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SEV. A. J. RYAN, Editor-
AUGUSTA, GA., APRIL 11, 1868.
A NATIONAL DAY.
Since the appearance of our article,
suggesting that a day be chosen and uni
versally observed throughout the South
in commemoration of our War for Inde
pendence, we have received many letters
from various portions of the country ap
proving the idea, and calling on us to
urge it again upon the attention ot the
people.
Will not the journals of the South
speak upon the subject ? Should we not
select a National festival ? The Puritans
observe the anniversary of the landing of
their most Christian forefathers at Plymouth
Rock. The anniversary of that Martyr’s
death in that theatre on Good-Friday even
ing is religiously observed by thousands.
And the people of the North have various
other festivals which they, more or less,
generally observe in commemoration of their
triumph over the South. Can we not—
ought we not—shall we not —have our
Festival ? Is the Cause we lost worthy
of a commemoration day ? Is our Past
worthy of that much honor ?
We ask again : What day shall it be ?
SOUTHERN WOMEN AND CHILDREN.
lie was lonely—that picket pacing up
and down just outside the lines of the
sleeping army, in the cold, starless mid
night, peering through the darkness, with
his hand upon his rifle’s trigger, ready to
give warning of the coming of the foe.
But lonelier than he was that mother, far
away in Louisiana, watching his sick
oliild, fttslocp in tlao ci ndle, while iln puor
little life ebbed slowly away. Ah! it
was well aimed—that minnie ball—it went
straight through the soldier’s heart ; he
gasped and fell heavily to the ground—
and his comrade heard him murmur
“my poor wife !’’ That was all—his
agony was brief. But her agony, when
the black margined letter came, who will
measure? Ah! he rests—the best rest
of all, in his grave ; but the life-long
sorrow is hers to bear. It was "rand to
O
see those thousands under the “ Stars
and Bars” march into battle ; it was
grander to see how nobly they contended ;
it was grandest of all to see how glorious
ly they died. But it was terrible to
think of the thousands of homes repre
sented on that battle-plain ; terrible to
think of the anguish of suspense in every
one of these homes; terrible to think of
the little children gathering around their
mothers, the very da}' their father died,
and asking with such simple pathos,
“ When will papa come ?’’ Ah ! dear
little children of the South !—and so many,
so many of you bereft of fathers—you
loved the Cause; you looked prouder
when you wore your little grey suits be
cause your fathers wore it; you made
your owu little offerings on the altar of
your country; and now when all is over
and all is lost, secure in your innocence,
you are not ashamed to call yourselves
little Rebels! You arc true when men
are false. Thank God ! you do not know
how to be expedient. May you always
remain so 1 You, at least, do not forget.
\ou will carry the memories of your
childhood into your manhood, and who
knows what these memories may accom
plish in the future ?
Qi- to their honor be it proclaimed,
while } et there was hope of triumph, the
women aud children of the South were as
true t<> us in their homes as our soldiers
in the field; and now, when the shadows
of defeat, unillumined by a single glimmer
of hope, have gathered over our desolate
land, they love the Lost Cause more
deeply and intensely than ever. To them
must we trust its memories. They will
stand guard around them. It is their
duty—and right nobly are they fulfilling
it. Therefore should we do them honor ;
therefore should their praises be recorded.
The brightest page of our history should
be dedicated to them. They are keeping
watch at the grave of the Lost Cause—
and they whisper to those who despair,
“ It is not dead—it only sleeps.”
LATE MILITARY ORDERS.
By some late orders, couched in very
bad English and issued from certain
quarters by sonic men whose claims to
respect rest, at least, on the merits of
right good muskets, we are warned of the
dangers of speech and the great benefits
of silence; and we are given to under
stand that there arc some political things
in this world, and a few military men be
sides, whose names must be kept holy
from the profanation of critics and criti
cism. Os course we only mention this in
order to approve it. Indeed, it is emi
nently just. Whatever cannot bear the
test of criticism, should not be criticized
Os conrse not. Besides, we of the South,
with our old-fashioned notions of right
and justice, are not at all competent to
pass judgment upon the new doctrines of
government lately introduced, and the
apostles of these new doctrines are so far
in advance of us, that we should only be
too glad that they have been sent to en
lighten us. 'Tis true that bayonets are
used as a means of enforcing the late
-teachings. But that is our fault. We
are so slow to learn new ideas—we are so
stubborn in clinging to old principles—
that our good masters rightly deemed it
necessary and salutary to use a little brute
force. Not that they are brutal—by no
means; a kindness like theirs the world
has never seen, and we shall certainly
never forget it. We are singularly thank
ful for the advice contained in late Orders
in regard to the virtue of silence ; though,
at the same time, we must confess that it
is a predominant fault of ours to speak
whenever w*e please, what we please, and
how we please. And one very singular
phase of that predominant fault is, that,
whenever we are threatened that is just
the time we are apt to say the most. Os
course, it is a very unfortunate defect, but
we cannot help it. Wo do not know
whether those men, who issued those
orders in very bad English, ever studied
the theology of silence. We fear they
have not—for it seems to us they take a
one-sided view of the subject. Now, we
were taught that while under some condi
lions silence would be a great virtue,
under others it would be a very great
crime. However, we would not be so
uncharitable as to imagine that those
Orders in very poor English commanded
silence when it would be criminal to be
silent. And. acting upon this interpreta
tion of those Orders in very bad English,
we, of course, intend to speak out firmly
and fearlessly whenever any right of our
dear Motherland and our noble adopted
State is assailed. If our interpretation
of the Orders is wrong, the bayonets, of
course, will kindly correct us.
