DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA]
May - August, 1864

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 1, 1864, p. 3, c. 4
Summary:  Concert Hall—“Still Waters Run Deep;” song “Rock me to Sleep Mother;” to conclude with “State Secrets” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 3, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“Masks and Faces;” “Perfection”; May 5th—“ Venetia ; or The Italian Bride” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 3, 1864, p. 3, c. 2
            Tennessee Relief Association.—In view of the impending battle near Dalton the Tennesseeans in Atlanta have organized an association called the Tennessee Soldiers’ Relief Association, for the purpose of rendering such relief as may be in their power to sick and wounded soldiers from Tennessee and elsewhere, and in pursuance of this most worthy object the Secretary of the Society has issued an appeal to all who take an interest in providing for the wants of the gallant men of Tennessee, who are now guarding the hearthstones of our people from the Abolitionists who confront them; exiled from the homes of their childhood, and the defenders of our homes, this appeal in their behalf should meet with that liberal and prompt response from the citizens of Georgia and refugee Tennesseeans which this mission of mercy and humanity demands at the hands of all our citizens who have it in their power to make contributions.  Major Wallace, of the East Tennessee and Georgia Road , has issued an appeal in furtherance of this object, to which we invite attention.
            The following named gentlemen are the officers of the association.
            J. F. Cummings, President.
            J. G. M. Ramsey, Vice-President.
            John E. Hatcher, Secretary.
            John Frizzell, Treasurer.
            W. B. Hayes.
            Rev. Dr. L. D. Huston.
            T. A. Cleage. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 3, 1864, p. 4, c. 2
            Funny.—A soldier just from Johnson’s army, gives the following amusing account of an examination of a lieutenant in camps a few days since.  He says the boys had considerable fun over it and would like to see it in print:
                                                                                                                                                                                                        Exchange.

Examination of Lieutenant --------

            Question.—What is an army?
            Answer.—A big crowd of men and officers, half fed and lousy.
            Q.—What is the position of a soldier?
            A.—Head up, heels down, eyes equally open; neither bow-legged, nor knock-kneed, dirty hands, whiskers long and hair short, bread-basket not too full, but rather empty.
            Q.—What is the duties of a Brigadier General?
            A.—To smoke fine cigars, look wise, put fellows in the stocks, claim all the glory, and try to be promoted.
            Q.—The duty of a missionary?
            A.—Holding meetings, holler loud, forrage [sic] for butter milk, and stray in the rear when danger is near?
            Q.—The duties of a lieutenant?
            A.—Wear his bars and to wish for more of them, get furlough to go home, and tell the men to “close up” on a march—“silence in ranks” on a drill. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 4, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“Masks and Faces;” “Box and Cox” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 4, 1864, p. 2, c. 5

Old Hats Made New.

            Those having old Felt Hats (Wool or Fur) can have them thoroughly renewed, reshaped, stiffened, dyed and beautifully finished, by leaving them, on next Saturday afternoon, by five o’clock, at the Auction Store of Atkinson & Shecut.  The hats should be marked with the owner’s name and the size desired. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 4, 1864, p. 2, c. 5

$550 Reward.

            Ran away, or was decoyed off by some white person on the 29th April, my Negro Boy Solomon.  He is of a bright copper color, has kinky hair, is fifteen years old, heavy set, (though rather small to his age,) quite intelligent—knows the alphabet, can read words of two or three syllables, and is well posted in current events.—He had on when he went off a white cotton shirt, striped cotton pants, and a glazed military cap.  I apprehend he was carried off by some soldier, as there were several seen lurking about the neighborhood at the time.  I will pay Fifty Dollars reward for his arrest and lodgment in any safe jail, and Five Hundred for the person who decoyed him off, if such is the case.
            Address me at Waynesboro, Burke County.
                                                                                                                                                                                                W. H. McElmurray. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 5, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“ Venetia , the Italian Bride;” song “The Valiant Conscript;” to conclude with “The Bachelor’s Bed Room, or Two in the Morning” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 6, 1864, p. 1, c. 2

Letter from Longstreet’s Army.

