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JOHN BANISTER TABB (1845-1909)

Tabb was born in Amelia County, Virginia, on 22 March, 1845. His education was obtained through private study. In 1862 he became captain's clerk on the Confederate blockade-runner, R. E. Lee, and two years later he was taken prisoner by a Union vessel. He was sent to the same prison (Point Lookout) as was Sidney Lanier, and there the two became firm friends. Tabb's deepest interests were poetry and music, and it was Lanier's flute-playing that drew them together. After his release Tabb studied music in Baltimore, and later became a teacher at Racine College, Wisconsin. Later still he underwent a course of study at St. Charles College, Ellicott City, Maryland, and at St. Mary's Seminary, Baltimore, and in 1884 he was ordained a priest of the Roman Catholic Church. He continued, however, his work as a teacher, returning to St. Charles College and holding a professorship of literature there until his death in 1909. From his early youth he had suffered from a weakness of the eyes which was incurable, and during the last three years of his life he was totally blind.

Tabb's production of poetry was small in its amount, and his poems, besides, are almost invariably short, often quatrains. Moreover, the range of his interests was small. These are the familiar signs of the minor poet, and the classification need not be disputed. But Tabb had the true poet's searching eye for the unseen meanings lying beneath the variegated, ever-changing appearances of the world, and the brevity of his poems is not caused by paucity of matter, but rather by the severe compression of his utterance. It has been claimed, not without reason, that Tabb achieved beauties beyond the reach of his friend Lanier, and certainly he was the finer workman of the two, and had the deeper insight. He was not a great poet, but he was a true one, and he deserves to be read and remembered. He privately printed a few poems in 1883. Later volumes were: Poems (1894), Lyrics (1897), Child Verse (1899), Later Lyrics (1902), and Later Poems (1910).

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THE PILGRIM

WHEN, but a child, I wandered hence,
Another child-sweet Innocence,
My sister-went with me:
But I have lost her, and am fain
To seek her in the home again
Where we were wont to be.

AN INTERVIEW

I SAT with chill December Beside the evening fire. "And what do you remember," I ventured to inquire, "Of seasons long forsaken?" He answered in amaze, "My age you have mistaken: I've lived but thirty days."

ANTICIPATION

THE master scans the woven score
Of subtle harmonies, before
A note is stirred;

And Nature now is pondering
The tidal symphony of Spring,
As yet unheard.

DEUS ABSCONDITUS My God has hid Himself from me Behind whatever else I see; Myself the nearest mystery— As far beyond my grasp as He.

And yet, in darkest night, I know, While lives a doubt-discerning glow, That larger lights above it throw These shadows in the vale below.

FANCY

A BOAT unmoored, wherein a dreamer lies, The slumberous waves low-lisping of a land

Where Love, forever with unclouded eyes, Goes, wed with wandering Music, hand in hand.

THE VOYAGER

COLUMBUS-LIKE, I sailed into the night, The sunset gold to find:

Alas! 'twas but the phantom of the light! Life's Indies lay behind!

ADRIFT

THE calm horizon circles only me,

The center of its measureless embrace -
A bubble on the bosom of the sea,
Itself a bubble in the bound of space.

MY SECRET

'Tis not what I am fain to hide,

That doth in deepest darkness dwell. But what my tongue hath often tried, Alas, in vain, to tell.

GEORGE WASHINGTON CABLE (1844-1925)

Cable was born in New Orleans on 12 October, 1844. His mother was a woman of New Eng land ancestry, a fact not without significance in view of some of Cable's characteristics and of his dominant interests in later life. His father died when he was fourteen, whereupon his period of schooling ceased, as he had at once to earn what he could in order to help with the support of the family. Reading, however, was not impossible, and the youth, studious by inclination, read widely in both English and French literature, while his days were spent, until the Civil War began, in marking boxes at the New Orleans custom house. During the War he became a Confederate soldier. Upon his return to civil life in 1865 he found employment with the New Orleans Picayune, but discovered after a short time that newspaper reporting was not his vocation. He then, after an attempt to become a surveyor and a period of illness, entered the office of a firm of cotton factors, and remained an accountant there until 1879. Meanwhile he had continued to read, and had steeped himself in the history and traditions of his city and in the distinctive manners, social customs, habits of thought, language, and even architecture of the creoles of Louisiana. And in 1872 Edward King, then traveling through the South in search of material for papers which he was contributing to Scribner's Monthly, had made Cable's acquaintance, had perceived his possibilities, and had secured from him the promise of a contribution to the Monthly. In the autumn of 1873 Cable's first story, 'Sieur George, had appeared in Scribner's Monthly, to be followed at intervals by the other tales which were republished in 1879 in the volume entitled Creole Days. The tales made no pronounced impression upon the public until they were collected in this book. Then, however, they immediately aroused widespread and deep interest, and Cable suddenly found himself a nationally known figure. It was soon recognized, indeed, that, whatever else he might do, Cable had in Creole Days achieved so distinctive and remarkable a performance that his fame in America was secure. For in these tales of the vanishing French civilization of Louisiana he had opened up to readers a new world, full of romantic charm, highly picturesque, and, though exotic, at the same time real and living and a portion of the American scene. It was as if Americans had suddenly discovered that the background of their civilization was more rich and varied and, in a word, interesting than they had realized. And in this respect Cable's achievement was similar in character to Bret Harte's in the volume entitled The Luck of Roaring Camp-with the important difference, however, that Cable was the master of a finer style, had a more delicate eye, and was by far the sincerer artist of the two.

