CHARLES H. SMITH.
Charles H. Smith (Bill Arp) is one of the oldest of living humorists. Under thenom de plumeof Bill Arp he has given the world some very rich things in the way of humor, and the columns of the Atlanta (Georgia) Constitution, have, during the past few years, teemed with his witty, sparkling letters. Bill Arp is known all over the South, and in many of the Gulf States his reputation is equal to that of Mark Twain.
Mr. Smith lives in a retired manner at his country-seat near Cartersville, Georgia. From this rural retreat, he writes me of his life as follows:
“Speaking as though I was another fellow, let me say that—Major Charles H. Smith was born in Lawrenceville, Georgia, June 15, 1826—that is to say, the ‘major’ part was not born then, though I suppose he was born all at once, but the title, the prefix, the dignity I mean, wasn’t born to him until June, 1861, when he was knighted by Jeff Davis, and assigned to the staff of Colonel Barton, with aspirations more sanguinethan sanguinary. The Major used to be a ‘peace colonel,’ but was reduced to a war major, for you must know that these peace colonels abounded in the land. There was no harm in them, and the title signified only a patriotic devotion to the political fortunes of the governor—that is, the commander in chief.“You must know, if you do not, that Georgia boasted of an army and navy in the good old times. The navy was altogether imaginary, picturesque, esthetic, and did not muster nor parade; but the army was a fact, and was mobilized twice a year, not in corpses, or cores, or whatever you call them, but in brigades and regiments, in each county, and as the commander in chief could not be in every county at the same time to review his ‘meelish,’ he had to attend by proxy, therefore he appointed a proxy in every county, with the rank of colonel. This honor when conferred was intended as a kind of mucilage that cemented the donee to the donor, and the donee was expected to cry ‘encore’ if the donor wanted to be re-elected to the gubernatorial chair. Parties were pretty equally balanced in Georgia, and every time we had a new governor we had a new set of colonels, say an hundred or more, on the average, every two or four years. This is how we boasted of so many peace colonels, for when a man oncegot the title he kept it, no matter if he didn’t keep the office. All this is to explain how Major Smith came to be a colonel under Governor Howell Cobb, and was afterwards reduced to his present rank. He says he really prefers the minor title to the major, for it is based on a war footing, and besides, the ladies have a way of saying ‘major’ with a softer and sweeter inflection than they used to say colonel.“The Major was born and bred as usual, but his singular parentage is to be made a note of. His father was a Massachusetts man, and his mother a native of Charleston. This combination was happy enough in itself, but developed in the ‘boy’ a disposition to fits of passion, on which occasions he used to bite himself and bump his head against the door, but his good mother always said he couldn’t help it, for it was South Carolina fighting Massachusetts.“The Major’s father was a merchant, and as the boy grew up he trained him to trade and traffic behind the counter. Later in life he sent him to a manual labor institute, where the boys were expected to pay for their board by working in the field three hours every day. Presumptuous expectation! It generally took the boys about three hours to find their tools and get ready for work. Link pins were stolen, and by the time the wagonreached the field the wheel came off. When the overseer was watching one squad another slipped off to the creek to go in bathing, and so in due time the school collapsed. The ‘boy’ was next initiated into the mysteries of riding the mail to a neighboring village. This was not considered a very elegant or aristocratic occupation. The steed was a kind of equine dromedary, and jogged along at his leisure without regard to whip or spur. The monotony of this employment became very monotonous to the boy, and gave him abundant leisure for mental exercise.“There is nothing romantic or thrilling about riding an old-fashioned mail—nothing like the long express across the plains that Mark Twain has so bewitchingly described in Roughing It; no fleet-footed mustang, no ’ostler standing with another ready at the station, no running against time, no passing returning post-boys with a smile and a salute, no nothing but an occasional old woman coming to the fence with a pair of socks she wanted to send to town to exchange for indigo or copperas, and as she looked over her spectacles inquired ‘Are you the mail boy?’ The youth sometimes looked smilingly at her as he replied: ‘Why—yes—mam, you didn’t think I was a female boy, did you?’“In due time the boy graduated at this business,and his father sent him to college. He had as good a time there as is usual. He made many pleasant acquaintances, some lasting friendships, and a love or two, and at the close of his career married a daughter of Judge Hutchins. He next studied law with the judge, and after his admission to the bar, removed to Rome, Georgia, and founded a partnership with Judge Underwood, a gentleman noted for his ability, both as a judge and a statesman. This partnership was pleasant and profitable. It was obliged to be profitable as a matter of necessity, for it continued until there were a score of children in the two families, and paternal ancestors knew but little of economy, or its prudence of laying up money for a rainy day.