                                                                                                                                                                                                Virginia, April 27th, 1864.
            In spite of the grand preparations now being made to reduce Richmond, one cannot discover a nerve shaken there, anticipating the result.  The clatter of machinery at the Tredegar Works is as deafening as ever—the huge columbiad turns over and over while the hard auger cuts out its great throat just as before—the iron ore runs from the furnace into the mould a white rivulet of fire, quietly and undisturbed—hundreds of wheels are buzzing and hundreds of workmen busy in the armory, constructing implements of war, all with as much nonchalence [sic] as if an ocean of fire stood between them and an insatiable enemy.  Among the throng of soldiers that are daily crowding through the city to the army, the question is scarcely ever discussed.  The merchant and speculator hurry through the streets intently wrapped in a purpose of gathering in, quite oblivious, seemingly, of all extraneous dangers, and fear no immediate perils as long as good terms are maintained between the street guard and conscript officers.  Gay faces wreathed in smiles and flashy bonnets enliven the capitol square every fair evening when the “locals” turn out and the “cretur company” parades as if it were peace times.  Provisions are scarce enough to leave the demand unsatisfied—the poor sewing women crowd around the government establishment, pale and careworn, for each day’s work that is to sustain life, the “Song of the Shirt” in every liniament [sic] of their anxious faces—the ragged news boy cries out in his usual piercing phrase:  “here’s yer morning’s paper”—drays and wagons rumble over the stony ways until one must use high words in the streets to make his vis-a-vis understand him—officers in fine uniforms guard the hotels from cavalry raids, and have guarded them so long their faces are as fair as ladies’—the President is calm—Gen. Bragg is stern—everything is an unassuming picture of sublime indifference to outside dangers.  Such comes from the confidence in Gen. Lee and that army before it, standing like an adamantine wall against which tyranny has broken itself time and again.
            In the army there is the same indifference to Grant’s gigantic preparations.  The war-worn Southern soldier shrugs his shoulder as he looks across the Rapidan and says to his comrades, “somebody over yonder is going to be hurt before they get into Richmond.”  His comrade replies, “yes, and a ------ sight of ‘em, too.”  A dark eyed North Carolinian was hurrying on to the army with a number of his fellow soldiers from the same State.  There was none of that white-livered, detestable, Holdenite fraternity among them.  They talked like men.  “Boys,” says the dark eyed one, “we can show our scars for Richmond, but I say we [fold in paper] fore they shall have it.”  True courage, wherever it is found is sublime.” . . .
            It is very strange how easily our people go in to fevers over foreign importations.  There is considerable itching now to lionize the lately imported Yankee doctrix—Miss Mary Walker.  At the sight of “skedaddle”—a new coined Yankee word by some correspondent—everything in the South got to skedaddling.  If one bowed out of a parlor, he skedaddled; if a chicken flew, it was skedaddling.  So horses skedaddled, dogs skedaddled, and the whole animal, and sometimes vegetable kingdom of the South, got to be a nation of skedaddlers.  Having to travel some distance with her on the railroad, many facts as to her real character were noticed.  She is as shrewd as any Yankee general is; quite ugly, and freckled to help it; has a sharp, Brother Jonathan nose and receding chin; talks very well, and the surgeons say, is educated in the way she professes.  Her personal attire is decidedly manish, which she calls Bloomer, or reform.  Her blue surtout is nothing but a military overcoat, and those pants crammed into the very largest size lady’s boots, is seen constantly imitated by the cavalry.  Bloomer the mischief!  Her fame seemed to outrun her, for at every depot there was a crowd to see the throw [?]; doors, windows, passways, and everything else where a head could exist, was occupied by whites, darkies, mulattoes—great and small—in perfect olla podrida.
            The correspondent of the Macon Confederate discovered that she was embarrassed when produced in camp at Dalton.  The closest investigation failed to find her guilty of anything of that sort in the crowds that besieged her subsequently, not even when a dozen ladies on one occasion at a hotel tried to stare her out of countenance.  President Davis—cruel man—will not furnish her a horse to caper through the streets of Richmond.  The Enquirer consoles her by declaring she would have more attention than her modesty would like to undergo.  He accuses her of modesty.  Now let it be asked if it is modest for a Yankee lady prisoner to sit or lie in the guard’s lap, or, vice versa, is it modest for the lady to hold the guard in her lap?  More eyes than one saw this performed by the Surgeoness, and, Mr. Editor from Richmond, don’t imagine that staring at her because she rides with a leg on each side the horse through Richmond, will bring forbidden roses to her cheeks.  No sir; if she’s not a scientific wretch, taken prisoner purposely to gad through the South, then this is a mistake.  But she’ll be the rage—she’ll be a complete lioness—in spite of everything, and possibly the occasion of turning more old black silks into reforms than we can imagine.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                Tout-le-Monde.

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 6, 1864, p. 2, c. 2

[Correspondence of the Mobile Tribune.]
The Trans-Mississippi Department.

                                                                                                                                                                                        Shreveport, April 12, 1864.
            The past week has been fraugaht [sic] with interest to us of the Trans-Mississippi Department.  The news of the rapid and devastating march of the enemy, since the fall of Fort Du Russey, through one of the most beautiful and fertile regions of this Department, which is laid waste by our ruthless invader, has ere this reached you.  Nothing escaped them.  It was such a raid as the buccaneer Morgan used to make on the coast of South America.  Fences were burned—the stock that could not be carried off were killed—the ladies were forced to give up their jewelry and plate—and many an old homestead, where peace and plenty once smiled, and the stranger and soldier were wont to find a place at the ample fireside and a chair at the bountiful board, has been consumed to ashes, and its household thrown out houseless, subject to the insults and rude jests of a barbarous enemy, and those quaint old French or Spanish stack chimneys, which stand like grim sentinels, are monuments of our Christian invaders’ shame.  This is no fancy picture, for could you pass through that portion of the country between Alexandria and Pleasant Hill, a distance of 130 miles, smouldering ruins and the putrid carcasses of domestic animals would greet you on every side.  Pardon me for the digression, for I commenced this letter to give you the news.
            After the fall of Fort De Russey (why and how it fell I leave to those who know to tell) our army fell back before a vastly superior force, though Dick Taylor offered them battle at Carrol Jones’s, forty miles south of  Natchitoches, which the Yankess [sic] declined.  Taylor continued to fall back to within four miles of Mansfield, where he made a stand on the 7th.  Result of the first day’s fight; we captured 2800 prisoners, 110 wagons loaded with commissary and hospital stores, and 24 pieces of artillery.  It was a brilliant victory, but we have to mourn the loss of some gallant and brave officers, among whom are
            Killed—Gen. Mouton, Captain Alex. Chalmers, Capt. Chauncy Sheppard, major Caufield, Col. Beard, Col. Nobles, Col. Armand and Lt. Col. Walker.
            Wounded— Col. King, Col. Raines, mortally, Col. Clark, mortally, Col. Phil. Herbert, severely, Major Sayres.
            Second Day—Captured prisoners all day, principally from the 19th army corps, some from the 13th.  Enemy in retreating burned many wagons and threw away thousands of guns and knapsacks.  Nim’s celebrated battery was captured the first day.  We have 500 wounded at Mansfield and Kerchi [sic]—all doing well.
            All of Mouton’s division.
            I append a copy of Gen. Taylor’s official despatch [sic] to Lieut. Gen. Smith: . . .
            On the 9th our “Murat of the West,” Gen. Tom Green, engaged them at Carrolton’s Mills, nine miles from the battle field of the previous day, when a terrific fight took place.  The enemy were driven back with a fearful loss.  Churchill, of Arkansas, followed up the victory capturing numerous prisoners, arms and baggage.  On the 10th the enemy were attacked in some hastily thrown up entrenchments, near Pleasant Hill, eight miles from the Mills.  They were driven out and are now in full retreat, being hotly pursued.  The road is literally strewn with small arms, knapsacks and blankets.  Prisoners are being brought in every hour.  On the 11th Tom Green disappeared with his cavalry division.  It is more than probable that the Yanks have found out his whereabouts ere this.
            We feel secure here, though we are prepared for any emergency.  The Federals cannot reach here by water, and we have a well disciplined army of veteran troops to repel any advance by land.
            Gen. Fagan’s Arkansas division has just marched through town to the tune of Lorena.  They are a fine body of troops, and come to us with the prestige of success.
            The 2d Louisiana cavalry captured and burned the Federal steamer Lacross at Snaggy Point, a few miles above Fort DeRussey.  They first refused to surrender, but soon changed their minds. Our men went aboard, took what they needed, and 40 prisoners, who were paroled, and burnt her.  In the action the enemy lost eight killed and wounded.  We sustained no loss.
            Day before yesterday seven gunboats and twenty-seven transports came as high as Loggy Bayou, twenty-two miles below here, by land, and sixty by water.  After remaining some time, endeavoring to remove the obstructions, they left yesterday, Banks having succeeded in communicating to them his defeat.  Last accounts of them were that four were aground, and would probably fall into our hands by today, or be destroyed by them.
            Our army were never in better condition.—The citizens never seemed better disposed to second and support the movements of our military men, and are determined to raise crops, if in sound of the booming cannon.
            The enemy advanced from Little Rock, but have been repulsed.  All is right there.  “Old Pap” has an eye on them, and when the time comes he and his veterans will be equal to the task.  Marmaduke is doing yeoman’s service. Dockery keeps up with his row.  Everything argues well for the summer’s campaign.  Keep things straight “on your side of the creek;” we are confident all will go well with us.
            I will write you again in a few days.
                                    Yours,                                                              Pegs.
            P.  S.—Up to 6 o’clock this evening 5,000 prisoners have been captured.  Marmaduke repulsed Steele (Fed.) on the Little Missouri, in Arkansas.  At the last accounts, he was on the retreat to Little Rock, having heard of Banks’s reverses. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 6, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“Venitia, the Italian Bride;” to conclude with “That Blessed Baby” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 6, 1864, p. 2, c. 5

