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f AUTOGRAPH LEI If I Written July 25, The letter of President Davi answer to an inquiry made by one w Roanoke College in regard to natioi eight years, it is now placed before 1 and judicially. It is worthy of the I I aOjSj /? ^^w?- ^*-*v.^ ^2 #?CL ?J ZU*. ,*crzzz+ ^ *4^^. . | V <yi^ ^ /3C??? ?w. A ^s, ??.^c ^czc p^r<y ^t-, <^_ *yO?-?-?-cr- ?>-?.>. ^ . ^ < f?o <4 jP ^AW "?>^ ? < ?~?-? ' M M II ? ? % ^ * ? ? - 1 r-| NAME! t?T WINIFR a Jg With us in the South, Memorial Day is an even more pathetic anniversary than in the North. Owing tc difference of latitude and climate, too It is observed, in most of the States earlier in the spring. In Georgia 11 is observed on April 26th, instead ol May 30th. In the North the holiday arose fron the patriotic exertions of Genera Logan; but in the South the observance of the day was originally due O the personal efTorts of a Mrs. Will lams, of Columbus, Georgia, and began earlier. With us, however, little effort ot persuasion was required to initiate the holiday. in many of our small towns and village": the custom ol bearing flowers to the graves of our dead soldiers began spontaneously. I remember that in the lirst years after the war we were accustomed on that day to drive to the cemetery in our old family carryall, loaded with wreaths of cedar and glossy magnolia leaves, made on long, pliant willow branches; piled, too. with sprays of dogwood and bushels of wild purple pansies and dog-tooth violets from the valley of the Oostanaula, and crab-apple and peach-blossoms from the fields. The old earrv.all was an nrhnr nf fragrance, all Us old ribs and worn wheels hidden in pink and white blossoms. Yet however heavily we went loaded to the cemetery, we never had flowers enough for all the graves, there were so many of them. Always there would be found one more grave, in some far corner, still bare of floral tributes; and my father, himself a lame veteran of Lee's army, would call to us to fetch another armful If we said there were no more, he always bade us divide those on th? other graves and make up whai seemed an equal "honor" for the neg lected one. There was one grave, however? not in the cemetery, but down undei the magnolias by the fence, in the ex treme corner of our grounds a Sprlngbank?which for many years no one of us ever dreamed of decor ating with flowers. *And You Have Done This- These Flower ?For My Son!" In troth, we children never wen near the spot. Only in low, awe< tones or whispers did we ever speal of It?"the Yankee's gra<o!" For it all those Had old days, after Slier man's devastating march througl Georgia, the name Yankee was to n: something far more terrible than tha of Indian; it was the synonym foi desolation and grief. In my childish thoughts, too, tin word was even more dreadful. Or the day before the battle at Wood lands, four miles from Springbanlr, i troop of Northern cavalry had halted at oar ??lace to water their hones ?rpopers came lato th? [TER OF PRESIDENT J 1881, Touching "Secession as a I Is which follows touches upon the vita rho was called at that time to answer lal questions under the Constitution, the public as worthy of publication be great man whose merits are being mo v ? ? ?-* 4U ^ ^ ^ A ?y? ^t. d??^c ?Q>i >*y i^ n if< r^V > ?7<^c A?>.<#C >v*< f^K ?^. 7" '/ ^ *? */ ?- 1l - I ) dA^. A J nt g^>. . ?-rZT7^_ 4**~?ZZ~2 >~ a..;..,.^ ? ? ?" ? i. i .<< ? </. a?r -?> CGZ. _, > s4 ^ r ?" ^ "- ?*? d: LESS GRAVE ED LA URENS I house. My mother put us children i the parlor and hastily locked th ? door; but the windows stood ope , wide, and with childish curiosity , had toddled forward and stood undc t the high sash, watching the horse: ? One of the cavalrymen crossed tt piazza, and before I could run nwn ~~w ? i he caught me up and kissed me! 1 . A NEW MEMORIAL TO THE PRE! ; 1DENT OF THE CONFEDERACY. Jefferson Davis is here portrayed 1 , an emotional role, with one hand res i ing on the open book of history. Tb statue is by Edward Valentine, an I was dedicated recently in Richmond, J this day I seem to hear his word "You little dear! You are the vet \ image of my little sister Rosy!" } For years afterward, whenever ir t brothers or younger sister Josenhii wished especially to humiliate < plague me, they would point the fii . ger of scorn and cry, "A Yank< r kissed you! A Yankee kissed you! It may possibly have been the san I young trooper, although that Is u 5 likely, whom, after the skirmish ax . battle across the fields, our old hou servant, Uncle Joe, found near tl fence down by the magnolias, sh through the lunge, mortally wound* and unconscious. As I was but three at the time, retain of course, but a confused recc lection of the fight, the