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VOL. I.
OUR SOUTHERN DEAD.
WHITTEN BY FATHER ABRAM J. RYAN, FOR THE
MEMORIAL ASSOCIATION OF FREDERICKSBURG, VA.
Gather the sacred dust
Os the warriors tried and true,
Who bore the flag of our nation’s trust,
And fell in its cause, though lost, still just ;
And died for me and you.
Gather them each, all!
From the private to the chief!
Come they from hovel or princely hall,
They fell for us, and lor them should fall
The tears of a nation’s grief.
Gather the corpses strewn
O’er many a battle plain,
From many a grave that lies so lone,
Without a name and without a stone,
Gather the Southern slain.
We care not whence they came,
Dear is their lifeless clay!
Whether unknown or known to fame,
Their cause and country still the same—
They died—and wore the grey.
Wherever the brave have died,
They should not rest apart;
Living they struggled side by side—
Why should the hand of Death divide
A single heart from heart ?
Gather their scattered clay,
Wherever it may rest ;
Just as they marched to the bloody fray,
J ust as they fell on the battle-day,
Bury them breast to breast.
The. foeman reed not dread
This gathering of the brave!
Without sword or flag, and with soundless tread,
We muster once more our deathless dead
Out of each lonely grave.
The foeman need not frown ;
They are all powerless now—
We gather them here and we lay them down,
And tears and prayers are the only crown
We bring to wreathe each brow.
And the dead meet the dead,
While the living o’er them weep ;
And the men whom Lee and Stonewall led,
And the hearts that once together bled,
Together still shall sleep.
[FOR THE BANNER OF THE SOUTH.]
THE muumi WILL.
Translated from “ Le Correspondant.”
BY It. D. TANARUS., OF SOUTH CAROLINA.
I.
THE MILL.
Ihe Coudret Mill was situated near
the village, hidden in one of the sweetest
inks of a grass y, leafy dale; like a
nest of joyous larks hiding themselves in
the sheltering branches of some grand
old elm. At a little distance it was
scarcely visible, so closely did it seem
to crouch along side of the rugged rock
against which it was built ; and so en
tirely was it screened by the alders, pop
. ail d nut trees of the valley, which
jealously enclosed it in their thick
[ ranches of dark and light foliage.
j >ll t it was nevertheless the Coudret
y'; 1 ! which filled this charming spot with
ffc, and noise, and animation. It was
the Coudret Mill which reflected an air of
happy labor and quiet enjoyment on all
around. Take away the' Mill, and the
surrounding country, though still fresh
and beautiful, would be hut a sleepy and
uninhabited spot: restore the Mill, and
all was again life and animation.
If the Mill were not there, the giddy
fiver would travel recklessly on, finally
wasting its useless waters in a lar<m
anfi rocky basin ; but this is not the ca.?e.
As it conscious of a mission, it glides alorv
s monthly, evenly, quietly, securely kep*t
m its even course by banks embroidered
v, :th iris and little golden flower-buds.
* p above, beyond the flood-gates, the
surplus water leaps out, singing joyously
nms along to refresh the meadow,
' ; a re reapers and mowers will soon as
semble.
U wn below, it splashes and foams as it
turns the great moss-covered wheel; then
again it wanders playfully off between
twp rows of willows, dashing its white
foam against the breasts of countless
ducks, which swim, and dive, and chatter
as they dry their feathers in the sun.
Night and day turns the great wheel,
and night and day goes on the monotonous
sound of the machinery, accompanied at
times by the tinkling of the signal bell
placed just by the hopper of the Mill.
In the sun, on the edge of the red roof
which peeps through the tops of the trees,
two pigeons sleep, rolled up like balls of
glossy, changeable silk ; some are whirl
ing around, others walk about swelling
their pearl-like throats, while twenty or
thirty more are flying in great circles over
head.
The proud crow of the cocks break in
upon the noisy cackle of the hens, the
turkeys fuss and gobble, the pilfering
swallows quarrel, and the whistle of the
amorous blackbird of the copse is heard
above all this music.
