]

The Executive Committee, at a meeting I did not attend, as

signed to me the duty of preparing a paper upon the work of

State Bar Associations generally, to include a review of their salient

features. Such a work would have been laborious indeed to me,

and its results might have been tiresome to you.

Disposed, as I am, (and should not we all be so ?) not to re

fuse a contribution, however small, to the Georgia Bar Associa-

ation, I have fulfilled in part the requirements of the learned

committee, but I have departed from the topic assigned. Instead

of reviewing the work of bar associations, I propose to lift the

curtain that we may catch a glimpse of one side of a many-sided

X man.

A son of the mountains; catching in early youth an inspira-

n tion from their blue heights which probably only those feel who

Q --------------

Z

'After this paper was in type, I found that I had overlooked Bleckley's longest poem--

3 that on " Woman." It is to be regretted that it is now too late to insert it.--J. \V. A.

2

12 GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

live within their shadow--an inspiration of the ideal and the " eautiful which makes one thiuk the unspeakable and turn to poetry in the hopeless effort to tell what he feels; marrying the law and devoting himself to this chosen spouse through a long and active life, until, when the shadows are lengthening fast, he voluntarily divorces himself from this mistress of his youth, in order, as he fondly hopes, to chase the more swiftly and catch the more quickly A Phantom which, like a mirage in the desert, has danced before the deluded vision of the wise for ages past, only to slip from their empty grasp--the Phantom of Financial Truth; delighting by his comradeship the practitioners who met him in the forum ; ennobling the ermine of the highest judicial chair in this proud commonwealth of noblemen, until, tired with the ceaseless drudgery of an over-worked bench, he voluntarily re tires to his mountain home, followed by the love of all who came u-ithin the domain of his influence;--this is the man on the poetic side of whose image we shall look for a moment to-day-- the poet Bleekley.

A few of the older members of the bar remember General Henry L. Benning, once a Supreme Court Judge, who, spared in battle, died ten years after the war. Among the earliest poems of Judge Bleekley was a tribute to Benning, whose concluding lines are interesting because this was probably the first published essay of his muse:
In peace it was his lot to die; In peace, 0, may his ashes lie! And sweetest peace, while ages roll, Attend his noble, raanlv soul!

One dear to him married and moved away to Montana. On this he writes a poem whose opening stanza contains a pretty conceit The whole is worth repeating. It is entitled
GEORGIA-- SrOXTAJTA. The cheeriest, brightest summer day,
Alas, to us is lost ! By love too rudely torn away
And carried to the frost.

THE POET BLECKLEY.

3

Oh, was it not a cruel crime

To snatch a piece of summer timo

And set it in a winter clime"?

rf

jSo wonder if we sore complain In tones and tears of woe;
Transplanted is our sugarcane From sunshine Into snow;
Transplanted from the halmy breeze, To 'blizzards cold enough to freeze The sweetness in the maple trees.

A summer pearl of precious price Before the swine of winter cast,
An orange blossom in the ice, A tropic odor on the blast,
(Bereft, alas, of solar beams); 'Tis thus our absent sister seems
To us in all our thoughts and dreams.

I have no proof that Judge Bleckley is one of the many authors of " The Beautiful Snow "; nor have I discovered among - his productions a poem on "Spring." But I have found one which was evidently written when the Judge was in the country, and which reminds us of the mental attitude of Virgil in some of his Eclogues, not the best things that Virgil wrote. It is entitled " The Farmer," and in reading it one can almost hear the drowsy hum of bees at dinner-time, when the air is still and warm, and the sunshine beats down in a steady rain of gold upon the tulips and the roses. If the author of " The Frost is on the Pumpkin " had published " The Farmer " under the name of James Whitcomb Riley, the two productions would probably have ranked together. I quote one stanza:

A subtle beauty, sweet and fair, Which nothing can subdue or shatter,
Forever floats on earth and air And clings to every shape of matter."

Happy the man whose vision, turned away from the sordid and clarified by sweetness of heart, can see this " subtle beauty " of which the poet speaks! For him the beautiful blooms in every flower and shines in every star.

Religion and poetry! How naturally are they related! Is each a part of the other ? Or are they distinct and separate, yet

4

12 GEOKGIA BAK ASSOCIATION.

connected by some subtle kinship? Does poetry tend to make us religious? Does religion make us poetical ? Who of the great prophets of Israel did not feel the divine afflatus ? Read the rhapsody of Isaiah, whose hope of the Christ-to-be is set forth in the rugged poetry of his inspired prophecies ; contemplate the poetic mysticism of Ezekiel; listen at the plaintive lamentations of Jeremiah; see the vivid picture of the last judgment portrayed in the burning poetry of the lesser prophet, Malachi; behold rugged Patmos in the lonely sea, and hear the apocalypse of the poet-preacher John, as he tells of the golden candle-sticks and the one hundred and forty and four thousand, the walls of Jas per and the sea of glass, the dragon and the scarlet woman, the cry of the souls under the altar, the voice of many waters, the shining river and the new Jerusalem; and tell me, can Poetry arid Religion--not the narrow limitations of sect and creed, but Religion--the recemeuting of the human soul to the heart of God--can these be divorced?
Tom Moore, seusuous and voluptuous as was much of his poetry, never more sweetly struck his lyre than when he sung "Come ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish"; and Tean3rson > majestic harpist, soared to the loftiest heights of poetry when, in the immortal requiem to his departed friend, the In Memoriam, he sounded the depths of faith aud gave to all who read it a firmer trust and a loftier hope in the everlasting goodness of God.
In one of these stanzas Tennyson said:
" Behold, we know not anything; I cfin but trust that good shall fall, At last, far off, at last to all,
And every winter change to spring."
In another line he said :
" We have but faith, we cannot know; For knowledge is of things we see. And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow."
These sentiments are echoed by Judge Bleckley, probably un consciously, (for \vhy should not the great and the good, though separated by oceans, grope after the truth in the same paths of thought ?) in the following poem, one stanza of which I quote, on

THE POET BLECKLEY.

5

FAITH.

Cast out into space

For life and for death ;

No ultimate base.

No bottom beneath,

Ho limit or bound

Above or around,

No wall at the side

Or roof overhead,

No cover to hide

Me, living or dead,

No refuge for thought or for sense:

Yet I will not despair

As I drift through the air,

Afloat in the boundless immense;

In the depths of the night

*

Conieth faith without light,

Cometh faith without sight,

And I trust the great Sovereign unknown;

No finite or definite throne,

But the infinite, nameless, unthinkable OXJK.

Infinity, immensity, profundity, the unspeakable in space and

time, are all here suggested in words that make thought tire

like some wild bird flying over a trackless sea, with no land in

sight, looking in vain for some rock whereon to rest her weary

wing.