shouting ai yelling outside, the burning barn the awful sounds of the firing and tl well-nigh frantic fears of my mothi for our safety, Kelley's brigade of Mississippiai was formed across the road ar across our plantation; the enemy wi repulsed, and fell back to Woodland leaving a number of their dead ar wounded. But these were all tak* away that night except this cavalr man, who was overlooked, and who our old colored man found dow there by the fence the following evei ing. He died during the night, ar Uncle Joe brought to my mother sliver watch with the initials "J. W in the back of the hunting-case, ar a a small seal ring engraved with coronet and two crossed spears, t. All the men of our household, i I well as our neighbors, were with tl ( Southern array. There was no one ! cull upon; we were even in straits f< . food. Nor was there a horse or ! mule or a cart left us. Down thei # by the fence, under the magnolia t | Uncle Joe burled the body. And tha r I in brief, was the story of the Yankee grave. ? During all those first years follow i ing the war?so embittered and te - rible were all its memories?thi i' r " *"* ''own hv the magnolia;, waa II > J m< i T: 1 flu r. iU</? . a IEF rs'i; DAVIS. Rigfc Jy 1 iss s and was written in que; senior students in He e" letter for twentycau e it meets so fairly re ( elated. !* a. /Wr-g ' * <* Vi. ? c>i. ? yi. . a . KVTteua. r 1 ? ^ ??. ??.? ?. <OC.?yt <^tt) *H* a 0 ?. <r) ?? flCC y %.T. . ta i... ^ a< A- a. ?"i ?? ? a_ * <V. aV . ?.?-Cir.-v. . 1 **'* such as ours. I think it was on the day before Memorial Day, 1875, that as we prepared our floral tributes for the cemetery, my mother stole quietly away from the group on the piazza, and taking a handful of blossoms, bent her steps to that solltarj little mound under the magnolias. In wonder our eyes followed her, and when she returned, Josephine exn claimed: ie "Why, mother, where have ,vou n been?" I "Let us hope, children, that somesr where in the North, kindly hearts are b. doing the same for our own nameie less graves there?for your Uncle y, Pinckney and Cousin Will Gresham," 'o she replied, gently. ? We were too much surprised to ani swer. Afterward no Memorial Day was allowed to pass that some one of us did not rake off that little mound and freshen it with a few flowers. So the years passed till 1883. That we should ever know anything further concerning this little grave under the magnolias seemed improbable. It was merely one of so many thousands of nameless graves. South and | North. That spring of 1883, as it chanced, my sister and I were at home from Savannah. My widowed Aunt Lena, too, from Atlanta, was visiting us. It was the evening of April 2 8, two days after our Memorial Day, when all save the bouquets in jars and glasses had withered on the graves. The afternoon had been very warm. We were sitting out in the piazza, to enjoy the approaching coolness ol evening and hear the mocking-birds and whlppoorwills. Presently there came to our ears the rattle of an approaching vehicle; jn and slowly the decrepit old carriage t_ at the railroad-station, which served ie arriving travelers, came tolling to oui ,d sate. "Who can our visitor possibly be?" ? was the thought in all our minds, foi 3> living friends were now few. 'y A lady in mourning stepped down, with an air of uncertainty, and came ty >r | J - ' _ ' g ot -] !d ie Ps er > inr:te1 Ml as MISS WINNIE DAVIS. id ?? as up the walk. With hospitable intent s, my mother descended the steps t< id meet her. ;n "It this the home of Mrs. Leigh?' y- the stranger asked, m "I am Mrs. Leigh," my mother re rn plied. "Will you come in?" n- "I am Mrs. Warrenton from? id from New England," the strangei a said. "I fear I may not be welcome ." j My motive for coming to you is i id ! strange, sad one." She paused, witl a J a little catch in her voice. "You are very welcome," m; as mother replied, gravely. Josephim ie ! set oat a comfortable chair. to1 The stranger seated herself, an< >r | after a pause, spoke again: a; "1 do inJeed hope that the ques re , Uon 1 am obliged to ask will stir n< s. ' unnlr'iiv.'iiV' mcmorii^ of ;i na?t wtil^l it, we who "ave suffered desire of ai *s things to! forget. My brother am my son l'?oth fell In the terrible war.' v- She glanced pathetically at my moth r- er's face . "They were, of course, 01 it the Northern side," she added. "M a brother was killed at Antletam; bu i'n W s ",7-1 nrm\ 4 to learn." Mrs. Warrenton paused again, to check fast-coming tears. "I know positively that he was alive at Dalton," she continued. "After that I can learn nothing. But a mother's heart craves more; and still in the hope of learning something as to his fate, I have journeyed South on this sad quest. At the