BOOKS RECEIVED.
We have received “ Aner’s Return,”
or the Migrations of a Soul—an allegori
cal Talc —written in German, by Rev.
Alto S. Hoermann, 0. S. 8., and trans
lated by Rev. 1. A. Bergrath, formerly
of Tennessee, now Pastor of Pensacola’
Florida.
From the trashy works daily issuing
from the press, and not worth the time
wasted in reading them, we turn with a
feeling of relief to this volume. It is a
beautiful conception of a gifted mind.
Thoughtful, grave, serious, yet highly
imaginative, we read on and on, and with
an interest that increases till the last leaf
is turned, we follow the author in his de
scriptions of life and life’s trials. It is a
book to suggest and awaken thought, and
no one, we are sure, can read it without
benefit. The reverend translator, who j
is a dear friend of ours, and whose attain- !
ments as a scholar arc of a very high order,
has done his work well. He has pre
served the spirit of the original in his
translation, and we hope that this will not
be his last contribution to our literature.
The volume is neatly printed by P. O’Shea,
27, Barclay st., N. Y.
We insert in this issue of our journal a
chapter from the work which will give
our readers an idea of its spirit aud style.
For the Banner of the South.
A DAY TO THE MEMORY OF THE
“LOST CAUSE.”
lice. A. *l. Ryan, Editor Banner of the
South :
Having seen the “suggestion” offered
by vou with regard to the celebration of
a day sacred to the past, I would offer a
few words in reply, and .sincerely hope
that every one throughout our land will
respond to your suggestion. Allow one,
whose heart throbs with true devotion to
the land of our love, and clings with
fondness to the memories of the past, to
extend a hearty congratulation to the
“Banner of thf. South,” and to wish
for it the success it so well deserves. It
is needless to express the wish that it
may be a welcome visitor in every South
ern home ; for wherever the “Conquered
Banner” has been unfurled—the “Sword
of Robert Lee” unsheathed—or the sweet
‘.‘Prayer of the South” has been wafted
to Heaven, from the pale, pleading lips of
the children of the South, kneeling amid
the crushed altars and ruined shrines—
there will the “Banner of the South”
find a cordial greeting. And now a word
about the day to the memory of the
“Lost Cause.” Why may we not have
such a day ? Ah, why ? Will not ever}
heart throughout our land respond to the
question, until all shall be united in cele
brating a day in memory of the hallowed
deeds of the past ? Because we are a con
quered nation, wearing fetters we have
no power to resist, must the spirit of holy
love, pride, and patriotism, that has ever
burned in our bosoms, slumber in silence
now, or die amid the wrecks of ruin and
devastation that stand as sentinels keeping
watch over us : or living monuments
bearing their sad epitaph, and shoeing to
the world the record of a once proud and
glorious land ! No ! Liberty, though in
chains, yet looks with tender pity on her
children in bondage ; and we would, in
deed, be unworthy "of all the noble sacri
fices offered at her shrine, could we, for
one moment, forget the hallowed deeds
that cluster around the dark and bloody
record of the past. ’Tis true “grim vi
saged war has smoothed its wrinked
front,” but has its “wild alarms all been
turned to merry greetings?” “Our bruised
arms are yet hungup for monuments.”
The Banner, with its crimson bars, is
furled forever, and the bright swords
hang sheathed upon the wall. But a
thousand cherished memories are clinging
round them still, and the glorious deeds
of honor that brave hearts have won will
never let a defeated nation forget her
“Lost Cause,” or those who battled for it.