________

Of a kindred nature is bis poem on Immortality. He wrote a poem memorial of the wife of Hon. James D. Waddell, now some years deceased. This he divided into three parts: " Immor tality," " Omnipresence " and " Medora "--the latter being Mrs. Waddell's given name. We may well pause to hear the two stanzas on
IMMORTALITY.
Oh, she is now so still and strange! Though this is death, perhaps the change,
The change we so lament and weep, Is not, on inner life, so deep As sleep and waking out of sleep. How oft did she in slumber lie ? Her body breathed--could smile or sigh, The soul appeared to faint and dio. This charnel death seems sent to clasp The body in its icy grasp,

6

12 GEOEGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

Who knows but sleep is more at strife With spirit breath, the life of life,
Than death itself? Yet sleep is rest Upon a gentle mother's breast, And waking seems a pledge--a test, Each day, of resurrectinc; might, A voucher blazoned on the light, "There shall be no eternal night." If God can common slumber break. What hinders that the dead may wake ?
The likeness between sleep and death, a theme as old as the myths of ancient times, is here portrayed in a light somewhat new and by no means, unpicturesque. The waking from sleep is contrasted with the waking from death; and the power to compel the latter is inferred from the existence of the former. If some unseen power can reanimate the body and reillumine the eye lately passive in temporary insensibility, why may not that same power call back into human dust the inexplicable force which once made it think and breathe and feel ?

Our poet was in the same frame of mind--religious medita tion--when he wrote a poem on "Fear," whose religious philoso phy, no less than its depth of introspective reasoning on a. subject which cannot be reasoned out, makes it rank among the best on such themes. I commend its every thought and line to your meditative consideration. A smaller mind would have been ashamed or afraid to say with him:
That I the naked truth confess, Which is, I know I do not know.
Some will agree with him that "the hell of everlasting sleep" is worse than a " hell of pain." Cowper, in that period of deep melancholy which engloomed a portion of his life, would doubt less have sympathized with Judge Bleckley when he said in this poem:
And thus the chance of bliss for me, If lots were cast, is one in three.
Cowper emerged from the shadow and sang that majestic hymn:

THE POET BLECKLEY.

I

God moves in a mysterious way Hia wonders to perform.
He plants his footsteps on the sea And rides upon the storm.
But Judge Bleckley sees no light in the darkness, and, turn ing his eyes to the primeval Edenic fear, he concludes this paean of hopelessness by declaring :
Like Adam, I have disobeyed, And I, like Adam, am afraid.

Judge Bleckley has written some poetry which is not in verse.
Let us turn to some lines suggested by the death of the late
Senator Colquitt:
When we gaze at death through our emotions and relate it in our thoughts to survivors and their bereavement, it suggests inexorable calamity, irreparable loss, and is always sombre and sorrowful. But seen by the intellect, in the calm light and clear atmosphere of reason, and related in our thoughts to the departed, it often suggests gain and glory and seems grand and beautiful. Thus may we look at it on the present occasion. For a few moments let our hearts be still, our eyes be dry; It our regrets be moderated and our sympa thies restrained. Behold death as a beneficence--a benediction! There is no felicity greater, no fortune better, than to be old enough and good enough to die. This is the true end for all to aim at; for all to pursue from the begin ning to the close of life. To be good, and to become old in goodness, is the interest, as well as the duty, of every one to whom the privilege of so doing is accorded. He who succeeds in this has true success, and needs no other, for in this, everything worthy of permanent estimation is comprehended. Whether his sphere of duty be high or low, wide or narrow, easy or difficult, he who fits himself to his place, fills it, meets its responsibilities and discharges its obliga tions, persevering faithfully through the spring and summer and autumn of life, failing not till winter comes, is ready to die. And his death, viewed in the radiance that streams upon it from his finished life, is beautiful.
Tour own minds will make the right application of these remarks to the statesman, the soldier, the patriot, the citizen, the neighbor, the friend, the great Georgian, whose ashes are now here to honor by their solemn presence for a few brief hours the capitol of his native State. With the waning of one more moon, his years would have numbered three score and ten; nor was he less mature in goodness than he was in age. He, if any man, was qualified to die, and was eligible to that invisible convocation, the celestial senate, which no candidate can reach save by passing through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

Judge Bleckley's poem next noticed would probably touch more hearts than anything he has written. It appeals to the

8

12 GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

poor and the wretched. The vast majority of men are always in the first state--poverty. All occasionally experience the second --wretchedness; for never beat a heart not sometimes Lowed down. To all such, the sentiment--the sweet and inexpressibly tender and touching sentiment--in this little poem of triplet stanza is refreshing. He calls it

PRAYER.
The poor can most devoutly pray; Who want for bread can truly say, " O, give us daily bread this day!"
i In vain the rich, with full supply, To pray like wretched want may try: If want were not, all prayer would die.
Where every blfss beside is rare, And hearts are threatened with despair, Is felt the sweetest bliss of prayer.
Thank God that those in sorest need Are best prepared to pray and plead : That they can pray, indeed, indeed.

To turn from grave to gay: Judge Bleckley stood on Broad way and looked at the ever-flowing human currents. In verse he asked whence they came and why they hurried ceaselessly. And this was his answer:
To judge your purpose by your speed, It must be something great, indeed; "Tis surely not a rash surmise That life eternal is your prize: No meaner aim, me thinks, could you With ardor such as this pursue. And yet, alas, if truth were told, The most of you are after gold.

Judge Bleckley's longest poem is on Catoosa, written in 1875. The verse flows easily and the rhythm is good. It contains noth ing of the didactic, nor any special beauty of thought. It is rather descriptive of Catoosa Springs.
A sweet little poem, well worth preserving, is

THE POET BL.ECKLEY.

9

OCTOBER.
The time is very nigh "When summer leaves must die; Perchance, too, you or I.
The Autumn's verge is crossed And soon by wind and frost Will leaf and life be lost.
"What life shall stay or go, No wisdom here below Is wise enough to know.
While you and I survive, While both are yet alive, Let Love, un waning, thrive.
Oh, be it never told That, like the year grown old, Our later love gets cold.
This little poem,of peculiar meter but perfect rhythm,reminds us of "the melancholy days," as Cowper was wont to call them ; when the leaves are falling and the golden rod blazing and the chestnut burrs opening. It produces on me a sen sation beyond expression. In some inexplicable way, it sug gests the everlasting antitheses of life and death, time and eter nity.