house of a family near Kingston they told me of the unidentified grave of a FpHprnl onMtoe - .... M. wtutvi UII j villi CBlUie. "I have been to so many unidentified graves," the poor mother added, "that hope has nearly failed me. But tell me, have you, had you, any clue, or were there any circumstances that would?aid me to know?" My mother, greatly touched, could hardly summon heart to tell her; but Aunt Lena interposed. "Have you reason to think that your son carried j a plain silver watch, marked Inside j the case with the initials J. W.?" she asked. "Yes, yes!" cried our visitor, eagerly. "The school watch I gave him on his sixteenth birthday! Those were his initials?Jerome Warrenton." In our growing excitement we were now all on our feet, gathering about her. "And did he wear on his little finger a signet ring, with a coronet and crossed spears?" my aunt asked, quickly. "Oh, it was he! It was he!" Mrs. Warrenton cried aloud. "That is the crest of my own family," she explained. "O my poor boy! My poor boy! And have you the watch and the ring? And his grave?is it far to go?" Too much affected to reply, my mother rose silently and brought forth those sad mementoes of the j terrible past; and then we turned i ' away Instinctively from a grief too | sacred for the eyes of strangers. A little later, just as the sun was ! setting, my sister and I led the way to | the little mound under the magnolias, my mother holding our visitor's hanrf Nor had the bouquets of pansies, ' placed there two days before, as yet wholly withered. It was when, through her tears, her eyes fell on 1 these flowers that the last traces of Mrs. Warrenton's reserve vanished. "And you have done this?these 1 flowers?for my son! For my poor dead boy!" she cried impulsively, and \ threw her arms about my mother's neck. In truth, a common sorrow makes sisters of us all; and it was thus, at last, that "the Yankee's grave" was 1 identified. 1 Mrs. Warrenton remained with us for nearly a fortnight, and at the end ^ of her visit changed her first intention A VIEW OF ARLINGTt of having her son's remains removed ' and re-interred in the North. "If I were to do that, dear friends," , I qhp aoM in no t ou?u ?.w uo, x aiivuiu igci mat 1 was breaking this dear new bond of friendship which, born of a common sorrow, has grown up between us. Here, where heaven moved your hearts to lay flowers on his grave? here let him rest; and I, if you will permit me, shall come to his grave." And every spring, since that first sad pilgrimage to us, Mrs. Warrenton journeys southward to pass a few weeks at Sprlngbank, and be near the grave of her son on Memorial Day.? Youth's Companion. The Place For It. An old Scotswoman was advised by her minister to take snuff to keep herself awake during the sermon. She answered briskly, "Why dinna ye pu' the snuff in the sermon, mon?" L uLNKK^L in i?. iAni ^'-'- &Lx&Hu. TO A DRUMMER BOY. BY R. W. ORIZZARD, LOUI8VILLE, KT. The robins nest in fair Cave Hill And gentle zephyrs blow Where sleep both braves of blue and graySoldiers of long ago; The slabs are white, the sunshine's bright The turf is light and green? Nobler sires nor braver soldierThe world has never seen. Hnrd by Louisville's gav. bustling streets, Where grim Death Pears his own. Where dwell the dead in their long sleep, The Reaper has his throne; And there upon a cloudless day 1 paused beside a tomb To dwell in thought on life and death In that lone place of gloom. Many deep-wrought inscriptions there On serried grave stones gleamed; But of them all none held my eye Nor to my fancy seemed So fraught with love's tender tribute, So tense with woe to come, As that which simply told but this: "Boy, we miss tnee at home." Long rears have flown since he went fort] To live a soldier's life; The stone that marks his resting place Tells he fell in the strife. Gone now the friends who vigils kept Where his young feet did roam, But biding through all the years this? "Boy, we miss thee at home." ?Confederate Veteran. Ix*e and Arlington. After all, it is at Arlington, on tb( Potomac, that the present-day visitoi vis most vividly reminded of Genera Lee and the life he loved so well. This beautiful estate?now a national cem etery, where 16,000 Union and Con federate soldiers are buried?is lo j cated opposite the city of Washington and it was here, as has been ex )N ON THE POTOMAC. plained, that General Lee spent al the happiest years of his life. N< person can visit this splendid domain with its magnificent trees, its pano I rama of the river winding like a sil ver ribbon in the distance, and it quaint mansion rendered distinctlvi in appearance by massive Doric col umns and not gain a new conceptioi of the matchless peace and charm am