Valley Virginian: August 8, 1866Go To Page : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |
(Column 03)Summary: The paper reports that Gen. Terry issued an order "prohibiting negro drills and armed organizations in his District, much to the relief of the people of Richmond."[No Title]
(Column 03)Summary: This selection takes Horace Greely and his Tribune to task for taunting Raymond of the Times for supporting the Crittenden compromise in 1861. Greely argued that such a course would have ruined the Republican party. "The fact that it would have saved this country from the most deadly and ruinous war of modern times, passes for nothing with the Tribune."
Origin of Article: WhigThe Morals of Washington Under Radical Auspices
(Column 06)Summary: This item suggests that morals in Washington have declined under the leadership of the Radical Republicans. Lawmakers are guilty of "licentiousness and drunkenness" and spend much of their time in saloons, billiard halls, and houses of ill fame. In the Capital "harlots and niggers occupy the galleries, smile on their pet members on the floor, and throw kisses" to the representatives.The Coat of Faded Gray
(Column 07)Summary: This poem celebrates an old Confederate uniform.
Full Text of Article:
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.
(Column 01)Summary: The paper's Richmond Correspondent reports on happenings in the city of Richmond. He denounces an incident in which two women, one black and one white, were seen walking arm-in-arm down the street. "They were soon arrested by our ever vigilant police and confined in the cage. Upon inquiring I found the white woman was a recent importation and, consequently her selection of a companion in her afternoon walk." The correspondent also reports that the city's blacks are upset about the order preventing them from holding militia meetings.A Word to the Colored People
(Column 04)Summary: This editorial asserts that the southern white is the best friend of the African American. Northerners were responsible for the slave trade and pressed for emancipation not out of concern for blacks, but out of hatred for southern whites. The editorial urges southern blacks to work hard to succeed as free people, and not follow the policies of the Radical Republicans.
Full Text of Article:
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.
(Column 01)Summary: The paper reports 500 arrivals in Staunton last week. "The watering places are filling up, where people from both sections of the country mingle together and the most friendly and sociable feelings predominate."[No Title]
(Column 01)Summary: The paper reports that Peter Hanger, Jr., of Augusta county, was charged with defrauding the US government by making false returns of distilled spirits. After an examination of the case, the charges were found to be groundless.The Spotswood Hotel
(Names in announcement: Peter HangerJr.)
(Column 02)Summary: The paper calls the attention of readers to an advertisement for the Spotswood Hotel. The announcement "will take many a soldier back to the happy times he spent there during the war, when he was so lucky as to have a furlough." Corkery, "who made great sacrifices during the war," remains the proprietor. "Our people will recognize the name of J. R. Tinsley, the bookkeeper" who is the son of former townsman J. B. Tinsley and the brother of Julius Tinsley "a gallant and much beloved member of the Stonewall Brigade, from this place, who was killed at Lynchburg." Dr. Dupree also serves as a clerk.
(Names in announcement: Corkery, J. R. Tinsley, J. B. Tinsley, Julius Tinsley, Dr. Dupree)
All Over Now
(Column 01)Summary: This poem meditates on the end of the war.
Full Text of Article:
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!"