Tennyson's "Locksley Hall" is famous the world over: possibly immortal. And yet I make bold to say that " Locksley Hall," while of greater length and more pretension, is not, as a whole, one wnit better poetry than what Judge Bleckley has written upon a kindred theme. It is called
UNEQUAL MARRIAGE.
He has thy hand, the altar vow Has made that his forever;
But not thy heart, for it will bow To his dominion never.
Thy spirit still will soar aloft-- Sti\l keep thee f*r above him -,
And though he claim thy pity oft, Yet never canst thou love him.
His lot is bard, but harder tbine, Half-wedded, gifted woman ;
For tbou art only not divine, And he is--only human.

10

12 GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

On reading these lines one recalls, by contrast, those from " Locksley Hall " :
"As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, And thegrossness of his nature will have weight to drag theedown."
In direct contrast is the sentiment in Bleckley's lines :
Thy spirit still will soar aloft-- Still keepthee far above him.
Which of these is true ? Alas, let the miserable instances an swer, where spirit, gentility and refinement in the person of a born lady, have been yoked with grossness, stupidity and brutishness in the shape of man. It is the exception when, in such cases, the woman's spirit "still will soar aloft."

" The Bride of Hope," " Mouutain Flowers," " Csesarism," and "Mother" are three shorter poems, the latter founded on this incident: A wounded boy, carried from the battle-field, kept begging for his mother. That was all he could say. When asked his name and regiment, he could only answer " Mother." They never knew who he was.

Judge Bleckley's writings--even his judicial opinions--show

a fixed propensity to combine the poetic and the humorous. This

is seen particularly in a little poem which is unique in humor,

bright in conception, and happy in the semi-punning use of

quasi-legal phrases. It reminds one of Dean Swift's definition

of wit: " The discovery of the unexpected relations of ideas."

He calls it--

LAW LOVE.

The burning of a man's abode Is punished by the Penal Code,
With loss of life or lands; Then, surely, that offense, more dire, Of setting all his heart on fire,
Fit penalty demands.

Dear, guilty girl--though guilty, dear-- The plaintiff cites you to appear
In presence of the parson; ( He grants that you may fix the day), To answer in the usual way,
This last aforesaid arson.

THE POET BLECKLEY.

11

Do not your tender guilt deny, But own it, darling, with a sigh ;
I long for judgment by confession: Do not affect the law's delay, And force me still to plead and pray ;
Concede my right, ami yield possession.

Those who have read the poem which I next quote have doubt less wondered whether its inspiration was really a phantom or flesh and blood. All know the tendency of a lover's heart to idealize the one adored. In this poem there is to me something delicious. Reading it, I can almost hear the swish of unreal skirts, and see the drapery of spirit hair falling over ghostly shoulders of invisible alabaster, and feel the light of phantom eyes peering through mystic air. Has there not come into the life of each of us a dreamy vision akin to that which the learned judge must have seen through the muse's eyes when he wrote
THE PHANTOM LADY.
O lady ! lady! lady! Since I see you everywhere, I know you are a phantom-- A woman of the air; I know you are ideal, And, yet, you seem to me As manifestly real As anything can he.
O soul-enchanting shadow! In the day and in the night, As I gaze upon your beauty, I tremble with delight.
If men would hear me whisper How beautiful you seem, They should slumber while they listen, And dream it in a dream ; For nothing so exquisite Can the waking senses reach; Too fair and soft and tender For the nicest arts of speech.
In a pensive, dreamy silence I am very often found, As if listening to a rainbow Or looking at a sound: 'Tis then I see your beauty

12

12 GEORGIA BAB ASSOCIATION.

Keflected through my tears, And I feel that I have loved you A thousand thousand years.

One of his longest poems is entitled "Two Cities." In the mere mechanism of rhetoric one is struck by its fine antithesis. On a subject which most men think upon, especially in later years, and which all men must experience, it will appeal to all classes of readers. All flesh, we know, inhabits first one then the other of these cities. We believe that we shall yet dwell in the third-- the city of C. We believe; for, as our poet says, "faith is not knowledge."
If this falls under the eye of one who is not interested in his other poems, let him turn to this and read it entire. It is one of his very best. Nay, few of its kind in the whole realm of poetry equal it. These are strong but deserved words. Observe its unbroken rhythm, its unconscious mysticism, its suggestion of sincere agnosticism, its deft personification--its urbanizing of the three realms--life, death and the world beyond both. At one of those times which come now and then into the life of each, when a shadow from the other world falls across our path and shrouds our hearts, who has not felt the infinite pathos suggested by these closing lines:
The day is no better bestowed than the night, And darkness is precious as well as the light.

It is not my purpose to speak of Judge Bleckley's orations, essays, judicial opinions, or the incidents of his life. We are now concerned with his poetical side only.
But we find prose and poetry sometimes closely related. For instance, in 1886, he delivered before the literary societies of Mercer University an address on "Truth in Thought and Emo tion," concluding with the poem on "Cucumbers," in which, after apotheosizing this vegetable fiend, he contradicts in the follow ing counsel, the springtime warning of many an anxious mother to her wayward boy :
And eat enough; with such a victual The danger lies in eating little.

THE POET BLECK10EY.

13

So, a commencement address at the University of Georgia on "Truth of Conduct," he concluded with a little poem on " Rats as a Type of Energy," the punning in whose first stanza reminds one of Hood's " Faithless Jfellie Gray." As a bright curiosity it is worth quoting :
You lie in your chamber, just under the attic, On a bed of nocturnal probation,
And listen to rats--those beings erratic1. Engaged in the ratification
Of mischief they've cunningly done on the sly And met in convention to rat-ratify.

Two of the most picturesque characters in our history are Alexander H. Stephens and Robert Toombs. Each was unlike any other. Their individualities are clearly outlined in the per spective of the most dramatic (was it not the most tragic'?) period in the history of this republic. I cannot linger here; to Geor gians, at least, the fame of each is an ever-freshening glory.
In poetry, as genuine as was ever graven upon his waxen tab lets by the friend and protege of Maecenas, Judge Bleckley has embalmed each. Here are his lines on
STEPHENS.
Of yoeman blood, but yet of noble birth, By genius linked with Burke and Chatham's strain,
Self-noble, too, by stainless moral worth And manly work of hand and heart and brain;
He gave to heaven a fruitful life on earth Of purpose, patience, labor, born in pain.
In statecraft learned, in counsel prompt and -wise, In speech commanding, clear, incisive, strong;
In action, cool and careful of the prize; He hated rashness as he hated wrong.
Before his searching, calm, prophetic eyes Did future woes in present errors throng.
His State and country were to him the same, And both he served with love and faith and fame.
Compare this with his exquisite, unapproachable lines on
TOOMBS.
A lion harmless to the weakest lamb, Though fierce!*' scorning like a lamb to be: His ruling passion to be wild and free

14

12 GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

As winds and waves, with no compulsive calm Save God's. To God alone he tuned the psalm,
Or bowed the head, or uttered prayer or plea; To none but God he ever bent the knee, Or incense burned, or offered bull or ram. His mind was Space and Time in Spirit swung; His brain was Keason's self encased in bone; His speech, the Summer Storm with human tongueA storm of logic thundered from a throne. O'er all our hearts his scepter might have bung Had he but learned to tame and rule his own.

You will pardon me if I diverge from the strict line of this
paper to repeat an unsurpassed specimen of necrological writing.
It is not verse. It is only quasi-poetical. But its style is so
lofty, its sentiment so exalted, its diction so pure, its choice of
words so happy, its pathos so dignified, its emotion so calm, the
virtues of the father so modestly delineated, the son's affection
so delicately shadowed forth and his grief so gently and unob
trusively suggested, that it is well worthy to be ranked with the
strongest essays, the ablest opinions and the sweetest poems of
this rare man. It is
HIS FATHER'S OBITUARY.
Died, on the 5th of September, 1870, at his home near Clayton, Rabun county, James Bleckley, in the sixty-eighth year of his age.
He was a native of Lincoln county, North Carolina, and removed from thence to Kabun in 1826, where he resided until his death.
He was bred a farmer, and that remained his chief vocation through life. At intervals he served the public as sheriff, clerk, ordinary, and judge of the county court, offices conferred on him, at successive periods, by the people of Rabun. In 1837 he volunteered in the military service and as a first lieuten ant of cavalry made a campaign in Florida against the Indians, under Briga dier Charles H. Nelson. When the Blue Ridge Railroad Company was organ ized he v.-as elected one of the directors, and was still a member of the board at the time of his death.
He had great solidity of personal character, and its basis was Truth. In word and in deed he was a true man. Such was his estimation of veracity, that he taught his children, as a standing precept, that theft, criminal and de grading as it is, is less abhorrent than deliberate falsehood. The reason he gave was, that society has more defenses against the violator of property than it has against a violator of the truth, and that to reform the tongue is a more hopeless task than to restrain the hand.
He was not a member of any church, but he indulged a heartfelt charity that embraced all orders and denominations, not of Christians only, but of

THE POET BLECKLEY.

15

men. His sympathies were not limited by Protestantism nor by Catholicism. He felt as a brother towards the followers of Moses and Mahomet, as well as towards the disciples of Jesus, and he counted himself no stranger to publicans and sinners. He cherished a broad and beautiful toleration, grudging to no man the exercise of unrestrained opinion or of uncontrolled worship.
Warned for weeks ot his approaching dissolution, he expressed a modest confidence in the mercy of God, and, without alarm, waited for death to come. When it did come, he was engaged in cheerful conversation and expired peacefully, with no visible sign of pain.
Thus passed away my beloved father.

Judge Bleckley has given us the shortest and simplest analy sis of the English alphabet. It is partly in prose and partly in verse. The more one reflects on these lines the greater grows the astonishment that any but a trained student of such matters should have so accurately analyzed the alphabet and collated its idiosyncrasies. It is well worth a philologist's study, and no one ambitious of critical linguistic learning can afford to ig nore it:--
THE ALPHABET
consists of five letters, five only; and these, by the aid of consonant signs, are carried through twenty-one variations. The first letter is O. It has no varia tion. The second is I. It has one variation which is Y. The third is U. It has two variations, Q and W. The fourth is A. It has four variations, H, J, K, R. The fifth is E. It has fourteen variations, in eight of which the E sound is full and strong, and in six quite thin and weak. The eight are B, C, D, G, P, T, V, and Z; the six are F, L, M, 2J, S, and X. Summing up, we have one 0, two I's, three U's, five A's and fifteen E's. Of the whole number O is T,^, I -j'j, U i plus, A a fraction less than i, E i and two over. Properly arranged the twenty-six characters would stand thus: O, I, T, U, Q, W, A, H, J, K, R, E, B, C, D, G, P, T, V, Z, F, L, M, X, S, X. This would place first the solitary O, and after it others, parents and progency, in due order, the related members fitly grouped together.
In verse he summarizes thus:
The lively things at spelling-bees, The things that most instruct and please, Are not the words, but A, B, C's.
The busy bees, when they have met, Must take a look at the alphabet. To see it in its legal view Is now the thing we have to do. On law of letters we must draw To give the letter of the law.

16

12 GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

In O, I, U, A, E, is found, Condensed, yet clear, each ruling scund. In every case the lawyer quotes As good sound-law these five head-notes.
Of one of these, the selfish 0, Its lonely note is all we know; No more than once, to keenest ears, A tone or trace of it appears. A bachelor sound it is, that wails The doleful fate of single males. No wonder, in their dismal woe, The tune they sing is only " O " !
Not quite so lone and chill is I, Its one companion being Y.
And twice as tender must be U, Which pairs with W and with Q.
And wider still expandeth A, It spreads to R, H, J, and K.
But far more facile, frank and free, That generous note, the peerless E. It leans to B, C, 0 and G, To P and T and V and Z; And then, with slight and gentle stress, It touches F, L, M, N, S; And, clinging still till silence checks, A whispered kiss it gives to X.

After Judge Bleckley's resignation of the Chief Justiceship, nearly a year ago, he retired to his mountain home in Clarksville and announced his permanent retirement from the profession of law. Here it was he wrote and gave to the public his " Farewell to the Law," the concluding lines of which remind us of the better specimens of his poetry.
This brings us to the last composition noticed here. The Judge had been once before on the Georgia Supreme bench--a hard-worked, over-crowded, under-paid court--for several years, and was tired. He resigned and read from the bench this, his last opinion during his first incumbency, which will be found reported in the 64th Georgia, 452, and is entitled

I

THE POET BLECKLEY.

17

IN THE MATTER OF REST.

Rest for hand and brow and breast,

For fingers, heart and brain!

Rest and peace! A long release

Prom labor and from pain;

Pain of doubt, fatigue, despair--

Pain of darkness everywhere,

And seeking light in vain.

;

Peace and rest 1 Are they the best For mortals here below ?
Is soft repose from work and woes A bliss for men to know ?
Bliss of time is bliss of toil; No bliss but this, from sun and soil,
Does God permit to grow.

For its length it is Judge Bleckley's best production. The last stanza should be burned into the heart of every young man. It is the' essence of common sense, the conclusion of human, experience, the final deduction of philosophy, and the ultimate dogma of religion.