Sew So Sow!!!

            Sewing Machine Needles.—A fine lot for Wheeler & Wilson’s Machine.
            Grass Seed.—Hungarian, or “German Millet,”—can be sown now, and on good land, will do to cut in sixty days.
            Chinese Sugar Cane Seed, Pure and genuine!
            Brooms!—A lot of extra quality.
            Garden Seed!—A general assortment, &c., &c., &c.
                                                                                                C. N.  Frost & Co.,
                                                                                                276 Broad St.,
                                                                                                (Office Southern Cultivator) 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 6, 1864, p. 3, c. 1
            Pic Nics.—These are now the order of the day, and our young friends of both sexes seem to be taking advantage of the bright cerulean skies and soft balmy air of May by indulging in the innocent recreations peculiar to this month.  The canal is of all places we no [sic] of, the most beautiful and picturesque for amusements of this kind.  An agreeable trip of about an hour and half brings you to the locks—a most romantic place and at this season of the year presenting a beautiful appearance.
            The wide-spreading trees over the platform constructed for dancing affords an ample shade for the youths and maidens who desire “to trip the light fantastic toe in the giddy mazes of the dance,” whilst those who do not dance can amuse themselves in various other ways.  On Wednesday we had the pleasure of attending one of these social gatherings which was honored by the presence of some of Georgia ’s fair daughters among whom we noticed some of Carolina’s lovely and accomplished maidens.—The occasion was of such a character as to be long remembered by all the participants.  To all of our friends who go a pic-nicing we recommend the canal as one of the most agreeable places for spending the day. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 7, 1864, p. 3, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“Richard the Third;” “That Blessed Baby” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 7, 1864, p. 3, c. 5

Southern Goods.

75 Gross Pressed Tumblers,
20 Kegs Cut Tacks, 8, 10, 12 oz.,
10    “     3d Nails,
6000 lbs Wire, from 5 to 10.
50 lbs. “Pick Nick Club”  Smoking Tobacco, in one pound bales.
            For sale at 192 Broad Street .
                                                                                                            H. T. Grenwood. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 7, 1864, p. 3, c. 5

Cotton Cards.

7 Cases No. 10, English Cotton Cards.
                                                                        Chamberlain, Isaacs & Co. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 7, 1864, p. 4, c. 1-2

Love at First Sight—A Story of Blighted
Hearts and Broken Heads.

