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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.