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And be did die. April molted into May,
and when May was three days old, we
elided out by night from the works at
York'own, and took the Richmond road.
>'ext night, the Cavalry were at it, our
rear-guard, and the northern van; and
the next day, in we went, the. Infantry,
twenty thousand strong, all in ragged
rev, with a tread that shook the earth,
and 'a yell that pierced the Heavens.
‘ Fire!” cried an officer just opposite to
me upon the line. I touched trigger, and
then half wheeled to the left to load, and
there, on the side nearest the heart, was
I>orp, down —down upon his back—down
with the red Stain on his waist-belt, and
his dying eyes on me. War has no ten
der mercies. It was mine to load and
pre—his to bleed and die. There was no
h.st embrace, no raising the prostrate head,
n0 word, do touch, no sign. I know that
I tore my cartridge like a famished wolf,
that I neither fired too high, nor too low,
hut at the girdle every time; and, when
“Charge! ” came, beyond a long cry
that thrilled from the roots of my heart,
I know nothing of that day’s work, until
in the field, promotion—that slew promo
lion, promotion then valueless—came at
mv commander’s own hands.
’Dorp’s body I never saw. Some of
the men showed me where they buried
him, but my Dorp is not there. ” While I
live he still walks, and at my death my
free-self will come to ray world-self with
h s doppel-ganger.
[Selected.]
Boggs’ Bogs.
luJ you over hear of Jehosapliat Boggs,
A Uealor and raiser of all sorts of dogs ?
“ N then I’ll endeavor in doggerel verse,
To, ut the main points of the story rehearse.
J: Tjs had a good wife, the joy of bis life,
There was nothing between them inclining to strife,
Except her dear Joe’s dogmatic employment;
An 1 that, she averred, did mar her enjoyment.
She often had begged him to sell off his dogs,
A .J instead, to raise turkeys, spring chickens, and
hogs,
She made him half promise, at no distant day,
He would sell the whole lot, not excepting old Tray.
And, as good luck would have it, but few days
intervened,
When, excepting old Tray’s, every kennel was cleaned.
Ah, his dear dolly, with voice glad and jolly,
Did soft-soap her dear for quitting his folly.
“ And now, my dear J., please don’t say me nay,
but the first opportunity sell, also, old Tray.”
■ ‘ I will, my dear vrow, and I solemnly vow,
I'll give you the money to buy a good cow.”
And thus the case rested, till one summer night,
Her dear J. came home with a heart happy and light;
Old Tray was not with him; ‘‘Ah, ha! my good wife
This will be far the happiest day of your life.”
‘•Oh, bless you, dear J., how much did you say ?
l-'I-use tell me at once what you got for old Tray ?”
I got forty dollars.” “ You did ?” quoth his spouse,
hy, that, of a certainty, will buy me two cows ;
I llmake butter and cncese”—“Hold on, if you please,’*
&ys J., in a tone sounding much like a tease ;
- It's just as you told me ; the price is all right,
And the man is to pay me next Saturday night;
hut instead of the dollars in X’s and V’s,
m gives me four puppies at ten dollars apiece.”
A LETTER OF OUR HOLY FATHER. POPE
PIUS IX,
inviting the Schismatic Bishops of the
Orient to Attend the Coming (Ecu
menical Conned of the Vatican.
porE prrs TX,
r g all the Bishops of Die Churches 'of
(he Eastern Bite who are not in Com
munion with the Apostolic See.
Placed by the hidden design of Divine
Providence, although without any desert
ot our own, in this exalted Chair as heir
ot the Blessed Prince of the Apostles,
who, by the prerogative granted to him
tw God, is the firm and solid rock, on
the Saviour, hath built the Church,
'| n '‘ ur i? e( f by the solicitude of the bur
d n laid upon us, we long' and strive
most earnestly, to extend our cure to all,
'.natever region of the earth they inhab
who bear the name of Christians, and
e : ’ aii them to the embrace of our father
ly bjvc. We cannot, without grave
u-inger to our souls, neglect any portion
m die Christain people, which, as having
been redeemed by the precious blood of
our Saviour, and added to the Lord’s
l]!i -k by the sacred waters of Baptism,
i-edufuUy claims all our watchfulness,
therefore, as we are bound to bend un
'-•-">tiig]y all our thougiUs and desires
| procure the salvation of all, who know
adore Jesus Christ, we turn our
. ( n and our Fatherly thoughts to those
1 lurches, which, of yore, when united
£ llle , bonds of unity with this Apostolic
‘ i;0 ’ nourished in such credit for sanctity
bleavenly learning, and produced
Divine glory, and of the
'- ’. c.tion of souls; but which now, by the
j-’-ianmw arts and devices of him who
u '*■ op-stirred schism in Heaven, exist to
; r great grief in a state of separation, and
j. lvlSloll from the communion of the Holy
\' nj y n Church, which is spread over the
wiioie world.