            “Bricks,” a writer in the Atlanta Register, furnishes the following pleasant light reading, which in the absence of stirring war news, will be found highly diverting.
            Soon after a big fight in which I was engaged, I bought an unexpired furlough of a friend of mine, who had no further use for it, and went down to Savannah to spend it, and to see a young lady to whom I had an idea of making love, having been told that she was as rich as a Confederate Jew.  In fact, I went down with the fixed determination to marry her, but declined to do so, for the seemingly frivulous [sic] reason that the arrangement did not meet the approbation of the lady and her friends.  Her brother, a colonel in the army, at home on furlough, seemed particularly a little disposed to deprecate the match, and vaguely hinted as much the second time I called by escorting me to the door with his hand ceremoniously grasping the collar of my coat, and kindly assisting me to descend the steps by projecting against me, to keep me from falling backwards, a cavalry boot weighing something less than a ton.  After a mature reflection I was partially satisfied that my visits did not afford the entire family that high degree of satisfaction I had been led to expect, and I discontinued them.
            Soon after this, while knocking around town one evening, I stumbled upon a theatre, and went in to witness the cold blooded murder of somebody’s tragedy.  I found a seat in the pit.  In looking around upon the array of beauty and chivalry in the boxes, my unsuspecting eyes suddenly fell upon the most beautiful girl that the world ever saw, or probably ever will see.  There is certainly nothing like her to be found in sacred or profane history.  The rapturous shock, the thrill of ecstacy I experienced on beholding her were tremendous in the extreme.  The shock of the most powerful galvanic battery were a gentle touch of an infant’s caressing finger in comparison.  I seemed to be driven through the floor, as it were, like a tenpenny nail under the sledge hammer of a Titan.
            *          *          *          *          *
            This terrific sensation, which swept over my heart like a Niagara of delight, was what they call love at first sight.  *            *          *
            I could not withdraw my gaze from her bewitching face.  It rested there for hours!  she smiled!  Ye gods!  what a glorious smile!  My heart, my soul, my entire personal individuality floated away to the seventh heaven of love, leaving my wardrobe seated in the pit, an unconscious spectator of the gorgeous scene around it:
                        “I saw the soft light of love’s heaven
                                    In the depths of her beautiful eyes—
                        I drank the sweet rapture of heaven
                                    From the depths of those beautiful eyes.”
            The curtain fell upon the last act, or it may have been upon the first; or it may not have fallen at all.  Indeed, there may have been no curtain.  I only know that the audience rose to go—at least she did, and I presume the rest did also, as I cannot see what motive they could have for remaining after she left.  I can barely remember that there was with her a gray-haired gentleman, apparently about fifty—evidently her father.  She rose to go mechanically.  I rose to go too.  It had been several hours since my eyes first fell upon her divine face and form, but
                        “So noiseless falls the foot of Time
                        That only treads on flowers,”
that to me it seemed but the shadow of one beggarly moment.  She threw her nubia over her head, clustered with curls, the least of which would have set a Stoic’s heart aflame, and, taking the arm of the gray-haired gentleman—evidently her father--descended to the street, where her carriage awaited her.  She entered it.  I would have given the wealth of the famed Lydian king to have been the driver, or even one of the horses.  The carriage drove off.  I siezed [sic] with both hands the board behind, where they strap the trunk, you know, and by taking very long steps, and a great many of them, I contrived to keep up.
            After a run of about a mile, the vehicle drew up quite suddenly.  I was not prepared for it.  The board took me somewhere about the lower extremity of the vest, and doubled me up like a jack knife.  My life was saved by a vial of paragoric, which I happened to have in my pocket.  The lady descended, and entered an elegant house.  I walked over to the opposite side of the street, and stood gazing at the envious door through which she had disappeared, until the gray light of the coming dawn began to appear along the eastern horizon.
            *          *          *          *          *          *
            I sought in vain to find out who the lady was.  For several days I was quite distracted with heart-rending mixture of doubts, love and anxiety, and I had serious thoughts of applying for admission to some lunatic asylum.—Finally I determined as a dernier resort, to settle the matter by a coup d’etat.
            I employed a hackman, who drove an open carriage.  I pointed out the house to him.  I pointed out a lamp post which stood in front of the door.  “Now,” said I, “I’ll tell you what I want you to do; I’ll get into your carriage a few hundred yards up the street.  Do you drive down the street pretty fast, run against that lamp post, throw me out upon the pavement, cutting my head or breaking my arm by the fall, and then take me up and carry me into that house, and tell the first beautiful young lady you meet on entering, that I have been seriously injured by the running away of your horses.”
            That afternoon having put on a shirt which cost me forty dollars in Atlanta, I entered the carriage. l I moved off quitely [sic] down the street until it arrived within a hundred yards of the objective point of the drive, when it dashed off at a somewhat greater speed than I had bargained for.  However, I said nothing but held my breathe [sic] and waited the coming shock.  Two of the wheels spun along beautifully very near the curb-stone.  We were in twenty feet of the lamp-post—but it was not the right one!  I sprang to my feet and frantically cried “hold!”  It was too late.  There was a terrific crash; the carriage stopped suddenly.  I shot forward ten feet landing at the heels of the horses, just as they dashed off, leaving the vehicle a worthless wreck behind them.
*          *          *          *          *          *          *
            I came to my senses about three weeks after, and found myself lying on a wretched bed in the wretched backroom of a greasy Dutch huckster.
            My scheme had failed miserable [sic].  The stake for which I played was a sprained ankle or broken arm; an elegant sofa in an elegant parlor, with an angel in hoops hovering about me, and adjusting with a delicate, loving fingers, the splint and bandages; the dawn of the belle passion in a pure young heart; a moonlight declaration; an acceptance, mingled with sunny smiles and delicious tears; a parson and a bridal wreath, and the happiest fellow in Georgia.  The stake I won was a dislocated shoulder; a broken head; a fractured arm, and a shattered leg, together with the following bills, for all of which I executed my notes of hand, ostensibly payable at sight but really, I fear, at a very remote period.
            That of the doctor for attendance $100.—The druggists for drugs $63.  The huckster for room rent $75.  The carriage makers for repairs $600.  The nurse, for nothing, $33 87½.  Making the grand rascally total of $931 87½.
            The day I left Savanah [sic] I greatly added to my happiness by learning that the gray haired gentleman was the young lady’s husband. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 8, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Masonic Hall—Mr. and the Misses Sloman, a Grand Vocal and Instrumental Concert, May 11th, on which occasion will be introduced, first time this season, the new Musical Instrument the Alexandre Organ. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 8, 1864, p. 3, c. 2-3

[Special Correspondence of the Constitutionalist.]
Letter from Army of Tennessee .

                                                                                                                                                                                                    Spring Place, May 3d, 1864.
            Here we are at this place, concerning which your readers have heard so much, since North Georgia became the theatre of war.
            Spring Place is twelve miles due east from Dalton, and distant from Cleveland about twenty-two miles. . . . Spring Place is a neat little place, and in times of peace quite flourishing.  It was a summer resort, and many are the pleasant memories of days of yore.  If all was known, I suppose abundant material might be found, out of which to manufacture an interesting romance.  It is said that in the “Auld Lang Syne,” the only way to win the hearts of the fair maidens of this place, was to play with the children and cats.
            The country between here and Dalton is beautiful and attractive, particularly at this time, when the woods are filled with the fragrance shed by a variety of pretty, sweet-scented flowers, and made vocal by the warbling notes of unnumbered little songsters.
            “Gradual sinks the breeze into a perfect calm.”  Tattoo is over, and the weary soldier lays him down to sleep, whilst others—lovers of music—betake themselves to the town for the purpose of serenading the inhabitants.  Soon the quiet of the midnight hour is broken by the sounds of vocal music, the gentle zephyrs bear the sweet strains with them in their unknown meanderings, whilst from the neighboring mountains flows back the soft, silent echo.
            And this reminds me of a Parody I have heard upon “Annie of the Vale.”  It was written by W. E. Buck, Chief Musician, 2d Georgia Battalion Sharpshooters.  As it may, at least, divert the minds of your readers from the troubles of war for a moment, I append it, and you can publish it if you think proper:

Parody of “Annie of the Vale.”

                        I’m alone in my shanty,
                        My rations are scanty;
For grits are now the order of day.
                        The young reb is sighing,
                        For his sweetheart he’s dying,
And wonders if the cruel war will pay. 

Chorus.—Come, come, come rain come,
            Come flow to the top of my boots,
                        Oh! come and I’ll thank ye
                        To keep back the Yankee,
            Until our ranks are filled up by recruits. 

                        The moon, she is creeping,
                        And o’er the hill is peeping,
Whilst hungry rebs have gone to make a raise.
                        The crowing of a Shanghai
                        Tell them that day is close by,
And also that this cruel war now pays.
Chorus.—Come, come, come, &c. 

                        The bull dog is growling,
                        Whilst hungry rebs are prowling
Round the house to steal some hen away.
                        A night cap in the window,
                        Doth him a little hinder,
And says he’ll report him to John K.
Chorus.—Come, come, come, &c. 

                        You may talk about your Annie,
                        But give me a ham-ie,
And biscuits nicely buttered over too.
                        A cup of smoking Java
                        Makes my mouth saliva,
And wish I had ‘em in me; now don’t you?
Chorus.—Come, come, come, &c.
                                                                        Mignonne. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 10, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“ London Assurance” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 11, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“ London Assurance” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 11, 1864, p. 4, c. 1-2
Summary:  From Le Follet—Fashions for May. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 12, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“ London Assurance” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 12, 1864, p. 3, c. 1
           Our Correspondents.—Having secured the services of several competent writers to act as regular correspondents of the Constitutionalist, we flatter ourselves that in this respect as well as in every other, our paper will compare favorably with the leading journals of the country.  The letters now being published are written with ability and cannot fail to be interesting to our readers.  This is especially true of letters written from Richmond over the signature of “Tyrone Powers” and “Sigma.”  In a few days we will have letters from a special correspondent with the Army of Northern Virginia, narrating the events of the present campaign.  At Dalton and other points of interest we have also correspondents, so that we have now a regular organized corps of army correspondents. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 13, 1864, p. 1, c. 1
            The card factory at Selma, Ala., is running four machines, which turn off from twenty to fifty pairs per day.  The proprietor will soon commence manufacturing wire from common bar iron.  The cards will sell at $3 per pair. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 13, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“ London Assurance” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 13, 1864, p. 4, c. 1-2

Butler the Beast— Sherman the Brute.
The Outrages of the Latter in East Tennessee .

            A correspondent of the Atlanta Register furnishes the following:
            The cruilties [sic] and brutalities of Butler, surname the Beast, in New Orleans and elsewhere, have long since attained a world-wide notoriety, and in consequence, his name is held in contempt and abhorrence in every land, and by every people making any pretentions [sic] to decency or civilization.  Butler is now the synonym of all that is mean and cowardly, and base and despicable.  President Davis, in a lengthy and formal proclamation, declared him an outlaw, and commanded any one into whose hands he might fall, to hang him, like a dog, to the nearest tree.  That was all just and proper, and woe to the Beast’s head or neck the moment a Southron lays hands upon him.  But we are always willing to give the devil his due, and why not do as much for the Beast?— Butler is not a meaner man or a lower species of brute than Sherman.  Sometimes I doubt if he be as mean.  The only superiority Sherman has over Butler is, he is not quite so cowardly, in one exception of that term.  He will go forth with his band of robbers and marauders to their work of rapine and ruffianism.  He has been in a few battles, while Butler has never.  But in so far as Sherman has enterprise and courage over the Beast, that far he is the more dangerous of the two—can and does more mischief—becomes that much more a beast of prey.  The late raid of Sherman in Mississippi is familiar to all, and fresh in the public memory.  I will here give publicity to a few of his brutalities in another foray, immediately preceeding [sic] his ravaging expedition to Mississippi, with which the world is not so familiar, and about which very little has yet been said.  I allude to his march in the early part of December last to Knoxville.
            His whole route from Chattanooga to Maryville, in Blount county, sixteen miles from Knoxville, where he stopped, was an unbroken path of desolation.  The track of the tornado; sweeping houses, forest, fences, everything living or standing before it, is not more striking or destructive than that of Sherman and his hirelings along the beautiful valleys of the Sweet Water and Tennessee.  The armies of Buckner, Burnside, Stevenson and Longstreet, all of whom had previously traversed the most of the same route, were mere babes of destruction, if we compare their combined effects with the huge proportion of Sherman’s desolation.  All other Yankee Generals and troops were Christians compared with him and his.  Not a fence was left standing, not a pound of meat, or bushel of wheat or corn, or a bundle of hay or fodder remained behind them.  He did not divide with the people, taking, of course, the lion’s share—but he took all the people had, in the way of provisions.  Not a house escaped their ravages—every nook and corner—the most private recess, the very sanctuary of every home felt their polluting touch.  Bed cloths, ladies’ dresses, childrens’ playthings—family relics, the old family Bible, works of art and taste—everything dear and precious, valuable and useful were alike destroyed or appropriated by the vandals.  Mothers often saw the last mouthful of the meat and bread of their families taken, and about the only thing in way of subsistance [sic], strange to say, that the demons did not take or destroy, was the mother’s nipple in the infant’s mouth.  How did they resist the temptation?  Remonstrances were met with oaths and curses.  At Athens one lady called upon the Brute for protection.  He answered, that he had come not to save, but to destroy, that his was a mission not of mercy, but of destruction.  He had come to crush the rebellion, and the most effectual way to do it was by starvation.  Yes, to starve the helpless women and children, because they could not conquer their husbands and fathers.
            At Sweet Water, they entered the dwelling of Brig. Gen. John C. Vaughn, who was then, with his command in the Brute’s front, and wantonly destroyed furniture, tore open bed ticks and scattered their contents, stole bed clothing, tore up and carried off the dress of Mrs. Yaughn [sic] righ [sic] before her eyes, and cursed and abused her beside.  At Philadelphia and Loudon their ravages were similar.  Turning to the right at Loudon, they crossed the Little Tennessee river at Morgantown, in Blount county.  Here they tore down a number of frame houses and used them in building a temporary bridge.  Passing up through Unitia and Louisville, they sacked every house, desolated every farm, stole and destroyed all provisions and forage, carried off every horse, and committed, along the whole route, almost every imaginable, and to any but a Yankee and Vandal, unimaginable outrages.  They went to one house between Louisville and Maryville, where the dead body of the mother of the proprietor lay awaiting interment.  Not regarding the solemnity of the occasion, or the distress of the family, they proceeded with their usual vulgarity and corseness [sic] to appropriate all the meat and other provisions on the place.  At Maryville they remained one night, and during that time went into every house in the place—stole bedding and bed clothing until not enough was left to keep the children warm—took every particle of provisions to be found, searched every room, drawer and trunk, carried off jewelry, clothing, shoes, and in fact, any and every thing they wanted, and much they cared nothing for.—The Brute himself rode up to the finest looking residence in the place, the house of a widow lady, whose husband has been an exile, and had recently died in a strange land, and took possession of the premises.  In a very authoritative and dictatorial manner he demanded the lady’s keys.  She remarked to him that she was in the habit of carrying her own keys.  He stormed out at her that her property and life too were in his hands—he could do as he pleased, and would do as he pleased with both, and threatened violence if she did not deliver up the keys.  The poor frightened woman was compelled to hand them over; whereupon the infuriated Brute took formal possession of everything, and instituted a search in every part of the house.  The next morning, after taking all the flour, salt and other provisions, stealing with his own hands a few little things about the house, and requiring the lady to take the oath, he returned her keys and started, I presome [sic] in search of some other widow’s house to destroy.  Pusiallnimous [sic] dog—the mean, miserable villain!  Very brave to lord it over weak women and timid children.  Oh, for a thousand cow skins, in the hands of a thousand Southern sons, to lash the back, and, if possible , to extoriate [sic] the very soul of the dastardly whelp who would thus insult and brow beat a woman—and an aged, feeble widow at that!
            Another lady, whose provisions, clothing and bed clothes had been stolen, and whose children were hungry and crying for bread, when she had none to give, went at ten o’clock at night to the lodgings of the Brute and requested him to furnish her enough meal or flour to bake her five children some bread, they were hungry and crying and could not sleep without eating.  The vulgar animal reminded her of his power—of her dependence upon him—that all property and life were in his hands, &c., &c., required her to take the oath and dismissed her with a pittance of provisions.  From Maryville he returned by way of Madisonville and Tellico Plains, committing like excesses everywhere he went.
            It is useless, Messrs. Editors, to extend this catalogue any further.  The heart sickens, the mind maddens, the blood runs boiling hot, to think of or recount them.  Enough is given to demonstrate the brutal instincts of Sherman, and to justify the public sentiment in placing his name alongside that of Butler, in regarding him as an enemy of mankind, a shame and disgrace to the human race, as an outlaw and a Brute.  Let him ever after be known, called, regarded, and recognized as the Brute, and let the ban of condemnation, as in the case of Butler, be placed upon his brow.  Let him be declared and proclaimed an outlaw, not entitled to the usages of civilized warfare and let him meet the fate he deserves, at the hands of the first Southerner who catches him. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 14, 1864, p. 1, c. 1
            Yankee Massacre of Negroes.—The Chicago Times says:  The late massacre of negro soldiers near Vicksburg is now said not to have been a Confederate outrage, but quite otherwise.  The negroes went to a hotel where there were only white women and children with their servants, committed the greatest possible outrages on the women and then burned the house.  An Indiana regiment heard of the affair, and attacked and killed the negroes.  No Confederates were concerned in the shocking affair.  Admiral Porter said in a late report:  “The negro troops near Vicksburg have been committing many outrages.” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 14, 1864, p. 1, c. 1
            A Mississippi Girl!—The Brandon (Miss.) Republican states that Miss Nancy Neely, daughter of Mr. James Neely, of Rankin county, wove twenty yards of cloth on Friday last, between sunup and sundown.  Who cares if the Yankees do blockade our ports as long as we have such girls in the Confederacy?  Is there another young lady in the county, State or Confederacy, that can weave twenty yards of cloth per day? 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 14, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“ London Assurance” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 14, 1864, p. 3, c. 1
            New Music.—The enterprising music and book publishers, Blackmar & Bro., have favored us with some new music which does credit to Messrs. Patterson & Co., who are now issuing from their establishment neatly executed work.  “I am Dreaming Still of Thee,” rearranged for the Piano Forte by E. Clarke Ilsley, “General Bragg’s Grand March,” composed by P. Rivinac, and “Stonewall Jackson’s Grand March,” illustrative of “Stonewall Jackson’s Way,” by Charles Young—are among the latest publications in the musical line. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 15, 1864, p. 1, c. 1
            Religious Feeling in McLaws’ Division.—A correspondent of the Columbia South Carolinian states that a deep religious feeling pervades McLaws’ division.  In three brigades there is preaching every night, with prayer and inquiry meeting at seasonable hours during the day.  In the Mississippi brigade, the strongest interest is manifested in the meetings, and crowds attend their chaplains.  There is, however, a sad lack of chaplains, and the few present are already almost broken down.  In Wofford’s fine brigade of Georgians, there is not a single chaplain; while its army missionary is obliged, unfortunately, just at present, to leave.  “The harvest, truly, is plentiful, but the laborers are few.”  Some days ago, some of Wofford’s men, passing by the stand where Kershaw’s brigade worships, one of them was heard to say:  “Hello!  boys, here’s a church—let’s hook it—we need one badly over our way.” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 15, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“Michael Erle;” “Ben Bolt”
Summary:  Concert Hall—May 17th—“Jack Cade”
Summary:  Masonic Hall—“First Grand Concert, by Mr. and the Misses Sloman” with the Alexandre Organ, includes programme 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 15, 1864, p. 2, c. 3
Summary:  “Gerald Gray’s Wife”, the Field and Fireside Novelette No. 2, now ready, $3.00, by Stockton & Co. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 17, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“Jack Cade;” song “Soldier’s Grave;” recitation “Bucks have at ye all;” “Coquette Polka” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 17, 1864, p. 2, c. 5

Cotton Cards, &c.

50 doz. Whittemore Cards, No. 10, Genuine.
1,200 Leather Leaf Cotton Cards,
1,000 gro. Gillott’s Steel Pens,
50 cases Brandy,
100 oz. Quinine.
                                                                                    L. Cohn & Co.
                                                                                    195 Broad St. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 17, 1864, p. 3, c. 1
            Mr. Editor:  Rags for bandages are much needed by the Georgia Relief and Hospital Association, for our wounded troops.  Help from the ladies is respectfully solicited, and it is hoped they will respond promptly.
                                                                                                                                                                        W. J. Hard, Secretary. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 18, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“Romeo and Juliet” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 19, 1864, p. 2, c. 5
Summary:  Concert Hall—“ London Assurance” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 19, 1864, p. 2, c. 5

Important Wool Notice.

