In a recent criticism of a Western poet the reviewer remarked that whatever the poet’s shortcomings might be, his descriptions of homely rural life must strike a responsive chord in the hearts of his readers all over the country, carrying them back to scenes and phases of life with which in youth they were familiar. Now, as a matter of fact, not a single one of these allusions could awaken an answering echo in a Southern breast! Descriptions of farm life with its round of labors performed by the fanner’s own hands, might be interesting reading enough to the Southerner, but the interest would be that of novelty not of familiarity. For never in the days of his youth had he himself “driven the plough,” or joined as a worker in the jocund mirth of a “harvest home.” Neither would he recognize in the portraiture of the “village worthies” the companions of his own youth; and rustic wit and rustic manners were equally apart from his personal experiences. Not by any means that the lot of the Southern planter was always easier than that of the Northern farmer. Hard work most generally fell to his share. Early to rise and late to rest, he toiled as arduously and as unremittingly as his Northern brother, but the toil was of a different sort. It consisted not in literally putting his own shoulder to the wheel, but in training, directing, and supervising the labors of others, and often (hardest and most harassing work of all) in contriving how to supply the wants of his numerous dependants. Supreme autocrat within his own domain, the very consciousness of his power created in him a sense of responsibility, which produced a strength and gravity of character and a certain dignity of bearing. Born to control, from his cradle the Southern land owner was trained to regard himself as the natural protector, provider, and friend of the weak and the helpless. Thus, while the environment of the Northern farmer was calculated to make him think first of his own personal needs and his duty to himself, that of the Southern planter as naturally impressed upon him the duty he owed to those by whom he was surrounded. Such was his work. His pleasures consisted chiefly in field-sports—hunting, fishing, riding, boating—he was usually a keen sportsman and a capital rider and sometimes, though not so frequently, a great reader as well. If for the most part not scholars, however, Southern men could at least generally lay claim to a collegiate education. And whether it was due to vague recollections of classic lore, and lingering memories of Alma Mater, or to the tone of the home atmosphere by which they were surrounded (which is, after all, the truly effective educating influence), certain it is that, as a rule, their manners were polished and their modes of expression those of the “classes,” not of the “masses.”