'' r ’his reason, at the very beginning
! ui Supreme Pontificate 1 , we spoke to
you words of peace, and charity, with
our whole heart’s love. And, although
our words did not have the desired result
still, we have never lost the hope that our
humble and fervent prayers would be
graciously listened to by the most mild
and benigant Author of peace, and salva
tion, who worked out salvation upon
earth, and who as the Orient on high,
plainly showing forth the peace whTch
He loves, and which He wishes to be
loved by all, announced it at His rising
to men of good will, by the ministry of
Angels, and while sojourning among
men taught it by His word, and preached
it by His example.
And now, by the advice of our Venera
ble Brethren, the Cardinals of the Holy
Roman Church, we have convoked an
(Ecumenical Council to be held in Rome,
in the ensuing year, and to be commenced
on the Bth day of December, the Feast
of the Immaculate Conception of Mary
the Virgin, Mother of God, we once more
address ourselves to you, and, with all
the power of our soul, we pray, we ad
monish, we conjure you, to come to this
General Council as your predecessors
came to the Second Council of Lyons,
held by the blessed Gregory, our prede
cessor, of venerated memory, and to the
Council of Florence, celebrated by out
predecessor of happy memory, Eugene
IV., that thus renewing the bonds of?an
cient affection, and, recalling to life that
ancient peace, the Heavenly and blessed
gift of Christ, which in the course of ages,
has become lost to tis, we may make the
serene brightness of longed for Union
shine resplendent before all, after
long and sadly clouded, and after the
painful darkness of long-lived dissension.
May this be the joyful fruit of the bene
diction which Jesus Christ, the Lord
and Redeemer of us all, consoles hsi Im
maculate and beloved spouse, the Cath
olic Church, and wipes away her tears
in these times of affliction, that so all di
visions being healed, our voices no longer
discordant, may, with perfect unanimity,
praise God, who desires to sec no schism
between us, but commands us, by the
voice of His Apostles, to say and think
one and the same thing. May everlast
ing thuuks be rendered to the Father of
Mercies, by all His Saints, and especially
by the glorious ancient Fathers and Doc
tors of the Eastern Chuches, when they
see from Heaven the restoration and re
establishment of the Apostolic See, the
centre of truth and union, of that unity
which they, during, their lives, strove
for with every endeavor, and with untir
ing labor, both by their teachings and
by their example. Let their thanks be
paid for the diffusion in their hearts by
the Holy Ghost ot the love of Him, who
by His blood, earned peace and recon
ciliation for all, and who enjoined that
His Disciples may be known by their
unity, whose prayer to His Father was, I
pray, that all may be one, even as we
are one.
Given at Rome, at St. Peter’s, Septem
ber 8, 1868.
In the twenty-third year of our Pontifi
cate.
A telegram from Rome, dated Septem
ber 80, announces:
The official journal of to-day, publishes
an Apostolic Letter of the Pope, to all
Protestant, and other non-Catholic religi
ous bodies, wherein His Holiness an
nounces that, in his quality of universal
Pastor, he has convoked a General Coun
cil, and His Holiness prays earnestly at
this time, for their union with the Roman
Catholic Church. The Pope concludes
by exhorting them to profit by the occa
sion, and by their prayers.
LEE’S MISERABLES.
BY JOHN ESTEN COOKE.
They called themselves “ Lee’s Mis
e rabies.'”
That was a grim piece of humor, was it
not, reader ? And, the name had a some
what curious origin. Victor Hugo’s work,
Les Miserable s, had been translated, and
published by a house in Richmond; the
soldiers, in the great dearth of reading
matter, had seized upon it; and thus, by
a strange chance, the tragic story of the
great French writer had become known
to the soldiers in the trenches. Every
where you might see the gaunt figures in
their tattered jackets, bending over the
dingy pamphlets, “Famine,” “Oosettcy’or
“Marius,” or “St. Deni's,”—and the woesof
“Jean Valjcari,” the oldgalley slave,found
an echo in the hearts of these brave sol
diers, immured in the trenches, and fet
tered by duty to their muskets or their
cannon.
Singular fortune of a writer! Happy
V. Hugo! Your fancies crossed the
ocean, and transmitted into anew tongue
whiled away the dreary hours of the old
soldiers of Lee, at Petersburg!
Thus, that history of “The \Yretched,”
was the pabulum of the South, in 18f>4-
and as the French title had been retained
on the backs of the pamphlets, soldiers,
little familiar with the Gallic pronuncia
tion, called the book, “Lee’s Miserables!”
Then another step was taken. It was no
longer the book, but themselves, whom
they referred to by that name. The old
veterans of the army thenceforth laughed
at their miseries, and dubbed themselves
grimly, “Lee’s Miserables!”
The subriequet was gloomy, and there
was something tragic in the employment
Oi it, but it was applicable. Like most
popular terms, it expressed the exact
thoughtiu the mind of every one*—coined
the situation into a phrase.
Truly, they were “The Wretched”-
the soldiers of the Army of Northern
Virginia, in the Fall and Winter of 1864.
They had a quarter of a pound of rancid
“Nassau bacon”—from New England
for daily rations of meat. The handful
or flour, oi corn-meal, which they received,
was musty. Coffee and sugar, were doled
out as a luxury, now and then only; and
the microscopic ration became a jest to
those who looked at it. A little “grease”
and corn bread—the grease rancid, and,
the bread musty—these were the food of
the Army.
Their clothes, blankets, and shoes, were
no better—even worse, Only at lono- in
tervals could the Government issue new
ones to them. Thus, the Army was in
tatters. The old clothes hung on the
men like scare-crows. Their gray jack
ets were in rags, and did not keep out
the chilly wind sweeping over the frozen
fields. Their old blankets were in shreds,
and gave them little warmth, when they
wrapped themselves up in them, shiver
ing in the long cold nights. The old
shoes, patched, and yawning, had served
in many a march and battle—and now
allowed the naked sole to touch the hard
and frosty ground.
Happy, tiie man with anew blanket!
Proud, the possessor ot a whole rounda
bout! What millionaire, or favorite child
of fortune passes yonder ? The owner of
an unpatched pair of shoes!
Such was ’the rations, and clothing of
the Army at that epoch: Rancid grease,
musty meal, tattered jackets, and worn
out shoes. And these were the fortunate
ones! Whole divisions often went with
out bread, even lor two whole days,
ihousands had no jackets, no blankets,
and no shoes. Gaunt forms, in ragged
old shirts, and torn pantaloons only,
clutched the musket. At night, they
huddled together for warmth, by the fire
in the trenches. When they ‘ charged,
their naked feet left blood marks on the
abatis, through which they went at the
enemy.
This is not an exaggeration, reader.
These facts arc of record.
And that was a part only. It was not
only famine and hardships, which they
underwent, but the incessant combats—
and mortal tedium—of the trenches. Ah!
the trenches ! Those words summed up
a whole volume of suffering. No longer
lighting in open field, no longer winter
quarters with power to range; no longer
freedom, Iresli air, liealthiul movement—
the trenches !
Here, cooped up, and hampered at
every turn, they fought through all those
long months of the 'dark Autumn and
W inter of 1804. They were no longer
men, but machines, loading and firing*
the musket, and the cannon.
ing in their holes, and subterranean
covered-ways they crouched in the dark
ness, rose at the sound of coming battle,
manned the breast-works, or trained the
cannon—day after day, week after week,
month after month, they were in the
trenches at grim work; and some fiat of
Destiny seemed to have chained them there
to battle forever! At midnight, as at
noon, they were at their posts. In the
darkness, dusky figures could be seen
swinging the sponge-staff, swabbing the
cannon, driving home the charge. In
the starlight, the moonlight, or the gloom,
lit by the red glare, those figures, resem
bling phantoms, were seen marshalled
behind the breast-works, to repel the
coming assault. Silence had fled from
tlje trenches, the crash of musketry and
the bellow of artillery had replaced it.
1 hat seemed never to cease. The men
•were rocked to sleep by it. They slept
on in the trenches, though the mortar
shells rose, described their flaming curves,
and, bursting, rained jagged fragments of
iron upon them. And to many, that
was their last sleep. The iron tore them
in their tattered blankets. They rose
gasping and streaming with blood.
Then they staggered and fell; when you
passed by, you saw something lying on
the ground, covered with the old blanket.
It was one of “Lee’s Miserable’s,” killed
last night by the mortars, and gone to
answer: “Here!” before the Master.
The trenches! Ah! the trenches?
U ere you in them, reader ? Thousands
will tell you more of them than I can.
There, an historic Arrn.C was guarding the
capital of an historic nation, the great nation
of \ irginia—and how they guarded it ?
In hunger, and cold, and nakedness, they
guarded it still. In the bright days
and tue dark they stood at their posts
unmoved. In the black night-watches
as by day—toward morning, as at eve
ning they stood, clutching the musket,
peering out into the pitchy darkness; or
lay, dozing around the grim cannon, in
the embrasures. Hunger, and cold, and
wounds, and the whispering voice of
Despair, had no effect on them. The mor
tal tedium left them patient. When you
saw the gaunt faces contract, and tears
flow, it was because they had received
some letter, saying that their wives and
children were starving. Many could
not enuure that. It made them forget
all. . lorn with anguish, and unable to
l for a day even, they
went home without leave—and civilians
called them deserters. Could such men
be shot—men who had fought like heroes,
and only committed this breach of dis
cipline that they might feed their starv
ing children ? And, after all, it was not
desertion that chiefly reduced Lee’s
strength. It was battle which cut down
the Army—wounds and exposure which
thinned it’s ranks. But, thin as they were,
and ever growing thinner, the old vete
rans who remained by the flag of such
glorious memories, were as defiant in this
dark winter ot 1864, as they had been in
the summer days of 1862 and 1863.
. Ar my of Northern Virginia!—old sol
diers ot Lee, who iought beside your
Captain until your frames were wasted,
and you were truly his “wretched” ones
you are greater to me in your wretched
ness, more splended in your rags, than
the Old Guard of Napoleon, or the three
hundred of Thermopylae. Neither fam
ine, nor nakedness, nor suffering, could
break your spirit, You were tattered
and half-starved; your forms were war
worn; but you still had faith in Lee, and
the great cause which you bore aloft on
the points of your bayonets. You did
not shrink in the last hour—the hour of
supreme trial. You meant to follow Lee
to the last. If you ever doubted the re
sult. you had resolved, at least, on one
thing— to clutch the musket, to the end,
and die in harness!
_ls that extravagance—and is that
picture of the great Army of Northern
Virginia overdrawn ? Did they, or did
they not fight to the end ? Answer!
Wilde mess, Spottsylvania, Cold Harbor, |
Charles City, every spot around Peters
burg, where they closed in death-grapple
with the swarming enemy. Answes !
Winter of 'OS, —terrible days of the great
retreat, when hunted down, and driven
to bay like animals, they fought from
Five Forks to Appomattox Court House
—fought, staggering, and starving, and
faljing—but defiant to the last!
Bearded men were seen crying on the
ninth of April, 1865. But it was sur
render which rung their hearts, and
brought tears to the grim faces.
Grant’s cannon had only made “'Lee’s
Miserables” cheer and laugh.— From
“Mohun, or the Last Days of Ijce and
his Paladins.”—John Esten Cooke .
For the Bauner of the South.
THOUGHTS AT TALLULAH.
Nature has ever been the theme of the
poet and the criterion of the painter; and
of all the works of Art, those which are
most life-like, most true to Nature, are
ever the ones which gain the plaudits of
an admiring world. Yet, there are
scenes in Nature so beautiful, so sublime
ly grand, that Art cannot paint it, nor the
pen describe it; and we can only stand
and view it with wonder, admiration, and
awe, while the soul rises from Nature to
Nature’s God. How a scene like this
speaks of the power, greatness, and the
unchangeable character of Him that
created it! How many have stood here
(through succeeding ages,) and viewed
this scene as have we, whose footprints
and memories have faded from Earth—
yea, even before the white man ever trod
the Western world, the children of the
forest gathered here to bow before the
“Great Spirit.” Even their untutored
hearts were impressed with a sense of His I
Divine presence; they felt that only the
hand of Omnipotence could have torn
this granite fountain assunder ; they felt
that His voice was speaking in this thun
dering rush of Terrora, the Terrible, as
madly it leaped down, far down, in this
mighty chasm. They have departed
long since, to where the sun sets, and
their tribes have become almost extinct,
yet this river still sweeps on in its wild
career below—this mountain still rears its
hoary head above. Nations rise and
fall; generations live and die; man
changes his works and purposes often,
but God changes not. 11 is works shall
endure forever, and His purposes are ever
the same. Though these Aborigines of
the soil are gone from here, and seem des
tined to a “slow and sure extinction,” we
still find some lingering traces of their de
parting footsteps ; we still have some in
teresting legends connected with their
wild romantic history. Above the Fall
Serpentine, still looms their “Council
Rock; where the dusky warriors met to
hold their consultations of war and State
—and ’tis said when one dissenting voice
was raised, so surely one dark warrior
was hurled over this terrible precipice,
mto the surging waves below. Thus,
they secured unity and strength.
Here, they have met often when “grey
morning dawned in the East,” ere they
sarc on the war-trail, and here they
f F fi n , lan ? t ‘ mes even fall to re
eun ie deeds of their braves and chant
* unera requiem for those who returned
orn J while in the distance
their camp-fires gleamed through the leaty
boughs, and the grand solemn roar of
the River mingled with the funeral diw
Here, was the favorite resort of the war
rior; while below their maidens loved to
meet to gather wild flowers, and lave
their long dark in the dashing
waves. °
Wander farther up the stream, to
where Ladore, or Golden Waters, dashes
Its tide down into the Pool of Hawtliorn,
and we will find where the Indian Prin
cess 1 allulah launched her tiny canoe ere
she went over the terrible Fall of
Tempesta, and was lost to view, far down
in the white surging foam. Her tribe
was soon to take its march for the land of
exile, and rather than leave her beautiful
mountain home, she rowed her frail ves
sel over the rocks, while she sung a be
loved native air. No wonder they were
loth to leave these grand old mountains
and beautiful valleys; those rushing
rivers and sparkling brooks; for they
were Nature’s children’and here wero
Nature’s works spread ‘out before them
m grand profusion. Yes, all that is
beautiful, picturesque, grand, and sublime,
in Nature, is here lavishly displayed.
I here, are the grand Mountains which cast
their wild, grotesque shadows on the vale
below ; there is the River, sublime in
its succession of waterfalls, with their
ceaseless thundering roar ; and there is
beauty in the “Vale of Tallulah,” where
the River calmly and silently rolls its
bright waters round the Mountain’s base,
whose banks are shaded by beautiful
trees, which cast their swaying shadows
on the chrystal waves.
. How beautiful must be this scene,•
Mewed on some clear mid-summer’s
night, when the full moon sheds her soft
rays over Mountain, Valley, and Hill, and
the gentle zephyrs whisper to the flowers
above, while the River thunders below,
and the brilliant star-rays struggle down
the rugged mountain side, and pass
through the trees to catch a view of this
wonderful scene. Then, let us look away
up to tno blue dome of Heaven, where
stars meet stars in climes above, when
moving, with a fadeless love, around their
Central Sun, and borrow from his peer
less rays, a light to gide in future days,
throughout the ether space of air, and
the world that’s blazing them, by which
they shine as one,” and we have a scene
tue most sublimely beautiful of any which
God has placed before our mortal eyes to
impress our hearts with a sense of His
greatness and His glory. Hew are we
awed and humbled, as we direct our gaze
oft amid the countless worlds and sys
tems that are spread out before our eyes!
How we become lost and bewildered in
this vast infinitude, till it rests upon
“God, the great Architect,” and wc ex
claim, “Lo! these are only part of His
ways!” For he tells us there is a world
we have not seen, more bright and
beautiful than this. Then can imagina
tion conceive of the glory that lies con
cealed beyond. Then will not the soul
bo lost in wonder, love, and praise, when
the “veil of mortality is removed from
these wondering eyes, and we behold
Him face to face, and see Him as he is t
while thousands of harpstrings shall be
tuned by angel fingers, to swell the loud
anthem of, Hosanna to God.
Mattie Chatman.
Jefferson , Go., 1868.
The Largest Advertising Contract
given out in ISCS, and probably the
largest ever given to one advertising firm
at one time, is that of the proprietors of
Plantation Bitters to Geo. P. Howell &
Cos., Advertising Agents, No. 40 Park
Row, New York, on the lSth of Septem
ber, for 843,770.20.
Messrs. P. H. Drake Cos. have, for
years, been among the largest, if not the
largest, advertisers in America, and the
contract mentioned above is but a small
part of their expenditure in this wav for
the present year. It is only those who
have tried printers’ ink.most extensively
that are so firmly convinced of its efficacy.
The Advertising Agency, which is
sending out this order example.
It commenced business less than five
years since, and the tact that it now con
trols a greater advertising patronage than
any similar establishment, is, without
doubt, to be attributed to their having
expended more money in advertising
themselves and their facilities wilhin that
time than all other advertising, linns put
together, since the establishment of the
first Agency, a quarter of a century since.
3