Up above the stream, in a rich pas
ture, a mare is tied and grazing, watch
ing th# long, knotty limbs of the colt
which frolics round her. and which comes
twisting its neck, pricking up its ears,
and stooping its head as it seeks its
mother. On the road which branches off
from the Mill, we see the mountaineer
with his costume of high gaiters and
large spurs, slowly driving his team of
oxen, well loaded with sacks of corn, By
the road which runs along side of the
river, an old country woman is returning
to the village, her two bushels of flour
laid across the saddle of an ass, which
she keeps whipping up from behind with
the knotty branch of a tree.
At the end of the old bridge, whose
sharp arch is decked with over-hanging
shrubs and flowers, the old woman is
obliged to make way for the heavy cart
carrying the wheat of a farmer from the
lower country, who comes up smacking
his whip over the ears of a large rough
horse, with a collar of bells about his
neck.
But it matters not what his haste may
be, the farmer must wait until the Mill
has ground the wheat brought in this cart
which stands unharnessed in the middle
of the yard, and this mule which tied by
its halter to the bar of the window’ is fast
asleep, its nose buried in the empty sack.
1 hus the people come from far and
near, and from all parts of the canton at
the same time, so that the stones of the
Coudret Mill are never idle ; because for
many years, for more than a century, for
more than two, perhaps for more than three,
the Coudrets had had the tw T o-fold reputa
tion of honest and skilful millers, having
been, from father to son, owners and
workers of the old Mill, which enjoyed a
patronage as large as it was lucrative.
I said just now, three centuries , and so
it was; for Xavier, the last of the Cou
drets, who numbered now full seventy-five
years, spoke with pride of his grand
father, the miller, who had spoken to him
of his grandfather the miller, who like
himself, had been the grandson of a miller.
The family tree at last seemed to strike
its roots so deep into the past, that some
ot the most knowing amongst the people
asked Xavier if he did not believe that
La fanalle Coudret owed its baptismal
name to the nut trees (les Coudres) of
the hill-side against which the Mill was
built. And Xavier inclined to this belief,
which reflected honorably on the tradition
al and faithful attachment of his family
to the profession and name of its ancestors.
But, ancient and respectable as this
oiigin was, Xavier had the great grief of
knowing that his name, which had been
bo long and honorably maintained, was
now destined to become extinct: because
j ls [htle grand-daughter and himselfwere
the sole representatives of it. And. al
though he constantly regretted it, Xavier
id not brood too much upon a misfortune
tor which there was no help. But there
AUGUSTA, GA., JUNE 27, 1868.
was another and more bitter trial reserved
for the declining years of the venerable
and venerated miller.
11.
A FINE PLAN.
Losing her mother a few days after
her birth, Margaret—the grand-daughter
of Xavier—was so weak and puny an
infant, there seemed at first but little
hope of raising her. She had for a nurse
a poor woman of the village, whose ten
der care, and judicious management, aid
ed by the inheritance of a naturally
strong constitution, changed this sickly
and almost dying little creature into a
magnificent baby.
When two years old, Margaret re
turned to the Mill, to become the pride
and joy of her father and grand-father;
but this change in her life, by no means
lessened the devoted love of the good
woman who had so cherished her. and
who could not feel that the sweet bond of
affection existing between her and the
child of her adoption was cancelled by
the payment of the sum agreed upon as
compensation for her care of her.
It was well known that the Coudrets
were people of the highest integrity, of
strict rectitude; hut it was equally as
well understood that their generosity was
always most judiciously practised. It is
usually the case that a love of possession
naturally influences those whose means
are the fruit of hard labor and rigorous
economy.
Nevertheless, in consideration of the
happy and unlookedfor success which
crowned the efforts of the good nurse, the
father and grand-father deviated in this
instance from their natural reserve of
manner towards those whose obligations
they considered as having been met and
cancelled.