                                                                                                                                                                                    Atlanta, Ga., May 11, 1864.
            Major:  You are hereby appointed Agent for the collecting of WOOL for the use of C. S. Army, in District “1,” comprising the Counties of Richmond, Columbia, Glasscock, Hancock, Taliaferro, Warren, Wilks, Lincoln and Elbert, in the State of Georgia, and the Districts of Edgefield, Barnwell, Abbeville, Orangeburg, Lawrence and Newberry, South Carolina.
                                                                                    Yours, &c.,
                                                                                                G. W. Cunningham,
                                                                                                            Major & Q. M.
            To L. O. Bridwell,
                        Major and Q. M.,
                                    Augusta, Georgia.
            In accordance with the above, I call upon the citizens in the counties and districts named to sell all surplus WOOL to the Government.  The necessity is great; and as the soldiers, who are defending your homes, can only be clothed by selling us your Wool, I trust all patriotic and loyal men will be willing to assist.  My Agents will traverse the whole District. Parties living at convenient distances to Augusta, can send their Wool to me.  Sacks will be returned.  Wool will be received at any Railroad Depot or Station in the District.
            The Government offers the following liberal prices:
For  1 lb. unwashed good Wool (cash,) $7.00.
“      1  “         “           “        “    2½ yds. 4-4 Sheetings.
“      1  “         “           “        “    3 yds. 7/8 shirtings.
“      1  “        “           “        “    2½ yds. 8 oz. osnaburgs.
“      1  “        “           “        “    1¼ lbs. no. 6, cotton yarns.
“      1  “        “           “        “     1 1/8 “   “   8,    “        “
“      1  “        “           “        “     1    “      “   10,   “       “
“      1  “       “           “        “      7/8  “     “   12,   “       “
            Permission has been asked, and will be granted to impress all wool in the hands of speculators; but this is disagreeable, and it is hoped these prices will induce the farmer to sell at once to the Government, for the benefit of the soldier.—Correspondence desired with wool men in all parts of the District.  Any person having a detail, selling his Wool to any other than an Agent of the C. S., will forfeit his detail.
                                                                                                                                                                                    L. O. Bridwell,
                                                                                                                                                                                    Major and Q. M. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 19, 1864, p. 2, c. 5

Rye or Wheat
Straw Wanted.

            We will pay the highest market price for Rye or Wheat STRAW, suitable for stuffing Collars.
                                                                                                                                                                    Jessup & Hatch. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 20, 1864, p. 4, c. 2
            Visit to Macon, Ga. —This Local has returned from a flying visit to Macon, Ga.—was one of the guard for 1,000 Yankees—principally officers—who passed through here on Sunday last—went through on a box car—inside packed like a sardine box, with guards, Yankees, and their back-biting companions—outside hot as a boiler in the day time, and colder than a cucumber at night.  Had some sunshine, some clouds, and some rain—“local troops” stood it like veterans, and only managed to lose two or three Yanks on the route.  Some of these latter were very talkative. . . We found Macon to be a very pretty little city; storekeepers seemed to be quite busy; and prices generally cheaper than in Augusta , as the following will show:
            A good dinner at the Brown House for $5.00; pretty fair board for $150.00 per month; beef $2.50 per pound; bacon $3.50 per pound, strawberries $1.50 per quart; green peas $1.50 per quart; a shave at the barber’s 50 cents, and hair cut for $1.00.
            A visit to the sanctum of our good natured friend Clisby, of the Macon Telegraph, found him in good health, and evidently in good spirits.
            The “rations” served out by the clever and courteous Commissary of the Post furnished a good dinner, and Wednesday morning found the “locals” all safely back in Augusta again—some of them well enough satisfied with their trip to have gone back again yesterday with another batch of prisoners.
            The guard consisted of detachments from the City Guard, Capt. Holleyman, Silver Greys, Lieut. Walker, and Pioneer Infantry, Captain Adam, with a few men from the Artillery, and two companies from Maj. Victor Girardy’s Battalion—all under command of Capt. Holleyman. 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 20, 1864, p. 4, c. 3
Summary:  Concert Hall—“The Bride of Lammermoor;” “Poor Pillicoddy” 

DAILY CONSTITUTIONALIST [AUGUSTA, GA], May 21, 1864, p. 2, c. 2-5

Battles of Mansfield and Pleasant Hill.
[From the Houston Telegraph, April 22.]