“Prior to the war Major Smith had frequently indulged his inclinations for humorous and critical observations on men and measures, but it was not until the spring of 1861 that his peculiar genius found a field rich enough to harvest in. The famous proclamation of President Lincoln, ordering the people of the rebellious South to ‘cease their turbulent demonstrations and to disband their military companies, and disperse and retire to their homes, within thirty days, under penalty of being arrested and tried for treason,’ seemed very ludicrous and absurd to the hot bloods of the South, who really felt like they could whip all theworld and the rest of mankind, and so the Major burlesqued it in his way as though he was an unlettered countryman who wanted to disperse but couldn’t. He said he ‘had done his darndest to disperse, but the boys were so hot that when you throwed water on ’em they sizzed, and that was the way they was making up their companies.’ If a boy ‘sizzed’ they took him, and if he didn’t, they didn’t, and he respectfully asked ‘Mr. Linkhorn’ for a little more time.“The Major read his manuscript to two or three friends in his office, and at the conclusion noticed that the original Bill Arp stood at the door a listener.“Bill’s merry eyes seemed to enjoy it, and he came forward with a query, ‘Colonel,’ said he, ‘are you gwine to print that?’“‘I think I will, Bill,’ said he.“‘What name are you gwine to put to it?’ said Bill.“‘I don’t know, Bill,’ said he.“‘Well, put mine, by golly; for them’s my sentiments,’ said Bill, and so Bill Arp’s name was put to please him, and it was thus that thenom de plumewas acquired. This same Bill Arp kept a ferry near Rome, and was so fond of hearing lawyers talk that he would slip off from his ferry during court week and stay all day in the court house,or he would frequent their office just to get into good company. He was wholly unlettered, could neither read nor write, but had a good mother wit of his own, and was never considered an interloper by any sociable crowd. He was wont to say that every poor man ought to be tackled on to a rich one; that he belonged to Colonel Johnston, and didn’t want a better master. He was asked one day who he was going to vote for, and says he: ‘I don’t know, till I see Colonel Johnston, and he won’t know, till he see Judge Underwood, and the Judge won’t know till he hears from Alexander Stephens, but who in the dickens tells Alec Stephens, I’ll be dogged if I know.’“Bill Arp joined the army with the Major, in the same command, on June 8, 1861. Bill lost two sons in the conflict, but got through safe himself, and lived until 1878. Peace to his ashes.“In 1866 Major Smith was unanimously chosen to represent his district as State Senator, and was made chairman of the financial committee. This is the only official dignity he has borne, and this was wholly unsought. In 1877 he retired from his profession to the more peaceful and congenial pursuit of tilling the soil, and seems extremely happy in his communion with nature and the quiet seclusion of his family from the follies and cares of society life. He has ten living children, and hasa lot of grandchildren coming on, whose greatest delight is to go to grandpa’s and play in the branch and catch minnows, ride the colts, and hunt hens’ nests, and fish all the day long. The Major says a grandparent has no business living in town, on a half-acre lot, for it is no pleasure to the grandchildren to visit him and grandma in a pent up Utica or a Rome either. They want latitude and longitude, so let grandparents move into the country, where the little chaps can come and go, and spread out and ‘holler,’ and be happy. Solomon says that children’s children are the glory of a man, and there is nothing better to work for than glory.”In a recent letter to the author of this volume Major Smith tells a funny story in his own peculiar style. He says:“Speaking of children, reminds me of Dr. Johnston, and so I must tell you that I spent a few days last winter with General Loring, who was born and bred a soldier. He was in the cavalry service in the far West with Fremont and Carson all his youth, next in the confederate army as a major-general, and next as chief of the Khedive’s army in Egypt. He returned laden with glory and honors, and fine clothes. He had his servant man to dress in the Khedive’s jeweled suit for my inspection. He showed me his portfolio of splendid engravings, and photographs of all the notablethings in the old world. Every few pages we would come to the photo of a beautiful woman, and he would carelessly remark: ‘Only a lady friend of mine.’ The General is a bachelor of some sixty years, and I so much admired his conversation, I ventured to say that he ought to write a book of his travels and exploits, and reminded him what Dr. Johnston said to Boswell: ‘Every man owes something to posterity, a debt that he can and ought to pay. He should do one or more of three things. Plant a tree, the shade of which, or the fruit of which would pleasure him, or write a book, the sentiments of which would benefit him, or—get a child that would be an honor to the human race.’“‘Now, General,’ said I, ‘Have you ever written a book?’“‘No,’ said he.“‘Have you ever planted a tree?’“‘Never,’ said he.“‘Have you ever begotten a child?’“‘None to speak of,’ said he.”