The nurse and the foster-sister of Mar
garet—the latter a gentle and loving
child—weie at once established on pleas
ant terms at the Mill, whenever they
might chose to visit her, and received
an assurance that nothing would be done
to wean the little Margaret from the
friends in whose homes she had found
as it were a second existence.
Besides this, the Coudrets determined
that these visits should always he an occa
sion for conveying in some form, fresh
proofs of their gratitude to this poor
family : a determination which Margaret
would soon have suggested, had they been
slow in making it; or had their gratitude
needed any prompting from her.
On the part of the good woman, al
though her straightened circumstances
necessarily made her position in this fami
ly most advantageous, she had several
times most delicately shown them that
her warm heart expected no such ac
knowledgment of her devotion; aud Clare’s
conduct, also, gave the most convincing
proof of her disinterested love of Mar
garet.
Each year these two young girls
seemed to appreciate more and more,
what was best and highest in the nature
of the other. They called each other
sister, and formed so close an intimacy
that their friendship seemed to have some
thing peculiarly fresh and original in it.
When her father was taken suddenly
from her by a malignant fever, Margaret,
who was just fifteen, being of a most
loving and sensitive nature, was so com
pletely overwhelmed by grief as to cause
anxious fears for her recovery. But Clare
was there with her unwearying care,
and prudent watchfulness, exercising a
sweet control and influence over the men
tal and physical ailments of her friend.
Two years later, Clare (who was then
sixteen, being one year the senior of
Margaret,) hesitatingly made an ac
knowledgement to her of the dawning of
love in her heart ; and Margaret at first
feared it might interfere with that sweet
intercourse and friendship which until
now had been so firmly established.
Clare loved and was beloved ; for a good
and honest young man had asked her in
marriage. He was poor also, but gentle
and industrious ; being esteemed a com
petent workman in the comparatively lu
crative trade of a carpenter, and the two
families readily sanctioned the engage
ment.
An involuntary feeling of sadness
was immediately banished by the thought
that she ought unselfishly to rejoice in
Clare’s happiness; and Margaret had
from thenceforth no other desire or care
than to forward, in every way that she
could the bright realization of her friend’s
dream of happiness and love. She wished
(and her grand-father could refuse her
nothing,) that the wedding should take
place at the Mill which seemed to clat
ter along more merrily than ever'on that
bright day. Every one admired the
sweetness and grace with which she dis
pensed her hospitality ; but no one, not
even grand-papa himself, ever knew the
amount of her generous outlay on the
occasion. * * * *
The wedding over, the humble establish
ment of the young couple seemed to pros
per, and Margaret found that instead of
losing the love of one heart, as she had
feared, she found there two to cherish
and honor her.
At the end of some months, an event
was impatiently awaited which w T as to
give her another object for her affections.
The suitable, handsome outfit that was
prepared for the little stranger, was but
slight expense to the young carpenter,
notwithstanding his honest protestations
against Margaret’s extravagance; and
she wrung from Xavier a somewhat re
luctant consent to her assuming the posi
tion of God-mother, playfully opposing
her right to the office, against the claims
of La Mere Pirot herself, whose great
kindness to her, she still delighted in ex
patriating upon in the presence of the
old miller.
Ihen, when the little god-child came,
it was baptized with noisy festivity, and
the tenderness of the happy god-mother
increasing each day, delighted in show
ing itself in every imaginable way. In
deed, the good old grand-father began to
feel great satisfaction in the aspect of
affairs, and no longer opposed the gener
ous acts that Margaret made known to
him, nor even cared to question her too
closely about the means she expended
without asking his consent.
The honest old man had but one
dream, that in his happiest moments
took this tangible form : “To see his
little Margaret well settled in the world,
bofore he should be called to Heaven to
complete the ranks of the Legion Cou
dret
Perhaps added to this first wish of his
heart was another, which, though seem
ingly but secondary, was one that had
most pious weight with him. The thought
was necessarily painful that, with the
extinction of the name of Coudret, his
family also would pass away; and the
roof which had sheltered so many of his
generations would soon, perhaps, be
obliged to receive within its ancient and
hospitable walls a straDge race, coining
from he knew not where.