restful content of the life on the ol< baronial estates of the South in th< halcyon days before the war. | The stately Arlington mansion ; which was modeled alter the Tempi* of Thesus at Athens, was erected ii 1804. It is of brick, covered witl stucco, and with its two wings has i frontage of more than 140 feet. Tlr grand portico is sixty feet in widtl and twenty-five feet in depth. Fea tures of the manor house are the rem nants of the old decorations, includ ing the hunting scene fresco, whlcl was painted by General Lee's father in-law, Mr. Custis, who, with his wife is buried in a quiet nook in the wood 1 on the Potomac, their graves bein j marked by plain marble shafts. Thi | historic home is in an excellent stat I of preservation and visitors are show all the apartments of especial inter ' est, lucluding the room in which Gee i eral Lee was married. There is n ! record that General Lee ever returnei ! to Arlington after the war, althoug ! the veteran servants at the mansio have long been wont to declare mot i steadfastly that "Colonel ltob" wa seen about dusk one evening slowl 1 riding through the grounds in com pany with General Grant, and pre sumably bidding a last farewell hi j old home.?Waldon Fawceti. Farming Without Capital. It is absurd to ojiu'M n...? <v. small termor, alone among sinal men, should achieve success wit.iou capital. With capital all la possible without it only the exceptional ma is likely to be heard of.?Estates Gii ! zette. Germany in freely imitating Amci ! ican patterns in the manufacture c | farm implements and machinery v4m??riran harvesters still nr< I <1 i . a a. a. . "J EXCEPTIONAL MANNERS. There Wn? a fialiornun iu>1i<< Whose manners were so fine. Whenever he went to catch a fish He'd drop him first a line. ?Judge. NOT FOR HIM. "How_ about going to the theatra B j to-night?" inquired the young lady. "What, and miss seeing the new comet?" responded the econ' Meal fl young man.?Louisville Courie _ "tM nal. HEARD FROM AT LAST. * "I guess all the people in tho | neighborhood are getting picture j| postcards from your son?" "His teacher alv/avs predicted that he would be heard from some of these j days."?Houston Post. NO USE. "This popular fiction Is all bosh. In real life the girl's father seldom. jH objects to the man of her choice." S| "You're wrong there. He often ?| objects, but he's usually too wise to say anything."?Kansas City JournaL . 9 DRIVEN TO IT BY HIGH PRICES. A Marks?"So you don't patronize- v! Skinn's restaurant any more." Parks?"No, sir; when they began serving fish balls with holes in thn B centre like doughnuts, I quit."?Bo*- ^ ton Transcript. ' UNCERTAINTY. "You ought to figure out to a penny each month's income and expendi- 1 ture." said the economist i "Can't be done," replied Mr. Bliggins. "My wife plays bridge."?* Washington Star, i AT LAST. " ,1 "At last I have written something that will be accented." "What is it?" "Check for a year's subscription!'' .;38 ?New York Telegram. THEN SHE SHOWED IiER CLAWS- J| Miss Elder?"When 1 asked papa . ijji to let me marry you, he said youcouldn't keep an old cat alive." 1 De Broke?"Wasn't that a rudt | name for your father to call you?"?* Boston Transcript. | WHERE THEY GROW. 1 "What has become of your old .91 landlady?" | "She's keeping a boarding-house In- Jja California now." 1 "Wanted to get near the prunes 1 3 eh?"?Louisville Courier-Journal. I AN ULTIMATE CONSUMER. I g "You don't make as much fun of .. hash as you used to," said one 3 . boarder. ? a "No," answered the other; "I have I learned to have the highest respect i for anything with real meat in it."?* e Washington Star. ! CHANCE TO MAKE UP. <| e "I thought, our engagement was' 1 :1 off. but there may be a chance to I patch up matters." m a "Then she didn't send back the I b ring?" ^ jj g h "No; she wrote me to call for It."' ' 8 " ?Louisville Courier-Journal. 3 A BUDDING ROOSEVELT. ? II Indignant Old Lady?"You wicked. ' wicked boy! Aren't you ashamed of a yourself, slaughtering those Innocent- ;< K Boy?"I ain't em, H 9 lady! I'm out gei for ? de Smlt'sonian Ins LOVELY 0 She?"She told her-^9 : j that secret I told > ier."- j n not to tell you I t? She?"I promif w. ldn't-*fl a tell you she told t 1 her J A y I told you."?Bos J s "Yes, sir, he iy of do unemployed." 9 "Want a week's work?" <fgH "No; I couldn't desort from de^9C ii "Then just pretend you're on a fur-^9^5 t ; lough."?Louisville Courier-Journal. n COMFORTS. M L" "It docs not require great wealth"^ | to enjoy the real comforls of life," JMB said the ready-made philosopher. y " "No," answered the pers^ring rlt-^^HK Izen; "I understand that Esklm<MfB*tH who never saw ten cents of realJ^^K w money, live In houses made of ico."? Washington Star. B h