(The following account of Florence, written two years after the town was laid off, will be interesting to all.—Ed.)
Florence is one of the new towns of this beautiful and rapid rising State. It is happily situated for commerce at the head of steamboat navigation, on the north side of the Tennessee River, in the county of Lauderdale, five miles below the port of the Mussel Shoals, and ten miles from the line of the State of Tennessee.
Florence is to be the great emporium of the northern part of this State. I do not see why it should not; it has a great capital and is patronized by the wealthiest gentlemen in the State. It has a great State at its back; another in front, and a noble river on all sides, the steamboats pouring every necessary and every luxury into its lap. Its citizens, bold, enterprising, and industrious—much more so than any I have seen in the State.
Many large and elegant brick buildings are already built here, (although it was sold out, but two years since), and frame houses are putting up daily. It is not uncommon to see a framed building begun in the morning and finished by night.
Several respectable mercantile houses are established here, and much business is done on commission also. The site of the town is beautifully situated on an eminence, commanding an extensive view of the surrounding country and Tennessee River, from which it is three-quarters of a mile distant. It has two springs of excellent and never failing water. Florence has communication by water with Mississippi, Missouri, Louisiana, Indiana, Illinois, Ohio, Kentucky, West Pennsylvania, West Virginia and East Tennessee, and very shortly will communicate with the Eastern States, through the great canal. The great military road that leads from Nashville to New Orleans, by way of Lake Ponchartrain, passes through this town, a number of people who travel through it, and the numerous droves of horses from the lower country, for market, are incredible. Florence contains one printing press, and publishes a paper weekly called the Florence Gazette; it is ably patronized, and edited by one of our first men, and said to be the best paper in the State. Florence is inhabited by people from almost all parts of Europe and the United States; here are English, Irish, Welsh, Scotch, French, Dutch, Germans and Grecians. The first Greek I ever saw was in this town. I conversed with him on the subject of his country, but found him grossly ignorant. He butchers for the town, and has taken to his arms a mullatto woman for a wife. He very often takes an airing on horseback of a Sunday afternoon, with his wife, riding by his side, and both arrayed in shining costumes.
The river at Florence is upwards of five hundred yards wide; it is ferried in a large boat worked by four horses, and crosses in a few minutes.
There are two large and well kept taverns in Florence, and several doggeries. A doggery is a place where spiritous liquors are sold; and where men get drunk, quarrel and fight, as often as they choose, but where there is nothing to eat for man or beast. Did you ever hear anything better named. “I swear!” said a Yankee pedler, one day, with both his eyes bunged up, “that are doggery be rightly named. Never seed the like on’t. If I get to hum agin it’l be a nice man’l catch me in these here parts. Awfullest place one could be at.” It appeared the inmates of the doggery enticed him under pretense of buying his wares, and forced him to drink; and then forced him to fight; but the poor little Yankee was sadly beaten. Not content with blackening his eyes, they overturned his tin cart, and scattered his tins to the forewinds, frightened his horse and tormented his very soul out about lasses, etc. He was a laughable object, but to hear his dialect in laying off the law, was a complete farce, particularly when Pat came to invite him into the same doggery to drink friends: “I ben’t a dog to go into that are dog house.”
The people, you see, know a thing or two, here; they call things by their right names. But to proceed. There may be about one hundred dwelling houses and stores, a court house, and several warehouses in Florence. The latter are, however, on the river. One of the longest buildings I ever saw is in Florence. It was built by a company of gentlemen, and is said to have cost ninety thousand dollars, and is not yet finished. The proprietors, being of this place, are men of immense wealth, and are pushing their capital with great foresight and activity. For industry and activity, Florence outstrips all the northern towns in the State. More people travel this road than all our western roads put together. I was just going to conclude, when an old German passing through my room, from that of my landlady’s, made me laugh, in reply to something uttered by the lady, he said: “Poverty was no crime, when came honestly by it.”
More of Florence. I observed in my last, the surprising wealth of this place. The principal gentlemen of wealth are General Coffee, James Jackson, Esq., Major McKinley (now a Senator in Congress from Alabama), and Messrs. Simpson and Gaither. Of these J. Jackson is said to be not only wealthy, but the wealthiest man in the State. There are, however, many others quite easy in their circumstances. General Coffee, and J. Jackson live out of town. Major McKinley lives in Florence, and is reputed to be the first lawyer in the three States. He is a stout, fine looking man; of easy manners, as all gentlemen are; and his dwelling contains more taste and splendor, by one-half, than I ever saw in my whole life put together. But this is nothing. Mrs. McKinley, the elegance of her manners, and the sweetness of her conversation, joined with her interesting children, completely disconcerted me. Everything in the house had, to me, the appearance of enchantment. I never was in such a paradise before. Mrs. McKinley looked as though she had dropped from above. I never was more confounded. And the children. They are truly a pattern. The dear little things were in the nursery, and hearing there was a stranger in the parlor, prevailed on the nurse to open the door, a few inches, that they might see who was there, but they were instantly upbraided by their mother. Make these a pattern for your children, if you should have any. I begged admission for the dear creatures, and they were admitted upon condition of good behavior. They were the handsomest children I ever beheld, and I was so completely fascinated by their manners, I forget every thing else. Mrs. McKinley informed me she was from Philadelphia, and was acquainted with Mrs. Dr. Charles Lewis.
All the ladies of Florence excel in the domestic virtues. No gadding abroad. They demean themselves with that modesty and attention to their domestic affairs, beyond any ladies I have seen in the State. Mrs. Coffee (a niece of Mrs. General Jackson), comes to preaching in a plain bonnet and calico dress. General Coffee was here since I arrived, and appears to be much reduced since I saw him in Huntsville. His constitution was much injured by the hardships he suffered in the army. I was never in speaking of James Jackson. It is said he is a native of Ireland. Mrs. Ward, Mrs. Gibson and Mrs. Southworth, the printer’s wife, and several others, are charming women. Captain Gibson, a son of the brave Colonel Gibson, of Tennessee, is one of the most amiable men on earth.