Recognizing then the beauty and fair
prospects of Margaret, Xavier awaited
with impatience the time when he would
have to receive and listen to the propo
sals that must be made for her hand.
In the meanwhile, he hoped that her in
timate knowledge of the domestic happi
ness of her friends, and her love for the
little god-child would inspire her with
those gentle feelings which he thought
would pave the way for his wishes in
her regard. He had not long to wait.
Candidates soon presented themselves,
several of them being in such haste, that
Xavier rejected them, without even giving
them a bearing.
But, on her seventeenth birthday, a
certain proposal was made for her, which
seemed in every way to meet Xavier’s
cherished wishes for his idol, and off
which Margaret herself seemed to approve.
Twenty-five years of age, handsome,
industrious, of irreproachable conduct,
and remarkable gentleness of nature, this
new candidate, the son of a well-estab
lished miller, accustomed to the care of a
mill, and apparently quite disposed to per
petuate in the Mill of the Valley, the oM tra
ditions of the Coudret family. Such was
the youthful successor who presented
himself to Xavier, and whom Margaret
received, if not exactly with the diffi
dence ot first love, at least with an appa
rent pleasure which seemed to predict the
advent of more lasting leelings. Pre
liminaries w T ere then seriously begun ; the
day drew near upon which a final decision
was to be made, everything seeming to
smile upon this arrangement, which in
turn brightened everything. Everything,
hut
i 111.
A LUNATIC.
Now, you must know that the work
in a Mill, with such a heavy run of cus
tom as this of the Coudrets, was no light
matter. We must note here, for the
benefit of those who know nothing of the
business, that the patrons of a country
mill are generally of two kinds. There
are those who take the grain to the mill
themselves, remain there during the
grinding, and for a small sum can pur
chase food and drink : then they go off,
taking their flour and bran. These live
at too great a distance for the mill cart
to call for their grain, as it does for all
who live near, thus saving the trouble of
carting and the loss of time while neces
sarily detained at the mill ; now these are
usually the people who, in spite of the
well-known honesty of the miller, pride
themselves in practising a kind of quiet
surveillance over him while he is handling
their wheat; a watchfulness that a cun
ning miller, if he is so inclined, knows
well enough how to elude.
The other class of customers consist of
those who from perfect confidence, or from
a habit of tolerating a grievance beyond
their control, or from any other motive
you may please, leave the grinding and
carting of their corn entirely in the Lands
of the miller. You see, therefore, there
is double work to he done—in the Mill
• —and in the yard ; so that it is impossi
ble for one man to take charge of all.
At first the Coudrets, father and son,
equally strong and active, would alter
nately leave the bolt and stones to take
up the whip of the wagoners, thus dividing
and varying the labor. But as Xavier
advanced in years, having reached iu
tact his seventy-sixth anniversary, his
son thought it time that he should rest.
They then tried to find an honest mill
hoy, whose assistance would lighten the
fatigue of the father in the Mill, while
the son would give his time exclusively to
the cart and the yard.
The future assistant or substitute of
the aged Xavier, warmly recommended
by one of the friends of the family, made
his appearance one fine morning, in the
form of a stout, thick-set, shaggy look
ing creature, of remarkable muscular
development; his head hanging down,
bristled with thick black hair; his face
large, flat, and covered over by the
enormous tufts of long, rough, tawny
beard, which seemed to have over
grown every part ol‘ it but the wrinkled
forehead ; two green eyes, far apart,
large, yet deep-set, curtained as it were
by the deep, heavy folds of the over
hanging lid. An immense nose, flattened
like a red-leaved clover, between two
huge, wrinkled, purple ears, which were
set on right angles, like the handles of
a vase; the arms of unusual shortness ;
the 1 lands knotty, square, and covered
with hair to the very nails.
When tin's Esau entered the Mill,
the younger Coudret was absent will:
the cart ; Xavier, sitting on the sacks
piled up near the mill-stones, was giving
himself up to the great enjoyment, the
15.