John H. Bryant.
N the 22d of November, 1848, I left New York to visit the Southern portions of the old Thirteen States, made memorable by the events of the War for Independence. Aware of the lack of public facilities for travel below the Potomac, and not doubting that many of the localities which I intended to visit were far distant from public highways, I resolved to journey with my own conveyance, with an independence and thoroughness not vouchsafed by steam or stage-drivers. I purchased a strong, good-natured horse, harnessed him to a light dearborn wagon, stowed my luggage under the seat, and, taking the reins, on a bright and balmy afternoon departed on a drive of nearly fourteen hundred miles. The wisdom of my resolve was a hundred times made manifest, for, in some portions of the South, horse, mule, or ox could not have been procured to convey me to places of interest, lying scores of miles apart, and scores of miles away from stage-routes. It was a lonely journey; sometimes among mountains, sometimes through swamps, sometimes through vast pine forests and over sandy plains, and sometimes amid the most interesting natural scenery, even in mid-winter. It was to me a journey of great interest; and the dreary days passed in riding from one hallowed locality to another, after leaving the Appomattox, were all forgotten when sitting down, pencil in hand, in the midst of some arena consecrated by patriotism and love of country. Then glorious associations would crowd thickly upon the memory, weariness and privations would be forgotten, and the truthful heart would chant,
"Great God! we thank thee for this home—
This bounteous birth-land of the free;
Where wanderers from afar may come
And breathe the air of liberty!
Still may her flowers untrampled spring,