Is apology needed for traveling out of the beaten track as I have done to-day? Is it not well to preserve in our permanent records something of the foremost living Georgia member of our noble profession ? Would we not now highly prize similar evi dences of the mental work and characteristics of Lumpkin, and Nisbet, and Warner--that triumvirate of judges who moulded Georgia's judicial opinions in the halcyon days of Georgia lawyers ?
Are we not too careless of the fame of our great men ? Stephens will live forever in his " War between the States," that masterly vindication of the South's position in the great conflict. Hill, the mighty, the defender of the Constitution and the Union, will live in his " Notes on the Situation " and a few great speeches which fortunately have been preserved. The rugged honesty and strong sense of Warner is perpetually embalmed in his Supreme Court opinions. The classical learning, the brilliant imagination, the extended legal research, of the first Lumpkin is similarly

18

12 GEORGIA BAB ASSOCIATION.

recorded. So, too, are those masterly judicial opinions of Jfisbet, clear as a sunbeam, unsurpassed in strength of statement, freighted with a treasure of legal lore.
But after this what can be said? What has become of those majestic tornadoes of commingled eloquence and logic which swept the forum and the hustings when Toombs lifted up his voice? Where are the sermons of Pierce, the incarnation of ;grace, the most perfect specimen of manly beauty, whose unsiiripassed oratory was the apotheosis of human speech ? Where are JDooly's wit, Berrien's oratory, Forsyth's speeches, Cobb's states manship--the prowess of many more whose glories are for.gotten and whose names are fast becoming fading memories?
Gone, all gone, save here nncl there a fragment; just enough of the ruins to suggest the magnificence of the temple destroyed.
Ourgreatmenoweittoposterity,if not to themselves, to preserve the records of their works. Our smaller men owe it to the pro fession to which we in common belong, to aid in perpetuating the fame of the greater. If we cannot help build the temple of Georgia's fame, we can at least lift up here and there a candle by whose aggregate light, though singly feeble, those who follow us may be enabled to see somewhat of the temple's glory.
And so, to-day we place upon the permanent records of this Association, whose reports are sought after by libraries all over the country, aud whose few remaining volumes, a century from now, will be worth their weight in gold, a half-tone sketch of one phase of the intellectual life of him who, leaving active life without a blot of wrong upon its pages, sits down at the foot of the mountains in whose shadow he spent his boyhood days, mindful of the advice of Cicero who recommended to old age otium cum dignitate, followed by the respect of the public, the admiration of the bar, and the love of all who know him; who, tried by the test prescribed by the Sinless One, may enter the Kingdom of Heaven; for, in guilelessness of heart and gentleness of life, he is, indeed, a little child!

THE POET BLECKLEY.

19

ON GENERAL HENRY L. BENNINO.
Poor Southern eyes, already red With weeping for your noble dead, If tears are left you yet to shed, Give some to soothe this latest woe-- For gallant Benning let them flow.
Ah death, that spared him in the fight, Has struck, in peace, a Georgia knight-- As knightly as the proudest lord That ever lifted lance or sword; No truer, braver chief than he Adorned 'the ancient chivalry.
For firmness in the battle shock, His comrades said he was a rock; Old Rock, they said, and his command (Whoever fled) were sure to stand; And never was that hope betrayed By Bock himself, or his brigade.
The tricks of war he did not learn; In stubborn valor, grim and stern, He trusted as the pious priest Reposeth in the blood of Christ; To him it seemed no fight could fail If not a single heart would quail.
When vainer warriors would assume The wreath, and star, and sash, and plume, He moved among his soldiers gray, As plain and unadorned as they; Nor cared to shine, or to excel, Except in doing duty well.

In peace it was his lot to die; In peace, O, may his ashes lie! And sweetest peace, while ages roll, Attend his noble, manly soul!

OMNIPRESENCE.
We deem them more awake than we: Our hope and faith have eyes to see
Their disembodied shapes as far As to the most exalted star; And still we feel how nigh they are! To spirit-essence, as to thought, All places are together brought,

20

12 GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

For distance, to a soul, is nought, In sooth we well may wonder why "We tell departing friends good-bye!
To go! to stay! The two are one-- As we may think of yonder sun,
Explore the sky, the sea, the land, And not remove from where we stand, Nor stir a single grain of sand. We need not fear our loved and lost Have to a distant country crossed,, Or on dividing waves are tossed; "We may be sure they linger here; That if remote, they yet are near.

MEDOBA.
But life immortal thus to hear-- To be forever everywhere,
Is not enough--will not suffice: Existence is but half the prize; In vain the dead awake, arise, If bliss, while all the ages roll. Is lost or missing to the soul, 'Tis bsppiness completes the whole: To know of which must needs be read The record left us by the dead.
"Medora, now to thine we turn, And, lo, how all the letters burn!
"We see some grace or virtue shine-- Some likeness to a life divine-- Some nobleness--in every line. And, first, (how precious is the word!) The truthful writing doth record, She loved, and, foremost, loved the Lord; And then, with passion thus refined, She loved her neighbor and mankind.
Affection was the fount and force In which her conduct had its source:
Of self she took but little thought; For others' bliss she daily wrought, And often blessed, unseen, unsought Not long or loud did suitors plead, She gave a gift or did a deed On slight and silent hints of need; Her happiness was at its tide _________ "When others' wants were best supplied. The wife ol the late Colonel James D. Waddell.

THE POET BLECKLEY.

21

And hers was love adorned with light, She made the stream of blessing bright;
She knew how gracious is a grace', Bestowed with manner, word and face Befitting person, time and place. Her bounty reaching lowest down, Was never darkened by a frown, Nor hardened with an icy tone: Her tact in goodness so excelled, The " poor and proud " were not repelled.
While health and fortune cheered the day, She gave her very self away ;
Her air, her look, her laugh, her tone, To those on whom her favor shone. Seemed less as hers than as their own. The rudest guest, when at her board, Could be, or seem to be, a lord ; And cowards might confront a sword; So pleased were all--so much at ease, Each felt that he, himself, could please.
When trouble came, and health declined, A light less glad, but not less kind,
Intense with holy heat, was shed Through all she did, or looked or said, Withdrawing not till she was dead. Remembered now, it seems to pale I Not more than solar beams must fail When shaded by a sable veil, Or when the sun. in nightly swoon, Is seen reflected from the moon.

CTTCTTMBEKS.
They told, they told, in mournful numbers, That I must never eat cucumbers; They also told the reason why; But, eat them ! Yes, I would, or die. And you, if you would only try it. Would die, I think, or have the diet.
In spite of all advice and warning, I ate them early in the morning, And then, although a mere beginner,' For breakfast, luncheon, and for dinner; And in the evening with my tea, Twould embrace some two or three. My'feelings grew to such excess I tried to feel and fancy less.

