Transcriber’s Note: New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain. TROTWOOD’S MONTHLY VOL. II. NASHVILLE, TENN., APRIL, 1906. NO. 1 Contents HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF THE SOUTH John Trotwood Moore LORENA, AND HOW IT CAME TO BE WRITTEN Susie Gentry A POEM THAT WILL LIVE Ex-Gov. Hogg of Texas AGRICULTURE THE BASIS OF ALL WEALTH William Dennison THE WOOING OF BESSY L. M. Montgomery I John Trotwood Moore HISTORY OF THE HALS Trotwood CONTENT (poem) Sarah D. Hobart THE ECONOMIC VALUE OF BIRDS John H. Wallace, Jr. LUTHER BURBANK (poem) E. E. Sweetland LADY CORNELIA’S SPINET Mary Polk Wynn OLD COTTON GIN (poem) John Trotwood Moore WITH OUR WRITERS WITH TROTWOOD BUSINESS DEPARTMENT Copyright 1906 by Trotwood Publishing Co. All rights reserved. Entered as second-class matter Sept. 8, 1905, at the Postoffice at Nashville, Tenn., under the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. Historic Highways of the South PAPER IV—THE ROAD TO THE HERMITAGE BY JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE The story of Andrew Jackson and his famous home. And if the telling of it take more than one paper, be not surprised, for after an hundred and thirty years of the Republic—and a thousand of progress—this man stands one in the great trilogy—Washington, Jackson and Lincoln. The others have been mostly figureheads with the usual sprinkling of fools. To know a man we must first know the dirt he digs into. To grasp his character, the secret influences of his life, we must see the trees that grew above him, the flowers at his feet, the pictures God made for him, in hill and river, in the storm cloud, in the thunder shaking his fields at night, in the grass and grain which came, the fruit of his hand. For these go into the man. When we shall have seen the Hermitage and the breadth of its fields and hills we shall begin to understand the broadness of the man, for a man’s home is the effect of the cause of that which is in him. When we shall have seen this country he lived and died in, so bountifully endowed, lying between the Cumberland and the Stone, fit for a king to fight for, we shall understand why Jackson loved it, fought for it—why patriotism burned as a religion in his soul. To him it was the Union—of the home he killed Dickinson for, that he might live there untouched by slander; of the country he killed the British for, that it might be the great republic of all ages. And so, when John C. Calhoun shouted nullification he might as well have nailed a red flag to the horn of the bull of the valley.