“Speaking as though I was another fellow, let me say that—Major Charles H. Smith was born in Lawrenceville, Georgia, June 15, 1826—that is to say, the ‘major’ part was not born then, though I suppose he was born all at once, but the title, the prefix, the dignity I mean, wasn’t born to him until June, 1861, when he was knighted by Jeff Davis, and assigned to the staff of Colonel Barton, with aspirations more sanguinethan sanguinary. The Major used to be a ‘peace colonel,’ but was reduced to a war major, for you must know that these peace colonels abounded in the land. There was no harm in them, and the title signified only a patriotic devotion to the political fortunes of the governor—that is, the commander in chief.
“You must know, if you do not, that Georgia boasted of an army and navy in the good old times. The navy was altogether imaginary, picturesque, esthetic, and did not muster nor parade; but the army was a fact, and was mobilized twice a year, not in corpses, or cores, or whatever you call them, but in brigades and regiments, in each county, and as the commander in chief could not be in every county at the same time to review his ‘meelish,’ he had to attend by proxy, therefore he appointed a proxy in every county, with the rank of colonel. This honor when conferred was intended as a kind of mucilage that cemented the donee to the donor, and the donee was expected to cry ‘encore’ if the donor wanted to be re-elected to the gubernatorial chair. Parties were pretty equally balanced in Georgia, and every time we had a new governor we had a new set of colonels, say an hundred or more, on the average, every two or four years. This is how we boasted of so many peace colonels, for when a man oncegot the title he kept it, no matter if he didn’t keep the office. All this is to explain how Major Smith came to be a colonel under Governor Howell Cobb, and was afterwards reduced to his present rank. He says he really prefers the minor title to the major, for it is based on a war footing, and besides, the ladies have a way of saying ‘major’ with a softer and sweeter inflection than they used to say colonel.
“The Major was born and bred as usual, but his singular parentage is to be made a note of. His father was a Massachusetts man, and his mother a native of Charleston. This combination was happy enough in itself, but developed in the ‘boy’ a disposition to fits of passion, on which occasions he used to bite himself and bump his head against the door, but his good mother always said he couldn’t help it, for it was South Carolina fighting Massachusetts.
“The Major’s father was a merchant, and as the boy grew up he trained him to trade and traffic behind the counter. Later in life he sent him to a manual labor institute, where the boys were expected to pay for their board by working in the field three hours every day. Presumptuous expectation! It generally took the boys about three hours to find their tools and get ready for work. Link pins were stolen, and by the time the wagonreached the field the wheel came off. When the overseer was watching one squad another slipped off to the creek to go in bathing, and so in due time the school collapsed. The ‘boy’ was next initiated into the mysteries of riding the mail to a neighboring village. This was not considered a very elegant or aristocratic occupation. The steed was a kind of equine dromedary, and jogged along at his leisure without regard to whip or spur. The monotony of this employment became very monotonous to the boy, and gave him abundant leisure for mental exercise.
“There is nothing romantic or thrilling about riding an old-fashioned mail—nothing like the long express across the plains that Mark Twain has so bewitchingly described in Roughing It; no fleet-footed mustang, no ’ostler standing with another ready at the station, no running against time, no passing returning post-boys with a smile and a salute, no nothing but an occasional old woman coming to the fence with a pair of socks she wanted to send to town to exchange for indigo or copperas, and as she looked over her spectacles inquired ‘Are you the mail boy?’ The youth sometimes looked smilingly at her as he replied: ‘Why—yes—mam, you didn’t think I was a female boy, did you?’
“In due time the boy graduated at this business,and his father sent him to college. He had as good a time there as is usual. He made many pleasant acquaintances, some lasting friendships, and a love or two, and at the close of his career married a daughter of Judge Hutchins. He next studied law with the judge, and after his admission to the bar, removed to Rome, Georgia, and founded a partnership with Judge Underwood, a gentleman noted for his ability, both as a judge and a statesman. This partnership was pleasant and profitable. It was obliged to be profitable as a matter of necessity, for it continued until there were a score of children in the two families, and paternal ancestors knew but little of economy, or its prudence of laying up money for a rainy day.