22

12 GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION..

I went from home, but still I met them, And higher, higher did I rate them ; I always wanted to forget them, And always ate, and ate, and ate them. I thought, before, I was devoted, But now indeed I loved--1 doted.
I traveled on; my love was growing, And I kept going, going, going. I searched the country and the town, The river valleys, up and down, The brooks and branches, and the drains, The hills and mountains, and the plains, The railway stations and the trains-- No matter where I chanced to meet them, My only business was to eat them.
And eat I did, and often, often, My plate was set upon my coffin. At length I shook, but not with chill That spares awhile and waits to kill; The reason I became a shaker, I saw, I saw the undertaker! Had every torture, every pain Of cucumber on the brain.
And what ensued is now the question. You say, of course, 'twas indigestion, But never were you more mistaken "Within the halls and walls of Macon. The sole result of this devotion Was truth of thought and of emotion. It broke the spell, the dread and terror Of a table-vegetable error, It swept away the trash and lumber That overlay the great cucumber.
If you would have a truthful notion, A truthful impulse or emotion, A truthful vision in your slumbers, .Eat, I pray you, eat cucumbers.
But eat by rule or you may rue it; I pause to tell you how to do it: Prom thrifty vines select and gather-- Do this yourself, not by another, And purchase not from any vender-- The fruit when young and crisp and tender. This, cool and fresh, proceed to peel, But not till seated at your meal; Then slice, and season to your taste,

THE POET BLECKLEY.

231

And eat at once, and eat in baste. And eat enough; with such a victual The danger lies in eating little. Like learning, drunk from Mercer spring, A little is a dangerous thing.
We hear it said from stump and steeple, " Leave the question to the people," But better counsel for digestion Is, leave the people to the question.

THE FABMER.
The farmer, be he poor or rich, As high as prince, or low as peasant,
His calling still is one in which Poetic themes are ever present.
Yet strangely does the farmer deal With forms of rare poetic beauty;
Their high enchantment not to feel He deems a kind of rustic duty.
Sun, sky, and cloud, frost, wind and rain, In one brief word he groups together--
Their worth to cotton, grass and grain Is all included in the--weather!
The seasons which to most impart A hint for smiling, or for weeping,
Awake no passion in his heart, Except for planting, tilling, reaping.
Diurnal changes--night and day, So rich to sight and contemplation--'
Pass him, unheeded, save to sway His meals and rest and occupation.
The very crops he loves to rear-- Poetic essence fills their being--
The stem, the leaf, the bloom, the ear, All teem with beauty past his seeing.
Ah! noble is the farmer's toil! Its fruit a priceless boon and blessing;
But what he gathers from the soil, Is not most worthy of possessing.
A subtle beauty, sweet and fair, Which nothing can subdue or shatter,
Forever floats on earth and air. And clings to every shape ot" matter.

24

12 GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

This beauty courts the farmer's eyes, He spends his life to it the nearest;
And all he wants to make him wise, Is but to see and hold it dearest.

BROADWAY.
.From early dawn till after dark A current flows towards the Park, And full as fast, the other way, A counter-current to the Bay: This mighty stream, from side to side, Is thus a double living tide.
Ye restless ones who, to and fro, In such wild hurry come and go, AYho run in haste both up and down This roaring river of the Town, Say what it is ye all do seek, From day to day and week to week; What treasure of the heart or mind, Ye seek, but never seem to find ?
To judge your purpose by your speed, It must be something great indeed; 'Tis surely not a rash surmise That life eternal is your prize: Jfo meaner aim, me thinks, could you With ardor such as this pursue. And yet, alas, if truth were told, The most of you are after gold I

RATS AS A TYPE OF ENERGY.
You lie in your chamber, just under the attic, On a bed of nocturnal probation, And listen to rats--those beings erratic-- Engaged in the ratification Of mischief they've cunningly done on the sly And met in convention to rat-ratify.
You know by your feelings, fulfilled and prophetic, That rats in their conduct can be energetic. A bat with a ball in a baseball battle Is tame by the side of a rat in a rattle.
Your energy too, if it flowed in my verses, Would roar like a torrent, a torrent of curses; But I must be tranquil, my current is calm, No matter what waters rush over your dam.

THE POET BLECKLEY.

25

FAITH.
Cast out into space For life and for death; No ultimate base, No bottom beneath, No limit or bound Above or around; No wall at the side Or roof overhead, No cover to hide Me, living or dead; No refuge for thought or for sense. Yet I will not despair As I drift through the air, Afloat in the boundless immense. In the depths of the night Cometh faith without light, Cometh faith without sight, And I trust the great sovereign unknown; No finite or definite throne, But the infinite, nameless, untbinkable O
I cannot, nor need I, define The blessing he keepeth in store; His purpose I know is divine, And why should I care to know more? The what and the wfiere and the when Must needs be uncertain to men ; For the future, if distant or near, Lets none of its secrets appear. No definite hope may endure, No favorite bliss be secure, Not even existence be sure, But the something that ought to befall Will happen at last unto all.

THE BRIDE OF HOPE.
The Future, pure and peerless one. That seetneth nigh while still afar, By day more splendid than the sun, By night more precious than a star; Fit bride for Hope, in truth, is she, The pure and peerless Is-to-be.
And Hope, alive to all her charms, Holds out his fond, impatient arms, And strives with over ardent haste,

26

12 GEORGIA BAB ASSOCIATION.

To clasp her unsubstantial waist; But ever does the maid retire, And laugh at Hope and his desire.
More constant (till because denied, Hope deems the nuptials must be near; And so he woos no other bride But waits for her from year to year ; Of all blind lovers most absurd, To think his bliss is but deferred.
He does not know and cannot see That she, the charming Is-to-be, Within another world abides, Apart from this where Hope resides, And that if into this she came She would no longer be the same.

FEAB.
It seemeth fit that I resign My will, O JJord!--my will to thine. But how can I renounce my breath, Kelinquish life and welcome death ?
II.
My life, myself, they seem as one, Nor can I feel that they are twain.
Thy will is death. "When it is done, Will self--my vital self--remain ?
Forgive me if, with reverent fear,. I urge a -theme as this so dread;
My first concern my foremost care, Is, shall I live when I am dead ?
And, Lord, do not regard me less, And let it not augment my woe,
That I the naked truth confess, Which is, / know I do iiot know.
Affirm I not, nor can deny, Nor can at doubt or faith arrive --
I know not what it is to die, Or what may perish or survive.
And hence the fear that rises first; It bodeth not of peace or strife,
Of being blest or being curst, But only of tbe laps.) of life.
It hints that here, perchance, is all; That I am of but little worth-
That out of being I may fall, Uncared for, when I quit the earth.

THE POET BI^CKLEY.

