Valley Virginian
The Morals of Washington Under Radical Auspices
The Coat of Faded Gray
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By Geo. W. Harris
A low hut rests in Lookout's shade
As rots its moss-grown roof away,
While sun down's glories softly fade,
Closing another weary day:
The battle's din is heard no more--
No more the hunted stand at bay--
The breezes through the lowly door
Swing mute a coat of faded gray.
A tatter'd relic of the fray--
A thread-bare coat of faded gray.
'Tis hanging on the rough log wall
Near the foot of a widow's bed,
By a white plume and well-worn shawl--
His gift--the happy morn they wed.
By the wee slip their dead child wore--
The one they gave the name of May,
By her rag doll and pinafore--
By right it's there, the coat of gray.
A red fleck'd relic of the fray--
An armless coat of faded gray.
Her all of life now drapes that wall,
Poor and patient still she waits
On God's good time to gently call
Her, too, within the jewel'd gate
And all she craves is here to die--
To part from these and pass away
To join her love eternally
That wore the slip--the coat of gray.
The shell torn relic of the fray--
Her soldier's coat of faded gray.
Richmond Correspondence
A Word to the Colored People
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In a few words we will try to state the case to the colored people. You are here, a part of the great body of the Southern society and you have several questions to ask yourselves. 1st. Who are you and how did you get here? 2d. Who brought you here and sold you, and who has taken care of you since? 3d. What is your true policy for the future? In answer to the first question, you know you are black, a negro, and that your forefathers were brought by force from Africa, a land of darkness and barbarism. To the 2d. we can answer that the immaculate and freedom loving Yankees, of New England, kidnapped you and brought you here, sold you to Southern men and then set up a howl about the "brutality of Southern slavery," after these same Southern States forced them to abolish the "slave trade" in 1808, sorely against their will--for it was very profitable. These Southern people took your forefathers, ignorant and naked, and by their kindness, patience, judgement and love for you, brought you to your present state of civilization, which no other portion of your race has reached. In return you gave them your labor, and that you loved them was shown by your noble conduct during the war. Circumstances beyond your control freed you from the restraints heretofore put upon you, and an all wise Providence allowed this same Yankee, who sold you into slavery, to free you--not for the love of you but to gratify his infernal hatred to the Southern whites--you friends. Such is the true state of the case; you have accepted the freedom forced upon you by Radical Yankee hatred of Southern gentlemen and no one blamed you for it, any more than they would blame a school boy for taking holiday; when the teacher is "barred out." And what are you to do? Ah, there's the rub--your dispositions and education prompt you to do right; prompt you to cultivate friendly feelings with your best friends, our people, but foolish people among us, and designing Yankees, tell you to carry out the same spite a Radical Yankee will always have. They urge you to believe that we are no longer friends and they are--and the promptings of vanity make you agree with these poor creatures. Now look matters square in the face. You are here forever unless you die out like the Indians, as the Yankees predict. How to do your part for society is the question. It is to trust your white people; to be prompt and energetic; to comply with all contracts; to work and study, and make up your minds that only by hard work and by trusting to the kind and affectionate feelings of those who raised you, can you exist on this Continent. Do this; show yourselves worthy of the position you are placed in, as you heretofore showed you could be trusted, and your future is clear before you--always recollecting the great fact, the position of the honored and respected of your class exemplifies, that "you must respect yourself to be respected." Listen not to fools or worse, who tell you about "equality" and all that, for that's your ruin and extermination. Be honest, be faithful; make yourselves necessary to the community and the devilish schemes of the Radical Yankee to ruin the Country, though you will be thwarted and your race saved.
The Spotswood Hotel
All Over Now
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All over now! The trumpet blast,
The hurried trampling to and fro,
The sky, with battle smoke o'ercast,
The flood of death and woe!
All ended now. The syren song
Of hope's ecstatic lay is hushed;
And minor chords in plaintive tones,
Well out where gayer notes are crushed.
'Neath feathery snow, in hallowed ground,
By far Potomac's rippling stream,
Our loved ones sleep; the lulling waves
Can ne'er disturb the soldier's dream.
They whisper "Peace;" the dove of peace,
Like Noah's, searches for her nest;
She folds her wings among the DEAD,
But with the living finds no rest!
All over now! We gave our all--
Our loved ones, homes and prayers;
God willed that we awhile shall wait
In bitterness and tears.
What need of tears? Why must they flow
When all but life and breath are gone?
God help us all! and help the heart
To murmur still, "Thy will be done!"