So eager was the reception of Creole Days that Cable at once gave his whole time to literary work. He published The Grandissimes in 1880, a novel in which he amplified his picture of creole life, but also showed, despite the very real interest of the book, that his powers were most congenially exercised in the short tale. In Madame Delphine (1881), however, he achieved another unquestioned masterpiece, the tale being as charming and as perfect in style and tone and form as any of those in Creole Days. But with this slender volume Cable's greatest work, that which is responsible for his secure fame, was done. In 1884 he removed to Northampton, Massachusetts, where he continued to live for the rest of his life, and the changed environment, coupled probably with self-consciousness induced by his fame, made it impossible for him again to capture the style and the charm and interest of his earlier work. He wrote many articles, about the creoles, about the condition of the South, and about the negro question, and he interested himself largely in social work in Northampton, attempting to broaden and enrich the lives of wage-earners. This was useful and praiseworthy work, but it took him far from the atmosphere as well as the scene of his first books, and only one of the many volumes of fiction which he published after 1884-Lovers of Louisiana (1918)—shows any genuine return of his earlier powers. He died on 31 January, 1925.

The titles and dates of Cable's volumes, other than those which already have been mentioned, follow: The Creoles of Louisiana (1884), The Silent South (1885), Doctor Sevier (1885), Bonaventure, A Prose Pastoral of Louisiana (1888), The Negro Question (1890), John March, Southerner (1894), Strong Hearts (1899), The Cavalier (1901), Bylow Hill (1902), Kincaid's Battery (1908), Posson Jone and Père Raphael (1909), The Amateur Garden (1914), Gideon's Band (1914), and The Flower of the Chapdelaines (1918).

BELLES DEMOISELLES

PLANTATION 1

THE original grantee was Count assume the name to be De Charleu; the old Creoles never forgive a public mention. He was the French king's commissary. One day, called to France to explain the lucky accident of the commissariat having burned down with his account-books inside, he left his wife, a Choctaw Comptesse, behind.

Arrived at court, his excuses were accepted, and that tract granted him where afterwards stood Belles Demoiselles Plantation. A man cannot remember every thing! In a fit of forgetfulness he married a French gentlewoman, rich and beautiful, and "brought her out." However, "All's well that ends well"; a famine had been in the colony, and the Choctaw Comptesse had starved, leaving nought but a half-caste orphan family lurking on the edge of the settlement, bearing our French gentlewoman's own new name, and being mentioned in Monsieur's will.

And the new Comptesse-she tarried but a twelve-month, left Monsieur a lovely son, and departed, led out of this vain world by the swamp-fever.

From this son sprang the proud Creole family of De Charleu. It rose straight up, up, up, generation after generation, tall, branchless, slender, palm-like; and finally, in the time of which I am to tell, flowered with all the rare beauty of a century-plant, in Artemise, Innocente, Felicité, the twins Marie and Martha, Leontine and little Septima; the seven beautiful daughters for whom their home had been fitly named Belles Demoiselles.

The Count's grant had once been a long Pointe, round which the Mississippi used to whirl, and seethe, and foam, that it was horrid to behold. Big whirlpools would open and wheel about in the savage eddies under the low bank, and close up again, and others open, and spin, and disappear. Great circles of muddy surface would boil up from hundreds of feet below, and gloss over, and seem to float away, sink, come back again under water, and with only a soft hiss surge up again, and again drift off, and vanish.

Reprinted with the permission of Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons from Old Creole Days (1879).

Every few minutes the loamy bank would tip down a great load of earth upon its besieger, and fall back a foot,-sometimes a yard,— and the writhing river would press after, until at last the Pointe was quite swallowed up, and the great river glided by in a majestic curve, and asked no more; the bank stood fast, the "caving" became a forgotten misfortune, and the diminished grant was a long, sweeping, willowy bend, rustling with miles of sugar-cane.

Coming up the Mississippi in the sailing craft of those early days, about the time one first could descry the white spires of the old St. Louis Cathedral, you would be pretty sure to spy, just over to your right under the levee, Belles Demoiselles Mansion, with its broad veranda and red painted cypress roof, peering over the embankment, like a bird in the nest, half hid by the avenue of willows which one of the departed De Charleus, he that married a Marot,-had planted on the levee's crown.

The house stood unusually near the river, facing eastward, and standing four-square, with an immense veranda about its sides, and a flight of steps in front spreading broadly downward, as we open arms to a child. From the veranda nine miles of river were seen; and in their compass, near at hand, the shady garden full of rare and beautiful flowers; farther away broad fields of cane and rice, and the distant quarters of the slaves, and on the horizon everywhere a dark belt of cypress forest.

The master was old Colonel De Charleu,-Jean Albert Henri Joseph De CharleuMarot, and "Colonel" by the grace of the first American governor. Monsieur, he would not speak to any one who called him "Colonel," was a hoary-headed patriarch. His step was firm, his form erect, his intellect strong and clear, his countenance classic, serene, dignified, commanding, his manners courtly, his voice musical,-fascinating. He had had his vices, all his life; but had borne them, as his race do, with a serenity of conscience and a cleanness of mouth that left no outward blemish on the surface of the gentleman. He had gambled in Royal Street, drunk hard in Orleans Street, run his adversary through in the dueling-ground at Slaughter-house Point, and danced and quareled at the St. Philippe

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