27

A thousand times the hint I spurn, And strive its whisper to defy;
But still the question will return, What happens when we come to die?
III.
Another fear my heart assails; Another peril shows its frown, And bears my feeble courage down.
Suppose existence never fails, Will mine be one of pain or blis>9-- A worse or better state than this ?
Ah, what would be the good or gain To sense, emotion, will or thought,
If fall I into deathless pain Instead of falling into naught?
And here, again, my sight is veiled; I know not if I be impaled
On some foregone adverse decree, Or what to dread, or what expect, If I am free but not elect,
Or what my danger still may be If I am both elect and free. With holy law, unholy fact,
My own misdeeds and Adam's taint, With sins of blood and thought and act,
What wonder if I fear and faint?
IV.
I see, on either hand, a cave That opens downward through the grave. Ten thousand heavens were in vain, For hell may be a hell of pain, Or that which seems a lower deep-- The hell of everlasting sleep; And thus the chance of bliss for me, If lots were cast, is one in three. The loss of self, or loss of peace!
Twin perils now to me so nigh! Until they cease, or seem to cease,
I pass all minor dangers by.
V.
Between these hells of sleep and flame I do confess myself to blame: Like Adam, I have disobeyed, And I, like Adam, am afraid.

28

12^GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

CATOOSA.
Two miles from car, and steam, and rail, Catoosa hovers in the vale-- A wild,- secluded, shady site, "Where three romantic dells unite. Up these to East, and South and North, Three idle, rustic roads wind forth, And through the vale, from East to West, The waters of a brook are pressed.
Anigh the brook, on either marge, Full fifty living springs discharge. 'Twould seem that nature's healing craft Had here put all her drugs on draft, i .nd bidden, from the earth outpour HIT precious pharmaceutic store: Precisely offered, and in haste, Enough for use and much to waste, Her wealth of hygienic flood E'en medicates the sand and mud.
Some chemic Muse alone could sing The properties that mark each spring-- Their virtues, and (if such) their faults; Their metals, acids, gases, salts; Suffice it now some few to name-- A few best known to common fame: Magnesia, iron, alum (prime), Soda, sulphur, iodine and lime. The chief are these, though many more Hath science found, and counted o'er.
And here the kind, benignant Jove Hath spread a wide, Arcadian grove. Beneath its boughs, in fount or pool, The waters keep forever cool; Broad walks that serve each spring to find, Along the surface turn and wind; And here and there, where seemeth best, Convenient seats invite to rest; And those who seek embowered ease May bowers find among the trees. For pleasure, health, or e'en for love, No spot excels this leafy grove.
To northward mounts a swelling crest, With slopes inclining South and West; Adown the slopes extends a lawn, In light and shadow like the dawn.

THE POET BLECKLEY.

29

In native forest trees arrayed, "With planted growth for deeper shade, All thick with branches interwove, It stretches down and joins the grove.

From highest angle of the lawn Two nearly equal lines are drawn, The shorter, by abrupt decline, Descending to a lower lice; The three, rectangled, well declare Three faces of a hollow square. Along these lines, and fronting on Three shady margins of the lawn, Is reared in light and graceful style, Catoosa's architectural pile.

You would not deem such vast hotels "Were here among the hills and dells, Or that so many cottage walls Were group'd about hotels and halls.
Pull half a thousand guests, at least,
Alight lodge and lounge, and dance and.feastj And room there is for all to play At billiards, bowls, and light croquet.

For station take the chief hotel, And view the charming landscape well. A castle, stript of roof and crown,
Its walls oblong, but broken down. Some more, some less, except the grand Old corner turrets left to stand -- Such castle if of vast extent, Might well the valley represent. Three thousand paces over crossed "Would scarce its outer lines exhaust.

Two hills in front as towers stand,

And two in rear hold like command;

The four suggest the turrets tall

At angles of a castle wall.

^

Between each pair a gap is cleft.

Before, behind, on right and left.

The two cut low, in gashes deep,

Their faces bold and bare and steep,

Enclose the narrow, rugged seam

Along which flows the valley stream.

Look near, and all is green and gay, And fresh and bright, as middle-itay. Ah, here is life! the eyes contrive

30

12 GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

To gladden sight with things alive. To every quarter turn your head, And naught appears that seomotb dead, Save stubble steins and sand and rocks, And gathered wheat disposed in shocks. On all the till'd nnd tillage ground Few dead or dying trees itro found, Not lialf a tcoro, perhaps if you Did search the valley through nnd through.
Life, life, abounds, both seen and hoard. For every bough supports a bird, And wnrblod songs your ears delight From morning till the fall of night. Not even then docs feathered strain Subside till morn is up again; When eve is dusk and soft and still, Then cries the plaintive whip-poor-will-- A minstrel of the night and wood That chcereth not, yet doeth good.
Vo favored ones to whom are lent Both time and money to be spent; Yet, who in crowded cities meet, And swelter in the dust and heat; And, hence, are vexed--contented not, Despite the bounty of your lot, Come hither to this cool retreat, And make your summer bliss complete. Come now, for fear a change of state May make a future day too late; Ye cannot look behind the veil And see when purse or life may fail; If fortune from your grasp should fly, Or you, by some mischance should die, Your never having been hero yet, Would prove a long and last regret.
And, likewise, ye who, having wealth, Can .use it not for lack of health,-- Whose blood and nerves and vital force Are failing in their wonted course,-- Who need, to mend--perchance to live-- The aid that healing waters give-- Come, come, where fifty fountains flow, With each some virtue to bestow.
And ye who are in body whole But pine with sickness of the soul; Who droop, despond, and know the pain

THE POET HLECKLEY.

31

Of wearing out a life in vain,-- Who muse and murmur, gaze and sigh. And vaguely wish that you could die,-- Conio hero and tlnd a quick relief For all your felt or fancied grief. Ye, too, a largo, laborious train, Who strive some leisure time to gain,-- Who, lacking pelf, essay to foil The ills of want by honest toil, In office, store or shop confined, O'orspcnt in muscle and in mind,-- Who never lot exertion fail Till eyo is dim and brow is pnlo,-- As goon as from your little hoard The needful cost you can afford, Lot brain and body, overtaxed, Be hero disburdened and relaxed : These woods and waters, breezes, balms, Will make you skip like kids and lumbs.
And ye who are alrcudy gay, As fresh and light as morning spray,-- Whose eyes shoot sparks at every glance, Whose feet are restless for tho dance,-- Whoso tongues are laden high with words. As careless as the chant of birds; And who, while bounding pulses beat, Feel youth is strong and life is sweet,-- Assemble here, in merry throngs, For mirth and laughter, music, song?, And dance and feast, and all tho cheer That wait on sport and fancy here.
And ye, discordant Vvith the last Who represent the awful past: The staid and sober, grave and wise, Who frown at folly, and despise As vices dote allied to crimes The levities of modern times,-- For even you is here a space, So uncontracted is the place,-- So widely spread the ample bounds Of halls and cottages and grounds. In public, when it doth behoove, You may appear, look on, reprove, And then, secluded, may retire To any distance you desire; No narrow limits cramp your will You may act'sage or hermit still.