Yes, let us have a day in which wc may
unite in a festival to do honor to these
memories of the past; and though it may
be no day for loud rejoicings—no singing
of triumphant songs—no twining of vic
torious wreaths —yet may wc twine around
our desolate homes the cypress for the
brave that have fallen, and wreathe gar
lands of the evergreens that blossom
around the sacred shrines of our love, as
the fadeless tokens of our true devotion
to the South and her brave defenders!
And the “Spirit Banner,” that has “taken
its flight to greet the warrior’s soul,” will
keep its watch with them above the hal
lowed scene of our devotion. And thus,
year after year will these hallowed memo
ries glow deeper—purer—stronger—and
more lasting in our souls, until even those
whose lips have scarce learned to
breathe their blessingson our land, shall
witness these scenes of our devotion,
and, growing from youth to manhood,
help to kindle fresh fires of patriotism
upon the altar of our country! aud
leave to future generations a record at
which no Southern soul will blush. We
have one day throughout the South dedi-
cated to her fallen sous—a day in which
sad hearts gather around loved graves to
place the holy offering of flowers and
tears above the sod that covers the soldier
who sleeps in his old suit of grey.
And, oh! if the spirits from the world
above may mingle in the scenes of this
earth; surely must the portals of Heaven
be opened on that day, that the white
winged angels descending from the world
of fight may bear the tears and prayers
of stricken souls to the Great White
Throne, while the bleeding heart of the
South lies at the feet of God, with its
wounds to tell the story! and the vast
array of the army above stand at the
golden gates, looking down on the moving
mass below, as mothers, wives, m aidens,
wend their way to hallowed graves,
wreathing with their tears the offering of
sweet flowers that have blossomed to shed
their perfume there, sacred tokens to the
dead!
Then, while we have one day devoted
to our fallen brave, may we not have
another, in which we may show honor
both to the living and the dead. And
while wc twine our wreaths of mourning
for the loved and lost, for whom
-Tis far better, to-day, that they sleep ’neath the dust.
Than to live with the hopes of the patriot all cruahed,
let us twine wreaths of honor for our
living heroes, too, and remember the
fallen flag, though its stars and bars may
only look on from the gloom that en
velopes our past.
And what day so fit for an occasion
like this as the memorable 9th of April !
—the day of Lee’s surrender! —the day
when that noble hero and his gallant
warrior-band turned from the field where
our freedom was lost, and the swords of
our land and her banner were crossed
’neath the arms of the foe !
Yes, that day of all others seems more
fit for our tribute of devotion to the Lost
Cause—that day when the eyes of the
hero turned a sad gaze from the brave
little band around to the bleeding sacri
fices that strewed the last red field of
glory, and felt that a soldier’s farewell
to thorn was all that could stay the Crimson
flood, and save from the tate of their
fallen comrades the few brave hearts still
ready to meet death in the cause they
were defending. Then, the stern, strong
soul of the warrior spoke its tearful fare
well ! and the “Sword of Robert Lee,”
still bright and untarnished, but power
less, fell from the patriot hand that had
so faithfully wielded it.
The clay of surrouder!—Ah ! well might, each soldier,
The Btoutest, the bravest, he weeping to see
The muskets all falling! the dear “conquered banner'’
Drooping ’round the sheathed sword of our own
gallant Lee!
Yes, let us have a day to commemo
rate the glorious deeds of the past, and
let that be the day which will bear the
record, without one single stain to tell of
dishonor—the day which records as
brave a deed as hero ever did—the day
which required more true heroism and
stronger courage than fighting a hundred
battles— The Dag of Lee's Surrender !
When the fearless leader and his brave
band of followers
Turned from the held where such glory was won,
And felt that their all for their country was done !
To know that true patriot hearts were still there.
Yet their strength was too feeble the battle to dare!
Around them the swords of the foeman to see,
And feel their's were soul* that were born to be free
To yield up the swords they had wielded so long.
f)ecavse other weapon* around them were strong.
To loosen the grasp on the Danner of Bars!
And see it trail under the Stripes and the. Stars.
To the Flag of dear Dixie these hearts were still true,
But the swords to defend, it, alas ! were too few !
But never one stain of dishonor will be
On the. bra>'e bond who fought and surrendered with Ise.
Then, on this day may not we of the
South commemorate in a festival through
out our land the memories of our past
and the Lost Cause ; as will the sons of
Erin—though defeated and exiles—re
member the wrongs of Ireland, and gather
fresh love for the Emerald Isle from the
sunburst that gleams from her Banner of
Green ! though it may wave over them in
homes far from the briggt green isle in
the ocean.
