On through the South.--Thomasville, Georgia.--Dr. Humphrey's Winter
Home.--Southern Flowers.--The Old Plantation.--War Declared.--They
Leave To-day.
Soon after leaving Washington the night came on, but ere darkness
settled down upon us, we had already seen the fresh verdure, and the
trees and flowers in full, radiant bloom.
Night closed in as we whirled on through the Southern land. We took the
Atlantic Coast line, passing through many historic spots, well worth a
stay; but our destination was Thomasville, Georgia, where we were to
join our good host, Dr. Humphreys and his family, and rest with him at
his winter home for a day or so, before starting on our full trip from
New Orleans, by the Sunset Route, directly west, for Los Angeles.
Our stay in Thomasville was delightful. We found ourselves at home in
the broad ample residence of our good host. The house is a large,
one-story, double structure, standing in its own spacious grounds. A
large hall, more than ninety feet long, runs through the midst of it.
There we spent two days with our host, enjoying every moment of our
stay. Flowers and roses were on every hand, and great trees with
grateful shade, and the songs of many birds, and the pealing laughter
of young folk, and the quiet happiness of those who loved to see others
happy all about them.
The poetry and sentiment of the time, the place, the occasion, seemed
to me to be symbolized in a lovely bouquet of wild flowers presented by
Thomasville friends--Colonel and Mrs. Hammond--to our dear host and
hostess, as a tender floral _bon voyage_. It was truly a thing of
beauty in its rich and unstudied simplicity, made up of a great spray
of wild pink azalea, and another of a flowering ash called Old Man's
Beard. The silver threads of the latter fell over the exquisite color
and finished form of the azalea, and all was overtopped by a branch of
flaring crimson honeysuckle. It was both magnificent and dainty, all at
once, and had the added beauty of most utter simplicity. It was merely
a handful, plucked at random, from the abundant beauty of the rich
Southern forest. I fancy, however, that an ordinary eye might have
passed by the exquisite possibility of the Southern blooms, and that
the unerring taste and tender sentiment of the givers were necessary
factors in procuring such a perfect floral offering, so appropriate and
so beautiful.
We had another great treat while at Thomasville, in a drive out to a
Southern plantation of the old-time type. How sad and silent, though,
it all seemed! It was like a charmed castle, waiting for the arrival of
some one whose footsteps should quicken all to life again. There it
stood, all ready for an awakened hospitality, at a moment's notice. We
wandered through the great parlors, the spacious bedrooms, and out on
the shaded balconies and verandas, peopling all, in imagination, with
the home happiness for which it seemed so well prepared. The ample
portico, with its great pillars; the luxuriant trees; the stately,
silent house, and the tangle of roses and creeping plants made a
picture long to be remembered. It did not seem quite right to romp and
frolic in such a place, but such is the limit of our nature that one
always loves and longs for contrasts; that is the reason, doubtless,
why we awoke the echoes with many peals of ringing laughter and good
fun. The ever-present kodak had its own share in our comedy, and
brought away a shadow of our sport in the picture of "Rebekah at the
Well."
The time came all too quickly for our departure from Thomasville. Even
in our short stay we were charmed by the visits of many friends, among
them some old acquaintances of other places and other times. We met,
too, the genial editor of the "Daily Times-Enterprise," and found our
departure duly mentioned in the issue of Saturday evening, April 16,
1898. It contained also the stupendous announcement of the certain
opening of the war with Spain, which appeared in these startling head
lines: