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If* a life like Lee’s is not an inspiration to
higher, nobler ideals, then all our conceptions
of how the world must be elevated are utterly
false and misleading.
When Marlborough died, I doubt if there
was a tear shed in all the world. When
Wellington was borne to his tomb, it was a
grand pageant —sublime, historic —but there
wasn’t a sob ih all the realm of Great Britain.
Martial strains and thrilling requiems thrilled
ten thousand souls; orators with tongues of
fire spoke his praise; poets, in lines that will
live forever, heralded his fame —but nobody
wept. How was it with Lee? I distinctly re
member the day, in 1870, when we children,
in the High school building in the town of
Thomson, looked up in astonishment to see
our beloved school-teacher shaken with a pas
sion of sobs, crying like a child.
He had just been glancing over the morn
ing paper. As soon as he could command his
voice, he said, “General Lee is dead!” —and
he dismissed the school.
To my mind, a heartfelt tribute like this is
more precious than any lines the poets can
write, or any eulogies the orators can pro
nounce. Monuments may perpetuate his fame,
but nothing that can be said in prose q|r
rhyme, nothing that can be done with chisel
or brush, can ever tell future ages how the
Southern people loved Robert E. Lee.
M M M
THE SWORD OF ROBERT LEE.
By Father Ryan.
Forth from its scabbard pure and bright,
Flashed the sword of Lee!
Far in the front of the deadly fight
High o’er the brave in the cause of Right
Its stainless sheen like a beacon light
Led us to Victory.
Out of its scabbard where full long
It slumbered peacefully;
Roused from its rest by the battle’s song
Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong,
Guarding the right, avenging the wrong.
Gleamed the sword of Lee.
Forth from its scabbard high in air
Beneath Virginia’s sky —
And they who saw it gleaming there
And knew who bore it, knelt to swear,
That where that sword led they would dare
To follow and to die.
Out of its scabbard—never hand
Waved sword from stain as free,
Nor purer sword led brave band,
Nor braver bled for a brighter land,
Nor brighter land had a Cause so grand,
Nor cause a chief like Lee.
Forth from its scabbard! how we prayed,
That sword might victor be —
And when our triumph was delayed,
And many a heart grew sore afraid,
We still hoped on while gleamed the blade
Os noble Robert Lee.
Forth from its scabbard! all in vain
Bright flashed the sword of Lee—
’Tis shrouded now in its sheath again,
It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain;
Defeated, vet without a stain,
Proudly and peacefully.
The “Work House Clock,” on page 3, should
be credited to Thomas Hood.
THE WEEKLY JEFFERSONIAN.
Official Vindication of Mr. Watson.
The State Corporation Commission of Vir
ginia has made a thorough investigation of the
management of the Southern Railway System,
and has published a full, convincing report.
This was published in the Times-Dispatch
of Tuesday, January 15, 1907.
This official report vindicates the position
taken by Mr. Watson in his controversy with
Pendleton of the Macon Telegraph last sum
mer.
The State Corporation Commission of Vir
ginia puts the blame for the wrecks and the
butchery of human beings just where Mr. Wat
son put it —to the refusal of the managers to
spend enough of the earnings of the roads
UPON THE ROADS THEMSELVES.
M M M
Editorial Notes.
Harvie Jordan, President of the decadent
Cotton Association, swore he didn’t want it’
any more —but worked on the sly to get it
again. He got it. The manufacturers are
pleased with Harvie, and they had him kept
where he could do them the most good.
The Manufacturers are a mighty smart set
of men, and they know how to get what they
want.
So they kept Harvie on the job.
* '
Yes, the Manufacturers have compelled
Congress to so fix the laws that they sell in a
market where their monopoly sets the price.
The farmers sell in a market where compete
tion rules the price.
And the Manufacturers mean to hold their
advantage —no matter how much the farmer
suffers.
Therefore, Harvie Jordan was their man for
President of the Cotton Association.’
M
Does it hurt the Manufacturers to have Har
vie knock Wall Street speculators?
No, indeed.
Does it hurt the Manufacturers to have Lon
Livingston yelling for Fraud Orders?
No, indeed.
The thing that would hurt the Manufactur
ers by lowering to legitimate rate their enor
mous law-made profits would be the cry:
“Broaden the cotton market by reducing the
import Duties on manufactured goods.”
Yes, that’s the cry which the Manufacturers
do not want to hear.
Hence, they keep Harvie Jordan and Lon
Livingston busy making a vain fuss —an empty
clamor—about Fraud Orders and Cotton Fu
tures.
M
By reason of the Import Duties levied on
foreign-made goods, the American Manufac
turer compels you to pay very nearly twice
as much for everything you buy as it is hon
estlv worth.
In that way the Manufacturers cleared more
than twenty-eight per cent on a capital of ten
billion dollars in 1900.
Think of it—slo,ooo,ooo,ooo invested, and
$2,888,000,000 clear profit!
Why, they could have paid off the National
Debt and dug the Panama Canal, and still have
had left to them as net profit a dividend more
than 8 per cent upon the investment.
And thev do that everv year!
How much net profit did the Agricultural
Class make in 1900?
Five per cent —out of which had to be taken
taxes and repairs.
M
The Agricultural Classes had twice as much
capital invested, and twice as many workers
engaged, and their product showed enormous
increase—but they sold in competition with the
whole world, and hence they made barely
enough to pay taxes and make necessary re
pairs.
No wonder the Manufacturers want to run
Harvie Jordan’s Cotton Association!
The wonder is that the farmers in that mon
grel organization do not catch on to the game.
M
Ben Tillman must feel a little awkward in
trying to “gait” with a professional negro
lover like Foraker.
Mutual hatred of the President is a mighty
poor bond of Brotherhood.
To save my life, I can’t see a bit of method
in Tillman’s madness at this juncture.
Talk about “punishing the innocent as well
as the guilty!”—what innocent man did Roose
velt punish?
In morals and in law, every negro in the
battalion became guilty when he concealed the
criminals and aided them to escape punish
ment.
M
It is true that the dismissal of the negro
troops was not sufficient punishment for the
crime—but what more could the President
do ?
According to the logic of Tillman’s position,
the negroes ought not to have been dismissed;
therefore, the murderers would never have been
punished in any way whatsoever.
No position could be much weaker than this.
Even a “corn-field lawyer” might’ find firmer
ground.
M
One of the “orators” who addressed the
the Southern Cotton Association at Birming
ham last week was Joseph Hoadley.
I guess you know who Joe Hoadley is?
He’s that millionaire Wall Street Cotton
gambler who takes Harvie Jordan on board
his sumptuous yacht, and who gets a tip from
Harvie concerning bumper cotton crops.
Nice man to have as orator at a farmer’s
convention, isn’t it?
M
According to the report of The Florida
Times Union, Joe Hoadley’s speech must have
done Harvie Jordan’s Cotton Association a
world of good.
Joe actually told the farmers that some of
the Wall Street operators were honest, and
that some of them were vultures.
A farmer’s convention that has nothing
better to do than to listen to speeches of that
kind —from men of that kind —must be hard
up for occupation.
M
I hope the Railway Mail Clerks will be able
to secure an advance in salaries.
It’s a burning shame that our Government
can’t build steel mail cars as well as steel bat
tleships. Mr. Roosevelt, suppose you take the
$30,000,000 which your two proposed Dread
noughts will cost, and spend it in building
steel cars for your hard-working, heroic mail
clerks!
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