Yes, let us have a day dedicated to
the memories of the past—and while we
tvrinc wreaths of honor for our loving
heroes, it will give fresh inspiration to
each soul ; and with this holy love for
them and our land wc will go and kneel
at the graves of those who sleep beneath
her sacred sod, and wreathe with flowers
and tears each hallowed mould. And
though we may bow amid crushed altars
nnd broken shrines —yet, proud of these
glorious memories, even from the deso
lation of our homes, we can point irom
the monumental shaft that marks the sol
dier’s grave, to the one that carries an
empty sleeve—and though our homes may
be desolate, and our land shorn of all its
glory, yet may we feel that these are still
the proud jewels left us. And while the
earth pillow’s a soldier’s head, or the soul
has a place wherein to enshrine sacred
memories, we will remember our brave
defenders —Both the Living and the
Dead! Carrie Bell Sinclair.
Milledgeeille. Ga., March, 1868.
The Better Half of a Great Man.—
To promote her husband’s interests, Mrs.
Benjamin Franklin attended shop, where
she bought rags, sewed pamphlets, folded
newspapers, and sold the few articles in
whicli he dealt, such as ink, papers, lamp
black, blanks, and other stationery. At
the same time she was an excellent house
keeper, and besides being economical her
self, taught her somewhat careless, disor
derly husband to be economical also.
Sometimes Franklin was clothed from
head to foot in garments which his wife
had both woven and made, and for a long
time she performed all the work of the
house without the assistance of a servant.
Nevertheless, she knew how to be liberal
at proper times. Franklin tells us that
for some ycar3 after marriage, his break
fast was bread and milk, which they ate
out of a two-penny earthern vessel, with a
pewter spoon ; but one morning, on going
(iown to breakfast, he found upon the
table a beautiful china bowl, from which
his bread and milk was steaming, with a
silver spoon by its side, which had cost
a sum equal in our currency to $lO.
When he expressed his astonishment at
this unwonted splendor, Mrs. Franklin
only remarked that she thought her hus
band deserved a silver spoon as much as
any of his neighbors. Franklin prospered
in his business until he became the famous
editor and flourishing printer in America,
which gave him the pleasure of relieving
his wife from the cares of business, and
enabling him to provide for her a spacious
and well-furnished abode She adorned
a high station as well as she had borne a
lowly one. and presided at her husband’s
liberal table as gracefully as when he ate
his breakfast of bread and milk from a
two-penny bowl.— Pa rtoris Life of Frank
lin.
Rosa Bonheur at Home. —Rosa Bon
hour has been named acndemicienne by
the Antwerp Institute. Honors richly
deserved are rapidly crowning the great
artist s career. In 1 < the Empress
drove from the palace of Fontainbleau
to present her. in person, with the star of
the Legion d’Honneur. M’lle Bonheur’s
country place is rather an extensive
farm than the ordinary residence of a
lady of her position. Every variety of
cow, sheep-px, goat and horse, arc to be
seen, not only on the surrounding lawn, but
crowding round their proprietor, who is
attired in a cloth blouse in winter, and
ruder garments apparently borrowed from
her brother, a stick in hand, and hat stuck
any way on a small but remarkably well
shaped head ; coiffe ala Titus, or,"in less
technical terms,the hair cut like a man’s.
The animals know her and follow her
about. She absolutely refu.ses to receive
any ordinary visitors. The following
anecdote has been related to me: A
friend of hers had a little girl of extraor
dinary beauty, to whom M’lle Bonheur
was much attached. The child, however,
acquired a habit, in which she persisted]
of making a series of disfiguring grima
ces, constantly putting her fingers in her
mouth, puffing out her cheeks, and even
bringing her tongue into play in the ser
vice of her peculiar line of disobedience.
Naturally, every means of care was tried,
but in vain. The child only grimaced
ttie more. M’lle Bonheur, unknown to
her, sketched each separate contortion,
adding a comic expression to the features]
but perfectly preserving the likeness!
The sketches were bound in an album,
and presented without any observation to
the delinquent, who turned over the
sketches in silence, and was never seen to
grimace again.
LeClear, the eminent portrait painter,
intends to forma gallery of noted literary
men and statesmen. Yinnie Ream is
commissioned by the Legislature to exe
cute two marble statues of the late Gen.
Henry Hodge and J. B. Doty, early Gov
ernors of Wisconsin.
Many ot the best illustrations in the
“Riverside” and “Our Young Folks,” are
from the pencil of Miss Gibbons, of New
York.