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4 TV 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.