            Mansfield , La. , April 15, 1865.—Little did I think when I bid you farewell in Texas that I should so soon have to record two of the most bloody battles which have been fought during this eventful war, and while the shouts of victory are ringing and a thankful people are praising the Almighty for the success of our arms in beating back the tide of invasion, still many once happy homes in Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Louisiana are mourning for some loved and lost relatives or friends.
            The battle of Mansfield was fought two and a half miles from the little city of the same name.  The battle had been preceded by some heavy skirmishing, but the general battle commenced on the 8th of April, about 10 A. M., Maj. General Taylor in command.  Maj. Gen. Green commanded the left wing, Brig. Gen. Mouton the right, Gen. Walker’s division on the right of Mouton, and two cavalry regiments on the extreme right of Walker.  Gen. Green commenced the attack with a portion of his dismounted cavalry.  The enemy pressing the left wing heavily, Gen. Green then ordered Mouton’s division to advance, and the fighting was terrible along the lines of both combatants.
            The battle raged fiercely for five hours, when the enemy broke and fled, having been forced back two miles, whence commenced a general rout.
            Gen. Churchill’s division did not arrive in time to participate in this action, but were in the battle of the following day.  Gen. Mouton fell early in the action, while receiving the surrender of a large body of the enemy.  He fell but a few feet from the muzzles of their guns.  He is reported to have acted gallantly, and his noble division lost heavily in both officers and men, and covered themselves with glory.  Col. Phil Herbert was here wounded, and Col. Buchel mortally—since dead.  It was here, too, that the lamented Chancey B. Sheppard, of Gen. Green’s staff, fell, and the gallant Major J. D. Sayres wounded.
            The fruits of the victory consisted in capturing 2,500 prisoners, 200 wagons, loaded with stores, 1,400 mules, thirty-six ambulances, with immense medical and other stores.  In this battle the enemy fought three army corps, viz:  the 13th, 19th and famous 16th, formerly commanded by Gen. Sherman, and which had so often boasted that it had never known defeat.  The loss of the enemy in the two engagements will not be less than 6,000 killed, wounded and prisoners.
            The enemy commenced their retreat as soon as routed, in the direction of Pleasant Hill, some eighteen miles from the battle field of Mansfield.
            Our army having pursued, the line of battle was formed about 4, P. M., of the 9th of April, and was more bloody than on the preceding day.  Gen. Green’s division, under his command, was posted on the extreme left; Mouton’s division, under command of Brig. Gen. Polignac, on Green’s right; Gen. Walker on Polignac’s right; Gen. Churchill’s division of Arkansians and Missourians, having arrived on the extreme right; the Valverde battery opening the battle and losing the majority of their horses, but few men injured.  General Churchill, with his division of infantry, then moved forward, and the battle commenced furiously along the whole line.  The enemy pressing Churchill in overwhelming numbers, he was compelled to fall back.  Gens. Walker and Polignac then moved forward, and broke the entire line of the enemy, and threw them into general rout, and night put a stop to the carnage.  They fell back to Roubiere bayou, some twenty miles, Green’s cavalry in hot pursuit, who followed them to the river. Gen. Walker was slightly wounded.  So was Gen. Scurry.  (Gen. Polignac was not wounded, as first reported.)
            Gen. Waul was in command of a brigade, and every man, both officer and private, acted licke [sic] heroes.  Col. Debray (since promoted to Brigadier General) is reported to have behaved very gallantly.  He had his horse killed under him here.  Our loss was very heavy.  General Scurry took 1200 men into the fight, and lost 400, killed and wounded.  Our loss in the two battles is estimated to be 1400 killed, wounded, and prisoners.
            We captured in the two battles 32 pieces of artillery, and small arms beyond computation, and about 4000 prisoners, many officers among them.  These are the greatest battles fought west of the Mississippi , and of all the battles the most fruitful.  The invasion of Texas is no longer to be thought of and probably the complete evacuation of Western Louisiana by the enemy, besides relieving the pressure on Arkansas, which Gen. Price may be enabled to regain.  I should here state that General Taylor fought these battles contrary to the opinion of others, and he has eclipsed the fame of his father, old “Rough and Ready.”
            I yesterday visited the different hospitals in this vicinity, seeking some of our Texas boys.  I found but a few.  I found Major Sayers and Capt. T. J. Hare, of company K, DeBray’s regiment; they are not dangerously wounded; also Lieut. Fisher, of the same regiment, slightly wounded.  I shall proceed to Pleasant Hill in a day or two, and seek others.  Hardened as my heart is to scenes of suffering and misery, the silent tear started unbidden from eyes unused to weeping, as I passed among the maimed and wounded.  Here I found a noble youth, who a few weeks ago left home so full of hope for the future, upon the couch of the sufferer.  His fond mother’s and sister’s kiss, as he parted from them, came to my mind, and I found that war was a reality and a sad thing.  May God comfort the mourners.
            The streets of this city are daily thronged with ladies carrying food and comfort to the sufferers.  They watch over them with all the affection of mothers and sisters.  Surrounded by all the horrors of war, the daughters of Louisiana prove ministering angels in the cause of suffering humanity, and, like the good Samaritan, they never tire in watching at the couch of suffering.  God bless them. The majority of the wounded of the enemy are in our hands; they are attended by their own surgeons, and our authorities give them every facility to assist them, and they receive as kind treatment as those of our own army.
            This is a sad night in camp.  A few rods from where I am writing lies the corpse of Major-Gen. Thos. Green, the napoleon of the West.  Many a heart in Texas will mourn the loss of our hero.  Just promoted, having never known defeat when he commanded, enjoying the confidence of his troops to a degree unsurpassed, and very rarely equaled with a constitution of iron, and a will like adamant, General Green leaves a void in the armies of the Confederacy which will remain unfilled, and future generations of Texas will tell of the heroic deeds, and the no less heroic death of the man who first led our cow-boys to board and capture vessels of war.  Major-Gen. Green was killed instantly, about 5 o’clock on the evening of the 12th inst., at Blair’s landing, on Red river, about thirty-five miles from this place, while directing an attack with one thousand men on five gunboats and five transports, the latter loaded with troops, the former ironclads.  He was standing near the edge of the bank, which at that place is about thirty feet high.  While encouraging his men under a terrific fire from the gunboats, he was stuck over the right eye by a charge of grape-shot—the whole top of his head was carried away, and death, of course, instantaneous.  His body was brought to this camp the next day, and will be sent to Texas by Major J. H. Beck, quartermaster of the cavalry corps.
            The tent is lighted up and guarded by a detachment of Texas cavalry.  The sensation caused by his death it is impossible to discribe [sic].  Gen. Polignac, Waul and Scurry shed burning tears when they heard of it.  Every one seemed to have lost a near and dear relative and friend.  Gen. Taylor was overwhelmed with grief, for Green has always been his true and staunch friend.  I am told that when his officers remonstrated against his going into the fight, he said that he wouldn’t if he had his old brigade with him, but some of his troops were new and he must go.  The troops engaged were Wood’s and Gould’s regiments, and Parson’s brigade.  We lost seventy-five men killed and wounded.  The slaughter of the enemy on board the transports was fearful, as our men were only thirty or forty yards from them, and one of the gunboats was completely silence and about to surrender, when three others came to her assistance; none were captured.  Had Gen. Green lived, no one doubts but what he would have captured all the transports—the engagement lasted about half an hour after the General fell, when the officer who took command withdrew the troops.  Such is the statement of officers who were there.
            Texas also mourns the loss of Chancey B. Sheppard.  I know him well.  He was a true friend and a braver man did not fall on those bloody fields.  The hero of a dozen fights, he now sleeps with his old chief in a soldier’s grave.  Peace to his ashes!  but his memory will ever remain green in the heart of every Texan.  I shall proceed to the vicinity of the battle fields in a few days, and I dread to meet our suffering friends.  I shall keep your readers posted as often as possible.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                Sioux.
            In the Saddle (three miles from the extreme front) Near Grand Ecore, April 17.—After a hard ride of fifty miles, I find myself facing the enemy again, having been declared released from the parole given by me on my release from New Orleans as a prisoners [sic] of war.
            I have many interesting incidents relating to the recent battle