“Prior to the war Major Smith had frequently indulged his inclinations for humorous and critical observations on men and measures, but it was not until the spring of 1861 that his peculiar genius found a field rich enough to harvest in. The famous proclamation of President Lincoln, ordering the people of the rebellious South to ‘cease their turbulent demonstrations and to disband their military companies, and disperse and retire to their homes, within thirty days, under penalty of being arrested and tried for treason,’ seemed very ludicrous and absurd to the hot bloods of the South, who really felt like they could whip all theworld and the rest of mankind, and so the Major burlesqued it in his way as though he was an unlettered countryman who wanted to disperse but couldn’t. He said he ‘had done his darndest to disperse, but the boys were so hot that when you throwed water on ’em they sizzed, and that was the way they was making up their companies.’ If a boy ‘sizzed’ they took him, and if he didn’t, they didn’t, and he respectfully asked ‘Mr. Linkhorn’ for a little more time.
“The Major read his manuscript to two or three friends in his office, and at the conclusion noticed that the original Bill Arp stood at the door a listener.
“Bill’s merry eyes seemed to enjoy it, and he came forward with a query, ‘Colonel,’ said he, ‘are you gwine to print that?’
“‘I think I will, Bill,’ said he.
“‘What name are you gwine to put to it?’ said Bill.
“‘I don’t know, Bill,’ said he.
“‘Well, put mine, by golly; for them’s my sentiments,’ said Bill, and so Bill Arp’s name was put to please him, and it was thus that thenom de plumewas acquired. This same Bill Arp kept a ferry near Rome, and was so fond of hearing lawyers talk that he would slip off from his ferry during court week and stay all day in the court house,or he would frequent their office just to get into good company. He was wholly unlettered, could neither read nor write, but had a good mother wit of his own, and was never considered an interloper by any sociable crowd. He was wont to say that every poor man ought to be tackled on to a rich one; that he belonged to Colonel Johnston, and didn’t want a better master. He was asked one day who he was going to vote for, and says he: ‘I don’t know, till I see Colonel Johnston, and he won’t know, till he see Judge Underwood, and the Judge won’t know till he hears from Alexander Stephens, but who in the dickens tells Alec Stephens, I’ll be dogged if I know.’
“Bill Arp joined the army with the Major, in the same command, on June 8, 1861. Bill lost two sons in the conflict, but got through safe himself, and lived until 1878. Peace to his ashes.
“In 1866 Major Smith was unanimously chosen to represent his district as State Senator, and was made chairman of the financial committee. This is the only official dignity he has borne, and this was wholly unsought. In 1877 he retired from his profession to the more peaceful and congenial pursuit of tilling the soil, and seems extremely happy in his communion with nature and the quiet seclusion of his family from the follies and cares of society life. He has ten living children, and hasa lot of grandchildren coming on, whose greatest delight is to go to grandpa’s and play in the branch and catch minnows, ride the colts, and hunt hens’ nests, and fish all the day long. The Major says a grandparent has no business living in town, on a half-acre lot, for it is no pleasure to the grandchildren to visit him and grandma in a pent up Utica or a Rome either. They want latitude and longitude, so let grandparents move into the country, where the little chaps can come and go, and spread out and ‘holler,’ and be happy. Solomon says that children’s children are the glory of a man, and there is nothing better to work for than glory.”
In a recent letter to the author of this volume Major Smith tells a funny story in his own peculiar style. He says:
“Speaking of children, reminds me of Dr. Johnston, and so I must tell you that I spent a few days last winter with General Loring, who was born and bred a soldier. He was in the cavalry service in the far West with Fremont and Carson all his youth, next in the confederate army as a major-general, and next as chief of the Khedive’s army in Egypt. He returned laden with glory and honors, and fine clothes. He had his servant man to dress in the Khedive’s jeweled suit for my inspection. He showed me his portfolio of splendid engravings, and photographs of all the notablethings in the old world. Every few pages we would come to the photo of a beautiful woman, and he would carelessly remark: ‘Only a lady friend of mine.’ The General is a bachelor of some sixty years, and I so much admired his conversation, I ventured to say that he ought to write a book of his travels and exploits, and reminded him what Dr. Johnston said to Boswell: ‘Every man owes something to posterity, a debt that he can and ought to pay. He should do one or more of three things. Plant a tree, the shade of which, or the fruit of which would pleasure him, or write a book, the sentiments of which would benefit him, or—get a child that would be an honor to the human race.’
“‘Now, General,’ said I, ‘Have you ever written a book?’
“‘No,’ said he.
“‘Have you ever planted a tree?’
“‘Never,’ said he.
“‘Have you ever begotten a child?’
“‘None to speak of,’ said he.”