32

12 GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

E'en should it be your sad conceit To only meditate and eat, You here will goodly diet find For both the stomach and the mind.
Bid silence now make end of speech, And mutely let an arm outreach And beckon with persuasive hand To all the lovers of tbe land; Or, if a vocal chord be stirred, But whisper every muffled word; For lovers are a tender brood, And cannot bear a sound that's rude. With breathing low as breath can fall, I murmur thus to tbem a call: Ye multitudes who know no ease, "Whose health is but a slow disease, Whose wealth is but a beggar's plea, Whose happiness is misery, Who, what to do, or where to go, Or what you want, do never know, Here, here, you may obtain repose; Yea, rest is here for belles and beaux.

C^ESAKISM.
Imperial Caasar of the West, Appear and make thy country blest ; The people wait ia hope and fear; Delay thou not--appear! appear! Like Hebrews in the days of Saul, We ask a king, a king for all. 2fo longer caring to be free, We bow the spirit, bend the knee. Whoever o'er Columbia reigns Will have the gem of earth's domains; Such splendid empire is there none, From rising unto setting sun. Three thrones have here a lost domain, The thrones of England, Prance and Spain; United now are all the three, And look for future prince to thee. Come, quickly come, and hold^the helm In State so vast--a matchless realm. In thee, great Captain, will we own A true restorer of the throne-- The throne in bitter strife hewn dowa By brave old Captain Washington. Successor thou, if prayers be_lieard, To George of England, George tbe Third.

THE POET BLECKLEY.

3$

MOTHER.
One of the wounded, as he was being carried from the cars, implored those around him to send for his mother. That was all he could say. No name, no regiment, nothing--it was "mother." He was shot through the lungs with a minnie ball.
" My mother!" feebly sounded From his lips so thin and white;
No question we propounded Could other words excite--
We but knew that he was wounded In the late terrific fight.
In vain, with kind intention, We sought to learn his name,
Or press'd him but to mention The State from which he came--
He seemed to give attention, But his answer was the same.
"My mother! Oh, my mother!" This oft repeated call
"Was all our dying brother Could utter in his fall;
No thought of any other, His mother--she was all.
We know not who or whither, May be the gentle one
That sent to perish hither, This noble-hearted son ;
But, Oh! may God be with her When she hears what war has done.

MOUNTAIN FLOWERS.
Among steep rocks where wild deer climb, And waters leap in flowing,
Are always, in the summer time, Sweet mountain flowers growing.
To them arc purest dews allowed-- The precious early draining
From patches of unfinished cloud, Too light and thin for raining.
A rainbow that the torrent weaves From spray and beams of morning,
Paints a!l their tender tinted leaves, And gives them rich adorning.

34

12 GEOEGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

The fragrance of the upper air-- The incense nearest heaven--
Perfumes them with an odor rare, By breath of angels given. .
To rocksand rainbow and the clouds, Retreat, in sultry hours;
From shops and stores and streets and crowds, Go up, and gather flowers.

FAREWELL TO THE LAW.
Farewell, my licjre, beloved and long, long served, good-bye, My leave I take and forth I go with wept and sobbing sigh. Which, now condensed to pensive dew, is trembling in my eye.
How oft in legal combat met huve I, at low or lofty bar,. Contending suitors helped to wage or ward the fierce forensic war, When rushed the battle horses and flew the battle car.
For more than one full decade, with pale, unsandaled feet, In pure and spotless ermine I mused on Georgia's seat, And righteous judgment rendered between the Tares and Wheat.
My grand majestic master, vice-gerent here of God, I quit thy special service, but stay beneath thy rod, An old and humble servant, uncovered and unshod.
TWO CITIES.
The one is a city of life, Of labor and love, of anger and strife, Of weeping, and laughter, and jest ; The other--a host without breath, A city of silence and death, A city in peace and at rest.
Vast cities are these, are they both, as you sec-- The city of A and the city of B; And the reason they lie To each other so nigh, The sole reason why. Is, the people of A are destined to die, And the people of B await them hard by.
Xo rivals,, these two, but the dearest of friends, Yet each with the other for numbers contends; In spite of their efforts at keeping away, Some score.- of the transient sojourners in A Transfer their abode into B even- dav.

THE POET BLECKUSY.
Indeed, whosoever will follow each street, And the lanes, and the alleys, to where they all meet, And make his survey of the city complete, Will find that Life's avenues, crooked or straight, At first or at last, either early or late, All empty themselves through Death's open gate.
Quite handsome and fine is the city of A; From suburbs to center so busy and gay, Through half of the night and all of the day; 'Tis truly a wonderful place to behold; Its wealth is unmeasured, its treasures untold , It flashes with jewels and glitters with gold.
How costly is life, what countless expense, To temper the blood and comfort the sense, And nourish the mind and chasten the breast, And keep the heart ruled in its stormy unrest; But death unto all is offered so cheap; There's nothing to pay for falling asleep, Save closing the eyes and ceasing to weep.
In sheen, or in splendor, the cities must strike Your thought as unequal and strangely unlike; For one is a city whose mansions are found Above, while the other's are under the ground.
How simple the latter will seem as you pass; Some bushes and flowers, some ivy and grass, To shelter the borders or freshen the sod; Some fragments of marble, or marble in mass, Inscribed with the virtues and n;imes of the dead. The griefs of the living, the tears they have shed. Their hopes, and their trust in the mercy of God,-- Too dim and uncertain, perhaps, to be read.
Short panels ot iron, or timber, or stone, Enclose certain sleepers and keep them alone; The family feeling, still soft and severe, Presides at the tomb--its spirit is here; Each bosom that bleedeth, each sorrowful heart. Would group its own loved ones from others apart; Exclusive, alike, are the humble and proud, They cannot endure to be lost in the crowd; In death, as in life, man's self-hood will cry, Abide you out yonder--Behold here am I.
Two cities we know, and some news we have heard, By priest and by prophet, good news of a third: The tidings they bring us we cherish as true,

36

12 GEORGIA BAR ASSOCIATION.

But faith is not knowledge,--we know only two ; Pull knowledge direct of the city of C Seems not for possession by you or by me, Till, parting from A, we have come into B. Nor at this should we murmur, or sigh, or repine ; Man's weakness, as well as bis strength, is divine; The day is no better bestowed than the night, And darkness is precious as well as the light.